#closet clean out saga

[oxbowreality]

mothers can find anything is2g they just make objects materialize out of the ether

I'm prepping to move out of the nursery where I lived my entire life and she just reached into the closet and pulled out a breast pump from somewhere. where? I have no clue but it did appear from the depths despite my having used that closet on the daily for years.

[yournowheregirl]

remember when i said this was gonna be 5 parts? psych! it’s gonna be six parts of the secret-dolly-parton-fan eddie munson saga (thanks again for all the love on this fic & a special thanks to @gothbat99 and @legitcookie for listening to my rambling about this part 🥰)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 4: i will always love you

Eddie never thought himself to be an overthinker. 

In fact, during the majority of his life a lot of people assumed he didn't think at all considering the way he flunked senior year twice (He got there in the end, though). But lately - well, actually ever since Pat swore up and down Steve isn’t as straight as Eddie originally thought - Eddie’s brain has been running at a hundred miles an hour.

More specifically, Pat’s words have been echoing through his mind, haunting him, torturing him, every time he hangs out with Steve.

“Hey man, that shirt looks really great on you.” Steve says one day when Eddie shows up at Family Video wearing a red henley. It’s an old shirt he found earlier that week when Wayne forced him to clean out his closet, a little tight but it still fit so Eddie decided to keep it.

“What, this old thing?” Eddie scoffs, playing with the frayed hem of the shirt.

“Yeah, it’s… it suits you. Looks nice.” Steve smiles. 

“Thanks.” Eddie replies. His smile is tight, in the hopes that he doesn’t give away the swarm of butterflies currently residing in his stomach.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

“Wait, what’s happening again?” Steve asks one night during Will’s latest Hellfire campaign. 

It’s the first time in literal years that Eddie’s been playing a character instead of DM’ing and so far, he’s been very impressed with Will replacing him. Though his story lines can be a little too detailed at times, which makes it hard for Steve - who hasn’t been there during every D&D night - to keep up. 

So, Eddie explains it to him. He’s patient, keeping his voice low so the others won’t overhear and carefully watches Steve connect the dots. Watches how that cute little frown in between his eyebrows slowly fades away and is replaced with a soft smile. 

“Which brings us here, to the Rotting Grove and now we gotta wait until Dustin’s character makes a decision.” Eddie says finally, but Steve stays quiet. He’s still looking at Eddie, eyes wide with wonder, maybe he still doesn’t understand the plot just yet. “Sorry, did I go too fast? You want me to start again?”

“No, no, I got it.” Steve shakes his head, smiling. “Thanks for explaining it, though. You’re a great story teller, Eddie.” He says, bumping their shoulders together but never pulling away.

Steve stays glued to Eddie’s side throughout the rest of the night, whispering the occasional question or snarky comment in his ear, sending a chill down Eddie’s spine every time he feels Steve’s lips brush against his skin.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

“You really gotta be more careful.” Steve says sternly one afternoon, after Eddie has fallen face-first onto the ground during one of Max’ skateboarding lessons, leaving him with a nasty graze on his cheek. 

“I was being- fucking Christ, Steve.” Eddie hisses as Steve dabs a washcloth against Eddie’s bloodied cheek. “Will you stop that? That hurts like hell.”

Steve ignores his protests, rolling his eyes. “An infection hurts even more, so just stay still, will you?”

His hand, big and warm, finds Eddie’s hip, holding him still against the bathroom counter, as Eddie tries to think of literally anything that’ll stop his blood from going south because this not the place or time to pop a boner right now. Which somehow results in him being particularly mopey to Steve.

“I can take care of myself y’know? Been doin’ it all my life.” He grunts when Steve slowly removes the washcloth. 

“I know you can.” Steve replies softly. “But sometimes it’s nice to have someone taking care of you for a change.”

He runs his thumb over Eddie’s cheek, wiping away the last of the blood before placing his his hand on Eddie’s jaw, turning his face to see if there are any wounds to be taken care of. When Steve nods, obviously proud of his work, Eddie almost wants to go out there and trip another time, just to feel Steve’s hands on his skin again. 

