#but this year I swear every document I write has at least one spot where I wanted to beat Microsoft word's ass in a Waffle House parking lo

[martianbugsbunny]

im about to throw hands w Microsoft Word. in WHAT universe, in the phrase "one of his friends counters his argument," should FRIENDS BE POSSESSIVE

it's not like fricken shapespeare or summin where it could be like "one of his friends' counters his argument, he explained the difference between good interior decor and bad" NO SIR

IT IS LITERALLY JUST THE WORD FRIENDS. MULTIPLE FRIENDS. MORE THAN ONE FRIEND A PERSON HAS. MICROSOFT WORD I HATE YOU

[lemonjoonah]

The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).  

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...  

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?”  You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.”  The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry.  “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”  

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.  

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”  

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head.  “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose?  “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside.  Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”      

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a  sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a  warm and earthy scent envelopes you.  His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.  

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel.  Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it  you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.”

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid.  “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin.  “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod.  A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.  

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.  

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth.  He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts.  And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.  

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”  

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.  

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”  

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom.  A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.  

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. “Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Part 4

(The side characters strike again!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Part 3

L!MC= Lucifer’s kid | M!MC= Mammon’s kid | A!MC=Asmo’s kid

Let’s get right to it!

The Uncle That Hardcore Simps For His Spouse In the Most Wholesome Way (Diavolo)

Gasp! More half-demon kids? Oh my! Maybe if he tried again next year a kid of his own would pop down! Hang on- he hadn’t slept with a human in almost a century... dang. No kids for him...

...maybe...

Remember when I said Diavolo would try to do those stereotypical dad (tm) things and be hip with the kids? Yeah he keeps doing that.

The number of broken windows related to wayward baseballs goes up 150%. At least that’s how they all figured out that M!MC is nearsighted like their dad!

M!MC had developed a bit of a habit of telling Diavolo about cool human stuff and making the Crown Prince even more interested in the human world than normal.

You may be thinking “what’s so bad about that?” well, the number of yo-yos at RAD went up so high that Lucifer had to ban them.

Belphie and Satan, being the rebels they are, became yo-yo masters specifically to spite Lucifer.

It was sort of like the fidget spinners craze if you were in school for that.

Oh, hi Lord Diavolo. What’s a fidget spinner? It’s this- I should stop talking...

Since no one learned their lesson from the previous incident, Diavolo threw another BBQ.

“Why are we doing this again?” L!MC asked to no one in particular.

“Don’t worry, L!MC. I’ve taken every precaution possible to make sure that what happened last time doesn’t happen again.” Diavolo said and continued in his crusade to cover the entire pathway with sidewalk chalk doodles.

L!MC, Luke, Diavolo, M!MC, Belphie, and A!MC were all busily drawing a wide variety of doodles and drawings with chalk while the other guests milled around nearby. A!MC was in the middle of drawing quite the nice looking Cerberus chibi, while M!MC and Belphie were drawing a lot of stick figures. L!MC and Luke had just finished a wonderful drawing of... an alpaca? Giraffe? Thing...? Hell, even they didn’t know what it was.

Diavolo looked over at M!MC’s stick figure army with a big smile on his face. “So what are all of them doing? It looks like that one’s flying!”

You could practically hear the Addam’s Family theme play as M!MC and Belphie looked at each other and grinned.

“Oh Belphie was just talking about L!MC’s flying lesson fails and I felt that an artist’s rendition was needed.” M!MC explained, he began to point out certain doodles. “Here’s L!MC getting up off the ground, then there’s them actually flying, and this is them falling in the fountain.”

L!MC looked over at the chalk and glared at M!MC. “It’s generous to call that an artist’s rendition. It looks like crap.”

“And what did you draw?” Belphie smirked at the alpaca-giraffe-thing, Luke protectively covered up the drawing (side note, Luke was wearing white and playing with sidewalk chalk, by the end of the day he looked like a walking pride flag).

“None of your business!” Luke huffed.

“And what about that one?” Diavolo seemed completely oblivious to the hostility brewing between the two groups, A!MC was completely used to this and walked away to grab a drink.

“Ah, good eye, Lord Diavolo!” M!MC chirped. “This is a drawing of the time L!MC almost burned down your kitchen.”

Diavolo laughed and gave M!MC a few pats on the head. “Very accurate!”

“You’re so lucky I followed the rules and didn’t bring a water gun...” L!MC growled as they slowly reached for their backpack.

“Yeah... lucky. Real lucky...” M!MC nodded as they tried to casually reach for their bag, Belphie followed suit.

“I’m so glad we all followed the rules.” Luke smiled, his own hand inching towards his bag.

There was a brief moment of stillness before the four of them whipped out their water guns and pointed them at each other.

“This BBQ ain’t big enough for the both of us!” M!MC’s terrible cowboy impression aside, their gun was poised to shoot directly at Luke and L!MC’s alpaca-giraffe-thing.

“Everyone, I know this is a human world tradition but-”

Belphie silenced Diavolo by pointing his water gun at him. “Sh, don’t talk unless you have a water gun as well.”

Deciding not to smite Belphie for treason, Diavolo pulled his own water gun out of his shirt. “Okay, what now?”

“Now, we’re in a standoff...” L!MC glowered at M!MC, the air was practically crackling with hostility...

Until a burst of flames got everyone to whirl around to see A!MC with hairspray and a lighter.

“No water guns! I refuse to go home shivering and covered in grass again!”

Crisis averted. Everyone went to go fail at throwing beanbags into a hole instead of shooting each other.

That was probably for the best... Belphie filled everyone’s water guns with paint.

The Uncle That Does All the Cooking for Family Dinners (Barbatos)

Remember how I said that Barbs liked smol Lucifer? Yea, he likes smol Asmo too. Smol Asmo is willing to admit that they don’t know how to use an oven and is willing to learn.

M!MC is formally banned from being within 50 feet of the kitchen. It’s for the best.

A!MC often tries to get Barbatos to look into the possible futures so they can see if they can avoid messing anything up and A!MC is just so adorable that Barbatos actually thinks about it.

He still says no every single time.

“Could you at least tell me if I have the possibility of doing something embarrassing in the near future?”

“My apologies, A!MC, but no.”

“P-please?”

“The answer remains the same.”

A!MC sighed and went back to helping chop vegetables. Under Barbatos’ tutelage, A!MC’s cooking ability had increased tenfold, they could now make as many burgers as they wanted without worrying about burning down the kitchen.

Pitying the anxious half-demon, Barbatos sighed. “I cannot confirm nor deny a future where your outfit gets ruined.”

A!MC perked up. “H-huh?”

“I cannot confirm nor deny a future where your outfit gets ruined.”

Quickly understanding what Barbatos was trying to do, A!MC quickly nodded and spent the rest of the cooking time carefully taking note of their surroundings.

“Hey! What’re you guys doin’?” M!MC had managed to get in... damn! Everyone must have been putting their best efforts in keeping Solomon away from the kitchen and forgot about M!MC...

“We’re just finishing up, M!MC,” Barbatos had on his ‘oh no...’ smile. “We don’t need any help.”

“Really? You guys sure?”

“Why are you so interested?” A!MC asked.

“Lucifer said that idle hands are the devil’s playthings and that I should go look for something productive to do.” M!MC huffed. “Very ironic phrase.”

“F-fine, I guess you can...” A!MC searched for the least destructive task they could give. “Take the utensils and set the table.”

M!MC gave them a mock salute and grabbed the utensils, as they turned to leave, they knocked a large bowl of chopped fruit over, sending the fruit pieces flying.

Remembering Barbatos’ prediction, A!MC didn’t bother to try and stop the fruit from falling, they only grabbed the nearest big plate they could find and shielded their outfit from harm. The fruit splattered harmlessly against the shield.

“Whoops... my bad. You alright, A!MC?” M!MC asked as A!MC inspected their outfit.

“Y-yes actually...” A!MC turned to Barbatos, who was already getting the cleaning supplies.

“Thank you!” A!MC whispered.

Barbatos smiled and nodded. “You’re very welcome, A!MC.”

Barbatos now has two sorta-children. A!MC and Luke!

M!MC means well, I swear! He just shouldn’t be allowed in a cooking environment!

The Cousin That Your Mom Points at and Goes “Look at Him, He Helps With the Dishes, Be More Like Him.” (Simeon)

Oh man... time for some more embarrassing stories.

“Asmo was the most adorable child, it’s a shame he was such a troublemaker...”

“Really? My dad?”

“What about mine?”

“I think you can guess.”

I cannot comment on Simeon’s help with flying lessons because I refuse to Headcanon what Simeon’s wings look like until canon gives us a GLIMMER. LIKE SERIOUSLY SOLMARE IM CURIOUS-

I have a feeling the children were quite curious as well.

“What do you think his wings look like?” M!MC asked A!MC as the two peered around the corner of one of the hallways in Purgatory Hall.

“I bet they’re super nice. But besides that...” A!MC leaned over and squinted. “Why is Simeon writing with a pen and pencil? He’s writing a book... shouldn’t he use a computer?”

“Bold of you to assume he knows how to use a computer.” M!MC snickered.

A!MC frowned. “Don’t be mean... I’m sure he knows how...”

Simeon picked up his DDD and took a picture of his face, seemingly by accident, with the flash on, causing him to drop the phone in surprise.

“Probably...”

The two surveyed their angel friend like two wildlife documenters, here we see, the Simeon, not in his natural habitat, surrounded by confusing technology...

“Do you think if we scare him his wings might pop out in surprise?” M!MC wondered aloud, A!MC shrugged.

“Maybe... but I don’t think we should bother him...” A!MC whispered. “He looks busy.”

“What are you two doing?”

It took literally every bit of willpower for the two half demons to not scream in absolute terror at the sudden interruption.

Ah... it was just Solomon... in an apron... Solomon... in cooking clothes...

Oh no.

“Spying on Simeon?” Solomon asked.

“N-no...” A!MC giggled nervously. “Just crouching casually in this hallway...”

“...smooth, A!MC.” M!MC rolled their eyes.

“Well, it’s great that you two are here, I made lunch!”

A!MC and M!MC looked at each other in pure horror, they needed to get out of there!

“Uh- um... we’d love to but...” M!MC looked around frantically before just pointing at a random spot behind Solomon. “LOOK! A DISTRACTION!”

A!MC and M!MC ran out of there as fast as their legs could carry them. Finding out if Simeon had wings was not worth being poisoned. Not at all...

Good ol’ Simeon... Mr. Cristopher Peugeot on the other hand- M!MC had some questions for him.

“TSL is literally the most popular book series ever, does that mean you’re completely loaded?”

“Oh, no I’m not, I don’t have any use for human world money in the Celestial Realm. All the profits go to charity.”

“...Dude really?”

“That’s nice of you, Simeon!”

“You didn’t keep any of it..?”

Wait... Who the Hell Are You..? (Solomon)

So A!MC basically has three dads; Fabulous-dad, butler-dad, and wizard-dad!

“So you just... have capes lying around?”

“Yes, would you like a cape?”

“Okay if they don’t take the cape I want it.”

Solomon shows up to RAD with his nails painted different wacky styles every week, courtesy of A!MC.

Though- the unholy combination that is M!MC and Solomon is feared by all.

“Road work ahead?”

“Uh, yeah I sure hope it does.”

Solomon and M!MC’s rampant quoting of vines elicited another glare from Lucifer.

Despite Solomon having literally been alive since the seven rulers of hell were angels, he had kept up with pop culture fairly decently. Decently enough that M!MC had someone that wasn’t Levi to bounce memes off.

“Pff...” M!MC suppressed a laugh at a seemingly normal water bottle advertisement. “Enslaved moisture.”

“I’m not going crazy, right Simeon? You’re hearing this too?” Lucifer tiredly turned to the angel, who shook his head.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg. Solomon quacked at M!MC earlier and they lost their minds laughing about it.” Simeon shrugged, unbothered by the sorcerer and the half demon’s rampant meme-ing behind them.

Lucifer on the other hand, was quite bothered. Incredibly bothered, if you will. “If you two don’t shut up right now I’m going to-”

“Quick! We must abscond!” Solomon turned and heelied away, followed by M!MC. The shoes that Mammon bought to replace the ones lost during the casino incident were apparently heelies as well...

The day was saved when a rock jammed one of Solomon’s wheels and he slammed face first into the concrete. Yikes... that had to hurt.

A!MC had fun glow in the dark bandaids for Solomon to patch up his face. Even though he he could heal himself with magic, he let A!MC do what they wanted because they were just too adorable to say no to.

Asmo has pictures

The Cousin Squad (tm)

(Luke, L!MC, A!MC, and M!MC)

Ah yes, the bab squad. The most adorable group in the Devildom. Surrender your candy immediately or face destruction.

M!MC teases the crap out of Luke, and A!MC tries to stop it, but L!MC is the one who manages to actually make M!MC stop.

Only L!MC gets to pick on the smol angel. GOT IT?!

A!MC and Luke are already baking buddies because of butler-dad so they get along swimmingly.

Poor Luke’s the victim of many of M!MC’s shenanigans.

Luke: Are you sure this is safe, M!MC?

M!MC (about to put mentos into the bottle of coke Luke is holding): No.

L!MC and A!MC get along really well, being honest, everyone loves A!MC.

A!MC makes sure L!MC gets some sleep because they don’t want their cousin picking up on Lucifer’s habit of living off of coffee and coffee alone. L!MC doesn’t get it but they’re very grateful anyway.

M!MC and A!MC were friends from the start. Well... M!MC decided they were friends right from the start and A!MC did not have the ability to fight the power of friendship.

M!MC: You are being befriended. Please do not resist.

Since M!MC is great and amazing like their pop, they took it upon themselves to be the friend that speaks up when A!MC is too nervous to do so.

M!MC and L!MC? Lucifer and Mammon 2 electric boogaloo. Sorta.

L!MC and M!MC bicker all the time but the babs bounce back from their fights way easier.

One minute they’re at each other’s throats and the next they’re showing each other memes.

“There’s no escaping this.”

Lucifer stood between M!MC and the door... their one way ticket to freedom...

“You need to go to the dentist.”

The entire HOL plus the Purgatory Hall crew were getting ready to go visit the dentist to get their teeth cleaned. It was the time of the year that Mammon dreaded most... and his child felt the same way.

“My teeth are fine! Lemme stay home! I’ll hold down the fort with dad!” M!MC smiled and nodded as enthusiastically as they could, but even the most unobservant person couldn’t miss the sweat beading on their forehead.

“Beel.” Lucifer snapped his fingers and before M!MC could do anything Beel had thrown them over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Don’t worry M!MC, the dentist isn’t that scary.” Beel tried to assure them. By the way M!MC was still kicking and screaming, they were not convinced.

“Y-yeah kiddo, suck it up! Don’t be a baby! I’m just gonna take my car there-”

“MAAAAAAMOOOON?!”

“YIKES!”

Lucifer had the important task of keeping a hold of Mammon as the very large group made their way to the dentist’s office.

A devious little idea popped into L!MC’s head as they all sat down in the waiting room. They began to hum a familiar little tune.

“She said be a deeeentiiiist~ a dentist!” L!MC sang to M!MC, who’s attempts to escape increased tenfold after hearing the song.

A!MC began to hum along, not seeming to notice the commotion going on next to them.

“Son be a deeentiiiiiist~ people will pay you for causing them PAIN! She said be a deeentiiiiiist~”

Belphie perked up and smiled deviously as he realized what L!MC was doing, he began to sing along as well. The three were a veritable choir of terror to poor M!MC. Mammon did not understand his child’s terror and was more unnerved by what a great team Belphie and L!MC made.

Satan rolled his eyes and tried to focus on his book, Asmo was absorbed in his magazine, Levi was having a very in depth conversation with the fish in the aquarium, Simeon and Solomon chatted about school, and Luke was stuck watching the train wreck go down.

Thankfully, it was halted by Lucifer. “L!MC, A!MC, Belphegor, stop tormenting M!MC with show tunes.”

“You would have made a good dentist in another life, Lucifer,” Belphie cooed. “You know what they say, the only difference between a dentist and a sadist is that one has newer magazines.”

Asmo grimaced at his magazine. “Is it the sadist? Because I’m reading a magazine from 1843...”

The conversation was interrupted by one of the dental hygienists coming into the waiting room and saying that Mammon was up first. The Avatar of Greed’s final escape attempt was foiled by Satan (not even looking up from his book) clotheslining him.

Thirty minutes later, Mammon emerged from the forbidden dentist room, with the look of trauma in his eyes and eating a lollipop.

One by one, the group went in, A!MC took it upon themselves to try and make the rapidly panicking Luke feel better.

“It won’t be too scary, in the human world dentists are usually very nice.” A!MC smiled encouragingly.

“I-I’m sure that’s true but...” Luke looked around. “We aren’t in the human world...”

Asmo skipped back in and flashed a blinding grin to the group. “Absolutely perfect, no flaws! It’s your turn, A!MC!”

“If you die I get to say I told ya so!” M!MC shouted as A!MC walked into the dentist’s room.

They did not in fact, die because of the dentist. A!MC walked out and gave a thumbs up. “The dentist said they had never seen a kid with such perfect teeth.”

“That’s my baby!” Asmo chirped.

“M!MC, you’re up.” A!MC and Beel had to practically drag the poor kid out of the room and into the dentist area of doom.

“GO BE A DEEEEEENTIIIIIIST!” Belphie and L!MC shouted one last time as the doors shut. Wow, what dickheads...

Mammon probably would have tried to save his poor little bugger, but he was in the middle an impromptu therapy session with Simeon over the scary scraping dentist knife thingie.

Beel was the last to go, and he walked out of the dentist’s room with his face covered in blood, the dentist walked out after him, missing a hand.

“You tasted like toothpaste.” Beel sighed. “Not good.”

“Don’t worry,” The dentist said to Luke, who looked like he was about to pass out. “My hand will grow back in about four to five minutes.”

Luke, still terrified, nodded. L!MC patted him on the shoulder.

“Anyway, almost all of you are fine, but I have to recommend M!MC to the orthodontist.” The dentist flipped through their notepad one-handed. “Their secondary set of fangs are coming out crooked and need to be corrected with braces immediately.”

M!MC sat calmly for a moment, then attempted to sprint out the door. “NO NO NO NO NO!” One of the dental hygienists grabbed them by the back of their shirt and halted their escape.

“Sucks to be you.” L!MC smirked.

“And L!MC needs to fix their cross bite, braces are a strong possibility.”

The colour drained from L!MC’s face as the news dawned upon them. “Pardon, but what exactly are you talking about..?”

“Your top jaw and bottom jaw aren’t properly lined up.” The dentist explained. “It will lead to problems later if it’s not fixed now.”

Lucifer rubbed his temples and sighed. “L!MC, if you try and run away I swear...”

L!MC stiffened and shook their head. “I’m not some coward, I’m not running away. Just... what exactly are you going to do to my mouth?”

The dentist pulled up a few pictures of the braces and explained what would be done. L!MC nodded, and turned to their father with a big smile on their face.

“It won’t be so bad, mind if I go to the bathroom before I get the mold for my teeth made?”

Lucifer nodded and almost audibly sighed in relief. He basked in the glory of having a child that wasn’t afraid of the dentist and faced their fears like an adult-

L!MC sprinted past the dentist’s office, they had busted out of the bathroom window.

“...Beel.”

“Yep.”

A few minutes later, Beel returned with a completely irate L!MC who was screaming their demands to be put down and be allowed to run for the hills. Taking advantage of the distraction, M!MC ran for the door again, only for Belphie to tap them on the forehead.

M!MC collapsed into a snoring heap on the floor.

“FATHER! DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!” L!MC practically screamed as they tried to wrestle themselves out of Beel’s bear hug.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “L!MC, calm yourself down. It’s just braces.”

“AS EVERYONE HERE AS MY WITNESSES I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS! NEVER!”

The half-demons in need of braces were dragged right back into the dentist’s area... poor fools.

“They’ll be okay... right?” Luke asked.

“Of course they will be. It’s just braces.” Simeon patted Luke on the head. “They’ll both be fine.”

The scream that came from down the hall right after Simeon said that did not reassure anyone.

“Hey,” Mammon piped up. “How much do braces cost?”

“From what I know about dental procedures,” Satan rubbed his chin. “A few thousand Grimm.”

“Mammon if you try and run for that door I will cut your credit card into a thousand pieces.” Lucifer growled.

Overall, it was a fairly average trip to the dentist. 0/10 would not recommend. A few weeks later L!MC and M!MC were fitted with their mouth prisons- I mean braces, and the two cousins bonded over their horrific mouth pain...

Seriously- braces suck.

——————————————

So! Those are the headcanons! Four and a half whole parts... phew... To all the people who enjoyed this series, thank you so so much for reading! You guys have been so super nice!

Fret not, I plan on writing more for this universe! From what I know about season 2 of Obey Me things will get... interesting. Stay tuned for more! Or don’t, I can’t force you.

...or can I?

[jungle321jungle]

Your Words Fill The Space Between Us

The published letters that detail the romance that changed the kingdom.

~~~~

Aka Roman and Janus send each other letters

Taglist: @angels-and-dreams @ollyollyoxinfree @gattonero17 @chumo-cookie @dreaming-always @anxiety-ismy-name @mrbubbajones @janustheliar @why-do-you-care @hogwarts-my-love​

Ao3 - Masterlist

Your Words Fill The Space Between Us

September 18th

J,

I received the gift you sent with your previous letter, and I wanted to ensure I thanked you for it- despite how bold it was. But I suppose that has always been something I liked about you- even if my heart very nearly stopped when Mother asked who the flowers and watch had come from. I was forced to give her the flowers (but I kept the watch for myself) after telling her it came from a businessman I work with (I am blessed that she didn’t ask which of them it was). Though I was disappointed to give up the flowers. I don’t even remember mentioning my favorite flowers and yet you knew anyways. Are you using your power for useless things again? I hope not, you have enough on your plate as it is without worrying about what I like and dislike. But if it truly crosses your mind do know that what I like are your letters and the rare moments we spend together.

But enough about that, more importantly I will be aiding my father this year so I too will get the pleasure of attending the New Year’s Ball. I hope when I arrive you can finally show me the spot you’ve described with the view of the whole city.

R.

~~~~

September 23rd

R,

I am glad my present to you was received well. As to your comment regarding whether or not I was using my power correctly, all I must say is that if it is my power I shall use it as I please. If that happens to be to determine your favorite flowers so be it, my servants are paid accordingly. Also, once I get more power laws change and I get you- so I truly see no downside.

I cannot wait until you get here, I will show you all my favorite spots here to view the scenery and my favorite places in town to shop and eat. We’ll need to think of an excuse for why we spend so much time together though, but we have the time to work out a story.

Speaking of, with this letter I am sending you a book. It’s one I just found by chance and I fell in love with instantly, I’m sure you’ll do the same. Be sure to send me your thoughts when you finish.

J.

~~~~

October 17th

J,

You are utterly horrific. Sending me a book that plays with my emotions like that. I wouldn’t have gotten so invested if I just knew she was going to die like that! Not even from her disease but from an assassin that’s horrible. Just horrible.

I stayed up to finish the last few chapters and now it’s late and I’m crying, but I don’t want the maids to hear. You’re horrible. And to prove it I’m sending you a book.

R.

