#but I feel like I’ve come to a conclusion that doesn’t sugar coat it while also not allowing me to fall into nihilism

[bobson-dugnut]

I’ve decided i am going to do as much as I can, as well as I can, for as long as I can

[binniesthighs]

i loveeee your first write abt Jisung omgggg he is like one of my BIGGEST bias wrecker of all time so i was like WOAH THERE,,,, and i was so hooked on your writings i wanna see more 👀 if you have free time can i please ask for a Jeonghan smut where he is your rival in everything let's say at school and u didn't actually like him at first but he kinda flirts and idk I'm just so into Jeonghan's cocky behavior these daysss he's making me feel thiiiiiiingsssss 😩❤️

ahh thank you anon you are so so sweet! ♡ I’m so happy that you liked my Jisung stuff! I love writing for that boy hehe and thank you so much for requesting love!! this is my first seventeen ask I’m so so excited to write more of them in the future! my brain really took this one and rannnn with it, it ended up a bit harder than I intended, I hope that’s okay and I hope that you enjoy it!

what i want most |reader x jeonghan |

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x yoon jeonghan

Genre: lil bit of smut, lil bit of angst

Tags: harddom!jeonghan, bratty!reader, enemies (competitors) to lovers, college au, jeonghan being our fave cocky boy, bestfriend!seungcheol, mentions of school work, slow-ish burn, masturbation (reader), use of degrading names, dumification, hook-up, choking, marking, spanking, facefucking, gagging, use of safe symbols, nipple play, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, slight exhibitionism, semi-public sex, sex in a study room

Word count: 4k

Someone told you once long ago that hate is a strong word. Apparently, they had never experienced loathing before. To you, hate always seemed to be something playful, something a little teasing. When your best friends would mock you for the most insignificant things, you would say “cut that shit out. You know that I hate you right?”

Loathing is much more fun. Loathing holds more of an edge. Loathing keeps you up at night, and lingers in your mind. Loathing digs into your skin like a papercut, coming back to sting later when you stretch your skin. Loathing made you feel all twisted up inside. This one super-massive emotion is one that clings to you and makes you jealous and irritable, and the best of all, competitive.

You don’t know what you would be without loathing...if not for him.

But as much as you loathed him, he was the perfect elixir of sugar-coated poison.  

He kept you up at night. He lingered in your mind.

Everything about you, he had to do too. You didn’t know at this point if it was some kind of joke, or that the two of you had miraculously been crafted to be just that similar.

Since the day that you had met him three years ago in undergrad, there wasn’t one class that the two of you didn’t share. Every single job that you applied to, he would apply to as well. Each professor that you would introduce yourself to, the next day he would be cozied up next to them talking about some kind of bullshit and pretended to care about their personal lives. He even chose the exact same grad program as you.

When the two of you graduated, it was him who sucked in his lip, never breaking with your eyes when he received higher honors than you. He probably loathed you too.

That would keep you up at night too.

There were other things about him as well that would creep into the corners of your sleep deprived brain. You would stare into the darkness of your room, eyes glued to the ceiling with your mind exploring shameless answers.

During these dark nights, your hand would absentmindedly cascade down your body, snaking your fingers down the soft of your skin. Behind your eyes, it was him sending shivers down your body. It was his lithe fingers, not yours, that would reach down to your aching sex to pleasure you into all the fantasies that only remained within the confines of your own mind. Before you would climax, it was his name that you whispered out into the air, not even knowing that you did.

“Jeonghan.”

•·················•·················•

“Are you going to finish that, or what?”

Seungcheol rummaged around your bag of chips that were barely touched.

Your highlighter skimmed over your page, you twisted the writing utensils around in your hand to scratch down a note with your pen. Truthfully, you hadn’t heard him.

“...I mean, if you don’t, I will. Can’t let stuff like this go to waste.” He held the bag in his lap, happily crunching away and tapping his foot a little.

“--Can you chew quieter?”

“...Me?”

“Yes, you.” You bopped him softly on top of his wavy caramel hair with your marked up article.

Seungcheol cringed and rubbed the top of his head as if you had hit him with something much denser than a stack of paper.

“In my defense, there isn’t really a quiet way to eat chips.” He popped another one in. “Are you gonna be done soon? It’s too...still out here.”

“You’re the one that suggested coming here!”

His puppy-like face turned combative. “I did!...only because I think it’s pretty though.” Your friend shied away, trying to uphold his promise of “chewing quieter,” and subsequently failing.

He wasn’t wrong however, the courtyard in the middle of the library was very pretty, and you had been glad that he had suggested the two of you take lunch there. Inside the square shaped yard, a few trees had been planted with low swaying branches of little oval shaped leaves. There were hedges and a myriad of flowering plants with petals that were pink or yellow or purple. Somehow the little square was untouched by sound, save for a couple songbirds. Had you not a copious amount of work to take care of, you would have admired it all for hours.

“--And to answer your question, no, I will not be done soon. Sorry. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Seungcheol cooly threw one of his arms over the silver outdoor chair next to him, shaking you off. “I don’t mind. I don’t have anything else that I really wanna be doing right now.”

“--Your thesis maybe?” You crashed your knee into his under the table and threw him a teasing smirk.

“I said, anything that I want to do.”

You nabbed one of your chips back. “Suit yourself then.”

The door to the courtyard clicked, followed by the creak of the old library door. Such a metallic sound stole the tranquility of the whole space.

“Y/n.”

Jeonghan came floating behind you, dressed in his usual attire: some type of glamorous pairing of dress pants and a button down as well as shoes that looked as if they had just been shined. He wore some kind of cologne that draped after him with a dizzying type of efflorescence. Everything about him was meticulously planned, down to the few purposefully unkempt strands of chocolate brown hair on his forehead.

He craned his neck a little to see your messy scribbles.

“You’re reading Nebasifu?”

Jeonghan leaned over you, tracing a finger over the neon orange highlights you had made. He shocked you with how close he had let himself get to you, practically encapsulating you in his arms. You found yourself staring into his neck, that floral scent forcibly permeating your air.

“Hmm.”

He hummed as he read over your notes. “Interesting conclusions right? The fact that in governance we create more problems when trying to solves the ones we have already made? It’s all so circular isn’t it?”

Your sweating palm crunched the paper out from under his fingertips.

“--Really interesting. I’d like to finish it...if you please.” While your words were polite, but they still bit.

“I can recommend more similar readings if you’re interested?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for the offer.”

“If it doesn’t make sense, you can always reach out, we can talk it through...I’ve found that discussing--”

“--I said that I’m fine. Nice talking to you Jeonghan.” You cast your eyes down to your paper and attempt to slow your viciously beating chest.

fucking leave. You pleaded, knuckles turning white around your pen.

“Alright then. See you later.” He straightened his glasses upon his nose bridge. “I look forward to hearing what you have to say about the topics later.”

He swept his hand lightly across your back. It was the most fleeting of gestures, but your entire body froze from it.  

Jeonghan situated himself at one of the benches and drew out a book. He sat in the direct beams of the afternoon sun. The brown wisps of hair that hit the light looked nearly golden. You loathed that he was breathtaking without even really trying.

Seungcheol grinded his teeth, muttering out, “Fucking creep. He can’t talk to you like that.” Even quieter, “I’ll take him out for you if you want me to.”

You stifled a laugh. You couldn’t help your eyes which would flutter over to him like it was forbidden.

“No, don’t do that. But thank you ‘Cheol.”

“I’ll do it! I swear...”

•·················•·················•

Jeonghan had a terrible habit. Not like it was particularly distracting, it was just something that you had taken notice of. From where you would sit nearly across the room from him, he would remove his glasses, then rest one of the temple tips between his lips. Sometimes, the click of his teeth would meet the plastic. It was a simple action, but the way that the little curve would rest on the pink of his lips made your mind wonder...the poison that would leave those same lips couldn’t have been real; not when they looked so sweet.

“--anyone want to share what they got out of the readings and case studies? What can we learn about our interference and the sovereignty of other states?”

You were only partially paying attention when Jeonghan silently rose his hand.

“I think that Y/n had a particularly interesting oponion on this. We were discussing this previously.” He curved his body around to meet your eyes which had already been inspecting him.

With an expectant crossing of his arms, your professor approached your desk. “Y/n?”

Everyone’s eyes were on you, but Jeonghan’s burned with the hottest flame.

You took your shaking hands into your lap, then gave your oponion as eloquently as you could, swallowing down your nerves. As usual, you were perfectly well spoken, as you knew you were. The professor nodded along with each point of your argument.

“--Very well articulated Y/n. And your counterpoints are provoking as well.” He finally turned to pace away. “Would anyone like to expand?”

Your professor’s body mass moved, revealing Jeonghan’s nearly sinful prideful smile. It was like he had given you a test, and you had passed magnificently. With the cock of his head, he mouthed,

“that was lovely.”

“I’d like to expand.” He piped, removing his glasses. Just as he always would, he tapped them between his lips, letting the skin fall a little by them. You had noticed it before, but they were smooth and plump. “I think that Y/n is correct...in many ways, but some points are a bit misguided, I would argue....”

•·················•·················•

[09:23 pm]

cheol: you coming back anytime soon?  i can’t believe you’re doing this to me on a friday. is it really that serious?

[09:26 pm]

me: need I remind you that you should probably be here with me? thesis papers don’t write themselves.

cheol: and I should remind YOU that we literally just got off break? they aren’t due for months.

i know what you’re trying to prove.

it’s not worth it.

what does that asshole have over you?

“--Shouldn’t you be back at home with that golden retriever of yours?”

Jeonghan’s pen tapped at your table, white sleeves rolled up. The day had taken it’s toll on him. The bags under his eyes proved that even someone as picturesque as him could still be effected by your long days. Nevertheless disheveled, he was just as alluring.

“And shouldn’t you be flirting with one of your students?” You clicked your phone off.

“Cute. Luckily I’m not one of the desperate ones starving for the attention of the little undergrads. That's a different kind of pathetic.”

“Hmmm. I just thought that it was the attention that you were after.” Heat rose to your ears while you breathed your beating heart down.

"Who doesn’t like attention? Especially if it’s from the right people...speaking of undergrads...”

Jeonghan’s slender neck twisted to eye the obnoxious group of students huddled up on a table, giggling and making a mess of their snacks.

“You’re studying out here? I can’t even--”

“--I appreciate the concern, but you’re not helping my focus either.”

“Am I...distracting you?” Jeonghan swept his warm brown hair to the side with the cock of his eyebrow.

You shook out a sigh. “Yes.”

“You don’t have an office?”

“Department didn’t have any more.”

“I’ve got a study room that I host study sessions in. You want to use it?”

“You’re offering to help me?”

“Listen, I know how hard our program can be, and I appreciate how hard you work. You deserve a quiet place to work.”

“Are you complimenting me?”

“Don’t make me change my mind...and what would I do if the competition suddenly dropped out?” He tapped the table with his fingertips. “That wouldn’t be very much fun.”

•·················•·················•

Jeonghan’s study room was simple, just like all the others in the library. It was stark, white, the tables were a bit banged up and the white board was riddled with little ink remnants. There were glass windows nearly everywhere so you could overlook both the outdoors and the rest of the library on the opposite wall. As the two of you entered, he calmly closed all the blinds.

“No distractions right?” He looked back to you.

“...do you have something that you need to get done too?”

“Not really. I’ve submitted a good chunk of my thesis for review.”

Of course he had.

“I’m just waiting to hear back.”

He crossed the room to sit directly next to you, slinging his legs up on the table and taking out that same book from earlier: it had some pretentious title that you had never heard of before.

“Don’t mind me.” He chided your straying eyes. “I’m only staying to lock the door after you.”

“I-I’m not...” Your eyes feel back to your computer and you typed at your keyboard just to fill the sound of the quiet room.

Sitting this close to you, you could smell that dizzyingly sweet smell of his again.

You loathed him for the way that he could be doing nothing and you could be enthralled in merely that.

Jeonghan’s eyes didn’t leave his page. “The more that you look at me, the less you’re working.”

You hadn’t even noticed.

“I guess I’m more distracting than I thought.”

Furious heat rose from the pit of your stomach to the tips of your ears.

“What the hell do you get off on?” You spat.

He calmly placed his book on the table. “What are you referring to?”

“For the past three years, you haven’t left me alone for a single second, you-you always do everything that I do like you’re on some kind of sick quest to prove that you’re better than me, better than anyone else--”

“--You think that I’m copying you?”

“Wha-what else would you be doing?”

“--Getting an education? God, you think that I’m the attention whore, aren’t you hearing yourself?? You must think that I’m obsessed with you.”

“What is it then? A superiority complex so fucking huge--”

“--You’re asking what it is that I want?”

You nodded back with heaving breaths.

“What I get off on? Well...” Jeonghan chuckled a little and raked his hands through his brown strands. “You don’t deserve to know. But there is one thing that I’ve wanted for a while that I haven’t been able to get my hands on. I suppose that’s what I want most.”

“And that is?”

Tentatively, he rose his hand nearer to you, saying nothing, his aura shifting from cocky to intrigued. At first, his fingers traced over the skin of your hand as if he was drawing little pictures into it. After he brushed his hand up your arm to weave a little strand of your hair around his fingers.

“I said you don’t deserve to know.”

You must have been in a daze; some kind of waking intoxication before your thoughts could catch up with your actions. It was almost as if you weren’t thinking anything at all, but where acting on prime instinct. Your whole body screamed with utter frustration: every word that he spoke to you make you loathe him even more, you wouldn’t ever let him get away with it.

There was something that you too wanted most, no matter how abhorrent it was.

Your thighs squeezed into his sides where you had straddled him in his chair, holding on to him so tightly it hurt your muscles. The haste on your lips on his was messy and hot, a smearing of skin and teeth crashing together with fury, tongues rolling off eachother with an undeniable hunger. His arms didn’t wrap around you but rather clawed in your hair, pulling slightly at the roots while he pulled you in impossibly close. The mixing of your gasping breaths together where whiny and yearning. As he kissed into you, his lips curled into a devilish smile.

In your arousal, you shoved your hips into his lap, grinding down into your excitement and seeking some from him. To your surprise, you could feel his hardening dick which only made you weaker. All the hundreds of little fantasies that you had held so secret started to dance in your mind; your darkest thoughts pleaded for him to destroy you, to ravage you, just as you had imagined.

Jeonghan’s lips tore from your own which he had worked until they were swollen. He mouthed down your jaw to your neck, sucking at the skin with no chance of mercy, he pulled and sucked until you could only pathetically beg for him to slow down for fear of him breaking the skin.

He stopped immediately to pull your shirt over your head and pick up his work there. The wet of his gorgeously plump lips on your skin was as perfect as you had imagined and it sent shivers echoing through all your limbs.

“Jeong-Jeonghan--”

This time you perfectly aware that it was indeed his name that would escaping off your tongue.

“You dumb slut, you thought I didn’t know that you wanted me?”

“You-you want me too?”

Jeonghan worked at the buttons on your pants.

“Wanting implies that I like you. What I want most is to make you my toy. There’s a difference.”

You mumbled out the words knowing exactly how he would take them. “I’m not a fucking toy.”

Jeonghan tsked and unbuttoned his own shirt. “You don’t get to decide that.”

You drew your fingers down his model-like toned chest, marveling in the pink lines. Jeonghan grunted in response, taking you by the underside of your thighs to throw you down on your back against the hard plastic. Once he had the chance, he ridded you of your bottoms, running his hands up your inner legs to send you reeling. For a couple seconds, you could have sworn that he had stopped to admire your body, but he wouldn’t let you tell too easily.

“That door isn’t locked.”

“What? Are you scared that someone could walk in? Scared to for someone to see you all splayed out like this?” He rose to kiss up your stomach and up to your nipples. He flicked them between his fingers. “To have someone see me making a wreck of you?”

“N-no.”

With saliva drying on your sensitive buds, they turned hard in seconds when they met the air. Jeonghan wasn’t hesitant to pull at them with his teeth slightly, making you whine for him even more.

“What should I do to you first?”

One of his hands trickled down your body to palm at your quivering sex, slick with your excitement for him and aching for the smallest of touches.

“You want it that bad? Stupid whore.”

Your hand ventured down to tease at his own dick over the fabric of his slacks.

“You want it that bad?”

“Get off.” He growled at you, then took you by the arms to jerk you off of the table and onto your knees at the floor. Under your knees, the burn of the carpet stung. His belt buckle jingled a little as he hooked a finger in to remove it. Afterword, he shook his pants off followed by his briefs, springing loose his twitching member with the tip pink. He combed his fingers through your hair while he tapped his dick against your lips.

“Fucking take it.”

You would have fought him on it, but you succumbed out of your pure curiosity over his girth.

At first, you coaxed him into your mouth, not going in too deep as you were fearful about his length. Regardless, you took him in as best as you could, hollowing out your cheeks and throat, sucking with your lips and grabbing at his legs.

Jeonghan hissed out a sigh, letting himself fall further into the warmth of your mouth. He pushed at your head slightly, bringing you in just deep enough to trigger your gag reflex.

“Mmm there you go.” He cooed.

You kept going as he liked it, gradually working up in pace while it got a bit harder and harder for you to catch your breath.

“That’s as deep as you can go? Can’t even take a dick into your throat?”

His grip on your head tightened.

Jeonghan whispered, “Squeeze my leg if you want me to stop.” before helping your head all the way down, causing you to gag even harder and for tears to well in your eyes. “That’s more like it.”

He continued guiding your head, and slobber started to form around your mouth You felt so weak and pliable around him, he was thankless aside from the tiny moans he would let escape past his lips for you.

Usable as you felt, it was still a deliciously addictive feeling.  

All at once, he tore out of your mouth to bring you back up to your feet. In seconds he had turned you around to bend over the plastic tabletop, elbows digging into the cool surface. By now, you were practically dripping for him with knees and legs weak from kneeling. He kicked your legs open farther, gifting your ass a piercing slap that stung, then another followed after.

“Hungry for my cock, hmm?”

He teased your entrance without warning, sending your body crumbling over the table into a mess of whimpers and curses clenched behind your teeth. His lithe fingers were your fantasy come to life.

“I-I can’t wait any longer...” You urged him on.

Jeonghan pushed your face into the table then slid his fingers above to curl around your neck. He encircled around the skin slowly, then dug in to close your airway. You choked out desperate little sounds, then he entered you carefully, making sure that you felt every part of him.

“Hmm. Pretty...” He allowed you. Even though it was just one word of praise, you reveled in it.

His pale fingers choked you harder for a few more seconds until he properly got his pace inside of you, letting go to hold you by your waist. Once again, he clapped his hand into your skin as he fucked into you. All you could manage to do with your hands was claw helplessly at the smooth tabletop seeking some kind of balance that was nowhere to be found. He grazed the deepest and most sensitive spot within you and you felt yourself nearly reaching your climax.

“I-is that all that you can do?” You turned his confidence back against him, spurring him on just as you had wanted. He snapped his hips even faster, groaning out as he neared his release.

“My pretty little fucktoy. You’re all mine? Got it?”

Jeonghan leaned over your back to pant the words into your ear.

“Fucking say it.”

“I-I’m...” Your focus was scrambled as your orgasm pooled within.

“I’m yours...your...pretty-mm-fucktoy.”

Jeonghan came inside of you with white heat, pulsating forcefully, with you following soon after while he milked himself with your walls. Even as you still came down, he rolled his hips into you over and over until your whole body was shaking helplessly.

“That’s right.” He pulled out, then pulled your legs apart to watch his cum fall out of your hole.

Jeonghan laughed to himself, “Thank you for giving me what I wanted.”

[sweeethinny]

Christmas Magic (M)

I wanted to do something for @fightfortherightsofhouseelves #hinnychristmasfest, and as a few days ago someone asked me about how I thought hinny's first time had happened, here it is :) thanks to Dusk who read that one shot yesterday, and the whole group of Hinny at Discord who advised me, helped me with my 8643846353 doubts. And thanks to Google, who explained many things to me so that I could make this as close to reality as possible.

AO3

---------------------

Warning: This chapter contains sex, and description of sex

‘’Hermione, I’m sorry, but that doesn’t look like sex.’’ Ginny said, rolling her eyes at the book in front of her. The anatomy of a woman and a man was well exposed on the page, each little part being explained as to why it served, and some even explained how.

‘’And what do you know? You are the one who came to ask me about it.’’ The friend took the book from Gin’s lap. ‘’What else did you expect it to be?’’ Hermione looked at her, and Ginny really wanted to tell her that she hoped it was less… biological, and more real and emotional. She didn't feel all that logical and scientific explanation when Harry touched her last week, not even when she touched him. It was far more chaotic than the book made it appear to be.

The author did not explain that you would feel in the clouds, and that your legs would become so limp that you would think that there were no bones in your body.

But maybe that would change when it came to sex.

‘’I don’t know, but it looks disgusting.’’ She frowned at the drawings in front of her.

‘’Well… I don’t know if there’s any other way to look.’’ Hermione said, shrugging her shoulders and closing the book, starting to look for another one in her huge pile.

‘’Hermione, but don’t you think there are things you can’t explain? Things that don't appear in an anatomy book?’’ Ginny asked, hoping that it would explain to her friend that sex couldn’t be just that. That should be more than... insert and rub. If it were just that, if it meant nothing more, then what fun would it have?

‘’Nah. What wouldn't appear in the books?’’

‘’I don’t know,’’ She shrugged. ''Maybe it will change depending on how you feel about the person, or… I don't know.'' Ginny gave up, getting up from her own bed and walking around the room, a little worried that maybe she wouldn't have made the right decision if only that summed up what it was sex.

Of course, Hermione knew about a lot, and human relationships were always a problem for her, but it didn't seem to be just that. It seemed that really, sex was just… biological. After all.

‘’Ginny, you read... This can increase the bond between two people, but honestly, I don’t think it would change anything more than that. Maybe you've just based yourself on too many novels, and you're thinking this will be the same.'' Hermione spoke quietly, almost as if she wanted to apologize to Ginny that she was dreaming too much about that moment. ‘’Authors tend to glamorize more than necessary in novel books.’’

''Yeah, maybe that's it.'' She nodded, taking her coat and cap from the rack behind the door. ‘ I’m going for a walk.’’ Ginny said, still somewhat discredited that she had been deceived by all those authors.

''Take care. I'll stay here if you want to talk.’’ Hermione spoke before Ginny closed the door, a little angry for the last hour she spent for nothing.

She and Harry hadn't been having much time since he started studying for the Auror exams and she for the NIEM, and every minute mattered a lot, so missing an hour that they could have talked, kissed, or even for throwing snow at each other, it seemed like a lot.

And Ginny didn't even come to an ideal conclusion.

Since the war ended and they came back - not that they had really separated, Ginny always said that - their relationship had evolved in a hurry that she did not regret. They went from, kissing under the peach tree in the daylight, to kissing at night on the lake (where they wore little clothing), and then, to finally kiss in her bed, and touch each other.

They have learned a lot since then. Harry was always patient and very concerned that he was doing it right, and that Ginny was enjoying it, so he paid close attention to all her signs and her advice. He didn't care when she put her hand over hims to help him, or when she asked him to stop because she didn't like it so much anymore.

Ginny also listened to him, even though Harry almost never complained, she learned that he liked when she paid special attention to his balls, his nipples were very sensitive too, and that like her, speed and angle also mattered.

Everything was quite intense and chaotic inside her, it was always as if something exploded and fireworks cut across the sky every time Harry made her feel in a new way, each miserable discovery seemed too much.

It was she who introduced the subject of sex to them. After she returned to Hogwarts alone - not for Hermione - Ginny had plenty of time to think about it. So when they met on one of the Hogsmeade tours and were alone, Gin commented that she wanted to. It was a strange thing, although it seemed right to communicate him about her will, she thought that maybe she was doing something wrong given Harry's minute of silence.

‘’I’ve also been thinking about it, but I didn’t want to be an idiot and make you feel pressured if I commented.’’ He said.

They talked then, she said that leaving aside the romance books where the couple had sex, she didn't know much. Nor did Harry, he said that Seamus used to take magazines to their dormitory, but that there was never a real explanation of what it was like to have sex. Which relieved Ginny, who was afraid to be the only stupid one there.

He said he was afraid it would hurt for her and that he didn't do it right, she said that they wouldn't easily do it right, but that they could learn together. And about the pain... she could handle it.

But if she was sincere, she wished there was a way to not hurt. It didn't seem so much fun if it hurt.

The two talked about their insecurities and fears, and it was interesting to be able to open up that way with Harry, made Ginny love him even more. And she couldn't even remember when he told about years with the Dursleys before Hogwarts, without wanting to cry again.

It was important to talk to him, she knew that.

The two decided they were going to get ready, Harry wanted her to be able to make the most of what he could provide, and Ginny wanted to not be so scared at the moment. 

First, she looked in magazines - muggles and magicians - but nothing seemed to really help her, because even though it was written that she didn't need to fear and that it was necessary to relax, they didn't teach how, and they made everything seem even more important and bigger than it already was. Ginny had to go to Hermione. She knew about everything, she had read all the books, she should have known about it.

But Ginny received that bucket of cold water. Hermione's books made her feel discouraged, the statistics and scientific data made Gin think that nothing was right, and that yes, maybe sex wasn't too much. Nothing more than a biological necessity.

What magazines made it seem like the most important moment, the books painted as just a matter of science.

Ginny was confused.

She wanted to have sex with Harry, while she was a little too discouraged, but she also didn't want to throw in the towel and give up when they had already gone so far. Perhaps there could be a middle ground? Something that would make people sleep with others besides carnal need?

So she went for her second option, even though she was reluctant.

She had another week of Christmas break before she had to go back, and maybe the two of them couldn't even get time together to be able to enjoy it decently, but she just needed to talk to someone. Maybe on Easter break when she got back, or during a trip to Hogsmeade, they could do it. Perhaps she was more prepared, then.

‘’Ginny!’’ Fleur said as soon as she opened the door and found her sister-in-law standing there, her cheeks flushed with the wind and looking more nervous than usual. ''It's all right? Come in!''

‘’Yes.’’ Ginny said, cursing herself for having to ask her for help. ‘‘Bill in?’’

‘’No, he left just now.. do you want to wait for him? It shouldn't take long--’’

'' --No, he better not be around.'' Her voice came out a little too hard, and Ginny forced herself to clear her throat and calm down, thinking that if it weren't for Fleur, she wouldn't have anyone else to talk to about it. - her mother was not an option. ‘’I came here… I came to ask you for help.’’

‘’Oh…’’ Fleur nodded, a little wary. ''Sure. Take off your coat, I'll make tea for us.'' She was being very polite, which Ginny thought was good, because if she had to deal with the same arrogance of Fleur from the past at a time like that, maybe she would just give up and tell Harry that they had better do it without even knowing how it worked.

She took off her coat, gloves, snow-soiled shoes and cap, then, following her brother's house, Ginny reached the kitchen. She didn't quite know how she was going to start talking or how she would feel when she said something so intimate to Fleur, but maybe there wasn't much theater to do and she just had to tell her the truth.

‘’What brings you here?’’ Fleur appeared, floating the cups, milk and sugar in front of her. ‘’Let's sit on the couch, it’s more comfortable there.’’ Ginny nodded and followed. ‘’I hope it’s ‘ze way you like it.’’

‘’Thank you, it’s great.’’ Ginny poured herself the milk and dropped the amount of sugar she liked, taking the hot liquid to see if maybe that would give her enough courage. ‘’Hm .. Fleur, I wanted to ask you something.’’ She started, taking a deep breath and not looking at her sister-in-law. ‘’But you can’t comment on Bill. Not even with my mother.’’

‘‘My mouth is a grave.’’ She signaled as if she had closed her mouth, blond eyebrows raised slightly as she stared. ‘’You’re worrying me a little bit.’’

‘’Harry and I were talking about… Er .. Sex, and I wanted to ask you for help with that.’’ Ginny felt her cheeks were on fire, it was as if the sun was in front of her, so great was the heat. ‘’I don’t know .. I don’t know how to do it, and I think you can help me with that.’’ She admitted, feeling a little more failed than she imagined.

‘’Oh… I can help you with ‘zat, of course.’’ Fleur cleared her throat, placing her cup on the coffee table and facing Ginny. ''What you want to know?''

‘’Everything.’’ Ginny also put down her cup. ‘’Hermione showed me some anatomy books, and I read some magazines, but .. it doesn’t seem very real.’’ Fleur nodded, seeming to think about it. She shifted a little uncomfortably on the sofa and ran a hand through her blond hair, as if searching for the right words.

‘’Ok .. Let’s start at ‘ze beginning; you want this? You know, sometimes we end up feeling pressured to do it, even if ‘ze guy doesn't say it. And sex is an important step, it’s a level of intimacy that you need to be sure of what you’re doing.’’

‘’Of course I do. I was the one who told him I wanted to.’’ Ginny said, confident enough to face Fleur back, not her and Bill's picture frame on their wedding day. ‘’Harry doesn’t pressure me.’’

‘’Good.’’ Fleur nodded. ''If you feel ‘zat way, you need to know ‘zat... ‘zat it can be awful ‘ze first time, because it's ‘ze first time, and that's okay, practice makes perfect.'' She blinked, and Ginny felt her own cheeks flush like fire again, but continued to stare at her sister-in-law. ‘’If ‘Arry .. does things for you first, you’ll be able to enjoy ‘zit more, without feeling so uncomfortable, you know? It's something new, your body is not used to it, so the more relaxed and comfortable ‘ze better. And .. live ‘zat moment, it can last minutes, or seconds, but it is an important experience, maybe even more for ‘Arry. You are new, a long time ago to gain skill and improve performance.''

‘’What if I don’t think anything is too much? And if it’s just… I don’t know, but if it’s boring?’’ She asked, curiosity and fear dueling in her chest.

‘’Ginny, if it were boring, you wouldn’t have ‘zat many siblings.’’ Fleur said, finding it funny even though Gin had made a face at the image. ‘’Sex has to be good for both of you, don’t be shy about asking ‘Arry to do something for you, or change, or even stop. If you want him to stop in the middle and have him stimulate you in another way, that's fine. If you want it to just stop, you can say it too. Sex is communication, you can't just stand there like a dead man.’' The two laughed, much to Ginny's surprise.

‘’Hermione thinks sex isn’t anything other than human need.’’ She commented, not wanting to gossip about her friend, just wanting to get it out of her mind. Fleur shrugged.

‘’It goes beyond that, but I think she will only know when to do it. It’s a different experience for each person, you know? If you want to know, on my first time, I was bored and hated doing that, I thought it was not for me. Afterwards, I just understood what I liked and what I wanted.’’ She smiled sweetly, in a way that Ginny wasn’t very used to seeing. Not that those looks were directed at her, because they were usually for Bill. ‘’You’ll see, just live in the moment and don’t put so much pressure on you two. It’s the first time, not the last.’’

 [...]

 Ginny and Fleur had talked for a while longer that day, and after Bill arrived and was suspicious as to why Ginny was there, she went back to the house. Fleur had convinced her to buy nice clothes for their date; ‘’Not ‘zat you have sex that day, but just to prevent it.’’