“Besides, you need someone around here who actually knows first aid. God forbid something happens to that pretty face of yours.” Steve smirks, before patting Eddie’s chest and walking out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie speechless for the first time in his life.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

Pat’s words keep getting louder and louder in his mind to the point that it’s the only thing Eddie can think about. He overanalyzes every single one of Steve’s movements, every word that rolls off his tongue, every glance sent his way, to the point that he swears he’s going insane.

Because the more he starts thinking about it, the more Pat might actually be right and isn’t that the most terrifying thing in the wold?

-xxx-

“Dude, will you stop that?”

Eddie looks up from where he was mindlessly staring out the window and glares at Dustin, who glares right back at him. “What?”

“Your leg.” Dustin pokes him in said leg, the one that’s been bouncing uncontrollably for the past few minutes. “It’s fucking annoying.”

Dustin’s been at the Munson trailer since early afternoon, figuring out the perfect songs to  put on the mixtape he’s mailing Suzie for their anniversary. Eddie had felt honored that Dustin came to him, rather than the so-called leading expert on romance (Steve) but now his patience is wearing thin. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves the squirt with all his heart, but Dustin’s been contemplating between two very similar songs for thirty minutes now and his indecisiveness is starting to get on Eddie’s nerves.

“Maybe if you hurried the fuck up, my leg wouldn’t be shakin’ Henderson.” Eddie retorts. “C’mon, hurry up, will ya? I got places to go, people to meet.”

Dustin snorts. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“You know, going out to the woods to deal doesn’t exactly count as Friday evening plans.” Dustin says.

“Hey!” Eddie protests. “You know I don’t do that shit anymore, not with those shady government assholes watching my every move.” He sighs, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “But if you must know, me and Steve are having a movie night at his place and you know how huffy he gets when I’m late.”

That’s not entirely true. Sure, Eddie’s going over to the Harrington house tonight and sure they’re gonna watch a movie, but it’s also the night that Eddie decided to finally make a move on Steve. And maybe, if everything goes right, tonight will be the night that he finds the guts to Steve how he feels.

Which is why Dustin needs to get a move on because he really needs those extra few hours to contemplate his existence, have a panic attack, talk himself down from said panic attack and figure out what he’s going to wear.

“Okay, now I know you’re lying.” Dustin says, looking anything but impressed with Eddie.

“What? I ain’t lying, Henderson.” Eddie frowns. He grabs the VHS tape from the coffee table and waves it in Dustin’s face. “See, I got the movie and everything.”

“Yeah, well, you must have gotten the days mixed up.” Dustin shrugs. “Steve’s got a date tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” Eddie says, rolling his eyes at Dustin and ignoring the way his heart is starting to beat a little faster out of sheer panic. “Steve hasn’t been on a date since he broke up with Emily. And even if he has a date, I doubt he would’ve planned it at the same time as our movie night.”

“Well sorry to burst your bubble, but I know for a fact that Steve’s got a date tonight because he told me.” Dustin’s tone is bordering on condescending but Eddie doesn’t even have energy to tell him off right now because what the fuck? What does Dustin mean by that? And maybe more importantly, why did Steve leave Eddie in the dark about all this?

A heavy feeling settles down in his stomach, but he can’t let Dustin see his inner turmoil so he goes with indifference instead. “Pff, sure he did.”

“I saw him buy roses, Eddie! They were red too and that’s like, a dead giveaway for romance!” Dustin declares. “And when I talked to him about it he got this… weird, mushy look in his eye, which by the way gross, and said something about making tonight special and shit. Which again, gross, but if that doesn’t scream romantic evening to me, then I don’t know what is!”

Slowly, as Dustin’s words are starting to sink in, the heavy feeling grows stronger and stronger until Eddie feels his stomach drop.

Steve’s going on a date. 

Steve’s going on a date and just ditches Eddie without saying a word.

Steve’s going on a date with someone who isn’t Eddie.

Steve’s going on a date which means Pat was wrong.

“Get out.” Eddie says, voice on edge.

“Geez, didn’t know you’d get so upset. It’s just a cancelled movie night, I’m sure Steve-”

“Out!” Eddie exclaims, his tone way harsher than it needs to be. It obviously affects Dustin, who flinches at his words, but Eddie doesn’t care. Well, he does but he’ll apologize to Dustin later, once he starts to feel normal about all of this. 