~~~~

November 2nd

R,

I truly am dastardly aren't I? I laughed a lot at your letter, it was the exact response I was expecting. You never disappoint dearest. As for the book you sent me I unfortunately am yet to open it. I wasn’t planning on sending this letter until completing it, but things have gone bleak in terms of negotiations. I’ve been spending all my time locked in my office taking over my father’s daily work in addition to my own while he tries to calm things with the other delegations. At present I should actually be overlooking some documents, but I feel if I do I will truly lose my mind.

I miss you.

I know that if you were just here sitting beside me I would instantly feel energized.

At least the ball is next month.

J.

~~~~

November 4th

R,

I doubt you have even received my last letter as I write this, but I must tell you to withhold sending other letters. I’m not entirely sure why, but Father is suspicious of something and is having mail checked.

I’ll send word when the coast is clear.

J.

~~~~

December 22nd

R,

My father has found whatever it is he is looking for, so we should be fine now. But that did take longer than I thought. So much has happened in the last few weeks.

Mother’s sudden illness, and sister’s broken engagement, not to mention that the countries on either side of us have declared war and both are begging for us to pick a side. It’s beyond tiring. Father still insists upon holding the ball though, so I’ll see you then. I wonder if this letter will even reach you before you depart for the capital.

I hope I’ll have the time to show you around as I promised.

J.

~~~~

December 27th

J,

I was about to respond to your first letter when the second arrived. You must’ve sent one of your fastest messengers. As for your third and most recent letter I received it just before climbing in the carriage. We are staying in the Barony tonight, which is where I write this letter from. But I will wait to have it sent to you until I reach the capital.

I too hope we can meet up during the festivities, at least for a minute and even better if that minute was spent alone so we can speak freely. But please, remember that you mustn't push yourself too hard.

R.

~~~~

December 31st

R,

There is a small balcony west of the ballroom and past the room where the ladies rest. It’s secluded. We can use our usual signal, I’ll meet you there.

J.

~~~~

January 1st

R,

I cannot describe how amazing it was to simply hug you again. And as I said before it was wonderful to see how your dancing had improved. I’m sorry that our time together was so short, I will send you word as soon as I know when I can slip out of the palace. Maybe, two nights from now I can try? That’s when the commoners set up an array of stalls with games and prizes. Would you like to go?

J.

~~~~

January 2nd

J,

Of course I want to go! We will go and I will beat you at every game! But I don't have any clothes that would help me blend in. Also, how do you intend to disguise yourself?

R.

~~~~

January 3rd

R,

With this letter are clothes for you to wear tonight. I’ll meet you outside the gates by the large willow about an hour after dinner. And as to your question, I will be wearing a blonde wig.

J.

~~~~

January 4th

J,

You cheated. That’s the only way you could have won so many games. I don't care that you said you didn’t, you most certainly did.

R.

~~~~

January 5th

R,

You are free to believe what you like.

For the closing ball tomorrow we can meet at the same spot as the first night. And I have a surprise for you.

J.

~~~~

January 6th

R,

I swear I didn’t know.

I am so sorry. I didn’t know, I saw you crying and run off and I’m sorry that I couldn’t run after you. I’m sorry. Can I come by so we can talk?

J.

~~~~

January 8th

R,

You’re leaving tomorrow right? Please respond so I can see you before you do.

J.

~~~~

January 9th

R,

I understand you’re mad at me, and I won’t even ask you not to be. But I will ask that you at least try understand the position I am in.

And I hope you travel safely home.

J.

~~~~

January 16th

J,

Did you really not know?

R.

~~~~

January 19th

R,

I didn’t. My father sprung it on me, the same way he did to every party guest. He didn’t even tell me which nation he was leading towards in terms of support, much less this.

J.

~~~~

January 22nd

J,

Will you marry her?

R.

~~~~

January 25th

R,

I don’t want her. I want and I love you.

J.

~~~~

January 28th

J,

That’s not what I asked. I asked if you will follow through with the engagement.

R.

~~~~

January 31st

R,

I don’t have a choice. I thought I could spend more time living as the Crown Prince before I could reject the role and leave the crown to my brother. I thought I could do that if my parents ever brought up marriage- but this is more than a marriage. It’s war.

If I don’t marry the Delphine our trade routes are shut off- and since we already cut ties with the empire by my father announcing the engagement. If I reject this for you, I put the whole kingdom at risk. I… I don’t know if I can do that.

J.

~~~~

February 4th

J,

Surely there’s another way! Why can’t she just marry your brother?

R.

~~~~

February 10th

R,

Do you truly think I haven’t looked for one? My hands are tied. The only possible thing I could do to even have you near me is to bring you here as an advisor or the like when the time comes. I can find a way if it’s that.

J.

~~~~

February 14th

J,

No. I will not stand to the side just watch as you dance and hold hands with her for the public’s morale. I would rather die than that.

R.

~~~~

February 19th

R,

Please don’t be so dramatic. I am trying all I can think of in between my hectic schedule. But if you truly don’t like my efforts tell me, do you have any brilliant ideas?

J.

~~~~

February 25th

J,

Don’t mock me, Your Highness. You’re not the one who has had his heart stepped on repeatedly. You’ve been making me promises for years- am I not allowed to be upset when I find out that they’re hollow?

R.

~~~~

March 2nd

R,

You’re unbelievable. Feel free to sulk all you wish, meanwhile I need to continue my regular duties, prepare a wedding, and prepare for war.

J.

~~~~

March 5th

J,

War? I thought our kingdom was just to supply aid.

R.

~~~~

March 8th

R,

I’m getting married to the daughter of a nation who declared war upon the empire. Of course war will come to our borders as well.

J.

~~~~

March 23rd

J,

Father got the invitation to the wedding this morning. I wanted to tear it to shreds. Have you truly thought of nothing yet? Something other than me working for you?

R.

~~~~

March 29th

R,

I’m sorry to say I haven’t. In the months since the ball and start of the war I haven’t gotten anywhere with my Father- and Mother’s decline isn’t helping.

J.

~~~~

April 1st

J,

What? I had heard she was getting better?

R.

~~~~

April 6th

R,

That’s just the rumor I spread to redirect attention. She’s getting worse if anything.

J.

~~~~

April 10th

J,

I am so sorry.

R.

~~~~

August 12th

J,

It’s been a long time since my last letter, I’m not sure how many months. I guess I should follow custom and congratulate you on the wedding even if I am late. You at least looked very nice on your wedding day. You’ve truly perfected that fake smile.

I’m sorry for how I acted when I heard about your engagement. I know you didn’t want this either. And I know it’s late for this, but I’ll come work for you if that’s what it takes. The more I try to pretend that I don’t love you- the harder it gets- and the more it hurts.

R.

~~~~

August 17th

Lord Roman Regis,

Please do not waste my time and deny that you are the author of the letter I just read. I intend to keep this letter brief. I do not wish to know what kind of relationship you have with my husband, but I must request that it ceases. My husband serves as a figure to both nations, and he cannot have anyone dragging him down. Especially not someone of a lower stature.

If you contact him again, there will be consequences.

Crown Princess Delphine Ekans

~~~~

August 22nd

Crown Princess,

Your Highness I apologize for any misunderstandings I may have caused, but please speak to Janus. I’m sure he will explain everything.

Lord Roman Regis

~~~~

August 26th

Lord Roman Regis,

To think a measly count’s son can not only tell me what to do, but he can be bold enough to refer to my husband without a title. I already asked you not to drag my husband down, and by doing so you have disregarded my warning.

Do remember that you have brought this upon yourself Lord Roman.

Crown Princess Delphine Ekans

~~~~

September 5th,

Ro,

You know all those times I told you to just get out there and just love the prince if you actually love him? Well this is not what I meant. I mean like you should speed up that “perfect” plan you two always talked about, not that you should wait so long that he got married. And definitely not so long that his wife outed your “despicable crush on the married crown prince”- however I can say that the papers are currently god tier with gossip. I have been asked for interviews like four times and I love it. Oh and have some faith in me, I didn’t talk to them- for long.

Anyway, lover boy should be able to help you out of this, right?

The better you,

Remus

~~~~

September 10th,

Remus,

Sometimes I hate you, and then when I remember we shared a womb I hate you even more. But even so, I thank you for being the one “calm” person about this. Mother and Father (mainly Mother) have been up in arms about how big of a disgrace I am, and just about every noble in the kingdom is in agreement. It doesn't matter that just about every unmarried woman pines after the Crown Prince even after he got married, because when a man does it- because that Witch known as the Crown Princess publishes my letter- I’m somehow a deviant.

I haven’t left the manor since word got out. And I am just flooded with letters from friends and other nobles, but truthfully I am too scared to read them. Maybe I’ll have a trusted maid read them and pick out the kind ones, but I am not sure.

I have no clue what is going on with Janus at the moment. I am yet to receive anything from him- most likely due to the Crown Princess’ interference. I wish I could know what was happening behind the palace doors... I truly do.

This is why I just wanted to run off to somewhere else, but Janus was confident he could change the laws for us and then we could go live quietly somewhere... I wish things were that simple.

I rather not discuss this anymore truthfully. I'd like to have a normal conversation again. So tell me, do you have any stories to tell of your travels? Reading them would prove far more interesting than anything here.

The best twin,

Roman

~~~~

September 18th,

Remus,

Given I am yet to receive a response from you, so I assume you are on the move once more, but I thought I should send you an update letter before you hear the filtered version from word of mouth.

I am currently being escorted to the palace. I know some will think I am to get some sort of punishment, but Janus sent one of the guards with a verbal message that he is handling this in his own way. I have no choice but to place my trust in him. Mother was still worried about it, Father interestingly seemed to be rooting for me but we didn’t get to talk more about it. But I know I will see Janus soon and that thought comforts me. Even though I know his wife will be close behind.

I’ll keep you updated on what transpires. But I still expect traveling stories. Like honestly, what was the point of you joining the navy if I don't get to read any seafaring adventures? You aren’t fighting in the war so surely there must be pirates or something? Or some stories about sirens and other such creatures? I want to read them all.

And in return you can have me as your wonderful twin.

The twin that matters,

Roman

~~~~

September 21st

Roman,

It almost seems strange to be able to address you by your name in a letter, but I like it all the same. I am very sorry for my silence and for Delphine’s actions. The former was a result of a few things: the first being my traveling to the battle front. I'm sorry I did not tell you prior to leaving, I did not want you to worry, but... I spent some time in battle. I was on my way back when your letter reached the palace and Delphine had taken it before I knew it even existed. Then upon my return I was busy dealing with Mother’s health and my war reports- I had intended to write other excuses here but truthfully I was scared of your reaction. I was scared that you would have just given up on me- on us. I had written and thrown away over 20 letters that I started without finishing before Delphine handed me a paper with a letter I had never seen published on the front page.

We had a long argument, about her not having the right to do such a thing to a “friend” of mine. It took a lot of time to cool things down and convince everyone to allow you to come here. Your father had sent me a letter saying he was worried for your safety, and that was enough to pull them to my side to bring you out of harm's way.

I am sorry I cannot currently go to see you, right now everyone believes I am just trying to clean up a mess that my wife blew way out of proportion and going to you would only start rumors. The knight who will deliver this letter- Virgil- can be trusted. He may huff and roll his eyes, but he does not pry and will not look at the contents of the letters. As he put it, he will only do the bare minimum of his job, and being curious and nosy takes too much energy. So you can send your letters through him. I swear I will figure something out.

In the meantime I hope your quarters are comfortable, let me know if they are not.

Yours,

Janus

~~~~

September 22nd,

Janus,

You are an absolute idiot. You went to war, without telling me? What if something had happened to you? Are you crazy? No of course you are. You’re absolutely insane- and I am so so glad that you are alright.

It has been strange being here in the palace, I don't often leave my room due to the looks servants give as I pass by, but my room is comfortable and Virgil makes good conversation. He certainly doesn’t have the demeanor of most knights which is enjoyable. Reminds me a bit of my twin in a way- but I think both would disagree.

Regardless, I have a request for you even though I know you will disagree. I wish to speak with the Crown Princess. I do not know how much you have told her, so I can keep things sounding one sided if you wish- but I want to speak to her. If you don't give an answer I like, I will simply write to her myself.

Roman

~~~~

September 22nd

Roman,

And you call me crazy. Why would you want to meet with the woman who ruined your life? You wrote in the same letter that even servants are scorning you- I will have Virgil report to me who they are so they can be fired immediately- and yet you wish to speak with her? I will not allow it.

Janus

~~~~

September 24th

Janus,

As you read this the Crown Princess should be receiving her letter as well. I kept it simple, just asking for tea with the promise of an apology. But before I schedule a time to meet with her, I want to know... do you like your wife?

Roman

~~~~

September 25th

Roman,

Delphine showed me the letter and she gave some unkind phrases to go with. I told her not to accept your invitation- but I think she wants to even more now. As to your question, I don’t know what I think of her. I hate what she has done to you, but I do not hate her (entirely) as a person. I admire the fact that she will go to great lengths to help her people, but I certainly do not like her. Or perhaps it’s better to say that I like her in the way one likes a business partner? Appreciating when they get the job done well, and hating when they don't. I am not sure if that answers your question, but I do not know how else to better phrase my thoughts.

Janus

~~~~

September 27th

Janus,

I met the Second Prince yesterday. He came to my room and chided me for not getting enough sunlight and fresh air, before he ordered me to accompany him to the gardens. He seems far too kind to be of royal blood. Oh, while he denies it I definitely say Virgil stealing glances at the Prince. It was quite adorable actually.

I am laughing to myself as I write this and he looks on, it is most amusing. Do tell you brother to visit again.

Roman

~~~~

September 28th

Roman,

Patton is definitely too pure for this palace, if he wasn’t the spitting image of father I would think he was illegitimate. As for him and Virgil... I rather not speculate, no one and I mean no one is good enough for Patton.

In more important news I will be accompanying Delphine to your tea tomorrow. At least for the beginning of it. Seeing you two together with my own eyes is the only way I can be sure someone won't attack the other.

I’ll see you then love.

Janus

~~~~

September 29th

Janus,

Since I am sure you are worried about what I and Crown Princess Delphine spoke of in your absence here is a few notes about what we discussed:

The fact that I have loved you since our academy days

That my feelings won't change no matter what she does

That I don't want anything negative to befall either country

She did not once ask about your thoughts or feelings, they seemed relevant to her

She doesn’t want me near you. She says it will ruin the reputation she is building

I do not know what this means for us, but at the very least I think I understand what you meant about having a business partner relationship.

Roman

~~~~

October 2nd

Roman,

Good to know your talk with her was for mostly nothing. She has more recently gone to my father about some scheme to boost morale and he seems to be on board. So she’s at least distracted for the time being.

In surprising news Mother wishes to meet you. She’s probably the one person who knows everything simply because she sees through every lie I tell. But thankfully she never questions me on the truth. You’ll receive an official invite from her soon.

Janus

~~~~

October 4th

Janus,

Your mother is one of the kindest people on the planet. She kept fretting over if I was okay, and meanwhile she is the one bedridden. And you were certainly right about her knowing the whole story, because it is clear she is rooting for us! She told me she just wants you to be happy, and marrying for love is something she wished you could do. She did also say she wanted to give the Crown Princess a “stern talking to”, and I think that would be hilarious to watch.

Roman

~~~~

October 14th 4th

Logan,

This year has been an absolute shitshow. Have you even heard what’ss going on? Because I haven’t heard a word fom you. But I suppose what else should I expect from the disaprearing count? I just want to marry for love and be done with the fucking war? Is that so bap? Delphine is making this hard, but I know she just wants things to be not war… it’s all so annoying. What should I do lo?

Your only friend,

Jans

~~~~

October 5th

Mother and Father,

I want you to know that despite all that has occurred I am well. I have gotten a chance to speak to the Crown Prince and Princess, and the Queen. Currently the Crown Prince intends to release rumors regarding the Duke’s family (which may or may not involve treason so please pull any assets out quickly) to stop the month long gossip about me. Once that happens, I am not sure if I will be staying here or returning home but I will let you know once I figure it out. Living in the palace certainly isn’t bad after all. The food is to die for. I may try to lengthen my stay just because of it. So don’t worry about me, worry about Remus who just sent me a letter detailing too many things about pirates that would make you cry in shame.

The lesser of two evils,

Roman

~~~~

October 8th

Crown Prince Janus Ekans,

I was quite surprised to get your letter and even more surprised by it’s contents. I have told you multiple times it is not becoming of a prince to send letters written in a drunken stupor.

Yes, I am well aware of the gossip in the capital that you have involved yourself in. But I saw no need to send you a letter of my own thoughts when I am not involved in your marital issues. If you were simply writing to me to rant and rave, then your letter was received. And I would like to say that I do have other friends.

Regardless, please expedite the report enclosed, it is part of our winter preparations.

Count Logan Ackroyd

~~~~

October 9th

Janus,

I went into town with Prince Patton (who gave me permission to call me by his name) and Virgil today. We went in disguise of course, but we got to go to a great many shops and try some good food. I bought you a present while we were out, but with the current circumstances I don’t believe I should send it with this letter. If you ever find the time to drop by my room please come and get it.

As we went about I couldn’t shake two thoughts from my mind, the first being that fall looks so different here in the capital, and the second was that it’s been nearly a year since we promised to do such things together. I still await the day where you show me your favorite spots.  

I hope those times come soon.

Roman

~~~~

October 10th

Roman,

I too hope for the same, and I would love to see what it is you got me, but we have an obstacle at present. A few actually. While the war is finally moving in our favor, I fear that the Duke’s situation is less clear than I thought. In addition to that, Father wants you sent home to the county sooner than later. And if that’s not enough, Delphine wishes to speak with you before you leave- I will do my best to convince her otherwise. I’m not sure when they want your departure to be, I’m currently negotiating and thankfully Patton is on my side.

Janus

~~~~

October 11th

Ro,

So in my quest to find exciting stories for you I may or may have not taken a cutlass to the leg. It nearly got cut clean off! Or well that’s the story I’ll tell at least. Anyway, I’m gonna be home for a while so you should come visit your dearest twin. And as for get well presents there’s nothing better than basically all the sweets in the capital so I’ll take those please and thank you. Oh and buy me some of those racy novels you pretend you don’t read. Mother saw the word “tentacle” then burned mine.

Your horribly wounded and now sickly and pathetic twin,

Remus

~~~~

October 12th

Janus,

I heard from Prince Patton that there will be a party next week. He was asking me if I plan to go with him, and truthfully I’d like to, but I also don't want to undo anything either. What do you think?

Roman

~~~~

October 13th

Roman,

I’m afraid that your attendance will not be a good idea. But, I’ve heard sickness is floating around the palace. It would be truly tragic if I can’t attend. The greatest of tragedies.

Janus

~~~~

October 15th

Dearest Husband,

At least for the sake of appearances, can you pretend like you’re not missing your lover when we’re in public? It’s very nearly sickening.

Your Wife,

Delphine

~~~~

October 15th

Delphine,

I don’t believe I ever said he was my lover. Also if you want a conversation just come here. Thomas is a knight not a messenger.

Janus

~~~~

October 15th

Dearest Husband,

Sir Thomas shall be what I ask him to be. But on topic, if Lord Regis is not your lover then Queen Mother is in perfect health. If you’re going to ignore my and your kingdom’s wishes then at the very least be subtle. Please and thank you.

Oh and I will not be joining you for dinner, your sister asked me to dine with her.

Your Wife,

Delphine

~~~~

October 17th

Janus,

I’m afraid the party must wait (and for shame my meeting with the Crown Princess must wait as well). I have just received word that Remus was injured- not gravely though- so he is currently resting at home. I must return as soon as possible to rescue my parents from his madness. Well after I buy all the things the idiot requested.

Roman

~~~~

October 18th

Janus,

I love the jacket thank you so so so much. I’ll be sure to wear it the next time I see you, which will likely be the New Year’s Ball. I’ll write to you again as soon as I get home.

Roman

~~~~

October 21st

Janus,

I have just arrived and I already wish I had stayed in the palace. Mother is already talking about how lucky I am that despite the “scandal” she found a woman who would be willing to marry me. Maybe I’ll tell her to invite this poor girl over while Remus is here. Hopefully that scares her off.

Roman

~~~~

October 26th

Roman,

What do you think about eloping?

Janus

~~~~

November 1st

Janus,

You are aware of the fact that you’re married right? Also two men marrying isn't exactly legal. Also you know, the war?

Roman

~~~~

November 7th

Roman,

Trust me when I say the war will come to an end soon. And screw the laws and my wife. If I just kidnapped you, what would anyone really do?

Janus

~~~~

November 13th

Janus,

For starters I don’t think announcing kidnapping in a letter is the proper way to kidnap someone. Also I would like to point out that in the past years I always wanted to run away and you said no. Then a few months after I drop it you’re getting engaged.

Roman

~~~~

November 18th

Roman,

Virgil said the same thing. You two spent too much time together while you were here. And I’m a married man now. I’ve grown and I’ve changed. And running away sounds better and better.

Janus

~~~~

November 20th,

Logan,

If I said I wanted to elope with Roman to your domain what would you say?

Janus

~~~~

November 23rd

Janus,

You assigned him to be my guard of course we spent time together. Also I’ve been receiving letters from Prince Patton, he truly is a ray of sunshine. He told me that the Queen is doing better and I am elated to hear that. Please pass my well wishes to her.

Roman

~~~~

November 24th

Crown Prince Janus Ekans,

What would I say if you wanted to elope here? Well, I would remind you that you have responsibilities. While I do wish for your happiness do remember that the country lies on your shoulders as well. However if there was such a way that everything was sorted beforehand, then I would still say no.

Count Logan Ackroyd

~~~~

November 28th

Logan,

That’s unnecessarily rude. I will take your response as a positive one.

Janus

~~~~

December 4th

Dearest Husband,

I am apologizing in advance for what I must do. I did not anticipate such a situation, but the Duke has my hands tied. You know I will always do what I believe I must for the good of our nations, and to stop this war. I beg you to keep these thoughts in mind.

Your Wife,

Delphine

~~~~

December 4th

Lord Roman Regis,

I beg you to keep the crown standing tall despite everything. This is not your opportunity.

Delphine

~~~~

December 10th

Janus,

Is it true what everyone’s saying? That the Crown Princess is going to be charged for treason? Was that why she sent me a strange letter?

Roman

~~~~

December 15th

Roman,

She sent you one too? And yes I’m afraid it’s true… but I don’t think that’s how it started. I was aware of the fact she was working with the duke to supply troops using her knowledge of how both armies could work together, I truthfully think he took advantage of her. But her name is on some of the documents which can be read negatively.

I apologize in advance for my lack of responsiveness and attention to you. For now I need to convince Father not to execute Delphine and others in her position. This is all truly at the worst timing, we were in the midst of discussion to end this whole war.

At the very least I’ll see you come the New Years Ball.

Janus

~~~~

December 29th

Roman,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, love but I think I have things sorted. At the ball my Father intends to announce the annulment of my marriage- claiming that Delphine unfairly used me. That’s not true of course, but it’s the best way for us to keep her here as a “hostage” and to withdraw our support in this war and try to reclaim a more neutral stance. At least outwardly, things are always more complicated when you look closer.

But with the war coming to a true end, and the end of my marriage, perhaps it’s time I take ‘crown’ out of my title? Patton would certainly be a better face to be out there right now as we try to maintain the rockiest of peaces. And once he takes over maybe I’ll just have to vanish in plain sight. I know a certain count who would take us in without complaint.

We can speak on it more at the banquet, I’ll meet you in the same spot as last year. We can use the same signals.