On the 24th, the day of their date, Ginny dressed up like never before.

She carefully braided her hair on the side, put on the most beautiful earrings she had (Aunt Muriel's earnings, a few years ago), put on makeup so that her pale face didn't resemble a skull so much, painted her lips an intense red, and she wore the lingerie she had bought - even if they did nothing, she wouldn’t play with fate and let Harry see her with colorless panties and a bra that couldn’t hold anything anymore - and the thick pantyhose that would keep her legs warm.

When it came time for the outfit, Ginny had to stand for a few minutes in front of the pile in her closet, wondering which of those sweaters best suited the skirt she had separated earlier. There were some she stole from Ron, the ones her mother stitch for Christmas, some from George... She didn't have a decent shirt.

She was never on a date itself, even those in Hogsmeade it didn't seem that important.

It was the first time the two of them were going out on their own, for a real date, and it was Christmas, she had to be presentable, even though Harry didn't care and made it clear that he thought she was beautiful even with her torn pajama pants. Ginny cared.

Searching deeper into her mess, she found a sweater that she didn't even remember existed, maybe she received it as a gift in the fourth year, from her parents, or ... she didn't remember, but it wasn't important. The sweater had no holes in it, nor did it look old, and none of her brothers had worn it before, which was perfect. Besides, the fabric was thick enough that Ginny wouldn't freeze to death outside.

After finishing putting on her boots, zipping up her navy blue skirt, and getting comfortable in her white sweater and turtleneck, Ginny was ready. Anxious as never before and looking every second at the slim watch on her wrist.

Harry had said he would drop by to pick her up at six and it was still half past five… Maybe Ginny was in a hurry. Maybe when he arrived, she would show that she was anxious.. Should she have put on that red lipstick?  Was it the best option to go out with a lipstick like that, when you intended to make out with your boyfriend? Maybe she was underdressed because Harry wanted to take her to a very fancy restaurant?

Ginny should look for a better outfit, she--

‘’Gin?’’ The voice startled her, causing her to drop the perfume bottle on top of the pile of clothes she had shifted to the right, and slowly turned to find Harry and her door, looking almost more distressed than she was. ‘’Everything okay?’’ He looked at the mess around her, a chuckle rising from his lips.

‘’Yes, yes.’’ She composed herself, smiling from ear to ear and walking towards him, looking much calmer now that he was there.

Harry was simple, new dark jeans, a gray sweater and his sneakers. He didn't seem to be going to a chic and elegant restaurant - which would use more than 7 cutlery and 3 different glasses -, which calmed her down and made her take a deep breath while hugging him tightly and breathing in his scent.

‘’I brought this for you.’’ He showed her the bouquet hidden behind his back, his right hand shaking slightly as he handed her the flowers. There were all kinds of flowers, jasmine, yellow roses, even blue flowers, and it was the most romantic and cute thing she had ever won. ‘’I didn’t know what your favorites were then, I just chose the most beautiful ones.’’

‘’Harry, it’s beautiful.’’ Ginny kissed him, not needing to stretch this time, thankful for the heels of her boot. ‘’You look beautiful too.’’ She whispered against his mouth, his arms around her waist and keeping their contact even closer.

''Thanks. You're not too bad either.’’ He raised an eyebrow, a wry little smile. ‘’The skirt is fully approved.’’

‘’As if I care what you think of my outfit.’’ Ginny lifted her chin, holding her laugh and placing the flowers in a vase she had conjured. ''We are ready?''

''Yes. I was happy not to run into your parents… it would be strange.’’ Harry made a cute face, wrinkling his nose and wrinkling his forehead. ‘’Your mom would have made a fuss about the flowers.’’

''Of course she would.'' Ginny put her arm around Harry's, letting him guide her through her own home. ‘’She gave me a speech yesterday about how you’ve been changing since you’ve been with me… Apparently everyone is talking about how happy you and I are.’’

‘’They talk too much. They should start worrying about their navels themselves.’’ The two donned their jackets, gloves and cloaks, ready to face the cold outside. ‘’But, I’ve been happier on your side than I have been in my past..16 years? I think.’’ Harry stopped to think, looking at the floor as if he was digging deeply. ‘’Yes, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.’’

‘’And you had to think about it?’’ Ginny pushed his shoulder slightly, already walking out of the house. ‘‘How come I’m not the first and last thought of your day?’’ Harry laughed, openly, in the way that made her laugh and feel her stomach churn.

‘’But you are.’’ He took her arm again, ready to Apparate wherever they were going. ''I was just kidding. I don't need to think too hard to know that I've never been as happy as I am with you.'' Harry said, looking at her as if that was the simplest thing to say, as if he didn't do things for her that Ginny never thought she would feel.

So they Apparated.

It was a place she had never been to. Well, she didn’t walk around London much, so it didn’t mean much, but in particular that place, she didn’t even know it existed.

There were lights, lots of lights, and it looked like it came out of a fairy tale book. She felt like a muggle when they witnessed magic. It was unbelievable that something like that existed.

''Where are we?’’ She couldn’t stop looking and maybe her neck would hurt if she stayed like that for several minutes, but it was totally worth it.

There were those boxes with teddy bears inside and something that Ginny didn't quite understand what it was, that were trying to grab the toy. On the other side, there were stalls with foods so fragrant that she could already feel her belly growling with hunger. And even though she looked at everything and Harry walked around calmly and also looked shocked by that place, it looked like they couldn't make it to the end or see everything.

‘’Hyde Park.’’ Harry was also looking everywhere, and even though the wind seemed to cut their cheeks, neither of them seemed to care. ''This is amazing.''

‘‘Yes.’’ Ginny’s eyes flashed with the big wheel that spun ahead. ‘’And we’re magicians.’’

[...]

 The two had enjoyed themselves at various attractions. They took pictures together with reindeer ears and eating cotton candy, rode the ferris wheel and could see London from above - it was different to be in heaven and not on a broom -, ate and bought several things, and finally, they skated on the rink of ice. A very ... different experience.

‘’We’re worse than that little boy under eight years old.’’ Ginny muttered a little irritably, getting up from what looked like the fifth tumble in less than ten minutes.

''My ass is freezing.'' Harry circled her, not looking much firmer than the old woman next to them.

‘’We should know how it goes.’’ Ginny tried again, flexing her knees and straightening her arms like that 12 year old girl had taught her, managing to walk more than two meters without falling. ‘‘We already ride a broom.’’ She whispered to Harry beside her who risked spinning around like a woman had done. ‘’That was terrible.’’

‘’Don’t laugh at me!’’ He barked, but he also laughed. ‘’I’m trying.’’ They held hands, ready to make the curve that had made them fall like two stooges. ‘’There’s no need for despair…’’

‘’You were the one who despaired when that little girl passed us.’’

‘’She was whirling in the air!’’ Harry stared at her, eyes wide. ‘’And she mustn’t even be ten years old.’’

‘’Calm down, love, we’re doing great.’’ Ginny laughed, managing to stop and without hitting the ground. ‘’We’re learning, see? It was only the first few times, then we take the practice.’’

''You're right.'' Harry walked around her again, a silly smile in his eyes. ‘’Please try not to be jealous.’’

‘’I’m going to try, Potter.’’ She rolled her eyes, following him up the track again, dodging people in a mastery that shocked her.

‘’Look at you! Without pushing anyone this time.’’ Harry said, also dodging and getting back to her side. ''We were born for this.''

‘’Yes.’’ She smiled proudly. ‘’I knew we were going to make it ... Want to try to spin like that little girl? I hold it around your waist.’’ Ginny winked at Harry, who laughed denying and getting a little flushed when the guy who passed them laughed at both of them.

 [...]

 The day seemed much quieter than it used to be at Hogwarts. Ginny could hear birds singing in the window, but nothing that resembled the morning conversations of roommates, owls flying, people already walking and talking loudly. It was much more cozy.

It was also better when Harry was hugging her half naked, sighing softly and looking completely at peace.

They had returned from the park well after ten o'clock, they still strolled the streets and bought hot chocolate to drink in the comfort of Harry's house. Molly had not enjoyed Ginny sleeping with him, especially when George and Ron weren't there and the two would be alone, but Harry convinced her that they would be fine and that they would be at The Burrow early.

Ginny felt a little anxious when she allowed them to realize that they were alone, Harry was only wearing sweatpants and she was only wearing his T-shirt - even if she had continued with the lingerie, because ... a woman could hope. At the same time that her thighs tightened at the thought, a part of her brain began to process the whole idea.

She still had remnants of yesterday's makeup, and her breath was not the best, other than the hair that was a mess. But Harry was being a very comfortable and warm pillow ... Maybe she could make breakfast for their both? That way she would have reason to get up and look in the mirror.

And that's what she did, after ten more comfortable minutes in her boyfriend's embrace, she slipped out and started her mission. They might not even have sex today, but Ginny was also not going to be with him on bad breath and in the mood to pee.

After taking care of everything needed, Ginny went to the kitchen and started her second job; Cook. She knew the basics, pancakes, frying eggs, sauteed mushrooms, and could even risk making that tea that Harry liked so much. They had to be at her mother's house until ten, and it wasn't even nine yet, she had time.

The kitchen was neat and complete, with utensils she didn't even know what it were for, and like the rest of the house, it was a lot tidier than you'd expect where 3 guys lived. The windows were large and there was plenty of light, the carpets were - at least every time Ginny was there - in place and clean, and there were no socks thrown around the house. Even the plants Hermione bought for them were alive.

Harry always said that George was much more organized than he showed, and that Ron was the only one who ended up leaving things out of place - and she knew that Harry had a terrible cleaning habit thanks to his aunt, which explained the always clean house .

When the pancakes were almost ready and Ginny was pouring tea, she heard footsteps behind her.

‘’I thought you wouldn’t wake up anymore.’’ She said, without looking back, spilling the milk as she knew Harry liked it, waiting for the pancake to finish cooking.

‘’Being happy is tiring.’’ Harry murmured, his husky voice making her skin crawl. ‘’You didn’t need to do this.’’

‘’I wanted to,’’ She shrugged. ‘’And I was hungry.’’

‘’We could have dealt with that too.’’ Harry laughed softly, making Ginny bite her lip and laugh too. ‘’Merry Christmas.’’ He wrapped his arms around her waist, his head resting against her right shoulder.

‘’Merry Christmas.’’ She looked at him, almost knocked over by his cute beauty.

There were days when Harry or she ran away from their rooms and slept together, the nightmares were still quite present and each other's presence there was quite comforting. But something about not having to wake up almost five in the morning to get back to her own room before someone woke up, didn't let her enjoy his face when she woke up; all crumpled by the pillow, his hair even more wild, his eyes a little puffy and small.

Ginny wanted to squeeze his cheeks and kiss him.

‘’Do we still have time before we need to go to your mom’s house?’’ He was looking at her in a way that wasn’t as simple as it normally was. The green eyes were darkening and the pupils dilated, and his breathing seemed to be much faster than before.

Ginny didn't think she was getting any different, feeling the warmth of his bare chest on her back, her belly tightened and the hunger seemed to disappear suddenly, staring at Harry so close, both wearing less clothes than usual, the little sunlight illuminating his face and making him look even more handsome with slightly burnt cheeks of the Cold.

 ‘’We have plenty of time.’’ She spoke almost in a whisper, her body seeming to burn in a new and delicious way.

‘’Good.’’ Harry spoke before he kissed her. It was a kiss that also seemed new, much less delicate than all the others they had already given, even those given at times when the two were very connected and hot.

It was much more hungry, needy, and intimate than everyone else.

Things proceeded with a naturalness that Ginny did not expect. It was like a dance that they had done millions and millions of times together, synchronized with each step and never losing a beat or bumping into each other's feet. It seemed as right as saying that today was Christmas, that it was cold outside, and that she loved him with all her heart.

They danced together in the kitchen, Ginny leaning against the counter as the light came in more and more and the birds sang even louder. Then they went to Harry's room, their hands seeming to take on a life of their own during that short journey, exploring and longing for the moment that there were no more pieces of clothing to stop them.

‘’Are we doing this?’’ She asked, in a hushed voice from Harry’s kisses. His hands went up under her shirt, touching the skin on her belly and looking a little shaky when they touched the bra seam.

‘’Only if you want.’’ He murmured against the skin of her neck, looking a little anxious. ‘’You’re the boss’’ Harry looked at her, his glasses crooked on his face and the black strands being lit by the incoming sunlight, showing some reddish brown strands that Ginny had never noticed.

Her heart exploded, looking at the man on top of her who made her feel things that no one ever dreamed of making her feel. Harry didn't even make an effort to make her feel her body on fire.

Hermione was wrong, Ginny realized, it was about feelings, about giving in, about being comfortable with the other. This was not just science, it was about trusting and a lot of things she had no idea about, she just felt.

She felt the tightness in her thighs, her belly swirling in flames, her head becoming cloudy with any coherent thought beyond her imagination, working hard to remember the times she imagined it.

She imagined that when Michael pressed against her the first time and made her feel like he was feeling during the kiss; it was Harry over there. When Dean touched your breasts; it was Harry over there. When Harry touched her under her skirt in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, the two of them in complete darkness, she pressed against the tree and he moaned in her ear when he first felt her. It was always Harry.

On the nights when her imagination was simmering while reading a novel, during the year that he ran away so she wouldn't feel so alone, during the days after the war when they kissed at the lake, when she returned to Hogwarts and Harry was going visit her clandestinely.

It wasn't just science, friction and something biological.

‘’We’re doing this.’’

Then the dance - the one that Ginny already knew a few steps from - started to unfold naturally.

His shirt found the floor and Harry widened his eyes at her lingerie, stopping to kiss her to run his hand over the lace on her breasts and then dropping down to engage the lace on her hips, looking lost with the light blue fabric that left little for the imagination.

''Wow.'' Harry muttered, looking much more hungry than she remembered seeing him, and Ginny can't help but blush and want to hug her body as if to protect herself.

‘’Does it serve as a Christmas present?’’ She said, trying to sound as confident as possible, but feeling more embarrassed than when she sent the valentine card to Harry when she was 11.

‘’You don’t even have to try so hard, honestly.’’ Harry laughed, which made her laugh, relieved that there wasn’t a strange atmosphere around them. Fleur said that this could sometimes happen - ‘’It’s also important for most boys.’’

‘’Good, because you need to be careful with that, it’s the most beautiful thing in my entire wardrobe.’’ Ginny pointed at her body. ‘’You’ll see me using it more often.’’

‘’Oh.’’ Harry’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling.‘’So will there be other moments? Ginny, please, we've barely started, don't put so much pressure on a man.’’ She tapped his arm, blushing like a little girl and laughing at his boldness to feel so confident when the two were about to have sex for the first time.

‘’Shut up, Harry.’’ She asked - or order - and kissed him, hands firm on the back of his neck so that it was impossible for him to get away from her again. Not that Harry looked like he wanted to run away, but it was just a worry that was in the back of her mind.

They didn't speak much after that. His mouth parted from her lips, but instead of speaking, Harry dedicated himself to kissing every bit of her, the sun illuminating his skin and hair, as he descended more and more, looking quite focused on not forgetting any details.

His hands also strolled over Ginny, soon reaching for her back and lifting her off the mattress so that he could properly open her bra, causing chills that she never thought to feel. It was different from the times he took her bra off just in moments of making out, it seemed much hotter now, almost feverish, even though it was cold outside.

Ginny's whole body seemed to be on fire, as if summer had come earlier and she was resting under the sun, feeling her skin warm and starting to get that usual red hue. But this time, it didn't burn and made her want to die because of the discomfort. No, this time Ginny was willing to burn. It was one of the best feelings.

Gradually Harry's hand went down her belly, his mouth going down to her now naked breasts, and everything working in a synchronized order that was delicious to feel. Her organs tightened when he finally reached below her navel, on top of the tissue that was starting to become too uncomfortable.

They had never been in that state of nudity, usually pants, a skirt, or even a T-shirt, were on the body, and even though Ginny was feeling insecure because they were so on display for Harry before, now she just wanted nothing more to be among them, that Harry's hand could actually touch her flesh, that he didn't wear anything else too.

‘’Harry.’’ Ginny spoke, the feeling of pleasure building with each second. He had really learned to use his mouth - not his teeth, as he used to do at the beginning.

She squeezed his hand with her own, lifting it up to put it inside her panties, which made him laugh; ‘’You’re in a hurry.’’

‘’Just… hurry up.’’

Harry fulfilled her wish, not only using his hand but also finally getting his face between Ginny's legs. Taking off her panties and looking at that synchronicity they had learned together that made her know heaven and hell in a short time.

It was a little devastating that Harry was so good, and that it made Ginny feel so good when he was there, making her more and more noisy and more and more anxious for reach the peak of the mountain where everything seemed too good, and nothing could stop her from just throwing herself up there, feeling the most powerful person in the world.

Harry groaned along with Ginny when she came, her hands caught in his hair, she was barely able to keep her eyes open as she arched and received a good deal of sunlight from the window behind her, that fireball that had formed in her belly seeming to explode.

It was almost painful, it felt so good.

The next few seconds were followed by a rush and anxiety that Ginny was unaware of. In one moment Harry was in the middle of her legs, in another, he was on top of her naked, moaning her name when her hand snaked over her abdomen and reached for his dick.

It was a perfect dance. Desperate. But still, Ginny enjoyed it.

‘’I want it to be good for you.’’ He murmured against her neck, groaning as Ginny tormented him a little.

‘’Harry, you’re already done.’’ She admitted, sincerely.

‘’I… I don’t know if I can take much.’’

''And I'm not really mad about it ...'' Ginny used her other hand to lift his face, to feel a little breathless at how dark his eyes were, his huge pupils looking like holes in the orbs green. ‘’We have all the time in the world. It's only the first time.’’ She shrugged, stopping masturbating so that it really made him concentrate. ''I love you.''

‘’I love you too.’’ Harry kissed her, in love and making her melt on top of the sheets, still getting used to the orgasm that had totally relaxed her. ‘’Please tell me if you want to stop or if hurt.’’ His voice came out a little hoarse, muffled by the fact that they were still kissing.

When Ginny first felt him there, it was unlike anything she had ever felt. It was strange, different, and kind of uncomfortable. But it was still good. Each time he went in it was as if her body expanded and prepared for the act. It was as if all of her had been waiting for years for that sensation that she couldn't describe what it was.

‘’No,’’ She grabbed Harry’s shoulder when he threatened to take it off, perhaps afraid that her contraction would mean something other than just that she was getting used to it. ‘’It's okay, put it back.’’

It was a dance that Harry and she seemed to be unable to dance to, but the music was not entirely unknown. They knew the melody, now they just had to align the steps.

Ginny waited patiently for the pain Fleur had said she could feel, just like Hermione commented, but all she felt was a slight discomfort - like that when you first get on a broom and don't know what to do with your hands and hands. feet - and then, nothing more, just that expansion that was almost good to feel.

When Harry finally found his pelvis with hers, the birdsong seemed to fill the room, along with the sounds they made as they settled. It was as if they understood what to do with their hands when it came to music, and now they could start waltzing without getting so lost.

‘’Everything okay?’’ He asked, his voice in a tone Ginny had never heard before, looking almost filled with pain and lust just as much.

''Yes. You?’’ They stared at each other, breathing what seemed to be all the air in the room. Or the world.

''Everything's good.''

‘’Are you… are you going to move?’’ Ginny didn’t want to rush him, but the melody seemed to start to speed up in her ears and her body was wishing they didn’t stand still as they were.

‘’Just… I just need a second.’’ Harry closed his eyes, hands steady beside Gin, supporting his weight and seeming to tremble slightly, as if it were too much for him. She was happy to know that it was also messing with him.

Ginny felt strangely good when Harry finally moved, it was still weird - very weird - but he seemed to be doing things for her that she wouldn't know how to explain, even if she thought hard (which she couldn't do). It seemed to mess with all of her inside, as if from one hour to the next, the music changed and took on a rhythm so different and new that you stand between paying attention to learn to sing the lyrics, and dancing awkwardly just following intuition.

It was as if all parts of it, the room, the world, moved out of place and were rearranged differently.

‘‘Sorry.’’ Harry startled her when his glasses fell on her face, his cheeks flushed and sweat was pricking his forehead, looking more focused than she had ever seen.

‘’Let it go.’’ She left his glasses anywhere else, her hands holding Harry’s face as if Ginny never really realized how committed he was to making it good. All focused and anxious, as if he was afraid he might hurt her. ‘’Babe,’’ Gin whispered, as if sharing a secret. ‘‘Let go.’’ She knew it would be difficult for Harry to hold on until they understood how to dance that song the right way. They took many attempts to learn how to use their mouth and hands, but, one hour they learned, at least Harry never complained and she never did.

They had all the time in the world.

The birds sang louder, just as the bed creaked when Harry moved again, kissing her and losing some of the balance he kept in his arms, seeming to finally free himself from the desire to reach perfection when they were just starting.

Harry said her name in a way that would torment Ginny for the rest of her life, she knew that, tightening the sheets even more at the side of her head and biting her bottom lip as it curled over her. The world seemed to stop spinning, the sky let all the stars fall, and everything inside her seemed to change.

She could never forget that.

That’s why they didn’t write it in the books, so there was no data, articles, and difficult names for that; it simply was. It just happened and changed the order of everything. There was no way to explain an event like that.

Harry moaning her name and losing all of his remaining strength, falling on top of her and looking almost shaky, grabbing her like she was the only thing that still kept him on Earth.

It was much more than Fleur, and especially Hermione, they could report.

Ginny wanted to cry, even though it was completely stupid and meaningless, she wanted to cry.

‘’I love you.’’ She said, the birds singing and the sunlight illuminating the two even more now.

Harry continued to hug her, also looking shaken.

‘’Sorry I didn’t make you come, I swear I tried and--’’

‘’--Harry,’’ Ginny interrupted, not knowing how he had the courage to apologize. ‘’Don’t say that. I liked it, I swear.’’ She assured him, feeling his body relax over hers. ‘’We still have a lot of time to learn.’’

‘‘We have.’’ He kissed her shoulder. '’Merry Christmas, Gin. You make me the happiest man in the world.’’

‘’Are you saying that because we just had sex?’’ Harry laughed, looking at her and smiling from ear to ear, even though he looked sleepy.

‘’I’m saying this because it’s the truth. You made me the happiest man in the world yesterday too, and we don't have sex... You always do.'' Ginny blushed, laughing softly and feeling that tightness in her stomach that she always felt when he said things like that to her.

‘’You also make me the happiest woman in the world, Harry.’’ She winked at him, kissing the tip of a finger and touching the tip of his nose. ''Merry Christmas.''

[forthegodsandtheghosts]

The Four Times Virgil Was Sleepy Around The Other Sides and The One Time He Fell Asleep

Link to AO3 version

Post the inspired the concept

Post that helped me with scene 4

Virgil doesn't have a good sleep schedule. That fact absolutely affects him in his everyday life. Just a bunch of Virgil being sleepy and defensive about it.

This is honestly just very self-indulgent because I just absolutely love Virgil Sanders and can't exist without thinking about the Sides for five seconds

It had been a long… day? Week? Month? Interval of time. I had been a long interval of time for the resident mindscape emo who just couldn’t seem to catch a break.

Letting out a long, drawn-out groan of agony, Virgil flopped down onto the couch, fully planning on just being a general nuisance by hogging it. Though, as soon as he stilled, hands resting on his stomach, he noticed just how good laying down felt. Arching his back off the couch, he heard those satisfying clicks before dropping back down with a sigh.

He could almost sleep here. There wasn’t exactly anything stopping him. The other Sides are off doing their own thing and Thomas probably wouldn’t miss a wanna-be vampire hollering in his ears. Besides, he needed the rest. So, slowly he allows his muscles to relax further as his eyes slide shut.

Then he hears footsteps.

Virgil shoots upright, scooting to lean on the arm of the couch his head was previously next to, trying to look natural. His gaze goes to the doorway just as Patton enters the room.

He startles when he notices Virgil’s presence, legs sprawled out, still taking up the couch. “Anxiety! Hi, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Patton’s shocked expression quickly changes to show his typical cheerful smile, confusion about Virgil being there present none the less.

“I could say the same, but we live in the same mindscape and are bound to see each other most of the time, so I can’t.” Virgil’s sass is prominent no matter how deadpan he sounds and Patton’s smile almost wavers.

“Of course, kiddo! I didn’t mean anything bad by you being here, just got a bit surprised. Well I’ve got something to do, I’ll see you around, Anxiety!” he called as he went back down the hall he just entered from.

--

It was about a week later; Virgil had managed to get one (1) almost full night of sleep – he got maybe two hours – and was once again extremely tired and considering just saying fuck it and going back to bed for the rest of forever. So how exactly did he end up dragged into a movie night with the rest of the Sides? Pure dumb lack of luck.

He was placed on the couch, sandwiched between Patton and Logan – Patton who just wants to give the newest member of their little group the most love he can and Logan who would probably implode if he had to sit on the ground – Roman sitting at Patton’s feet on the bean bag he dragged over. Virgil could already feel himself fading, with the lights off and all the warmth and the shockingly comfortable surface that is Patton’s chest he was being pulled into. Honestly, it’s as if the guy was made to be as huggable as possible.

Virgil soon reached the point of having to force his eyes to stay open barely halfway through the first movie. He couldn’t fall asleep. He’s tough and dangerous and they can’t know he sleeps and becomes defenseless sometimes, it’s far too dangerous. Who knows what could happen to him, what they could do–

His own internal ramblings were cut of as he let out a wide yawn, half burying his face into Patton’s chest. Patton released a small sound that definitely caught the other two’s attention if the yawn didn’t. “Are you tired, kiddo?” Patton quietly asked, hand soothing through Virgil’s hair.

Virgil quickly pushed himself off Patton’s chest. “No. I’m just getting bored of sitting here, watching a bunch of singing animals.” He stood from the couch and made his way quickly to the doorway, ignoring the disappointed expression on Patton’s face and relishing in Roman’s offended one. “See you tomorrow maybe.” Then he disappears up the stairs.

--

It’s a quiet day. Not the odd kind of quiet.

Rather, the kind of quiet that is achieved when everyone is relaxing in the common room doing their own thing. It’s not as if a vacuum sealed chamber, there’s still the sounds of Logan flipping pages in his book, of Roman’s pencil scribbling away in his notebook, and of whatever show Patton decided to watch. A good quiet that everyone could enjoy. Everyone that was fully awake that is.

Virgil sits on the couch, between Logan on the armchair and Roman on the middle cushion, staring blankly at his phone's home screen. He considered finding another app to entertain himself on but as soon as he hit the home button the fatigue of a poor sleep schedule hit like a bus. At this point, he might as well be sleeping with his eyes open due to his complete lack of responsiveness to anything around him.

Logan glances at the seemingly spacing Side. Eyelids slightly drooping, the lack of spare eyeshadow particles to suggest usage of makeup – which was concerning on it’s own as it almost looks like he is wearing makeup, the heavy lean on the armrest. Anxiety is not doing okay is the conclusion he comes to.

As most should know, Logan is not one to sugar coat or delay, so it’s easy for him to decide to get the current predicament dealt with as soon as possible. “Anxiety,” he starts, closing his book and causing everyone’s attention to move to him, including, just barely, Virgil’s, “from what I have observed, you seem tired. Have you been having issues sleeping?” Right to the point.

Everyone’s attention is now on Virgil, even as he still seems to be processing what Logan said, a confused expression on his face and half-asleep glaze to his eyes. “Wha’?” He says after a few more moments, blinking dazedly at Logan.

“Alright, that is everything I need to know.” Logan stands and moves towards the closet they keep spare blankets and pillows, A.K.A the Pillow Fort Closet™. He pulls out a soft blanket and pillow and carries them back into the common room, setting them down on the armchair. He quickly shoos Roman and Patton off the couch while Virgil watches, barely processing anything. “Anxiety, can you lay down for me?”

Virgil barely registers when he complies, lifting his head when he’s told to as Logan slips the pillow under it and drapes the blanket over the rest of him. It’s only after Logan sits back down that Virgil realizes what just happened and is sitting, standing, and sinking out in quick succession.

--

Months later, a few days after Virgil revealed his name and everyone got a dandy style change, things had returned to relative normativity except Virgil was marginally more included in many things the other Sides choose to do than before.

It’s currently night, a particular night in which Roman has been up even into the morning so late he decides there’s no point in sleeping. Roman decides to head downstairs and get a cup of coffee with the promise he’ll actually sleep tomorrow. What he finds isn’t not normal, but definitely not expected.

When he rounds the doorway into the kitchen, he catches sight of a large mass around counter level. He’s immediately flicks on the light, earning a startled hiss from the mass, now revealed to be Virgil sitting in the sink, the Side seemingly just woken up by Roman’s entrance.

“Virgil?” Roman asks. “What are you doing in the sink?”

“Sleeping. What are you doing up?” He rubs harshly at his eyes with a wide yawn.

“I got… busy and came to get some coffee. Why are you sleeping in the sink?”

Virgil only responds with a shrug, slumping further into the sink though his gaze doesn’t leave Roman.

Roman only nods and gets to work on making his coffee. “Well, it’s not my back that’s gonna feel like a dragon hit me with a tail whip later.”

“Whatever.” Virgil, still annoyed and tired from being so abruptly woken, continues to watch Roman with a slightly dazed stare until he finally leaves the room, turning the lights off as he went.

As soon as he's gone up the stairs, Virgil falls right back to sleep.

--

It was yet another, apparently mandatory now, movie night, and Virgil isn’t complaining. He is, once again, being cuddled by Patton and is happy to cuddle back with the easy bribe of hair petting being offered. Logan sits on his other side holding one of his hands as it had soon after his acceptance been revealed that Logan was actually very lenient about – if not openly welcoming – of physical contact. Roman sitting at their feet as per usual in regard to movie nights.

Virgil’s relationship with the other Sides had quickly developed into one of relative familial comfort.

Leading to a very similar predicament to earlier that year.

Sitting for more than an hour in a dark room, surrounded by warm bodies, with plenty of comfortable pillows and blankets surrounding them – a requirement set by Roman and Patton – the perfect movie night and napping environment. So, it’s simple to say that, while Virgil had been getting better sleep as of late, he is pretty sleepy.

There is one difference though. Instead of running out of the room the second his eyes start closing, he relaxes more against Patton’s chest. With a sigh he tries to bury his face further into the body, causing Patton to let out a low, small laugh.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. You’re safe.” He whispers to Virgil.

Virgil hums in contentedness as Logan slowly rubs the back of his hand and Roman wordlessly lowers the volume of the movie. As he slowly drifts into sleep, he can’t help but think one final conscious thought.

Man, I love my family.

------

@sleepyvirgilprompts

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter One (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: For the 75th Hunger Games, tributes will be chosen from each district's living victors.

Denali and Rosé, two women with a shared past, are the only living victors for District 12. They’ll grow a lot closer than they planned in their effort to survive.

A/N: Bringing my love of fantasy AUs to Rosnali! It's been a while since I've done a multi-chap, but I'm excited for this one! You can probably read this without knowing the books/movies, but it's helpful if you look up the basics if you're confused. There will be blood, violence, and injury throughout, but nothing more graphic than the books/movies.

