#but seriously these last few months have blurred together and I had no idea what month I was in

[lady-ofmischief]

so you’re telling me it’s gonna be may

[oswlld]

oswlld's monthly wrap up: march

note: i am trying something a bit different this year, so bear with me as i figure out how i want to format this. i wanted to spend more time sharing what i consume, beyond what i rb, and put my thoughts in one place. these posts are okay to rb

--

When We Cease to Understand the World, Benjamín Labatut [started 02/24, finished 03/14] What an outstanding example of blurring the lines between fiction and reality. I am content in never knowing what’s real and imaginary in the lives of these people. May we never forget that for every new idea challenged, there is a real person with real emotions and motivations behind it. 4.25⭐️ in storygraph. — No Stopping Us Now: A History of Older Women in America, Gail Collins [started 03/03, finished 03/30] This book makes some strong points, but comes off weak in its execution. By having it be told decade by decade, it becomes hard to follow along when so many names and events are being tossed around. Without a firm thread tying all the themes together, the achievements ended up feeling lackluster when it should leave you feeling a sense of pride and hopefulness. 3.25⭐️ in storygraph (I rounded up, but it feels more like a 3.15)

23.5 Degrees, GMMTV [started: 03/08, ongoing] What a breath of fresh air!! With my busy schedule, I managed to catch the first two eps and I’ve loved every minute of it. It doesn’t take itself too seriously, while still keeping a tight grip on its sense of identity. The series soaks up every aspect of its space theme like a sponge. Content specifically made for me, tysm! As much as I have tried refraining from consuming more high school settings, I couldn’t help but be enamored by what I have seen so far. I have paused this series for now, but hopefully I’ll be caught up before the end of April. I should be able to watch it live on Fridays in May. Until then, I will miss them dearly! — Always a Witch, Netflix [started 03/28, in progress] At this time, I have only seen episodes 1-5. So far, it’s a very straight-forward series. I am restraining myself from calling it predictable, because there are one or two things that really turns some tropes/themes on its head. But all-in-all, I am still waiting for this show to grab me. For a show that checks all the boxes that really makes a core jessi show, a series with time travel, magical realism, and found family, it has yet to completely sweep me away. Time really got away from me this month, but I will finish this series sometime in the next two weeks. We shall see if the latter half gets better.

Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (Taylor’s Version) [watched 03/15 thru 03/18] I have seen this live and did see the original film in theaters last year, so this experience was more of a rewatch. This time around, my parents wanted to watch some of it with me so we made a whole evening of it on 3/15 so that was really neat. I will be traveling a lot in April and will be taking an audio copy of this to keep me entertained. — Oscar Nomination Season [started 02/17, ended 03/24] All of my initial reactions of what I managed to cover this Oscar season is in this post. Some of the strongest categories I have had the pleasure of covering this year were the Best Documentary (feature), Best Production Design, Best Live Action Short, Best Documentary (short), and Best Animated Film. I have several more films to tackle later this year, but my overall impression this Oscar season was just alright. One or two films have hit an extremely high note for me, but no worst of the worst.

BEYONCÉ, Beyoncé [relistening] During the pandemic, I really got into waching YT reaction channels reacting to full albums. One of my favorites is HTHaze and he is only beginning his listening journey through Beyoncé’s discography (yes, for the first time!) His reaction to Beyoncé’s self-titled made me want to relisten to it in full for the first time in years. I tend to only revisit a few songs through the years, but I do love going back to albums after time has past to recontextualize everything all over again. I’ve had my longtime faves from my 20’s but in my mid-30’s, the songs that hit harder now are: Pretty Hurts, Haunted, and Jealous. — Bewitched, Laufey [first time listening] The same YT channel got me to listen to this album. I am guilty in having my first listen be through his video first before diving into her album properly. With that said, the brain rot went FULL ROT. I love LOVE her compositions. Having learned from her Tiny Desk that getting a grand piano influenced the way she wrote her songs makes the whole conception so much grander. Her voice is soooo, it’s SOOOOO !!!!!!! I read a comment somewhere that her dream is to rejuvenate jazz the same way Taylor Swift did with country for a younger generation and that really spoke to me. I truly believe she is heading in the right direction in achieving that. My favorite run of songs goes from: Haunted, Must Be Love, While You Were Sleeping, Lovesick, California and Me, Nocturne (Interlude), and Promise. Those seven songs in that succession is so GOOD, ahH! — Once the Musical [relistening] Every spring, I fall into a Once spiral and it just gets deeper and deeper. This time though, I only tackled the core faves on YT rather than committing to the full audio (w/ Arthur Darvill and Joanna Christie). Although Arthur Darvill’s Leave will forever solidify his Guy as my Guy, Declan Bennett is The Guy of Guys for me. My mandatory relistening experience always goes: Arthur’s Leave, Arthur’s Say It To Me Now, Declan’s Say It To Me Now, Declan’s When Your Mind’s Made Up, Zrinka's If You Want Me, Once’s Spotify Jam Session. And it would all be on a loop lol. — Cowboy Carter, Beyoncé [first time listening] This is still fresh in my mind, having only listened to it in its entirety once through. My first impression is that it’s one of her most cohesive albums to date. Having had the first taste of what she would eventually achieve all the way back with Lemonade and The Gift, Cowboy Carter feels like a natural progression in her discography. I don’t have a top songs list to provide at this time, as I would need more time with the album. Fav songs come with time. Although, I did listen to 16 CARRIAGES when it was released several weeks ago and I knew then it would be a spectacular album. What a phenomenal single to lead a phenomenal homecoming.

Where’d You Go Bernadette, written by Maria Semple and narrated by Kathleen Wilhoite [started 03/22, finished 03/29] I… I didn’t like this. And that’s alright. Even if I didn’t like the premise or the characters, I did enjoy the format of the narrative and the narrator (especially her singing!!). But in the end, this was just not meant for me.

—

As it is still March when I am writing this, I wanted to endcap Women’s Month with a special shoutout to two women in my life that have been working with me to improve my overall well-being: Wendy (personal trainer) and Sofia (life coach). I am in a better headspace because of the work and trust they have in me to build a life I want. I cannot wait to see what I am capable of this time next year.

[bi-bats]

💫 🦋 and 💌 for the fic writer asks?

hey bestie!!!!! I thought I'd see you in here 😂 thank you for reblogging the same post so I could ask you a few too!!! 💖 okay here we go:

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

I have a very specific favorite comment format and it's so fucking needy of me so no pressure to anyone reading to comment like this!!! but my favorite kind of comment is 1000000% when it's formatted like this:

["Snippet of something I wrote"] the commenter's reaction to that specific bit

Sincerely, I've said it before and I'll say it again: in the least creepy way possible, I would watch everyone react to every line of my fic if I could. Sometimes I just write a line I'm really proud of and I want it to be the line that makes someone laugh or shout or tear up and I love when people tell me what parts made them feel things!!! Also sometimes people point out lines that I didn't think twice about, ones that just came naturally, but they still make people lose it and I love that just as much!!

a close second favorite kind of comment is just when people leave me a really, really long comment about the things they loved in the chapter. Seriously, every time I get a comment that's an essay it makes me want to never stop writing 😂 Basically, much like my Jason, I'm a sucker for praise.

🦋what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?

Oh noooooooo I have to be vulnerable??? Fuck. Okay, fine.

I'm usually the most insecure about the way the tone of the scenes flow together. I'm a bit of a freak about the plotline? And when I say 'a bit of a freak', I mean I have a full-size corkboard with all of the plotpoints of Know Yourself on it. Like I'm Charlie in that one gif from It's Always Sunny with the insane red string conspiracy theory board. Below is the Evidence in case you thought I was joking (I blurred out everything that was a spoiler, don't worry. Or sorry):

...Yeah. It's a lot. Sometimes I just really struggle with feeling like the moods/tone flows from scene to scene. If they're mad at each other, I need it not to feel like they're forgiving each other too easily. If they have a huge argument, they can't just go back to exactly how it was before (looking at you, chapter 7 of Know Yourself, which is giving me an absurd amount of trouble). Thus, the corkboard. It lets me quickly look at everything I've already written (without reading all *squints* 50k words I've posted, jesus fucking christ) and figure out if everything I'm working on makes sense with what came before that.

And yeah, it is a lot of work and dedication for the silly little fanfics I write, but it's sort of like a puzzle to me? It's satisfying to untie all the tangled ideas I have and make them into something pretty.

That said, TimKon never gives me as much trouble as JayTim. I should really post some of my TimKon stuff lol

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Oh my god, this was cruel. You may not have known this was cruel, but this was cruel. Because the last time you sent me an ask, I knew I had a ton of ideas and I teased like two of them, but since then, the JayTimWeek prompts went up. And I promised myself I wasn't going to write something for every day, but then I blinked and I had ideas for every single day.

So, what to do? Do I post a snippet from one of my JayTim week WIPs? Do I post a minor spoiler for Know Yourself that you asked about in one of your comments? Do I drop all 6k words of chapter 1 of a long TimKon fic that's been sitting in my drafts for months? Do I tease an idea that I'm submitting for a zine? Do these questions count as an answer to the prompt, because I can't decide which I'm the most excited about?

No, I'm not that mean 😂 Here are two of the lines I'm most proud of from the next chapter of Know Yourself, which are in the same scene but not next to each other and don't spoil anything:

Jason was the one who had overreacted in the first place, filing Tim’s teeth to a sharp point in the hopes that he’d bite.

But then he fucked it all up. He’d done what he did best: tried to freeze over his white-hot anger, and still managed to be surprised when the ice cracked and steam shot out.

Thanks for the ask!!! I love doing these so thank you for making me answer and giving me an excuse to rest from writing (although @lovetimdrake is going to send me a meme in like 3 hours bullying me (rightfully) about how I'm supposed to be betaing their fic lol)

[watsonphotog]

Self portrait. Nikon d300S. December, 2020.

Hey there, Tumblr. It’s been a while.

I had written SO much and then the draft decided to just... shit out for some goddamn reason. Glad to see this site still absolutely choogles ass.

Regardless, as much as I’ve been inactive on this website, and now as pissed as I am that I lost ALL THAT WORK, I really have been feeling the urge to start photoblogging again. This time, I’m feeling more blogging how I’m feeling along with my images, so a touch more personal than before. For some reason, I had sort of thought that was the original idea behind this thing.

But we’ll see.

Where do I even begin...?

So much has happened since that last post, and it’s nearly impossible to summarize almost 8 years in one shot, but I can probably gloss over it.

I, in fact, did not put my life back together after that last picture. In fact, I am pretty sure I fell into the deepest depression of my life a few months later. Like, only eating an apple, an orange, and two bananas each day because you couldn’t afford any more food nor did you feel like eating anything else level depression. Did wonders for my weight, but it just about shattered my ability to form and maintain memories. Seriously, my college years are kind of just a blur now, which is incredibly depressing, because I know they were some of the most important years of my life, but they’re just... gone. Not all gone, mind you, but there’s an overwhelming amount of fog there. It destroyed my relationship with a lot of people, or at least made me fizzle out in their lives... I lived for Loki, my family, and to do nothing but work. People would reach out, and I simply could not bring myself to respond. It didn’t get better for a long, long time. In retrospect, it’s honestly a miracle I’m still here... honestly, if it wasn’t for Loki or my mother, I probably wouldn’t be. I am better now, in a way where I at least am not at that level. Still haven’t gone to therapy, but I’m at least looking for one now and don’t feel like I’m at that rock bottom anymore.

To be fair, the drinking didn’t help the whole memory holes thing I mentioned, either. I wouldn’t call myself sober nowadays, but one very important memory I have in college is the time I had to work at a convention while hung over as fuck, and between hating working after a night of booze, working at least 5 days a week, and the fact I was making piss poor nothing out of college, I stopped drinking almost altogether. I won’t say no to a drink (unless I’m really not feeling it), but I think that I have a far more healthy relationship with alcohol nowadays.

Speaking of jobs and making piss poor nothing- I have been working at that same job since I got hired on a hail mary chance shortly after graduating. I am going to do my best to never name it by name on this blog (they have kind of a funny social media policy, and god help me if any of my management friends/cohort/coworkers ever find this), but I will say it’s a well loved convenience store in the mid Atlantic region and leave it at that. Nowadays, I am an assistant general manager, which is a hell of a step up from the like 8-something dollars an hour I started at. It wasn’t an easy path, and it certainly had some downfalls, but right now I am happy where I am at and I still believe in the company and what it stands for. Plus, it pays the bills, so that’s nice.

I’m still living in Philadelphia, in the same apartment I moved to after leaving The Lost World behind. It’s on a quiet(ish) little corner on the boarder of Fairmount and Brewerytown, with lots of trees nearby and some beautiful sights in walking distance. The rent is cheap for the area, my landlords leave me to my own devices, and it’s a relative hub of transit options. I’ve had a few roommates in my time here... most have not been great, but I did get to live with Luke (a highlight) and the one roommate I had here for maybe 5-6 years, Issy, ended up being one of my best friends. Right now, Loki and I are doing the solo living thing, and with my raises at work and some strict spending management on my end, it’s honestly not terrible. I’m really enjoying not having another roommate, and I hope I can keep it up for a while.

Speaking of Loki... my lil old man is doing alright. He’s had a few health scares over the years, a few bladder issues that kept him on medicated food, a heart murmur, and now thyroid problems. He’s like 13 or 14 at this point, so it’s to be expected. I think about how he’s old quite often as of late, and it fills me with a sense of dread. I don’t like that he’s in the twilight of his life, even though he still acts like a kitten with running and playing and being a little ridiculous goofball. I really can’t imagine my life without him.

As for brighter things...

I finally got over my fear of basic math and took a stab at playing Dungeons and Dragons a few years ago, and I am so glad I did. It’s honestly been a life changing thing for me, and a huge part of my social life nowadays. I started DMing in 2017 or 2018 on my birthday, and while COVID put most of the campaigns I run on hiatus, I’m slowly getting back into the DM saddle. It’s helped me make some amazing friends while also express some of those crazy story ideas I’ve had rumbling around in my brain since I was a kid. Truly a 10/10 experience.

I somehow ended up as a Twitch affiliate, and I actually get paid to stream nowadays. I was part of enough D&D streams on my own that it motivated me to start streaming games again, and shit, it paid off. I’ve been a key organizer in at least 5 fundraisers now, and helped raise a shit load of funds over the past few years for some awesome causes while doing some ridiculous things online. It’s been a great experience.

Perhaps the most shocking of all things, however, is that I finally made the discovery and come to grips with the fact I’m polyamorous. If you’ve known me for as long as I’ve had a Tumblr, this is probably pretty shocking, especially given that my first experience with polyamory was less ethical nonmonogamy and more my ex sleeping with whoever she wanted guilt free because she couldn't do long distance relationships and I was some sort of weird emotional crutch for her, and it traumatized me to the idea for a long time. However, in my last major relationship, I had this realization that I could probably happily be in a polyamorous relationship if the communication was there, and while I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my monogamous relationship to find that out, if there ever was a reason I was single again, I was going to try it out. Well, after we split and then COVID ruined everyone’s lives (and another pretty unfortunate relationship), I tried the solo poly thing for a while, because the person I needed to date the most at that point was myself.

Well, I kind of failed at that part a bit, as now I have not one but two girlfriends. Sarah, who is married, is the first, and Katie, who I am definitely going to marry, is the second. I met Sarah around August of 2021, and while I was supposed to be just a fun time bonus thing for her (she was in two other relationships at this point), she eventually caught the feels and we eventually talked it out. I met Katie in November of the same year, and it was like finding everything I ever wanted in a partner in a single human being. I won’t say it was love at first sight, but it was definitely love a lot quicker than I think I was comfortable with admitting. I’ve had a few missteps along the way, and it’s occasionally been a bit messy, but it’s been a great experience regardless and I am very happy with my relationships.