Janus

~~~~

January 2nd

Janus,

I have spent the past day thinking over the words you told me. I'll admit when I received your most recent letter, I took your words to be akin to wishful thinking. But now after hearing all the plans you made for us, this sounds like something we can really do. My heart beats faster at the thought.

Running away with the Crown Prince, it sounds like a novel doesn’t it? If we were to leave, when would we go?

Roman

~~~~

January 3rd

Roman,

Ideally I’d like to leave as soon as the snow melts, but diplomacy is known to take it’s time.

Janus

~~~~

January 4th

Janus,

I’m ready when you are. Just give me some notice to pack up my things at home and to write a letter that will make my mother sob when she realizes that she can’t marry me off for a reverse dowry. Yes, I know such a thing doesn’t exist, but I’m not sure she does.

Also I spent today with Prince Patton and Virgil and my stance has not changed.

Roman

~~~~

Roman,

Do me a favor and keep your fucking mouth shut? I don’t need Prince Janus interrogating me anymore.

-V

~~~~

January 8th

Janus,

Virgil left a note on my bed last night saying in not so nice words that I ratted him out to you. I take it I was right! You need to speak with your brother then we can be official cupids.

Also I’m leaving today, so make sure your next letter goes to my home.

Roman

~~~~

January 13th

Roman,

I will do no such thing. No one on this planet is good enough for Patton.

Janus

~~~~

January 28th

Logan,

You have till March to prepare our rooms. No, I won’t be telling you my arrival date.

Janus

~~~~

January 30th

Janus,

I don’t know if I ever told you, but I’ve kept every single letter you’ve sent me. The good, the bad, and the pointless ones. I’ve kept them all in a box in my wardrobe and my maids know not to touch them. I think I’ll take the box with me when we run.

Roman

~~~~

February 2nd

Roman,

The Prince is being weirder than usual and is fretting over little stuff and he keeps mumbling your name. Do me a favor and take him off my hands fast.

Also he got very mad at me when he found out we exchanged letters. It’s not like we’ve been doing this since you left or anything. He’s so jealous it’s stupid. Sometimes I like to imagine what would have happened if you had been the one forced into a political marriage- and then I quickly stop because I realize he would order me to go arrest and or kill someone and I legally can’t say no.

Save me.

-Virgil

~~~~

February 3rd

Roman,

I have a box of your letters as well. Even ones you haven’t written but are about you- so even some of Delphine’s have been included. Our story is certainly different from that of other couples, and our letters reflect that. I’ll bring my letters as well, maybe we can organize them all into a large collection.

That was an incredibly sappy thought, and yet I wish to follow through with it all the same.

Janus

~~~~

February 7th

Roman,

I deeply apologize. I saw the play. I know we promised to watch it together, but Patton begged me to go with those eyes and that expression and I couldn’t say no. I will make it up to you. I’ll sit through an opera in the future maybe? I know you like operas even if I don’t.

In good news I plan to send a carriage for you, it should arrive on the fourth of the coming month. It will bring you here to the capital, we can see a horrid opera and then we can be on our way to our future. So you have a full month to pack.

Janus

~~~~

February 12th

Janus,

I can’t believe you watched it without me. It will take more than an opera to make up for this. You can start thinking now on how to make it up to me.

Roman

~~~~

February 19th

Janus,

As the days grow closer my excitement grows more and more. Even now I’m writing this to you rather than sleeping as it truly sinks in that we’re going to do this. I can’t wait.

Roman

~~~~

February 23rd

Roman,

My feelings are the same as yours. This morning I announced to my family my intentions. I didn’t tell them where we’ll be going of course, just that I will be relinquishing the position of Crown Prince and that I will be traveling. Father was enraged, sister was surprised, but Mother and Patton seemed to understand and once the three of us were alone they assured me that they are happy for me. I have a few more people (boring nobles) to tell, but now that they know there’s no going back. So you’re not allowed to have cold feet.

Janus

~~~~

February 27th

Janus,

Please if anyone was to have cold feet it was you. I’ve been willing to run away with you since the day I first laid eyes on the pretty thing you call a face.

Roman

~~~~

March 4

Janus,

The carriage should be here any minute, and I’m writing this letter that I intend to hand deliver to calm myself. My room is packed into bags, and I’ve already said most of my goodbyes. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’m sure time will fly when I’m with you. It always does.

Roman

~~~~

Jan,

Truthfully I wish you didn’t have to leave, but I understand it. So I wish you luck in chasing your love, while you’re gone I’ll make some changes around here so you can lead the life you want when you get back.

Be happy, and don’t forget to write.

Patt

~~~~

March 19th

Patton,

I have arrived safely, and both Logan and Roman are doing well. The former was griping about needing to share his estate with us, but all it took was me bringing up a few embarrassing childhood stories for him to loosen up. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but if you’re ever in the mood to frighten Father, tell him that we’ll need a royal wedding upon my return. I finally got to do the proper proposal I’ve had in my head since the New Year’s before last, and it was perfect.

I wish you luck in dealing with the state of affairs, if you need any help send me a letter discreetly and I can offer some aid.