Thank you so, so much to Writ for supporting this idea and helping me with it, and FaceTiming me to scream with your reaction. I love you <3

I really hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you like!

Read on AO3.

The blood is everywhere.

It stains the grass, trickles down Rosé’s pants, burns in her nose. It’s sticky on the side of her face. It pours from the fresh gash across her shoulder. It’s caked under her nails. It soaks the bodies on the ground.

The bodies.

One is still clinging to life, wheezing through the hole in his chest.

Rosé made that hole.

Rosé waits, not releasing her blood-soaked grip on her blood-soaked sword, until he gives one last wheeze and the cannon goes off, announcing her as winner of the 59th Hunger Games--

“Rosie, wake up. You’re having a nightmare again.”

Rosé shoots upright in bed, soaked with new sweat and old blood.

“It’s just us here. You’re safe.”

It’s her sisters in front of her, just her sisters. No bodies. No blood. No sword in her clenched fist. She sucks in a deep breath as her sisters watch in worry.

Rosé’s the only one who officially lives in the Victor’s Village house, but more often than not, Jan or Lagoona or both will come over for dinner and occasionally stay the night with her. She knows it’s mostly because they love her and want to, but it’s partly so they can make sure she eats and sleeps. She was the one who taught them to braid hair and jump rope, who used to check for monsters under their beds, and now they have to watch her eat and put her to bed and tug her out of nightmares. But Rosé doesn’t even care, because she loves her sisters more than anything and it feels so normal to have them around. She’s able to laugh and smile and forget, and she just pretends not to see the concerned looks her sisters exchange on her behalf.

They both stayed tonight, because they know what tomorrow is.

Rosé nods as she comes back to herself, holding back the apology on her lips because she knows they’ll just brush it off.

“Are you okay to go back to sleep?” Jan asks.

Rosé shrugs. If she looks at her hands too long, blood stains appear, but that’s not something she wants to worry them about. She hates still having the dreams, clear as if they happened an hour ago, not sixteen years ago. Plus it’s almost four, and she needs to be up in a few hours anyway--

“Let’s make cookies,” Lagoona says, coming to the same conclusion.

It’s what they did as kids, helping their parents with the bakery after school and on weekends. They’d line up at the counter, and Rosé would cream the butter and sugar, Lagoona would add the rest of the ingredients, and Jan would scoop the dough on the baking trays. Their mom always says there’s nothing a cookie can’t solve, and maybe that’s true of failed tests and middle school heartaches.

It’s a little harder when you had to kill people to stay alive.

Rosé tries, goes through the motions with her sisters, grateful that she has them. Wishing she could be better for them. She tries to hold herself together with sugar and butter, erase the blood on her hands by replacing it with melted chocolate. She’s calmer by the end at least, the tightness in her jaw loosened.

She notices that the lights are on in the house across the path. There’s only one other occupant in the Victor’s Village, and she’s not sleeping either.

---

Denali has long been awake when Reaping Day comes. She’s always up early to go for her morning run. She doesn’t need to run for her life anymore, but she runs from the memories just the same. It’s a normal thing to do, like when she used to wake up early every morning and hunt, and she likes convincing herself she’s normal.

Normal people don’t sleep with a knife in their hand and a bow at their feet.

Running. Always running.

She wishes she didn’t have to come back from her run today. The reaping starts in a few hours, and she’ll be paraded across the stage, one of two victors for the district. And then she’ll get assigned some poor kids she’s supposed to mentor, and no matter what tips she gives, what favors she tries to get from rich sponsors, it won’t be enough. Those kids will never come home. Not like Denali did.

Her right knee is screaming when she stumbles in the door. She’s gone too far on it today. It had been mangled in the final fight in her Games--dislocated, muscles torn, bones shattered. The doctors fixed it up enough for her to walk painlessly, but her punishing runs are sometimes too much for it.

She makes breakfast but can’t bring herself to eat it. She never ate on Reaping Days as a kid, worrying that if the impossible happened and her name got called, she would puke in front of the whole crowd, which in her teenage mind was as bad as getting called. And then she was seventeen and the impossible did happen, and instead of being free from this once she passed eighteen, the Capitol’s rules of her serving as mentor meant she’d never really be free of the Games. Not even winning them had been enough to escape.

Donut yips at the door, and Denali realizes someone’s knocking. She pets her dog--she always wanted one as a kid, and it’s another attempt at normalcy--and opens the door to see Kandy and Kahmora on the other side.

“We’re here to cheer you up before today’s shit show,” Kandy says bluntly.

Denali manages a smile. She doesn’t see her friends very often--they’re busy with work, and her house and whole life are so dull she doesn’t blame them for not wanting to spend time here--but they always make it a point to visit on Reaping Day, and Denali is so used to the loneliness that it’s both nice and strange to have friends over. They’re the sole reason Denali has extra coffee mugs, which collect dust in the cupboard 364 days of the year.

“What do you think Manila will wear this year?” Kahmora asks, her way of avoiding the unavoidable.

Denali wouldn’t mind if she brought up the Games outright. She’s become something of an expert in them, rewatching old footage over and over, looking to lessen the Games’ power on her, or give her something that would help a tribute. If you know every second of every Games, if you’re prepared for anything, then you can’t get hurt.

“It can’t be worse than that pink coat from last year,” Kandy says.

“At least you’re not dressing her,” Denali says. It’s the first joke she’s made in months, and her laugh sounds hollow. Fake.

But they both laugh, continuing to talk about what Manila will wear to pick tribute names, and Denali can pretend she’s normal, even if normal people don’t have their back to the wall and eye on the door, ready to run if needed.

It’s fine.

She’s fine.

The reaping will be over soon, and in a few weeks, the Games should be over. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll be lucky enough to succeed and bring a kid home this year.

---

The doorbell rings minutes after Jan and Lagoona leave, and Rosé knows the time is officially here.

Denali gets her every year and they walk to the reaping together. It’s nice, not having to do it alone. Almost like having a friend, though Rosé doesn’t actually know what to call their relationship.

Denali was best friends with Jan, and Rosé remembers her climbing trees and making jokes, practically another sister to Jan. Hell, Denali was practically another little sister to Rosé. She could remember helping Jan and Denali with their math homework and teaching them to weave friendship bracelets. Rosé didn’t see her much after she got back from her Victory Tour--but then again, she didn’t see anyone much after that, didn’t really leave her room. And then five years passed and suddenly she had to mentor a seventeen-year-old Denali who was so much stronger and fiercer than the kid Rosé remembered, determined to be the best and win the Games. Rosé knew Denali could win, and did what she could to make it happen, giving tips and begging sponsors, and Denali came home. Their district hasn’t had a winner since.

“At least the weather’s nice,” Denali says as they head into town.

“Yeah.”

The weather. Rosé had helped Denali learn fractions so she didn’t tear her notebook out of frustration, had helped her perfect her grip on a knife, had included notes of encouragement with Denali’s parachutes in the Games, and they’re talking about the weather. It’s like this every year, every time they have to mentor, the bare minimum of small talk and work talk. It’s like their past is so fragile they’re afraid to bring it up, that even the slightest mention of what they share will shatter the glass, and the images of them inside it.

The Games are the biggest thing that unite them, an experience and horror they share. But the topic is an ocean between them, one they hesitate to stick their toe in with each other, one they have their own ways of dealing with. Denali thrashes through the ocean; Rosé sees her go for a run every morning, and then walk her dog later, and then do yoga after that, careful activities that let her stay above the tide, fighting the forces that want to pull her under. Rosé just lets herself drift in the waves while trying to avoid that she’s in the water at all, and hopes she has enough air not to drown when the water swells.

“Your--your hair looks nice,” Rosé says. Whatever pointless things they talk about, she’s always nice to Denali, still has it in her to do that much. And her hair really does look nice, twisting down her back in a long braid.

“Thanks.” Denali’s cheeks flush pink. “Yours does too.”

“Jan did it for me.” She touches her waves self-consciously. It’s been a while since her hair’s been this nice, and she kind of likes it. She’d do it more often, but what’s the point when she sits at home all day?

“She was always good at hair stuff. She used to do all these braids for me at school when we were bored.” Denali stops suddenly, biting her lip like she knows she’s upset the balance, bringing up anything besides the safety of the weather.

“Yeah, well, I taught her how to do them in the first place,” Rosé says lightly, not wanting Denali to worry she’s done something wrong. She hasn’t, really; she hasn’t directly brought up the Games, at least. And it’s not like Rosé has ownership of mentioning Jan, not when she and Denali were so close and still see each other from time to time.

Denali smiles, and they talk about weather for the rest of the walk.

---

The stage is set, the dry grass ready to be trod on by the anxious steps of teenagers. Manila is poised at the microphone, warming up her throat. Her feathery yellow dress is blinding, as is the smile she flashes when Denali and Rosé reach the stage.

“That dress should come with a warning,” Rosé mutters, and Denali snorts. Rosé’s been a little more talkative this morning, even if everything comes out through clenched teeth, and Denali welcomes it.

“Our two lovely victors!” Manila says cheerfully, shaking both their hands.

“The only victors,” Denali says dryly, but Manila still laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“Yes, well, lovely victors just the same. Take a seat. The crowd will arrive soon.” She ushers them into the plain black chairs they sit in year after year, watching terrified kids trickle in.

The twelve-year-olds come first, and they look so young. Denali thinks they look younger every year. They struggle to stay in a straight line, tripping over uneven grass and bumping into each other, the fear radiating off them.

She risks a peek at Rosé. Her fists are clenched so tight her knuckles are white, and she keeps her eyes on the stage floor, like she can’t bear to look at the kids.

Denali remembers being in their shoes, standing on the same grass. Sometimes she remembers her first reaping clearer than the one when she got picked. Everything was a blur after her name got called, and watching the footage of that day is like watching a movie of someone else, because she doesn’t remember walking up to the stage. Doesn’t remember any of it.

But her first reaping exists in perfect clarity.

Denali holds her breath as Manila reads the slip of paper clutched in her neon orange nails. She’s only feet away from the stage, and it feels like Manila can see through her, like she knows she’s reading Denali’s name and knows exactly where to find her.

But Manila doesn’t read Denali’s name.

She reads her best friend’s name instead.

The whole row of kids gasps, like they can’t believe the reaping came so close to them--came to their very row--but is leaving them untouched. Kids are already giving Jan a wide berth, like they don’t want her bad luck to pass to them. In the back of her mind, Denali wonders if she should worry about that too. But she won’t leave her friend.

Jan is frozen in place at Denali’s side, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Denali doesn’t even think she’s breathing. The purple bow in her hair is crooked, which she would never allow, and Denali knows things are bad.

Denali wants to tell her it’s okay, wants to help her, but how can she? Everyone knows a twelve-year-old tribute is as good as dead, and Denali doesn’t know if she can pretend otherwise.

“Jan…“ Denali tries.

Jan cuts her off with a sudden breath, nodding to herself and preparing to move. But before Jan can take a step, someone sprints to the stage in a blur of red hair.

“I volunteer,” the redhead says breathlessly. “I volunteer as tribute.”

The crowd erupts into whispers, but all Denali hears is Jan scream as she recognizes the volunteer.

Rosé McCorkell. Jan’s older sister.

Jan lurches toward her sister, trembling so hard that Rosé grabs her waist to keep her upright.

“No, no, Rosie, please!” Jan is sobbing, her face a mess of tears, fighting to break her sister’s grip.

“Jan, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Rosé says softly, though Denali can see her legs quiver for a second. “I’ll come home, I promise. I love you.” Rosé rubs Jan’s back, soothing her as she cries, and though it almost feels too personal for Denali to witness this, she can’t look away from the firm set of Rosé’s jaw, the determination on her face.

Rosé fixes the bow in Jan’s hair, kisses the top of her head, and walks up to the stage.

Manila’s voice, unchanged even after all these years, pulls her into the present.

“Now since this is the Quarter Quell,” Manila begins, “things will be a little different this year.”

Something tugs in Denali’s stomach, her heart picking up speed, all her senses on high alert. The Quarter Quell is always something different; maybe double the tributes, or half of them. But the uncertainty is bad enough, straying from the careful routine Denali expected. Something’s not right; her body senses danger. But her body is always sensing danger. Maybe she’s just being paranoid.

“To honor the Games’ history and glory, this year’s tributes will be chosen from each district’s living victors.”

Rosé’s sharp intake of breath tells Denali she’s figured it out. When Denali realizes, she doesn’t breathe. She doesn’t move. She’s seventeen again, hearing her name at the reaping, the words repeating over and over as she walked numbly to the stage.

Two tributes for each district.

Two tributes from each district’s living victors.

Their district only has two living victors.

For all the rewatching Denali’s done, all the times tracing every twist and turn of the Games, she never prepared for this. Already, her legs are burning with the urge to run like she did in the arena, running from the enemy with a constant look over her shoulder. She can’t run from this. She couldn’t as a teenager and she can’t now, when the Capitol could kill her for it.

Though she might not survive anyway.

It’s too much for her mind to process. The world becomes a formless blob and all she can hear is her heart pounding in her ears. Pounding not only in fear, but anger, anger for her and all the victors. Anger at a system that praised them for winning and said they’d have peace afterward, but never really let them be free from the Games. They did their time. They survived the Games, emerging covered in blood and sweat and tears, scars on their bodies and in their minds. Reliving the Games through mentorship each year is bad enough. How could anyone make them do this again?

Manila is handed the huge glass bowl she always uses, but instead of a mountain of slips, only two pieces of paper lie at the bottom. There’s no escape.

“Our first tribute--”

“What’s the damn point?” Rosé asks, rising from her chair, and honestly, Denali doesn’t know how she’s standing. Rosé’s face is pure white, and she quickly hides her shaking hands behind her back. She has the same look in her eyes as when she volunteered for Jan: the look of an animal who sees the hunter and knows the arrow is coming, but stands their ground anyway, brave and defiant to the end. “It can only be us.”

Manila takes a flustered breath, cheeks flushed even through her thick makeup. “Well, tradition and all--”

Denali rises too, locking her wobbly knees. “Fuck that. Rosé’s right. No sense drawing this out.” Her mom always made her drink cough syrup in one bitter swallow as a kid, and Denali would rather get the misery over with.

Rosé gives a nod of approval, and Denali blushes. Part of her still sees Rosé as Jan’s older sister, as her mentor, someone Denali desperately wanted approval from. But approval or not, she agrees with what Rosé’s doing--taking some power from the Capitol, defying the rules and going into this with their anger known, instead of sitting by and letting a piece of paper and fanfare dictate it for them. If they have to do this again, they’re doing it their way.

Manila clears her throat and takes the microphone again, instantly silencing the crowd. “Well, then. I present your District 12 tributes for the 75th Hunger Games--Rosé McCorkell and Denali Foxx. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The words wash over her as they did eleven years ago.

Denali’s going back into the arena, and Rosé--her old mentor, her old friend--is coming with her.

[the-nado-hunter]

So i just finished watching infinity train book 3, and god damn i’m thinking a lot about all the characters with trauma in animation and whether they get a redemption arch or not.

So when should a character get a redemption arch? When should they not?

I wound up thinking about some of the paralells between simon and catra, both of them have similar bouts grasping for power and control, both of them do some really bad things, and both of them blame someone else for “making” them do bad things.

So what’s the difference? Why did Catra end up redeemed and Simon died in probably one of the most horrific ways I’ve ever seen in modern western animation that’s generally aired with a familly audience in mind (save for maybe the hanging scene in Tarzan)? What’s the difference between the two?

I think for one Catra was actually manipulated, and Simon only thought he was being manipulated. Simon was convinced anything that didn’t align with what he thought had to be a lie. He was abandoned, even if on accident, that’s hard for a kid in a scary place to go through, and he latched on to Grace early on but he retained trust issues after that.

Catra was abused and manipulated by shadow weaver who had pit her against adora since they were children and never ever given the attention and love she needed as a child. She learned that climbing for power in the hoard was the only way to not be hurt. In her mind, everything would be fine if she could gain control.

Simon also felt that control was the best way to cope. Being a part of the Apex as a leader by Grace’s side meant he felt fulfilled and never had to deal with either the consequences of their actions due to the apex members convincing themselves that non-passengers were all liers/manipulaters, so it made it easy to harm and destroy them because they convinced themselves they didn’t need to feel empathy for them because they were “nothing”. Even if people like Lake, Hazel, Tuba, Samantha the Cat, and Atticus have all shown us to this point that they certainly do have feelings and act in self preservation as well as feel loss on a deep level. Its actualy being around and getting to know Hazel due to mistaking her for a passenger that lets Grace begin to see that... but Simon resents Hazel from beginning to end, wheels Tuba and feels no regret for it, even before knowing she wasn’t a passenger he didn’t treat Hazel with any empathy despite Grace begging him to “think of how you felt when you lost your friend when you were her age”, and treated Hazel as a means to an end at best. Because Hazel upset the status quo he felt initially, his control was slipping, he couldn’t tell everything that was going on with Grace all the time, and he reacted violently.

Then in She-Ra... eventually Catra listened, she felt guilt, she was open to being wrong, while she had her moment of anger of being treated unfairly and tried to blame adora for all her problems despite adora offering to help and let Catra come with her numerous times... she realized she needed to change, she realized she needed to work through things, and realized that if she wanted adora to stay in her life, she had to show Adora she cared and stop pushing her and everyone else away out of fear.

Simon on the other hand... never questioned himself. Even when repeatedly hurting and trying to kill someone he supposedly loved. When he hurt Grace he didn’t feel remorse, he felt there was something wrong with her for feeling hurt. When Grace didn’t act or say the things he wanted, he got angry and violent. He invaded her memories and her mind and forced her to relive trauma- giving the excuse that if she hadn’t lied to him, this wouldn’t have happened. This a tactic a lot of abusers use, they blame the victim for making them act that way. Its a way of control by trying to tell the victim “if you do what I say, you won’t get hurt” Sure, when he shoved Grace off the train and thought she had died, maybe somewhere deep down there was a thought of “oh god what have I done” but he still reacted violently. His trauma consumed him, because he didn’t want to change, he was unable to see anything wrong with what he was doing because he was right. I’d theorize that even in that moment where his expression shifted then shifted back, even then he was justifying in his own mind that it was necessary, that Grace made him do that.

The train couldn’t help someone who can’t change. Its tragic, because when we see a character like that on screen and watch him through the lighter moments in the show you... hope that he’ll be redeemed... right? Have a change of heart? But he didn’t. If he had any remorse at all, it was too little too late. That is a real thing that happens, you hope that people will change, get help, turn around and redeem themselves... but sometimes... that doesn’t happen. And it’s not on the people around that person to “fix” them, its not their responsibility to feel guilty for not “doing enough” or “doing the right things” when that person refuses to do anything differently and continues to harm people and act in violence. That’s full on victim blaming, and no one ever deserves that.

Even when Catra is in full villain mode, as Double Trouble pointed out you can tell her heart isn’t in it. What she did to Entrapta in a moment of panic haunted her, loosing Scorpia was a wake up call of how she pushes people away. She came to the conclusion that she wasn’t right, then in the last season she stopped blaming everyone else, she stopped blaming adora, she and adora both stood up to shadow weaver for constantly trying to tear them apart and torturing Catra to try and make Adora do what she wanted.

Catra... broke out of it. When she saw Adora and how angry she was after Catra opened the portal, when Double Trouble gave her a reality check, and I’d argue especially after she was rescued from Horde Prime and Adora, incredibly hurt said “you don’t have to see me anymore” fully realized she has to figure out how to stop pushing others away, because she doesn’t like that she’s hurt her friends, and she accepts responsibility and tries to help. She’s not going to be perfect, we still see that she lashes out and pushes people away here and there even after being saved from horde prime, but the difference is she wants to change, she wants to do good, she not only wants adora in her life, but wants adora to be happy, and it infuriates her when Adora feels like she has to sacrifice herself for everyone else.

Simon didn’t stop when he saw Grace was hurt, crying, scared of him, growing away from him, and instead of feeling sympathy, sitting down and talking to her not going “what’s wrong with you??”. When grace realizes Simon is hurt when in the cabin with Samantha, she immediately goes after him and says “this must be hard for you, i’m sorry I didn’t see it... this is why I’ve been distracted.” But even then, Simon still seems to take Grace’s problem as a threat, something that needs to be fixed so things can go back to “normal” I.E. when he felt in control. Grace herself pointed out he was making everything about him. Because at all points when he sees her upset, he blames her, tells her she’s been brainwashed, that she’s not acting “normal”. He blames her every step of the way then plays victim. By the end he’s become an abuser through and through, the whole time blaming everyone else for his own actions. He invaded Grace’s mind, forced her to relive her most traumatic memories to trap her in her own mind, then tried to kill her right after she saved him.

I think that’s the difference between the two. One wanted to change and recognized their actions hurt people and felt guilt for it... anything Catra did is a byproduct of what the Horde raised her to be, for anyone that was found as a child by the hoard and manipulated and played against Adora by Shadow Weaver. She was trained to be a soldier, and told she would suffer if Adora fell out of the Hoard’s control. When she has her breakdown when she’s supposedly at the top of her game, its because she deep down doesn’t want to do this, she’s climbed her way to the top hoping that she’ll stop feeling and be “happy”, but she’s got to the top, and lost everything that she really cared about, and it gets to her.

The other insisted they were right and if someone was hurt by him they made him do it right up until the end. He became the leader of the Apex, his whole body covered in numbers, more than anyone - but as long as Grace was around to question him, his control wouldn’t be absolute. There’s still a certain amount of doubt to be eliminated.

And that’s why one got a redemption arch and was given the chance to change... and one was completely destroyed by their own actions. Catra (and also Glimmer honestly) shows how you can come out of trauma on the other side and begin to heal while still acknowledging that your trauma doesn’t justify your actions when they hurt people, but you can take steps and accept help that make it so your not having to face it all alone.

Simon is a cautionary tale about how when trauma goes un-dealt with, when don’t want to change, accept help, or even consider any other view point , and don’t take accountability for the damage you inflict on others, it consumes you and inevitably destroys you. And eventually the trauma he inflicted on everyone else came back to bite him.

Last thing I’ll say is fucking good for Grace for telling him to his face she’s not responsible for him and his actions, and no longer taking all the blame he was throwing at her for daring to have empathy, be kind, and want things to be different.

Those are my thoughts at least. I’m so glad these shows are taking a serious hard look at these topics, and now we can say we have shows that cover these topics in an adult way and don’t sugar coat it. Simon is a well written character, because it shows how someone can become abusive and violent resulting from trauma... but unlike a lot of movies about serial killers and whatnot, it doesn’t for a moment try to say he’s justified in anything he does. We feel the very real emotions from Grace coming to terms with changing her own views and also the horror and hard emotions that come from this guy that was her closest friend turning on her and hurting her like this. Those are some really... really complicated emotions to go through in a short animated show, but god damn... they did it

[ceo-of-choco-bibi]

HCLW 107 SPOILERS

I've actually been so upset over the past few days because of the new chapters... nothing to worry about though it's not too serious.

I am making content, in terms of fics I got one more oneshot to add to my current chocotemp collection, a HnK au, and a new series of oneshots, more precisely about how I feel GRG would respond to the current event in the real world. In terms of art I have a few sketch graphs and one piece planned, but it might take a while to churn out.

(Check out my ao3 for my fics! https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811194)

For now I just really want to talk about them because they make me so sad and happy at the same time. Enjoy my rambling.

Giga 13th squad! They're all so cool, Giga's squad are really just Squad 1 Legendary characters team, the other fillers and Squad 13th. I immediately fall for any teleportation-related character, so Veganic is like (chef's kiss)! He is adorable I want to pick him up and put him in my fancy coat pocket.

MASTER SWORDSMAN ALWAYS GETS THE COOLEST PANELS! AS HE SHOULD! HE SLAYS ALL THE TIME UGH I

I hate the word goated but he really is he's the coolest and I hope he knows it! I feel embarrassed for talking to a fictional character but I wish he knows how much I love and cherish him

"There are times in life when you lose. If you're bound to lose, then just do the best you can! Then there will be a next time." I'm so devastated. How could you leave like this. How could you leave so happy when I'm dying over here.

"Give it to Choco Bibi and tell him it's my gift to congratulate him for becoming the second guild master of Grass Roots."

"How about we fight with our swords? It's been a while!"

"There should be a home for him to return to after he's done wandering. I'm going to start a new guild."

You don't understand. I don't have words for how painful this is. Just revel in the pain with me.

And here comes the backstory fluff (aka a sweetener to make the angst more bitter)

"How about we dance to draw attention?" "I think that'll make things worse." HELP ME

I CAN'T BELIEVE BIBI CANONICALLY HAS PRETTY BOY PRIVILEGE!!!! AS HE SHOULD???????

I'm actually never going to shut up about how Bibi never blushes in the presence of women. Like never. MSM and Drip Soup are always blushing when there's pretty women around but really Bibi has never shown attraction. When Pooh Upooh was naked? No. When Coco first entered the guild? No. Here, where a girl literally says she wants to go on a date with him? NO. This is actually my queer agenda, me and Sehun Kim had a talk and we agreed on making Bibi queer coded.

I would have never guessed that Drip Soup and Tempest were both affiliated with Giga for a short while? Guess I manifested my Giga!GRG but in a different way

I've never let go of the headcanon that Bibi is fucking terrible with feelings and is always angry, this just solidifies it more (really, every interaction Bibi has is just solidifying the theory that he's emotionally constipated)

I've also got the feeling that Bibi's super prideful in the sense that he would rather not express weakness (cry, express pain) in front of others (seen when he gets beaten by NM!Bibi the first time on) and that he channels everything into spite and anger instead. I kind of want to see this when he realises MSM is gone later on also. I want to see him get irrationally mad and blame someone (HCLW) before realising (or realising but still feeling lost and like he has to target someone) MSM wouldn't have wanted this. Armes wouldn't have wanted this. His friends are the only ones left.

It really comforts me to see that Master Swordsman is happy with his life right now. I'm kind of stuck between "oh he's happy because he's well off from the game, his work doesn't count" and "anything that you're happy with in life is worth it. You don't need an office job to be happy" though, but for real. I've never wanted a regular office job and I'd rather just do something simple and get by since nothing matters in the long run when I die. But at the same time, I feel like I can only say this because of how privileged I am to be me. It's hard being alive, sometimes. I'll pull through.

Tempest appearance! This time it solidifies my idea that Tempest finds his friends to be more important than himself, at least at this point of time. I expand a lot more in my new fic and I've written a bunch there already, so I'll save it for then (haha, shameless plug)

It's so bloody funny that they're all from the same school and that they're meeting up for a battle. What are you, YouTubers with beef?

TEMPEST BEING A GOODY TWO SHOES NERD? HIS HAIR IS KIND OF FLUFFY? (I die.) TEMPEST AND BIBI IRL INTERACTION? THEY KNOW EACH OTHER IRL BEFOREHAND? (I die again.) BIBI EATING POPCORN? (I die once more.)

Anyways Bibi with a sugar addiction I really do not need to elaborate on this.

They are such LOSERS who does irl fights I swear to god yall EMBARRASSING /lh

I MANIFESTED HEAVY ALCOHOL TOLERANCE BIBI YOU HAVE ME TO THANK FOR THIS!!!!!!! I REALLY DID!!!!!!!! (My linked headcanon was that Bibi's the group protector when they're out drinking. It's sort of true.)

I can't do this. This is a lot for my heart. To whoever looks at this, why? But also thank you for being here it means a lot to me.

MSM RICH

Bibi gets couch rights as he should! Also Bibi and Tempest airpod users while MSM and Soup earphone users?

Glasses and WFL came from nowhere but alright I still love them

The gifts thing. The gifts thing. I am so upset it's unbelievable.

The hat... the hat was given to Bibi by MSM... I want to see him have a breakdown now. I want to see him wear the hat forever on after this arc because it's something solid he has left. He's an art major irl, I want to see him recreate the hat or make art related to MSM.

"You might be grumpy on the outside, but I know you always think dear of me. I'm glad you don't know what I'm doing right now. If you did, you would've stopped me by any means."

It hurts so much.

"Life doesn't always go your way. And sometimes... you just want to run away from the life that turned out so differently. Some people say, the place you run off to is no paradise. They may be right, but those who ran away can still comfort each other there."

GRG IS LITERALLY FOUND FAMILY! THEY ARE LITERALLY-

I cannot do this anymore it's horrible my heart is shattering into a million pieces

"How did we end up like this? You went through enough to deserve a little happiness. Hardcore. Go back to your friends!"

He does deserve it. You deserve it. I hate this. Thank you. Sorry.

And Bibi still doesn't know. He'll be the last to know. "Did he go knowing I loved him? What were his last words? How do I go on? What do I do from now?"

I do want to see them reunite and remember. I do want to see them waddle in their hurt and pain, to heal together, to move on as a guild knowing this is what MSM would have wanted. It's so fascinating seeing someone grow and oh how much have the Grass Roots grown in the past 3 years. They've been close to my heart since forever and I really love them so much.

Final conclusion: I hope you've hurt as much as I do. I hope reading this has shown you something from my perspective that has made you hurt a little more. Talk to me and be my friend so we can hurt together.

On a more self note: Like I said, I'm writing stuff. I'm drawing stuff. It sucks to think sometimes that so few people will see it, but I know that I love what I'm doing. I may be prideful and want more people to love me, but I think I'm not selfish for wanting so. Reading this drains me. Reading this fills me with inspiration and joy and happiness and pain and anger and sadness.

I hope you don't find it just plain cringe that my emotions work like this. I hope that you reading this find comfort in knowing someone feels this way too. Thank you.

[writemoment]

Babysit The Babysitter

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: Babysitting was Y/n’s part time job. To her surprise, the school’s prized heart-throb is basically a full time mom.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings/Rated: None

Word Count: 1,833

( Reader ) P.O.V.

Hawkins, Indiana. My newfound home. 

I’ve been here for two months. Two glorious months of blending into the crowds and trying to not become the target of social ridicule. In that aspect, nothing has changed from my former hometown on the southern tip of the state. No matter where you go, peers are jerks.

I clamber into my house, hanging my backpack on the edge of the kitchen chair. “I’ve got you a job.” Mom says while stirring something sizzling on the stove.

My brow raises curiously. “A job? What kind of job?” I linger over to the fridge and open it to browse it’s empty shelves as a distraction. Finding work has been a source of stress for me, especially in a small town like Hawkins where everyone knows everyone. 

Mom smiles reassuringly, setting the food to simmer. She walks over to me, closing the fridge so I will look at her. “It’s a babysitting job for the Wheeler’s. I know how much you like kids, so I thought it was the perfect opportunity! Holly is around four and their son, Mike, is thirteen.”

It’s true, I do love kids... However, thirteen is a difficult age between I-don’t-need-a-babysitter and I-will-set-the-house-on-fire-if-I’m-not-watched. That’s the only thing that gives me a millisecond of hesitation. I smile at my mom, her expression mirroring mine.

“When’s my first shift?”