If I had to ask 2015 Ian, as he looked into that broken mirror on that October night, what he thought his life would look like nowadays, I don’t think he would have believed me if I had told him almost all of his expectations were wrong. But I think that’s probably a good thing.

I don’t really have much else to add to wrap this up, only that I am going to try my damndest to actually blog here a bit more and get some of the feelings and thougths I have off my chest. I don’t really think any of the followers I have on this Tumblr use it anymore, nor do I think many of them would really care what I have to say anymore. This isn’t for the notes or views, though.

This is for me.

Til next time...

[voiceless-terror]

Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair. 

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves.  It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction. 

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.” 

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels. 

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine. 

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious. 

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat. 

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence. 

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk. 

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction. 

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then. 

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

[inkykeiji]

i’ll keep you in mind, from time to time

cactus anon said: had a little dream about daddy tomura, but it's when his princess gets sick... like very sick. seemingly out of nowhere. we know he's always cautious about your health and well being, so this is odd to say the least. you could have got it simply from getting the mail or sitting out on the balcony. well you see, daddy has a very strict rule when he's working - you mustn't disturb him when he's in a vital meeting. and you feel so ill that you know you can't just wait until he's done (whenever that will be - it's hard to tell sometimes). you feel like you have no choice but to ask for help 🥺 and there's not many people daddy would allow in his home to come see you when he's not present. except for... dabi...

genre: angst

notes: is this set in the bmb universe????? tbh, yeah, probably. i wrote this with bmb tomura and bmb dabi in mind (my mind just goes straight to bmb tomura the moment i see daddy tomura ehehe). do you need to read the monster that is bmb before reading this? absolutely not, since it’s technically a prequel of sorts! | title credit: moose blood’s first album ehehehe

warnings: sad boi dabi, very sick reader, it’s implied that tomura has cut her off from everyone she knows, pining, daddy kink, mention of drugs

words: 2.9k

Nestled under Tomura’s fluffy comforter and curled in on yourself in his mammoth bed, your silk babydoll sticks to your damp, sweaty skin, teeth clattering together so violently it’s almost painful, even though your flesh is scalding to the touch. It’s a surprise that Daddy can’t hear it, that incessant clackclackclack echoing down the vacant halls, a surprise he didn’t come running immediately—like he always does—at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers as you burrowed deeper into his mattress.

He must be really, really busy today.

And you know better than to interrupt him when he’s really, really busy.

But—But it all hurts so much, head pounding with such vigour you can barely see straight, muscles aching and weak, a loud whine escaping your lips as you roll over, groping around in the blankets for your phone. It’s too bright when you finally locate it, eyes squinting and a hiss catching in your throat as you bring the screen too close to your face, quickly scrolling through your contacts in a desperate attempt to find someone—anyone—to come to your rescue.

You know you should wait. Really, you should. Your Daddy is jealous, and protective, and possessive, and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he’s going to be upset when he finds out that you called someone else to take care of you.

But—But it could be hours until Daddy’s done with his work—sometimes he spends the entire night in that stupid wood-paneled office, and you can’t risk it. It’s terrifying, this nightmarish illness that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, with its sudden onslaught of concerning symptoms worsening by the second, and you’re beginning to wonder if something is seriously wrong, the thought sending icy spikes of anxiety shooting through your veins.

No, you can’t risk it—you can’t wait.

A thumb hovers over your mother’s name in hesitance, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider. Her place isn’t necessarily close, but she’s the relative that’d be able to reach you the fastest—even so, it’d take her at least two hours to get here, and that’s assuming there’s no traffic on the roads. But she isn’t exactly fond of your boyfriend, and the last thing you want to deal with while feeling like you’re dying is a fight between the two of them. You know how nasty they can get.

So you keep scrolling, fingers halting for a second time as your best friend’s name flies past your eyes.

It’s been months since you last spoke—Tomura being the topic of your last conversation, of your last fight. You’re spending too much time with him, they had claimed, eyes cloaked in a glossy sheen of tears as they frenetically searched your face, almost begging you to understand. It’s unhealthy! It’s unnatural! They had said with a vicious shake of their head. He has you in a fucking chokehold, can’t you see that?

Eyelids squeeze shut tightly against the familiar burn of tears, their last few words echoing through your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and reverberating, louder and louder and louder—

No. You can’t do this right now, your head throbbing in retaliation, a painful lump nestling into the column of your throat. It’s too much, too much, and you don’t want to think anymore, can feel that neediness rooting deep at the core of your body, a longing to just be taken care of and nurtured, frantically scrolling back up as urgent eyes search the names blurring by on the screen. A gasp falls from your lips as his name whirs by, fingers scrambling to scroll back down and find it again.

Dabi.

Daddy trusts Dabi, doesn’t he? Daddy likes Dabi, right? They’re friends, aren’t they? Out of all of the people you just scrolled through, Dabi is evidently the best choice, the most correct choice, is he not?

Your thumb trembles a little as it levitates over his name—you don’t know him well, have only spoken a mere handful of words to him in the six months you’ve been dating Tomura, but...but he appears to be your only hope.

His voice is rough when he answers, abruptly cutting through the dull second ring, evident surprise bleeding into it when you whimper out your name, mumbled against the receiver. He regains his composure a moment later, tone hardening as he asks you why the fuck you thought it’d be a good idea to call him, of all people.

Tears blur your vision, sniffling a little as you explain the situation, frail voice breaking as you tell him about how you’re terrified you’re dying, and Daddy’s too busy, and last time—last time you interrupted him you got in real big trouble, and he’s your only hope, you need him, and please, Dabi?

And God, he’s chuckling into your ear, low and hoarse and inspiring a flock of butterflies to soar through your stomach, a sensation you swear is from whatever sickness has infected your body. You’re so lucky you’re fucking cute.

He hangs up directly after that, doesn’t spare you a second to respond, arriving at in penthouse in ten minutes flat, and you’re not sure you’ve ever been happier to see his tattooed face.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes when he sees you, curled up beneath the fluffy comforter, strands of hair shining with sweat and sticking to your skin. Pace quickening, he places his knuckles against your forehead, your sore eyes slipping shut at the cool relief his skin provides. A sharp hiss slips through his clenched teeth and he yanks his hand back, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat as you try to follow his touch.

A head of inky tousled hair shakes back and forth as he hastily leaves Tomura’s bedroom. Glass and ceramic clink together, the sound echoing down the hall, as Dabi roots around in the kitchen, swearing softly to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for.

A cup of water is in his hands when he returns a few moments later, aspirin clutched in his other fist, still muttering under his breath about the thermometer not being where it’s supposed to be, and why the hell doesn’t Shigaraki have any cold and flu meds like, at all?

Perching on the edge of Tomura’s bed, he acts as if it’s such an inconvenience to him, as if he’s so annoyed that you’re sick and needy, but he really doesn’t hide it well enough. Because you see through his thinly veiled act even in your inebriated state—see the concern in his sapphire eyes as his eyebrows push together just a little, a tiny crease forming between them, see the way the corners of his lips keep pulling downwards with every single one of your pathetic little noises. A heavy sigh leaves his chest a moment later, body shuffling towards you, cobalt eyes still saturated with worry.

A large hand pets your sweaty hair, soft and gentle as the other tilts a glass of full water towards your lips, Dabi’s deep voice startlingly soft as he orders you to drink, princess.

And he doesn’t mean for the nickname to slip out, tells himself he only used it because he’s so accustomed to hearing Tomura use it—accustomed to hearing Tomura overuse it—panic’s sharp claws gripping his heart the moment it leaves his lips. But you seem too sick, too delirious, to notice or care, obediently swallowing the pills just like he told you to.

Good girl.

The praise just slips out too, those two simple words falling from his lips unconsciously, involuntarily, uncontrollably, and he chooses to focus on the fact that you drank the entire glass instead of the cute noise you make in response to his commendation, a trembling hand placing the empty cup on the oak bedside table.

The mattress dips as he prepares to get up, to move away, to put some much needed, necessary distance between the two of you, but a small, clammy hand catches his forearm, his entire body freezing in shock, stiff and still like a marble statue.

Sapphire eyes snap to the tiny hand gripping his arm, hyper-aware of the heat radiating off the sticky palm and seeping into his skin, and then dart to your face, wide and frenetic. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? he wants to snap, words turning to ash on his tongue. Because, Christ, you look like you’re about to fucking cry, staring at him through your lashes with those terrified eyes, begging him softly, shyly, not to leave.

“I’m not leaving,” he says with a roll of his eyes, yanking his arm free from your weak grasp, a soft whine escaping your lips as you grope the air for him again. “I’m 90 percent sure you have a dangerously high fever—there’s no way I’m going to leave you on your own until your asshole of a boyfriend is done doing whatever the fuck he’s doing. I’m just gonna move to that chair over there—”

“No!” you gasp, coughing on the word in your haste to reach for him again. “Please, stay, here,” you look down at the bed pointedly, gazing drifting back to his a moment later. “H-Here, with me,”

Dabi isn’t stupid. He knows Tomura will be seeing red the moment those scarlet eyes meet ice blue when he re-enters his bedroom from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls. But when your boss’s plaything, his most prized possession, calls you in tears blubbering about how she’s sure she’s about to fucking die, well—coming by to take care of her is the lesser of two evils, don’t you think? Really, Tomura should be thanking him.

But Tomura returning from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls to meet ice blue in his bed, next to said prized possession? Well, that’s a different story entirely.

He’s frozen as he mulls over it, your blunt nails digging soft, tiny crescents into his flesh, little marks that will fade only a few moments after you let go.

“I can’t do that,” he says softly, almost regretfully, and his tone of voice surprises him, startles him, scares him. Clearing his throat, he steels himself, pulling free from you again. “It isn’t right,”

“Please, Dabi,”

He’s sure you don’t miss the sharp, sudden intake of air sucked through his mouth when those two words leave your lips. He’s positive of it, because then you do it again.

“Please, Dabi,”

Your voice is softer this time, and the look he gives you is nearly heartbreaking, the perfect picture of a man being torn apart from the inside out, tortured and beautiful all at once.

“I—”

“Just until I fall asleep?” You try to bargain, bottom lip pushing out into an involuntary pout. Crystal eyes hold yours for a second longer before he sighs, chest heaving with the force of it.

He isn’t happy about it, about his apparent inability to say no to you, grumbling about it the entire time—you’re such a little fucking brat, y’know that? and only until you fall asleep, understand?—as he settles back against Tomura’s stupidly massive headboard, body going rigid and words hitching in his throat the moment you latch onto one of his thighs, nuzzling your face into his hip.

And really, he should tell you to get the fuck off of him. He should push you away, scold you for such behaviour, remind you that it’s wrong. He should. He wants to.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

The realization has his heart pounding against his rib cage, breath stilling in his lungs and then accelerating, escaping his nostrils in short, quick huffs, lithe fingers curling in the cotton sheets underneath him. Don’t be a fucking coward, his inner voice growls at him, berating himself for such disgusting weakness. It doesn’t matter if she’s fucking sick, that isn’t an excuse!

Because that’s why he can’t find his voice, right? That’s why his fingers are twitching with the need to comb through your hair and caress you jaw, right? That’s why your cheek, burning hot through his black jeans as it snuggles into his upper thigh, sends a whole slew of unfamiliarity—excitement and terror and all sorts of things he doesn’t know how to explain, can’t begin to explain—rushing through his body, right?

Yes, that’s why. Of course that’s fucking why.

The thoughts cycle through his mind like a mantra, as if repeating them enough times, branding them into the tissues of his very brain itself, will make them true.

That’s why he allows you to sleep on him. That’s why his stomach flutters at the way your tiny fingers curl in the denim of his jeans as they readjust, pulling him closer. That’s why it feels like a zap of electricity buzzes through his veins as you murmur his name in your sleep, whimpering a little as your leg hitches over his calf.

That’s why. He’s sure of it.

His head snaps up the moment the double doors fly open, and he’s never been more relieved to see his boss’s face in his life.

Those crimson eyes scan the room twice—the first time quick, frantic and furious, the second slow, cold and calculating—before they finally connect with cobalt, gaze blazing.

“Care to explain to me what the fuck is going on here?”

“Oh thank God,” Dabi breathes, words slipping from his lips subconsciously, body shooting off of the bed as if the mattress had pierced him, his movements jolting you awake. “She called me,” he snaps before Tomura can speak again, bewildered ruby eyes darting between the two of you. “She’s sick as a fucking dog, boss,” the words are spit between clenched teeth, all those nasty feelings, the feelings delayed by you, no doubt—anger, hate, jealousy, melancholy—finally surfacing, bubbling and boiling in the center of his chest. “She was too scared to interrupt your work, so she called me,”

And Dabi can see it, the vicious jealousy that flashes in Tomura’s eyes, can see the way it makes his jaw clench, makes his molars grind together, makes his breath slice through the air with each sharp exhale through flared nostrils.

“Daddy,” you whine, tears collecting in your eyes, glimmering in the golden sunlight as it sinks beneath the horizon. “D-Daddy, it hurts, it hurts so much,”

All of the derision etched so deeply, so firmly into Tomura’s face melts away in an instant as you make grabby hands for him, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and leaving gleaming trails of salt water in their wake, little half-sobs of that stupid pet name hitching in your throat.

“Now that you are no longer preoccupied,” Dabi draws Tomura’s attention back towards himself, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring his boss to retaliate. “I’ll be leaving. I trust that you can take care of her now, yeah?”

The words are practically snarled out, almost patronizing in tone, but he doesn’t wait for a response, tucking his head down as a shoulder knocks against his boss while stomping out of the room, heavy boots echoing throughout the quiet penthouse. Eyes squeeze shut tightly as he tries to ignore Tomura’s gentle coos, tries to ignore your cute, pathetic little wails and whimpers of Daddy, Daddy!, tries to ignore the sudden inexplicable ache that sears through his chest, settling deep at the core of his body and throbbing.

He can still smell you on his fucking skin, dainty notes of tiger orchid and toffee clinging to him. He promises himself he’ll hop in the shower and scrub any remnants of you off his flesh the moment he steps foot in his own apartment. He vows to himself that he’ll will this stupid, irksome feeling away—that he’ll rid himself of this irritating worry and unfamiliar concern the moment he gets home.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, he’s unable to get you out of his head, soft needy whines of his name and perfect pouty lips invading his mind like a virus, infecting all of his thoughts, worming their way through his brain like some sort of invasive parasite.

The whole excursion lasted a mere two hours, even though Dabi was sure he spent the entire day with you in that bed, leaving nearly his entire evening free, just like he wanted.

That is what he wanted, isn’t it?

Of course it is. Of course.

So why does he spend the entire night wondering if you’re okay, if Tomura is taking good care of you, if he called his personal doctor to come check and diagnose you? Why does he waste hours typing out a short text message to send to you, only to erase it and type it out again, over and over and over, chewing his bottom lip raw in the process? Why does he dream of you that night, of soft smiles and glittering eyes, cute giggles and tiny palms burning his skin, gentle whispers and Please, Dabi?

Why?

And he should be shoving these feelings away, should be burying them deep within himself, should be numbing them with soft white powder and pretty white pills, should be forgetting them.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

[timelesslords]

Girl’s Night

Read on AO3

In which Annabeth has a little too much wine at Girl's Night and feels very guilty about it. Thankfully, Percy doesn't mind taking her home.

Annabeth Chase was very good at holding her alcohol.

In all honesty it was mostly because she didn’t drink that much to begin with. Being drunk had never been all that appealing to her— years of being on edge for the next fight made it difficult for her to intentionally dull her senses, and she never liked how foggy it made her brain either. Living in New Rome for the past few years hadn’t completely squashed those instincts, despite its top of the line anti-monster security.

But still. Annabeth could keep it together pretty well, when she chose to indulge. She’d gone to a few wild parties earlier in college, mostly at Piper’s behest, and she didn’t mind having a few glasses of wine every once in a while.