Best wishes,

Janus

P.S. Fire Virgil if you feel like it. You can do better.

~~~~

A Forbidden Romance Years in the Making!

It’s been years since the ex Crown Princess and now hostage of the kingdom Delphine outed then Lord Roman Regis for loving a married man. Afterwards he was shunned by society and took shelter in the palace after his father begged for his shelter. Generously, the former Crown Prince agreed given he was tied to the scandal. But now we know that was never the whole story. Rather the two have been in a secret romance since their school days.

Now, as if his sudden disappearance was nothing, First Prince Janus Ekans has returned with his betrothed Lord Roman Regis, by his side. Previously talks of Crown Prince Patton signing the new law has been floating for a long while, but it seems the pen will finally be put to paper so a royal wedding may commence.

The couple will wed immediately following the signing of the new law legalizing gay marriage. And it will surely be a wedding to remember.

[winterscaptain]

back home.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

okay so this is my first foray into reader-insert fanfic, so forgive any errors on that front. i had this thought the other day and decided to write it down. suspend disbelief and federal laws regarding witness protection for a moment. this didnt show up in the tags at first, so here we are again. 

Summary: After going into witness protection, you and Hotch make life work with new identities. AU where Scratch takes significantly longer to kill and Aaron comes back for real and Derek didn’t leave! Yes this is wish fulfillment and no I’m not sorry! No content warnings apply. 

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

EDIT: this is not part of the ‘a joyful future’ universe - the kids just have the same names because i am exceedingly lazy :)

You work in the garden, your hair pushed up out of your face. It’s sunny outside, and Aaron had offered to take the kids into the backyard for the afternoon, while you worked and weeded in the front.

It was nice, to get away for a moment. Jack was getting older and was immensely helpful with the children. He’d adapted remarkably well to witness protection, to becoming John “Jack” Montgomery, son of David and Y/N/N Montgomery.

Mr. Scratch had shattered the safety of Aaron’s home and family. When he told you he had to go, you went with him. The BAU didn’t know of your budding relationship, but there was no way you would let him disappear without you. You’d gone into protection together, working for the same company and letting your love for each other grow through your new identities.

At first, you called each other by your real names when you were alone, but at a certain point, you decided it was safer to make the switch.

When it came time to choose baby names for your son, and later the twins, you and Aaron managed to find something that worked with both Montgomery and Hotchner, holding onto the hope that one day you would be able to return home.

You managed to fit your family into the lives of your children. Your first son’s middle name was Spencer, your daughters’ Emily and Haley. Once, Aaron teased you about having another girl for JJ and two more boys for David and Derek, but you only kissed him and replied “Not a chance in hell.”

Jack slipped perfectly into the role of the older brother. Having twelve and fourteen years on his siblings, respectively, he was able to actively participate in raising them. The girls were just over a year, toddling around on unsteady legs and crawling faster than the speed of light. Your son was nearly three, always ready with a laugh. Nobody made him laugh like Aaron, who had a renewed energy and lightness with the new additions.

You hear the front door open and shut, and Aaron’s familiar footsteps on the flagstone path to the garden. You look up at him, and he surprises you, hauling you to your feet by the shoulders and pressing you into a searing kiss.

You lean away from him, removing your gloves and holding his face in your hands. His eyes are closed, his mouth tight. You brush that stubborn section of hair off his forehead with your left hand, your stacked engagement and wedding rings glinting in the sunlight.

“What is it?”

He looks at you, pulling your hands from his face and holding them to his chest. “We get to go home.”

You nearly collapse where you stand. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Scratch is dead. Emily pulled some strings and called me. We can go back home. It’s safe.”

You throw yourself into his arms, and he crushes you to him.

+++

When you leave the plane, you pop the stroller open and immediately deposit the twins into their seats, strapping them in. Aaron has your boy on his hip, helping Jack with one of the bags. You had all packed for a week or two at most, hoping you would be able to get the rest of your things packed and shipped.

You have no idea what Aaron and Emily discussed over the phone – whether she knows to expect six Hotchners, instead of three.

Emily sees you, and your world stops. You abandon the stroller, swear you can hear a laugh from Aaron as he takes over the steering, and hug Emily tighter than you ever had. You were certain you’d never see her again. You couldn’t even say goodbye.

“I missed you so much.” She releases you, hands fluttering as if to check for injuries.

Emily has her share of grey hair now, much like Aaron at the temples, and you know you’d aged too. Three kids and life on the run would do that.

Aaron reaches you both, and Emily wraps him in his arms, taking your son into her embrace.

They speak to each other in hushed tones for a moment before they step away.

“You have to catch me up,” she says. “There are at least three more of you than last time if I’m counting right.”

You laugh and gather the things to pile into the (thankfully large) car.

Emily gives you and Aaron your documents – everything you left behind when you went into protection. You give her the kids’ names and information, so they can create their documents as well. It was a fresh start, but at the same time, a return to the life you missed so much. The only difference now? You’re a Hotchner, too.

When you pull up to the federal building, you gather the twins in your arms, and Jack runs ahead of you with Emily, racing him. Aaron takes your little son by the hand and brings up the rear.

The elevator ride up to the BAU offices is quiet, everyone practically vibrating with anticipation.

Emily breaks the silence. “I called them all in as if for a case briefing. It’s a surprise.”

You send the kids in first, Jack holding on to the tiny hands of the girls with your son keeping up behind them.

“Who’s this?” JJ’s clear voice rings out as she kneels and reaches for one of the girls, brushing her hair back from her tiny forehead. You see her pause, looking up at the boy who brought them with a sudden spark of recognition. “Jack!”

Before anyone else can react, you and Aaron are in the doorway. In his trademarked deadpan, without missing a beat, he says, “That would be Isaac Spencer, Sophia Haley, and Caroline Emily.”

You can’t hold back your smile as JJ immediately wells up, brushing her hands across the faces of all four children before running straight to Aaron. When she reaches him, a gigawatt smile breaks out across his face and he crushes her to him. Their friendship was one you envied at first, but you grew to understand the secret language they seemed to speak, the trust they had in each other. As JJ grew to be one of your closest friends, you cherished her friendship with Aaron. He needed it.

It suddenly becomes difficult to breathe as Morgan picks you up and spins you in a circle.

Jack is busy with Garcia, having his hair mussed and his cheeks pinched as he introduces them to his little brother and sisters. It’s hard to follow, but the joy is palpable.

“I would have named another one after you but after three I was just about tapped out,” you say to Derek.  

He laughs into your ear, only holding you tighter. “They’re perfect, mama. Absolutely perfect.”

JJ laughs a loud, watery laugh as Aaron probably tells her the same thing. JJ grabs a shocked frozen Spencer by the sleeve and yanks him into the circle of her arms and Aaron’s.

You can hear him ask, "You named your son after me?" 

"Who else?" Aaron replies. 

You smile into Derek's shoulder and let him go, looking around at the family you'd missed so much. 

David hangs back, approaching you last and kissing you on both cheeks. You felt collected before, but now, as Rossi looks at you with the kind and proud eyes of a relieved father, your eyes mist and you gather him into your arms.

+++

When everything quiets down, the gravity of it all settles on you all. Your family was intact once more.

JJ has Sophia on her hip, Sophia’s head tucked under her chin and her brown eyes fluttering closed. Spencer had pulled out a deck of cards and was now sorting them with a focused Isaac. You see the familiar crease in his little forehead, and look to your husband, finding the same one between his brows as he talks to Prentiss. David has Caroline in one of the rolling chairs around the conference table, rocking slowly back and forth as she snoozes across his chest.

Jack had returned to your side once he saw everyone. He grows taller and taller by the day, and very nearly reaches your shoulder – more a young man than a boy. The other day, he grinned at you and you could swear you were looking at Aaron, just thirty years younger. His eyes were all Haley, and you loved them so much.

He tucks his head under your arm and you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You press a kiss into his darkening hair. Your son.

You watch your family with your children, and a great weight lifts from you. They’re safe. You’re safe. Aaron is safe.

A pair of hands find your waist, winding around your middle and pulling you flush to a strong chest. You lean into Aaron as he kisses your temple.

“Emily’s set you up with a job in linguistics and has a spot for me in the legal department. Normal hours, home for dinner every night.”

You hum. “That would be nice.”

“Welcome home,” he says. For the first time in years, he’s right. You’re home.

[sincerelymarinette]

A Recorded Life Sequel (5/10) - Miraculous Ladybug

Words: 1125 Chapter Summary: Another day at the office for Marinette and Adrien, and Marinette even has some time to record a video! Afterward, they run into some trouble. Author's Note: we are back in business! Thank you everyone for being patient with my hiatus, the end of my school semester kicked my butt, then holidays kept me busy. I hope everyone had great holidays and a happy new year! I loved writing this chapter and I'm excited to be back at this story. Halfway done with the sequel!

Prev / Next / Masterlist

Timelapse

---

It was a slow day for Marinette. She didn't have any deadlines coming up too soon, and actually had a day to breathe and just work. For the first time in a few weeks, she even had time to set her camera up to record her process of working on her mockup design on a mannequin. Like the good ol' days, she'd timelapse the video and do a voice over for her fans.

Sure, her team would come in to ask questions and get some help, but those were usually easy answers. It seemed like the universe was giving her an easy day, which was a nice difference.

As for Adrien, it was a little different. Ever since he decided on the rebrand of Agreste Fashion to Emilie's, Adrien and his marketing and branding team had been working around the clock to get everything switched over. There were new logos that had to be made, followed by a new look for the website, business cards for everyone employed, and coming up with the perfect tags for clothing. To say it was stressful was an understatement, and they had planned to release the rebrand fully in a week.

It had already been a few weeks of working on the rebrand, and it was taking longer than anyone expected. Though stressful, they were very excited for Agreste Fashion to change and evolve.

Plagg had gotten bored of listening to Adrien talk about the perfect font and flew through floors and walls to get to Marinette's office. She always had extra cheese in her lunch bag (and it was unguarded, unlike Adrien, who likes to pace Plagg). Plus, Plagg enjoyed talking to Tikki and watching Marinette work when she was focused.

Plagg flew through the wall with a big smile. "Hi, Marinette!" He said and flew past her to land on her desk to sit next to Tikki.

"Hello, Plagg," She greeted, "Get tired of Adrien?"

"He was driving me crazy, asking me which font looked better. If it's not camembert, I don't care!" He crossed his arms, then got up to go find the cheese he was thinking of.

Marinette chuckled and turned away from her work for a second. "At least he's asking you, and he's taking this thing seriously. I swear, he's never thought about fonts more before this," She said.

"I'm proud of him," Tikki said, "Even though Plagg is bored of it, I love the changes Adrien is making. It will fit the company much better," Tikki added.

"I agree; it's going to be a great look," She said and stepped back to look at her work. It was getting to where she wanted it to be, though there were always changes she could make. She was excited to be recording a process, as it has been a while, and was looking for something new to post to her fashion channel. Sure, every so often, she could post things about unfinished projects, or after lines were launched, but there wasn't too much she could do.

On her second channel, though, she was more active. Not as much as she used to be, but there were still things she enjoyed posting there. She and Adrien played a lot of video games, and whenever she saw Alya, they tried to do something fun. Outings, games, storytimes, they always had fun creating videos. One time, they got Adrien to work at the hotel with Chloé for one of the fan's favorite series, and it was determined he could not do that job.

"See, I think it will be good. It's just such a boring process," Plagg complained as he ate his cheese.

Marinette shook her head at him. "I know, it can be a lot of work to sit and listen to Adrien figure things out," She joked. "Give him a break and let him just talk it out; he'll get through it all eventually," She reminded Plagg. Before she could get too much more work done, there was a knock at her office door.

"Good afternoon, Marinette. Would you mind coming to see our sketches for approval?" Two of her team members asked. She was the team lead; she had to approve of everything for her lines and work.

"Of course," She smiled and paused the recording on her camera. "Tikki, don't let Plagg eat it all. Save some for dinner!" Marinette warned as she walked out of her office.

---

Adrien was exhausted. He liked to be out of the office at a decent time, but he was still there later than he wanted to be with so much going on. Finally, he forced himself to close out of his document and head home. Surely, Marinette was already home and waiting for him.

His thoughts were wrong as he walked through the central part of the office and spotted her light still on. With a sigh, he shook his head and headed to greet her. Adrien knocked on the door, but she didn't look up. Adrien pushed the door in slowly. "Marinette," He said, making her jump slightly.

"Oh, hey, Adrien!" She smiled, "I'm still working on my video; you heading out?" She asked.

"I am, and so are you," He walked over and stopped the recording. "It's getting late; let's grab a late-night snack and get some sleep," Adrien said.

Marinette gave in much easier than last time, as much as she wished she could keep working. If it weren't for Adrien, she would probably spend all night working on her designs and mockups. "Alright, what snack are you thinking?" She smirked.

The Kwamis quickly flew to their respectful spots in bags as Adrien and Marinette locked up the office. As Marinette began to walk to her car, Adrien grabbed her hand to stop her. "Let's walk to that place around the corner. It's a nice night, and I think we both could use some fresh air," Adrien said.

"Good idea, Adrien," Marinette replied, and the two of them walked in the opposite direction of their cars. Though it was dark, Adrien was right about it being a nice night, and they both definitely needed to walk and smell the air. Since they don't run around on rooftops anymore, they could use the breaks.

As they rounded the corner, Marinette fell behind as she heard something hit the ground, assuming it was something from her purse.

She glanced down and realized it was not hers, and decided to keep on walking. But before she could get too far, someone grabbed her arm. "Ah!" She yelled.

Adrien's head shot around fast enough to give him whiplash. "Mari!" He started to walk towards her, but someone grabbed him too, preventing him from getting any closer.

---

@lady-of-the-roses-and-lilies @bookishserendipity03 @avatheexceed @gkz10 @coccinellegirl @kat-thatoneweirdo @strawberryblondish @snow-swordswoman @lilgaga98 @evufries  @toodaloo-kangaroo 

[katiebruce]

adios, amigo.

Well, 2020. What is there to say that hasn’t already been said, tweeted or Instagram-ed a thousand and two times about you? I’ll save us all the generic stuff—“unprecedented,” “nightmarish,” “absurd”—yes, 2020 was all of those things, but on a deeper, more personal level, there is so much more I have to say that doesn’t fit quite into those clichés.

So, this will be my attempt to document and reflect upon one of the strangest years I’ve encountered in my thirty-one years on this planet. Buckle up, buttercup.

Like many others before me have frequently observed, the way I spend my New Year’s Eve has always set the tone for the year to come, and boy, was this year a picture-perfect example of exactly that. Because I had to work on January first, I spent my New Year’s Eve at home watching a depressing movie with T, quietly kissing on the cold back patio as fireworks went off in the distance. I remember feeling both happy and sad about this evening (a duality that was a major theme for me for the fifty-two weeks to come, if only I had known). I was sad not to be celebrating my favorite holiday and even remember telling T that I didn’t want the year to come to be one I spent not going out, staying home, and becoming reclusive as I finished up the stressful process of finishing my MFA thesis in the course of ten (or, what I thought would be ten) short months.

But on the other hand, being held in T’s arms, I remembered feeling so happy that I could have this little quiet holiday—something that felt so private and personal—so entirely our own. It really set the tone for our relationship for the year, and for the obstacles we not only overcame together but dominated, one right after the next.

January was cold, snowy, and full of flight cancellations, which I remember to be something worth celebration at the time. I stayed home and snuggled my way into Aquarius season, the time for me and my brethren to shine, feeling positive that I had lived my thirtieth year to one of great satisfaction and maximum travels taken. (If only I had known then that that late-January El Paso layover where my crew and I walked across the border into Juarez to eat street tacos and laugh over Mezcal would be one of the only times I would leave the country for the year, well, I might have taken a few shots of tequila and really enjoyed my stay abroad just a bit longer).

February came, and with it, the promise of friends. My darling Kristopher, as always, flew to Chicago on the day of (also the day I completed and passed my eighth recurrent [!]) and, thanks to my other darling baby, Nicole, scored tickets to one of the highly coveted format reunion tour shows happening in March* for me, her, and my momma.

(*It did not, in fact, take place in March).

I turned thirty-one in the way I’ve come accustomed too—surrounded by my favorite people (this year at Dorians—a jazz club to end all jazz clubs) too drunk and too smiley to even coherently remember the evening properly. As much fun as I remember having, I told T that I thought it was my last year to host some sort of birthday gathering, and to hold me to it come next year. (He did very well—a few weeks later, after spotting an ad in a discarded newspaper for the Chicago tour of Moulin Rouge happening on my birthday weekend, we bought tickets and I sat peacefully with the fact that one of my new year (or, new age) resolutions was so quickly and poignantly adapted).

By this time, I was already deep in the throes of my first thesis writing course, meaning that I was pretty stressed out all of the time and surely a misery to be around (sorry to those of you who were). Basically, in three semesters’ time, I was expected to draft, edit, and rewrite a fully formed novel (70,000+ words) and the idea of accomplishing such a feat felt like a ton of bricks being carried on my shoulders. I had at least four mental breakdowns in the beginning of the year (again, we all know what lays ahead for the year, I know—but at the time, this seemed like an unbearable amount of stress for one person to have to carry. The joke is not lost on me).

In the coming weeks, things began to get even weirder. Covid scares began sprouting up in cities all around us, and as the government asked people to stay at home, airline ticket prices became massively reduced, so more people began traveling. I mean, this shit was like spring break on acid—it was hugely stressful, and though the threat of the pandemic had yet to reach Chicago, I felt more and more at risk with each passing day as careless amounts of people cashed in on what they thought was the deal of a lifetime.

By the time March reached its midpoint, I, like so many others, was terrified. We had no PPE at work—literally nothing. No gloves, masks, or even hand wipes. Cleaning the aircraft still wasn’t considered a “no-go” item, as far as regulatory practices go. I remember watching the news on my layovers only to keep myself up at night wondering if the virus was going to take hold of me or anyone around me, and if so, how long until they would recover, or perhaps wouldn’t.

St. Patrick’s Day came, and after fighting about whether or not to go out with friends (we didn’t—and for the record, T and I rarely fight—but this was, after all, his first St. Patrick’s Day as a Chicagoan—so his resentment was more than justified) we saw a matinee movie (Onward) and while in the theater, read about how Chicago restaurants, as a precaution, were shutting down the next day due to rising concerns about the spread of the virus. We reacted by grabbing drinks & lunch at one of our favorite neighborhood eateries and tipping the waitstaff more heavily than I think I’ve ever tipped anyone in my life (not mentioning this to brag, or whatever—just remembering what it was like to feel utterly helpless and unsure of what to do or what was to come—we had to find our positivity in some way, and on that day, this was how we saw fit, and it helped).

Then it all sort of happened at once—Lauren’s store was closed with no impending reopening date. The grocery stores (and I swear to god, I will never forget this) became a madhouse—people taking things out of other people’s carts when they weren’t looking. I remember going into Mariano’s with T and insisiting we tie bandanas around our faces for safety, feeling like a goddamn bank robber about to make a heist. But there was nothing left to even take. Frantically, we got what we could and got out of there, and I went home to have a full-fledged panic attack about the state of the world we were currently living in and what we were going to do if things didn’t turn around quickly.

As if overnight, everyone cancelled their airline tickets. It was for the better, and though it put my job in serious jeopardy, I was in massive support of it but still felt an eerie sadness looming around the countless empty airports, airplanes, hotels and city streets. There were times when my crew and I were the only guests in a place—times when I had zero passengers on a revenue flight. And then came the mass flight cancellations—and I mean mass. Everyday became a battle of anxiety as to what was going to happen to my job in the next twenty-four hours, and then cooing my stressed-out thoughts to sleep, only to relive the anxiety with every phone buzz waiting to find out if I had lost my job overnight. By mid-spring, I was hugely considering dropping out for a period of time, just due to the stress of it all, but thanks to support from my friends, family and T, I chose to stick it out and roll with as many punches as I could until I was finally knocked-out.

Quarantines were happening all around me, and without the ability to travel or the (former) grueling expectations of maintaining a social life, I started to reconnect with myself in ways that felt both organic and new, yet much like returning home after a long time away. Lauren taught me to knit, and we celebrated her birthday on the floor of our apartment in an Indian-food induced daze renting Emma and making thousands of tiny knots onto needles that would eventually become blankets. We took walks, did puzzles, and Lauren drove me to and from the airport on the rare occasion that I actually had a flight to work, as the CTA had, unfortunately, become a cesspool of targeted attacks on flight crew members (seriously) because they were often the only person in any given train car.

A rare glimpse of optimism then presented itself via two different opportunities: a chance to take a ninety-day leave from work, and a job offer in the form of editing a book for publication. I said yes to both and hoped that I would be able to take a step back and deal with the crumbling world around me easier with both of these opportunities now on my horizon.

This period of the year (May-July) started off swimmingly. Knitting, reading, and even smoking weed for the first time in nearly a decade (I took two hits and spent the rest of the evening sinking into the couch painfully aware of how bad I am at breathing and worrying that I might stop at any given moment). I fell in love with yoga and felt myself loosening up parts of my body and my mind that had been twisted into a series of knots for god only knows how long. I spent days reading in the sun, baking bread like everyone else in the world, and learning to make my own pies. Things were going really well, and I was even ahead in school, now on track to graduate in August—when things started getting heated.

I’m not going to go on a rant about race, although I very much could, but I will say this—the fact that we are still in a race war in this country in the year 2020 (and even now, a few days into 2021) makes me so sick to my stomach I don’t know what to do. Every injustice that passes by us, overshadowed by the next untimely death or wrongdoing makes me angry in ways that I cannot even fathom putting into words. It burns the color red that is so hot and so vibrant that I can see it soaking through my eyelids even when I squeeze them shut. This country lost a lot of love from me this year, and even more respect. There are not only things we can do better—there are things we must change. And honestly, most days, I don’t think most of the country is ready to not only admit that but to also work for. And that not only sickens me, but depresses the living hell out of me. I feel so stunted all of the time when I picture a world so at peace with its own injustice. It’s just so unfair.

I watched as the world was (rightfully, although woefully) destroyed around me. My neighborhood turned into a desolate, looted shadow of itself—one where Lauren and I could sit on our back patio safely until dusk, when the crime and gunfire became so rabid that on occasions, we sat in the living room in total darkness, listening only to the radio, afraid to let anybody at street level see that we were, indeed, at home. The opportunists that took advantage of the message of this movement made me numb to such a large demographic of the population, and I found myself crying myself to sleep enough times that I thought it might be time to leave the warzone that had become Chicago for a little while as escape down to Florida. So, we packed our bags and left. It is not lost on me that so many did not have this option, and for so many minorities, just simply existing during this time was enough to cause assault. I know I am fortunate—I carry it like lead in my pockets every day.

While in Florida, the first retailers began to reopen and I found myself waiting in an hour-long line to buy soaps and hand sanitizers, and to get a glimpse of what this “new normal” might look like when things started picking back up again. Like many, it was jarring to see empty tables, capacity limits on items, cashiers behind plexiglass sheets shouting to be heard over both the physical barrier and the cloth one strung across their faces.

By the time T & I arrived home, Lauren was already making plans to reopen her store “safely” and I felt sorry for her. How could anything be safe when nothing had changed? Why were companies acting as if business could go on like before—even though nothing had gotten better?

My final months of my MFA were just ahead of me, and I had one month remaining free from work to finish my first full-length novel, and I all I really remember is stress stress stress.

And then Andrew, being Andrew, offered a glimmer of hope, in the form of a drive-in concert celebrating fifteen years of Everything in Transit in southern California, a mere matter of hours from where Nicole had been working. It took a matter of two or maybe three text messages to confirm that we would be attending, and once the ticket was purchased I practically packed my bags and headed off to visit her and try and make light of my heart.

As suspected, the trip was magical. Being around Nicole, per usual, was magical. My heart felt so fully aligned seeing a little piece of her story and getting to experience her way of life once more—drunken hot springs and all their glory. There truly are few things in my life I love more than sitting in the passenger’s seat as Nicole drives us all over the country, and experiencing it again felt so right and so perfect that I honestly thought it was one of the happiest experiences of my life. Because I had requested so, she drove me all the way to Venice Beach the day of the concert so we could see where the infamous album cover was taken. We ate cbd gummies and listened to jack’s and ate in-n-out burger like our lives depended on it. When the concert began, it was eerie, yet hopeful to see all the new protocols of something that had become so familiar to me in my former life. Drinks were ordered through an app and delivered, as was merch, and clapping was replaced by the exuberant honking of car horns. We streamed the sound through the radio and laid the in the back of Nicole’s converted SUV as we cried and sang along to the songs that made everything, even just for one night, feel like it was all going to be okay again. We ended the evening marking ourselves with our first stick and poke tattoos—hers a sun to my moon, positioned to kiss one another when we stand next to each other on our preferred selfie side (lol). I left worried about how long it might be before I could feel her warm embrace again, the embrace of one of the truest friends I’ll ever know, but also recognizing that we were lucky to have had such an experience at all during such an insane year and feeling eternally grateful for its memory.

The last weeks of what I referred to as my Rumspringa were ahead of me, and one sunny afternoon I wrote the final pages of my novel. In a mad rush to edit, revise and complete my portfolio for official review, I never really sat with myself and what I had accomplished or congratulated myself; I wrote a book in seven months’ time, and even though I am unhappy with it (more on that later) there’s no denying that I actually did it. I did it, and nobody can ever take that away from me; it’s an accomplishment I will forever have, and it’s all my own. And I need to remind myself of that. I need to let myself feel proud.

I was back to work in September and taking a huge pay cut, though working the same hours. It was stressful, but once I found out my portfolio had been accepted and I, indeed, would be receiving my MFA I felt a bit at peace for a while. I had let my hair grow long all summer, and all but stopped wearing make-up (mascara makes me feel entirely dolled up now). I felt in an odd way free—almost bare.

The fall came and went fairly quickly—the weekends alone at home and grocery-store-only outings feeling more and more like normalcy. It had been such a tough, trying year, that it suddenly felt nice to just stand still for a bit. So, I did.

In a brief amount of time, I watched (safely) as friends got married, got sick, got older and fell in love. I watched, with great anxiety, as our country voted in the most important election of our lives so far and took the deepest breath I’d ever taken as I watched that man face defeat—although he’s yet to swallow it. I watched as ex-lovers had babies, got engaged and never really stopped to think twice about any of it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the safety (and not in a lame, “safety-net” sort of way) of having T in my life has turned me into someone who not only craves quiet time at home, but really also sort of fell right damn into it very easily, though unexpectedly. I’ve heard the saying so many times before, but you really don’t realize everything is different once you find the right fit because that place feels like it’s always been home. I am grateful to not only have that now and moving forward, but most certainly throughout the trying, unstable times of 2020. In fact, I don’t know how I would have survived without it.