****

So, Friday after school, I drive over to the Wheeler residence to meet with the parents before they went off to have a ‘date night’. Holly was your typical four year old, playing with her toys on the living room carpet. Mike, on the other hand, was less than thrilled at the thought of my company.

“Mom, I don’t need a babysitter! This is ridiculous!” He cries as Mrs. Wheeler slides in a pair of earrings. “Will, Dustin and Lucas are supposed to be coming over to finish our campaign!”

“And you can finish your game just fine while Y/n is here. Nancy is out with Jonathan and we need someone here to put Holly to bed. I’m sorry, Michael, but you’re just going to have to deal with it.” Mrs. Wheeler finishes as she slips her heel into a pair of pumps.

“Dad, you can’t be serious?” Mike asks incredulously. My presence, standing like a statue in the middle of their house, seemed uncomfortable. I wanted to vanish from the throws of this disagreement between parents and child.

Mr. Wheeler was a very monotone man. Without much of a glance at his son, he said, “Listen to your mother.” He slipped on his coat, patted Michael’s head and followed his wife out with a definitive shut of the door.

Mike groaned loudly and he was obviously aggravated.

I drop my things beside the door and decide to check on Holly while I let Mike simmer down. She smiles at me, not finding me too intrusive, and continues to play with her dollies. Mrs. Wheeler said she ordered pizza and left the money on the counter.

Mike stands in the doorway, eyeing me wearily. “So... what kind of campaign are you having?” I ask, trying to break my way past his defense. He looks unimpressed with my efforts but answers anyway.

“It’s for D&D. I’ve been working on it for weeks and everything has to be perfect-” He’s getting antsy about it and I can tell that he’s afraid it’ll be disappointing.

“Dungeons and Dragons...Got it. It’ll be perfect, I’m sure. How about you go on down and set up? I’ll bring the pizza when it arrives.” Mike furrows his brows at me. “Listen, I get it. You’re too old for a babysitter. I’ll respect that, but you gotta cut me some slack. Deal?”

Something shifts and I can sense that I’ve made quite the impression. “Fine, deal.” He agrees. I sigh in relief and he spares no time in going downstairs to prepare. At least I’ll only have to really focus on Holly until her bedtime.

****

A few hours later, Holly was tucked in and knocked out in slumber. The boys downstairs kept to themselves and didn’t budge character even when I came sloping down the stairs with pizza boxes. Though, they did take the liberty of introducing themselves to me briefly.

Now that I had free time, I ventured back down into their lair with the intention to clean up whatever mess they’ve made during their game. Four boys sat around a fold-up table with junk food wrappers and crushed soda cans littering the area around them. All of them looked very high on sugar.

The bottom step creaked underneath my feet and all of their eyes turned up at me. “Don’t stop on my account! I’m just gonna pick up the trash so your parents don’t kill me.” I say, holding up the trash bin I’ve dragged along with me.

Mike shrugs nonchalantly and continues to describe the scene they all just rolled into. I can feel the hesitation to launch into full-blown roll playing while I’m walking in such near proximity. Hurrying my clean up, I try to make as little noise as possible as I crouch over to scoop the evidence of their escapades from sight. There must have been some sort of acceptance of me since they all begin to scream in horror, roaring with accents and acting out their advancements as they roll their dice.

My lips pull up into a smile at their excitement. All of them are out of their seats, focused on the board in front of them as Dustin rolls for dexterity. I don’t see the number in which it landed but the hollers mixed with ‘yes!’s lead me to believe it was exactly what they needed.

Suddenly, the door behind them slams open and Steve Harrington prances through looking stern. “You guy’s said you would be done at nine! I’ve been waiting outside for thirty minutes you shi-”

His eyes land on me as the boys lower themselves into their seats. I can’t imagine the expression I’m wearing. Shock? Confusion? Interest? Either way, I just saw golden-boy-heart-throb Steve freaking Harrington go into full mom mode.

Dustin speaks up, “I’m sorry, Steve. We didn’t know it would take this long! We are almost finished, if you could just-” His words are cut off by Holly’s voice roaming the living room. She must have been woken up by the commotion.

Looking sheepish, I silently excuse myself, though all eyes watch me ascend, to go take care of the disturbed four year old. Holly looks pitiful with a blanket draped over her shoulder and a pout tugging at her lip.

Picking her up, I stroll back up to her room. Her head flops onto my shoulder, still very exhausted and obviously troubled at being stolen from her precious rest. It takes almost no time to get her to settle back into her mattress with a sigh. My fingers brush her golden strands away from her mouth and I see her become heavy as she goes under. I close the door, only leaving it open a crack, behind me. Hopefully it’ll be enough to buffer out the sound of the boys downstairs.

Assuming the boys would have dispersed after the arrival of Steve, I'm quite surprised to see them all continuing their game as if nothing happened. Even more so when I notice they’ve convinced the brown hair senior to participate.

At the grounds of Hawkins High School, I’ve seen Steve around. Rumor has it that he had changed quite a bit from last year, though it’s inconclusive as to why. Steve was a popular. He had girls chasing after him, he was athletic and fell underneath another high school cliche. That’s all that I knew about him.

Yet, here he stands in front of me. Purple pointed hat and matching robes clothe him as a poor excuse for a wizard. He recites some line Mike had written out for him with thinly veiled irritation, though he does put a bit of effort forward to sound mighty. 

Will and Lucas join up to strike him down, their combined skills making for an epic conclusion to their campaign. Seeming as if Steve almost gets into it, he falls to his knees, hands grasping his chest as he curses them. With a dramatic cough he falls flat on his back, tongue lolling out of the corner of his mouth- dead. 

The boys laugh and I join in, covering my mouth in a weak attempt to hide my amusement. My burst of giggles must contrast very differently because it immediately makes Steve’s eyes open and him hop up, shedding the ridiculous getup. “Nicely done, boys! Mike, your parents should be home soon. Do you need help cleaning up?” I ask.

Lucas waves me off. “Nah, we can put everything away.”

“Thanks.” Will adds.

Together, they start gathering up their things while discussing the events that took place on their way to a victorious game. I’m so focused on the boys that I forget Steve for a moment.

“Hi, I’m Steve. Harrington, that is.” He introduces, holding out his hand for me to take. I accept it, smiling at him. Of course I know who he is, but I won’t point that out. “You’re that new girl that moved here a while back, right?”

Drawing my hand back to my side, I nod. “Yeah, a little over two months ago. I’m Y/n.” Bending at the waist, I gather his wizard robes and playfully extend them toward him. “These are yours, I presume?”

“What? No-no, that-” He stops at my smile, realizing my attempt at banter. “Oh, ha-ha. You try saying no to these kids when they’re hyped up on D&D and sugar!”

I laugh.”I’m sure I’ll have to at some point. That is, if I can keep this as a regular babysitting job.” I toss the robes into a basket setting on the couch. “I assume I’ll be seeing you around here as well. Seems like you’re....” I avoid calling Steve a ‘mom’ to his face, “close with them. I suppose I’ll have to learn from you on how to gain their respect.”

Steve laughs but he doesn’t get a chance to respond. “Stop flirting with the babysitter, Steve. If we’re out late again, we’re toast.” Dustin says, pushing the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. I instantly flush at the words and Steve knocks the kid’s hat down to obstruct his view.

“I’ll see you around, Y/n.” He calls, pushing Will, Dustin and Lucas out the door.

Shaking my head, I sigh lightly. Mike and I are left in the basement, standing in the quiet they left behind. My hand cups the back of my neck in an attempt to cool down the warmed skin there. “Thanks. For tonight, I mean. I guess you aren’t so bad.” Mike says, folding the table up.

I bite my lip to suppress my grin. Perhaps Hawkins won’t be too bad after all.

****

Masterlist Here

A/N: How do you guys feel about short(er) one shots compared to long series? I’ve been trying it out! Let me know what you think and what you prefer! Thank you for the support and feedback! - Ellie-Mae 

[celestialholz]

Riddle Me This

So, uh... casually reblogging on the train yesterday morning, and there was this:

(Find the original over here: https://anxietyproblem.tumblr.com/post/184795738758)

And well, Qcard inspiration, basically. I’m beginning to think I can literally Qcard anything ever, to be perfectly honest, but have some dumb, wholesome and warming fun for your Wednesday evening anyway, because I write far too much angst and sometimes I think I need to lighten up a little lmao

This is dedicated to @q-card​ as we had a bit of a crap day yesterday and we deserve some silliness and love, as do you lovely people. <3

------

It’s not even a full minute into his shift when he hears an echoed ping; he spins, baffled, almost coating himself in the first tea of the morning, ready to reestablish boundaries in as few syllables as possible, but to his surprise, it isn’t Q. Instead, it’s simply an ancient piece of parchment, and he makes for it in mild intrigue, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes - what in the cosmos could be so important that he couldn’t have said ten minutes earlier, when they were still half-dressed and making their way through overly sugared pastries? If the god thinks this new relationship is about to devolve to the level of note-passing -

He stares at the elaborate cursive for a moment, brilliant in scarlet ink, and purses his lips.

“‘I am the beginning of everything, the end of everywhere. I am the beginning of eternity, the end of time and space. What am I?’” He reads aloud in disbelief. 

... Dear galaxies, it’s even worse than notes.

He considers it for a moment, chiding himself for even humouring the riddle - it’s hardly the conundrum of saving three Enterprises simultaneously, or proving humanity worthy of continuing. He’s a Starfleet captain, for pity’s sake, and he’s fairly certain that the kindergarten population of the ship could come up with something reasonably accurate in response.

“Do you want to know now?” He questions thin air dryly, narrowing his eyes in anticipation of an amused Q’s appearance; handwriting further writes itself across the page instead, and Picard can almost taste the self-satisfaction.

No, no. I can see you’re incredibly busy, wouldn’t want to disturb your vital mission. 

He consults the ready room ceiling in palpable exasperation and takes a seat, surveying the latest duty roster just so he looks suitably preoccupied to any casual, omniscient observer. It takes him a moment to realise something profoundly annoying: this is a riddle from an ancient entity, known for his complex tests, and therefore it can’t be that simple.

... Can it?

-------

“All ahead, ensign - warp five,” he instructs mid-morning, a proud, “aye, Captain” setting them off towards the closest starbase to meet a Risan diplomat. He settles into his seat, glances across at his first.

“Number One,” he begins, “may I ask you something?”

“Of course, sir,” Riker replies goodnaturedly, brow raised. “Do we need to adjourn?”

“Oh no, we’re just fine here. A simple example of wordplay for you, if you’ll indulge me.”

The brow hitches further, and the beginnings of a grin form on his friend’s lips.

“A riddle, Captain? Haven’t humoured those in a while. Go ahead.”

He recites Q’s riddle verbatim, and Riker stares at him for a moment, expression bemused.

“... I’ll be honest with you, sir,” he says eventually, “was kind of hoping for something more elaborate.”

Picard blinks for a second, nodding.

“Mm, so was I,” he replies dryly, staring up at the viewscreen. “It really isn’t any more interesting than the obvious, is it?”

“Don’t think so, no. Sorry to disappoint you.” Riker grins, shrugging, and Picard smiles back.

“Forget I asked, Commander. Thank you anyway. You have the bridge.”

--------

He finds exactly who he’s been looking for for a while in Engineering; Data’s halfway up a Jeffries tube, reciting conduit issues to the computer, and Picard crouches down, glancing up at his second.

“Mister Data,” he greets, “you’re quite the poet, I’m sure you’ll enjoy a riddle I’ve been pondering.”

Data’s head quirks to a curious angle given the lack of space, bewildered.

“Would you prefer we discussed this out in the open, Captain?” He enquires mildly, and Picard barely represses a smirk.

“No, no need - I won’t take up much of your time.”

“As you wish,” says the android, voice echoing around the tube. “I must confess to being intrigued at the prospect, sir.”

“Knew you would be.” Picard smiles quietly, and plays the words back aloud.

“... There are eight hundred and sixteen potential responses in Federation standard,” he replies simply, “ranging from the metaphysical to the -”

“Alphabetical?” Another voice answers fondly, and Picard glances up at his grinning chief engineer. “Sometimes, Data, an egg is just an egg.”

“... I am perplexed by your choice of vernacular, Geordi. What do dietary requirements have to do with the Captain’s riddle?”

Picard doesn’t even need to stare up at the familiar puzzlement of the Commander to acknowledge it. 

“Although Commander La Forge is most likely correct, sir - the most logical option is the most plausible in this instance. Riddles do tend to have simple conclusions, and none of the alternate options fit quite as well.”

Amusement fills Picard as he quietly excuses himself with a nod, leaving his colleagues exchanging confused glances.

-------

“Guinan,” he questions, half an hour from the starbase, “how are you with riddles?”

“I prefer my words less shadowed,” the El-Aurian replies from nine decks hence, matter-of-fact. “Why do you ask, Captain?”

“Personal curiosity,” he answers not untruthfully. “What do you make of this one?”

He recites it lightly, unconsciously leaning forward onto elbows as he awaits her response - if anyone aboard could have any manner of higher wisdom, it’s surely his old friend, her mostly eradicated race largely a mystery even to him -

Guinan clears her throat, and he can clearly visualise her dry expression.

“You’re a deeply intelligent guy, Jean-Luc,” she answers in exasperation. “You can’t tell me you don’t already know the answer to that.”

“Well of course I know it,” he exclaims woefully. “But I can’t help feeling it isn’t so easy.”

“... I mean, could be ‘nothingness’, I guess, but that’s even more ridiculous than the answer.”

“Mm,” he mutters in agreement, hesitating - his new relationship with Q isn’t something he ever wants to reveal to anyone, and especially not to Guinan, but perhaps a vague hint couldn’t hurt...

“If I told you this was set by someone known for being, well... difficult, would it alter your solution?”

“That’s most of the known galaxy in my experience. Are they also known for being stupid?”

Picard almost chokes on tea at the very idea. “Good lord, no.”

“No, then,” she replies honestly.

“... Ah.”

------

His afternoon of diplomacy having gone as well as it ever can with such an awkward ambassador and his mind as plagued as it’s become over the course of the day, Picard finds he can’t quite help himself as they arrive in transporter room one. The Risan’s clearly intelligent, has spent the last few hours desperately trying to prove as such, and amiable enough.

“Ambassador,” he asks as he nods at the chief, “perhaps a parting gift, as a show of good favour towards our new trade agreement. What humans would call a ‘riddle’; lateral thinking, in the form of wordplay.”

“I did think I’d had quite enough of your wordplay today,” replies the man indulgently, and Picard internally winces, “but as it’s an intellectual custom, please feel free.”

“Wonderful. Now...”

The Risan glances at him in disbelief a moment later.

“... Do they tend to be so simplistic, Captain?” He asks in amusement.

“Usually, yes,” he murmurs almost to himself. “Thank you, Ambassador. I’ll inform Starfleet of our conclusions post-haste, don’t let me keep you any longer.”

“Good show, Picard. Travel safe.”

“And you, Kanfla. Engage.”

Miles stares at him as he leaves, agape.

“... You do know that the answer, right sir?”

Picard rolls his eyes. “Yes, chief.”

------

He’s rather exhausted his options at this point, he realises darkly shortly before he clocks off. Beverly, whilst an invaluable friend and exceedingly helpful, is a woman of science and logic who will consider him likely in the first throes of something nasty and neurological if he starts questioning simple conclusions; Deanna, he acknowledges warily, is likely to assume him troubled and attempt to pry the depths of his psyche, and he takes little joy in being his dear counselor’s subject even when he needs to be. So that leaves -

He takes a subtle breath, and spins in his seat, glad the bridge crew’s on a split shift today and therefore that no one has to hear this twice.

“Mister Worf,” he begins primly.

“Captain?” The Klingon asks attentively.

“... May you indulge me for a moment?”

“Of course, sir.”

“A... riddle.” He almost grimaces, hides it admirably - he doesn’t doubt his lieutenant’s intelligence, but Worf is hardly known for his verbal subtleties or affection for the lateral; indeed, he looks mildly annoyed at the very notion.

“... Captain, with respect, I am not certain I would be of much use to you. Perhaps Counselor Troi would be a more... suitable choice.”

Picard’s lip twists for a split second, and he nods, pulls down his shirt promptly, and stares blankly out into space.

“... Mm,” he answers fairly. “As you were, Lieutenant.”

“... Yes, Captain.”

-------

He finds Q sipping something luminous from a spiral-shaped flute upon his return to his quarters, periwinkle blue sequins shimmering upon the evening robe he’s adopted, and the god grins at his appearance.

“Ah, mon capitaine!” He greets in delight, and damn his cursed riddles, but Picard admits privately that there’s something distinctly warm in his chest at the sight of him - of having someone he cherishes to come home to.

... Not that he has any intention of showing him as such, of course; their kiss is perfunctory at best, and his withdrawing look could sour honey.

“Oh, come now, dearest - you aren’t stuck, are you?” He teases, amused. “Do give me your answer, won’t you? The anticipation’s been driving me mad.”

Picard stares at him, trying desperately to cling to irritation rather than silently melt at the excitement in those eternal eyes. 

“You challenge me,” he’d said not two nights earlier against a pillow, fingers trailing across his captain’s cheek. “IQ of two thousand and five, darling. I see everything, I can do everything; do you have any idea how rare that is?”

He valiantly maintains his exasperated countenance, and answers dryly, “The letter ‘e’.”

Q’s face falls with an almost comical suddenness. 

“... What?” He says in disbelief. “What in the galaxies -”

He snaps, summons back the paper that’s spent its day upon the ready room desk, scanning it for a half-moment before raising disappointed eyes back to Picard’s bemused ones.

“Well yes, alright, fine,” he dismisses, “admittedly that does fit quite nicely, but did you really think I was going to offer you something with such a depressingly basic solution? Think about it, man!”

This is their acquaintance, Picard notes with a quiet thrill; the permanent game, ramped up to warp ten now that they’re lovers, every touch and night cycle whisper a tease, a promise, an idle nothingness laced with potential meaning.

He has no intention of failing, however little he has to prove any more, and so he thinks through that brilliant stare, mulls the words over his mind.

Beginning of everything; end of everywhere. Beginning of...

“... Ah,” he murmurs, humoured despite a certain weariness. “Ought to have realised it was self-indulgent.”

“’Self -’? Oh,” Q answers softly, smirking. “Well obviously it could be me, yes, but I was thinking rather, er... closer to home, Jean-Luc.”

Picard’s mouth opens, though he realises belatedly that he has nothing of note to say. 

“You... meant me?” He asks dumbly, baffled. “How can I possibly be -”

“Perspective.” Q smiles warmly, dots fingers across his uniform before clasping a hand quietly. “You begin and end everything for me, my dear. Honestly, your colleagues are morons - you’re right here! How could that not have occurred to th -”

Picard embraces him spontaneously, buries himself in a warm chest, treasures the arms that encircle him fiercely in response.

“You’re an overly dramatic fool,” he scolds tenderly, no heat at all to the words. “You can just say things sometimes, Q.”

“Too dull,” he drawls, grinning from somewhere above his favourite mortal. “We don’t do dull, dearest.”

He presses a soft kiss to Picard’s skull, and the captain wonders idly how he could ever have been annoyed.

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 14

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing

Words: 2,673

After breakfast and some passionate necking in the doorway, Arthur had left. As he’d disappeared into the elevator, he gave a playful but modest wave and smiled. Coincidentally, the next door neighbor had popped out to get her paper. When Y/N had greeted her, the woman had kept her eyes averted, muttered a quick, "Morning," then hurriedly went back inside.

At first Y/N had found it odd, but then it’d dawned on her. Maybe she needed to learn to keep her voice down.

Chuckling, she’d gone back into the apartment and the bedroom, considering changing the sheets. But, blushing happily, she’d left them alone. He would be over again that night; she’d been sure they'd wind up between them. Then she’d checked the sofa. She hated trying to launder upholstery and wasn't particularly good at it. Luckily, she hadn't seen anything that would have given away their activities - her robe had been in the way.

From the moment he was gone, she knew she was head over heels. Her eighty-seven percent certainty had increased to ninety-six over the course of their morning. He hadn't said much after they'd gotten up, but his actions touched her. After a little prompting, he'd poured coffee for them, then asked how she liked hers. He'd made it with one sugar and a shot of milk. (Seemingly nervous that he'd make it too white, he'd kept asking, "Is that enough?") Then he'd hovered next to her while she cooked. It'd already felt like he belonged there.

The speed with which the comfort of routine had developed between them was startling. In her past relationships, she'd taken things slowly. Jeff, her ex-husband, was someone she'd met as a sophomore in high school. He'd been a college freshman, studying pre-law. It had taken five months before they started dating. He was a good man - they exchanged Christmas cards every year, letting each other know they were  still alive. But they'd gotten married only a month after she'd graduated, before she’d had a chance to develop her own identity.

Y/N decided the biggest distinction between then and the present was that she'd grown-up. Taking care of her father had forced her to mature quickly. She hadn't had time for other people's bullshit and had to figure out how to clearly say yes and no, something she'd struggled with until her late-twenties. She'd had to learn what she did and did not want.

Arthur, even the Arthur who'd been trembling and biting his nails on the couch with his Gotham Department of Health notebook, was what she wanted. It was surprisingly easy to like and love him, not only because he was handsome, kind, and most of what she’d experienced of him had been great. But also because she now knew herself.

Picturing him, while sitting at her desk and trying to work, made the corners of her lips turn up. Nervous excitement and plain happiness caused her to laugh quietly. She felt foolish. She hadn’t giggled like that since she’d been a teenager, lip-syncing badly to the radio with her sister.

She truly was trying to act professionally that morning. But at their usual mid-week meeting with Matt, Patricia passed her a note with the words, “You can’t stop smiling!” written on it. Y/N gave it back, feeling like a girl trying not to get caught by the teacher, with a heart, followed by two questions marks and an exclamation point.

Once the meeting ended, Patricia arched a brow at her. Y/N put her palm to her face, groaning. The note had been terribly out of character. “I just wanted to know what it was like to be girly. Once.” Her embarrassment had quickly faded, though, and she said, “I promise I’ll tell you everything tonight.”

The rest of work went by uneventfully, with her back to preparing the firm's family cases. They were a gallery of dysfunction. There had been a rise in children being taken from their parents due to substance abuse disorder after budget cuts had stopped their treatment. And there was a stack of protection from abuse orders, including pictures of bruises and other injuries. The occasional petty divorce filings were a nice break. She would sometimes reread the best complaints when she needed a chuckle. Though the work wasn’t difficult, by early afternoon she was exhausted and trying not to nod off at her desk.

She left early, then, and made her way to the Gotham Bureau of Corporations to try to find more information on Renew Corp. It turned out it had been registered as a limited liability corporation. As a result, their annual reports and registered agents were openly available. The photocopies she made cost her $2.35 at five cents a page. Sitting on the floor at her coffee table, she reviewed the reports. Most of them were about profits and projects, which didn't interest her. She already knew the addresses they were after. The list of registered agents intrigued her, though. She'd have to go over her plan with Patricia.

But first she had to figure out how to explain what she thought was happening in a way that didn't make her sound crazy. Who would believe that Gotham's largest philanthropic organization was responsible for a third-party harassing poor people instead of helping them? She'd find it hard to believe herself if she hadn't taken a closer look. But she was at a loss as to what other conclusion could be drawn.

~~~~~

When Y/N told Patricia her general theory, she'd been skeptical. But once the shoe boxes of letters tenants were getting were pulled out, Patricia's eyes widened. "You coming over here with the file was a risk," Y/N told her, putting the folder on the table. "It means a lot. I don't want you to do anything else that could get you in trouble."

Patricia shook her head. "I've been there forever. Matt won't ask questions. The only reason you got caught was your big mouth and bad luck."

Taking out a plate for the scones she’d picked up, Y/N smirked in response.

Patricia grabbed one of the pastries and took a bite. "Before we start work, I need to know what on earth is going on with you and this guy you're dating." Despite the exasperation in her voice, she looked amused. "You're glowing."

After putting on the kettle, Y/N boosted herself up on the counter next to the stove. She crossed her ankles. "His name's Arthur Fleck. He's a performer - he's sometimes a clown at the children's hospital. He’s an aspiring stand-up. I think he's a little older than me. Early to mid-forties?"

"This is the-" Patricia made air quotes "'-good looking pie guy,' right?" she asked. "How did you meet?"

Grinning, Y/N went into how they'd kept meeting serendipitously. That he was gentle with her, something she hadn't experienced much in her life. (Given her assertive personality, most people appeared to think she never wanted or needed it.) She flushed at the memories. "I think he's the last gentleman in Gotham. He holds the door open for me. He helps me with my coat." She wished he was there, right now, with his arm slung about her waist, hearing all the compliments she was giving him.

"We talk on the phone every night," Y/N continued, "and I look forward to those few minutes the whole day. He tells me jokes. Even when they're terrible, I love them." Shaking her head, she said, "He sometimes misunderstands what I say and doesn't know how to respond.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed the rest. “He seems a little left footed with the world. But I’ve fallen in love with him, anyways."

It took a few seconds before Patricia spoke. "Already?"

Y/N folded her arms over her chest. "How long did it take before you knew you loved Robert?"

"I knew Robert and I were going to get married after our first date thirty years ago." Patricia stood and stretched her arms. "But sometimes I regret accepting his second invitation."

That prompted a snort from Y/N. "On our second date, I got wine-drunk and had a mini-breakdown on the sofa. Arthur didn't try to take advantage or leave. He just listened and tried to make me feel better."

The tea kettle started whistling, interrupting her train of thought. She hopped off the counter and started filling their cups. "I think the biggest thing we have in common is taking care of ailing parents - he cares for his mother." After sitting at the table, she dunked the teabag a few times. "It's rare to find someone who understands how hard that can be." A smile appeared on her face. "He gets it. He gets me. And I think I get him."

"Tell me three negative things about him," Patricia said.

Y/N cocked her head. "He smokes like a chimney - I don't know how he hasn't gotten cancer already. He's too unsure of himself." She scrunched up her face, remembering how he'd told her to leave after his mother had wounded him. "And he's too self-reliant. He thinks I don't notice, but I do."

Before asking her next question, Patricia took a long sip. "Have you slept with him?"

"Last night,” Y/N answered without hesitation. “This morning," She smirked. "I’m bone-tired, but hopefully tonight."

Patricia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Jesus, Y/N."

Y/N cracked-up at her reaction, playfully smacking her arm. "Hey, I'm turning forty in April. If I see something I want, I'm going to grab it." She pointed at Patricia to emphasize what she said next. "And I can tell you, in his own words, he did not mind."

"Does he know how you feel?"

Y/N put down her teacup. "It's hard for me to open myself up. I'd shut that off for so long.” A sigh left her as she leaned back against the chair. “I know it doesn't make sense, but going to bed with him is easier than saying anything."

"He sounds like a decent man," Patricia said. "There aren't many in Gotham."

"There aren't many anywhere." After some silence, Y/N furrowed her brow. "He’s wonderful. But I can tell he has difficulties. Or at least he has in the past."

Patricia's eyebrows knit together. "Legal trouble?"

"No, nothing like that." Y/N adjusted her legs. How much information could she share without crossing a line? Maybe disclosing his affliction would be all right - he did have laminated cards he handed out. "He has a neurological condition that makes him laugh. It doesn't happen often, but I've seen it when he's nervous. It's been hard for him." She studied her tea, thinking of his notebook and all his medication.

And she felt shame, remembering how she'd shut him down like a coward when it'd seemed he was going to tell her everything.

"Do you want me to do a background check on him?" Patricia spoke quietly, her concern obvious.

Y/N waved the idea away. "No. There’s no reason.” Then she blushed. “I don’t even know why I told you. But," she smiled, "I appreciate you caring enough to ask." Pointing at the nearby folder, she said, “Now let’s get this over with so I can call him.”

They started on the file, then, sorting through the motions, writing down the day each one was filed with the court. Opening all the letters was a pain in the ass - Y/N was relieved she only got a couple of paper cuts. The dates on those were analyzed, too, and put onto a parallel list next to those of the filings. When they were finished, an hour or so later, they were able to confirm the motions and letters had started during the same time period.

Patricia sipped her tea, shrugging. "It could be a coincidence."

"Of course it could. That's why I got the list of registered agents with Renew Corp." Y/N got up and grabbed the reports she'd copied from the counter next to the stove. "I'm supposed to have the Wayne Foundation tax returns on Friday. I'll see if Renew Corp. is listed anywhere on there."

"Actually, I have a better idea." Patricia crossed her legs and indicated the reports with her pen. "The tax filings will have all the Wayne Foundation employees listed on one of the schedules. You can see if any of the names match the agents on the Renew reports."

Y/N leaned back against the counter. "I can't believe I didn't think of that." Frowning, she mentally went over the dates they’d written. “Did I see that a new motion was filed on Monday? Do you have it?”

“Yeah, we got our copy today. Why?” Patricia dug through the file until finding it, then handed it to her.

“When I looked through the file, nothing indicated a new motion was needed.” She started to scan it. It was a motion to amend the original filing, which meant addresses could either be added or taken off. This one added a few in order to, according to the summary, allow the building of an additional medical clinic wing. She didn’t recognize most of them: a residential building on Cortelyou Road, an empty lot on Sutter Avenue, a commercial area on Rockaway Boulevard. An apartment complex at 225a Anderson Avenue.

Her breath halted. 225a Anderson Avenue.

It made sense. Despite the heaviness forming in her stomach, and her inability to take in any air, it was perfectly logical. Ms. McPhee’s building was on the same block as Arthur’s, on a perpendicular street. Y/N closed her eyes, reaching back to grasp the counter.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Heat rose from Y/N’s shoulders, through her neck, to her face. “Arthur… Arthur’s address is included.” She held out the paper to Patricia. “How am I supposed to tell him?”

Standing, Patricia put her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “This is going to take months and months. And you’re trying to stop it.”

“I know, but-” Y/N started.

“Does he know the details of what you’re working on?” After Y/N shook her head, Patricia continued. “It’s not going to do any good to say anything.”

“I just told you I love him. How can I-”

The blaring sound of the phone interrupted her. After another couple rings, she went to grab the beige receiver from the wall next to the kitchen entrance. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's Arthur."

Y/N checked the clock - it was after seven. He'd probably expected her to call by now. Pointing at the receiver, she turned around and looked at Patricia. "Arthur, I'm sorry I haven't called yet. I was just talking about you." She took a breath, trying to keep her voice from reflecting the anger simmering inside her. "Why don't you come over now? You can meet Patricia before she-"

His voice was strained when he interrupted her. "No. I can't. Is there anyway you can come to the hospital?"

That was unexpected. She felt worry cross her face. "Are you all right?"

"It's my mother. We just got here. I don't know what's wrong. There was an ambulance when I got home from..." His tone lowered, sounding a little embarrassed. "Can you please come? I don't understand all the paperwork." A pause, then. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

"You’re never a bother. I'll be right there. Which hospital?" Y/N watched as Patricia rose from her chair and started packing up the file she'd brought.

"Gotham General. In the emergency room," he answered.

"I'm on my way." She grabbed her coat and purse as she hung up. "Arthur's mother's in the ER. I gotta grab a cab."

Patricia took her jacket. "I brought my car. I'll take you."

Y/N gave Patricia a good, long hug, something she rarely did. "I owe you. Thank you for helping me."

"Anytime. Arthur's not the only one who's too self-reliant."

Y/N rolled her eyes at Patricia and squeezed her arm as she lead them both into the hallway, then locked the door.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss​

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part one

Hi! Welcome to a new story...as if I have time for this. But I’m making the time because I’ve fallen in love with this show and these characters. I’ve opted to do longer chapters, so you can expect that, but short ones may get sprinkled in, who knows. I hope you enjoy xx.

(I'm also very nervous about being able to write Sherlock and John in character...so be gentle lol)

Warnings: none for now!

One glance to the side is all you need to know you’re being followed.

           That, and the set of two footsteps behind you that have been behind you for four blocks now. You noticed them after the second block and have since been taking the craziest route you could think of to see if they truly are following you. If it is a simple coincidence, they would have turned and gone a different route or stopped somewhere. But when they’re still behind you after the second absolutely unnecessary left turn, you have all the information you need.

           Both men are fairly tall, with the one directly behind you being the shortest – but still taller than you, dammit. They both look harmless – well, maybe except the tallest. He’s rather…what’s the word? Arrogant? His face says that alone, so there’s no telling what his personality will say.

           The shorter is a different story. Blond hair, rather than dark brown like the taller. His smaller stature does give him the appearance of being friendly, although his posture says something else. Military background, no doubt. He could hurt someone if he really had to…but something tells you that’s typically his last resort.

           He also looks familiar. A little too familiar.

           You shake your head, trying to get that thought out of your head. You’ve met practically thousands of people, of course you’re going to come across a few people that look familiar. They all run together after a while.

           After the fifth block, you decide to have some fun, mostly to see if they’re paying attention.

           You fish your phone out of your pocket, going to the last number that called you. It doesn’t take an idiot to make this deduction. And your deduction is confirmed when the phone in the pocket of the taller male begins ringing.

           You slow your pace, waiting for him to pick up, and when he does, you smile. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being followed?”

           Turning around with a wide grin, you see the confused face of the shorter man and the smirk of the taller.

           “How did you—”

           “Don’t worry about it,” you reply, ending the call and stuffing the phone back in your pocket. “What do you want? You’ve been following me for five blocks now, did you notice my absurd route?”

           “I did, yeah,” the shorter replies, a little fed up by his taller companion’s silence.

           “Well,” you breathe. “Tea?”