Girl’s Night was every once in a while. Every first Friday of the month, if you wanted to be exact about it. In all honesty the practice was probably a bit dumb and middle aged for a bunch of people (and, okay, ‘a bunch of people’ was generous- it was really only Piper, Annabeth and Hazel) in their early twenties, but Annabeth didn’t care. It was hard to keep up with people these days, and Annabeth appreciated the emphasis on female camaraderie and friendship.

Plus, Piper had really stellar taste in wine.

Tonight’s had been especially good, and after a long and stupidly stressful week at school (Annabeth wished she could emulate Percy’s senioritis, but unfortunately the Architecture program only got harder as it went on, not easier) Annabeth found herself a little extra appreciative of the relaxing effects of alcohol.

It seemed like all of them had had a tough week, because they were all buzzed pretty fast. Piper was even happy to deliver the latest Hollywood gossip, courtesy of her dad, and Hazel was telling them a story about a probie getting stuck in the unicorn stables that made Annabeth laugh so hard she was practically sobbing. Piper and Hazel were not much better; Piper had completely fallen off the couch from cracking up so hard, and Hazel could barely get a word in edgewise before she completely dissolved into giggles again.

It was then that Annabeth caught a glance of the two completely empty bottles of wine in front of them, and realized that all of them— though mostly she, specifically— had made a grave mistake. She had no idea how many times her own glass had been filled and then subsequently emptied, but it was enough that she was well past tipsy and solidly in drunk territory.

It was hard to care about the bad parts of being drunk when you were currently drunk, Annabeth was finding. Everything was just so much funnier.

Apparently Jason had also sensed that they were drunk, or maybe he just had heard the deranged cackling coming from the living room, and wanted to make sure they were all still alive.

“Are you guys alright?” he asked, sticking his head through the doorway.

“I’m fantastic. I mean, I don’t know about you two, but I am—” Piper paused, letting out a small hiccup, “Feeling awesome.”

“I feel great,” Hazel agreed, barely able to stop laughing long enough to let the words out.

Annabeth wasn’t sure she remembered how to form coherent words anymore, so she just gave a thumbs up.

“You guys are really drunk,” Jason said, voice an impressive mix of concern and amusement. He walked into the room, picking up one of the empty bottles of wine they’d left on the table and examining the label.

“That’s my man. Very smart,” Piper said, apparently completely seriously, leaning against Jason’s leg.

“Pipes, you realize this wine is like, 20%, right?” Jason asked, ignoring her declaration of his intelligence.

Piper frowned. The expression seemed very exaggerated, or maybe Annabeth’s head was just messing with her. It was very funny either way, and she had to stifle a laugh.

“Shut up Annabeth. Let me see that,” Piper said, holding her hand up for the bottle. Jason very wisely did not let Piper hold the bottle herself, instead holding it at eye level in front of her. She gripped the bottom of it, pulling it towards her and squinting at the label.

“Nevermind. I can’t read anymore,” Piper said, relinquishing her grip on the bottle. That sent Hazel and Annabeth into another fit of laughter. They would probably be drunk even if the wine wasn’t that strong, but it certainly explained why Annabeth felt like she was floating right now. She hadn’t been this wasted since at least freshman year, maybe ever. Everything was a little blurry at the edges, and she was dizzy in a kind of delightful way. She let out one last giggle.

“And that means we are officially at the me-calling-your-boyfriends time of the night,” Jason said, setting the bottle back down on the table. Piper groaned.

“Party pooper,” she grumbled, though she didn’t move herself off his legs.

“Sorry babe,” he said, apologetically, “You guys are welcome to crash here, obviously. I’ll just call Frank and Percy to let them know.”

“S’fine,” Hazel said, yawning and pulling out her phone, “I’ve been texting him. I’ll just tell him now.”

“That’s against the spirit of Girls Night.” Piper said, pointing an accusing finger at Hazel, “You’re a cheater.”

“I had to tell him about your dad’s friend secretly dating his co-star! She was in his favorite movie!” Hazel protested.

Annabeth had not texted Percy tonight, in part because, as Piper had said, it was against the spirit of Girl’s Night, but also because he was probably asleep. Usually he’d stay up and wait for her to get home, even though New Rome was probably the safest city on the face of the planet, and the chances of anything happening to Annabeth on the six block walk between their respective apartments was ludicrously slim. But he’d been practically dead on his feet when she left, and had agreed pretty easily to turn in early when she suggested it.

She immediately felt bad about the prospect of waking him up. She knew she should though— he’d much rather be woken up in the middle of the night than wake up in the morning with her not there. Even though it would take about three seconds to check his phone and realize everything was fine, old habits die hard and it would unnecessarily stress him out. Especially since it was the one night he’d agreed not to stay up and wait for her.

So waking him up was inevitable. Worse, she was starting to realize that she really wanted to be home with him. As comfortable as Piper’s floor was (and given how drunk Annabeth was, it was genuinely pretty comfortable) she just really wanted to be in her own bed, preferably with Percy also in it.

“Annabeth’s gonna want to go home,” Piper predicted, drawing Annabeth out of her thoughts, “She gets boyfriend clingy when she’s drunk.”

“I do not,” Annabeth said, even though she most definitely did.

“You’re a bad liar,” Hazel said, patting Annabeth’s leg sympathetically.

“I’m an excellent liar,” Annabeth said. Under normal circumstances this would be true. Unfortunately being drunk was not normal for her.

“Uh huh.” Piper said, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want Percy to come pick you up.”

Annabeth looked into Piper’s eyes, currently a very pretty green shade. Not as pretty as the shade of green Percy’s eyes were, but nice, for eyes that were not Percy’s. What was she supposed to be doing again?

“This feels like a trick,” Annabeth said, squinting.

“She wants Percy to pick her up,” Piper said, tugging at Jason’s pant leg.

“Yeah, I got that,” Jason said. Annabeth was pretty sure he was laughing at them, but in her current state it was a little hard to tell. “Let me go get my phone.”

Piper whined as Jason walked away, leaning back against the couch.

“Can you even walk, Chase?” she asked, looking dubiously at Annabeth “He’s going to have to carry you home.”

“I can walk,” Annabeth said, very offended even though she didn’t entirely know if her statement was true. Piper snorted.

“You’re lucky Percy is strong.”

“This is all your fault, McLean. Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Annabeth said, aiming a soft kick at Piper’s leg.

“Okay, in my defense I didn’t read the label,” Piper said, pulling her leg back just in time to avoid Annabeth’s foot.

“How is that a defense?” Hazel asked, though she was giggling.

Piper did not have time to further defend and/or implicate herself, because Jason appeared in the doorway again.

“Percy’s coming, he’ll be here in ten.”

“Was he mad?” Annabeth asked anxiously. Piper rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think Percy is physically capable of being mad at you,” she said.

“He thought it was funny, actually,” Jason said, ignoring Piper.

“Told you so,” Piper said smugly.

“Shut up,” Annabeth grumbled.

The next ten minutes passed in a very drunken blur. Now that she had fully realized she was intoxicated, the feeling only seemed to compound, each uncounted drink catching up to her with a reckless abandon. She was vaguely aware of Piper crawling back on the couch to lie down, and Hazel curling up in an armchair. Annabeth just stayed on her little patch of floor. If she got too comfortable, she wasn’t going to want to get up.

She could feel something anxious starting to prickle under the surface of all her artificially happy feelings, but it was sort of difficult to dissect when she couldn’t really think straight.

“Hey, Wise Girl,” a familiar voice said.

Annabeth looked up to see Percy smiling down at her. He looked so pretty she almost started crying. Almost. Crying as a normal human function was fine and good and emotionally necessary and all that, but crying because you were drunk and your boyfriend was hot was just embarrassing.

“I’m drunk,” she told him. Might as well get right to the point.

“Yeah, I gathered,” he said, still looking at her with entirely too much affection, “You feel okay enough to walk home?”

“Yeah. I wanna walk,” Annabeth said, accepting his hand and pulling herself to his feet. If he hadn’t been holding her she probably would have fallen over.

“You sure about that?” he asked skeptically, putting his other hand around her waist, steadying her. She leaned into him, because she always leaned into him, and yeah, okay, maybe she needed his support to walk straight, but what about it.

“Very sure,” Annabeth said. Already she was adjusting to being on her feet. Percy half looked like he wanted to protest, but making it out of the living room seemed to convince him that she was okay to at least make it a few blocks home.

Sitting down on the bench in the front hall to put her shoes on was somehow worse than walking. She managed to shove her shoes into her sneakers, but getting them tied was probably not going to happen.

“I can’t remember how shoelaces work,” Annabeth admitted, looking up at him, “Does that mean I’m screwed?”

“Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news,” Percy said, leaning down to tie her shoe for her. Annabeth shut her eyes tight, then opened them again, trying very hard to focus out her vision. It didn’t work.

“What’s the bad news?” Annabeth asked, because bad news tended to ruin good news, and she’d rather just get it out of the way.

“You’re going to be very hungover tomorrow.” Percy said, straightening up. She thought he was smiling, but considering there were two of his head floating around in front of her, it was kind of hard to tell.

“Are you laughing at me?” Annabeth asked. He was definitely smiling now.

“I would never,” Percy said, wrapping an arm around her waist, “C’mon, lets go.”

Their goodbye was not as extended or elaborate as Annabeth expected, mostly because Piper and Hazel were already half-way to being passed out. Still, there were some waves, some I-love-yous and a partially incoherent apology from Piper, though who it was aimed at was something of a mystery.

Stairs were just a bit tricky, but she managed to stumble down them without seriously injuring herself. She was sure Percy helped somehow, but she could barely tell the difference between his arms supporting her and her own movement.

“What’s the good news?” Annabeth asked, once they were safely on the sidewalk, heading in the direction of her apartment. It was probably cold, but between Percy’s body heat next to her and her own drunkenness, she could barely feel it.

“You haven’t thrown up?” Percy offered, half-heartedly. Annabeth swallowed down a gag.

“Don’t say those words again,” she warned. Percy winced.

“Right. Sorry.”

“That wasn’t even good news, that was irrelevant news,”

“I think it’s excellent news, personally.” Percy said. He was laughing at her again, probably, but she also probably deserved it. Probably. She was wrapped under his shoulder because his arm was still helping hold her up, so it was kind of hard to see his face. She focused her eyes down at the sidewalk in front of her instead, focusing on not tripping.

“You would,” Annabeth said, “You didn’t have good news, did you?”

“I was sort of hoping you would forget,” Percy admitted.

“I never forget,” Annabeth reminded him. She had an excellent memory. Especially for things that had happened only 2 minutes ago. Admittedly the rest of the night was already starting to get a little blurry.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Annabeth felt a small stab of guilt. He was teasing her, sure, but he was also being stupid nice even after she’d dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night to practically carry her intoxicated self back home.

And now she was remembering where that little wiggle of anxiety had been stemming from. He didn’t like being around drunk people. He never really said anything, because he was him and thus was probably allergic to the mere thought of even mildly killing anyone else’s fun for his own personal comfort or convenience. But she knew him well enough that he didn’t need to say anything. He’d never taken up Piper’s offer to go partying with them, even though he encouraged Annabeth to go when she’d wanted to, and he hardly ever drank himself. Even then it was only in social situations, and usually just one drink that he probably didn’t even feel.

So maybe he hadn’t flat out said he didn’t like people being wasted around him, but he had told her about Gabe; how he was a drunk, abusive asshole. It wasn’t too hard to put the pieces together.

“I’m sorry I got drunk,” Annabeth said. It was kind of a lame apology considering she was probably slurring her words a good amount, but she meant it anyways.

She felt something shift in his demeanor— if she was sober, she would know instantly what the slight change in pressure meant. As it was, she was kind of in the dark.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. She thought he sounded surprised, but maybe she was mishearing, because it would be dumb for him to be surprised by that. At the very least, he should understand she felt bad about ruining his night.

“Because, I got messy and you had to wake up and take me home even though I could have just slept on Piper’s floor,” Annabeth said. Words were sort of flowing out of her without her completely approving them, in a jumbled rush. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t quite remember how to stop it either.

“I don’t mind,” he said, just as she’d known he would. He meant it too, even drunk off her ass she could tell he wasn’t annoyed at her at all, even though he would be totally justified to be.

“But I could have just slept on the floor,” Annabeth repeated, though even the thought caused her to lean deeper into him.

Percy slowed his pace, almost stopping. Annabeth tried looking up at him to decipher what he was thinking, but she couldn’t really make out his face well enough to tell.

“This isn’t just about waking me up, isn’t it?” he asked.

Ugh. Why did she forget in her drunken stupor that he knew her just as well as she knew him? Obviously he was going to pick up on something deeper that was making her feel guilty.

“I just—” Annabeth started, then stopped. It was difficult to pick words precisely enough for the thoughts she was having.

“I know you don’t really like parties and stuff. Or drunk people. And I’m a drunk people right now, so I’m sorry.”

Great job, Annabeth, Annabeth thought to herself. Very delicately put. The lack of subject verb agreement, that was a nice touch. You didn’t sound completely fucked up even a little bit.

God, she hated being drunk.

“I didn’t want you to wake up alone, tomorrow,” Annabeth said, trying again, “But I forgot that me being drunk might be worse, so that's why I feel bad.”

Percy stopped walking. At first Annabeth thought it was in response to what she’d just said, but then she realized they were in front of their apartment building.

Then she realized he wasn’t making any moves to go inside, so it was about what she’d said after all. Instead he turned her around so she could see his face, keeping his arms around her waist in support.

She couldn’t quite read his expression, yet another reason why alcohol was the devil.

“I have a feeling we’re going to need to repeat this conversation in the morning when you’re sober,” he started, “But just for the record, you being drunk doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

Annabeth studied his expression, searching his face for any signs of mistruth. She found none, but she also couldn’t entirely trust her senses at the moment.

“Are you just saying that?” Annabeth asked, suspiciously, “Because that’s the sort of thing you would lie about.”

She had sort of expected him to sigh in annoyance, but to her surprise he smiled instead.

“I’m not lying, I swear.”

“But you don’t like other drunk people,” Annabeth insisted. For some reason the two ideas could not coexist in her mind.

“I don’t like drunk strangers,” he corrected, “You’re not a stranger.”

“Well, duh,” Annabeth said, which made him laugh. She hadn’t meant to, but she liked hearing him laugh, so she would accept it anyways.

“But doesn’t it— I don’t know, bring up bad memories, for you?” she asked, cautiously, “I don’t wanna do that. I don’t even really like being drunk.”

He just shook his head.

“If it did, I would tell you. But it doesn’t, I swear.”

Annabeth frowned. It was probably just her stupid wine brain, but she couldn’t quite connect the dots between all the points he was making.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because,” he said, somehow still smiling, “You’re you.”

“That’s a lame answer.” Annabeth said.

“It’s true,” he said, in that stupid earnest honest voice of his, “I mean, maybe if you started throwing beer cans at my head when you got tipsy it’d be different, but you’re the opposite of aggressive when you’re drunk. You actually get really cuddly, it's kind of cute.”

Annabeth knew he was trying to comfort her, but she also knew that Gabe had done a lot worse than throw beer cans at him. She felt a surge of anger on his behalf, but more powerfully a wave of sadness looking at his upbeat expression. It was so supremely unfair that she wanted to cry, but she just hugged him instead. She was probably proving his point about being cuddly, but she didn’t even care.

“I’m so glad your mom made him into a statue,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Me too,” Percy said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“I love you so much,” Annabeth said, because she really, really did. Like so much. An embarrassing amount, if she were capable of feeling embarrassed about anything having to do with Percy Jackson, which she was pretty sure was impossible.

“I love you too,” he said, kissing the top of her head to prove it.

“Piper said I get boyfriend clingy when I’m drunk,” Annabeth admitted. He laughed, his chest vibrating beneath her.