The holidays always creep up on me, and after being dealt a shitty hand from work (don’t even get me started, I’m still fuming) they came that much quicker. T & I were lucky enough to spend the holidays back home in the swamp, visiting my parents and his Dad. The time went by fast but was relaxing, fun, and reenergizing. We spent New Year’s Eve playing giant Jenga and yard Yahtzee with my parents in the cool, tropical winter of Florida. It was nice. We got tired right around 11, so we laid in bed until midnight talking, staying awake just long enough to share our new year’s kiss. It felt right—a proper send off to such a strange and unusual year. I was exctly where I needed to be—wrapped up in a blanket of T’s embrace, comfy in a bed in my childhood bedroom.

So now, here it is: 2021—the supposed upgrade to 2020, or so everybody secretly hopes. So now, as I sit here, drinking a warm, soy-chai latte (homemade!) I find myself having great difficulty setting an intention for the days ahead of me. I feel so beaten and bruised and physically fatigued for no reason but the experiences of 2020 and the courses they ran all over my life. I’m feeling reflective of having finished yet another year of my life (and my Saturn return! Halleluj!) and finding it hard to be anything but fatigued. I guess it’s from the year that’s just finished—more so than any other year it physically pained me at times to be alive at times. I’m missing so many of my friends who I haven’t been able to see for extended months at a time now. I am craving a sense of normalcy, of safety, so that I can feel better about making plans, but as for right now I just don’t have it. I am quietly trying to make subtle changes within myself and how I react to the world around me, but just like the start of this new year, that process is a slow one.

One of my resolutions (though I’m growing to hate that word more and more with each passing year) is to get back to writing. I had a good, albeit stressful, thing going while still in school, and after finishing my novel and receiving feedback, I couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute failure. It’s still there—it’s really hard to try and celebrate an accomplishment when you don’t feel like your work was good enough to warrant anything at all—especially not a fine arts degree. I never said I was a fiction writer—I just wanted to get better at writing fiction—so I need to remember that and allow myself to veer away from that for a while, to work on something new. Something I’ve been saying I’m not ready to write for many years now, something that when I now say that is just a plain old lie: My memoir. I’m ready to close the chapter in my life where I am a flight attendant, so the timing feels more than perfect.

I learned so much about what I want to do within my career and what sort of boundaries I don’t want to place on myself—and I’m trying, I really am. T gifted me with my own pottery wheel for Christmas and we are going to set it up this weekend and I am so excited to get my hands muddy and start creating. Until this year, I didn’t realize how much I needed a creative outlet other than writing—I had been depending on it for too long, my little cup felt bone dry. So, I’m excited to see where this new hobby takes me and how it influences my ability to return to the blank page—quite literally.

I know this year will not be the quick fix that so many are hopeful for—I think quite the opposite, actually. But here are some things I know for sure will happen: I will move out of my apartment and in with T. We will then, immediately get a dog and a new apartment. This, alone, feels like enough to fill the pages of the blank year ahead of us. I will go long periods of time without seeing my loved ones, and without traveling (bleak as this lifestyle may be). I will write, even when it’s hard to. I will publish something—I’m at work submitting pieces as we speak, and though the process is slow, I can tell this is my opportunity—I am ready t fight for it. I will turn 32, and the numerology of my life will seem more aligned. I will spend my birthday at home, alone, because of course Moulin Rouge has now been cancelled (I’m fine with it). I will learn more about myself the more I use my hands to create, to plant, to sculpt, to mold. I will love with fervor. I will smile more, because it’s actually healthier for you, even though my black heart hates to admit it. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to attend a live concert, though I realize this might be wishful thinking at this point. I will do mushrooms and giggle with the colors. I will cry. I will hurt and I will cause harm. But through it all, I will persevere. Because if 2020 taught me anything, it’s that I am capable of regenerating into new versions of myself that I didn’t even have the time to dream up. I can adapt to whatever is thrown at me, though it will often times feel impossible. I can, and will, create. I can be reborn (as many times as I’d like to, too).

So, thanks, 2020, for teaching me more about myself than any other period of five years has ever taught me. I definitely feel like I’ve been through the ringer a couple of times, yet I find myself still standing day after day. It must be the way a domino feels, standing up, time after time, knowing that something right in front of you is about to knock you down. But instead of thinking about what I’m bringing down with me, I’m thinking of the entire collective as a whole—we are all experiencing this together. And maybe, just maybe, on the other side, there’s a kid with a smile waiting to do it all over again. And that’s perhaps where the beauty lays: we have to tear everything down in order to do better, be better, make change. Nobody likes to catch fire, but everyone loves rising from the ashes. We’ll all get to where we’re headed, one way or another. And eventually, I hope, we’ll see that the other side is better than we could have ever dreamt of.

I hope that 2021 is a bridge that brings us from destruction to creation. I hope the journey is long, so we all appreciate the outcome.

I love you all and wish you warmth and wellness into this year and beyond.

Happy new year—honor the circumstances you have around you and let them help you grow.

[hazel-writes]

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female OC

Summary: Aristeia, an ambitious and self-reliant journalist on Tatooine, crosses paths with a Mandalorian after a harrowing encounter with Imperial remnants.

Word Count: 5,000

Warnings: canon-typical violence, death

A/N: Oh my gosh, I finally did it. After months of reading some absolutely incredible Mando fanfics, I took the plunge and started writing my own. I'm so excited to share this with all of you!

This fic starts during episode 1x5 and will loosely follow the show's timeline (I will be taking many creative liberties). The first chapter is from Aristeia's point of view, but I'll be going back and forth between her POV and Din's afterwards. I jump straight into the action in this fic, so if things seem a little crazy at first, don't worry, all will be explained soon :)

This is my first time writing for our favorite space cowboy, so any and all feedback is welcomed! If you want to keep updated on this fic between updates, check my bio for other places you can find me. Also, a Spotify playlist to accompany this fic is coming soon!

Without further ado, please enjoy this chaotic mess of a chapter! ♥︎

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Aristeia sighed as she weaved her way through the busy streets of Mos Eisley, Tatooine. It was almost sunset and most people were heading home after long days at work. A layer of dust rose around the feet of those attending to last-minute errands. She watched as a woman bought a large red fruit from one of the street-side vendors. A soot-covered teenaged boy stood by the neighboring building, stocking up on mechanical supplies. Near his feet, two sunburnt children fought over a small toy. The scene was normal to her: ever since settling on Tatooine years ago, Aristeia had slowly grown accustomed to the slow and gritty flow of the planet.

As she continued walking, she kept her head down, eyes always focused a few steps ahead of her feet. However, whenever someone neared, she would look up briefly to offer them a small smile. Most of the time they ignored her, scowled, or rolled their eyes, but every now and then, someone would return her gesture. Those moments made the effort worth it.

Unlike the people who meandered around her, Aristeia was just starting her work for the day. She kicked up clouds of dirt as she made her way to the recently-abandoned mechanic’s shop. She used to frequent it back when she had a speeder, but after the owners passed away, it had unfortunately turned into a popular site of criminal activity. A few days back, she had intercepted a transmission that mentioned a meeting at the location, and as a journalist, she had to be there to see what was going on. Armed with a small notebook and stylus, she was prepared to document the whole thing.

Turning the corner of a dusty alley, which was littered with miscellaneous tools and sheets of scrap metal, the old mechanic’s place finally came into view. Its exterior architecture was similar to that of the rest of Tatooine, however its dark and doorless entrance led to an underground network of small rooms. With every step Aristeia took towards the building, her anxiety grew. Unlike her other investigative stakeouts, she was going into the mechanic’s blind. The transmission didn’t reveal a whole lot about the nature of the meeting, which she knew meant it was of special importance. These were the kind of meetings that could provide her with a groundbreaking story. They were also the kind of meetings where someone could get hurt.

Aristeia had never been good at fighting – physically, at least – but she did give herself credit for not having died so far, especially in her line of work. Put a blaster in her hand and she’d probably shoot her own foot off. However, put a pen in her hand, and she was a force to be reckoned with.

Aristeia had been writing ever since she was young. It started with little stories: she would go into a crowd of people, find a quiet place to sit, and observe each person that passed by. She would notice what they were wearing, how they carried themselves, who they were with, where they were going, and then she would make up the ‘why’: Why were they dressed like that? Why did they walk like that? Why were they with this person or that person? Her imagination would stitch together the missing pieces of their backstories, creating life narratives of people she had never even met. She did the same thing now from time to time. In fact, people watching was imperative to her role as a journalist.

As Aristeia grew older, she and a few friends decided to start a local newsletter that got sent out to residents of Mos Eisley every month. It was by no means a ‘professional’ establishment. The writers were all residents, many of them barely adults, who wanted to keep their friends and family informed about any activity that could threaten the freedom they had fought so hard to gain after the fall of the Empire.

A group of giggling children ran around the corner, pulling Aristeia out of her thoughts. She watched as they kicked around a near-deflated ball with bare, dust-covered feet. Sighing, she turned back around to peer down the steps of the abandoned mechanic’s. It was just beginning to get dark and the suns had nearly reached the edge of the horizon, casting eerie shadows on the stairwell walls. She looked for any sign of movement in the space below and when nothing seemed to be stirring, she made her way down the packed-dirt stairs and entered into the main room.

The area was small with not very many places to hide, immediately making her anxious. She had never been a fan of tiny spaces. But this was too important of a mission for her to give up now. She looked to her left and spotted a large plant, which obviously hadn’t seen any light or water for quite some time. However, its pot and leaves could be big enough to hide her if she was able to fit behind it. It’s not like she had very many options to choose from.

A noise from above forced her into action. She darted behind the plant as fast as she could, curling herself up against the corner of the wall. The sounds of heavy footfalls met her ears. There were at least five people making their way into the room she was in. From between the leaves of the plant, she could make out the forms of two stormtroopers and a tall, lanky man in a gray uniform. Imperials.

After the fall of the Empire, most people on Tatooine had celebrated immensely. They believed they had finally achieved freedom. It was hard for Aristeia to share their excitement, knowing how many lives had been lost on both sides. She also had always been a realist, never letting herself get too comfortable when everything seemed to be coming up roses. She had been tracking the movements of rogue troopers around the city for a while, trying to figure out who they took orders from and where they were located. In recent weeks, she had intercepted a few transmissions referencing what the Imps called ‘the asset’. Just one day before, she had caught word of a meeting scheduled to take place in the room where she was now hiding. She knew she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get more intel. Once she had enough information, she planned on writing a massive expose, informing all of Mos Eisley to her discoveries.

A raspy voice broke her train of thought: “Have you found the asset?” Peering around the plant’s leaves, she saw that it was the man in gray who had spoken.

“No, not yet,” a Klatoonian replied gruffly. “We tracked the ship to this city. As far as we know, the Mandalorian still has it.”

A Mandalorian… Aristeia shuddered. There wasn’t much in the galaxy that she was terrified of anymore. Sure, she often felt scared. In fact, she was scared most of the time; it’s part of what kept her alive for so long. But there was very little that truly terrified her. Mandalorians were one of those things.

She shook her head, forcing herself out of her spiraling panic. Focus on the facts, she thought – it was a phrase she repeated often when overwhelmed with her work. Focus on the Facts. The Imperial man’s mention of the Mandalorian was new info to her. All she knew from previous transmissions was that the Imps needed the asset for some sort of experiment. She didn’t understand it too much – she was never very good at science.

Aristeia reached into her bag, pulling out her notebook and stylus so she could document her new discovery. As quietly as she could, she opened the front cover of the journal, flipping to the next blank page.

As she did so, her finger caught on one of the pages, slicing a thin cut across the pad of her pointer finger. Kriff, she whispered, accidentally dropping her stylus as she moved to nurse her injured finger. She realized her fatal mistake too late.

“What do we have here?” she heard a voice drawl from above her. The Klatooinian, who had taken a few steps toward Aristeia, peered around the edge of the plant before looking back at the Rodian. “Is this one yours?”

Aristeia scowled at the suggestion. “No, I most certainly am not.”

The two men chuckled, infuriating her even more. “Why don’t you come out so we can take a better look at you?” the Rodian suggested with a devilish smirk.

“Yeah, cause that sounds like it would end well for me…” she mumbled, trying to think of a way to escape the predicament she had gotten herself into.

The uniformed man and his two stormtroopers stayed quiet throughout the ordeal, seemingly bored by the other mens’ interaction.

“She must be terminated. She has heard too much,” the man in gray finally chimed in.

At this, Aristeia started to panic. She was in deep bantha munk this time. Sure, she had been in tricky positions before – it was kind of a requirement of living on Tatooine – but this was bad.

“I didn’t hear anything, I swear! I was just…” She stood up slowly and looked around the room, trying to find an alibi. “...admiring the plants?”

She mentally facepalmed at her attempt of a lie, something she was never very good at. It helped her in a journalistic sense, as she always did her best to remain objective in her articles. She recognised the power that came with telling the truth, especially now, in the wake of an empire founded largely on lies. However, in this case, she could’ve used a good fib. Admiring the plants, really? she scolded herself. After a moment of silence, the uniformed man directed a curt nod at the stormtroopers, who then advanced on her quickly.

Springing into action, she attempted to kick the chestplate of the trooper closest to her, but missed, only managing to clip his knee. Nonetheless, it threw him off-balance, sending him stumbling into his fellow trooper. She took the brief opening to run as fast as she could towards the stairs that led back up to the main street. She got halfway up, mere feet away from freedom, before a large hand yanked her back down the steps harshly. She fell backwards, scraping her elbows and knees on the hard dirt before hitting her head on the floor, hard.

She couldn’t see anything but blurry spots of white and orange as strong and grimy hands pulled her across the floor, back to the troopers. The one she kicked earlier returned the favor, sending sparks of pain through her abdomen. Footsteps approached and a heavy boot landed between her shoulder blades, forcing her against the floor. Another second passed before she heard the charging up of a blaster from above her head.

Aristeia closed her eyes, cheek pressed to the dirt, accepting her fate. She forced warm memories into her mind, not wanting her last thoughts to be of the man whose heavy boot currently pinned her to the ground. Her mind danced from memory to memory, finding it hard to focus on any one image for too long: a familiar, tender hand ran its fingers along the curves of her face; trees towered over her like arrows aimed for the stars; a single candle cast a warm glow over pieces of parchment; a sweet smile, one she probably would never see again, beamed through the darkness...

A burst of blaster fire sounded from above her head. As if shooting her once wasn’t enough, she thought, before realizing that it wasn’t possible for her to make sarcastic quips if she was dead. She opened one eye, then the other, only to stare right into the lifeless face of the man in the gray uniform. It was a sight she was sure would stay with her forever.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

She finally looked up, not recognising the deep modulated voice that sounded from above her.

A shining wall of silver met her eyes, his blaster pointed at the Klatoonian. A Mandalorian, she thought. Waves of terror flooded Aristeia’s body. It was almost as if the universe had plucked him straight out of one of her nightmares and dumped him deliberately at her feet. She was familiar with the Mandalorians, more than most, but seeing one after so many years still managed to send shivers down her spine.

Focus on the facts. Focus on the facts. she repeated to herself.

Something about the way the armored man carried himself made her realize that this wasn’t just any Mandalorian: this was the Mandalorian, the one her attackers had been discussing moments earlier.

His presence seemed to fill the whole room. She found her eyes involuntarily moving up his figure, taking in the pure power that emanated from his armored form. Her gaze landed on his face, or where his face should’ve been. Instead, all she could see was her own terrified reflection in his dark, deadly visor.

When the Klatoonian didn’t make any effort to move, the shiny man looked down and gave her a barely perceptible nod to the side. She knew exactly what he was telling her to do.

As fast as she could, she rolled to her right, hearing blaster shots fire above her as she did so. She scrambled back towards the plant she was hiding behind earlier and watched as the armored man fought the others. While the Mandalorian was distracted with the Rodian, the Klatoonian aimed his blaster towards his silver chestplate. Aristeia considered shouting to the metal-clad man in warning, but didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. To her horror, she watched as the Klatoonian pulled the trigger.

The Mandalorian, however, sensed what was coming and ducked. The blaster beam rebounded off of a large metal sheet that stood propped up against the wall behind him and hit the Klatoonian square in the chest. He fell to the floor, lifeless. To Aristeia’s surprise, she heard the Mandalorian curse, seemingly frustrated by the death of his attacker. The stormtroopers took his moment of annoyed distraction as a sign to run, bolting back up the stairs before the Mandalorian could stop them.

Aristeia’s senses slowly started to come back to her, as did the pain in her stomach, hands and knees. Unsure of the Mandalorian’s intentions, she scrambled on the packed dirt, trying to find the notebook she had brought with her. She finally found it tucked between the wall and the nearby plant pot.

She turned to see the armored man, having knocked the Rodian unconscious, finally focus his attention on her. She grabbed the stylus that she always kept clipped to the side of her notebook, the one that had caused all this trouble to begin with, and held it out in front of her as threateningly as possible.

The Mandalorian casually put a hand on his hip and popped one of his legs out slightly. His helmet tilted to the side incredulously. If she wasn’t so scared, she might have laughed at his almost-lazy posture.

“Hey, they say the pen is mightier than the sword, right?” Aristeia shrugged nervously, still directing the stylus towards the silver mass in front of her.

He ignored her comment and dipped his helmet towards the bodies on the floor. “What were you doing with them?”

She debated whether or not to tell him. His low, warning tone made it seem like she didn’t have much of a choice. So far, he hadn’t made any move to hurt her, despite the fact that he had every opportunity to. Even now he kept his distance, almost like he was trying not to startle her any further. That, or the stylus really had scared him.

“I’m a journalist,” Aristeia responded. “I was trying to get some information for my next story when they found me.”

She shifted on her feet when he didn’t respond right away.

“Story?” he finally repeated, almost like he was skeptical of the word.

“Yeah.”

She knew it must sound silly. Her stories, and journalism as a whole, probably weren’t on this man’s radar. A lot of people thought that her profession was impractical and meddling, but obviously the work she did was important enough to gain the attention of the Imps.

Whatever the Mandalorian was thinking prompted him to mumble something, turn on his heel, and start back up the stairs. Aristeia was left speechless, her hair settling back into place after being disheveled by the sudden billowing of the Mandalorian’s cape.

She looked around the room at the bodies littering the floor, remembering briefly that the troopers had escaped. That alone almost ensured her certain death. They had seen her face – it was only a matter of time before they would find her. Already regretting her decision, she heard herself calling out to the Mandalorian who had reached the top of the stairs: “Wait!”

He stopped his movement, pausing briefly before slowly turning to face Aristeia, who now stood at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at his figure, which from her angle looked more commanding than ever, his silver armor backlit by the setting suns.

Finally finding her words, she spoke. “Please, I… I need to get off this planet. You have a ship, right? The troopers who ran, they’ll tell the others, they’ll come after me.”

She hated how desperate she sounded, but she didn’t know what else to do. Her friends barely had enough money for speeders. Most of them had never even been off the planet. All she knew was that she needed to leave, and soon.

“Why would they waste your time on you?” the Mandalorian asked, probably unsure how a girl armed with a stylus could possibly pose a threat to the Imps.

She ignored his underestimating tone before replying. “Because I overheard what they were talking about. Once they find out who I am, they’ll kill me.”

“And who exactly are you?”

Kriff, she thought. If the Mandalorian found out just how invested she was in her recent investigations, he could use that against her. “Well… I’m Aristeia.”

The Mandalorian voiced a frustrated sigh. “And?”

“And…”

She was about to answer when she spotted a blinking red light out of the corner of her eye. Upon further inspection, she found its source: a tracking fob held in the Mandalorian’s left hand. Of course, she thought. He’s a bounty hunter. The Klatoonian must have been his bounty – that’s why he was upset when he was accidentally killed in the crossfire.

Aristeia felt her heart rate spike as she devised the best way to backtrack on her previous request for help.

She slowly made her way towards the Mandalorian, subtly attempting to get back up to street level. “...and I really should be getting back to work, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll just head back up those stairs now.”

The Mandalorian, unfortunately, noticed the unusual change in her disposition.

“What’s the sudden rush?” he asked as the arm carrying the fob shot out to stop her escape.

“No, no, it’s nothing! I really should go. My… husband is waiting for me,” Aristeia lied. The Mandalorian just stared, his arm remaining in place. “He gets upset when I’m late.” She offered with a fake smile, trying desperately to alleviate the tension. When he still didn’t move, she continued. “He’s very big. And uhh… He’s a sheriff!” she added, for good measure. The Mandalorian cocked his head slightly to the left in response, as if seeing how far she would take her lie. “And he has lots and lots of weapons. A whole armory with guns and knives and other… spiky things.”

“Spiky things?” he asked, almost amused.

“Well, yeah.” she replied, but it came out as more of a question.

“Well, you know what I think?” he said, taking a few sauntering steps forward. His posture oozed confidence – one hand was hooked on his belt, just in front of his blaster, while the other hung casually at his side.

Aristeia took a small step backwards. “W-what?”

“I think you have a bounty on your head.”

Kriff, she thought. He’s good.

Aristeia took another step back, but the Mandalorian closed the distance quickly. She held up her hands placatedly.

“Look, I don’t… know if there’s a price on my head. I’ve always just assumed . Over the past few years, my friends, the other journalists here, they’ve been going missing. It was pretty obvious that the Imps didn’t want us sharing their activities with the whole planet. Recently, things had been pretty quiet, at least until they started freaking out about this whole ‘asset’ thing.”

The Mandalorian’s posture straightened and his towering body leaned towards hers menacingly. When he spoke, his voice lacked all the nonchalance it had earlier and instead radiated a seriousness that chilled her to the core. “What do you know about the ki- the asset?”

Aristeia, regarding his sudden change in demeanor, stuttered in response: “N-nothing really – Shouldn’t you know?”

“Nothing really?” he repeated, completely ignoring her question.

“Just what I’ve heard over the coms.” Shoot, she thought. Shouldn’t have said that.

“You have access to their coms?” he asked, a sliver of surprise peeking through his gruffness.

She did. It was one of her biggest accomplishments since arriving on Tatooine. One evening, she had been at her desk, listening to random transmissions on an old faulty comlink her mother gave her years ago. She would do this every night, never once picking up on the voice she was desperately waiting to hear. Instead, she usually caught onto feeds from people nearby: small business dealings, calls to family working out in the dunes, even the occasional secret teenage correspondence. Aristeia enjoyed listening to the small snippets of the others’ lives; it gave her hope in a world that she seemed more and more disconnected to with each new day.

But on this night, she had intercepted a transmission that was far more concerning than her typical listening content. Two voices, one that she now knew was the man in the gray suit and another who she assumed was a stormtrooper, crackled over the comlink. Within a few minutes, she not only knew that the Empire wasn’t dead, but that they were also situated right on her doorstep . After making this discovery, she made sure to keep her com set to that specific feed, which is how she ended up finding out about the meeting that led to her current encounter with the Mandalorian.

“Sometimes I have access,” she responded to the Mandalorian’s question with a nonchalant shrug. She basked in the power that this information seemed to give her over him. “It depends on how close they are, the wind levels, and if my tech is even working that day-”

“Where do you live?” he interrupted hurriedly.

Aristeia suppressed a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Where do you live?” he repeated slowly, though this time it came out as a more of a modulated growl.

She laughed nervously. “No way, you seriously think I’d tell a bounty hunter where I lived? That’s like breaking every single rule of common sense. I mean, come on, think of this from my perspective.”

His posture relaxed minutely and he released another sigh, this one less frustrated than the previous. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it by now.”

She recognised the truth in his statement, but that didn’t mean she was willing to go out of her way to help him. For all she knew, he could take the coms and turn her in afterwards. Aristeia tried to get a better read of him, but unlike most people she met, she couldn’t. She didn’t have any guesses as to who he was, what his intentions were, or why the ‘asset’ was so important to him. In a universe of starry galaxies, he was a black hole.

“What do I get out of it?” she asked, trying her best to sound confident. She countered the slight relaxation of his own stance with the newfound boldness of her own. “Helping you, I mean.”

The Mandalorian scoffed beneath his helmet. “I saved your life, I think that’s qualifying enough.”

“You were just going after the Klatooinian.”

“And if I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”

“Wow, consider me comforted.”

He sighed, clearly agitated by her retorts. “If you show me the coms, then I won’t tell the Guild about the little notebook operation you’ve got going on down here,” he said, waving a gloved hand towards the bag that carried her journal.

“And now I’m being blackmailed. Fantastic.” she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Aristeia stilled, evaluating her options. She could either ignore the Mandalorian and risk having him reveal her, and her work, to the Guild, or help him and hope he returned the favor. Neither option was ideal.

“Fine ,” she relented. “Just give me a second.”

Aristeia took the Mandalorian’s lack of response as a signal to go ahead, and made her way back into the darkness of the room that now reeked of death. She tried to think back to the days when she would come to the mechanic’s to repair the many malfunctions her speeder frequently sustained. She always enjoyed the loud and hectic bustle of the establishment. Its owners were kind and would always let the neighborhood kids hang out and watch them work on one project or another, occasionally even letting them help out. Those times seemed distant as Aristeia approached the body of the fallen Imp.

“Hey, you wanna hurry it up down there?” a gruff voice sounded from above.

“Really?” Aristeia replied, astonished at the Mandalorian’s near-childlike impatience.

“I thought you had some husband with a large collection of spiky things who doesn’t like it when you’re late?”

Hearing him repeat her previous lie out loud made it seem even more ridiculous, but she ignored him and continued to move towards the gray-suited man.

“What are you doing?” he called from above, seemingly untrusting of her retreat back to the main room.

Oh my stars, she thought, surprised by her own annoyance at the Mandalorian. Her initial fear had evolved into irritation at his constant attempts at intimidation and control. She couldn’t let her guard down though – she could lose her leverage at any moment and then who knows what he’d do with her.

Aristeia reigned in the sarcastic comment she was about to make and instead answered his question with a restrained sigh. “Seeing if they have any information.”

“In case you didn’t notice, they’re dead. They can’t help you.”

Obviously, she thought with a roll of her eyes, but didn’t say so out loud.

“Yeah, but their pockets can.”

Aristeia stared at the man in gray. Even though the blaster bolt to his chest all but guaranteed his death, she still approached his body warily, as if it could come back to life at any moment. Avoiding his hollow gaze, she dug through his pockets, searching for any more information that could prove useful to her future articles. All she found was a handwritten note containing some sort of coded language she didn’t recognise. She folded it carefully and put it in her own pocket for safekeeping before heading back towards the Mandalorian.