 ~~~

Sitting across from the two men that were following you was not exactly how you expected to be ending your day, and as you quietly sip your black tea, it’s clear that the taller wasn’t expecting this either.

           “Do I get your names?” You ask a little forcefully. You don’t like being followed. “To put to these faces that have been following me for fifteen minutes.”

           “John Watson, hi,” the shorter is first to extend his hand across the table.

           Deciding not to be rude, you take his hand and shake it. Even if the name catches you off guard. “Odd,” you reply.

           “What is?”

           “The last name. Watson. It was my biological father’s surname.” You pause. You’d remember that man’s name until the day you die. Your mother talked about him constantly. “I didn’t take it, obviously. My name is Y/N L/N.” You turn to the taller who has been staring you down since you arrived. “And who are you?” When he doesn’t answer, you add, “Am I going to have to call you Curls?”

           He doesn’t extend his hand. But he obviously didn’t like the nickname you had offered because he does tell you his actual name. “Sherlock Holmes.”

           “Ah, that makes sense now,” you chuckle, bringing your cup to your lips, glad to have the pieces click into place. “John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. I should’ve known.”

           “What?”

           You give John a tired look. “I’ve been in London for only a few days. It’s my…third time being here. I should’ve known I’d run into the city’s consulting detective and his companion with the reputation I have.”

           Sherlock’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“What? Reputation?” John asks. He’s never even heard of you before.

           “She’s your sister, John, if you would observe instead of jump to conclusions—”

           “Right, because your entire job isn’t based around you jumping to bloody conclusions every five seconds.”

           “And you fight like an old married couple,” you click your tongue. “They got more right about you two than I thought.”

           “Did you say she’s my sister?” John suddenly returns to Sherlock’s statement, now that it’s had time to sink in. “How?”

           “Well, just by the surname,” you shrug, not at all fazed by the fact. “But I’m fairly certain your father wasn’t entirely faithful,” you reply simply, remembering when your mom told you about the time he had confessed he was engaged to someone else – that must’ve been John’s mother. And that he still saw her even after that. “I never knew him.” When you were born, he stopped coming around, according to your mother.

           “Yes, which would explain for the difference in mannerisms. You,” Sherlock looks at John, “soaked up everything you could from your father – which is obvious, every boy does. But you,” he looks back to you, narrowing his eyes. “You have all your mannerisms from a mother. A clearly single mother, fighting on her own, trying to make ends meet,” he rakes his eyes over your clothes. “And you still have some habits, speaking to the coat you’re wearing that clearly came from a thrift store and the shoes you’re wearing that are two sizes too small.”

           John’s eyes widen. While he is just finding out about you now, he still feels himself slipping into the protective older brother role – and he doesn’t like the nature of the deductions Sherlock has just voiced.

           “Two sizes too small?” John asks incredulously.

           But you’re too busy grinning, ignoring the comment about your shoes because really, it’s irrelevant. “Sherlock Holmes, you’re good.”

           “Did I get anything wrong?”

           You don’t mind his eagerness at all. “One thing.” You turn to John. “Should I tell him?”

           John gives you a tired look, as if he would know what Sherlock had gotten wrong. “Well, I don’t know what it is.”

           Of course he doesn’t. “This jacket isn’t from a thrift store. It was my mother’s. Hand-me-down.” You tug on the edges of it with a chuckle. “It does look like something you’d find in a thrift store, though, doesn’t it? She probably got it from one.”

           “Your shoes are two sizes too small?”

           You nod, finally addressing John’s concern – which you aren’t sure why he’s concerned, anyway. “Size differs from country to country. I didn’t have time to realize I’d grabbed the wrong pair before I ran.”

           “What were you running from?”

           You could answer John’s question easily, but from the look on Sherlock’s face, you know he could as well. You smile. “Sherlock Holmes? Ideas?”

           “Four,” he answers instantly.

           “Well, I’m eager to hear them.”

           John can’t help but gape at you. Not only are you taking absolutely no shit from Sherlock in moments when most would begin to despise the man, but you’re also as far from John as he can possibly think. When John thought of having a sister, he expected her to be a little like him. But that’s far from the case when he sees you.

           “Judging by the callouses on your fingers I��d say you are a musician of some kind, callouses equal strings that you have to press down. You’re right handed and the callouses are heaviest on your left hand – guitar, possibly.”

           You raise an eyebrow. Surprisingly, he’s correct. Partly. You play other things besides guitar, but you’re sure he probably knows that. He probably also knows the callouses are from other things than playing guitar, but you give him time.

           “But why would a guitarist run? You already stated you have a reputation – by your tone one can only assume it’s not a positive one you’re running from.”

           You stir a little more sugar into your tea with a grin. “Continue.”

           He narrows his eyes, sitting back in his seat. “That’s all.”

           John answers before you can. “That’s all? That’s never all.”

           “No, it’s fine,” you smirk. “He got more correct than I thought he would.”

           Sherlock’s triumphant smirk is what you expect, but that’s not what you get. Sherlock only narrows his eyes more. He’s trying hard to figure you out, but he can’t. He’s able to make the simple deductions, but anything beyond that is coming up blurry. He can guess, sure, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to be sure of what he’s deducing.

           “Well,” you breathe, noticing the wheels in Sherlock’s head turning, and the ticking clock on the wall behind his head. “While it was lovely to meet the both of you, I should really be going.”

           “You have nowhere to stay.”

           You look to Sherlock in surprise, though you shouldn’t be surprised that it’s that obvious. “And?”

           “The—The flat below ours. It’s empty,” John fumbles. “I’m sure Ms. Hudson would let you stay there for the time being – or you can always sleep…in ours.” He slows down at the end there, the idea sounding more and more absurd as he goes on. He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t expect you to agree. You’ve only just met them, after all. Sister or not.

           You pause, weighing the options. You truly don’t have anywhere else to stay, so even if you turn down this offer, you know you’d eventually end up at their place – or in some park, but you’d prefer to have a roof over your head tonight that’s not in the form of the London sky. Best to accept now and avoid looking like a royal moron when you show up inevitably at their door late at night.