“She might be right about that.”

“She’s usually right about things,” Annabeth said, without thinking. Then—

“Don’t tell her I said that.”

He laughed again, but it was quieter. She felt it more than she heard it this time.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he promised.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Annabeth said, because she really did feel bad about that, even beyond all the other stuff, “I should have paid more attention to what I was doing.”

She felt him shrug underneath her.

“Stuff happens, it's not a big deal,” Percy said easily, “We’ll just sleep in tomorrow. Speaking of, we should probably go inside.”

As soon as he said ‘go inside’ Annabeth’s brain suddenly registered that she was exhausted. It was late, her head was swimming, and his chest had been very warm and very comfortable. She’d fallen half asleep without even realizing it.

“Inside sounds good,” Annabeth agreed, yawning.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you the rest of the way,” Percy said, finally pulling away, brushing a few stray curls out of her eyes.

Maybe if she had been sober she would have protested. As it was she was pretty happy to climb on his back and rest her head on his shoulder. He looped his arms under her legs and lifted her up easily. Gods, he was stupidly strong. She should appreciate that more.

“I love you,” she mumbled one last time into his shoulder. Whether he’d heard or responded was a mystery to her, because she was asleep before he finished climbing the stairs.

[xoxopandapanda]

InuKag Week 2021: Day 7

Day 7: Marriage

@inukag-week

He had never explicitly asked her to marry him. He had just sort of told people they were getting married.

Sango was the one to tell her that she was getting married on nice summer day as she held the new baby.

“Kaede wants to know when you want the wedding. Miroku wants to officiate it, but Kaede said she has dibs because she was there when you first met.” Sango was mending one of the girls’ kimono sleeve that had torn in a tussle match.

Kagome looked up surprised. “When I want the wedding?”

“Inuyasha said it was up to you. He’s too busy building the house.”

“Inuyasha is building a house?”

Sango wasn’t catching on to Kagome’s confusion in the least. She nodded. “Miroku is getting ideas from him about what to add to our house, so I suppose I’ve got you to thank for that.”

Kagome blinked rapidly and tried to process the information her best friend had just laid out. She instinctively bounced the baby in her arms when he began to fuss.

Sango continued, moving to grab a different color thread to match the pattern of the kimono better – and to hopefully hide the mending she was doing. “I personally think you should just have two ceremonies because I don’t want to hear from Kaede or Miroku about how disappointed they are if they don’t get to officiate it. I mean, they are two different ceremonies, so it shouldn’t matter. Besides, the village could use two weddings, even if it’s the same people getting married.”

Kagome finally sputtered out, “I’m sorry, but who told you I was getting married?”

Sango looked up, her face showing confusion as well. “Inuyasha did. He’s been having Miroku barter for fabric to make you a wedding kimono.”

“Inuyasha told you I’m getting married? To him?”

“Well, I’d presume so. Unless there’s another man no one but Inuyasha knows about.”

Kagome didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry from the absurdity of it all. “Inuyasha told you we were getting married without even asking me to marry him? That man, I swear.”

Sango’s face went white as she realized what her friend was saying. Her tone was low and quiet. “He hasn’t asked you to marry him?”

Kagome shook her head no, finally laughing.

“Oh my god. I’m going to have my husband beat some sense into him.” Sango put down her sewing and stood up. “What an absolute moron! He’s been telling everyone you two are getting married for weeks!”

That got Kagome’s attention. “What do you mean everyone?”

“He told all the men in the village when they were rebuilding the roof to the shrine last month. We’ve all been getting ready for it, and you had no idea.”

Kagome took Sango’s hand as she went to leave. “It’s fine, Sango. It’s honestly fine.”

“You’re going to marry him?”

Kagome nodded. “Yeah, I think I’ll marry him. He, after all, did the hard work of informing everyone for me.”

“He forgot to inform you. The bride.”

Kagome shrugged. “I mean, Miroku just asked you to have his babies. Can’t say either of us got very romantic proposals.”

Sango sat back down with a huff. “I suppose.”

“Besides,” Kagome settled back to rock the baby boy to sleep, “we’ve got great stories to tease them with when the kids are old enough.”

“My daughters will not know how Miroku got me to agree to marry him. They will not think that a man can just roll up and ask them that question.”

Kagome smiled softly. “Fair enough. We’ll have to tease them with Inuyasha’s proposal story only then.”

Sango smiled back. “I can agree to that.”

“Good. Now, seriously, I need you to help me figure out what I’m supposed to do for a wedding. What do I need to plan, and does Inuyasha know two people want to officiate it?”

The women settled into a jovial conversation about wedding planning, wedding kimono sewing (Sango had not had a special one made for her wedding, but wanted to help Kagome make one), and what kind of food needed to be prepared for it.

When the sun fell low into the sky, Inuyasha came back from working in the forest. Kagome hadn’t known what he had been doing the last few weeks, but now she was suspicious he was building the home Sango had mentioned.

Miroku also returned with Inuyasha, eager to see his babies again after a long day of being without them. He scooped them up in his arms and kissed his girls’ cheeks. They squealed and chittered at him about their adventurous day of collecting rocks and bugs.

Kagome watched Miroku scoop up his baby boy while still giving his twins his attention. Sango waved her and Inuyasha off as they began to walk toward Kaede’s hut – where Kagome had been staying for the time being.

“Have you ever thought about having babies, Inuyasha?” The sight of Miroku with his children burned the question into her mind, and since they were apparently getting married, she felt bold enough to ask him.

Inuyasha’s arms went up quickly and crossed tightly over his chest. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I have.”

“You have?”

“Sure,” Kagome slipped an arm around his bicep, pulling him closer to her. “I’ve always wanted some babies of my own.”

Inuyasha relaxed enough for his arms to loosen for her pull him closer to her and rest her head on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She responded. “I think we should get married first though.”

“Miroku says fall harvest time will be the best time to get married.”

Kagome’s brain stopped for a moment. She thought that he would ask her if she prompted him. But no. He breezed past that part and went to talking about the wedding as if it was a sure thing.

Okay, maybe it was a sure thing. She wanted to marry him and spend the rest of her life with him, but still. She kind of wanted to be asked.

Kagome was struck by the realization that if she wanted there to be a proposal, she was going to have to give it.

She stopped in her tracks, causing Inuyasha to jerk to a stop and look at her confused. “I told him that if you wanted a spring wedding, we could wait a year.”

Kagome ignored his comment, but it wasn’t lost on her that he was willing to wait until next spring if she wanted. He could really be a sweet guy.

But she was more focused on the idea of a proposal to comment on it.

Kagome dropped on one knee, taking Inuyasha’s left hand in hers. “Inuyasha,” she started.

“What are you doing? Got a bum ankle or something.” Kagome resisted rolling her eyes at him. He was good a ruining a moment, but she wasn’t going to let him ruin this.

“Inuyasha,” she started again – only to be cut off again.

“That’s my name. Glad to know you’ve finally got it down.”

Kagome’s head dropped as she sighed, composing herself. He wasn’t going to deter her from her mission of having a proposal. She looked up and made eye contact with him again.

And nearly burst out laughing at how confused and scared his expression was. He was clearly uncomfortable and trying to figure out what she was up to. His ears were pinned down against his head, and his mouth twisted into a grimace.

“Inuyasha, willyoumarryme?” Kagome spit it out so quickly that the words blurred together, just so he wouldn’t interrupt her again.

Inuyasha’s eyes widened. Horror flashed across his face. Kagome asked again, this time carefully and clearly. “Will you marry me?”

Inuyasha’s face was such a mixture of thinking, confusion, fright, and shock that Kagome snorted out a laugh that she couldn’t contain.

“The guy’s supposed to do that, isn’t he?”

Kagome shrugged. “Don’t think it matters at this point. But it’s a yes or no question. Will you marry me?”

Inuyasha’s hand began to feel clammy in hers. She had frazzled his nerves big time.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Answer the question.” Kagome couldn’t stop the annoyance from crossing her face.

Inuyasha recognized that he might be getting into hot water with not answering, so he gave the only response he had ever given Kagome before. “Keh.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” Kagome dropped his hand and stood up, brushing off her knee. She was going to take his arm again, but this time he grabbed her hand and dropped to his knee. He tenderly kissed her knuckles, before looking up at her and whispering in an uncertain voice. “Will you marry me?”

Kagome’s heart began to race. She had just asked him herself, but there was something so magical being on the other side of the question. She started to tear up, causing Inuyasha to look panicked, before she yelled at the top of her lungs.

“YES!”

She pulled him up to his feet and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She had never felt so happy in her entire life, nor ever so in love.

The next day, she told everyone who walked past her that she and Inuyasha were getting married. Even though they gave her rather confused looks, as they had known for much longer than she did, she couldn’t care less.

It wasn’t the most romantic way to get engaged, but it sure set the tone for their future together.

[isthisthingeven0n]

someone special : s.r

something a bit different, as this is a vs blog - but i wanted to give it a shot! 

penelope is determined to find out who is keeping you up at night, but when you refer to the someone in question as ‘no one special’ the statement breaks your secret boyfriends heart. (1.7k)

Walking into the bullpen, you dump the files back onto your desk before sitting down. “Someone had a late night, huh?” Morgan remarks as you yawn loudly, unable to conceal it in time. 

“Had a lot of paperwork to finish, nothing new.” You shoot back as you glance up, seeing Spencer at his desk beside yours with a small smile playing on his lips. 

“I don’t think so sweet cheeks,” Garcia speaks up, and you sigh quietly. “you’re tired, your hair is out of place and you wore those pants yesterday.” 

Looking down at your appearance, you mentally swear. “I was in a rush, no big deal, Pen.” You chuckle, but you can’t help noticing the look shared between the devious duo. “You guys,” You start, but Garcia can’t help but squeal quietly. 

“Who is he?” She asks now perching on the edge of your desk as she slides your papers away, blocking Spencer from the corner of your eye. 

“And why’d you think I’m seeing someone?” Leaning back in your chair, Garcia clicks her tongue before resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Because my sweet angel, I know you all too well. That smile on your face hasn’t been wiped in weeks, and I doubt it’s caused by anyone here, besides me of course.” Derek scoffs lightly as he wanders out toward his own office, leaving you and Garcia to talk whilst Spencer eavesdrops. 

“It could be a number of things, you know.” You comment, opening up one of your files, only for Garcia to close it again. 

“I will find out who he is, I know people, Y/n.” 

Quirking an eyebrow to the blonde, you cross your arms over your chest as you turn in your chair. “Such as?” 

“Kevin.” She mutters, and you smile softly upon hearing the sound of Spencer chuckling over Garcia’s shoulder. “Reid, we’re having girl talk over here, shush.” 

Moving out of the way, you catch Spencer’s gaze for a split second before he averts his eyes back to his files. But as always, it’s long enough to make your heart beat faster. 

“Come on, just tell me who this guy is!” Garcia whines as she stands up, hands resting on her hips as you groan, running your fingers through your hair. 

“Penelope, he’s no one special alright? Now, I’ll tell you what you wanna know later, I just need to finish this report, how’s that?” You answer her prayers, and she claps her hands together as she grins brightly to you.

“You are my angel child, I can’t wait to hear all about your new Prince Charming.” And with that, Garcia turns on her heels and you let out a small sigh before looking over to Spencer, only to see his brows furrowed and fingers clenched into his palms. 

Rising to your feet, you head over to grab a coffee, knowing Spencer would be in need of one too. It wasn’t a lie, technically it wasn’t. You had stayed up late to finish your paperwork, but you just happened to have some company to pass the time by as well. 

With two coffees in hand, one being overly sweetened you placed it on Spencer’s desk. “Thought you might want this.” You mutter with a smile, but Spencer doesn’t even look up at you. “I hope it’s sweet enough, just how you like it.” 

Even with that, Spencer doesn’t react. “Thanks.” He mutters under his breath, hiding his face with his left hand as he rests his elbow on his desk, blocking you out. 

“Okay then.” You whistle, turning back to your own desk, wondering what’s going on in that brilliant mind of his. 

After a few hours, you’re all called into the board room for a meeting. 

Pushing your chair back, usually, Spencer waits for you and walks alongside you about a variety of things, discreetly asking about your plans for the evening. Yet, as you rise to your feet, Spencer shoots off without you. 

As you walk in, the seat he usually sits in is absent. Looking around, you spot him in the far corner, isolated from everyone else as he keeps his head buried in another book, a different one from last night (which isn’t surprising.) 

“We’ve got a debriefing tomorrow afternoon,” Hotch announces now that everyone is present, and you tear your focus away from your boyfriend, forcing yourself to ignore the thoughts circling your mind as Hotch explains the protocol for the next day. 

Weirdly, the rest of your day followed the same suit. Spencer ignoring you, or going out of his way to avoid any encounter with you. 

“Okay my loves, I bid you adieu.” Garcia blows a kiss to you as she leaves whilst you carry on working, knowing it’ll be an hour or so before you head out yourself. 

Another yawn escapes your lips as your eyes continue to grow heavy, causing words in your files to blur together. 

“You know, around 1 in 3 adults don’t get enough sleep, that’s roughly 51% worldwide, but I guess those who do are lucky, then again, no one special, right?” Spencer comments, catching you off guard as you look over, seeing him wearing his glasses as his lips remain tightly shut as he focuses on you before raising an eyebrow. 

“I, I guess not.” You respond, unsure for his sour tone before you return to your paperwork, trying to contemplate his reasoning for the silence and sudden remark. 

Your ears perk up to the sound of Spencer rustling his papers before grabbing his satchel. “Bye Hotch,” He waves up to Hotch in his office, but no response is received as Spencer lowers his hand. 

“Do you want a ride?” You speak up, playing with your pen as you look up at him, only to see Spencer shake his head. 

“I could use the fresh air, think about things.” He tells you and walks out, not even saying anything. 

Annoyance rises through your system and you close your files, knowing they’re pretty much done and grab your bag before following Spencer out of the building. 

“What is with you today?” You yell from the safety of the parking garage, seeing Spencer up ahead as he stops and turns to face you. “You’ve ignored me all day, did I do something to upset you last night? Did I kick you again?” 

Spencer grits his teeth before looking right at you. “No, no you didn’t kick me, Y/n.” He retorts, catching you off guard. In all your time of knowing Spencer, and in the last three months of dating him, he’s never been angry at you, nor lost his temper for that matter. 

“Then what is with you today?” You ask, raising your arms as Spencer scoffs. 

“You seriously don’t know?” 

“Unlike some people Spencer, I don’t have an eidetic memory, so no I have no idea what is bothering you!” You huff, stepping back as Spencer simply nods, adjusting his grip on his Satchel strap. 

“This morning, 9:36am. Garcia was asking if you were seeing anyone, and you said it was no one special. So, I’m obviously not that special to you, Y/n.” You can hear the pain in Spencer’s tone as his eyes dart away from yours, and his lips turn down. “Good to know that all of this, what we had wasn’t that meaningful to you.” 

“Wait, Spence,” You call out as he begins to walk away, this time refusing to turn back. “that’s not what I meant at all. I just, fuck,” You sigh, unable to move your feet. “I’m scared, okay?” 

“Of what?” Spencer questions as his voice echoes through the walls whilst his back remains turned. 

Standing still, you fiddle with the hem of your jumper, pulling at the loose threads. “I’m scared of what this means, and the fact I’m falling for you Spencer Reid, and that I don’t want to lose you in my life.” You can feel your eyes welling up, but fight back tears as Spencer slowly looks over his shoulder, seeing you curled up into yourself as you stand still, desperate to hear him say something. “And if I ruined this, I’m sorry, but please, don’t ignore me forever.” 

A tear falls down your cheek and before you can wipe it away, Spencer walks over and brushes it with his thumb. His large palm rests on your left cheek as you lean into it. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Spence.” You mutter, closing your eyes as Spencer moves his hand to bring you closer into his chest, holding you tightly and not wanting to let go. 