By the time she joined him at street level, the suns had already set. He took a few steps forward but paused when he felt her hesitate behind him. She felt weird leaving behind the mangled bodies of the men in the darkness below.

“We should move the bodies,” she said cautiously, her eyebrows furrowed in confliction.

“No time,” the Mandalorian replied simply, turning back towards the street.

“Please,” she pleaded, looking to her left where a group of children played in the distance. “I- I don’t want any kids finding that.”

He silently followed her gaze and stood completely still for a moment, as if debating his own response. Aristeia tried, and once again failed, to get a good read of what was going through his head.

“Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll get them in the morning.”

She would’ve liked them taken care of sooner, but it seemed that there was no room for negotiation. To be honest, she was surprised he agreed to her request at all. Something was different about this Mandalorian, and she couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

“Which way?” he asked, referencing her house. The one she stupidly agreed to take him to, Aristeia thought.

“Uh…” She paused briefly, but it was a moment too long for the Mandalorian’s liking. “This way,” she finished, pointing down an alley to her left. She hiked the bag she carried higher up on her shoulder and took a few steps forward before feeling a hard tug on her arm.

“Hey, I wouldn’t recommend trying anything. It wouldn’t end well for you,” the Mandalorian said threateningly. His visor stared down at her coldly and she suddenly grew extremely frustrated by the fact that she couldn’t see his eyes. She felt vulnerable under his gaze and didn’t like it one bit.

“Let go of my arm,” Aristeia replied, her voice low and serious. His grip remained strong. She stared daggers up at his helmet and it was the first time since meeting him that she was truly angry. “I said, let go.”

To her surprise, she felt his grip loosen and she promptly tugged her arm away from him. Her posture radiated confidence, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her. Without a word, she spun around and continued heading in the direction of her small house, not sparing another look behind her to see if the Mandalorian was following.

He was.

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Masterlist || Next (coming soon!)

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Riding carriages around the camp

For arts and crafts week we've been building carriages and testing them out. Edie, Jamila, Easton, and Anissa have come to visit the camp and help us build these fun rides. So not only we get to build a bunch of cool stuff, we also have a new appreciation for the beautiful scenery - an unexpected but super sweet bonus!

It's so good to see Edie and the others again after so long. The trip is kinda a big deal for Anissa as it's not easy for her to travel. Edie and Jamila reached out to me a few months ago to plan this outing, leaving things as open as possible in case something happens with Anissa.

The building carriages event was something separate that was kinda a spontaneous thing that happened to line up perfectly with the visit. Jamila and Edie love working on big projects together while Easton and Anissa help out so they were excited when I told them about arts and crafts week. Also, riding the carriages was a good way to get around the camp as well as explore outside the usual hangout spots.

I was (still am) surprised when Jamila messaged me and wanted to take Anissa out here. Out of all the places she could have gone, Anissa instead chose the camp. She had once told Jamila that she'd wanted to visit the camp someday and that they probably would've done it by now if it wasn't for her. That conversation stuck with Jamila for a long time and when things took a turn for Anissa, Jamila, Edie, and Easton wanted to make the most out of the time they have left with her.

Edie has been friends with Anissa and Jamila since they for as long as they can remember. During the summer the twins would join the Sperry family on their yearly trip to Edie's grandma's farm, which holds many of their favorite childhood memories. During the school year Edie was a frequent guest at the Amine household and the three would play together for hours, letting their imagination run wild. There, Edie was allowed to be carefree and not have to deal with constant criticism from her father.

As Edie got older, she became part of the Amine family. She and Anissa were often in the same class so they stuck together a lot. Jamila didn't mind being the third wheel as she was happy to be doing her own thing at home while the other two often went out and about. Even though it didn't look like it to the grown ups, Jamila never felt like she was left behind.

Then Easton came along and he too became an honorary member of the Amine family. The girls were ten when he was born, the youngest and only son in the Sperry family. Easton was born missing half his left leg so he wears a prosthetic and other than his father, everyone else treats him like normal. Out of all the siblings, he's the closest to Edie, always tagging along with her.

For a while every day was pretty much the same. Edie, Anissa, and Jamila would walk home from school, sometimes stopping by the Sperry house to bring Easton along if Edie's mom had her hands full. The three would do their homework while the twins's mom watched over Easton. Then Edie and Anissa would usually be playing on the tire swing while Jamila knitted on the porch and played with Easton. Sometimes Edie would bring her banjo along and played some songs while the twins sang along, a highlight during summer nights at the farm.

Their favorite thing to do together was playing pretend in the attic because everyone had something to do, even Easton. The girls would often pretend to be accomplished women with successful lives full of adventure. Anissa was the one with the most creative imagination, often making up funny stories that would leave the others rolling on the floor with laughter. She was great at improvising with Easton, who was happy to join in on the fun.

When the girls were twelve, Anissa's life changed forever. The girls were playing pretend as usual when Anissa complained about a headache that quickly grew worse. She was rushed to the hospital and in Jamila's words, that was the last time she and Edie saw the old Anissa. A blood vessel had burst in Anissa's brain, resulting in a stroke that left Anissa comatose for several days.

While the damage from the stroke was not as extensive as initially feared, Anissa was no longer the same. Edie and Jamila were determined to bring back the old Anissa, only to be disappointed when they got their hopes up too high. Anissa was still set on marching to the beat of her own drum, trying to prove her independence whenever she could, which further convinced Jamila and Edie that she was going to make a full recovery. It took a long time for the girls to accept that things would never go back to normal.

The whole ordeal made Edie and Jamila closer than ever. Edie would help the family care for Anissa and in turn lift Anissa's spirits up. When Anissa got stronger, Edie would bring Easton along and he too provided some much needed sunshine during a difficult time.  Edie's mom and sisters helped out a lot as well, making sure that the Amines were doing all right.

Edie, Jamila, and Anissa have always been a tight knit group. Although Anissa was made strides in her recovery, the effects of the stroke still linger. Jamila and Edie became Anissa's caretakers when the three moved in together, living about twenty minutes away from their old neighborhood. Both families agreed that it was good to give Anissa some degree of independence as by then she could take care of herself for most part and didn't need constant supervision.

In recent years, various complications arose, which was expected but that didn't make it any easier. Anissa was well known at the hospital as she was a miracle. She beat the odds not only by surviving but also by living. What happened to her was rare - her doctor told that in the hospital's two hundred year history, only three other kids suffered from the same condition. One died on the way to the hospital, another slipped into a coma and never woke up, and one lived for two years before suffering from another stroke. No matter what happens, at least one thing's certain - Anissa always marches to the beat of her own drum.

Anissa for the most part managed to live a somewhat independent life. She got her GED, was able to relearn various skills like playing the piano, reading, and cooking, - all which she documented on her blog: Searching for Anissa.

When I started making plans with Jamila and Edie, I later found myself re-reading Searching for Anissa. Reading the stories of the girls, from the recollections of simpler days in the farm to the struggles of everyday life - it's such a fascinating read. The blog's more like a memoir that's a work in progress with Anissa writing her thoughts out and Jamila and Edie contributing by filling in some of the gaps and sharing their own memories.

The blog hasn't been updating regularly for a couple years because life's been getting in the way. But this year Anissa's hoping to post something at least once a week as she wants to keep writing while she still can. In the past year she's had two mini strokes so her hands don't work as well anymore, making it difficult for her to do a lot of things. While she's sad that she can't type anymore, Anissa found it therapeutic to say her thoughts out loud as it helped her accept what lies ahead for her. In turn, her blog posts have been a lot more free flowing as she contemplates her uncertain future.

For now everyone's doing their best to make sure Anissa's comfortable. She's been doing well physically so that's good. Good thing we have carriages so Anissa can explore the camp and enjoy the scenery. Also, Jamila, Edie, and Easton had a lot of fun building the carriage as well as taking it out for a spin at Breezy Hollow.

At times it seemed like the camp was being taken over by carriages. We even managed to make a train by attaching a bunch of carriages together, which was a really fun way to travel! First, we visited the meadow where Jamila knitted a blanket and Edie took out her banjo. Since the weather was a bit chilly I wasn't sure how long we were gonna stay there but thanks to Jamila's blanket, we ended up hanging around for a while.

Then we went down the trail by the mountains, which went surprisingly smoothly as the carriages went by with little difficulty. At the forest we split up into two groups with Daisy Jane, Edie, and Easton going for a short hike in the mountains while I stayed with the twins. Anissa admired the scenery, taking in the sights, sounds, and textures around her while Jamila began knitting another blanket, creating intricate patterns with ease.

Something about the way Jamila knits makes me want to grab some yarn and needles and join her - which is why Edie and Easton have picked up the hobby too. I think it's because she makes it look so inviting, like a fun bonding activity if you want to spend some quality one on one time with someone. The way she knits - on one hand it's like she's a machine because of how much she's able to do in a short time, but on the other hand she totally gives off the vibe of someone who shows appreciation through thoughtful, handmade gifts that she puts her heart and soul into.

After that we passed through Shovelstrike Quarry, OK Motors, and Lost Lure Creek. At Saltwater Shores we hung out at the beach and set up a barbecue. It was too cold to go swimming but we sorta went boating with a carriage built by Whitney and Rolf that can travel on water. The barbecue was a good way to keep warm as it got pretty cold around midday.

Daisy Jane and I cuddled up in our new blankets that Jamila surprised us with. I swear, her hands are like magic when it comes to knitting! While she started another knitting project, Anissa and Easton took a walk down the beach and Edie played her banjo. Later the others joined us by the fire pit for a fun singalong and impromptu concert.

We were planning to head back to the main camp when Anissa said she was feeling up to seeing more of the camp. Since the day was still young and the weather was warming up a bit, we decided to head to Sunburst Island. Anissa got to sit back and enjoy the sunshine while the rest of us harvested coconuts and went bug catching.

Around evening we headed back to the camp, where the campers set up a bonfire to warm things up. Whitney, Goldie, and Rolf went foraging in the forest while testing out their carriages so they found a lot of tea leaves that were perfect for a chilly night like this. After a busy day of riding carriages around the camp, it was nice to cozy up in front of the fire with a warm cup of tea.

Tomorrow will be more of the same - testing out more carriages and exploring different parts of the camp. Thankfully the weather's gonna be much warmer so that gives us even more of an excuse to go sightseeing!

[hms-chill]

The Long Way

A nice fun Liam/Spencer fic, because these boys deserve the world.

Summary: (Alternately titled “SOMEONE GIVE LIAM A HUG” or “Stronk Farm Boyfriends”)Liam’s just finishing up vet school, and he’s a month shy of achieving the thing he’s been working for since he was a kid. When he gets called out to a farm to witness a calf birth and notices something wrong, under-researched, and curable, it’s the perfect thing to treat and document so he can write a paper that will jump-start his career. Of course, the fact that the calf is owned by a cute dairy farmer doesn’t hurt, either.

Chapter one // Chapter two // Chapter 3 // On AO3

Chapter 4

Liam spends next day at his own apartment for once, and it’s entirely dedicated to a study session. It's nice enough that he can open a window to alleviate some of the weed smell from his neighbors, and he's at the table he's using as a desk, surrounded by class notes and second-hand NAVLE practice books while he boils water for ramen. The test is a week away, so he’s spent the day holed up with his work, trying to force his brain to pay attention to studying with only half an Adderall, two cups of cheap coffee, and last night’s ramen as fuel.

It's not going particularly well.

He can’t do this. For some reason, the thing that his brain has decided to latch onto is that simple, solid fact that he can’t do it. He’s going to have wasted the past for years of his life, amassing loads of debt and loads of stress, all for nothing. Because he’s going to fail. He's going to fail this exam, and there’s no way he’ll be able to retake it, and he’s going to have lost everything and made a mess of his life. It’ll all have been a waste, because he can’t pass this exam, and—

His phone buzzes with a text, and as much as he would have cursed the distraction at another time, he finds a moment to bless the fact that his brain refuses to have any sort of attention span on its own.

It's Spencer. How's studying? Need a cookie break?

His cheeks are wet, and he realizes he's crying. He's not sure when that happened. His phone buzzes again.

 Made chocolate chip with my mom's recipe. I could bring them and just drop them off, or quiz you? Or leave you alone if you'd rather

 Last text but my parents dropped off some early veggies from their garden and I can’t eat them all do you want some? Beans, peas…

 Okay actual last text so I stop bothering you but you’re smart and you’re going to do great

Liam swallows hard, then picks up the phone and calls Spencer. He tells himself it’s just because it’ll be faster than typing out a response, and he’ll be more likely to stay focused on it, but really, he just wants to hear another human. Spencer picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, how’s studying going?”

Liam’s brain empties completely at the sound of Spencer’s voice. He manages a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and Spencer’s tone changes from his peppy greeting to something more comforting.

“I’ve got cookies and zucchini bread and more peas than I could eat in a lifetime. Where can I meet you? Your apartment?”

Liam looks around the apartment, already shaking his head. He can’t let Spencer see this. Spencer, with his perfect farmhouse and his perfect, beautiful ranch, can’t see the stacked boxes stuffed with clothes serving as a dresser or the mattress on the floor. He can’t see the empty kitchen drawers or the old t-shirt Liam uses as a dish towel, or the ramen on the stove, and he definitely can’t see the way everything in the apartment is still half-packed despite Liam having lived there for almost a year. He can't see the constant state of waiting to leave that Liam lives in.

“No. No, not… not here.”

“Okay. Hey, it’s okay. What about a… a park or something? It’s nice out, and getting outside in the fresh air and sun would probably be good for you. Is there a park by you where we could meet?”

“Yeah. You… do you know Quail Creek Park? By the YMCA?”

“I can look it up and meet you there. Do you want to keep talking for a bit?”

“Please?” He hates how pathetic he sounds, but Spencer doesn’t seem to care.

“Okay. We’ll keep talking while you get ready to come meet me. Annie says hi. She was out playing with some of the other calves today, I mean really playing with them; I took a video I’ll have to show you. You’ll be so proud of her. And my mamma says hi, too, and thanks you for taking care of morning chores…” he talks, and Liam puts him on speaker, then just closes his eyes and makes himself breathe for a bit before he has to get to turning off the stove and packing up his books. Somehow, with Spencer’s voice as his soundtrack, he feels like he can really breathe for the first time all day. Being out there every night while Spencer was sick spoiled him, is all; he misses the outdoors and the company. When he feels like he has some semblance of control over his emotional state, he moves to get ready, turning off the stove and filling his bag with books, then staring at the meds on the corner of the table he uses as a desk. There are three pills left, and he gets paid on Friday. He puts it in his bag, though he promises himself he won’t take one unless he really, really needs it.

Eventually, he can actually pick up the phone again and start listening to Spencer talk about his day. When he hits a bit of a break, Liam jumps in with, “I’m… I’m going to be honest, I haven’t really been listening to anything you said, but thank you. I… it was good to hear another voice; I’m on my way to the park now.”

“That’s alright; I’m glad I could help. I’ll meet you at the park. Want me to stay on?”

“No; I’m okay. Thank you. Really, thank you. This means a lot.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you at the park soon.” He lets Liam be the one to hang up, and Liam tries not to feel anything about that as he takes his bag and keys to the car. It’s a quick drive to the park, and when he gets there, Spencer’s truck is in the parking lot. He wonders how long Spencer’s been there and realizes he has no idea how long it took him to calm down, but he doesn’t have time to ask or dwell on that. As soon as he’s out of the car, Spencer’s there to give him a hug and lead him toward a picnic table, and Liam just follows him automatically.

“Alright. I brought dinner, since I’m not sure you’ve eaten, and then I’ve got a whole care package my parents put together to thank you, plus some stuff from me, also as a thank you for last week. What you did for us… it was huge. It… hey, no, it’s not a big deal. I mean, your help was, but these care packages aren’t anything big. It’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Liam mumbles, trying to get rid of the tears prickling at his eyes before Spencer can make a whole thing of it. “Sorry, it’s just been a day. A whole, long, frustrating day.”

“Want to tell me? You let me ramble about my day; I could return the favor.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I just… I was supposed to get a prescription filled, but shit happened, so I’ve been on a half dose to make it last and it’s a bitch.”

“What happened? Was it something with the pharmacy, or your doctor…”

“No, it’s… it’s there, I just… it’s expensive.” Liam’s whole face is red, and he can feel Spencer looking at him, but he can’t tear his eyes off the table in front of him.

“Let me get it. Or at least help? You stocked my whole medicine cabinet last week, let me--”

“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You brought me all this food, I--”

“You’re not asking me to do it. I’m asking. I want to help you out. You’ve been feeding me and doing my chores and filling my fridge basically all week, not to mention everything you did for Annie and wouldn’t let me pay you for. Let me do this. Please. It’s what Bell would want.” At the mention of Bell, Liam feels his shoulders slump as any resilience or fight drains out of him in a breath. Spencer’s right. Bell wouldn’t want him to deal with this, wouldn’t want him as worn out as he is. She’d make him take his meds, and she’d want him to be able to accept help.

“It’s… it’s not even that much; I just… I’m in a tight spot with NAVLE fees and stuff. I’ll pay you back, I swear,” Liam says. He manages to look up, and Spencer’s smiling, not with the smile of someone who just won an argument, but with the smile of someone who wants to help.

“Is the pharmacy you go to nearby?”

“Yeah, it’s… we should be able to walk there. The H-E-B a few blocks away has one I go to.”

“Okay. Let’s get this stuff back in the cars, then we’ll go pick it up and come back for a picnic and either a study session or a break, whichever you need.”

“Thank you.” Liam’s still pretty sure his face is bright red, but Spencer hasn’t said anything about it.

“Of course. Come on; let’s get you your meds. Plus, you want to see that video of Annie with the other calves? We can watch it while we wait for them to get things together. It’s not that long, but you know. It’s something to do, and to look forward to.”

“Thank you.” He’s not sure what else to say as Spencer moves two surprisingly full care packages into his little, beat-up car. His brain focuses on them for just long enough to remind him that these might be the first care packages he’s ever gotten before it slips back into its half-focused self-pity as Liam leads the way to the pharmacy. Spencer follows him, and they’re quiet for a block.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Spencer says at the light. “Medicine’s expensive, and you’ve been busy helping me, not to mention all the work you’ve been doing with Annie and for the NAVLE. And I... I wish you hadn’t had to go a day without them, but I’m glad I get a chance to help you back.”

Liam can’t find any words in his muddled brain, but he can tell his face is red. He hates everything about this. He hates that he needs help, and that he can’t even pay for his own meds, but he can’t study for a job that will pay for meds until he gets them. He hates that his brain needs help to do something as simple as paying attention, and he hates that he’s going to fail the NAVLE and have wasted everything, and he’s never going to be able to help or pay Spencer back. They don’t even know each other, not really; he’d just showed up at Spencer’s house for a cow birth and now Spencer has to help him. And he hates it. He hates being broke, and he hates needing help, and he hates that he’s going to be broke and helpless forever.

“Liam? What… what is it? Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer’s voice is so gentle it shocks him. The next thing he processes is the wetness on his cheeks, and that he’s crying. Of course the one thing his brain would decide is worth focusing on today is something that will make him cry on the sidewalk.

“I’m going to fail,” he mumbles, and Spencer wraps him in a hug. Liam can feel Spencer shaking his head, and he tries to fight it, but he’s crying in the middle of the sidewalk, being held by a man he barely knows. “I’m going to fail, and I’ll never be able to retake it; I’ll never be good enough to get what I want. I’m… I’m going to be a broke, helpless failure forever, and if this embarrassment doesn’t kill me, student loan debt will.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. You’re not going to fail, but even if you do, that doesn’t make you a failure,” Spencer tells him, rubbing his back. “You are so much more than however this test turns out.”

“I… I am going to. To fail, I mean. More than 20% of people who took it last year failed; that’s one in five, and you know they all had the right prep books and could pay for things like practice tests and multiple takes. I don’t have any of that. I’m… I’m going to fail.”

“Well, if over twenty percent failed, then that means eighty percent of people got it. Don’t check my math on that; I’m a can’t-do-math gay.” That gets a bit of a chuckle out of Liam, and Spencer goes back to the voice he uses to soothe the cows when it rains too hard. “You’re going to do well. You’ve done great on all the practice tests we’ve done, and you’ve worked so hard. And if you don’t pass it, you’ll come work on the farm with me. We’ll get you an unofficial vet job until you can retake it or figure something out.”

“I… I can’t afford to retake it, but maybe… when I fail, I’d… I’d like that. I’m sorry. I’ll be better once I’m not in withdrawal, but knowing why I’m feeling all… ugh doesn’t help me feel less ugh.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. There’s no shame in feeling ugh; I felt ugh all last week.”

“Yeah, but that’s not your fault. If I had my shit more together--”

“This isn’t your fault, either. You’ve been taking care of me, now let me take care of you. It shouldn’t have to be reciprocal, but if you want to think of it that way for now, we will.” Spencer’s got them walking again, his arm around Liam’s shoulders. It’s nice. “You’re not supposed to have to do everything on your own, you know. I don’t know how you’ve made it this far without family nearby; I’d be lost without my parents and our neighbors. They’re… I guess Cat and Addy aren’t technically family, but they basically are. They taught me how to ride a horse and do barrels, and Cat used to get me into every mutton bustin’ event she could.”

“Did you have a little cowboy hat and everything?” Liam asks, half because he wants to know and half because he definitely does not want to talk about parents.

“Of course. I think we might still have it at the house; Addy got it for me before my first barrel riding event. Mom wants me to pass it down to another kid. She was thinking mine, but then I came out, and she told me I’d just have to find a kid to love like Addy and Cat loved me.”

“That’s… that’s really sweet of her. And them, too, but… that’s really, really cool of your mom.”

Spencer nods, smiling as he holds open the door to the H-E-B. As they step inside, Liam’s good mood evaporates. He swallows hard, then says, “you still don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. It’s what Annie and Bell would want for you, and... and it's what I want, too. I want you to be okay.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, just goes to the pharmacy and gives them his name and prescription. Spencer pulls up the video of Annie playing, and Liam tries to watch it, he does, but his brain can’t focus and his mind is decidedly somewhere else. He’s not sure where it is, but whatever bog it’s found to wallow in, it’s not leaving any time soon.

The pharmacy calls his name, and he goes up with coupons on his phone screen, trying to figure out how he can afford it without Spencer’s help. The total comes to $24.89. He has exactly $26.27 in his bank account, but his car is almost out of gas, and he needs it to get to work, and he won’t be paid until Friday. He wants to scream. Instead, he just tells the woman they’ll pay at the check out, thanks her, and turns to see Spencer standing behind him, far enough away that he’s not eavesdropping.

“Anything else you need? I promise I’ll pay you back for these, I swear. I get paid on Friday. Or I… I’ll put gas in my car and then--”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You did my chores all week; call it payment for that.” Spencer glances at the price, then adds, “that’s still criminally underpaying you for the work you’ve done for me this week. I’ve got a few things I could grab; is there anything you need? Anything Bell would want you to have?”

“I… I guess maybe fruit? Maybe some apples, because she likes them. We always used to share them growing up.”

“Alright, we’ll get a bag of apples. Anything else you need? There’s some milk and butter in a cooler I’m supposed to send you home with from the farm, so you don't need those.”

“That’s it; just the apples. Thank you.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t be in a tight spot if you hadn’t helped me. Plus, I mean, vet school and your residency and this test and everything is intense. I see how hard you’re working, and you still gave up what time you had to look after me and the farm… it means a lot. Really; I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

“You’re going to make me cry again, jerk,” Liam mumbles. Spencer squeezes his arm a bit, offering him a little smile.

“I’m serious. You’re the most hardworking, dedicated guy I know. But you… you’re tired. You need a break. So, what we’re going to do, is we’re going to get you some apples and some nice coffee because I know the coffee you buy yourself tastes like dirt, and then we’re going to go back to the cars, and you’re going to have a good cry. No, you don’t get to argue. We’ll at least go sit in a car, so it’ll be sort of private, and you’re going to talk about everything you need to get off your chest.”

Liam hesitates for a second, giving him a chance to back out, but Spencer is clearly not willing to debate this, so Liam just nods.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Spencer’s smiling, and Liam offers him something close to a smile as they go back to shopping, and they’re walking back to the park with grocery bags in hand before Liam knows it. Spencer talks off and on, and Liam tries his best, but his brain is somehow on everything and nothing. It’s all he can do to put one foot in front of the other as his brain focuses on birds and trees and a cool mushroom while his mind and soul and all his messy gut emotions tumble down a widening gyre of shame and exhaustion and failure. He doesn’t even notice when they reach the park; Spencer has to pull him toward the truck. Once they’re safely inside, Spencer grabs a water bottle from the back and asks, “Can… is it safe for you to take a full dose of your meds now? I know timing matters on stuff like this, but if you can feel better sooner…”

It takes Liam a minute to process, but he looks at the clock on the dash and nods. “I… I have the old bottle; I should finish that.”

“Okay. Where’s the old bottle? Is it in your bag?” Liam nods, turning to dig through his bag and find the little orange bottle. The three little pills left rattle around, and the part of his brain that’s been focused on rationing screams at him to wait, tells him that he can go a bit longer without meds. He ignores it, taking a pill and washing it down with the water bottle Spencer hands him. Then, gently, Spencer says, “do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

“I… I just…” he’s going to find some nice way to say it, some polished and emotionless and clean wording, but Spencer looks so earnest, so genuinely concerned in a way no one has been for ages, that Liam can’t help himself. “It’s all so fucking much, and I’m going to fail, and it’ll all have been a waste. All of this, this… the studying, and the school, and the money, and the years of my life, it’ll all have been a waste because I’m too stupid to pass a fucking test. And when I fail I’ll lose my job, and I can’t afford to retake the test because I’m not a fucking… trust fund kid or anything like that, and the stupid test costs $700, and then all my friends who took it last fall and passed will be fine and successful and doing great things and I’ll be all alone again, and I’ll never get to help people or live with Bell or do any of the things I want to do, and it’ll all be my fault for failing.” He started crying at some point, big, hot, angry sobs, and he should probably be embarrassed about them, but he’s not. “I just wanted to help people and their animals. That’s all I ever wanted, ever since I was a kid, and now I can’t. Because my stupid brain doesn’t work, and… and I can’t afford to make it work, and I can’t even look after myself when I’m alone, so how in the fuck am I supposed to help Bell or other people or animals or… or help anyone when I can’t stop being a disaster. I can’t… I just…” He doesn't have the words for the past eight years, the overwhelming pile of exhaustion and disaster that has been slowly draining him. He’s exhausted, and he’s scared, and he’s never felt like more of a disappointment. He just sort of gestures helplessly at himself, hoping Spencer can understand something from his breakdown.

Between sobs, he hears Spencer ask, “can I hug you? Is that okay?”

He nods, and Spencer does hug him, somehow navigating the awkward space enough to wrap his arms around Liam and hold him together as he finally stops trying to explain things and just lets himself fall apart. Liam clings to him, his hands filling themselves with Spencer’s shirt as his face finds its way to Spencer’s shoulder. Just for now, for this one moment in a life of people moving on, he needs someone to stay.