Dustin quietly packs his stuff, mumbling something under his breath as Eddie just stands there, frozen. Eyes glued to the coffee stain on the carpet, mind reeling with thoughts of Steve ditching him for some date he didn’t even tell him about. 

He hears Dustin say a quiet goodbye but he stays there for a good few minutes before he finally snaps out of his trance and grabs the keys to the van from the kitchen counter. He doesn’t even see the dark clouds forming in the sky, he just gets in the van and drives. 

-xxx-

Rain is still pouring down when Eddie arrives at the Off-Road. Not that he really cares about the weather right now, he’s got other things on his mind. He pulls his leather jacket over his head and jogs over to the entrance, only to find the door closed and the lights off.

Great. Like his day couldn’t get any worse.

Eddie slumps down on the porch in front of the bar, not caring that he’s sitting on wet wood or that the wind is blowing the raindrops right in his face. The rain is actually pretty nice right now, hiding the tears that are slowly rolling down his cheek.

Crying over Steve motherfuckin’ Harrington. That’s a new low, even for him.

And the thing is, any other time Eddie could’ve dealt with Steve getting another date. Yeah, it’d probably hurt like a bitch and Eddie would’ve been sulking for a day or two, but he would’ve been fine. It would’ve been just another Emily situation, just another reminder that Steve would never been his.

But Steve keeping him in the dark about his date, Steve just flat-out cancelling their movie night without even telling him, after weeks of, let’s be honest, low-key flirting? That somehow hurts even more. It just feels like Steve doesn’t really care about him, like Steve’s using him like a fucking Kleenex - use once, then throw away when it’s no longer useful.

The thoughts in his head are so loud, so overwhelming, that he doesn’t even hear a pick-up truck stopping a few steps from him. Doesn’t hear the hushed voices or the wet sounds of footsteps through the mud.

“Ed? Whatcha doin’ here kid?”

Eddie looks up from where he had been staring at his feet, only to find Pat and Tish standing in front of him, huddled together underneath an umbrella. The worried looks on both their faces makes Eddie just cry even harder.

“Oh honey.” Tish says softly. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

Pat and Tish lead him inside and up the stairs that lead to the apartment above the bar. It’s small, but cozy and feels like a home, with little trinkets and old photos scattered just about everywhere. Pat firmly plants Eddie down at the kitchen table and hands him a couple of towels as his tears slowly start to fade. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was until Pat throws a woolen blanket over his shoulders and Tish puts down a pot of hot chamomile tea.

“So…” Pat says as she sits down across from him at the kitchen table. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Eddie sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “It’s stupid.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” Pat says sternly, though her eyes are soft. “Now tell us what happened.”

And Eddie just spills everything. How Pat’s advice has been haunting him, how he’s been overanalyzing every of Steve’s moves, how he was so sure that Steve liked him back, only to be tossed aside without a care. He tears up again a few times and it’s so embarrassing he wants to be buried alive, even with Pat and Tish just listening and telling him it’s okay.

Once he’s done, he just feels empty - no more tears to cry, no more words to say, just an empty, hollow feeling where his heart used to be. 

“Eddie, I’m so sorry, honey.” Tish sighs as she pours him another cup of tea. He’s not usually a tea drinker but he’s had two cups already - he swears Tish put some kind of crack in it, rather than sugar cubes. “For what it’s worth, he doesn’t deserve you. Not if he treats like you like, pardon my French, dogshit.”

Hearing Tish swear, while she’s generally so prim and proper, makes Eddie laugh, even through his dried-up tears. “Thanks, Tish.” He sighs, slouches down in his chair and looks up at the wooden ceiling. “But I guess this was good, in some twisted, fucked up way. Just the slap in the face I needed.”

“What’d you mean?” Pat frowns.

“It’s just… I been running after him like some lovesick puppy even though I know he’ll never feel the same.” Eddie says. “And it’s not doing me any good, now is it? Guess this is a sign that it’s time for me to move on.”

He knows he said that before, back when Steve started dating Emily, and even though it clearly didn’t work out the way he wanted to, Eddie has to make it work now. He has to say goodbye to Steve because he’s not so sure his poor heart’ll survive if he doesn’t.

And he knows exactly how he’s going to do just that.

Eddie jumps up from the table and races downstairs, ignoring Pat and Tish’s confused noises as they follow him. He fumbles with the lights for a moment but as soon as the lights are partially on, Eddie walks up to the podium, grabs the guitar off the wall and sits down on the stool that has become so familiar to him.