           “Alright,” you nod. “That’s very nice of you. Where is this flat?”

~~~

221B

           Baker Street. That’s where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson live.

           The walk was short. You somehow managed to circle around to the café right next to their place in your attempt to take such an absurd route around London. What are the odds? Unlikely. But here you are.

           What’s even more unlikely is finding out you’re the half-sibling of John Watson – Dr. John Watson, as he told you. He was a military doctor in Afghanistan. You were going to guess Iraq, only because you knew a guy who was in Iraq, and he and John share some mannerisms. Beauty of the military, you suppose.

           Ms. Hudson, as John had mentioned at the café, was absolutely delighted to find out you’d be staying in 221C for the time being. The flat is entirely empty, though, so she said you’d need to get some furniture. All you really think you’ll need is a mattress, though. You aren’t planning on staying here for too long. You never stay in one place for longer than a few months, usually.

           “Oh, and don’t worry, you can do whatever you like to it,” Ms. Hudson gushes. “I’m just happy to have found someone to move in.”

           You smile, not wanting to disappoint her with the fact of you not staying long. It’s rude. “Thank you. I really appreciate you letting me move in here.”

           “I could use another woman in here,” she confesses. “Someone to help me reign these two in.”

           Sherlock gives Ms. Hudson a strange look while John chuckles. It must be true then, what you’ve heard. That these two can be a complete and utter handful to have around.

           “I’ll do my best,” you smile. “Where’s the bathroom?”

           “Oh, I’ll have to get them to turn the water on down here, dear, but it should be ready for you tomorrow.”

           “You can use ours,” John offers with a smile. You study it, his smile. It’s similar to yours. It must be from his father. No wonder he looks familiar – and no wonder you two are related.

           You know he’s dying to ask you some questions – his nervous stance told you that when you were in the café after Sherlock announced his revelation – so you allow John to guide you up the stairs to 221B.

           It’s a mess, quite frankly. That’s the first thought you have upon entering their flat. It’s obvious which areas are Sherlock’s mess and which areas are John’s. Little cleaned off spaces show where John has just shoved Sherlock’s mess to the side to have his own space. And the science experiments all over the table in the kitchen are obviously Sherlock’s.

           You roll your eyes at the mess. You had hoped someone like John Watson would live a neater life, but maybe that’s too much to ask when one has a flatmate such as Sherlock Holmes.

           “Just through there,” John points you in the right direction.

           After doing your business and freshening up in the mirror, you return to what is apparently the living area. You can only make that deduction because of the couch sitting against one wall with…a yellow smiley face spray painted above it. And upon closer inspection, you see the smiley face has bullets sprinkled through it.

           Interesting. Sherlock must’ve been bored.

           You plop down on the couch, surveying the rest of the room. You hear rustling in the kitchen, the clinking of glass. Sherlock is experimenting, judging by the sound – and by John’s grumbles about how crowded it is.

           Leaned against one end of the couch you find a violin. John doesn’t seem like the type of man to play that instrument, so you assume it’s Sherlock’s. And for that reason, you decide to leave it alone.

           Sherlock was correct about you playing guitar, but he never mentioned any other string instruments. You take that fact in with delight, knowing one day you’ll play his violin and see the surprise on his face – or anger. You haven’t decided yet if he looks like he’s territorial over his instrument. He probably is.

           John returns to the living room with a cup of tea. Back at the café you were the only one who ordered a cup, the other two men seeming too preoccupied with figuring out who you were.

           He’s still nervous. His hands are shaking, for Christ’s sake as he sits down on the other end of the couch. He offers a smile before sipping his tea, staring out at the room. But your eyes remain on him.

           He reminds you of your mother – as strange as that may sound considering he has no relation to her. But you imagine she was around your father enough to pick up on some mannerisms, the same ones you are seeing in John.

           “I know you want to ask questions,” you finally say, causing John’s eyes to return to yours. “So. Ask away.”

           “I don’t want to make things awkward.”

           “Well, you’re making it awkward by sitting there silently. So ask questions.” You sigh, turning and curling in on yourself against the arm of the couch. “I need something to do.”

           “Okay, uh…” He shakes his head, sitting his tea down. “Why didn’t you take your— our father’s last name?”

           “Why am I not a Watson?” You clarify. He nods. “My mother despised the name,” you reply simply, trying to ignore the faint look of hurt that crosses John’s face. “She despised your father and they never married, anyway. I was a bit of a…mistake, if you will.” She told you that more times than you can count.

           He nods slowly. “So she raised you?”

           “That is the logical explanation, isn’t it?” You smile. “Raised is a selective term. I lived with her, yes, but she hardly raised me.”

           “Okay,” he swallows thickly. “So you…you never knew ou—him?”

           You smile again, thankful that he changed his wording. “Nope. Is he still alive?” You don’t want to meet him, but you would rather like to know in advance if John wants to go off on his father for not telling him about you. From what your mom told you about him, he probably forgot you existed.

           “No,” John shakes his head. “No, he uh…he passed away.”

           “Oh.” You’re relieved, but that’s not the feeling John is showing, so you add, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

           “It’s alright,” he replies, moving on. It must’ve been a while ago, then. “Is your mom still living?”

           Now it is your turn to break the news. “No,” you say, a little forlornly. Your mother’s death does still tear you up inside, even if the relationship you two had was unconventional. “She passed away a few years ago.”

           “And how long have you been…running?”

           Running, ah, what Sherlock deduced earlier. He’s good, really. Most people don’t assume you’re anything but a regular tourist, visiting whatever town for a small vacation. “Since mom passed,” you look down at the floor. “I got into some trouble where we were, and with her no longer a police officer, she wasn’t there to help me out.”

           “You got into trouble?” John asks, though he sounds more like he’s prying. He already has a hard-enough time managing Sherlock. He doesn’t know if he can handle looking after you – but he knows he will anyway.

           “Yeah,” you chuckle. “Fun times, really.”

           He sounds a little hesitant to ask, but he does anyway, the new older brother protectiveness beginning to take over. “Do I get to know what this trouble was?”

           “Let’s just say I composed a very…inappropriate song and blasted it over the intercom at an inappropriate place at an…equally inappropriate time.”

           John looks like he wants to scold you, lecture you even, but decides against it. He shakes his head instead. “Two troublemakers. Exactly what I need.”

           You smirk, wondering if he knows that Troublemaker is your nickname in many places. “Oh, come on, Sherlock can’t be that bad.”

           John gives you a tired look. You remember the bullet ridden smiley face on the wall behind you and nod in defeat. Sherlock probably can be that bad, at times. At least when he gets bored.

           “Alright, well,” you breathe, stretching out your legs to turn and face…your brother. That’s never going to not be weird. Best to just call him a friend for now. He is a friend, right? “What about you? You told me you were a doctor in the military.”

           “I was,” he nods. “Got shot and sent home. I used to have a limp, but Sherlock…well, he tricked me out of it.”

           “How on Earth did he do that?”

           “I forgot my crutch when we were chasing down a taxi.”

           “Oh. Makes sense,” you chuckle. Chasing down a taxi seems to be a normal activity here. “You work on cases with him then?” You pause. “I’ve heard a lot about you two. I almost didn’t come to London again because I figured Sherlock Holmes would be the first person on my ass if I did.”

           “Do you get in that much trouble?”

           You try not to grin. You’ve been here once before. For twenty-four hours. And by the end of it, you had an arrest warrant. It’s not your fault they didn’t put signs up that say you can scale a building and play guitar on the roof while you watch the sunrise. “I have a little bit of fun wherever I go, yes. I never stay put in one spot for long.”

           “For that reason.”

           “Exactly.” You smile now, glad he’s catching on. “But you run a blog, I’ve heard?”

           “I do,” he nods. “Much to Sherlock’s displeasure.”

           “He doesn’t like it?”

           “He says he doesn’t need a public image.”

           “I don’t,” Sherlock calls out from the kitchen.

           You smirk, leaning forward a little. “Are you eavesdropping on our conversation, Sherlock Holmes?”

           “It’s hardly eavesdropping if you’re both talking loud enough for me to hear.”

           Fair enough. “Is he always that way?”

           “What, arrogant? Yes,” John lets out a laugh.

           “We all can be arrogant,” you try to reason with him. “But it does seem to be his default, doesn’t it?”

           Yours is as well, you’ll admit. It’s something you got from your mother. She was always the arrogant, truth-seeking cop, never caring about fluff and only wanting the information that would benefit her most. The bluntness she had seemed to be born into you.

           But your naturally emphatic heart has caused you to know when and when not to say certain things – a trait you see in John much more than you do in Sherlock.

           In a way, meeting John has proved to be a blessing so far. You’re seeing things in him that you see in yourself that you originally had no idea where they came from but seeing him makes it all make sense.

��          You almost feel guilty that you won’t be staying long. But maybe you can stay longer than normal. It’s the least you can do.

           The only obstacle is staying out of trouble, but you think that if you hang around these two, trouble isn’t going to be hard to find.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 2

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo has just turned six. He’s been at the castle for most of a year.

Aeleus is icing the simple white cake when Even goes to get his morning coffee. “You’re spoiling the boy,” he says in lieu of greeting. “Ansem gives him more than enough sugar with all the ice cream.”

Aeleus shrugs. “It’s not a birthday without cake.”

“Indeed, when presented with such things when I was younger, I nearly went feral,” Dilan says. “Though sugar does not seem to affect his countenance.”

“Not much does.”

“It’s worth celebrating, that he’s speaking,” Aeleus says. He puts the frosting knife in the sink. “Maybe we can encourage him to talk more.”

He still does not speak much, even now. His sentences are short, plain, often monosyllabic. At least they no longer need to rely on the whiteboard.

But now that he speaks, his nightmares have heft, sound. Even can hear him cry for them. It never hurts any less.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Dilan says. Ienzo appears, still in pajamas, rubbing his eyes. “Happy birthday.”

He blinks. “That’s today?”

Even chuckles. “I figure today we can do something you like. Play, or perhaps go outside?”

Ienzo opens the fridge door and takes out a juice box. “No thank you,” he says politely. “I want to finish my book.”

“Anything for the prince, eh,” Dilan says. He’s taken to calling Ienzo that; despite the fact that he and Ansem have no blood ties and that “king” is an elected title. “If you go outside you can get more books, you know. Not just this dusty old tosh.”

This grabs his attention.

“I’ll even buy you one as a present.”

Ienzo turns pink. “Thank you.”

Dilan smiles. “Why it is my pleasure. Go get dressed. We can leave after breakfast.”

He retreats to his room quickly. Even puts up oatmeal. “That’s kind of you,” he says.

“He needs exercise. It’s not normal to be cooped up all day.”

“Dilan spoils the boy, but I can’t?” Aeleus asks dryly. “The double standards.”

Even laughs a little. “Such is the way of life.”

He returns to his lab. He had success with another fertilization; this one actually divided twice before dying. What was the difference? He doesn’t think he did anything differently. During all of his medical school studies, he did not recall IVF to be so finicky.

This isn’t the same thing. It’s a vehicle.

He studies the corpses of the cells under blacklight, trying to find anything that might illuminate the truth.

---

Ansem approaches him now, not the other way around. Even would be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy the power. “Sorry to intrude,” he says.

Even looks up from the chaise and decides to be nice. “Nothing to intrude. I was mending Ienzo’s coat. He’s growing so quickly, I had to let down the hem.” They can buy clothes at the shops, but not many vendors sell lab coats in children’s sizes. They’re teaching Ienzo general chemistry; he needs to have protection.

“You’re sure? He’s awfully small.”

He hums idly. “He’s on the bottom end of average,” he admits. “I have a feeling Ienzo will always be relatively petite. But he eats plenty, and Dilan introduced him to the library in town, which is an incentive to walk.”

“...He goes on his own now?” Ansem asks. He sits without being invited.

Even pauses slightly in his stitching. “How old were you when you ran your first errand?” he asks instead. “He has to be back in half an hour, otherwise we take away the books. Funny. For most children reading is punishment.” He holds up the jacket, checking for evenness. “Can I help you with something?”

He picks up the book he’s carried in. It’s an odd size, old, the cut of the paper uneven. “I… admit I still do not know anything about which you’re working. But I know you have a body problem. I wonder if this might help.”

He eyes it derisively. “Not exactly cutting edge science, is it?”

Ansem chuckles. “No, but… I’ve spoken with a new… friend, and I wonder if this is food for thought.”

Even takes the book from him. The font is ancient, hard to read. “ Mysticism of the Heart? Sounds a bit… Romantic.”

Ansem shakes his head. “It’s nothing to do with feelings. Well, not quite. The author was a sorcerer… oh, many years ago. She studied the heart.”

“...As have I. As have we all.”

“The metaphysical heart, Even.” He seems exasperated. “I find myself… intrigued, as well. I was up all night reading it.”

“...That so?” He strokes the cover, the soft, crumbling leather.

“If you… want to make something living, you have to understand the forces behind it. At least, that’s how I see it.”

“None of this is proven,” Even says, but despite himself he can feel his mind stirring, the block loosening.

“Maybe not with science. Maybe not with black and white.”

“Consider my interest… piqued.”

---

Like Ansem, he finds himself engrossed in every page; he takes copious notes. The text is hard to read, from the font to the fact that it is an older dialect of their language. But the ideas behind it are fascinating, and not just from a scientific standpoint.

Everyone knows a person is made of a body, heart, and will; but nobody understands the latter two, how they function. Nobody can test something so abstract. But if he can figure it out… or at least start to get there… maybe it will mean something for the dying cells smeared on his slides.

He can feel an excitement rising in him, an eagerness, a passion, that he hasn’t experienced in some time. He’s finally getting somewhere. He photocopies the book to have as reference, and without a word, gives it to Aeleus.

Within two weeks none of them can shut up about it. Ienzo watches them discuss it, warily, another fantasy story in his hands. Even finds himself digging through the libraries all throughout the castle for more--there has to be more. But everything else he finds about the heart is vague, at best. Limited. A single line in a dictionary. He bites the bullet and begins looking towards texts of religion and philosophy as well, but unlike Mysticism of the Heart , it is all waffling.

The sorcerer who crafted the book spent her whole life studying the heart. After apprenticing under a master magician, she spent years crafting spells to look within--to feel the heart, what it might mean. She asked as many people as she dared (it was a time and place where magic was viewed as heresy, so Even can’t help but admire her nerve) if she, too, could look within their hearts. She wrote out each as a case study, but her major conclusions were as follows:

Hearts are not mere physical matter. They are made of two forms of metamatter, heretoafter deemed “light” and “darkness.” Like yin and yang, they were not necessarily good and evil, but rather seemed to have certain qualities: light was associated with feeling, healing, and nurturing, while darkness was associated with power, knowledge, and a desire to better oneself rather than the collective.

Hearts are about “feeling”, about aqueous aspects of identity.

The presence of bonds seem to make a heart stronger or weaker, depending on their health.

Stronger individuals could always produce more and fulfill themselves more.

Even had, of course, studied darkness and light; but they had been viewed mostly as pejoratives, things that were intangible. If this is right--this dusty old tome from who knows how long ago--it’s so much more literal than they ever could have guessed.

---

He is trying to draft ways to explore this more clearly when Ienzo finds him. Without a single word, he places a book on Even’s lap. “...What’s this?” Even asks him.

“It talks about hearts.”

Even examines it. It’s a fairy story; one from Ansem’s study. He feels a swell of something like pride when he realizes that Ienzo likely took it without permission. “A fantasy story?” he asks.

Ienzo shrugs. “They talk about dark and light.”

There’s no point on waiting for him to elaborate. “I will… examine it in more detail,” he says, shunting it to the bottom of his list.

Ienzo begins to leave, but then turns. “And magic,” he says.

Even furrows his brows. Acting on impulse, he opens the storybook Ienzo left behind.

Well, hell.

---

It all causes a massive dissonance; how much lore, nebulous and malleable, actually has more truth in it than they all think?

As a man of science, and yes, he thinks, reason, how can he possibly believe it, when this whole time he only believed what could be proven with numbers?

Even’s mind slivers into pieces: the part of him invested in his experiment; the part of him beginning to play into this heart nonsense; and the part of him that looks after Ienzo. Because the boy really does need looking after.

He’s still not well--with the absence of proper treatment, he can never be well. No longer trusting only Ansem’s word, Even takes a look at his predecessor’s reports--Ansem’s office is so disorganized, he will never notice if these things go missing for a few hours--and discovers to his horror that Ansem wasn’t embellishing at all.

The shift in Radiant Garden’s economy from manufacturing to STEM brought unprecedented progress. It increased their food yields, meaning nobody went hungry; it gave them technology and medicine to save lives, to make life in general easier. But with that shift meant a loss in other ways of other studies; they became neglected. Namely, the humanities. And under these older referendums, psychology was not deemed a hard science.

The people are feeling the strain. This, on top of the cultural stigma that comes with seeking help. Not so many students are studying the subject--none that will pursue the accreditation, anyway. Meaning with a dying and retiring population of therapists, there’s increasingly nowhere to turn to.

It isn’t just psychology, either. Even doesn’t have the time to crunch the numbers, but with the arts and humanities slowly being neglected, Radiant Garden is going through a slow cultural death. It upsets him more than he thought possible.

Perhaps this is why, after one of Ienzo’s nightmares, he does more than leave him be.

It’s almost a routine at this point. It’s clear that Ienzo has no control of himself during these spells; as soon as he wakes up, he tries his utmost to quiet the cries, so as not to disturb the rest of them. More upsetting yet.

Even brings him a cup of weak tea with honey, a cool cloth for his face. “...Are you alright?” he asks the boy. He has no idea where to begin. “How do you… feel?”

Ienzo looks at him as though he couldn’t have asked a stranger question.

He tries again, feeling rapidly out of his depth. “Are you afraid?”

He sniffles. “No. I… see them.”

“In your dreams?”

“All the time.” His small hands tremble when he takes the teacup. “I know they’re… dead.”

“Yes,” Even says. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t… remember. Except for…” He touches his shoulder. “Did I make it up? Those monsters.”

“...No.”

He considers this. “They ate them?”

Even flinches without meaning to.

Ienzo interprets this as a confirmation. “They ate them.”

“It is never… easy, to lose someone.” The ever-present ache around his heart tightens. “We’ve… tried measures, to get rid of them.” It doesn’t help that the Unversed population is almost impossible to track; but this isn’t Even’s purview. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know,” he says.

“It’s okay to miss them,” Even says. “You know this, yes?”

Slowly, Ienzo nods. “Where are they?”

“We… had them cremated shortly afterwards. While you were recovering.”

He shakes his head, and repeats the question.

“Oh… well… there’s no clear answer.” He clears his throat. “Some people believe that they go to a heaven, or an afterworld. Others believe that their souls are reincarnated into other people, or animals. Some think that they… merely go to sleep.”

He thinks about this. “Is it peaceful?”

Even’s heart about breaks. “Yes,” he says softly. “It’s very peaceful.”

“...Okay,” he says, and shrugs. “As long as they’re okay.”

“If you would like, I can… make a space for you to mourn. With the… mortuary tablets.”

“No thank you,” he says. “I’m tired now. Good night.”

---

Even does not know how else to broach the subject, but the conversation reveals him to be something of a hypocrite. How can he possibly teach Ienzo how to grieve when he refuses to grieve his own losses?

But he can’t begin the process and not end it; it would be continual, it would take work. It would distract him for his research and possibly incapacitate him for some time. He couldn’t give in to that urge now, not when he is so close to a solution. This is what’s been missing, he’s sure. Something… that can’t be created literally. But to move forward first he needs to understand more about hearts, and how they relate to their people.

“Master? Forgive me for intruding.”

Ansem looks up at him wearily. “Oh… hello.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, without meaning to.

“I’m merely tired. I’ve got… more arguments on my hands. It’s hard to find the budget to jumpstart a mental health program without taking away other things--and none of my colleagues can stand any of my suggestions.”

“I’ve no idea why you decided to go into politics.”

“Consider me a fool for trying to enact change.” Ansem sighs. “What is it you need?”

Even folds his hands together. “I don’t need more resources, but I was hoping to… reallocate some things,” he says. “We--Aeleus and Dilan too--would like to investigate the matters of the heart more scientifically. It would mean certain projects would have to wait, but… we all feel a passion for it, and I can’t pretend that’s meaningless.”

“...Yes,” Ansem says. “I… feel the same way about it. Finding truths about life itself… would make my work feel a lot less frivolous.”

“I can draw up a budget--”

“No need.” Ansem smiles. “Do what you must.”

---

So that’s it, then.

They need a workspace, one where they could all gather. There’s space in one of the lower levels, near the castle’s CPU; the maintenance techs will not be happy to deal with their comings and goings, but Even could care less. It is a bit isolated, but that also means it will be quiet.

It has been a long time since the four of them worked together on something, since shortly after graduate placement. And truly they had never done it like this.

Dilan surveys their office space with distaste. “...Quite sterile, isn’t it? No natural light.” Aside from two offices, the space is completely open; Ienzo spends quite some time running to and fro, and as he scarcely does this, they indulge him.

“...Is it? I could rather care less about decor.” Even opens one of the boxes and gently begins unpacking his gear into a cabinet.

“I’ll bring some plants,” Aeleus says.

“Well, we have what we need; where do we begin?” Dilan asks.

“Ansem started this. Maybe he has some clue.” There’s a loud crash; Ienzo ran clean into the sharp end of one of the metal tables and clutches his knee. He does not cry, but grits his teeth in silence. “Oh, goodness. What have you done to yourself?” At least he had the good sense to place his first aid kit towards the top of the pile. He tends to the small cut. “Be careful, alright? There are more dangerous things in this room than just a table.”

He shrugs, and drops his eyes. “I got excited,” he says.

---

It is all terribly exciting. It shouldn’t feel this strange to have Ansem back in the room with them. They sit clustered around the worktables, brainstorming or trying to; Ienzo studies, supposedly working out some math problems Dilan set him.

“There must be a way to unify these two methods,” Ansem says. “The science, the magic. Why shouldn’t it be some combination of both of them?”

Dilan all but rolls his eyes. “That’s all fine and dandy, if it were not for the fact that none of us have any training.”

“Couldn’t we learn?” Aeleus asks. “The… manuscript details how these things were done.”

Dilan twists the ends of one of his braids. “...Teach a machine how to do magic,” he says slowly. “It’s so insane that it might actually work.”

“A machine?” Ansem asks.

“Well, the manuscript also mentions how exhausting such spellwork is--not to mention, how advanced. We can’t afford to wear ourselves down. Nor do we have the time to study such things for so long.”

Even thinks about it. “You may be onto something.”

---

It takes time, and it takes all of them; fall wears into winter. The castle has always been drafty and damp, but here in the basement it’s basically unbearable. They huddle around space heaters, wander around in too  many layers. Dilan spends hours--weeks--poring over page after page of blueprints, trying to figure out how to make it work.

It isn’t as if Even can sneak away to try to work on his own projects, so he focuses on Ienzo. The boy isn’t perfect; he does trip up and make mistakes and occasionally can’t wrap his head around things. He has more aptitude for some subjects than others, favoring biology over chemistry and psychology over math. Even can’t help it; maybe he can’t give Ienzo the help he needs, but maybe he can give the boy the tools to eventually help himself.

Intellectually, he’s more advanced than many. But he’s still a child, with all the trappings of one. When he sees the snow on the ground, he’s tempted. So Aeleus takes him out to play. He returns delighted, pink-faced and soaked, and for the first time Even can recall he doesn’t have a nightmare.

Then he gets sick.

The castle’s something of a germ vacuum. Of course the moment Ienzo’s vulnerable something sneaks in. At first it seems merely like a cold; he sneezes over his studies, needs to be reminded to cover his mouth. Even gives him cold medicine, keeps an eye on him; all he knows is that he can feel this is something more, and his reliance on that instinct embarrasses him. When the boy begins audibly shivering Even takes him upstairs to bed. Ienzo’s fever rises dramatically--he’d forgotten how bad, how terrifying it can be in small children. Even plies him with fluids, with an antiviral. He just has to wait, to mop the poor child’s sweaty brow and hope it gets no worse.

“...How’s our patient?” Dilan asks. He carries a tray with soup for the both of them. “Don’t protest. This is for you. You’ve been up all night.”

“It’s the flu, I’m afraid.” He’s just dipped this cloth in cool water, it’s warm already. “Thank goodness he’s sleeping. He’d be miserable otherwise.”

Dilan stares down at the lump that was Ienzo, barely visible below all the blankets. “...How bad is it?”

Even checks his log; he’s been taking his temperature every two hours, in the vain hope that it’ll break sooner rather than later. “Hovering around 40.5.”

“...Goodness, that’s…”

“If it gets higher we can chance an ice bath. But I’d rather not do that if I can avoid it. He’s already so sensitive--odds are his mind would interpret the cold as pain.”

“Couldn’t you simply… put the boy to sleep?”

“As if the ice water wouldn’t wake him up?”

Dilan puts a hand to his forehead. “Forgive me… my head is rather foggy.”

“You must be exhausted.” Even rewets the rag and places it back on Ienzo’s warm little face. “Get some rest. The last thing we need is for you to get it as well.”

He nods. “Should I… call someone?”

“Like who? Dilan.” He chuckles. “I’ve seen many sick children in my day. I promise I’m qualified.”

“I know you’re close to the boy. That can cloud things.”

“...We’ll be just fine. Your concern touches me.”

He stays with Ienzo that night; Ansem comes in and out, bringing them food, blankets, tea. He makes Even go sleep for a few hours. Even hopes his own exhaustion is just that. The last thing he needs…

Ienzo’s fever drops from 40.5 to 39. An improvement, but not much of one; now instead of being asleep, he’s conscious and miserable and the cold medicine only makes him irritated. He still can barely keep anything down. Even tries not to worry--it takes much longer than two days for the flu to pass--but inside a web of anxiety is spinning, gently, what if he doesn’t get better, what if the fever suddenly worsens in the night and he seizes, isn’t there something else I can do? He almost has to force the boy to drink, considers starting an IV line. After a few hours Ienzo sleeps, fitfully, shivering hard. Despite himself, Even drifts too, jolting back into consciousness every time his head nods. He knows he should ask for someone to relieve him, at least temporarily. But who?

During one of these sleepy waves, he hears it. “Daddy?”

Even blinks hard. “It’s Even, little one. Go back to sleep.”

He takes a shaky breath, one full of phlegm. “Where is he?”

He cracks a little. “I’m sorry. He’ll be back soon.”

“He’s supposed to--” Ienzo’s reeling a little, his eyes rolling.

“What, love?”

“The song to make it go away--” He shudders, propping himself up.

“Lay back down. It’s alright.” His family must have had rituals, Even realizes, just like any other. “I can read to you, would that help?”

“Why did they leave?” His voice breaks.

“Oh, love. They didn’t want to.”

Ienzo bursts into tears. It’s not the same as the nightmare-induced panic attacks; there’s a cold sentience to this. Almost instinctively, and against his better judgement, Even draws him into his arms. He’s unsure of how Ienzo will react to the touch, but to his surprise he feels the boy clinging to him.  It feels so familiar. The weight of him is almost exactly like--

Anything but that.

He tries to focus on comforting the boy, but all he can say are some variations of “it’s alright.” It seems to take a very long time for Ienzo to calm down, settling down against Even’s chest in an exhausted heap. He dares not move, lest he disturb him more.

The next thing he knows he’s waking up, the boy still asleep in his arms. As gently as Even can, he lays him back down and tucks the blanket more securely around his shoulders. He checks the boy’s fever. 38, only a touch higher than normal. They’re out of the woods. Or, he notes with a groan as he feels a sudden ache in his back, Ienzo is. He makes his way slowly out of the room and sees Dilan. “Don’t come any closer,” he warns. “I believe I’ve caught it too.”

Dilan sighs. “I’ll bring you some soup. Best get to bed.”

“...Right. Never a dull day around here, is there?”

“If only.”

He is beginning to feel the brunt of it in earnest; he shivers as he bathes no matter how warm the water, and the blankets do not seem to be enough. Dilan, in a mask, brings him medicine. Even tries to read for a while, but nothing has straight lines anymore, so he succumbs to a restless sleep.

Of course he’s aware delirium can twist the mind, can weaken it, can lower one’s defenses. That doesn’t make him prepared for the onslaught that follows. He can see their faces clear as day as desperately as he tried to forget them--he can hear their voices--

Dad, look! Look, I got it! The boy, hanging determinedly from a set of monkey bars.

Please be careful--oh, love--

Even, kids get hurt. Let him have his fun.

He ran out of time. He should’ve been with him. If he’d’ve been there maybe none of this would’ve happened. They’d still be--

Officers in deep blue uniforms--

An electrical failure--

Transformer blew--the place likely went up in minutes.

They probably didn’t feel much of anything.

He wasn’t there, making his imagination work all the harder--did they cry? Were they together when it happened, holding one another? Did they think of him? It has to have been awful--to feel oneself be torn apart--no matter how quickly it happens--

Something cool pats his face, bringing him almost, but not quite, to consciousness. He feels horrifically nauseous. “Go back to sleep,” says the voice.

“I have to… check on him,” he mumbles.

“Ienzo’s doing much better. His fever broke. You, on the other hand--” A wry chuckle. A sound like woodsmoke.

Smoke? “I should’ve--”

“Nonsense. You took excellent care of him. Now you must look after yourself.”

“He could’ve fallen.”

“Ienzo’s going nowhere.”

Even’s feeling increasingly woozy. “He feels like him. Why did you do this to me?” And then it’s happening, he’s crying again, a sensation that physically hurts. He feels a hand on his back above the blankets.

“Why do you feel you must suffer alone?”

Darkness, for a long time. When he wakes he still feels horrid, but at least things are beginning to sharpen again. His head’s pounding, and his muscles feel like lead. He groans a little when he tries to prop himself up.

“Even?”

His head snaps up; the sudden movement worsens the pain. “You should go, you needn’t see this.”

Ansem looks exhausted. His hair is unkempt, his beard needs trimming, and the circles under his eyes are nearly comical. “You’re too unwell to take care of yourself. I was near Ienzo, so if I’m already infected, no point exposing the others.” He pours Even a glass of water and hands him a few pills. “Your fever’s not so terrifyingly high, but you were quite delirious for a while.”

“I am… aware.” He scowls. He’s so thirsty. The moment he sets down his empty glass, Ansem gets more. He’s dragged a chair to Even’s bedside; it’s here Ansem sits.

“I wish to have… a word,” he says, with difficulty.

“While I’m essentially a captive audience? Not very sportsmanlike, is it?”

“Well quite bluntly otherwise you’d flee. Because you’ve been avoiding it like the plague.”

Even lays back down with a huff.

Ansem scratches his beard. “Kick and scream, I don’t care. We’ll chalk it up to your illness. You’re clearly suffering. Pushing it away isn’t going to  make it any easier. You’re living in a state of quasi-denial where everything’s fine. Everything needn’t be fine, Even.”

“You think this is denial?”

Ansem looks him in the eye. “Yes. I do. The longer you put it off, the more you don’t have to face the fact that your life is forever changed, that your residence in the castle is no longer a temporary one. You have to grieve them, Even. It’s been almost two years.”

He looks up at the ceiling. The dome light, a moth flickering around it agitatedly. “...Has it been that long already?” he asks. “I… hadn’t realized.” He’s again exhausted but can’t find the energy to be angry.

Mostly  because Ansem’s right.

He feels Ansem’s warm, dry hand slide over his. “I do not expect you to be the same. But I would like you to let me help you.”

“What could you possibly do for me?”

“Listen.”

“With all your free time?”

“Even.”

He exhales shakily.

“Bonds can make a heart stronger,” Ansem says. “That’s what you need right now.”

How very like him, to frame it in context with Even’s work. “Where would I even begin?”

“You mentioned that Ienzo feels the same.”

It’s hard to breathe. “...Yes,” he says. “They’re about the same size. He was, rather. My son.” Saying it feels like getting stabbed. It’s easier not to look at Ansem, so he doesn’t.

“I… remember. But he never had an aptitude for the sciences. A gentle soul, that one.”

“Incredibly. Dare I say it, too fragile to last very long. Almost like we were tempting…” He trails off.

“...Fate? Even, I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”

“Ansem, I’m not certain of anything anymore.”

“...That’s quite alright.”

“I had wanted to make things better.”

“It’s not too late.”

“It always will be, for them.” He closes his eyes. “As for me…” He doesn’t know what else to say. “Other than my work, truly…”

“What is there to live for?”

“...I’m frightfully pathetic.”

“No. You’re in pain.” He adjusts his grip on Even’s hand. “Closing yourself off to the world won’t heal your heart.”

“I suppose it won’t.” It’s an emotion he’s unsure of, fragile and pale. “Why is it you care?”

“Even, I’ve known you since university. I’ve seen your brightness, your hope. I know you can find it again.”

“I’m afraid your certainty must be enough for the both of us.”

“I will try my best.”

---

He feels a bit different after the sickness, like he’s shifted a bit to the left. It takes a while to regather his strength, physically and otherwise. He spends this intellectually useless time with Ienzo, in the large library; the boy can’t seem to believe there are so many books. The excitement of it soothes Even. He wishes he could feel the same, that he could go back to the point where he, too, saw so much wonder.

Truthfully, other than his size, Ienzo bears no resemblance to his son. That child was an artful soul, constantly drawing; Ienzo never picks up a marker unless it is to write. That child loved to play; Ienzo would much rather read and seek stimulation more quietly. Were he older, Even thinks, Ienzo might have been a peer to himself. He surely must eventually go to university, to meet more people his age like him. Scientists are poor excuses for friends.

“So that’s him? Cute kid.”

The voice startles him; his heart jolts unpleasantly. He turns and sees a man he can only vaguely recognize, in the castle’s deep blue guard uniform; his short dark hair is slicked back, and a red kerchief covers his collar, breaking protocol for sure. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

The man puts a hand on his hip. “Heard you guys are cooking up a project, and could use the extra help around here.” He sticks out his white-gloved hand. “Name’s Braig. We’ve met.”

Even glances briefly back at Ienzo, who has barely moved. Braig’s glove is a little dirty, and after he shakes his hand he makes a note to wash his own as soon as possible. “Then surely I needn’t introduce myself. That boy over there’s Master Ansem’s ward, Ienzo.”

“Figured. Everyone’s been talking about him.” Braig observes him for a moment. “You’re Ansem’s right hand man, aren’t you?”

“Master Ansem,” Even corrects. “And I’m one of his science officers, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

The man shrugs. “So then why are you on babysitting duty?”

Even takes a breath to compose himself. Braig’s manner is most unbecoming to a supposedly-stoic castle guard. “I assist with the boy’s education,” he says instead.

Braig chuckles. “If you want to call it that.”

He tries to bite down on his temper. “Don’t you need to return to your rounds?” he asks, politely.

He shrugs. “I’m off the clock. Just taking a look at my new digs. Only saw it briefly during orientation, which was a lot longer ago that I want to admit.”

So he doesn’t even have newness as an excuse for this behavior. “I see,” he says distastefully.

“Can I introduce myself to the kid? Don’t want to freak him out if I’m going to be around.”

Even blanches. He hates to admit Braig has a point; Ienzo needs to be familiar with those around him. “...He is rather shy. Don’t be surprised if he simply ignores you.”

Braig shrugs. “Eh, I’ve had worse.” He approaches him slowly. There’s something lazy, almost cat-like, about the way he moves. Even watches him warily. “Hey, kiddo. Whatcha reading? Doesn’t look like a whole lot of fun.”

Ienzo looks up at his assailant with an expression of dull disappointment.

“Name’s Braig. One of the castle guards. ‘Fraid you’re going to be seeing this ugly mug a lot.”

“Okay,” is all Ienzo says. He goes  back to his reading. Braig crosses back over to the door.

“Not a people person, I guess,” he says. “Be seeing you, Even.”

Even bristles when Braig doesn’t use his title. “With all due politeness, if we’re to work together you must be respectful.”

Braig smirks a little. “Sure thing, Doctor. ” When he leaves, his tread is nearly soundless. Even sighs a little out of frustration.

“Ienzo? We must go get some lunch.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says, turning the page.

“You lost weight when you were ill. The last thing we need is for you to get sick again.”

---

“...I admit he’s… a character,” Dilan says, his lip curling.

“Is there no one else?” Even asks. “If this is to be the constant,  I wish for it to be someone who’s… more in line with decorum.”

“Ansem does not seem to mind,” Dilan remarks. He looks pale, the skin under his eyes the color of a bruise. Even’s not sure which cup of coffee he’s on, but he’s also sure he doesn’t want to know.

“I understand the… trepidation,” Aeleus says slowly. He searches through the tome he’s holding slowly. “I worked in tandem with him for some time. Braig is very experienced, and the people like him. That’s not for nothing. Have you truly never met?”

Even feels his face reddening. “Not that I can recall.”

Dilan chuckles. “Perhaps he’ll respect you if you respect him.”

“Of course his labor is valuable.”

“...Not what I said.”

“How are things going?” Even asks instead.

He takes off his reading glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Feels I’m running a fool’s errand,” Dilan admits. “I consulted with the wizard Merlin, as Master advised, yet…” He digs something out of his pocket and sets it on the table between the three of them; it’s a blistered, patinated bit of scrap metal, its edges splintered. “This is all that’s left of my prototype.”

Ienzo hops down from his chair to investigate. He reaches up to the table to take the piece of metal, his arm too short to reach the center of the table.

“No, child, that’s quite sharp,” Dilan says.

“I just want to look at it,” Ienzo says, with a hint of a whine. Aeleus hefts the boy onto his knee. He peers through the curtain of hair at the metal. “Not aluminum.” He pronounces it like “lumininum.” Even corrects him gently.

“No. It’s… it was an alloy,” Dilan says.

He shakes his head. “Needs to be something flexible.”

They are all silent for several moments; Ienzo cocks his head slightly.

Dilan scoffs a little to himself. “The boy’s right. Good on you, Ienzo.”

Ienzo beams at the praise, revealing his missing front teeth--the milk teeth fell out some two weeks prior.

Dilan drums his fingers on the table. “But if not metal, then what?”

Ienzo shrugs. “Master says gummy.”

Even raises an eyebrow. “What, rubber?”

“Gummy,” he repeats, slowly, as if that makes it any clearer.

“Ienzo, we’ve no idea what you’re talking abou--”

He turns red. “That’s what his friend says!” He’s almost yelling. Ienzo’s temper is a new development.

Aeleus rubs his shoulders gently. “Calm down and think about what you need to say,” he suggests.

He’s tearing up, sniffling in frustration. It’s clear Ienzo occasionally has difficulty stringing together his thoughts, especially as he becomes more verbal. “His friend, his friend speaked about it--”

“Spoke,” Dilan corrects.