Resting his chin on the top of your head, Spencer shushes you. “Don’t be sorry, Y/n. If anything, I should be sorry for doubting you. I just, ever since Maeve, I’ve been so scared to open up like this.” 

Removing yourself from his tight embrace, you focus on his big doe eyes. “I know, Spence. But you’re doing it, and she’d be proud of you.” You remind him, and Spencer simply nods as he sniffs lightly. 

“I, what you said earlier, about falling for me?” Spencer starts as his hands find yours, taking them into his. “I think, no, I know I’m falling in love with you, Y/n. And whatever that truly means, because love is just a chemical reaction caused by the brain receiving oxytocin which is the love hormone, and-”

“Spence,” You giggle quietly, and Spencer just smiles back at you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Y/n, so much.” He mutters, leaning down and kisses you softly before you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss between you both. 

As Spencer pulls away, you breathe shallowly as he chuckles. “You know, an adult is supposed to get eight hours of sleep a night, and of late you’ve been getting half of that.” 

“What’re you saying, Doctor?” You ask with a small smirk. 

“Let me drive you home, and get some needed sleep, alright?” Spencer holds his hand out, waiting for your car keys. 

You grab your keys, hovering them over his palm. “You know, if I have to get eight hours of sleep, we’ll have to postpone our nighttime activities for a while.” 

Taking your keys from you, Spencer sighs as he unlocks your car and opens the passenger door for you. “We’ll work on your sleep schedule next week.” He remarks as he shuts your door, leaving you to lull into the seat as he climbs in and starts the car. 

“Just as I thought, Doctor Reid.” 

[waybrights]

Sats au

Marcy, after a whole day of nonstop writing: *sleepily/aimlessly walks around the studio*

Sasha, sipping her her coffee in the dark: "You know it's midnight, right?"

Marcy, going completely still: *looks around confused*

okay i wrote smth for this and ik it doesn't fit the prompt exactly i hope u enjoy it anyway!!!

There was something strangely comforting about the studio, especially when the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner and there was no one around. Well, no one but Marcy. Technically, she wasn't allowed to be there, but it's not like anyone was going to kick them out. Besides, she was certain no one knew she was still there. And if they did, no one had come for them yet, so they couldn't get mad when they found her asleep on the couch in the morning.

Besides, the studio was probably one of the only places Marcy could actually focus on what she was doing. Their house was too noisy, especially since Sprig and Polly were over for the week whilst Hop Pop was away on some important trip, and her phone and laptop were there too, all easy distractions from the music she was meant to be going over. So she stayed behind, in the dark studio that had really, really, shitty wifi and an air-con that was stuck blowing cold wind into the building.

Sure, it wasn't the best and they could afford to rent out a new one, but all three of them liked the studio enough to stay, even if the couch was starting to fall apart and it was constantly just above freezing.

On one particular night, Marcy was sitting on the cold floor, one of Sasha's guitars in her lap as she tried to figure out a chord progression. No matter how many combinations she tried, it never sounded right. Sure, they could always just ask Sasha to play something for her, but Marcy knew how tired she'd been recently, and didn't want to bother her with something as trivial as a chord progression. Plus, figuring out herself might make Sasha less stressed about having to do a whole tour after not playing for months due to an injury.

She hadn't meant to stay up so late, but then again, this stupid chord progression was meant to be easy. Luckily, the coffee machine had been fixed just the day before and restocked with just about everything Marcy needed to keep her awake for an extra ten hours and she was absolutely going to take full advantage of it.

---

Marcy wasn't sure how long she'd been sat there, staring down at those stupid lines, but the notes were starting to blur together, making it all the more harder to actually figure out what they were supposed to be doing. Their fingers hurt from playing and the song was rattling around in her head, the same three lines playing on a loop, bringing Marcy closer and closer to just tearing up the sheets surrounding her.

She hadn't realised she'd been crying until a single tear fell onto the paper, it only smudged one note, but it was enough for the frustration that had been building up for the past however long to boil over.

Biting her lip to stop herself crying even more, she stood up and made a beeline for the door, because if she stayed in this stupid recording booth for any longer, Sasha would come in finding her guitar in pieces.

Swiping up the half finished coffee, Marcy stomped out of the room, blinking quickly to get rid of the tears pooling in their eyes. God this is so stupid, she thought to herself as she slammed the door open. In the back of her mind, she knew it would mark the wall, but she didn't have it in her to care. She'd probably just let everyone down. It was a simple chord progression and she couldn't even figure it out. So much for one of the best songwriters, she huffed, practically slamming the cup onto the desk.

Only, she slammed it too hard and the handle came clean off. Marcy stared at it for a few seconds, their eyes flitting between the handle closed in their fist and the mug Anne had got for her birthday on the table. "Fuck," she mumbled, pressing the handle back onto the mug as if that would magically mend it. For a moment, it looked like it was balanced, and Marcy slowly pulled her hand away, only for the handle to clatter against the desk a second later.

For the next ten minutes, Marcy tried to reattach the handle, each with less success than the last. It was pathetic really, but she was so caught up in the fact that she broke Anne's gift to her, that she didn't really have the mental capacity to care about it. So what if everyone saw her breakdown the next time they checked the security footage? That didn't matter when she'd just ruined something Anne gave her.

It was the feeling of warm hands on her own that finally got Marcy to stop. Everything seemed to drain out of her as the mug and handle were pried away from her. Vaguely, she wondered who was in the studio so late, although there was a chance she'd just spent several hours trying to force a cup back together and everyone had arrived for their final session. Either way, they didn't object as someone wrapped their arms around her waist and picked them up.

"I'm sorry," Marcy mumbled after a few minutes. It hadn't been part of her plan when she opted to stay behind to have some sort of breakdown and then cry in someone's arms, and she couldn't help feeling like she should apologise.

"Don't worry 'bout it, you looked like you needed this," Sasha's voice was a mere whisper in her ear, but it still sent Marcy's heart racing.

"Sasha?" Marcy asked, her eyes snapping open as she stared up into her band-mate's face. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sasha said, a small frown on her face.

"I was," they paused and looked down, resting their head against Sasha's chest. "I was trying to figure out that chord progression you were complaining about. You've been so stressed recently, and it doesn't help we're going back on tour soon and you haven't played in a while, so I thought that, maybe, if I fixed it for you, it would make you slightly less stressed," saying it out loud, she realised that maybe it wasn't her best idea, but she wanted to do something for her friends. They both did so much for her, it was high time she did something for them.

“You… you didn’t have to do that, mar-mar,” Sasha said gently, and even though she wasn’t looking, Marcy could see the smile on her face. The way Sasha’s lips twitched up and her eyes would crinkle ever so slightly, because she didn’t usually smile and when she did it was a sight to behold. “But if that’s what got you so upset…”

“No, it wasn’t that,” well, not entirely, “I just got stressed.”

“That, or you haven’t slept properly in about a week and keep sneaking off here when you think Anne and I are asleep,” Sasha said, though her voice held no anger.

Marcy felt themself go still as Sasha spoke. How did she know? Were they that obvious? No, no she couldn’t be because no one had even asked her about it before! “That’s stupid,” Marcy scoffed instead, “I’ve been sleeping perfectly fine.”

“Marce…” Sasha mumbled, her arms coming up to gently squeeze their shoulders. “You don’t have to lie to me. I won’t force you to tell me, but if you think it’ll help to get it off your shoulders I’m-” she swallowed, almost like it was hard to admit that she was there for Marcy. “I’m always here, whenever you need. Even if it is 1 am on the shitty studio couch,” she ended lightly. Marcy giggled and moved slightly to bring a hand up to where Sasha was drawing random shapes on their bicep.

“Thank you, Sash, seriously,” they said, threading their fingers together. “And I will tell you, both of you, just not right now.”

“It’s okay,” Sasha whispered, very obviously trying to hold back a yawn, “I’ll wait for as long as you need.”

Marcy smiled and pressed the pad of her thumb against Sasha’s. “Are you excited? For next week?”

“Hmm?” Sasha hummed, her body jerking ever so slightly as she woke up. “Yeah, but I’m also nervous, y’know?” she mumbled, slowly waving her lightly bandaged hand around. “I haven’t played in a while, so I don’t want to mess up or anything.”

“You won’t,” Marcy mumbled, her eyes growing heavy as they sat there, Sasha’s warmth creating a bubble of sorts, where nothing could get to her. “You’re really great, Sash, you’ll be amazing.”

When no response came, Marcy slowly lifted her head, only to find Sasha fast asleep against the arm of the couch. It looked uncomfortable, and they knew she would complain in the morning, but she looked so relaxed and Marcy didn’t want to ruin that for anything. So she slowly shifted so she was laying down, their head on Sasha’s lap and her arms wrapped tightly around Sasha’s waist. “Night, Sash.”

[vennilavee]

someone like you

pairing: levi x reader (modern au; tbah universe) summary: “Someone like me, huh?” You bite back, your throat beginning to close up, “Does that apply to you, too? Would you listen to anything that ‘someone like me’ has to say?” warnings: cursing and a fight a/n: for this drabble prompt req

You were afraid that this would happen. After all, they do say that dating co-workers can be messy. You had a feeling this could happen. And guess what, it did-

“You think that’s the best way to engage the youth in the Underground? They won’t respond to all of this, the frills and fake happy shit-” Levi says flatly, his arms crossed over his chest with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, then what’s your idea? I don’t hear you saying anything useful,” You mutter.

“Those kids won’t listen to anything you have to say,” Levi says honestly, “You look like you’ve never stepped foot down there-”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think those shitty kids would listen to a word that someone from aboveground has to say?”

“I don’t know, Levi, you tell me. Since you were one of those shitty kids-”

“You’ve got another thing coming if you think those kids will listen to anything that someone like you has to say-”

“Someone like me, huh?” You bite back, your throat beginning to close up, “Does that apply to you, too? Would you listen to anything that ‘someone like me’ has to say?”

Levi can be hurtful when he’s speaking with his blinders on. You can kind of understand his point, but he didn’t have to make it so… personal. But maybe, because ever since the lines of professionalism and dating have been blurred in the workplace for the last few months, you both took it to the next level when neither of you meant to.

Still. You don’t want to speak with him. You’re pissed at him, so upset that he undermined and questioned you like that in front of Erwin and made it a direct attack on you as a person.

You wouldn’t have considered it him undermining you if he didn’t make it so personal. 

Someone like you. Why does that sting so much? Someone like you- who would never understand the struggles that he’d gone through himself? Someone like you- who was too much, and not enough at the same time? Is that what he meant?

You don’t say goodbye to him when you leave work, or give him a quick kiss and a promise that you’ll call him later. You tell him you don’t want to speak to him when he tries to talk to you in your office and you hide in the comfort that your dark blue drapes bring.

You go home to your apartment without checking if he’s still around, despite your heart screaming for you to go to him. But you need space from him, and you hate how small he made you feel just in the fraction of two minutes.

It’s your first major fight and Levi genuinely doesn’t know what to do. He’s torn between showing up at your apartment and giving you space like you requested. His instincts are screaming for him to fix this, to get you to talk to him. But in the end, he decides to just give you space. Because he thinks you’ll be even more upset if he shows up without respecting your wishes.

He hates it. He hates that he had said what he said ‘someone like you’, those words ring in his mind like an annoying alarm. A reminder that he had hurt your feelings so easily and a reminder that he was the cause of your sad, dark eyes. And the way your shoulders had slumped in on yourself.

He messed up. He knows it, and Erwin knows it. Erwin had given him a disapproving look after you had left the conference room and Levi had met his eyes with a glare, warning him to mind his business.

Erwin said nothing and Levi only stared at the ceiling in frustration.

And Levi is currently staring up at the ceiling while sitting on his couch. He’s restless, leg bouncing on his freshly mopped hardwood floors. He’s been on a cleaning binge, but nothing can ease the anxiety of wondering what you’re doing. Are you okay? Did you want to break up with him?

His phone lays on the couch, almost mocking him. Levi abruptly stands up and swipes to your text message thread, which has been dry since the fight-

levi: hello

It takes you ten minutes to answer. In that time, he dusts off the coffee table and the television stand. Again.

you:  hi levi: can i come over.

Five minutes, with the three dots indicating that you’re typing appearing and vanishing. 

you: okay

Levi leaves his apartment with his wallet and car keys, on a mission. But first, he stops by for some of your favorite flowers.

Your eyes are a little red when you let him into your apartment. Red and wary. Levi hates this, hates that he did this. That he made you cry, all because of his inability to properly communicate to you what he was thinking.

“Thanks,” You mutter, taking the flowers from him, “But I didn’t want-”

“I know,” Levi murmurs, skin warm at the faint touch of your fingers on his, “Please, just hear me out.”

“Okay,” You finally say after a few moments with a shrug. You gesture for him to sit on the couch and the way you’re not facing him, body turned into yourself as if to make you look smaller… it hurts him. Because he did that.

“What did you mean?” You say, beating him to the punch, “Someone like you? What does that mean?”

Levi’s eyes are sharp and so are yours. His heart is thudding out of his chest, and the only way you can tell that he’s a little nervous is because he’s subtly wringing his hands together.

“It means…” Levi exhales and squeezes his eyes shut, “That I’m stupid-”

“Yeah, I know that,” You snort and roll your eyes.

“Be serious,” Levi chides you without any heat in his voice, “I didn’t mean it that way- just that… you’re not one of them. It’s different for the kids down there versus growing up here-”

“I know that,” You repeat, “But I’ve been doing this work for almost six years, too. It’s not fair for you to undermine me like that. A-and to me, it sounded like you meant that I’m not like you and that you’re holding that against me.”

“I know,” Levi breathes, “I know that’s what it sounded like. I only meant that those kids underground won’t take us seriously if we go in there ignoring their circumstances with fake, shitty smiles. I’m glad that place has never touched you in that way.”

You look down at your hands, unable to meet his steely eyes. But you’ve never known Levi to be a liar, and this time is no different.

“Please look at me,” Levi begs and you look up, overwhelmed by emotion, “I’m… sorry. I’m sorry I undermined you in front of our boss. And that I said what I said. I know I hurt you.”

“Yeah, you did,” You sigh, “And I’m sorry I called you a shitty kid.”

Levi lets out a breathless chuckle, “I think I deserved at least that much.” 

You open your arms to him for a hug and even though it’s only been a few hours since he saw you last, he sighs in relief once he settles next to you. You know words are difficult for Levi, but you know him well enough to know when he’s trying and when he’s being sincere. 

“When I say someone like you,” Levi murmurs, nosing your neck and holding you close to him, “I mean someone as bright and kind as you doesn’t belong down there.” He kisses your cheek, letting his lips linger there.

“Don’t say that,” You mumble, swatting his chest lightly, “That implies that you and anyone in the underground is undeserving of basic kindness.”

Levi only stares at you before nodding and turning your cheek towards him for a real kiss. He mumbles his apologies in the form of kisses, in the way he holds you close as if you’ll let him go. He breathes his apologies into your skin slowly and languidly… So you believe him.

tags: @simpingmaize​ @kentobean​ @captainchrisstan​ @alrightberries​ @puredivinity​ @regalillegal​ @castellandiangelo​ @bakuhoesworld​ 

[bonny-kookoo]

Bunny Boy Cases: “how far would you go?” (⚠️❤️☁️🔪) JJK x Reader

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Yandere!AU, Psycho!AU, Angst, Romance, Mature!

Tags/Warnings: Strong Yandere themes, Stockholm Syndrome, Our favorite psycho boy, drowning, Suffocation, twisted romance, very dark themes, please read with caution!

Summary: Do you love him?

I do not condone this behavior at all. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction. Thank you.

Jungkook knew of your love for the sea. Of course he did; there was barely anything he didn't know by now about you.

He also knew exactly how to keep you at his side by now.