“I’ve got you,” Spencer promises softly, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you.”

Liam’s not sure how long it’s been when he breaks through Spencer’s reassuring murmurs to admit, “I’m… I’m scared.” He’d stopped crying a while ago, but he can’t bring himself to let go of Spencer.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re going to do great, but if you don’t, we’ll figure it out together.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… we barely know each other; I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You cleaned up my vomit last week; we’re closer than you think.” Liam laughs a bit, finally pulling away. Spencer gives him a last squeeze and lets go, and when Liam leans back, he sees that Spencer’s braced against the bitch seat between them, his whole body contorted in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable so that he was at the right angle for a hug. He looks ridiculous, and Liam can’t help but laugh a bit as he digs around for something in the back seat, not moving away. The laugh comes out wrong, too wet and close to a sob, but it’s something, and that something is enough to put a bit of a smile on Spencer’s face when he looks up a second later with a water bottle in his hand.

The smile fades into something else a moment later, Liam’s not sure how to read that look, especially combined with Spencer’s awkward position. It’s softer than what Liam would have expected, somehow. He’d expected some sort of joke, something to brush off what’s just happened or to help them ignore it, because every time he’s shown even a fraction of his fear to anyone else, that’s how it’s met. They’ll be awkward about it, and make a joke, and then they’ll move on. But when Spencer looks at him, that’s not what he gets. Instead, it’s concern. There’s a touch of confusion, but there's such an earnest concern behind it that Liam isn’t sure what to think.

“What is it?” Spencer asks, and it takes Liam a minute to realize he’s talking about the laugh.

“It’s… nothing. Thank you.”

“Of course. Here; you should drink something so you don’t get a headache. And… if you want, when you’re ready, we could go have a picnic? And we can study if you want, but we don’t have to. Only if you think it would make you feel better.”

“Maybe after we eat? If… how long can you stay?”

“Feeding and milking are done for the night, so I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Okay. If… you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you for this,” Liam tells his lap. He can’t bring himself to look Spencer in the eye again, not with everything that’s just happened. “You didn’t have to do any of it; I… I’m just a vet who showed up a few times. But thank you. It… it means more than you know.”

“Liam? Can you look at me a minute?” He looks up, and Spencer makes sure to look him in the eye when he says, “You’re important to me. I just want you to know that. You’re a good friend, and I’m glad I could help you. I’m glad you’re in my life.”

Liam’s not sure how to react to that. Somewhere, his brain processes that Spencer has nice eyes. That feels more real than anything that’s happened today, so he forces himself to latch onto it. They're dark eyes, the color of the earth on the farm where Liam grew up, that good black dirt that nourishes crops and feeds the world. They're so soft, framed by long lashes, and in the shadows of the twilight that surrounds the truck, they're transformed into inky pools, filled with a warmth and concern that Liam could sink into. When meeting Spencer’s eyes gets to be too much, he focuses instead on Spencer’s hand. He thinks about how the muscles and bones and tendons all work together to hold out the water bottle so Liam will drink some more. Mentally, he categorizes the way Spencer’s hand works, the machinery under the skin that makes it move and brings it to life. He catalogues the scar on Spencer's thumb and the callouses on his palm, memorizes the way his nails are cut and the tan lines on the backs from the gloves he wears to do work outside. Really, the human hand is a miracle. When he takes the water bottle and his hand brushes the miracle of Spencer’s, he nearly forgets how to breathe.

By the time he’s done drinking, Spencer is digging around in the back seat, and the spell is broken. Still, some part of Liam’s brain notes that he has a nice ass. Spencer emerges a second later with the picnic basket, holds it up with a smile, and says, “shall we?”

On AO3

--

Take your meds, kids. And don't be afraid to ask for help; it's important.

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[kimyoonmiauthor]

Things I regret and things I wish I had done better in pushing Diversity in Books

Probably a bit self-aggrandizing... and I’m aware of that. And I’m aware most people won’t believe me, but I have documentation. (I also pushed diversity in Korean dramas a bit, too lol, but that’s much more subtle and harder to prove.) Short version: I helped pull a lot of the strings on the internet about the discussions of diversity and writing from about 2004 (November 2004)

Loose background:

I have always been more diverse than the people around me. And I’ve always felt disaffected from being able to understand my own diversity completely as an adoptee. Being Highly Intersectional, but often disconnected, also makes me super stubborn on representation over other people.

I am also from a line of advocates on all sides of my family.

And no, I’ve never been particularly good at being “nice”. Kind, yes. Nice, no. So people have always felt split about me from the time I was born, I suppose.

Disclaimer:

Some of this might be retconning a bit... just a bit. But unintentionally. All facts are true as I can document/remember them.

Introduction:

So, I’ve always had my eyes on writing diversity, but never quite felt qualified to write it when I was younger, and being adopted, I was raised by a white family. So most of my characters from extension of exposure, ended up white and were female and a few were gay, but being ace spec, and in the dark about it, I didn’t know how to write that. (Incidentally also a sucker fro Rom Coms.) But I’m quite stubborn and quite detailed when it comes to such things, so tried my best with what I had and did not cross.

Internet hit, and frankly, I spent the majority of it on Sailor Moon in the early years. Also arguing down Adoption lawyers from using triggering statements in their “ads” to adoptive parents on listserves, etc. (Adopted to a Jewish family and Korean, so top notch arguing skills is a must. [I joke, also insider’s joke])

Nanowrimo hit, and I learned that asexuality is a real thing, which was also a part of me, but they didn’t acknowledge gray-aces until much, much later. I was inquiring about it in November 2004 (Finally looked up the date)... (so AVEN lies their butts off about that because I remember the first aces out were sex repulsed, aro aces. Not a spot of gray out there.)

Since about 2005? Nanowrimo I started compiling lists of links to various information, since it started to repeat from the previous year. Every year until about 2008-ish... I compiled links for Nanowrimo for resources on how to write various groups. The fights all went in the same exact direction.

I also from about the beginning started compiling Banned Books list by category and every year posting that thread, which was also exceedingly popular. I did it to expose the stupid reasons that books are banned, which mostly were on diversity.

I also was the one that started the “Above Below” in writing forums form. (I took it from ASMR--A Sailor Moon Romance, who would play games like that and cross referenced it with my experience at Canisius College Summer Writing Camp and used the rules from there. I did it because Nanowrimo at the time didn’t have a critique section, so me and another person discussed it in PMs first, and then I started the thread in an “other” section. (I still have the rules from the *original* post on my computer, which have since gotten corrupted.) Nanowrimo also had word limits, so I had one for first page with a strict 250 word limit and eventually after Miss Snark, one for query letters (which I’m exceedingly good at. I won Miss Snark’s contest, but for a while thought I lost, until I saw the Nanowrimo boards to show I won. lol I’m sued to rejection.)

Also started compiling the Writing Survey questions in about Year 3 and ran it, gathered statistics, etc about Nanowrimo and the writing population.

People hated me. People liked me too... since I spent a ton of time helping people. The PoC threads, out of the diversity threads, were always the most contentious. (Also in other writing forums too... often populated by white Moderators who didn’t know why associating black people watermelon and porches was racist as anything... *cough* Critique Circle *cough*)

So... given that background...

What Did I Do wrong:

- Probably shouldn’t have bit at Trolls and asked people to move it along? (OK, I can’t resist the temptation still.)

- I started with thinking it was individualistic power, not systemic. I set this on the wrong course. We should have been challenging agents and editors as much as writers from the beginning. This is my bad, (though I was not alone.) I didn’t have enough study back then. I didn’t understand how systems worked.

- I probably shouldn’t have been thinking only about privileged people writing. I think that it should be own voices first, but that privileged people and outgroups should *also* be given a chance *after* a ton of research to also write people of color. Personally, it’s been a bit overcorrrected in places, but yeah, I think the idea that we should teach outgroups... no. They need to do the work, the research, be insecure, and pick up the slack.

- I probably should have said no more often about diversity. No, you can’t write that. (But others should also have said no, but sometimes you’re hungry for representation.) Also my line of “Real People > Fiction” would have been greatly helpful back then.

- I did argue that YA was where most books are banned and most trends *start* in YA books, but the part that was also missed was that I also said that it spreads *from* YA, not that it should *stop* solely at YA. BTW, you do not have to write only YA as an author... It’s a demographic, not a genre. A lot of kids also read adult books. I did as a 13 year old. (When the YA section was 4 shelves at best) I think I should have pushed more for it to get into the adult section, too, because without the tools to see what it’s like, how is the previous generation supposed to help kids as well? Adults are not hopeless.

- I also think I should have instituted better ways of discourse around diversity, but it’s not like anyone was cooperating with it. Argue with resources, reliable sources, back it with fact, not truthiness.

- I also think I should have argued that if you have NO ONE in your life of that diversity... HANDS OFF. Not the token friend, but someone who comes around *often* to you *house* you *regularly* talk with and interact with. Being more adamant about that might have helped. If you never read anything from that group and yet still want to write them HANDS OFF. If you think all _blank_ of that group are terrible people... also HANDS OFF. If your only interaction with the country and the people is through dramas and pop culture... HANDS OFF.

- I really needed the words Implicit Bias, not just Privilege. Also needed Privilege Qualifying too. White Tears also would have been useful. Stereotype Threat... OK... I needed more Social Justice vocabulary.

- I should have learned that everyone has privilege, but it’s how you use it that matters sooner... It took me a while to get there. And I wrote it out first... as far as I know, and spread it around.

- I also have smaller regrets like... the use of Caucasian... I pressed MTV Decoded for a video on it. Also on the history of “Submissive” Asian.

- Also wish I had written a better code of conduct on how to interact with people with Diversity so they don’t get mentally drained better.

- I think I should have argued better for Diversity within, not stereotypes outside looking in. (This is currently missing from a lot of the Diversity workshops on writing--the stories that don’t hit the bell curve neatly. Fi~~~x it.)

- I also think trying to force convert authors was wrong (and is still wrong). If they do, they do, instead.... I should have bolstered support from the System itself and from authors of that identity, without locking out privileged authors that wanted to try. Let the authors that try and flop, push back flounder so others can learn from them. I don’t abide by canceling before release UNLESS there is a very good reason they shouldn’t profit. You can cancel them by not buying their book.

What I Did Right:

- I did ask Writing Forums to institute a Diversity policy that was more specific like the writing conventions. (Still looking at you Nanowrimo, Critique Circle, Absolute Write and Wattpad.) AND to have administration at the very top of the forum that was not white OR at least very educated on those topics (Head of forums should get paid... unless they started it themselves). But to have boards to review problems with diversity discussion. (And I know it’s not for everyone and it’s exhausting, but power representation is something we need.) It’s not bad to ask those in power to be educated on the problem and not make weak excuses on why they can’t do it, and then ban people for challenging them on diversity. *cough* I’m STILL asking that all writing forums are specific on diversity and prejudices and ban all prejudiced swears because from the Nanowrimo survey shit, fuck, dick, ass... are *less* offensive than prejudiced swears. And people can self-censor and can look it up.

- I know I was late to ask for it, but yeah, asking Editors and Agents to be *educated* before making a call for diversity isn’t a bad thing. (Lots of studying to get here.) I know they can’t change their sexuality, skin color, disability status, etc. BUT being able to list books from what you are asking for and ones that are not all privileged-qualifying would show you know your stuff. A quick way, BTW, to get a hold of countries is to read Folklore... I know this from lots and lots of reading and studying foreign media. Story structures, deeper beliefs, etc, can often be found there, plus they are quick to read. I know I wasn’t the first on this... Lee and Low pressed for it a lot, but I tried to extend it.

- I asked for end to end diversity. Every single part of the bookstore should have diversity in it. I’ve been going to the bookstore at least once a year since I was 13, scanning how the market has shifted and changed. I know authors counsel that by the time you see it on the shelf the fad is gone... but that’s not what I was looking for. I was looking for diversity, for gaps that people hadn’t filled yet. I want the cookbook section to have worldwide cooking. I want the economics books to have PoC names in it--even if I might never write or buy one. Because mirrors are important. I know this. If women can spread to the entire bookstore without question, then so can all of the other authors and sections. I’m still frickin’ asking for this. I know how much it hurts writers to not be able to find non-fiction books on their own identity.

- I insisted on research as the best route to get there. Not write what you know, explore what you don’t know. (But a lot of writers are lazy about research... if you are going to write diversity that’s not your own, then no.) If you’re not willing to put a year’s worth of work into deprogramming, it’s not worth your time to even touch diversity topics.

- Insisted that Diversity people are not trends. (Though I wish I’d pressed this more). Again, conquer the ENTIRE bookstore so it’s not a question. It’s an answer. Books are there to answer things in my PoV.

- I spent a lot of time trying to learn perspectives and listen to people and dissenting within.

- I don’t regret challenging We Need Diverse books for being a-holes about rolling back on the dream of diverse books end to end by saying Diversity only for YA and challenging them to do better on adoption discussions with an adoptee at the helm who is defogged. If I’m unpopular for calling them out to do better, so be it. Again, conquer the entire bookstore. Don’t be afraid to dream big so the movement has a place to go, and don’t make a movement solely for your benefit.

And personally... I think book sellers should stop trying to cater to the 40% market of male readers who read only 1 book a year by insisting on more male characters... but that’s me.

But this is me... still wishing to have my dream come true that when I go to any part of the bookstore, go to a movie theater, listen to music, that I know diversity is represented there without anyone batting an eyelash at its existence. It’s not always going to benefit me. Sometimes it might actually hurt. But I’m OK with that if I can’t leverage my privileges always... I’ll cheer for it... because it means someone who was like me as a kid, and them as an adult can finally see themselves in the media they consume. And truly, this lifts my heart.

[argylemnwrites]

OTP Questions

Thanks for tagging me @addictedtodrakefanfic, and thanks for building this list of questions @mskaneko! I always find things like this crazy fun!

1. What other couple would your OTP get along with?

Like, in universe? They get along very well with Liam and Iris (who I will write more about going forward), although Iris and Riley are closer in the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe even though they see each other in person less often.

2. Do either of them have secrets even the other doesn’t know?

Not really, most things have a way of coming out with these two, and most of their “secrets” aren’t something they intended to keep from the other, it just never came up in conversation. The closest is probably that Drake slept with a woman Riley knows at court years before they met, but when Drake tried to tell her, Riley said ignorance was bliss and that she did not want to know that detail.

3. Who is the one that sees the big picture, while the other focus on the small details?

Riley is a big picture optimist (”everything will sort itself out” type of thought pattern most of the time) usually, whereas Drake tends to focus on the details, even though they often frustrate him.

4. Who does stuff on impulse?

The one who moved to Cordonia with guys she’d known for less than 24 hours on a whim, hahaha!

5. What is their favourite holiday?

Drake loves Christmas, Riley loves Halloween.

6. What is their favourite board game?

Drake prefers card games, but he does enjoy Risk quite a bit (Riley refuses to play with him because she finds it painfully dull). Riley likes Clue and Monopoly.

7. Who would go out of their way to do something silly to make their partner laugh?

Riley

8. Favorite canon moment of them?

When Drake asks Riley if things would be different between them if they met under different circumstances after the Tariq incident. The moment is such a perfectly vulnerable one for him, that it just holds a special place in my heart.

9. Least favorite canon moment of them?

“I don’t know what to say. My kid sitting on the throne? I mean, it would be an incredible honor.” - Drake Walker, on his honeymoon, agreeing to King Liam’s plan to name his yet-to-be-conceived child heir to the Cordonian throne before discussing it with Riley.

10. Who is the competitive one?

They are both incredibly competitive. They both insist the other one is more competitive.

11. Who likes to go on drives to nowhere in particular

Seeing as Riley never got a driver’s license growing up in Manhattan and feels incredibly uncomfortable behind the wheel, we’ll go with Drake here. I could see him doing this to clear his head on trips to Texas.

12. Who sings along with the radio?

Riley will if she’s in a good mood. Drake will if he’s drunk.

13. Who would accidentally set the kitchen on fire while cooking?

Riley. Not only is she a mediocre cook, but she’s more easily distracted and might tend to forget she left something on the stove.

14. Who is more seductive when they are drunk?

Drake gets really affectionate and cuddly when drunk, but whiskey dick is a thing so... Riley is a happy drunk primarily (unless she is drinking to cope in which case she is a very sad drunk), not so much a horny drunk. She does get pretty handsy when she’s just tipsy, though.

15. Who wakes the other up in the middle of the night to tell them a cool dream they had?

Neither. Riley is difficult to wake up, so Drake wouldn’t bother when he could just tell her later. Drake is such a light sleeper that Riley wouldn’t want to be one more disruption to his sleep just to tell him about an interesting dream.

16. Who asks weird questions in the middle of the night?

Riley, if they’re both still awake. Otherwise neither.

17. Who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to go put some clothes on?

Okay, so all this makes me think of is the Seinfeld episode where Jerry is dating a woman who chooses to be naked all the time and it brings up the discussion of good naked and bad naked. Riley is prone to stripping down for “good naked” tasks pretty often. Sometimes it’s just to flirt and tease, but other times it’s to persuade Drake to do something he doesn’t want to do. He catches on to this tactic pretty quickly, so he will tell her to cover up and that it isn’t going to work if he suspects she has ulterior motives. This behavior pretty much comes to a halt once Riley is pregnant as she isn’t as confident given the changes that are occurring to her body, and after they have a kid, nudity as a flirting and/or manipulation technique just doesn’t happen all that often.

18. Who is always ready to have sex at any time, at any place?

Both of them, although Drake won’t at his work functions/parties in the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe because he’s too nervous they’ll get caught and he’ll get fired.

19. Who likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

They both buy each other things, but Drake’s gifts to Riley are more practical (he’ll grab her granola bars or creamer before she runs out) whereas Riley chooses more random fun items that just made her think of Drake.

20. Where did they take their first picture together?

Maxwell snapped a pic of them walking back from the first cronut run together.

21. Who knows the most useless facts?

Drake. Riley often questions how accurate his claims are, but he’s right more often than not.

22. Who is more likely to forget their own birthday?

Neither, but Drake is far more likely to try and downplay his birthday. Riley never lets that happen.

23. Which bad habit of their partner do they find the most annoying?

I don’t know if these are truly bad habits or just irritating ones, but Drake cracks his knuckles absentmindedly, which can get on Riley’s nerves, and Riley never returns food to the same spot in the refrigerator, which really annoys Drake.

24. Who is the better driver ?

Definitely Drake. Riley doesn’t really drive, though Drake has attempted to teach her during trips to Texas. She’s just not that interested in learning.

25. Who is more likely to admit they are wrong in an argument ?

This is a struggle for both of their stubborn asses. Drake is more likely to say he’s wrong, but Riley truly means it more often when she says it.

26. What is something that reminds them of one another?

The smell of peaches reminds Drake of Riley. Probably an obvious answer, but whiskey reminds Riley of Drake.

27. Would they get matching couple tattoos? If yes, what it would be?

Nope, neither one of them are tattoo people.

28.Who sleeps wrapped up in a cocoon of covers?

Neither. Both prefer just a sheet and a thin blanket, plus a quilt/comforter if it’s winter.

29. Who would win in a pillow fight?

Riley’s agility and impressive aim give her the slight edge.

30. Who likes to take photos of the other when they’re not looking

Riley would be more likely to do this

31.Where would they go to get away from everyone else and just be alone?

In canon, Drake goes fishing at a small creek between the capital and Valtoria. Riley goes to the undercroft area of their estate. If they are looking to get away together, they go camping on the grounds of their estate, cycling between a few different locations so it’s harder for the staff to track them down.

In It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment, Riley is very willing to share “her beach” with Drake. If they are looking for a longer getaway together, they’ll rent a car and get out of the city to go camping.

32. If they got to pick what one another wears for a day, what would one another wear?

Riley likes seeing Drake dressed up in a simple suit since it’s a break from the usual. Navy would be her preferred color. Drake would have Riley wear a slim cut red dress with a length short enough to be sexy but not so short that he feels that everyone is going to be checking her out.

44. What do they love most about each other?

Drake loves that Riley has a bit of a temper, but uses it for “good,” such as calling out stuck up, snobby assholes (He loves that she swears up a storm with her temper, too). Riley loves the way nothing she can say or do phases him.

Bonus: 3 random HC about your OTP

In canon, they host a Superbowl party every year, even though neither one of them really cares about American football, because Riley feels this is one America tradition they can still embrace without it being seen as a “thing” by the press (They drew some flack when they tried to have a July 4th barbecue with fireworks because that was seen as too political)

In It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment, they attempted to rent a cabin to get out of the city for a couple of nights around New Year’s Eve to escape the insanity that first year, but Riley did not have a driver’s license and Drake’s Cordonian license was deemed insufficient, so they had to text Liam to emergently transmit them some additional documentation. He essentially just wrote a three sentence letter on stationary with the royal seal stating that Drake had a driver’s license in good standing.

In any universe, they will intermittently have intense poker nights (just the two of them), that devolve into drunken rounds of strip poker and insane bets.

Tagging @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @ravenpuff02 @omgjasminesimone @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​ if any of you are interested in joining in the fun (sorry if this is a repeat tag for any of you), or anyone else who sees this and wants to play along!

[shoot-i-messed-up]

Lightning Strikes Wherever It Wants To

A/N: uhhhh so I’m prob gonna make a new writing project. This is a one shot that I had basically had a vauge idea for and word vomited across a document. I think this is rather cute, but idk i just wanna sleep forever asdklsdfkl

Tropes/Pairings: LAMP/CALM, Soulmates/Soultats AU (because I’m a sucker for these)

Summary: Virgil has three soulmates and three soultats. This is no big deal. But what is a big deal is that one of Virgil’s soultats, written in fancy cursive across his left arm, is “I will find you and kill you”. Not the best soultat out there.

TW: Murder mention (I guess but it’s super lowkey), worrying (also lowkey)

Virgil Sanders

Virgil has three soulmates and three soultats. This is no big deal. But what is a big deal is that one of Virgil’s soultats, written in navy blue angular scratches across his left arm, is “My name is Logan Ackroyd, and I swear I will find you and kill you.” Not the best soultat out there. Especially not for a worried little Virgil.

Virgil’s other soultats were pretty normal. Most everyone tried to specialize their first words to someone, in case that someone was their soulmate. Everyone else simply included their name in their first words. So Virgil knew one of his soulmate’s names already. This happened to be the same soulmate that wanted to kill him.

Virgil was not looking forward to meeting this Logan Ackroyd.

On his chest lay another soultat. In cute, neat handwriting and sky blue ink, said, “The heart follows blindly, which is appropriate because I need to wear glasses.” Virgil loved looking at this one. The bad pun always cheered him up.

Scrawled in fancy red cursive across his right arm was: “As long as I live, I will protect my soulmates, whoever they may be.” Cliche but not out there.

Not out there like “My name is Logan Ackroyd, and I swear I will find you and kill you.”

Patton Hart

Virgil would’ve grumbled and complained if he hadn’t been so nervous. Every year, there was an assembly at his school where every single person would say something into a microphone in case their soulmate was in the audience.

This assembly was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it took time away from actually doing work, and you could potentially find your soulmate. On the other hand, it was mind numbingly boring, and the teachers never let them bring anything in to entertain themselves with.

Most students snuck in their phones or homework anyways.

That year, Virgil forgot to.

Virgil was about raised his hand to ask if he could go to the bathroom, when he heard a cheerful voice say into the microphone, “The heart follows blindly, which is appropriate because I need to wear glasses.”

Virgil inhaled sharply and instinctively said back, “Lightning strikes where it wants to.”

Students’ heads perked up, and parted so that the owner of the voice could run to his soulmate. There was usually a soulmate meeting every once in a few years, and it was usually the highlight of the week.

The boy at the microphone ran towards Virgil with his arms wide, and they embraced.

Roman Noble

Patton Hart was the best soulmate Virgil could ever ask for. He didn’t see why he needed to meet his other soulmates. Especially the one that wanted to kill him.

But Patton insisted that Virgil meet Patton’s other soulmate. There was a good chance that they had the same soulmates, so Patton argued it was worth a shot.

But Patton didn’t need to argue, since he used his puppy eyes. Never before did Virgil think he would be prone to puppy eyes. But here he was, in the cold, after school, waiting for Patton to find this “Roman” guy he had been gushing over.

Virgil checked his phone’s clock. He had waited for about two minutes, but he felt very awkward standing by himself with no visible reason to be there. Virgil looked around the hall, decked with Christmas decorations, despite being a public school. He spotted an art club poster in one of the windows. Interested, he took a few steps closer to read it.

“As long as I live, I will protect my soulmates, whoever they may be,” someone quickly recited.

Virgil froze as someone grabbed his arm.

“Hello!” his second soulmate beamed at him. “Are you here for the art club?”

“Roman!” Patton yelled from a distance. “There you are!” He half jogged over. “I’ve been looking all over for you, kiddo!” Patton then noticed Virgil and gave him a funny look.

“Sorry, padre,” Roman grinned, not looking sorry in the least.

“Oh, you’ve met Virgil!” Patton said.

“What?” Roman said.

“Lightning strikes where it wants to,” Virgil said weakly. And before he knew it, Roman had dramatically dipped him.

And before he knew it, he had fallen in love with Roman Noble’s goofy grin.

Logan Ackroyd

Logan had little interest in meeting his soulmates. Well, no more than other people. Some were obsessed with them, but others were more…”chill” with their soultats.

Honestly, he was really more interested in the book he was currently reading. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, by Agatha Christie. He was originally drawn to this book because he had the same last name as the man who was apparently murdered. Agatha Christie was also a well renowned author, which he learned after he read the book for the first time.

It had been a long day of infuriating classmates, awkward introductions, group projects that certainly did not go well, and unpacking his many boxes that he didn’t unpack on moving day, so Logan was relieved to finally surround himself in familiar text. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor with book in hand, and if he was stopped...well...it would suffice to say that he would be a little mad.

Immersed in his book, he didn’t look where he was going in the busy halls of students rushing to get out of the school.

Virgil glanced at the clock, anxious for the school day to be over. He wanted to rush out the door to get to his club. Art club was the best. They were a close knit bunch of kids with very similar interests. And he met one of his soulmates there. So that was a plus.

Virgil’s knee bounced as he scribbled the homework down on his agenda. The English teacher was just finished wrapping up the lesson as the final bell run. Virgil hurriedly stuffed his remaining things into his backpack, zipped it up, and hustled out the door just behind his classmates. He sped walked down the halls to find G-8. In doing so, he stumbled over one of the other students. The student dropped their book, and a different student swiftly picked it up and ran. The student yelled in frustration,  “MY NAME IS LOGAN ACKROYD, AND I SWEAR I WILL FIND YOU AND KILL YOU.”

Virgil stopped dead in his tracks, just about to reach G-8. His eyes widened, just like a deer in headlights, and his shoulders stiffened. “Lightning strikes wherever it wants to?” he squeaked out.