Aeleus tucks a strand of gray hair behind the boy’s ear. “What about this friend?”

Even’s almost sure the conversation’s meaningless until Ienzo says, “His friend has a star. He’s little, not like me. And he has a…” He shapes something with his hands, something long and thin.

Aeleus offers him a pencil and some graphing paper. “Why don’t you try drawing it?”

The boy begins sketching dutifully, the lines messy. It looks almost like a sword, or a bat, but he adds something to the tip of it, something like--

Even’s heart all but stops, and from the looks on Aeleus’s and Dilan’s faces, theirs do too. “Are you… quite sure of what you saw?” Even asks gently. Ienzo is not a particularly imaginative child, but this seems more plausible than the truth on the paper in front of them.

He nods. “I see… I saw it.”

There, in the horrible fluorescent lighting, is a drawing of a Keyblade.

---

There are so many thoughts going through Even’s mind, he doesn’t know how to keep track of them. He honestly isn’t sure if he feels sick or exhilarated.

They always thought that Keyblades were legend. But considering Ansem’s fascination with other worlds… Has he, privately, tried to contact them?

Is Ienzo merely lying?

The boy is not a liar, but it makes so much more sense if Even believes he is. Well, there’s one simple solution to all this. He may make a fool of himself, but he has to pursue this feeling.

During a break in Ansem’s schedule, he goes to see him. He considers bringing Ienzo too, as a sort of collateral, but Aeleus is in the middle of a biology quiz, and Even knows how busy Ansem gets.

He feels breathless, and sweaty. “I must have a word.”

Ansem’s head snaps up. “My friend! Are you alright? Please, sit.”

He does, sinking first down onto a pile of files before he remembers to remove them. Ansem pours some water from a decanter and hands it to him. Even watches the light refract off of the crystal glass, trying to gather his nerve. “You had Ienzo in on a meeting,” Even says.

Ansem looks more confused than anything. “I never involve him in city work.”

“A visitor, then? Some friend of yours?” He sounds a bit wheezy. “The boy is either… telling tales, or you’ve been up to something.”

Ansem hesitates, and this hesitation tells Even everything he needs to know. “I did not intend for Ienzo to be there, but he just so happened to arrive when--”

 “Who?”

Ansem sighs heavily. It’s a sound of getting caught.

---

Forty-five minutes later, Even has a splitting headache. He may, he reckons, be going completely insane.

Apparently out of the blue one day a mouse king arrived from another world, teleported willy-nilly via something he called a “star shard.” Even does not know how to begin unpacking this. Mouse? Child-sized, sentient, speaking their language? And of course Ansem immediately started asking him about this--the two spent some hours talking about their worlds, the commonalities, the differences. Which of course Ansem kept to himself. Only then the mouse (mouse!) king returned, during one of Ansem’s tutoring sessions with Ienzo. This time he brought books, books from this other world, and some aqueous cubes of material he calls “gummi blocks.” And he was very pleased to tell Ansem he’d become a Keyblade master.

What in the world is going on? Nobody has ever believed Keyblades were real , and here the proof is in the pudding, so to speak. It’s all true, which makes Even feel even more mad; it seems like everything he’s learned is a lie.

In it all, a glint of hope.

Ansem lends him the books. Here there’s more information about light and darkness--well-reasoned studies proving, more than anything, that it’s a whole lot more literal than any of them have ever thought, and provides them with building blocks on how to seek it out in the environment.

The gummi material is exactly as alien as Even thought; immensely mutable, easily replicable. He spends hours subjecting the stuff to tests--extreme heat, liquid nitrogen, stress, impact, gravity. It can hold shape with ease, hardening to become like glass, its texture scrambling to become whatever they urge it to conform to. And it seems to be extremely durable.

“Something flexible,” Dilan says with awe. “This must be what Ienzo meant.”

It seems to be exactly what they need to move forward with their research. Now that he knows he’s not suffering a mental breakdown, the possibilities excite Even, actually make it difficult to sleep at night.

They create something like a pod, with the hope of being able to isolate the light from the darkness. They need something living, to study; they examine mice, reptiles, insects. While these things do seem to carry light and darkness in their own way, they also lack hearts--the real, intangible, metaphysical hearts. The proper thing to do would be to study people. The machine seems to do no harm to the lesser animals, but the moment humanity comes into it, it gets intensely more complicated.

“It will take… quite some doing,” Ansem admits. “You have to create a risk impact statement, and that statement has to pass the board of ethics. And I need it to. I will not have anyone getting hurt. We know so little about these forces.”

“Of course we will obtain informed consent,” Even says. “We merely wish to examine them, and to ask them questions about the more… mythical things. Like bonds, or memories. How do we measure these things? We can only figure it out by gathering data.”

“I warn you, this may take some time,” Ansem says. He crosses his legs, looking towards the machines--Dilan has made two more. “The typical amount of time it takes things to pass the board is six months--something like this? Perhaps longer.”

Even curses his own lack of foresight. He should have drafted something earlier, before they got swept in this nonsense, to avoid these roadblocks. But who, says a small voice inside of him, would really stop them? Who would inspect them? After all, this would all be so harmless. “...Of course.”

“I will try my best to force it past them--but they must carry out their own studies, and observations. The people have a right to know what happens at this castle. Especially if it may-- however nebulously--impact them.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m sure you have other things to pursue in the meantime.”

“I suppose I could… spend some more time on Ienzo’s education. I fear in all this excitement it’s been rather neglected.”

He smiles, but it’s tired. “I’m sure the boy learns much more than you think merely being around you.”

“It was his idea to use the gummi blocks,” Even admits. “I think he intuited their use before we even experimented on them.”

Ansem stares at him. “Is that true?”

“Children often have fresh, blunt perspectives,” he says. He goes to adjust the band in his hair, but again, the elastic breaks against his fingers. “...Blast.”

Ansem chuckles. “If it bothers you so much, cut it.”

“It is rapidly getting to that point.” He takes the band and tries to tie it around the mass. It holds, barely. “As I was saying. Ienzo’s intellect here pairs well with that freshness. He can see things we’re too stubborn to see, in a way far less complex.”

Ansem twirls a pen. “Would it do him good to continue to observe your work? Does he enjoy it?”

Even thinks. “I believe so. It started this way out of necessity--if he’s not with you, he’s with one of us, and this is where we’ve all been.”

“If it’s as harmless as you say… I see no reason why it shouldn’t continue. So long as he still gets sunlight, and the like.”

---

For a while they all slip into a sort of lull. Even takes Ienzo to town with him, hoping to enroll him into some sort of activity that would encourage him to make friends; but the stimuli of the city actually reduces Ienzo to tears, and Even ends up carrying the boy home. It’s strange; Ienzo’s always been able to make it to the library, but the library isn’t in the dead center of town. He puts him to bed, lays a cool cloth over his eyes. “We can try again when you’re ready,” he says softly.

Soon, though, Ienzo disappears again, for more than his usual trip to the town library. Even tries to be more rational about it this time--the boy probably lost track of the hours--and he finds he doesn’t have to go very far. He’s merely in the square, near a blonde teenage boy wearing odd clothing (the fashions these days). He must’ve been bringing Ienzo home. “Ah, there you are. Didn’t I warn you not to wander off, child?” Ienzo gives a small shrug. He turns to the blond boy. “I see we owe you our thanks. We have done our best to raise the boy, since his poor parents are not here to do it.”

The teenager stares down at Ienzo. “Oh, you’re on your own, huh?” Then, to Even--”Sir, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s a tall guy dressed kinda like me. Have you seen him?”

Even would not have expected such politeness from someone dressed so. But he knows a gaggle of teenagers gathers on the outskirts of town. “Perhaps I did see him in the outer gardens. Just follow this road.”

“Thank you.” Something about this boy’s face is familiar. Who knows--such kindness and eagerness to protect might make a good guard out of him.

Even smiles a little. “No, thank you, for keeping Ienzo out of harm’s way.” He pauses. “And… well, let’s just say I have a feeling we are destined to cross paths again.”

The boy seems unsure of how to respond. They part on that note. Even notices a sudden vacantness in Ienzo’s eyes.

“How kind of that young man to bring you home,” he says. “Then again, I suppose everyone knows who you are.”

“No,” Ienzo says.

“No, what?”

He looks up. He squeezes his shoulder once. “Nothing. It was by chance. Do you think you’ll meet him again?”

He blinks. “I think anything’s possible. Don’t you?”

---

He’s finally fallen deeply, blessedly asleep one night several weeks later when he’s being woken. Aeleus, urgent and flushed. “We need you,” he says.

“What? This late? Why?”

“It’s Ienzo.”

He doesn’t bother putting on his formal clothes and follows Aeleus in his dressing gown. The air’s cool, dry; it smells like ozone. Even notes that outside it’s storming. They go down to the new lab. Even can taste his heartbeat, knowing all too well that nothing good has happened here. Braig, of all people, is cradling the boy; he’s in an odd state of quasi-consciousness. Even notices for the first time that the man’s wearing an eye patch, one he most certainly did not have several weeks ago. What did that miscreant do? Well, it’s not important now.

“I was doing my rounds down here when I saw him,” Braig begins. “I asked the kid what he was doing but he just stared at me. He was standing over there--” Braig points to one of the machines. Aeleus darts over to investigate. “I dunno. He started breathing all funny and then dropped like a sack of potatoes.” He lays Ienzo down so Even can examine him. His pulse is elevated, and he’s nearly hyperventilating. A finger of panic threatens to overtake Even, but he swallows it down.

“What is it, Aeleus?” Even hedges.

“Come here,” Aeleus says in an odd voice.

“I’m tending to Ienzo, Aeleus, he needs--”

“You really have to see this.”

Braig shakes his head. “I’ll keep an eye on the kid,” he says.

Shakily, Even joins Aeleus. Instantly he can tell what overtook Ienzo; the strong scent of chlorine gas makes his eyes water before he can turn away. The ventilation is good enough that it shouldn’t affect the rest of them now; but for a small child, one good lungful is enough. A hole has been burned clean through the ersatz gummi glass; something’s a molten lump inside, pinkish and still smoldering. More alarming than this, though, are the thin purplish tendrils rising from it.

“Chemical smoke?” Aeleus asks.

Even knows this is not the case. He isn’t sure how he knows--it’s just a certainty deep inside.

The gummi block drips darkness.

---

He tells Aeleus to put on protective gear and seal the block somewhere safe so they can observe it. Meanwhile, he has more important things to deal with. He brings Ienzo to the med bay, decontaminates him in case the chlorine got on any other parts of his body, and starts him on oxygen. He does not need to be intubated, thank the stars, but it takes much too long for his breathing to sound less labored. In all this, the poor boy falls asleep.

He sees Ansem’s face peeking in through the glass panel on the door, but he doesn’t dare intrude until Even gives his approval. He rushes over to Ienzo, pulls him close; Even’s shocked to see a tear run down his face. Once he seems to assure himself the boy’s stable, he turns to Even, danger in his rust-colored eyes.

“A word,” is all he says. A command, not a question.

Even stands and glances over towards the bed.

“Aeleus will keep an eye on him. Come.”

Even follows several paces behind, his heart pounding dread. Once they’re well out of earshot, in the breezeway, Ansem speaks, his back turned to Even, his hands held behind. None of the affable friendliness of their normal interactions--no longer just Ansem, but Ansem the Wise, King of Radiant Garden.

Very well.

“This must not continue,” Ansem says. His voice is soft, and low, barely audible above the rain pattering loudly on the crystal ceiling.

“Do not blame this on me. The boy went down there on his own.”

“Of course he did! He’s a child, a curious one. We’ve done nothing but enable him, and now we’ve put him in danger.” Ansem looks over his shoulder. “I forbid him from observing this research any longer, at least until he’s old enough to understand consequence. I figured that you of all people would know better.”

It feels like a barb, rendering Even’s retort useless. He doesn’t catch his breath for a full moment. His heart is full of ice. “What are we to do, then? Have him under lock and key? Am I to keep twenty-four hour surveillance on him?”

“I mean you need to be careful.”

“I am nothing but careful.” He should feel enraged, but all he feels is a strange, cool distance. “We are all careful with him. Moreover…” A breath. “He’s your son. We did not collectively agree to raise him. If you’re so concerned about his wellbeing, perhaps you should have a more active role in his life. I can’t do everything, Ansem.”

He turns. Even holds firm.

“You prattle on about my recovery, and yet, you’ve no idea of the weight of the responsibility you’ve placed on me.”

“You think I do not know responsibility? ” There’s a sharpness to his tone Even’s never heard before.

“Abstractly, yes, of course. But when faced with it in the flesh, you--”

There’s a splitting crack outside, a crack of thunder; a shockwave cracks the crystal window closest to Ansem, and they both jump. “What on earth?” Ansem spits. “Even--dear god, look out the window.”

The sky is swarming with darkness--luminous pink and violet and black tendrils. “We must get inside.”

“Get Ienzo. Go somewhere safe, all of you. Go. ”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to go out in this?”

“Even, I must see what’s to be done. The people may be in danger.”

He takes a breath. Be careful, he nearly says. “...Alright.”

Ienzo’s conscious when he gets back to the room.

“What’s happening?” Aeleus asks.

“I’ve no idea. The three of us are going down to my lab. There’s--” He feels Ienzo’s eyes on him. “Something’s going on outside. A bad storm. Best keep away from windows. No need to worry.”

Aeleus knows he’s lying for Ienzo’s benefit. “Can you walk?” he asks the boy. “You know what? Here.” He hefts him into his arms. “You’ll soon be too old to be carried around, yes? Might as well enjoy this small luxury.”

They go together, Even carrying the oxygen tank. Ienzo still seems limp, tired, though his eyes betray something else happened down there. What on earth had the boy done? Melted down a gummi block? But how? Nothing Even did to them had that reaction. Something that resulted in a production of chlorine… unless the gas the melting block emitted simply seemed like chlorine? They do not truly know what the blocks are made of, just that they can make themselves into any substance.

And how did it produce darkness in its rawest form?

Ienzo’s staring at him, so he tries to smile. “You, little one, are in a lot of trouble,” he says jovially. “What were you doing in the lab on your own? You know it’s not safe! It’s a good thing Braig found you. You could’ve gotten sick.”

Ienzo says nothing. Again, he’s limp against Aeleus, but his breathing’s not audible and his pulse feels more or less normal, all things considering.

“We will talk about this,” Even says to him sternly. “Once you’ve rested.”

In the lab, they rest the boy on Even’s cot, the one he uses when he’s simply too exhausted to walk all the way back. He tucks the blanket around the boy’s shoulders. “Try to get some sleep.” He sits with Ienzo until the boy’s drifted off. The thunder’s much quieter here, but still, to the listening ear, audible--even through all the stone.

Aeleus wordlessly hands him a cup of coffee and nods his head towards the supply pantry. Even follows him inside and shuts the door most of the way. "Have you any idea what this is?" Aeleus whispers.

"I… almost feel as if I imagined it," Even says in an equally soft voice. "The sky was full of color--of darkness. But I don't know--where would it have come from? We've no idea what so much of it can do--the myths all point to destruction. I was told to come here with you and protect the boy." He feels his lips curl into a sneer. "And of course I must follow orders."

Aeleus sighs. "He blames you?"

"Of course he does. I'm afraid I lost my temper."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"We have to figure out whatever Ienzo was doing," Even says. He fusses with the dry ends of his hair. "Not just for his safety… for our research. And why he decided to do this on his own."

"He likes independence," Aeleus says simply.

"Well. There's plenty of time for him to be independent when he's older--"

"Even?" They hear him call from the other room.

He crosses over to Ienzo; he's fiddling with the oxygen mask, unable to get it off of his face.

"Little one, you should leave that on. You breathed in some nasty business."

He blushes, then admits, embarrassed, "I need the washroom."

"Oh--of course." Even takes it off, points to the door where it could be found. "But it goes on the moment you're through."

They wait for him. Aeleus pulls a puzzle charm out of his pocket and begins working on it. "Can't solve this one. I've been on it for weeks."

"You and your games."

"It keeps the mind limber. You should keep neuroplasticity in mind. We're at the age where we begin to lose such things."

Even looks into his half-drained coffee cup. "I'll ignore what you're implying," he says.

Aeleus chuckles.

It seems like Ienzo's been gone a long time; is his stomach upset? Even debates for a moment or so on checking in. Or--more insidiously--was he overtaken again by faintness? He can't help himself; he knocks on the closed door. "Ienzo? Are you alright?" He hears what sounds like muffled breaths. "You sound like you can't breathe, child." It's the silence that worries him. "I'm sorry, I'm coming in."

He finds Ienzo curled opposite the toilet, rocking a little. If Even hasn't seen this before, he'd figure it does have to do with his breathing. He kneels down next to him. "That was scary, yes?" He says gently. "You're safe now." He flinches away from Even's touch for the first time in a long while. "Ienzo?"

He's sobbing a little, a sound that hurts to hear.

"It's safe here," he reasserts, only to immediately be contradicted by the loudest peal of thunder yet; they both jump, and Ienzo continues to shudder. "It's merely a storm."

It takes a long time for the boy to calm. He's shivering; Even drapes his robe over him, but it doesn't seem to do much good. He wants to go get a blanket, or better, get the boy back to the cot, but he's also unsure of leaving him alone. He's on the verge of asking for Aeleus to get it for him when he hears a small "I'm sorry."

"Oh, child, it's alright."

He shakes his head. He uncurls a little, revealing that he's wet himself.

"No matter. Happens to the best of us. I'll get something clean for you to change into, yes?" Privately, he's concerned; how deeply shaken was Ienzo, in order for this to happen? He goes to prop himself up, only to feel a small hand grab at his. "I promise I'll be right back. Aeleus is nearby. You're safe."

Aeleus does give him an odd look; all Even does is shake his head and press a finger to his lips to tell him not to speak of it.

“I need to go get a few things,” he says instead. “Wouldn’t hurt to check on the situation, either. Perhaps we can go back upstairs, to bed. I’m exhausted. I’m sure you are too.”

Aeleus shrugs. “We’ll be here.”

It seems like a very long walk back upstairs to their residences, but it isn’t. Even’s endlessly troubled; first and foremost to what is obviously a trauma response in the boy, and also to the unearthly cataclysm going on outside. Never, as long as he’s been alive, can he recall ever experiencing something like this. Radiant Garden is prone to violent outbreaks of wind, but only in the winter. Climate change is the only thing he can think of, but they moved away from harsh fuels long ago--before he was even born. And truly carbon dioxide cannot cause this.

And why is this happening only after they’ve had contact with an outside world?

Even gathers some dry pajamas and a blanket from Ienzo’s bedroom, and one for himself and Aeleus while he’s at it. He hopes that, wherever Dilan is, he’s safe. Dilan may be occasionally foolhardy, but at least he’s practical. He chances a glance out the windows in his quarters. To his immense relief, the sky is no longer dark in that abnormal way--the rain now seems normal. But is it only temporary?

Where is Ansem in all this?

He returns back to the others. “Things seemed to have calmed,” he says to Aeleus. Ienzo still appears to be hiding in the bathroom, door cracked slightly. “I’m sure you’d rather be in your own bed,” he adds, for Ienzo. He hands him the dry clothes through the crack and gives him privacy. Aeleus bobs his head towards this, and Even just shakes his head. After a moment Ienzo emerges, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Shall we go?” he asks the child. He nods.

Even is finally able to put the child to bed, and insists he wears the oxygen, at least until morning.

“I know it’s not very comfortable, but humor me,” he says. “You’ll feel better for it.”

Ienzo clings tightly to his small stuffed cat, a relic from his parents’ home. “It hurts,” he says, his voice muffled through the mask.

“What does?”

“The… the noise,” he says. “I can--” He glances towards the window.

“The thunder?” It becomes a little clearer; he’s sensitive enough as it is, all of the noise must have been internalized as pain. “It’s rain now, little one. Hear how it’s letting up?”

“I… I heard …”

“What did you hear?”

“Someone was angry. Screaming.”

“In the lab?”

He shakes his head. “In the sky?”

The darkness? Has the boy sensed it? Is it possible? More likely, this is part of that same trauma.“Is it still happening?” Even asks.

“No,” the boy admits.

“Perhaps you had a nightmare. You know how those bleed into reality sometimes.”

“It wasn’t ,” he insists, with more anger. Then, “Darkness.”

Even exhales. “Let me look into this for you. It’s possible you’re sensitive to it. In the meantime, you have to rest. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

“Believe me?” Ienzo asks.

“Of course I do, little one.” He squeezes his hand. “And should you need to get out of bed, you can take the mask off by pulling this tab.” He stands.

“Can you leave the lamp on?” he asks.

He tries to smile. “...Certainly.”

He knows he needs to sleep as well. It’s getting light out at this point, and the covers of his bed feel heavy, nearly alien. Even drifts for a while, fighting the worry that’s swelling in his chest, only to be fully roused by the soft creak of the door opening. He huffs. “Can’t a man have an hour’s worth of peace?” he asks.

Ansem is standing there, soaked to the skin, his red stole hanging limply against his jacket. “I apologize,” he says. “I wouldn’t ask for your assistance if it weren’t warranted.”

Even could do without his tone. “What is it now?”

“Dilan and Braig found a boy--a young man--in the square. Seems to be injured and reeling.”

“And? Can’t he go to the hospital like everyone else?”

Ansem frowns. “We believe he arrived with the storm.”

Despite himself, it all makes sense--he read however nebulous about darkness’s ability to transmute, to transport. “I will dress and be there shortly.”

The young man’s about eighteen, and unconscious. They found him facedown in a pool of rainwater in the square. One of them has changed him into dry clothing. Braig and Dilan hover nearby; Dilan exhausted, Braig vaguely pained. Even examines him and notes that aside from some a few nasty scratches that require stitches, he seems to be alright. His hair isn’t gray like Ienzo’s, but a much more violent shade of silver; his eyes, when Even opens them, are a glistening gold. But the young man won’t wake. “Well he has no brain injury,” Even says. “No fever. I’m not sure why he won’t rouse. Was he conscious at all?”

Ansem sighs. “But for a moment.”

“Did he say anything? Did he give a name?”

He looks towards the young man. “Xehanort.”

[vrainsrewatch]

episode 8 thoughts

i was gonna watch later, since i’ve got other things to do, but i burnt the shit out of my hands making hot chocolate like an idiot so i watched an episode first LOL. 

this episode starts out with that really strong fairy tale scenery i absolutely adore, with yusaku and ai trying their hardest to get blue angel to wake up.

i seriously could talk about the imagery in this scene for days lmao. i love the sleeping beauty aesthetic, but i also really love the colors. LV goes through so many different color palettes through the series, but i love the purples and blues of this area here. i’m not sure if the intention was to make blue angel seem like she was meant to be there, while in contrast playmaker stands out due to his hair, but i seriously replayed this section twice because it looked so nice. 

i have a lot to say about this episode, and it will also be my most screenshot heavy post so far lol, so once again, buckle up! 

this episode starts to really build up yusaku as a character - his sense of justice, his core values, etc etc. on top of that, it takes its time to flesh out akira, and to show his worse qualities, which we’ll get into in a minute.

first, though, is one of my favorite awkward exchanges in the series lmao:

i’m surprised he even caught onto what akira was getting at, tbh with y’all. vrains started out ship teasing yusaku/aoi really hard these episodes, but drop it almost completely up until the minimal tease we get in s3, which i find really funny. i was always really invested in them becoming friends, though, so while i’m happy we had that happen in s3, i would’ve really liked to see it happen earlier. not this early, though - yusaku’s nowhere near ready for that.

I HAD TOTALLY FORGOTTEN VYRA WAS HERE. yugioh hair makes it known that she’s going to be an important character, but i had really completely forgotten she was working as one of aoi’s doctors during this part lmao. i love this so much, actually.

moving onto everyone talking shit about blue angel on forums and stuff. this kinda shit:

would be really awful to deal with. it’s very real, though - cancel culture, anyone? but seriously, this is so brutal. on top of that, does this imply that she’s never really lost before? she is the number 2 charisma duelist in LV, so i wouldn’t be terribly surprised if that meant that she hadn’t really lost since starting to make it big as an idol. once again showing off how good of a duelist aoi actually is, even if the show makes her lose a lot. tbf, her loss/win ratio isn’t that bad looking at the other main girls - 5 wins, 5 losses on screen, and considering the kind of opponents she faced (soulburner, bohman, ai), that’s seriously not bad.

next up we get the chess pieces again, and boy howdy, does this conversation make me seethe.

i understand it’s partially a cultural difference thing, but i can’t help but get angry about it LOL. 

i didn’t remember how often the chess pieces were actually utilized in these first few episodes, either. i guess i can understand why people were irritated they were just dropped, but i don’t really see them as a plot point, more like... just a kind of weird way to run a company? just show your faces and have normal meetings like everyone else, y’all don’t have to be so extra.

the akira/emma meeting is nice because it shows you more of emma’s character, but it also gives you more of akira’s stupider (and ruthless) side.

you don’t see him like this very often, but honestly, when you think about all the unsavory jobs he was doing to keep him and aoi afloat way back when, it kind of makes sense. even if he was originally a gentle person, you don’t last doing... any of the jobs he’s done, being that way. even a higher up in a company like SOL tech would have to be a bit harsher to get to that point imo. i don’t see a lot of people talk about this side of akira’s character tbh which makes me kind of sad.

also, seriously, he’s an idiot. how did he arrive at this conclusion? when he saw that it was aoi who was baiting him into the duel? no matter what direction i approach this from, i can’t understand how he ended up on that conclusion lol.

also, the worst father ever award goes to....

seriously! i hate that man so much lmao. to say that directly to your own child, on top of everything else...

it’s a nice look into revolver, too, though you wouldn’t know it at first glance. his reply says everything, though. he fully accepts his role in his father’s life and has an incredibly toxic attachment to him, and wants his approval more than anything. we never see him get physically abused by kogami or anything of the sort, but you can’t deny the mental anguish he must’ve been going through in order to keep on his father’s good side. 

i know a lot of people like to say that revolver is kind of not a great guy, seeing the tower of hanoi arc, and how he probably should’ve went to jail etc etc but really, he was manipulated hard core. and extremely suicidal. i could really talk a lot about this all day, but i’ll cut myself off and instead say how much i love how vrains sets up revolver as a character. this, combined with “i’ll fulfill your wishes, father” from episode 3 gives you his motivations nice and clearly, but this specific scene also gives a bit of a hint as to where his character arc goes and what he has to work through. just thinking about this makes me so excited to get to 116 again lmao.

anyways, though. another excellent exchange comes up. seriously, lmao, ai being like “waaaah that’s illegal !!!!” and kusanagi’s just very casual 

makes me laugh every time i see it. they are criminals, even if what they’re doing is for the greater good. they’re not exactly innocent here lmao.

then there’s the talk about the virus infecting her, and it’s a nice way to bring up how that works before the another arc comes up in.. a couple of episodes, right? tbh it’s the arc i remember the least about, so i’m looking forward to rewatching it.

actually though, the idea of viruses in LV being able to infect someone’s body is so, so interesting. i really, really wish they had done more with the whole LV/rl merge idea, but guess i’ll just have to write more fanfic instead lol.

i mentioned at the beginning of this post we get into yusaku as a character more here, and this is one of the lines that really made him interesting to me originally:

he has such a strong sense of justice, but what sets him apart from other ygo protags is that he is not defined by it. he’s not the classic, stereotypical do-gooder who gets caught up in something and has to make it right, his justice is more so that he is not okay with seeing other people hurt because of what happened to him. his justice is driven by his trauma, almost entirely.

revolver even brings it up this episode:

where he talks about how some rando wouldn’t have done them any good because it wouldn’t have been public enough. yusaku doesn’t really care about the little people, not in the same way, say, yugi would. it’s not that he wants them to be hurt or see them get hurt or anything, it’s just that unless it effects him directly, it’s not on his radar. but once he gets involved, he feels fully responsible.

while he didn’t plant the hanoi virus into her, he probably knows it was to intentionally draw him out thanks to ai (and the fact that he beats them up all the time). he feels fully responsible for what happened to her, and he’s prepared to do what is needed to make it right again.

i really like yusaku for this. i find those kinds of characters really interesting, and yusaku is no exception. 

we get the whole emma/blue angel/yusaku scene, which is pretty sick tbh looking at it again - just shoot a church straight up from the ground for dramatic effect! - and i’ll bring up more of akira’s ruthlessness here.

seriously, this is not a line from someone who is just angry about his sister. and it’s also him being fuckin DUMB. playmaker willingly lets himself get caught into your trap, and he tells akira straight up what he has to do to save his sister - no sugar coating it, no trying to make it cryptic or difficult despite being caught in that hand and in that trap. he’s incredibly honest, and akira still does this lmao.

then it’s probably the wildest turn of events in all of vrains:

where’s that post that’s like, “remember when playmaker gets caught in a gothic looking church while he’s getting tormented by a giant demon hand controlled by his classmate’s brother and then his rival who he hasn’t met yet shows up in a lightning bolt to save him”? bc really LMAO what the fuck. it was so hype watching it the first time, and it’s still awesome watching it back.

and why is this never really??? brought up again later???? and when he leaves in that datastorm to go prepare to fight playmaker LMAO i know it’s supposed to look cool but the animation is so dorky, i love it. 

more on yusaku, though. before playmaker goes to fight revolver, who he’s been gearing towards for awhile now, we get this exchange:

to which playmaker responds with “i don’t hate you. i only hate the knights of hanoi”. which is another really good moment for his early characterization and very, very consistent with his backstory that we find out in about 12 episodes.

everyone who wasn’t involved in the LI in any way just... exists to him. they’re completely neutral. if something happens to them because of him, he feels directly responsible, because he feels like he got them tangled up in a mess that nobody should be in. i mentioned that briefly earlier, but this really drives that point home.

he doesn’t even hate akira for torturing him mere minutes ago. because he’s been through worse. because akira was doing what he thought was right by his sister, no matter how stupid he was being.

and even more so than that, he’s not seeing this as fighting for akira. he feels responsible for blue angel, but also, here’s his chance to fight revolver. it’s a two birds one stone situation here for him. 

anyways, i’m gonna stop myself there lol this is really long OOPS. gotta take care of a few things, and then onto the first rev vs playmaker duel!

[nadziejastar]

It seems like Isa and Lea’s relationship will never be the same. They’ll never truly mend it bc we’re going to forced with Sea Salt Trio (Quadruplets I guess) moments instead. And that’s cute and all but Isa’s character got so badly shafted and treated like shit. And it leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth.

Saïx’s TRUE Purpose: The Power of Love

Xion: “…It was my choice…to go away now. Better that, than to do nothing…and let Xemnas have his way. I belong with Sora. And now, I am going back…to be with him. Roxas…I need you…to do me a favor. All those hearts that I’ve captured… Kingdom Hearts… Set them free.”

Roxas: “Kingdom Hearts… Free them?”

Xion: “It’s too late…for me to undo my mistakes. But you can’t let Xemnas…have Kingdom Hearts. You can’t. Good-bye, Roxas. See you again. I’m glad…I got to meet you. Oh…and of course, Axel, too. You’re both my best friends. Never forget. That’s the truth.”

I couldn’t agree more. I refuse to sugar-coat it: Isa got treated like SHIT. The conclusion to his story was so poorly-written, that it’s insulting to the players’ intelligence. And I totally agree that Lea and Isa’s relationship could never be the same. How could it? It was never acknowledged that Isa was a victim of Xehanort. He deserved the same level of empathy that Terra got from his friends after getting possessed. He deserved to get rescued with the power of waking and restored to his former self. In KH3, he got none of this. Instead, Lea was mad at him for “letting” himself get reduced to being Xehanort’s vessel. I’m not even looking forward to seeing their relationship in the future games because I don’t feel that the real Isa even came back.

I also agree that they are most likely going to push the Sea-Salt Trio FAR more than the relationship between Lea and Isa. It seems like they are going to push the angle of Skuld being Isa’s love interest, and Isa will be much more involved with her going forward than Lea or anyone else. He did say he “sacrificed everything” for her. I have no interest in that whatsoever. I view it not as a genuine pairing, but more of a desperate attempt to deflect from the original idea that Square-Enix and Disney were too cowardly to allow Nomura to follow through with: the idea of romantic love between two males. That is a terrifying idea to many people. But that’s exactly why it was so important.

Day 276: Behind the Truth

Saïx would laugh at people with no hearts calling one another friends, but that doesn’t make it not so.

From a writing standpoint, I don’t think it was appropriate that Roxas and Xion became the focal point Isa’s redemption arc. Those relationships and character arcs are entirely separate. Lea and Isa’s relationship with each other should have been the focus of his redemption. KH3 sent the message that only Lea’s friendship with Roxas and Xion was worth anything. I have noticed that many fans don’t even think Roxas and Xion should forgive Isa, and they disliked how friendly they were with him in the ending. That demonstrates just how badly KH3 failed with Isa’s character arc, and properly differentiating him from his Xehanort-possessed self, Saïx.

Day 352: What I Must Do

I love Roxas and Axel. I’m sure Saïx would scoff at that. Call it a trick of my artificial memories. But the time I spent on that clock tower was real.

I thought that Roxas and Xion’s friendship with Axel was not only very sweet, but very meaningful. 358/2 Days is a well-written story. KH3 is…not a well-written story. Xion sacrificed herself so that Xemnas would not win. She was more concerned with Roxas and Axel’s well-being than her own. Xion’s name means, “forget-me-not”. She may disappear, but she’ll never forget her friends, nor will she be ever forgotten by them. That is the power of the heart. The power of love. Roxas, Xion and Axel’s friendship sent a very beautiful message. Lea’s relationship with Isa was supposed to accomplish the same thing: send a very beautiful message about the power of love. Unfortunately, this important message got totally thrown by the wayside.

Larxene: “So, love has filled both their hearts with light.”

Naminé added data to Jiminy’s Journal in order to convey that the “pain” of those connected to Sora must be healed. Nomura said that Ansem’s research results would become the key to healing the “pain” of the characters in KH3. He said that data contained the details explaining the way to connect lost hearts. A press release for KH3 released in 2013 mentions something called the “Key to Return Hearts”. Here is what Nomura said about this key when asked about it in an interview:

There are two possible meanings of the “key.” One of which is the “hardware” key, which opens doors - this is what keys are in general, and the other is the “light” key, that opens something else. In this case, it is currently unknown as to which type of key Sora must find. This is the main storyline of Kingdom Hearts III - Sora must go on an adventure to find the “key” without knowing what or where it is.

The “key” being referred to was implied to be a key of light. The 7 Guardians of Light are important for more than their ability to wield a Keyblade. Their hearts have another power. The power of light. This light grants one the power to restore a lost heart. And the power of light…is love. That is the power of waking. Anna sacrificed herself for Elsa. That is the most powerful form of love that exists. Like the memories of Xion, it can never be lost or destroyed. It is the key to rebirth and new life.

Ansem the Wise: “Sora has a heart like that–uncorrupted, willing to see the good before the bad. When he sees the heart in something, it then becomes real. When a connection seems broken, he may have the power to mend it.”

Isa’s character deserved so much better. Instead of healing his pain, or doing anything with the concept of light or love, his redemption arc consisted of…procuring replicas, then quietly shuffling off into the background—even while Xemnas tried to kill his best friend right before his eyes. Again, it merely felt like deflection. Quick! Focus on Lea and Isa’s relationship with Skuld that never even existed until 5 seconds ago! How do we redeem Isa now? Just have him bring back Roxas and Xion! It doesn’t matter that Seekers of Darkness are not supposed to be capable of free will! Just do it!

Anything!! Anything to NOT focus on the love that exists between two male characters. Platonic love between friends and family is perfectly fine. Romantic love between a male and a female is perfectly fine. But romantic love between two males? That is NOT perfectly fine. I have no respect such artistic cowardice. I don’t know if this series is for me anymore, if the future is more oversimplified, big budget spectacles that are not allowed to take any risks with the story or characters.

“Kairi!” Axel shouted again as the girl struggled against Saïx’s hold. He readied his chakrams to hurl at Saïx when a powerful shock wave hit him.

“Traitors like you deserve to lose everything,” Saïx said.

Axel grunted and collapsed to his knees in pain from the direct hit. After only one strike, he felt his consciousness fading. His vision was going black. He couldn’t even tell whether he saw Saïx disappear with Kairi into the dark portal or whether that was only his own eyes closing.

Is this how I get turned into a Dusk…?

Saïx is not just completely cold to Axel emotionally. He tries to kill him when he turns on the Organization. This never happened in the original game, or even the Final Mix+ version. They decided to have Saïx try and kill Axel AFTER they came up with the idea of them being former best friends and (presumably) Isa partying with everyone in the ending.

“Don’t worry about that! Just go!” A Nobody glommed on to his arm, but Axel shook it off and hurled a chakram at it.

Right. Don’t worry about the why. I don’t even know the answer myself.

As he tried to catch his breath, more Nobodies set upon him. Pain surged like a fresh blow from the wound Saïx had dealt him.

Saïx was the one who gave Axel the fatal wound that would weaken him by the time he met Sora. Because Axel was already fatally wounded, he sacrificed the last bit of his life to atone for his actions.

Axel could remember fighting like this beside Roxas…

He wanted to fight that way again. He wished they had talked more, about lots of things. About nothing. He wanted to talk to his friend again.

But why do I feel this way if Nobodies have no hearts?

His time was running out, thanks to Saïx.

They made it abundantly clear that it was Saïx who was responsible for Axel’s demise.

“We don’t disappear… We’re only reborn,” Naminé murmured, perhaps to herself.

“I’m not like you and Roxas,” Axel said flatly. His hand holding the ice pop stick paused in midair.

“But—but you…” She looked down, clenching her fists.

“It’s because I don’t have a heart,” Axel went on. “I don’t want to disappear, but I’m not upset or sad about it.”

Axel truly did not believe he was going to have a “next life”. At the time of his death, he would have felt utterly alone and hopeless. Why would they have bothered making a character like Saïx his former best friend, unless they had something major to reveal about him later?

Luxord: “Perhaps he was ready for it. Perhaps he put his existence on the line and won what he’d been longing for.”

Saix: “That’s absurd. He won nothing, and IS nothing. He couldn’t stand the emptiness of being without a heart. And THAT led to his demise. He was foolish and weak.”