Of course you were dependent on him- he never let you out by yourself after all. He was the hand that fed you, that cared for you, that gave you comfort and punishment when needed. But you were also, deep down, very smart. You knew this was not what a normal relationship was like- which was why he guilt-tripped you whenever he could.

And it wouldn't even be a lie.

There was no hope to survive for him, not without you.

So there you two were, in his car, with him driving, and you at his side. You were excited, but you so adorably tried to hide it. He could however spot your leg umping up and down a few millimeters every now and then- and the look you threw out the window, the way your spine straightened, told him the truth about your feelings. "Excited, Angel?" He asks with a chuckle, and you sit down a little smaller in your seat.

He loves to see the effect he has on you.

"It's okay for you to be." He states, feeling your gaze on him. "After all.. it's been a while that we've been out, right?" He says, voice a bit wavering and paired with a sheepish smile to portray you that he's feeling guilty about it. He isn't.

"no no!" You say, and he let's a sigh slip- not necessarily to feed the idea of his bad feelings, but out of bliss. He bathes in the fact that you're so bewitched by him; and its only fair like this, isn't it? After all, you do the same to him. Luckily for him, you take his exhale as what it wasn't intended. "Seriously Koo, I understand. I'm happy we'll have a vacation together!" you say, and he smiles. His arm reaches out, running over your hair as if to pet a dog- and you don't even see the demeaning gesture as that. You simply take it, smile, and he couldn't be more glad about it.

You've truly become his.

Parking his car, he's happy to notice that you wait for him to open your car door instead of doing it yourself. He does so of course, watching with hawk eyes how you shrink in on yourself as soon as your shoe steps onto the pavement outside. You're so unsure, so small, so vulnerable- every second glance you take is directed at him, and he feels euphoric about it.

This is only for your safety. He's only helping you. He's keeping you safe. He's protecting you.

Jungkook doesn't have to unpack much stuff- you're not going to stay at a hotel anyways. Firstly because he can't afford it no matter how badly he want's to, and secondly, because he doesn't trust hotel rooms. What if there are spy cams installed? He knows himself, after all, how easy they are installed and hidden. There's no way he's gonna take on that risk.

Your sleeping body was for his eyes only.

"Where can I change, koo?" You ask, and he smiles at you, pulling out a towel.

"Right here Angel." He says, finding the scandalized look on your face amusing. "I'll hold the towel around you; it's not like I haven't seen you before now, is it?" He hums the last part with something alike to a purr lacing his voice. It makes you shy, paints your cheeks red, and he can't swallow down his chuckle that escapes him. Hesitantly you let him hold the towel as you avoid his gaze.

He's become very patient, he notices. His self control has gone up significantly these past months- because if he looks back on your relationship, there were surely times where he could have never stared at your exposed flesh without giving into the urge of ravishing you on the spot. Maybe it's the still slightly visibly bite marks on your collarbones that soothe his inner demons to stay calm- he may never know. But once you have changed into a bathing set that can only be described as sinful, he wraps the towel around you. "Keep it like this Angel. Don't want you to be seen like this, okay?" He says, and you nod.

"Can you tie my hair up for me?" You ask, and he smiles brightly at this. Every request you have for him he bows down to.

"Of course." He says, accepting the hair tie you give him, and softly turns you around so he can collect all of your hair into one hand. He's careful, gentle, it's quite hard to imagine the things he's done with these hands.

The things he's capable of.

But you swallow these thoughts down, simply letting yourself be swept away by the moment itself. It's been so long since you've last been outside this much. You want to keep this as a good memory to yourself; after all, who knows when the next time will be?

Jungkook himself doesn't seem to care much about who could see him- having put on his swimming trunks underneath his sweatpants already before he had started driving, he's quick to change. He closes the car, the driver's door needing a second attempt to close properly before he can lock it properly. He should really invest into a new one, he knows that- but cars are expensive, and he can fix it himself anyways.

He'll keep it until its broken.

Just like he keeps you at his side, while walking towards the small hidden spot that he had scouted out for the two of you. There's not many people currently swimming; after all, he had done his research. It was a Monday, and the time was perfect too. Everyone else was at work or home- the perfect timing for him and you to have some time just for yourselves.

"Can I shed the towel now?" You ask, and he smiles at you.

Always so sweet.

"Of course angel. We came here to swim, didn't we?" He says, and you nod, eyes sparkling with excitement as he follows you into the waters. He keeps an eye on you at all times, leads you behind a large boulder; successfully hiding you from any spying eyes out there. The waves are a little more present at this spot, but that's fine with him- it's not enough to be dangerous yet. Your body, compared to him, is already floating as you hold onto his shoulders; and it gives him a weird feeling of power over you. He watches your feet trying to keep you afloat- your fingers pressing down on his skin to hold onto him, and your eyes finally meeting his.

He's entranced.

"Say, Angel.." He speaks, words flowing out of his mouth without his will. "Do you love me?"

The question is asked almost daily. It holds so much meaning not only for him, but for you as well. It's a question you could never imagine to answer with a 'no'- there was always just one answer to ever be said.

"Of course I do." You say, and he smiles.

But this time, there's suddenly something else behind his gentle grin sent towards you. There's something dark, something rabid- something you've seen before. It's as if he shifts persona's sometimes. As if he's turning into someone you don't quite know.

"Would you do anything for me?" He asks, melodic, as if he was a siren ready to bewitch you. He's sure to let his demanding question be followed by a softer tone, however. "I would do anything for you, you know that, right Angel?" He says, and you nod.

You're already enchanted as you answer. "Of course I'd do anything, Koo.." You mumble out, and his smile widens as he leans forward.

You're sure that his lips are going to meet yours, and you already close your eyes. But he's not kissing you; his lips move beside your ear, as he purrs something into it, barely heard over the sound of waves and seagulls around you.

"Would you drown for me?"

It all happens so fast after that, the seagulls, the waves, the short moment that you can hear a truck pass by nearby on the roads; it's all gone a second after, vision blurred and disrupted by bubbles as you need a moment to clear it again. You can see him, as serene as ever above you, his eyes staring at your form, his gentle hands, the hands that so carefully tied your hair together just half an hour ago pushing you down, as you hold your breath. He's still smiling, the edges of his lips still turned upwards as he seems to scan you for a moment. That's when you notice it too.

You're not struggling.

And it dawns onto you in that moment that there's a reason you don't. Apart from him, you have nothing left; there's no friends worried about you, no family left for you to return to, no job you could take on at this point. All you have is him. The reason you're alive is not because you've been born into this world.

You're alive because he let's you.

You exist because he allows it.

You watch him get closer as your lungs start to burn, his lips pressed onto yours as he quite literally steals your breath away. It's only when your eyes grow droopy, your skin gets tingly, and your vision starts to darken around the edges like TV static creeping in on you, does he finally push the two of you up again.

You breathe heavily, your lungs hurt, your throat scratchy as if you swallowed sandpaper. He holds you close throughout it, gentle hands running over your back as he speaks to you in a warm and comforting voice. You don't understand his words yet, hands clinging to him as you press your forehead against the inside of his shoulder. You can feel his chest move as he chuckles, ears finally working again as the seagulls and waves return to you.

"I love you so much." He speaks, as if nothing happened just seconds before. "Don't ever forget that." Are his last words, before he presses a kiss to the side of your face.

You'll never forget that.

You'd rather die.

[marshmallowprotection]

Saeran’s Passport Package

I’ve been waiting since the 19th to get my hands on this baby and I’m glad that it got here today. It took me a little bit to sit down and go through everything cause I wanted to cry about it the entire time. 

Spoilers Ahead, everyone. So, if you’re not interested in seeing what’s in the Passport set AFTER the events of Saeran’s After Ending, then do not click Read More, got it? I’ve made it clear to you. I will say that it’s worth the money if you’re debating buying it. 

So, we can go over the contents in the box, first as an overview. You receive a letter stamped with a cute sticker as well as the passport itself which holds the notes that Saeran’s been taking and drawing since this all started. I just think that’s cute. My brain said don’t open that passport until we review the letter first so, why don’t we go over the letter first? The little details are really cute. There’s just so many stamps on this baby. 

The little touches are what sell it. You’ve got this man putting his love all over it and there’s a CUTE NOTE of CATS. Sir, was that a touch to Saeyoung? I know you know that your brother is a dork. Homage to brother who is an idiot but too glaringly obvious. It got a chuckle out of me. I know this man, and it’s just getting to me. 

The passport itself is also really cute. It has the art from the promo banner but instead of everyone hustling around together, there’s new poses and all of that jazz. Jaehee isn’t rushing around. Zen’s got a selfie stick, no surprise on that front. Jumin just chilling. Seven and Yoosung... doing what they do best and you know it. RUN, YOOSUNG, RUN.

Saeran and MC... being cute on the inside made me go, “Aw!” Ice cream. They can really just put ice cream and it’s going to make me cry, huh? Really? Is that how easy this is? Am I a joke to you, Cheritz? Is that what this is? 

Now, if you want to talk about the contents in the letter, you get this sheet that is listed in three languages, surprised me, Korean, Spanish, and English, and it lets you tick off little things that you like to do. An itinerary sheet. I feel like this is purely Jumin crafting these. It asks about Cats. Literally. Cats. Wine? Yeah, this is on Jumin. You always come in flex, Jumin, but oh boy, I’m chuckling over here at these little touches. 

You get 2 boarding passes. One with Saeran’s name and one with a blank to fill in your name. I thought that was cute. Tying in that with the CG of the passes in the game with this just makes it more real to me. I’m holding this in my hands and it just makes my immersion feel much more real than it did when I was holding my phone in my hand and playing this out. 

I think merch like this just makes you feel more apart of the story then you do when you’re able to talk and chat, you know? If you really like feeling like you are involved with the game, this is how you do it. You wanna know how I know that Jumin is the one setting this up with Saeran? Flip over the fucking passport and you realize that Elizabeth is on the back.

I’m still laughing. 

I’m trying to imagine this and now, like, I’m starting to see why Jaehee is so damn tired because Elizabeth really is on everything that he can get his hands on and she’s good too many files to sort through when it comes to whatever the photographers take of her. Jumin can’t take photos. He’s either got Jihyun to do this for him at some point, or he’s straight up hiring photographers for her cause he can’t do it. 

I mean, we all know that Jumin will put Elizabeth everywhere but I just— It’s on the BOARDING PASSES? JUMIN! 

There’s also a postcard within the letter that is once more, written in all three aforementioned languages. Saeran says that it feels like a dream when he is with you, like this is where he’s always meant to be. His promise of happiness is made truest when he’s with you. I teared up a little. I know that he means well when he does that but damn, does it take an arrow to the heart every single time he does it. 

Saeran put a lot of thought into this in a very short amount of time. I know that he did this plan likely with the idea that he may not be able to go with us but he wanted us to be able to see the world for him. You know, how he implied that he wanted Saeyoung to see things for him? To live for him? Even if he was dead, he wanted Saeyoung and the player to be happy and free. 

The blurred state on those... doesn’t have names. It doesn’t name Saeran in this photo. 

The implication of his sacrifice with the boarding passes kind of hurts because this is a side note of the fact that Saeran Did Not Know If He Would Live To See This Through. He made it thinking maybe.. if things worked out, it would be an okay future, but this was... God. I just. I’m thinking about the weight of the AE and what that felt like. I almost glossed over the Boarding Pass because I was just so upset with him.

I’m the type to try to sacrifice myself for others, too. I have that in common with Saeyoung and Saeran. 

I think that we’d argue over who should die for the others and while that’s macabre, it’s just the kind of people that we are. We love these people so much that we’re willing to die if they’re safe and sound. Knowing that, I understand what Saeran tried, and even what Saeyoung tries, but it’s hard cause I want to make sure they’re happy in comparison to myself. 

This is where being selfless is a bad thing. 

Does anyone know what a big deal it is for Saeran to have a passport? He’s never had an ID or paperwork in his entire life. If he did, he would’ve been killed, so would his brother. They’re both never had IDs. Unless you count the ones from the Agency and Mint Eye. They’ve got them in the Believer box with their names and faces, but that’s not official. That’s not paperwork that everyone else has. That’s just... 

You know? 

Seeing this tangible thing in my hands is a testament to Saeran Choi being alive and thriving. He’s not afraid of showing his face. He’s living. He’s a free man and nobody can kill him for existing. Does that not weigh on anyone here? It hit me and I wanted to cry. I might break down thinking about this later because I just take this too seriously. Look at him. Look at HIM. Okay? Did you look? Now, LOOK AGAIN.

Okay, I’m not going to share every single page inside of the passport but I will give you little snippets of the journey ahead and show you what he writes and draws. Yes, he’s drawing. I knew that he was talented because he is great at doodling and drawing, but he knows how to have such a cute style that I want to gush about and he probably has no clue about how cute it is because nobody’s ever told him!

Okay, so the trip is broken up over a few months and into segments. You know how I was surprised by the 3 languages? Yes, this passport is written in three languages and it stays that way. It implies that Saeran knows English and Spanish, or at the very least, he’s been studying them, I get that it’s kind of a neat tie in to make sure that all languages are included but I only English and I can only read Spanish, I suck at conversational Spanish, so I could only read the English and Spanish sections. 

So, if anyone wants to throw in what the Korean segments say, please do. I have a rough idea, but it’d be nice to know. The first segment of the trip is spent traveling over Korea. You see the things that he packed in the bag! 

I almost had a heart attack because I thought the vitamins were Caffeine Pills. I was about to beat my Husband and make him go to bed. Thin ice, Saeran. Thin ice, the Special Believer package implied you take more then ten and I want you to go the fuck to sleep at night. 

He packed his hanbok! Look! You remember? From the title screen event? The blue shirt is the one that he matches with MC in. There’s so much I’m screaming about it. 

It shows you things that you do. Like, biking, karaoke, gardens... is there a locket bridge in Korea? You know? If you put them together on a bridge, it’s said that your love lasts forever. I forget where that came from but I guess there must be one in South Korea, too. Oh, and food. Can you believe that he can eat whatever he wants now? I’m sobbing. 

Please. 

HE’S IN HANBOK. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Okay, here’s the thing. I only have one gripe with the Passport Package and I’m going to say this again at the end, but I really wish that they had included big photos for this because the Passport itself it rather small and I wish that I could have bigger photos of this. It’s my only complaint. Literally, it’s the only thing I have to say about the box that will affect my rating. Look, we’re doing cheesy couple stuff! 

HE’S DOING THE HEART THING WITH HIS HANDS.

A KISS. 

KISS.

GUSHING.

DYING. HELP. ME. 

God, I wish I wasn’t broke. I would commission someone to do this for my MC. 

The second and third portion of the trip are spent in the U.S.A. and Mexico, I was so surprised by that! New York and Hawaii specifically are what they name and I was. Well, those are really far apart, huh. I mean, those are very popular spots. I’m not surprised. I’m chuckling because he’s got matching outfits. 

Saeran Choi, you really want the embarrassing couple look, don’t you? Well, if it’s for you, I’d do it. Did... Saeyoung or Jumin set us up, are we fucking loaded? There’s mad bank here. 

Saeran and MC basically are living per Jumin and Saeyoung, to be honest, because Saeran’s never had a job and MC is... your MC literally agrees to go and test a game in the woods, how good can our lives be? I’m broke, boy. I ain’t got nothing. So, I like to think that those two are offering to let Saeran be as happy and free as he wants. No expense. Like, kindness. The RFA is too damn much, I’m gonna cry. I’m starting to understand why the RFA didn’t hear from us for months. 

The final Check-In with the RFA is set 6 Months after the events that take place when we save Saeran. The events of this Passport cover 3 months. So, we go back to Korea after this adventure and met up with Saeyoung, because we know that we’re hanging out with him in the conclusion. So, if they haven’t really heard from us, that means that we’ve been traveling more with him. 

I kind of like that. 