Logan clapped a hand over his mouth in shock. “Oh, apologies. I didn’t really mean it...Greetings, I suppose,” he said.

Virgil shakily smiled.

“Hi.”

@max-is-tired

[goldenmeme]

Untitled Sanders Sides fic!

My fic got Jossed hardcore, so I’m just throwing up the first chapter as a stand-alone instead. It was originally titled “Five Time Deceit Told Thomas His Name (and One Time He Didn’t)” but like... obvs that’s not going to work now. So just imagine this snippet takes place sometime between Intrusive Thoughts and Putting Others First. No spoilers for POF.

Untitled, 2,200 words, PG-13 (Virgil says a swear), no pairings.

Summary: Thomas can’t sleep. Deceit wants to help.

 "--then you'll say, 'Well, when you've seen one, you've seen them all,' and Patton will say, 'Yes but this one's eating my pizza!'"

Roman paused for the inevitable roar of laughter and adulation. None came.

"Thomas? Thomas. You're not writing this down. I'm giving you comedy gold and you're letting it fall through your fingers like sand through your... fingers…"

Thomas rolled over just enough to unbury half of his mouth from the pillow. "Roman. Buddy. It's almost 5 AM."

"Well we could have worked on scripts earlier, but you insisted on watching Parks and Rec until inhuman hours again. I need opportunity to create!" The bedsheets rustled behind Thomas with the force of Roman’s gesticulating.

"What happened to 5 PM, when I specifically set aside time to write and then spent an entire hour staring at a blank word document?"

The mattress dipped in a way that, even with his back turned and his eyes closed, somehow managed to convey the haughtiness of Roman’s shrug. "I wasn't feeling inspired at that time."

"Could we maybe try being inspired tomorrow morning instead?"

"I can't control when the muse strikes me, Thomas."

"You’re my muse," Thomas said. He rolled onto his back to starfish out, smacking Roman on the shoulder with one floppy arm. All he wanted in the world was sleep, but apparently Roman wasn’t going to let that happen. "Does my muse have his own muse? How does that even work?"

To Thomas’s right, Logan cleared his throat. Logan thought beds were no place for anthropomorphic personifications of facets of personality, so whenever they congregated in Thomas's bedroom his customary spot was sitting primly beside the bed in a utilitarian office chair he'd conjured from the Dreamscape.

He said, "As amusing as this musing on muses may be, I must remind you how essential it is to maintain a consistent sleep schedule for the--"

"Yup!" Thomas half-shouted. "Thanks Logan, I got it. We go over this at least four times a week."

"And yet you--"

Patton blindly batted a fuzzy paw at everyone and whined, "Nnnnnnnnn, s’sleepy time now." He was cuddled in a ball at the foot of the bed in his cozy kitty onesie. At night he also jammed an old-fashioned long stocking cap over the hood because he thought it made him look more, as he put it, "bedtimey", though the kitty ears distorted the hat and made his head look weirdly lumpy.

“Patton is correct,” Logan said. “It is, unequivocally, sleepy time now, so Roman, if you’ll just put a pin in your ill-timed inspiration--”

"But my witty dialogue…" 

"--I promise we'll write your script first thing in the morning--" 

Thomas squinted at Logan's silhouette in the darkness. Something seemed... off...

"—when we all have a fresh perspective and Thomas has gotten seven-to-eight hours of restful sleep.”

"… Deceit?" Thomas said.

"Hm," Logan said.

Like a flower blooming in fast motion, his silhouette sprouted a shadowy shape that coalesced into a bowler hat. Deceit pulled off Logan's glasses and threw them behind himself, where they crunched against the wall.

Roman smacked Thomas on the shoulder three times before pointing frantically, as if Thomas may have missed the transformation.

Deceit said, “I just love how much easier it’s gotten for you to spot my little dress-up games. What gave me away this time?”

“I always forget any ideas I have right before I fall asleep,” Thomas said. “Logan would tell me to write it down in my phone’s notes sooner than later, because if I just try to remember it Roman will keep me up for hours badgering me about it, and I’ll forget by morning anyway. If I make myself a note, Roman can be secure in the knowledge that his work won’t get lost in my brain over the next eight hours, and he’ll let me sleep.”

They’d worked that one out years ago. Thomas still had problems remembering the system if Logan didn’t pop in to explicitly remind him, because in the moment Thomas just wanted to sleep and it felt counter-intuitive to get out his phone and start writing instead.

“Curse that fool and his established systems,” Deceit said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t just stop by?”

“Um. Can you?”

“I know you don’t believe that I have your best interests at heart,” Deceit said, “but I do. You wanted sleep. I came to shut the Prince up so that you could get it.”

“Hey!” Roman said.

“You didn’t have to impersonate Logan to do that,” Thomas said.

“Didn’t I? Would you have even considered heeding my advice, had I appeared to you as myself?”

Well…

Across the room, the closet door swung open with an ominous creak.

When Virgil had first started showing up in Thomas’s room, he’d lurked in the closet like the monster they all thought he was back then, glaring out of the barely-cracked door, only ever speaking when Thomas was on the very edge of sleep, and only then because he couldn’t stand to let the important questions the others never asked go unsaid. Questions like, “If you died right now, how long would it take someone to find your body?” and, “Where is your wallet? Do you remember having it when you got home today?” and, “Remember that time in chorus?”

Now that he and Thomas had found a workable equilibrium, Virgil still hung out in the closet (yes, the joke had been made several dozen times) because it was small and dark and comforting. Except now instead of hiding behind a mostly closed door, when the others were feeling chatty he’d sprawl in the open doorway, back propped against the frame and one boot braced on the other side.

He still liked to make an entrance, though. Thomas’s closet door didn’t creak when anyone else opened it.

Instead of sprawling in the doorway, today Virgil appeared sitting aggressively crisscross applesauce in it. “No. He’d have told you to fuck off, like he’s doing right now.”

Deceit smiled bitterly. “Oh good, Anxiety is here.”

“Guys,” Thomas said. “Come on, no fighting. I’m--just--I’m just trying to sleep…”

“And I am just trying to facilitate that,” Deceit said. “I had hoped to do so with as little fuss as possible, but evidently you’re getting much better at spotting me. I may have to retire that tactic.”

“Wait,” Thomas said, horror dawning. “How often have you impersonated the others without me noticing?”

“Why, never!” Deceit said. “You’ve managed to catch me at it every last time! Brava to you.”

“Somehow I do not find that reassuring,” Thomas said.

“Trust issues,” Deceit said, nodding sympathetically.

Roman said, “Only when it comes to you, Deceit. Are you even capable of telling the truth?”

“Oh I assure you, I am very… capable.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it. Say one true thing, right now.”

“Fine,” Deceit said. “RENT is overrated.”

“HOW DARE YOU—”

Thomas had to physically stop Roman from launching himself across the bed. “Okay, woah, hey, eeeeeasy big guy.”

“Thomas, did you hear what he said about RENT?!”

“Yes, immediately after we’d established that he in incapable of telling the truth. Think of everything he says as like… backward-land.”

“So… when he says RENT is…” Roman couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. “What he meant was that it’s an incomparable masterpiece of theatrical genius soiled only by the somewhat questionable staging choices of the cinema adaptation?”

Deceit caught Thomas’s eye from behind Roman’s back. Deceit rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “That’s definitely what he meant.”

“It’s as if you took the words right out of my mouth,” Deceit drawled. “Playful ribbing aside, of course I’m capable of speaking the truth. Why, I’ve made five true statements within this conversation alone. I simply prefer to play my cards closer to the chest than the rest of you bleeding heart goodie-goodie-goobers.”

Thomas said, “You understand that the constant lying makes it really difficult for us to trust anything you say.”

Deceit, surprisingly, actually seemed to think about that. He pressed his steepled fingers to his lips. After a moment’s thought, he said, “You’re right. How about, as a show of faith, you may ask me one thing, and I promise I will answer truthfully.”

Roman rushed out, “Say one nice thing about RENT!”

Deceit said, “Thomas may ask me one thing and I promise to answer truthfully.”

“Really?” Thomas said.

“On my word as a construct of your imagination.”

“What’s your name?”

“… That’s it? You get one, single, honest answer from me, and you waste it to ask my name?”

“Well sure. I know the names of all my other sides, and I can’t very well make you a Christmas stocking with your name on it if I don’t know your name, now can I?”

“Dear god. Your moral side is asleep, how are you still this unbearably saccharine? Fine. My name…” he took a deep breath and gathered his pride, “is Ethan.”

“Oh,” Thomas said. “Huh.”

“What?”

“No, nothing, it’s a good name! It… goes with everyone else’s names?”

“Naturally! Logan, Patton, Roman, and Ethan. Derived of course from Logic, Pathos, Romance, and Ethos.”

Roman gasped. “Thomas, you named me for romance?”

Thomas said, “I don’t… think I named you? You told me your name. I don’t really know how this works.”

Deceit said, “That’s right, Casanova, he did! Did you catch the emphasis I put on the no there? Casa nooooooo va… Anyway, yes, we’re all one big, happy family, all with names that fit tidily into one single convenient naming convention. Well. Except Virgil, of course. Ah, Virgil. Our little eternal outcast. Even his name doesn’t fit in with the rest of us.”

Virgil said, “What do you mean the rest of us? You’re not like them.”

“Hey, you can’t argue with etymology. It’s science.”

Thomas said, “That’s not—a science…”

“Um, it ends in -ology, sooo, yes it is.”

Virgil said, “Remus doesn’t fit that naming convention either.”

Deceit’s smile froze. “Ah. Remus told you his name, did he? I should have known the embodiment of zero impulse control wouldn’t be able to keep privileged information to himself.”

“If you think about it,” Virgil said, “only Thomas’s Good Sides fit that pattern.”

“So nice of you to finally acknowledge the fact that I am one of Thomas’s Virtuous Sides, and not an Evil Side like you, Anxiety.”

Patton thrashed suddenly in his sleep, swiping a velvety, kitten-pawed fist at an invisible enemy before mumbling something mostly illegible that might have ended with, “me or my son again,” and settling back into stillness.

Virgil had to force the fond expression off his face before turning back to Deceit. “Do you really think Thomas is going to buy that you’re supposed to be the embodiment of ethos?”

Roman leaned close to Thomas to whisper-shout in his ear, “Thomas, what’s ethos?”

“Uhhh,” Thomas said. He’d definitely known that once. Logan probably still knew it, but Thomas hadn’t consciously retained much of the Communications course he’d taken in college. “I think it has to do with… the ideals of a society as a whole?…”

“And isn’t that just me to a T,” Deceit said. He was already sinking down as he rushed out the final words, “Okay well it was nice to officially be known by you, good night now—”

“Wait,” Thomas said.

Deceit reappeared, already glowering.

“Your name isn’t Ethan, is it?”

“Of course it is,” Deceit said, voice dripping with… something. Whatever it was, it was not sincerity.

Thomas should have known. With all his other sides, learning their names had felt right, like it was knowledge he’d already had that he’d only needed to be reminded of. Deceit just didn’t strike him as an Ethan.

Roman said, “Why, you’re… lying!” like it was only just dawning on him. “But you promised Thomas an honest answer!”

“And there’s no possible way I could have been lying about that, too,” Deceit agreed. “Are you not understanding this—” he gestured to encompass all of himself, “--whole thing yet? It really is a good thing you’re pretty.”

The ire drained out of Roman in an instant. “I am pretty, aren’t I?”

“And so very quick-witted,” Deceit said. He gave Thomas a tight smile and sunk out of the room before anyone else could protest.

“You know, I think he’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be,” Roman said.

Thomas rolled onto his stomach and buried his face back into the pillow. With Deceit gone, exhaustion was making itself known again, darkening the edges of his consciousness. It was sooo past his bedtime. “Good night, Roman.”

“Good night Thomas.”

“Night, Virg.”

Virgil’s response was the click of the closet door closing. Thomas couldn’t sleep if it was open, on account of monsters.

Sleep came quickly after that.

 ***

 The next morning—well, afternoon, but Thomas had just woken up—Logan scrolled through Thomas’s phone while Thomas puttered around the kitchen singing breakfast songs to the appliances.

“This is my jam, this is my jam, this is my toast, this is my knife, and this is my jam…”

“Thomas, where did you put Roman’s idea?”

“Hmm? What idea?”

“My records say that Roman had an idea last night, but I don’t see anything in your notes. You couldn’t have forgotten. We have a system.”

Oh. Oooooh no.

[wndamaximov]

Of Love And Secrets

Part 2: First Date

Main Masterlist                      Series Masterlist

Summary: While y/n was initially stuck in the book store because of the rain, she stayed longer for the handsome stranger that kept her company. But this handsome stranger has a secret- one he’d rather not let see the light of day.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Abusive Boyfriend, PTSD

Words: 1, 436

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

<< prev

Y/n’s POV

Y/n deftly maneuvered her way through the crowds of New York, having a heated conversation with the person on the other line. Even though they hadn't been in the weapon business for around 4 years, the publicity around the decision had yet to cease. Although it did die down, the occasional desperate reporter would try to write a critical article on how business was failing ever since the arms division was shut down. Christine Everhart was the worst- and the most relentless. 

Yup, ever since y/n's nice, relaxing time at the bookstore, her life had gone back to its usual chaos. 

"Alright, will they be needing anything else?" she asked politely, to the voice on the other end. She was nearing the Stark Tower, and really wanted to be done with this call by then. She was itching to talk to somebody about last night.

It had ended perfectly, and she'd texted Steve yesterday  just after she reached her apartment.

Y/n: Hey, would you be interested in coming to The Palm with me this Friday? I heard they have the best steak in town. No blue food though :(

Steve: I'd love to! :)

Y/n: :) 

It wasn't much, but those three lines meant a lot to y/n. 

"Hello? Ms y/l/n, are you still there?" Crap. She'd forgotten all about the person in her ear. 

"Yeah, sorry, please continue." She sighed, thinking about how today was going to be a very long day.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Steve’s POV

Steve pushed open the door to Bucky's store, bracing himself for the lecture that was bound to come.

“How stupid could you be?” Bucky was walking towards him a book in one hand, coffee in the other, a pencil stuck through his bun and another tucked behind his ear.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more stupid, you did!”

“I know, I know, it was a mistake,” he admitted.

“Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to have to do more convincing.” He was about to leave, but Steve opened his mouth once more.

“But…” Steve continued, Bucky’s glare getting more and more intense, “we’re meeting next week.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky whispered angrily, running a hand through his hair, forgetting it was tied. He then stomped away to the “Sci-Fi and Mystery” section, shoving the book in his hand into its proper spot.

Steve followed him, making sure to keep at least a foot of distance between them. “I’m sorry, Buck-”

Bucky whirled around, jabbing his index finger into Steve’s chest, the coffee from his cup spilling a tiny bit over the edge and down his hand. “No! You don’t get to be sorry. You could go to jail, you understand?”

Steve looked down, guilty. “I can’t help it Buck.”

“I know you can’t, punk.” Bucky’s gaze softened, just for a split second. “But don’t come crying to me when something inexplicably goes wrong.”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Y/n’s POV

“You get ‘em off our back?” Pepper and y/n walked down one of the seemingly endless hallways of the tower discussing business.

“I got ‘em off our back.” Y/n had been able to shake the glorified blogger about ten minutes earlier. 

“Was it Everhart?”

“Not this time, no. You’d think there’d be more buzz on the September Foundation, but people really love bringing back dead news. In order to put Stark Industries back on the headlines for the Foundation, I’d suggest hosting a press conference.” 

Someone passed Pepper something and asked for her signature. After signing the document, Pepper replied. “That can be arranged. Will Tony have to be there?”

“Well, it was his idea.” 

“Okay, I’ll get Tony to come. You just concentrate on alerting the press.”

“Will do. Oh, and can I take Friday evening off?” Pepper stopped moving and turned around, a knowing smile on her face.

"And what's on Friday?"

Y/n let the words, the ones she'd been waiting forever to say, tumble out of her mouth. "I have a date."

"Oh my God, finally! It's been what, five years?" Y/n's heart suddenly stopped, remembering her last boyfriend, Brock. They'd had a whirlwind romance that was amazing before he became abusive. It was the worst year of y/n's life, and the reason why she hadn't been on a date in so long. Thank God Brock was in jail, serving out his sentence. 

Pepper realized what she said, and continued, hoping to make y/n forget about Rumlow, at least for a while. "What's his name- tell me everything about him." And just like that, everything work, and Brock, related left both of their minds. Y/n talked while Pepper listened, hanging onto every word.

"He sounds perfect." And not anything like Brock, is probably what she was thinking.

Before continuing on to the elevator, Pepper told y/n to not even bother coming in on Friday. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. Plus, you really need a break. I swear, even the birds and squirrels here know you too well."

Y/n pretended to look offended. "Are you insinuating that everyone's sick of me?"

"No, I'm insinuating that you work too much." Pepper pushed her floor's button, and y/n watched her friend disappear behind the closing doors. 

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Friday, Y/n’s POV

Beams of sunlight hit y/n's face, coaxing her out of a deep sleep. It was the first time in a long time that she hadn't woken up to an alarm blaring, startling her awake.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes and stretched herself out on the bed. Today was the day of her big date, and she cold feel the butterflies fluttering around her stomach.

When reading romance novels, the butterflies sound so glamorous, only being a light case of nerves. For y/n, however, she felt like throwing up.

She still remembered her first date with Brock, how nice and sweet he was, just like Steve, before turning into something dark, twisted, and ugly. All of a sudden y/n didn't feel like going on a date anymore.

Just as she was about to text Steve to cancel, her doorbell rang. It was Pepper.

"You were going to cancel, weren't you?" 

"How did you know?"

"Because I know you. Also, you look like you've been crying." Y/n touched her face, surprised to find it wet. She hadn't even realized.

"Oh, and I brought backup." 

Just then, Tony Stark passed through her door, playing Shoot To Thrill by AC/DC, and said, "It's Britney Bitch."

Y/n laughed, wiping away her tears, and walked up to hug him. "Thanks, but you guys didn't need to come."

"Yeah, we did. Pepper- hair, makeup, and wardrobe STAT! I'll stay here and make sure she doesn't cancel."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Of course, you get the easy job." 

Y/n didn't care who did what, as long as she had her friends next to her. 

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Time of date, Steve’s POV

Steve sat at their table, fidgeting with the fork and knife. This place was so out of his budget, what with the whole fancy design and immaculately dressed patrons. He felt out of place with his rented tux. 

He took a sip of water, and mid swallow, he saw her. She looked gorgeous, with a flowery, sleeveless top that flowed into a gown cut short. It was the color of blood, a deep scarlet.

He stood up to help her get seated. "You look... beautiful."

"Thanks- you do too." They shared a soft smile.

"So, work keeping you busy?" They easily fell into the rhythm they had at the book store. It was only broken twice by the waiter taking their order. Then came the time Steve was dreading- the check came.

"I gotta be honest." Steve was almost as red as y/n's dress at this point. "This place is way out of my league," he whispered, leaning close so that only y/n could hear.

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Steve sat back in his seat, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, that was rude." She took a sip of her water, then dropped her card onto the plate containing the check. She didn't even let Steve protest.

"What's mine is yours," y/n said when he tried to object.

Other than that minor hiccup, the night was perfect. It ended with a mind-shattering kiss, where it felt like time had stopped and they were the only ones truly living. Not to mention, his secret was still safe.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

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Of Love and Secrets:  @theadventurousqueen @marvelgirl7 @ashley-unicorn

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[nyfacurrent]

Business of Art | The Artist’s Creed: 10 Guiding Principles for Your Arts Career

Make your arts career work for you with this empowering advice from artists.

There is no one way to be an artist. Artists use different media, explore a vast range of ideas, and face differing barriers and obstacles. Yet over the years we’ve observed that many artists have one thing in common: tenacity. Below, we’ve distilled advice from people we admire. These intentions and action steps can help you protect and strengthen yourself, as a member of a community, an individual who must survive in the world, and as a creator.

“Find the practice that works for you, and never apologize for it.” - Walidah Imarisha

You’ve most likely read an article, or many, about the routines that notable artists swear by as requirements for productivity. While content like this can be inspiring, it can also be discouraging and alienating. What if you’re not a morning person? What if you you can’t afford to create everyday because you’re juggling multiple jobs to pay the bills?

In the words of educator and writer Walidah Imarisha, writing or creating every day “works for some, but if it doesn't, especially because you’re struggling to survive, it doesn't mean you aren't a writer” or artist. You are the only one who can set the best, and most feasible, rhythm and schedule for yourself.

Try: If fitting in large chunks of time for your art feels unattainable right now, set aside a few minutes on a regular basis to explore. This could be every night before you go to bed, on your morning commute, or during a break at work. Write down impressions of your environment, do a brief sketch, or think about ideas you’d like to explore in future work. You’ll find these few minutes will add up.

Or, if you’re ready and able to carve out more time aggressively but find yourself pulled in opposite directions by various priorities and responsibilities, set aside realistic chunks of time in your calendar to create. If your calendar is digital, set up reminder alerts. Treat this time as you would a work obligation.

Build yourself up.

Become your own best supporter. Writer Esmé Weijun Wang takes a documented approach. “My own self-belief has to be nurtured. I have a file of Kind Words that people have said or written to me...which I sometimes refer to.”

Try: Create your own repository of kind words. This could be a document you add to, or you could try a more tactile approach and list compliments on your wall or create text-based art with them.

Do the thing.

Creative block will manifest for every artist, but it is different for every artist. Perhaps, to counter it, you need rest, or a break, or to let yourself focus on another project. Ultimately, though, it can be helpful to “do the thing,” in the words of author Pam Stucky. Wendy Perron (Fellow in Choreography ’85) recommends doing the thing “even if at that (blocked) point, it feels really stupid and pointless. At least then you'll have something to look at or fix or edit.”

It’s OK to ask for help.

You don’t have to do it alone. If you’re struggling in some way, it’s very likely there is someone or something that can help. That’s why NYFA offers the NYFA Source Hotline, a free referral hotline that you can call at (800) 232-2789, from Monday - Friday, 3:00 PM - 5:00 PM EST, or email at source@nyfa.org.

If you’re experiencing financial duress because of an emergency, you may be the perfect candidate for an emergency grant.

Try: Reach out. Your local arts council or arts organization likely has the exact resources you need. Need a writer’s community or workshop? They may be able to connect you. Is your studio space lease ending with no alternative in sight? Organizations like chashama and many others offer free and affordable residencies. And remember, your peer network—either online or in-person— is one of your best resources available to you. Your fellow creators may be able to provide you with feedback, spread the word about your events, and help you make connections. Just be sure to offer help in return to ensure a fair and equitable partnership.

“Watch your pals.” - Hanif Abdurraqib

It can be a challenge to find the perfect outlets for your work once you’re ready to share it with the world. Here’s a simple starting point from poet and essayist Hanif Abdurraqib: “All of my dream publications are the places I can be published next to the work of my friends and heroes.”

Try: Create a list of 10 favorite artists in your discipline with whom you feel an affinity in style or subject matter. These could be artists in your circle, online or in-person, or others you admire from afar. Where are they published? Which galleries exhibit their work? At which festivals have they performed? Then, research any relevant deadlines or eligibility guidelines and set reminders for deadlines and the steps you need to take along the way to be ready to submit.

Court rejection.

Don’t let the “no’s” you receive define you. Rejection is inevitable. Poet Lauren Whitehead speaks of “courting rejection.” Lean into the “no’s” you receive because that  means you’re putting your work out there. Celebrate your rejections. Some even recommend aiming for 100 rejections per year, because that increases your odds of being accepted.

You can be financially stable.

Being an artist can be a financial challenge, whether you’re trying to finance a full-time artistic practice, pay student loans for your creative education, or afford studio space. But let’s throw out the stereotype of the starving artist. It is possible to survive, and even thrive, financially as an artist or creative, and there are many ways to reach this goal. Caitlin Pearce, Executive Director of the Freelancers Union, offers one strategy for independent contractors: “For many freelancers, stability comes with diversifying their income portfolio… [and with] finding diverse ways to monetize their skills and expertise.”

Try: Artists and creatives in all fields are often at a loss on how to price their work or services. Artist fees and hourly rates should be realistic in order to be competitive. But begin with the income you need, and want, to earn as your starting point, and prioritize this number. Your target annual income can help you find a sustainable hourly rate. Try using the formula provided by Andrew Simonet in Making Your Life as an Artist (free for download with newsletter sign-up).

Another principle to live by: when you’re creating a project budget, remember to pay yourself for your time.

Know your rights.

Here’s a staggering statistic from the National Endowment for the Arts: “American artists are highly entrepreneurial; they are 3.5 times more likely than the U.S. workforce to be self-employed.” This means that artists and creatives can find themselves without the protections of a standard workplace, shouldering more risk and liability.

There are steps you can take to protect yourself. Work with a contract so that expectations are clear. This is crucial for larger projects and highly recommended for smaller projects. The Freelancers Union offers contract templates that are compliant with New York City’s Freelance Isn’t Free Act, which protects the right to timely and full payment.

Another consideration for independent contractors: try to avoid work for hire contracts, in which the party that commissions the work or the employer owns the rights to the work. Poet, educator, and performer Denice Frohman cautions: “Don’t give your rights away.”

Try: There are a range of contract templates online or you may want to ask peers to share their template with you. Photographer Reggie Cunningham reworks templates that large companies and clients have sent to him. Whatever your method, resolve to find the format that works for you, so that it’s ready to go before your next opportunity presents itself.

Protect your work, invest in your future.

Your work and your well-being are precious resources; luckily, protecting yourself is well within your power. Every small step you take adds up to readiness in the face of disaster, as well as readiness for exciting opportunities in your arts career.

It’s important to document your work and related materials. “Archives help capture what can easily be lost.” says Eric Colleary, Cline Curator of Theatre & Performing Arts at the Harry Ransom Center. For many artists, “documenting their work for posterity almost becomes an artwork itself“ and is a highly individual process. Apply the same care and creativity in preserving your work as you do in producing it.

Try: Every tiny step is helpful. Here’s an example: look around your studio or living or storage space. Are there important materials in a basement or attic that could flood or experience extreme temperature shifts? Move them to a safer spot. Or, research opportunities to preserve your assets. CERF+ offers mini grants for craft artists called Get Ready Grants to help artists safeguard their studios and their careers.

Ready to start archiving? Here are a few resources that can guide you through the archival process: a guide from the Joan Mitchell Foundation for visual artists; Dance Heritage Coalitions Artist’s Legacy Toolkit; and resources on preserving electronic and time-based works from the American Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works. Thinking about your legacy early on will also help you get your work out into the world in the present.

The world needs your perspective.

Artists are all too familiar with imposter syndrome, as people who make their own rules and create something out of nothing. This leaves room for doubt. Over time, you’ll find your own ways to counter this feeling, but try starting with affirmations that help you fake it ‘till you make it. Writer Brandon Taylor says: “I try to remind myself that my work is worthy. Sometimes I literally say that in the shower until I believe it. ‘Your work is worthy, your work is worthy, your work is worthy.’ I try to take it very seriously. So that even if I suck that day, I still try.”

On top of everyday imposter syndrome, many artists receive messaging, subtle or otherwise, that their work or experiences are less valued than others. Deanna Fei (Fellow in Fiction ’06) on writing about her experiences as a parent: “We assume the family or domestic sphere is less worthy as fodder for art. But race, class, power are in every class and playground.” Disregard that prejudice and create “what inspires you. Start with the tiny and specific. Then go wide and big.”  

- Mirielle Clifford, Program Officer, Online Resources

This article draws inspiration from #ArtistHotline, an initiative dedicated to creating an ongoing online conversation around the professional side of artistic practice. Our goal is to help artists discover the resources needed, online and off, to develop sustainable careers.

Have an arts career question? You can contact NYFA staff directly via the NYFA Source Hotline at (800) 232-2789, from Monday - Friday, 3:00 - 5:00 PM EST or email source@nyfa.org.

This initiative is supported by the Emily Hall Tremaine Foundation.

Images from top: Michelle Boule (Fellow in Choreography ’16); Jordan Casteel (Finalist in Painting ’18), The Baayfalls