This is what Saïx says right after the the Organization learns of Axel’s death. Saïx genuinely wanted Axel dead. He was a traitor. Yet he looks to the floor with a troubled look, when Luxord says that Axel got what he was longing for. Saïx is seemingly confused about where his conflicted feelings are coming from. It seemed to me that he genuinely had no clue why he was so angry and sad about Axel. It truly made no sense to him. The way he acted reminded me of when Sora cried while saying goodbye to Hayner, Pence, and Olette at the train station. Sora couldn’t understand why he was so sad, because they weren’t really his feelings that he was experiencing.

Saïx: “Do you know what happens to those who lose their true purpose? Inevitably, they destroy themselves.”

This is what Saïx says right after Axel deserts the Organization to find Roxas. In fact, every new scene with Saïx in KH2FM+ involved his relationship with Axel.

Saïx: “There’s something I’ve meant to ask.”

Xemnas: “About Axel? The poor fool. How long will he keep chasing the illusion of friendship, when he himself lacks emotion? Trying so hard to retrieve what he has lost, when it may never have existed in the first place. He deserves nothing more than our pity.”

After Axel meets Sora in Hollow Bastion, Saïx asks about him. He actually seems concerned, which is uncharacteristic of him. Then Xemnas makes his cryptic comment about Axel STILL chasing the illusion of friendship. He truly pities Axel, and thinks he’s a fool.

“Vile traitor!” The great Claymore took shape at Saïx’s back. Axel didn’t waste a second grabbing his chakrams. But his body was reluctant somehow.

I don’t want to disappear… But still, it wouldn’t be so bad if I did. Not here.

Saïx fatally wounded Axel. He later feels sadness and grief over this, but doesn’t know why. Likewise, Axel knows Saïx wants him dead and doesn’t care about him any more. He wastes no time grabbing his chakrams to defend himself. But his body is reluctant somehow, and he doesn’t seem to know why, either. Despite how hopeless their situation is, they are continually drawn towards each other. There’s still a heart connection there. Lea and Isa’s relationship was supposed to be a VERY big deal in the future of the story. It really was not that hard to see.

Saïx: “You’re the one who went off and made other friends. Left me in the dust. I lost…all sense of purpose.”

It’s SO obvious what Saïx’s “purpose” was. His purpose was Axel! He just didn’t realize it. Isa’s heart was able to subconsciously influence how Saïx felt at certain times, particularly after Axel left the Organization. Isa still cared about Lea, and after he was gone, his heart lost its purpose. Saïx had no clue about any of this, though. He would just become enraged at Axel due to the inexplicable pain he was feeling because of him. Saïx wasn’t being too stubborn to admit his feelings. He genuinely didn’t understand them.

Xemnas: “Hearts full of rage, of hate…of sadness and bliss. Shining down upon us is the heart of all hearts—Kingdom Hearts. There in the sky hangs the promise of a new world. We will conquer hearts and make them our own. Hearts shall never again have power over us.”

Xemans hated how strong the heart was. He wanted to have full control over a person, and the heart was an obstacle to that. Yet he couldn’t turn someone into a vessel without a heart. It was why he conducted the mind control experiments in the first place. The Recusant’s Sigil is a symbol of his desire to conquer the heart and make it his own. When Xemnas is talking, the camera zooms in on the moon.

The moon hung in the sky outside the window, a great glowing heart. Sprawled in bed, Axel stared at it without really looking, idling the time away before he had to leave on a mission.

“We will conquer hearts and make them our own. Hearts shall never again have power over us.”

For the past few days, he had been mulling over what Xemnas could have meant by that speech. Hearts having power over them? What was that about? Whenever Axel was whiling away the hours by himself, that phrase kept bouncing around in his head. He didn’t know what was so compelling about it.

Axel had no idea what Xemnas was talking about underneath the moon that day, and it really bothered him. He was pondering this very issue when Saïx came in to interrogate him about Xion, much to his displeasure. Xemnas’ speech was very important.

No. VII SAÏX

Second in command who longs for the heart he does not have. Only the moon breaks his icy calm.

Saïx was always staring at the moon, longing for the heart he does not have. He has a Recusant’s Sigil scar on his face. It only makes sense that Isa was Subject X in the mind control experiments, and he was the sole subject whose heart didn’t collapse, turning him into a vessel. The survival of his heart would have been possible if he sacrificed himself out of love, just like his “Bunnymoon” weapon symbolized. The rocket to the moon was launched directly from a heart.

“Sora or Xion—it matters not. But we need one of them under our control. Bear that in mind.”

Saïx nodded, and a serene smile came to Xemnas’ face. If that smile meant anything it was beyond him.

Xemnas was completely confident that he won the battle over Isa’s heart.

“Don’t let us down now, kiddo. Shouldn’t be too much trouble without a heart,” Xigbar told Saïx.

Xigbar was totally confident about this as well.

In the Round Room, Saïx looked up at Xemnas high above.

“Are you sure we’re dealing with Xion and Roxas the right way?”

His tone was markedly different from usual, as if he spoke to an old friend rather than a superior.

Isa’s heart was captured and his body is now a vessel. Despite wanting to overthrow him, the novel describes Saïx’s demeanor with Xemnas as that of an old friend. Saïx’s heart is one with Xehanort’s, even if he doesn’t know it. On the other hand, Isa’s captured heart is full of rage, hate, and sadness. These feelings come out in his Berserk State under the light of the moon. But the last emotion that Xemnas mentioned was…bliss. And that seemed like foreshadowing.

Axel gazed out at the sunset, as red as ever. That color still looked the same to him now as it had when he was human. Some things didn’t change even when you became a Nobody.

Axel was always gazing into the sun, even before he became a Nobody.

The sun sank lower and lower as Axel watched, his mind wandering.

If he stared for too long, the image would burn itself into his eyes, visible even after his eyes were closed.

A phantom sun.

Someone had once told him why sunsets were red… Who was that?

In the novel, he was doing just that right before he gives Roxas and Xion his “hokey speech”.

“I just…want these days to last forever,” Roxas murmured, slow and pensive. “Hanging out after the job’s done, eating ice cream, watching the sunset…”

Axel peered at his profile as he did just that. The sunset’s glow touched Roxas’s face and Xion’s with warm red.

“Well, nothing lasts forever,” Axel mumbled, looking off to the side again. “Least of all for a bunch of Nobodies.”

At that, both of their expressions fell.

Seriously, you two? You’re always grinning or getting bummed out…just like real live people with hearts. Axel exhaled and gathered some words. “But, you know, hanging out every day isn’t the only thing that matters. We’ll still have one another, even if that changes.”

“Really?” Roxas perked up.

“Yeah. As long as we remember one another, we’ll never be apart. Got it memorized?”

He was clearly thinking about Isa beforehand.

Axel’s face was limned with the sunset’s glow, his red hair shining crimson.

“Bet you don’t know why the sun sets red.” He eyed Roxas mischievously. “You see, light is made up of lots of colors. And out of all those colors, red is the one that travels the farthest.”

When Axel uses his famous line about why the sun sets red, it even zoomed in on the sun—just like it did with the moon earlier, when Xemnas was giving his speech about the ability to conquer the power of the heart. In 358/2 Days, the Moon Arcana of Luxord’s Tarot cards is “Dual Gear.” Axel’s weapon in that category is called “Dive Bomb”. The Sun Arcana of Luxord’s Tarot cards is “Hazard Gear.” Saïx’s weapon in that category is called “Light Year”.

Roxas: “So he wasn’t fighting to protect the rose. He was protecting the people in the castle. Protecting her. She’s what matters most to him. But…Xaldin said it was the rose.”

Xaldin: “Feh. Cloying nonsense.”

Roxas: “Xaldin… When did you get here?”

Xaldin: “That’s none of your concern. Hmph. Love, from a beast? How utterly ridiculous.”

Just look at the way Xaldin speaks about the power of love. He couldn’t even tell that the Beast valued Belle more than the rose.

Roxas: “Love? What’s that?”

Xaldin: “It’s an emotion. The one deluding those two as we speak.”

Roxas: “Oh…”

Xaldin: “They think the power of love will save them? That’s the stuff of poetry, not practicality.”

Roxas: “Love is a power?”

Xaldin: “None you or I will ever grasp. Nor will they, for long. The love between them will wither and die. Love never lasts.”

He says it’s not a power that he or Roxas will ever grasp. 

Xaldin:“Our work here is done. We have the Beast’s weakness.”

Roxas: “We do?”

Xaldin: “That which we treasure has power over us, Roxas. His heart is captive to it. And that makes it his weakness.”

Roxas: “Captive…? I don’t get it.”

Xaldin: “Nor should you. You have no heart to love with. Let’s not linger here.”

In KH2, Xaldin tried to use the Beast’s love for Belle as a weapon, to turn him into a Heartless and Nobody. He wants absolutely nothing to do with love. To him, it’s nothing but weakness that make the heart a captive. I’m sure that’s exactly how Xemnas and Xigbar viewed the feelings “X” had for Lea. Like Xaldin, they would have used Isa’s love as a weapon, to turn him into a captive.

“Do you know what love is?”

“…’Scuse me?”

“It’s something powerful, right? Where does it come from?” Roxas was completely in earnest.

Love… Huh.

“It is powerful, but it’s not a power we get to have.” Axel had very little confidence in his ability to explain it. But whenever Roxas or Xion had questions about the mysteries of the human heart, he did his best to answer.

Compare the way Axel speaks about love to the way Xaldin spoke of it. Axel really wants to experience love, but he thinks he never will. And this deeply saddens him.

“Nobodies can’t love?” Roxas asked.

“Nope. You need a heart for that.”

“Oh… Right.” Roxas fell quiet, pensive.

Axel kept talking. “Love is what happens when there’s something really special between people.”

“More special than friends? Like…if they’re best friends? Inseparable?”

“Well, you can care about your friends, but that’s not exactly it…” Axel paused, groping for words that might make sense to Roxas.

“So it’s a step above best friends?”

“No—it’s not about steps.”

Roxas looked bewildered. As he’d expected, he wasn’t doing a very good job explaining it.

Axel thinks he cannot experience love until Kingdom Hearts is completed. Of course, this is just the lie that Xemnas told them. He used Axel’s desire for love as a weapon, to gain his cooperation and turn him into a vessel. Axel already has the ability to love.

“Not that it matters. We’ll never know the difference.”

Roxas wouldn’t let it go. “Do you think we would, if we had hearts?”

“Once Kingdom Hearts is complete, I bet you’ll be able to figure it out.” The magic words again, Axel thought. It’ll all make sense when Kingdom Hearts is complete. But was that true? No one had ever seen it happen before. So who knew? Still, all they could do was believe in it.

Pitiful Heartless, mindlessly collecting hearts…

“Kingdom Hearts, huh…?” Roxas said under his breath, gazing out at the sunset.

Axel watched his wistful profile and sighed silently.

Like Xaldin, Axel tells Roxas that neither of them can grasp the power of love. But they do so for entirely different reasons. Xemans and Xaldin are trying to complete Kingdom Hearts to conquer the power of love. Roxas and Axel are trying to complete Kingdom Hearts to experience the power of love.

Xemnas: “Ah, ever the rogue pawn. Knocked from the board early in the game. Utterly useless and forgotten. Now it ends. I will purge that light in you…with darkness!”

During the final battle, Xemnas feels like he’s won yet again. He thinks that Lea is a loser who has been forgotten about. He is confident that Isa’s heart has been conquered. He is so confident that he attacks Lea right in front of Saïx, knowing that he won’t do anything.

His words of being superior are reminiscent of the speech he gave while he was standing under the heart-shaped moon. Yet unlike before, Lea is defiant this time. He says that Xemans was never his superior. I have no doubt that Axel’s Mystery Gear weapon with the Recusant’s Sigil, was a reference to his final battle with Xemnas.

Aqua: “It’s the power of true love that defeated you.”

Maleficent: “I will not be defeated by something as insignificant as love.”

Aqua: “You don’t even know the first thing about it. You’re too clouded bydarkness to see that there’s something greater.”

The message of Kingdom Hearts is that Aqua was right.

Terra: “No more borders around, or below, or above, so long as you champion the ones you love.”

The message of Kingdom Hearts is that Terra was right.

Yen Sid: “Just as long as you love him…then Ventus will be able to find you when he wakes. He can follow that love back to where he belongs–the realm of light.”

Love is so powerful, it can even lead Ventus back to the Realm of Light. That’s what the whole concept of the power of waking is.

Day 150: Too Precious to Lose

Axel and I talked for a while about the things we can’t bear to lose. Axel thinks that for Nobodies, it’s our pasts, because that’s all we have to remember the pain of losing something.

Lea’s Keyblade is called the “Flame Liberator”. The Phoenix rising from the ashes represents the alchemical process of transformation, rebirth, and liberation. It’s the red stage of Rubedo, where a person finally realizes their true nature, and they are liberated from ignorance and suffering. But Xemnas destroys Lea’s Keyblade, leaving him totally powerless. Xemnas is about to finish him off, right in front of Saïx. 

Sora: “But if I put aside the hurt, I’ll lose my only ties to people that I cared about. No. My mind’s made up. I want to carry this hurt with me. I can be free of it the day I remember, but until then, it’s what holds together the pieces I left behind…and I accept it.”

Lea’s Keyblade may be broken, but he doesn’t need it. There’s another Key to Return Hearts. The “light” key Nomura mentioned. The power of love. No matter how much pain it caused, neither Lea nor Isa’s hearts could forget about each other. This should have been the moment where Isa’s heart showed its true power. Love is NOT a weakness. Love is what prevented Isa’s heart from being destroyed in the first place, unlike every other test subject. And love makes his heart so powerful, it refuses to submit to Xemnas’ will. This is exactly what the true meaning of a recusant is.

In canon, the relationship between Saïx and Axel felt totally pointless. Being told at the last minute that Lea and Isa became apprentices to look for Skuld is nothing but sequel bait. There was no underlying message to that revelation. It had no thematic value whatsoever pertaining to the Xehanort Saga. There was no ultimate meaning to Isa becoming Xehanort’s vessel and then reviving his friendship with Lea again. Lea and Isa’s relationship had no narrative purpose. But…it was supposed to.

No. I XEMNAS

Organization XIII’s leader. Through power over nothing, he seeks power over everything.

The true purpose of Lea and Isa’s relationship was to prove all the villains wrong. No matter how much he would like to, Xehanort cannot conquer the power of the heart, which is love. Like his description says, he has power over NOTHING.

[rayliur]

Little Fires Everywhere; Everything I Never Told You

“To say that Celeste Ng’s novels have changed my life is an understatement; her works have saved my life.”

by Ray Liu

Follow me on Twitter for more: https://twitter.com/rayliur

No, I’m not being dramatic. They really did.

I first discovered Miss Celeste Ng through Twitter. I believe one of my friends had retweeted her and her tweet made it to my feed. At the time, I wasn’t an avid reader; I barely picked up a book (and this was in 2016). Fast-forward three years, Ng had inspired me--through her two amazing novels--to write my own novel. But my novel isn’t the focus of this blog post.

See, my whole life as an Asian American was atypically strange. I thought it was just me, an individual who didn’t know how to navigate through life. Somewhere inside me longed to see someone--a successful someone--who represented me in this country. I was born in Manhattan, lived in Brooklyn throughout my childhood and early adulthood, and only recently moved to Queens. But I was born here. In America.

But I never read a single book in all my twelve years of school that was written by an Asian American. And as a Chinese-American boy in his teens, I thought that I could never write a book or even be part of the English/literary realm--because no one would want to listen to my stories. Because I am Chinese.

Of course, after high school, and during my journey of self-discovery, I came across works like Joy Luck Club ... that was it. So scratch off that s after “work.” Just work. I was young at the time, so that was not a book I paid attention to or spent time trying to read it or understand it.

There just wasn’t enough authors who looked like me or understood stories like mine.

Over the years, I’ve dealt with issues--personal issues. And they all stemmed from my oddly dysfunctional family. I’ve tried so many ways to express my feelings toward them and about them, but none of them worked. At least not to the extent I thought they would. And I couldn’t just tell them how I felt at the time because, in Chinese households, you just don’t talk about feelings. In fact, therapy is taboo. I screamed inside every day and night--they just didn’t understand what I was going through; that my identity here in this country felt diminished, on the brink of disappearing.

To say that I never thought about death is a lie.

Then I came across Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng.

“Ng,” I thought. “Interesting. An Asian-American author. Wow.”

It was at the Amazon Bookstore on 34th that I picked up the book. I was so excited. I had heard of Celeste Ng on Twitter, but never put two and two together until I googled her on my phone that day at the bookstore, and sure enough her bio popped up, including her Twitter page which I had already followed. I read the back cover. “Death!” I was immediately hooked.

The book opens with Lydia, who is dead. It’s not even a spoiler, because the whole story surrounds this incident--how Lydia’s family deals with her death and how her death reveals all the secrets that, in time, consume the family until everything falls apart. The title is elegantly designed. The choice of “I” instead of “She” or “They” had me thinking about the overarching frame of the novel. “I” applies to every character--not just one. Soon, I was swept into the seventies, where Ng takes me through a conservative society that frowned upon interracial couples, marriages, and relationships.

The first scene in this novel that stood out to me--made me rage and cry in joy--is the pool scene where Nathan (the oldest son) is bullied by white kids in a game of Marco Polo. “Chink can’t find China,” says one of the white kids at the pool (Ng 90). Ng unapologetically exposes racism in her novel by using Nathan as a target for these bleach-blond, ignorant white kids. I was Nathan. I had been in his shoes and reading this scene made me cry--not because it triggered horrific memories, but because I’ve finally found an author who gets it--who isn’t afraid to tell the whole truth, raw and with zero sugar coating.

Then there was the theme of death and suicide. Just to be clear, I’ve only thought about death--never did I ever try to harm myself in any way. Just like Lydia. SPOILER ALERT! Skip this paragraph if you haven’t read this book and are planning to read it in the near future. Lydia hates her life; she was always the quiet girl who got good grades (the stereotypical Asian) simply because she was afraid her mother would run away from her family, again. Of course, Lydia had nothing to do with Marilyn leaving. Needless to say, Lydia’s parents really fucked her up, mentally. Relatable? Fuck yes! Reading proses and passages from Lydia’s POV felt so real to me, like I had somehow channeled myself into her head. At the end, when she decides to challenge herself--rowing herself out to the middle of the lake--by swimming back ashore, she gave me hope. That, shit happens but you just have to choose to live and know that things will get better. Lydia dies of course, because she couldn’t swim and thinking you can swim is very different from knowing you can swim.

Not only does Ng break stereotypes in this novel, she bends the old narrative of Chinese Americans in the U.S. and points the fingers back at trashy white folks--all the while doing it with grace and perfection.

Little Fires Everywhere, however, had little takes on the Asian narrative. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t make a powerful statement through the lens of Asian Americans and racism toward Asian Americans. I’ll get to that very soon. This novel opens up with the Richardsons’ house burning down. And yes, this story focuses on a (presumably) white family--very privileged and very perfect in white standards. It takes place in Shaker Heights, Ohio, a town that was built on order and strict city-community planning. The streets are always clean and the color of houses all share one Home Depot swatch palette. Then comes the wild card character Mia Warren with her young daughter Pearl. Ng doesn’t specify Mia and Pearl’s race or ethnicity--but photos of the cast had been released by Hulu (due to the novel being picked up as an original series on the platform--congrats, Celeste!)--and I believe Kerry Washington is going to play Mia. With that little tidbit in my head, I read through the novel picturing Mia Warren as a black woman with a mixed-race daughter. It’s a great dynamic, actually. Mia inadvertently becomes the mirror that reflects all of Mrs. Richardson’s (and her family’s) pretentiousness and overly saturated life. That’s the synopsis. 

SPOILER ALERT (again)! Skip this paragraph if you wish to read this book in the near future. Like I said earlier, there’s an Asian-American component to this novel. While drama ensues between the Richardsons and the Warrens, a subplot underlines the novel. Bebe Chow, a Chinese woman from Hong Kong (I believe it was HK), abandons her few-month-old child May Ling in front of a fire station. The city claims the orphan and hands her over to the McCulloughs, who could not have children because of infertility. Bebe puts her life back together again and decides she wants May Ling back--who now goes by Mirabelle, a white name given to her by a white family. Toward the end of the novel, a large chunk of it is dedicated to the court case that decided May Ling’s fate: to go with the McCulloughs or be returned to her biological mother. During that legal battle, Ed Lim comes in (Bebe’s attorney). Ed Lim is my favorite character, so my review here is clearly a little biased. Ng creates Ed Lim to be someone who breaks the stereotype of Asian men. Ed Lim is “six feet” tall, “lean and rangy” (Ng 258). Wow. Ng is a literary god. As Bebe’s attorney, Ed’s job is to win the case of course. He questions Mrs. McCullough regarding how she plans to raise a Chinese baby girl. McCullough replies that she would learn Chinese herself: but she doesn’t even know the difference between the variety of Chinese dialects (Shanghainese, Toisan, Mandarin, just to name a few). Then, McCullough shoots herself in the foot by telling him that she buys Mirabelle a lot of toys--namely a teddy bear. Oh, no--not just any bear. Because Mirabelle is Chinese, McCullough got her Chinese baby a fucking panda bear. I laughed so hard at this point. Ng is a genius. But what’s most important and to be taken seriously in this scene is when Ed Lim asks if Mirabelle has any dolls, you know, because most girls in the nineties had wanted to play with Barbie dolls. McCullough, confident and chest-puffed, answers him. “We buy her dolls ... one of them closes her eyes when you lay her down...” (Ng 261). This was when I knew exactly where Ng is going with this: the eyes. Ed Lim asks McCullough what the color of that doll’s eyes is and she says, “Blue” (Ng 261). He proceeds to lecture her, telling her that the Barbie company does not manufacture Chinese or Asian dolls. There is no doll that represents May Ling. Ah, America. Fucking up children of color since 1776. And Mirabelle would lose touch with her heritage as she grows older. A young impressionable girl without any understanding (real understanding) of her identity is dangerous. Just when I thought Ng was planning on drilling through her novel with the focus on a white and black family, she crashes through the fabric of her story with THIS! Only a true legend and storytelling extraordinaire can do things like this.

In conclusion, Celeste Ng is my hero. Her powerful proses articulate the issues of racism and cultural stereotypes in America, and the [inner] human psyche--all through the telling of interpersonal and small-scale stories--that majorly impacts the world we live in.

I hope you all get a chance to read both of her books. I would definitely recommend starting with Everything I Never Told You. I love her writing style in both novels. The debut novel interchanges between past- and present-tenses, which is refreshing. And Little Fires Everywhere is written in all past-tense, which helps the reader focus more on the story.

So like I said. These books saved my life. Ng gave me relatable characters that I absolutely cannot find elsewhere and plots that had me white-knuckle through both books. I truly hope that schools across the country add at least one of her works into their curriculum because it is THAT IMPORTANT.

Below is an excerpt from Little Fires that I tweeted earlier. It’s pretty self-explanatory. It entirely captured my current situation with my familial issues. And thank you Penguin Books for retweeting it!

(p. 294, 2019 ed.)

(From Twitter)

Thank you, Celeste! Thank you, Penguin, for picking up her works to publish.

Thank you for reading my thoughts on these two works.

Now, off I go, back to writing my own novel.

Ray

[homesoutofhuman]

Season of mists: John Wick/reader AU Pt 2

On the weekends you’re quite content to wrap yourself in a cosy sweater, light some candles and curl up with a good book. However your friend Richard has other ideas, forbidding you to be a hermit, and luring you out of the house with the promise of ‘fall fun’. You are sceptical, but when he mentions buying pumpkins you relent.

The nearest farm is an hour’s drive from the city and by the time you get there you’re eager to get out the car, flinging your arms wide and stretching your legs. The pumpkins are strewn around the ground between autumn leaves and you grin at your friend, grateful he persuaded you to come out and see such beauty. 

He snorts at you and starts complaining about his boyfriend in a good-natured way. You listen while trying to pick out a good pumpkin, fearful that most of the best ones have already been taken. You spot a lovely round bright orange one a few yards off and leave Richard, marching in your green wellies to grab it.

You bend down to see how heavy it is to lift when two hands thump down on the orange flesh, moving it out of your reach.

You stand, swinging your scarf back over your shoulder and are about to tell the interloper that this is your fucking pumpkin when….

“You must be kidding me!” the pumpkin snatcher gives a belly laugh, his malteser eyes dancing with mirth.

It’s Mr Wick. Mr John. Mr Boss man John. Oh fuck.

“We have to stop running into each other huh?” says John, still laughing like it’s the funniest thing ever. You scowl, kicking your boots into the leaves, trying to work out how to reply.

“You’re here getting a pumpkin?”

“Oh sure..yeah...I’m here with my niece and nephew…”

You look around. “I don’t see them.” you don’t know why you’re so suspicious and John’s smile fades a bit.

“They’re just back there…” he gestures and you see two small children nearby, playing on the swings that the farm set up.

You breathe a sigh of relief that he’s not some crazy maniac stalker. 

“Oh...cute.”

John looks you up and down and you feel suddenly very aware of your faded jeans, old sweater and fluffy scarf, your hair blown messy by the wind.

“Yeah…” he confirms with a smirk and you press your hands on your cheeks feeling them burning.

John bends to lift the pumpkin and you start to protest but he shakes his head.

 “Relax, you can have it...it’s just heavy...let me lift it to your car?”

“Thanks…” you mutter, stunned, and move back through the pumpkin patch towards Richard. You introduce him to your friend as ‘John’ not mentioning he owns the store where you work.

John balances the pumpkin in his arms and gives Richard a funny look. 

“Sorry...this pumpkin is heavy...can we move this along?”

You open the trunk and watch as John places the pumpkin inside. You cannot help notice how thick his arms are. It’s the first time you’ve seen him not in a suit, he’s wearing a white baseball shirt and dark jeans. His hair is soft around his face. He looks, in short, like the most handsome man you ever saw.

Two small curly haired adorable children rush up and start hitting him playfully. John holds up his hands in mock submission and they burst into loud giggles.

John gives them a playful glare. “May I introduce Lottie and Charlie? This is Y/N…”

He rumbles your name in his deep voice and you gape at him, before moving yourself to greet the children.

“We were going to go get hot chocolate…” you say cautiously “would you like to join us?”

John looks sceptical, eyeing Richard who is watching the scene with some amusement. “I’m not sure…that’s a lot of sugar for them..”

“Aw please…” says Lottie, batting her lashes at her uncle and you can see she has him wrapped around her little finger.

“Yeah….please…?” you add, pouting your lips and batting your lashes a bit for fun. The look John gives you in return is hardly playful, it’s so heated you feel way too warm in your sweater and you unwind your scarf from around your neck.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

The children cheer and race towards the snack cabin, Richard follows. You and John hang back a little. Somehow you’re in no rush to catch up.

“I’m surprised to see you here John.” you say, trying to sound casual as you use his first name.

“I could tell.”  he smirks, taking your scarf off you as you almost drop it in the mud. “You think I live in an office counting money, right? I know what the booksellers say about me.”

“Actually they focus more on your mysterious love life...apparently you’ve dated both supermodels and Hollywood actresses…”

John gives a loud barking laugh. “That’s not true. It was only one supermodel…”

You giggle, surprised at his humorous side and John’s eyes dart to your face.

 “You realise you look adorable right? I just want to check…”

You gape, once more a fish and he smiles almost in triumph, if it wasn’t so soft, shy and genuine, giving his eyes a warm glow.

“I…..I guess that’s where I’ve been going wrong. I’ll make sure to wear wellington boots next date I go on..”

“Isn’t Richard your boyfriend?” John looks confused.

You smile fondly back. “I think his boyfriend would have something to say if he was…”

“Oh….” John looks back and forth between you and your friend as if puzzle pieces are falling into place. For some reason, whatever conclusion he comes to seems to relax him, his shoulders falling and the lines on his forehead smoothing out.

He pulls his wallet out to pay for the six drinks and Richard gives a low whistle, whispering to you.

“Did you see that fat wad in his wallet? Actually...scratch that..did you see that fat wad in his jeans?”

You cover your face with embarrassment. “Shush! He’ll hear you.”

“Who the hell is he?” asks Richard, but you don’t have time to explain as John, Lottie and Charlie are back.

You sit on a bench, John opposite you. Charlie wriggles in beside you and you chat to him, asking him what his favourite books are, his favourite thing about fall.

You are so caught up in conversation that you don’t notice John staring at you, his own drink forgotten. It’s only when Lottie throws a marshmallow at her uncle and tells him to ‘stop being weird’ that you look up and see the expression of his face.

He looks guilty, having been caught, but he does not move his eyes from your face, rather he keeps them glued there. You scratch your neck feeling itchy where your scarf had been and his eyes track your movements like a sniper. Everyone finishes their drinks and moves outside and John takes advantage of the commotion to touch your neck with the soft pad of his fingers.

You startle and look up at him quizzically. “Your skin looks sore…” he replies by way of explanation. “Let me kiss it better…” he whispers.

You stare at him, not sure if you imagined the second part of his sentence, but the way he is looking at you, blushing and slightly nervous but with an unmistakable hunger in his eyes, you think you didn’t.

“John?” you say in a wondering tone

“Can I see you? Tonight?” he whispers hurriedly in your ear as you walk to the car. You nod dumbly and he grins in response, pushing a scrap of paper into your palm.

You stumble into the car, Richard asking a million questions as you start to drive away and open the paper. When you see it’s his phone number you almost throw it down like a cursed object, but then you grip it tight with shaking hands, knowing you have to find out what the hell this thing between is between you and John Wick.

Warning: this next bit is NSFW

You agree to meet John in a coffee shop down the street, not quite ready to let him into your tiny apartment, and he chooses a pumpkin latte, and you tease him about it.

“I just wondered what it tasted like in a cup...rather than all over me…”

You burrow your face into his thick wool coat, shaking with laughter and he pets your hair with a large gentle hand. You lift your face to look at him and are hit with a fond look that’s almost too much.

“Come on...let’s sit down…”

You sip your coffee to distract yourself and are instantly scalded, wincing and searching for water. John fusses over you with concern, moving closer and putting a hand on your back.

“Let me see…”

You frown but obey, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue at him. He puts on a serious face, tilting his head to inspect it.

“Not life threatening.”

You pout and he leans in, suddenly closer than ever. “I have to confess something. I want to kiss you so badly…”

His pronouncement is earnest, his eyes flicking over your face. He looks almost fearful you will reject him so you reach out and touch his cheek, caresses there, feeling his stubble rub pleasantly against your fingertips.

“Why?” you ask, not sure how to respond so saying the first thing that comes into your head.

“Why?” John looks stunned, not expecting that response. “Because you’re cute...you’re sassy as hell...you were adorable with my nephew...because you spilt coffee on me and I can’t stop thinking about you…”

“Oh….” you nod, as if weighing it up, then you lean in until your lips are almost touching his. “then go ahead...”

He tastes of coffee and spice, deep and warm and delicious and holy crap you think he’s the best kisser you’ve ever known. He holds your face in his palms until you feel like you’re being swallowed up and takes command of the kiss, ravaging your mouth with a controlled passion that makes you throb.

When you part John is breathing hard and he drops his hands from your face, placing them on his thighs as if he doesn’t trust them not to strip off your clothes right there in the coffee shop.

“My apartment is just around the corner” he murmurs, looking at you with a puppy dog pleading glance and you nod before you can stop yourself.

He grabs your hand as you walk, holding it tight and warm against the cold autumn evening. He presses the elevator button for the penthouse and you hold your breath as you whizz high up, the view from the top is indeed dizzying. John pours a couple of glasses of wine and follows you onto the balcony. You shiver feeling a bit chilly but the view it worth it. He pulls you back against his chest and wraps his arms around you, kissing the side of your neck.

You turn in his arms and chase his lips, pressing your body against his, feeling his warmth spread into you. Your cold hands move under his shirt and he moans into your mouth. You know it’s fast, but it feels so right to be close to him that you’ve give up caring. John nuzzles your cold nose with his and tugs you hand back inside.

“Come on...let me warm you up…”

He flicks a remote and the fire lights up. You sit on the couch and watch him with round eyes as he loses his coat, kneeling next to you and tugging your sweater up and over your head. You’re only wearing a bra underneath and his eyes go dark, bending to kiss your collarbone. 

His gaze strays to your cleavage and you see him lick his lips. The motion goes straight through you and you grab his face, almost pushing him into your breasts. John makes a muffled sound of pleasure, kissing there before moving a hand round your back to unhook your bra. You let him, feeling helpless with want, and he covers your bare breasts with his palms, warming them before thumbing your nipples. Once he’s satisfied they are hard from desire rather than the cold he moves his mouth to them. He kisses down your stomach to your jeans and runs a teasing finger down the seam of the zipper, cupping you. You are sure he can feel your wetness even through the denim.

You arch under him, the most sinful sounds you’ve ever heard yourself make escaping from your lips. There’s something about him that makes you practically wild as though in heat. You tug at his shirt and he pulls it off, letting you stare at his chest, muscled down to a softer stomach which you trail your nails against fondly. The growl that comes from his chest is deep and masculine, making your head spin.

“I don’t normally...do this…” his struggles, his voice low and scratchy and you slide a hand on his knee to reassure him. Unfortunately it has the opposite effect, as you see his cock pressing against his jeans and you cannot resist squeezing it.

John yelps, sweating a bit and staring at you with almost black eyes. “I need to say...you’re my employee...technically….so...let me know...if you don’t want this…”

You push him back against the couch cushions and move to straddle his lap, your lips hovering over his as you talk.

“I want you John, I don’t care about your last name…”

He moves his head to try and capture your mouth and you move it playfully out of the way. His hands come to your hips then move to your butt, squeezing it and pulling you flush against his chest. Your bare breasts brush his chest hair making your tingle.

“Say it again…” he mutters, giving up trying to kiss you and instead moving his mouth to your ear, talking there.

You grind down against him, wishing you were both fully naked. “I want you….”

“Again…” he commands, moving his mouth back to your neck and sucking there. You whimper and grasp onto his shoulders as he simultaneously slips a hand into your jeans and rubs your pussy.

“Fuck…” you mouth falls open and lift yourself, trying to help him get a better angle as he slips a finger inside you.

“I said again.” he says, his voice staying surprisingly steady even as you start to fuck yourself onto his fingers.

“I….I want you…” you pant desperately, kissing him deeply then.

John stands up, putting his hands under your butt to lift you and you wrap your legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss which is turning dirtier and sloppier by the second. He carries you into his bedroom and you fall against silk burgundy sheets. He crawls over you like a predator, pulling your jeans off with a quick impatient motion and then doing the same with your underwear so that you’re laying, completely naked and exposed beneath him.

He looks you over as if assessing a valuer commodity. “God damn….who hired you? I need to send them a thank you card…”

You fidget with embarrassment. “John they hired me because I’m good at my job..stop teasing…”

He nods, standing and undoing his belt, which for some reason makes you shiver and almost leak against his bed. He raises an eyebrow watching you squirming on his sheets as his jeans drop to the floor revealing muscled thighs and a very prominent erection.  

“I know...but I feel like they hired you for me...such an amazing treat….”

His head is between your legs before you can even process his words and he is licking at you with enthusiasm.

Your cheeks burn hot with self-consciousness, but it feels so good you can’t help grinding down a bit against his tongue. His beard brushes against your inner thigh and you would eagerly agree to have him rub it all over you. He patiently works at making you come, his long fingers deep inside you, his tongue against your clit and it’s heaven.

Amongst a tirade of swear words you try to find the words to encourage him, but just end up begging, “Please John...oh please…”

Your words spur him on, glancing at you with hungry eyes he moves over your body. You feel the wetness of his cock brush your thigh and you know you both are close to losing it. You swallow and try to use your words.

“I want to feel you…inside me…”

John groans in response, pulling on a condom and pushing your legs wide so he can slip inside your wetness. He fills you and you almost sigh in relief. It’s such an amazing feeling and you savour it for a few moments before he starts moving, his beard grazing your neck as he leans down against you.

You know you should try and make it last but John already looks wrecked, his beautiful brown eyes almost closing but staying focused on yours, his hands trailing on your breasts before grabbing your legs and gently pushing them higher with a pleading look on his face. In response you wrap them around his back, letting him hit the spot deep inside you, so hard you almost jolt off the bed.

You like it rough, and his desperation is contagious, especially when he moves his fingers to rub at you while sliding smoothly in and out, his thick cock stretching you deliciously.

“Oh please…” you hear yourself begging again, and it seems to be John’s undoing. He gives a few more messy thrusts, his teeth moving to your shoulder almost folding you in two and his thumb rubbing circles on you in just the right way to make you come. You feel it, the pleasure that starts in your lower belly and builds up, before you reach the peak of it and let go, feeling it wash all over your body down to your toes, clenching around the man inside you who gives out a choked yelp, his hips stuttering as he comes hard.

When he drops beside you on the bed you can see his muscled frame is covered with a sheen of sweat and you run a hand over his chest feeling strangely possessive. John catches your wrists and kisses your hand, his eyes soft and trying to convey his feelings.

“Just give me a second…” he pants. “I’m trying to recover from the best sex I’ve ever had…”

You giggle and hide your face in his shoulder. “Shut up…”

He turns on his side to face you, warming to his topic and delighting in your response. “Oh yeah..I mean to be fair it didn’t last the longest...I was ready to come ever since I kissed you…but we’ll make up for that in the future…”

You stare at him, speechless and he smirks. “Not so smart mouthed now are you?”

“The future…?” You stammer, having figured this was just a one time thing to him.

John frowns “I didn’t even get to do half the things I wanted with you…”

You gape for a moment but manage to recover more quickly this time, matching his smirk and pressing an open mouthed kiss to his stomach. “Me too…”

John whimpers and pushes his damp hair off his face. “Such a dirty mind. I meant I want to curve pumpkins with you...and walk in the woods...and eat Halloween candy.”

Your heart melts and you push yourself into his arms. John chuckles, kissing your head and cuddling you close. “I can take that as affirmation?”

You nod, suddenly feeling small in his arms. “But no more pumpkin lattes…”

His lips skim the curve of your cheek and you feel your eyes grow heavy. “I found something that tastes better anyway…”

You push against him, feeling yourself growing wet again and he sighs, his thumb stroking down your spine to your lower back.

“We should sleep….it’s been a while since I’ve done that and I need to recover…”

You settle with your head on his chest, too shocked by the fact he wants to keep you close to argue.

“All right...” 

John closes his eyes and just before you drift off to sleep you see the trees outside moving gently in the breeze. The vivid orange leaves are tumbling to the ground and you are warm and cosy, lulled by the gentle breathing of the man beside you. Autumn truly is your favourite season. 

THE END.

(but then they get a dog)