We’re spending time with Saeran alone and time with the brothers together, and that’s sweet! I love that. I need to write more about it. 

I’m trying not to laugh about this Mexico portion but it looks like he passed out from an ice tea... lemonade...? It’s surely not alcohol. Maybe too much sugar, I know that crash can hurt. I’ve been there. I just know that you’re not implying the man with alcohol trauma is gonna drink. Nope. Neither he nor Saeyoung ever will do that. I stand by that statement and I’ll die by that statement. Bite me my tongue if I’m wrong, but I stand by that. 

Saeran is at least mindful of the sun. He’s also made notes that the perfect time for sunset is 18:34. Cute. He notes that it’s time for the Day of the Dead as well, so that’s fun!

IS THAT A FUCKING V CACTUS—

TWO V CACTUS—

There’s actually a portion in here where he asks you certain questions and you have the space to fill in it. I like that it’s interactive. 

Do you have favorites sweets? Are there things about yourself that you hide? Did you make sure to ask Santa what you wanted? I’m wheezing. The food doodles are one thing, and the Christmas photo is one thing, but he really drew himself as a butterfly and the MC as a bug catcher. 

“CATCH ME, MC.” 

Help me. 

I’m laughing so hard.

Saeran, you fucking goofball.

And, the last page of the passport is us assumedly returning home with all kinds of trinkets and gifts. Flower crown, snow globe, cactus, hats, listen, there’s a lot of details in this photos that I really wish I could have it blown up. 

That’s really my only complaint about the Passport Package. I really want to have bigger photos that are shared. I wouldn’t have minded if it was the photo of the final CG in the game, or the Christmas photo, I really would have enjoyed getting that to have for myself. 

You know? The passport itself is roughly like 5 x 7 or so, so while it’s not big, it’s still like. I would love to see the details blown up. It’s smaller then the diary, that I know for sure. I think it’s the only thing stopping from giving Cheritz a 10/10 on this item. 

I’m going to have to give them a 9.8/10 simply because it feels like we are lacking one big photo. 

I guess I’ll print my favorite CGs and decorate my room like that. But, all and all, I really enjoyed reading this and it made it feel like I was there and I was able to reflect on Saeran’s vacation with the player. Like, he was doing this as we were going using his little doodles... I’m in love with this fucking sap. I’d say that this is worth the money. 

For sure. 

My only gripe aside. That’s a personal problem, not really a content problem. I love this bastard. 

Look at him, he’s GOT A PLUSHIE. I have so many things that I want to write about now thanks to this. Saeran, darling, sweetie, my love, I am dying. Either way, I’m glad this arrived when it did. I needed this. I justified getting this for myself because I don’t expect to get anything for my birthday in early February but I’m happy I have him.

It’s been five years since I found this game in August 2016. I’m happy that it’s been here with me. 

[heartbaz]

Magpie's happy ending (Renegade)

Of all the calls she imagined, Magpie never thought she would receive one from Tamaya Rae herself asking for help in reorganizing the items in the old weapons and artifacts department.

After "Supernova", the renegade headquarters was closed for months. It was no longer necessary to have a superhero building when superheroes no longer existed. Despite not being such an important issue, some rumors and theories spread, mostly saying that the tower would be demolished at some point.

But apparently that would not be the case.

From what heroin told her, they wanted the renegade headquarters to be a kind of museum on the second floors, which would display the artifacts stored, as well as the costumes of heroes of the old Council, photographs, news and all those things that she found it a waste of time and space to display and risk someone stealing them just like that, especially the dangerous artifacts that were in that place, but the opinion of an 11-year-old orphan girl was not so important.

When he entered the building he studied the place, which was being remodeled. He expected them to build statues of the Council, the Sketch team, a large painting, or something extravagant and flashy, typical of the renegades, especially Hugh, Captain Chromium. But he was surprised to see that it was the same as before, except that everything was new, in fact the quarantine was still under reconstruction, even Max Everhart himself was tidying up the glass city.

She realized too late that she had been staring at him for too long, a certain interest welling up in the girl at the tender expressions the boy was making as best he could arranging a four-story building near a park. Max had looked up for a second and noticed that the little blue eyes were watching him. Before receiving any gesture of greeting from the blond boy, she turned a little blushing and followed his path with a hurried step to enter the elevator and descend.

When the doors opened she could hear in the distance a conversation coming from the room of the dangerous artifacts, the voice was of two girls. when she got a little closer she realized that it was a dispute between Monarch and Nova. Nothing serious, they were just talking about some glasses and their use, something that did not interest her, she was coming for the jewelry and to see if there was something interesting and relevant so she could steal it without anyone noticing her absence.

She looked around and then stood still, she was struck by the silence that reigned in the place, and that was very strange. Something was clearly missing. Rather, someone was missing. Callum's obnoxious voice talking excessively about artifacts was missing. His lips formed a grimace without realizing it.

"This place is so different without him."

She startled to hear a voice behind her. When she turned around she saw Tina staring down the hallway. Maggie wasn't an expert at deciphering people's feelings through their eyes, but she easily saw the sadness and melancholy reflected in them, accompanied by pursed lips, clearly holding back tears.

Maggie looked at her for a few seconds before she began to feel uncomfortable.

"uh... where do I start?"

Tina shook her head and looked at her again.

"Oh right," she cleared her throat, "You need to help Sketch, Red Killer and Smokescreen sort some paperwork in the reception area, I'd assign you something else like sorting the jewelry or some artifacts, but those guys have a lot of work to do."

Magpie let out a grumble but said nothing by way of protest and headed for the reception area. It was chaos, full of papers piled up on the floor. Adrian was already reading and sorting some papers, but the other two present, Ruby and Oscar, were just flirting with each other. He grimaced. He had no idea how he was going to deal with such displays of affection during the day.

...

They had spent almost two hours among all those piles of papers organizing one by one. they were all tired and bored, but that didn't stop very interesting topics of conversation from arising among the four boys, and although at first the redhead didn't have the slightest interest in talking to them, it was inevitable for her to listen and laugh at the crazy stories Oscar had. A circle of trust was created in which even she told them some of the weirdest objects and her most risky adventures when she worked for the renegades. At this point, they were each telling the origin of their power, their faces dumbfounded as they listened to Ruby and Oscar's horrific experiences, even if hers may not have been any prettier than theirs. They had mentioned that both Sketch and Monarch were born with their powers.

"We could say that Nova was also born with one, the gift of putting others to sleep by touch" Ruby mumbled.

Magpie stared at the girl, waiting for her to continue with the explanation of how Nova managed to never sleep, but she did not. She never liked her, neither being Insomnia nor being Nightmare, she still didn't forget what happened the day Agent N was going to be released, but at that moment she aroused her curiosity and she wasn't going to stay with her.

"If he was born with the power to put people to sleep just by touching them, how did he get the power to never sleep?"

Adrian tensed, but decided to tell her.

"When Nova was 7 years old her uncle, Ace Anarchy, had her entire family killed, even her sister who was only months old. She was only saved by putting the man to sleep when he was in front of her. Ace found her and turned her into an Anarchist," he paused a little to put some papers he had just read, "Every time she tried to sleep she repeated the scene in her head, after that she could not sleep until a few months ago when she slept for 24 hours.

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the reception area. Maggie took a few moments to process it all. For a moment she felt a bit like she could relate, she too had lost her family, but she couldn't imagine how it would feel to remember everything that had happened for the rest of her life. For the first time she felt pity and empathy for the ex-villain.

"It's your turn, Urraca" said Oscar to break the silence "how you got your powers."

She grimaced as she didn't know the story for sure.

"I was too little to remember, but at the orphanage they told me that the landlord found me crying, full of blood," she took out her amulet, a bullet, from her pocket and showed it to everyone present" I had the bullet in one hand. Only the bodies of my parents were found, but there was no sign of my sister.

"Was your sister taken away?" Adrian asked, as shocked as she was to hear Nova's story.

"I don't know. For a long time I waited for my sister to come looking for me at the orphanage, but she never came. No one ever came to pick me up. I came to the conclusion that she either didn't want me or she was dead" the last thing she said in a whisper, but loud enough for those present to hear.

"What about the Renegades directory" Oscar pointed to the computer.

"I already tried, there's nothing," sighed the girl."

"Maybe there is something among all these papers of old files and cases?"

Adrian was interrupted.

"I found it!" exclaimed Ruby, who throughout Magpie's story had been sifting through the piles of papers and was now holding up a set of three sheets held together by a rusty paper clip. all she could read was "Maggie's case" and the last name was blurred, someone had splashed coffee on it.

Oscar snatched the papers from his girlfriend's hand and ran. She chased after him while feigning anger. During the two hours those two lovebirds were expressing their love through flirtatious gestures and small frolics. Maggie put up with them all the time without complaining so much, but in those moments she didn't feel like putting up with their romantic idiocies and apparently neither did Sketch, in fact he spoke first asking for a little more seriousness in the matter and for them to read the case quickly. Oscar obeyed without first letting out a "boring" along with a small cloud of smoke straight into his opponent's face.

"Let's see what it says," he began to read, "he has no birth certificate.... His name was chosen by Captain Chromium, what an honor! ... Her parents were killed in the domicile where she was found... only she survived... her sister is missing... she had a bullet in her hand..." Oscar and Ruby read without interest, but as they turned the page they wrinkled their foreheads. "Artino case"

Adrian made the same gesture with his forehead and quickly stopped to read the case. Magpie didn't understand anything but felt excitement anyway.

"Who is Artino? Is that my sister's name?"

Everhart shook his head slowly as he read over the other boy's shoulder.

"No. That's Nova's last name"

The girl sighed wearily. For a moment, the illusion returned that her sister would find her and take her with her to her new home, but it was just a stupid childish fantasy she had. Of course in those papers she would find nothing important about her life before the murder of her parents, much less anything about her missing sister.

When they finished reading, the renegades' gazes turned to her.

"Steaming saints..." Oscar was very overwhelmed. his hands went slack and he dropped the pages. Adrian picked them up with extreme gentleness.

"Margaret White Is that your real last name?"

The named woman looked at him strangely.

"I don't think so, my parents never registered me or anything like that. I was named Margaret White at the orphanage when, supposedly, they got the wrong information."

The Boy looked at her for a few moments and knelt down in front of her. she hated it when they did that. To her it was a sign that something was wrong.

"Your last name doesn't appear on these papers because they are smudged, but," he sighed, "but I believe your full name is Evelyn Artino and your sister..."

He paused for a few seconds that Maggie felt like hours. She already knew what the Renegade's next words would be, but she needed to hear it or she would think it was all just another one of her crazy fantasies.

"Your sister is Nova Artino."

She stood still and wordlessly, processing the information. She just didn't know what to do, feel or say, should she run and hug Nova or leave the place, pretend she never heard all this and believe that her sister was just a figment of her imagination?

All he could manage to do was shout a resounding "How!" at the renegade. Such an action scared him off and he backed up a few steps. Seconds later Nova and Danna arrived to see what had happened.

The girl's small eyes fixed on the shorter of the girls and she lunged at her to attack, but before she could reach out to touch her Adrian grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slightly off the ground. That brought back memories.

"How could you!" shouted Magpie trying to free herself from the Renegade's arms, but it was useless, "You abandoned me!"

Nova looked at her strangely and then at her companions. Ruby handed her the papers. She skimmed the first page, but still didn't understand.

"Look at the second page."

The red-haired girl listened and began to read. Seconds later she covered her mouth in amazement and her eyes filled with tears.

She also began to cry.

"For years I've been waiting for you to come and get me, but you never showed up" she said in a whisper, now calmer.

"But how..." she said in a choked whisper.

"She told us the origin of her powers, or at least what she knows" Adrian replied, "She was found covered in blood with a bullet in her hand, her parents were killed and her older sister disappeared. Read well, everything is very clear."

The renegade picked up the old papers and went back to reread them more patiently, perhaps looking for some word or name that contradicted her boyfriend's words. But judging by her look of disbelief and the tears that began to fall down her cheeks, there was nothing to rule out the theory.

"Why didn't I have any idea about these papers?" asked Nova with her eyes on the sheets, although it was obvious that she was addressing her partner "How come no one remembered such information?"

Adrian looked at her for a few seconds. She, still holding her head in the air, sensed that he was looking for signs of anger. And part of it showed.

"I'm not really sure, but back then they didn't trust computers, so they used paper to file all the cases" he motioned to the mountains of paper scattered around the room.

That was the last that was heard. No one knew what to do or say, and the silence was so thick and uncomfortable that it was becoming unbearable. After a few minutes Oscar decided to give them space and leave the place together with Ruby by the hand, they were also followed by Danna, who still didn't understand what was going on.

The last to leave was Adrian. He went down to Maggie -or Evelyn, she didn't even know what to call herself anymore- and gave her a squeeze on the shoulder, as if giving her strength or a signal not to run out of the building. He walked over to Nova and cupped her face to wipe away her tears. He said something she didn't hear and kissed her on the lips before leaving the room and closing the door.

It was time to talk, but apparently none of them were willing to start. At least Urraca didn't want to.

"I don't know what to say," Nova finally spoke, she had stopped crying a few moments ago, but her voice was broken, "You have no idea how happy I am knowing you're alive."

Magpie wiped her tears and snot with her sleeve.

"I asked you something earlier, why did you abandon me, did you even look for me?"

She shook her head.

"I never looked for you" said Nova, "I didn't because I thought you were dead.... That you had been murdered that night and I couldn't protect you because..." she couldn't continue speaking because a sob escaped from her throat.

Evie grew tired of pretending to be strong. She burst into a disconsolate cry and ran to hug her sister tightly. she hugged her sister back just as tightly. at that moment they couldn't talk, she knew it, the lump in her throat barely let her breathe. She had no intention of admitting it, but the warmth of an older sister along with a strange and curious sensation it brought back an old feeling she had thought she had forgotten, one she had not experienced for years. That of being safe, of having a home.

[alilamba]

wip...monday

Ugh, so, before this last week, I think I hadn't written anything in...three or four months. My state started opening up again, things were looking good, all I wanted was to be with my friends, outside with my kids, all day, every day, with all my free time. COVID numbers are on the rise nationally again though, so I find myself pulling back in, keeping my kids at home, and...back at my laptop, honestly.

It feels good to write again. Have a very rough first draft of something I've been working on for...years XD

“Are you sure you don’t want to see if I fit into your suitcase again?”

Veronica hates that she’s resorted to the most banal of bad jokes, but…this is apparently where they’re at. Taking a last minute stroll away from the hustle and bustly of the Kanes’ imminent migration from suburban villa to vacation villa, Duncan does the polite thing of not responding, his mouth tightening as he squeezes her clasped hand.

But she can’t seem to help herself.

“Duncan?” she adds.

He stops walking, which is something. Something more than he’s said for the last few hours, after they got up together, suffered through a cold, awkward breakfast while Duncan’s parents wandered in and out of their kitchen, seemingly always surprised to see Veronica still sitting at their kitchen counter nibbling toast with their son.

She and Duncan have known this day was coming for a while, okay? Veronica shouldn’t be feeling such a lump in her throat. She shouldn’t be working so hard to untangle a jumble of nerves sitting low in her gut.

It’s only six weeks. Maybe eight, if the weather is good and the Mannings can join them, but…

“Well?” she prompts, feeling truly pathetic.

Duncan turns to face her, takes her other hand in his own. Why doesn’t he look…okay, well, she doesn’t know how he looks. He looks as if there is something on his mind, like he’s working through a really difficult math problem, or something. But final exams were last week – he shouldn’t have – well – no – okay, Veronica is just trying so hard not to imagine the worst, she’s really grasping at whatever alternate reality is presenting itself. Maybe it really is math. Maybe he’s about to talk to her about math.

Veronica wets her lips. “Seriously, Duncan, I can get pretty sma—“

“I think we should break up.”

In retrospect (well, later in retrospect. Not now. Now she has no spect at all to retro) she will realize this is not at all a surprise. That a hundred clues presented themselves to her over the course of the last 48-odd hours, and that this is merely a culmination of all of those things.

Now, however, the ground does a really awful job of opening beneath her feet, and she gets the horrifying feeling of missing a stair.

“What?” she manages, and her voice is small and fragile.

Duncan is frowning, staring at something in the vicinity of her navel.

“I said, I think we should break up.”

It’s really no better to hear it a second time. She feels like she drops an extra six inches into the dirt.

“But – why?”

He squeezes her hands, and Veronica remembers to take a big, giant, shaky breath.

An awful, horrendous, horrifying thought occurs to her.

“Wait, is this about la—“

“It’s not about…” he cuts her off, and then glances at her quickly, “that.”

She exhales, feeling the belated sting of tears. Her skin is going hot and cold. Oh god. Oh god this is happening.

“Duncan I don’t understa—“

“It’s just,” he says, and he drops her hands to look away. “It’s just that I’m going to be gone all summer, Veronica, and, well, after that it’s senior year, and then college, and, well, honestly, I just think that it’s a lot to ask of us, okay? Just a lot to ask, when we’re about to go start our lives.”

“But, Duncan,” she hears herself say, and she already knows she will hate herself for this because it feels far too close to groveling, “Duncan, I can make the time, I can probably afford a fli—“

“Look, I’ve thought about it a lot,” he insists, turning back towards her. He’s a bit taller than her (fuck, everyone is), and he’s standing between her and the sun, and she has to squint to make out his features. “And – this is the right decision. I’m sure if you think about it, after I’m gone, you’ll realize the same.”

The burn of unshed tears is really pressing upon her now. Oh god – she’s pathetic, she thinks, except it’s with this panicky, oh my god, oh no, oh no, oh no mantra looping through her insides –

He takes her hands again, but Veronica barely feels his touch in her clammy hands, because she’s submitting all her energy to not losing it (don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry) in front of him.

“Seriously,” he says, and he leans forward, pressing cold, dry lips to her forehead. The tears she doesn’t want to cry spill over on one side, dripping down her cheek. “This is the right decision. Good bye, Veronica.”

Good bye, Veronica.

The reality of the moment comes crashing down, and Veronica’s hands drop to her sides like dead weights as Duncan steps away, steps around her, and begins his walk back to the house. Veronica can’t move. She can’t move, and she needs to, because her car is back at the Kanes’ house, and she needs to move it out of the way so that their cars can get out of their driveway and they can catch their private jet to Tampa. To Tampa, for crying out loud –

Veronica scrubs at her eyes, furiously willing the tears to stop. Her wet mouth drops open as she looks into the sky, hoping the sun will dry out her tear ducts. Not here, she begs herself. Not now.

Oh my god it’s really over.

She hugs herself in the sun, feeling suddenly cold. Clenching her jaw together, she inahles through her teeth, wincing as she listens for Duncan, turning halfway to ensure he’s gone. Her face crumples again as she follows his path back to her car. No, she reasons, desperately, foolishly, this can’t be it. This can’t really be it. Duncan will change his mind when he’s on the plane. He’s going to call her tonight, because this is just the separation anxiety talking. They’re Duncan and Veronica. They’ve been dating for most of the last year…more or less…well, sort of off and on, really, but definitely they were more on than off, and this was just going to be another one of those off periods, right? Right?

Veronica comes to a stop right outside the Kanes’ driveway gates. Oh god. Her keys. Her bag – they’re inside. Except…

This is surely a new low.

One of the Kanes’ housekeepers is making her way down the driveway, looking polite while she carries Veronica’s shoulder bag. Veronica can manage all of two steps to meet her.

“I’m so sorry,” the housekeeper whispers, offering a tight smile before hurrying back inside.

Veronica is going to cry again. Seriously, she can feel it, and it’s only with a surge of icy hot rage that she grasps her bag to her body and lurches for her piece of shit car.

It’s already unlocked because hello who would steal this car here, and she is sure she leaves a skid mark on the pavement she reverses so quickly.

Tears blur her vision before she’s down the massive hill his house is on.

She knows what this is about, actually.

Oh god. She’s known since she was sitting next to him eating toast, while he pushed scrambled eggs around with his fork.

It was her stupid idea.

Her stupid idea.

He hadn’t even wanted to – oh god he hadn’t even wanted to – memories are spilling through her mind, one after another, and she wants to scream.

Lighting a bunch of stupid candles in his room while he finished packing in his walk-in closet.

Draping herself over his duvet, rearranging her limbs, double checking her cleavage in the stupid bra she’d spent so much money on. It didn’t fit her well at all, but it was 50% off when she bought it, and, well, it was lingerie wasn’t it??

Seeing the look of shock on his face when he walked back into his room.

The awkward conversation that followed (are you sure? We don’t have to – no we really don’t have to) she’d had to convince him, and then it had been…it had been…

Veronica really had nothing to compare it to besides, well, movies and porn.

And she knew sex wasn’t supposed to have so much accidental hair pulling.

That things weren’t supposed to be so…dry.

And painful.

And…

Tears sweep over her face, fresh hot peals of it as she opens her mouth at a stoplight and sobs.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 3

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 3

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2344

Summary: It’s Christmas in Wisconsin for Sam and the reader.

Warnings: angst (sensing a theme here), alcohol, slow burn

           Christmas Eve was a Thursday, which meant you were working. You’d predicted it would be slow, but there were big chunks of time where no one was in the bar at all. Christmas carols on the radio helped pass the time, and you drank a little more of the almost-coquito you’d thrown together in the back at the beginning of the shift than you needed to. It reminded you of your aunt and the way she’d smell of coconut through Boxing Day every year when you were growing up; welcome nostalgia you could tolerate like pressing a thumb into a bruise and distracted you from the evisceration of thinking of Dean. The day shift had left the bar understocked, so Sam spent a good amount of time going up and down the stairs refilling refrigerators and cutting fruit for drinks. Around 10 or 11 the people who didn’t want to wrap up the night when their in-laws went home straggled in, a handful of regulars that you generally liked but had a tendency to get a little rowdy when left alone together. It didn’t help that they showed up a few drinks in.

           The merriment was infectious, and it was sweet to hear grown men proud of the gifts they’d gotten their loved ones. One even brought a few bottles of homemade maple syrup to give to the others, sliding one sheepishly across the bar to you. You were pouring out a round of coquito when Sam came up from the basement with a towel tossed over his shoulder.

           “Everything should be good,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in months and the ends fell gracefully around his shoulders. A piece fell oddly across his forehead and you reflexively fixed it for him.

           “What did you two get each other?” a regular, Steve, asked with a relaxed finger pointing between you and Sam. His cheeks were ruddy with whiskey and winter air.

           “Oh. I—uh, we don’t really do gifts,” Sam offered placatingly.

           “Man, where did you find this girl? Listens to classic rock, drives a stick shift, and doesn’t ‘do gifts’?” another, Joe, added.

           “You better be buying her some presents or someone else will.” Jake, a customer you’d always felt safe around since he tossed out a rude guy for you a month back, chimed in.

           You and Sam had never explicitly said that you were together. People just assumed, and it was easier to go along with it than explain the truth, especially because you didn’t look similar enough to be siblings and you still couldn’t shake your need to cling to him from time to time. It was almost never an issue aside from periodic mild teasing. This Christmas talk was a departure from the non-explanations you and Sam usually gave and you found yourself waiting for a cue on where to go. Sam seemed to be having the same thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

           You spoke before the moment had a chance to become too pregnant. “You know how hard it is to buy presents for a guy who doesn’t like having stuff? If he buys me something, I’ll have to get him something too!” You hoped it sounded smooth, your lying out of practice in the months since you’d had a cover on a hunt. Sam smirked gratefully at you.  

           Joe shook his head wistfully. “Seriously, where did you find her?”

           “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice sounded sort of soft around the edges, almost like he was tired but not quite. When you looked up at him, that pebble of self-consciousness you’d felt at the hardware flipped in your stomach again and you glanced away in favor of a one-armed hug you intended to look affectionate. Sam did the same, encompassing your entire shoulder with his hand.

           When you drove home that night, warm and full of coquito, Sam played Christmas carols.

           “I think we should do gifts.”

           It was the first thing you thought when you woke up, and you said it into Sam’s chest as you laid there before you opened your eyes. You could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t all the way asleep.

           “Hmm?”

           “I think we should do gifts. We should really do Christmas if we’re going to do it, and that means presents. What do you think?”

           You felt as much as you saw out of the corner of your drowsy eyes that Sam raised his unpinned arm to rub the sleep out of his. “Mmm, okay? I mean if that’s what you want.”

           “Thank you,” you said as you nestled deeper into him.

           “‘S already Christmas though.” Sleep pulled Sam’s words together like taffy.

           “It can be goofy stuff; I just think we should open presents under a tree and everything. Seems like the kind of thing we should do, you know? Like trying to be normal.” You couldn’t bear saying out loud what you meant, that Dean would’ve wanted presents and stockings and eggnog and Santa hats and a big roast if he could’ve, to fall asleep after watching the stars glitter off of falling snow.

           Sam heard anyway.

           “You’re right,” Sam murmured. He rubbed your upper arm absentmindedly.

           “I’ll wake you back up when the bathroom’s free,” you offered, carefully rolling over him to get out of the bed. He nodded with closed eyes and flopped over onto his stomach.

           About an hour later, a wet haired Sam slid into the Impala’s driver side and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. You could tell from the puffiness around his eyes and his overcompensating casual tone that he’d been crying. He set his phone to pipe Your Inner Fish through the stereo and backed down the driveway over snow tamped down over the last week.

           It had been years since you’d gone Christmas shopping, as much as this could be considered Christmas shopping. The town you’d settled in had exactly 7 businesses on a tiny main street, including 1 small inn, a grocery store, the hardware store, a coffee shop (the most reliable internet in town, much faster than your place) and 3 different places to get a burger. You met Sam in the grocery store after grabbing what you wanted from next door in hardware, catching him just as he came out carrying a bag with a long pipe of wrapping paper stretching far past the top. When you left, there were only two other cars in the parking lot grabbing their own last-minute things.

           You wrapped your presents on the bed. It wasn’t like riding a bike as you’d hoped it would be, and your sloppy corners started you down a mental spiral. What a completely asinine thing, wrapping hardware store presents to put under a stolen tree. This wasn’t the Rockwell painting you wanted to present as sacrifice to Dean’s memory. It was cheap and stupid, a sloppy high school production when Dean deserved Broadway. He always had. As much as the three of you had never really done Christmas, Dean knew how to make something special while maintaining the air of not caring. You remembered waking up on his made-up anniversaries: six months from the first time you kissed, three years since he realized he loved you (three years minus 53 days before he said anything), 14 months since you’d figured out how to put a gun back together in the dark. Even in the most podunk little towns he’d find gorgeous bouquets and put together great meals in tiny kitchenettes; drive miles away to pick up a cake for Sam’s birthday or pepper motel rooms with festive streamers and silly string. Two quick, hard breaths through your nose to collect yourself and you finished the wrapping. That would have to be good enough.

           Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with a bellows, a plucky little fire kicking into gear with his help. “All yours,” you called out, grateful your voice didn’t crack.

           “Thanks. It’ll only be a second.”

           He was right, and came back to you on the couch in only a few minutes with two wrapped bundles. You shyly handed him what you’d wrapped and took his.

           “Uh, Merry Christmas I guess,” Sam said. You noticed the edge of discomfort in his voice and were sickly grateful not to be alone in your tentativeness as you popped open the scotch tape holding the paper on the rectangular package. Before you’d uncovered it, Sam had his first gift unwrapped.

           “Nice! They had these at the hardware store?” he asked, snapping open the clamshell package on the cheap purple noise-cancelling earbuds you’d picked up.

           “I’m sure they’ll sound like they were made underwater, but I figured you could hide them pretty easily if you wanted to wear them at work, listen to your podcasts while you restock or whatever.”

           “That’s a really good idea.” He looked down at the headphones considerately for a beat.

           You pulled the paper off your present to reveal a notebook and two ballpoint pens. It had a leatherette flexible plastic cover that felt smooth under your fingertips and was about the size of a standard hardcover novel. You opened it to see inside, and a few photos dropped out.

           “I just—you didn’t have any—I can take them back if you want,” Sam stammered, but you heard him as if through those checkout-aisle headphones while your eyes blurred. These were pictures you hadn’t seen for years. The one on top of the loose stack in your lap was outside Bobby’s house. It felt like a lifetime ago, leaning over the railing of the small porch to kiss Dean as he stood on the ground in a sweaty t-shirt covered in engine grease. Under that was one you remembered used to be the background of an old phone, where you, Sam, and Dean huddled together in a booth at some bar you’d forgotten the name of in Montana that had girls dressed up as mermaids swim around in big tanks, part of the same theme that explained the blue fishbowl drink partly out of frame in Dean’s hands. There was one you didn’t recall with you and Dean stretched out on a nondescript motel couch, his arm protectively covering you as you coiled up into his side, both clearly asleep from the closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The last was a picture you hadn’t seen since the last time you went to Jody’s house; it had touched you then to see it hanging up on the wall, you carrying Dean piggyback while Sam clutched his knees laughing. It was the same day Claire had turned 16 and you had no idea why you’d needed to convince Dean you could carry him, but the whole thing had ended up with everyone rolling on the ground, grabbing at laugh-opened rib pains for what felt like blissful hours.

           You weren’t surprised at the silent tears that were pouring gently down your face, but wiped at them harshly with your sleeve so they wouldn’t drip. “Sam—” you croaked. “I don’t…I didn’t—thank you. How did you find these?”

           “They had an instant photo printer at the grocery store. I’ve had a flash drive with some stuff on it for a while.”

           You passed through each picture again, studying them like the gospel. It was almost hard to match the photos to the memories, memories having been replayed and multiplied and color-saturated in your mind over and over again, too big to fit into these little pieces of cardstock. But Dean was so beautiful, and you all looked so happy.

           “It’s supposed to help to write about how you’re feeling, so I thought…” Sam trailed off.

           “It’s perfect. I—thank you, Sam.” You met his eyes, stormy blue-green and taking on an amber reflection off of the fire. He looked nervous and almost guilty, like he had miscalculated and hurt you. Carefully slipping the photos back into the notebook, you set it on the table like it was made of crystal and threw your arms around Sam to tuck into him, knowing you were crying through his shirt but unable to stop. You realized you were murmuring thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou into the crook of his neck at the same time you felt the wetness of his tears onto your shoulder. Pulling him in tighter, you slunk back into the arm of the couch behind you. Sam slotted into the curve of your body, wrapping around your torso with powerful, gentle arms. His hair was silken when you began to stroke it, feeling his wracking sobs against your chest. It was impossible to gauge the amount of time it took for both of you to stop crying, skin slick and hot against each other on the old couch as your bodies hardened together like a mold. You felt dried out and sore and wouldn’t have pulled away from Sam if you’d had a gun to your head.

           “Man, and we were doing so well,” you hummed into Sam’s hair.

           “Were we?” Sam asked, and it was all you could do to laugh. Sam laughed too, the emotional and physical fatigue of it blending between you in the air. He adjusted his arm and you could feel the span of his hand across your lower back. The two of you sat there for a few more moments before you gathered up enough courage to let go of him.

           “Want to open the other one?”

           Sam nodded against your chest and slowly extricated himself, running a hand through his messed-up hair and rubbing his neck as he reached for the other present you’d gotten him. He tore through the paper unceremoniously and smiled down at the shoe repair glue and new boot laces. “You saw they split, didn’t you?”

           You smiled back at him. “Would’ve just gotten you a new pair of boots but, you know, late notice. Maybe this’ll buy you some time.”

           He handed you his second gift from the coffee table. Inside the foil-adorned wrapping paper were three bags of gummy worms.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 4

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