The bar is silent because of course it is and for a second Eddie just wants to laugh at how weird this whole situation - singing in a bar just to process his dumb feelings, even with no audience around (well, there’s an audience if you count Pat, Tish and the wind howling outside). But he has to do this, needs to do this, audience be damned. 

His hands are shaking, hesitating to play the first few chords. It’s not like he doesn’t know the song, in fact he knows it by heart and played it plenty of times, But he never actually sang the words, too scared what’ll mean if he’ll say them out loud. 

“If I, should stay… I would only be in your way. So, I’ll go but I’ll know, I’ll think of you each step of the way.” Eddie sing softly, voice already wavering because he was right for not singing this song before - it fucking hurts. “And I… will always love you.”

Eddie’s voice echoes through the empty bar, causing to sound more hollow than it already is. A shiver runs up his spine when he feels a cool breeze of wind - the wind must’ve flung the door open. Eddie doesn’t look up, closes his eyes instead and lets the music take him.

“Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m taking with me.” He hears Pat and Tish whispering to another, can’t really see them from where they’re standing in the dark but their hushed voices sound tense. Not that Eddie’s really listening, it’s all background noise as he continues strumming his guitar. 

“Goodbye, please don’t cry. We both know…” Eddie chokes on his on voice, the words hitting a little too close to home. He takes a deep breath and tries again, refusing to shed anymore tears. “We both know that I’m not what you need.”

“Eddie?”

Someone’s calling out his name. A familiar voice. A way too familiar voice. 

Steve’s voice.

But that can’t be. Steve’s doesn’t knows he’s here. Steve’s too busy wooing his goddamn date with those goddamn roses.

It’s just in his head. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him. He just needs to finish this song and then this fake Steve will disappear and-

“And I… will always love you. I will always-” 

“Eddie, please.”

Eddie stops playing as a shadow washes over him, a figure blocking the spotlight. He squints, trying to identify whether it’s Pat or Tish who interrupted him, only to find that it’s neither of them

Because there, with floppy wet hair plastered to his face and a thoroughly soaked pink button-down and blue jeans, stands the one person Eddie had run away from in the first place.

Steve.

tag list (there are so many of you now omg ily):

@cheatghost @henderdads @unclewaynemunson @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @fandomcartographer @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @this-earlobe-is-naked @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinsthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @starrystevie @magipemuseum @mightbeasleep @corrodedcoughin @linkydinky06 @hardboiledeggs @gamerdano @limpingpenguin @blackpanzy @piningapple @teelagurl558 @theokatz @moonlightmirrorball @milf-harrington @raisedbylibrarians @eddiemunsonswife @catateme9 @stranger-poets-society

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 3: Spring Cleaning

wc: 518 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing and language | cw: None

Tags: Spring Cleaning, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steddie Dads, Discarded Toys, Childhood Toys

'Goodbye, Mr. Furby'

Steve opens his daughter’s double-doored closet only to be greeted by her demonic Furby. A formerly beloved and sought-after plushie that also terrorised the family with late-night chirping for far too long until he had worked out how to remove the batteries.

He shudders at the thought of the manual Eddie had managed to track down, filled with faceless Furbys being exorcised and deprogrammed. He reaches forward with giddy glee and plucks the toy from its quiet resting spot.

“We can finally get rid of this thing,” he beams, turning to Eddie who lingers at the door, “Goodbye, Mr. Furby.”

“That’s Abernathy Furby, to you,” Eddie quips, frowning.

He takes a swipe for the toy but misses when Steve swoops his arm out of reach.

Eddie stumbles back in, clutching his proverbial pearls and his eyes glisten with worry. He stands there shellshocked, utterly scandalised by the prospect of cleaning out this mess of an apartment.

Steve knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He had to gently suggest such a task throughout the winter months, exercising pain-staking patience until Eddie and Joanie would at least hear him out.

“Eddie,” Steve begins, pinching his nose with his free hand, “You promised you’d let me do some Spring Cleaning this weekend. Besides, you hate this thing as much as I do.”

He plays keep-away just to be safe, watching his partner intently as he palms around to open the designated donation box he hopes to fill today.

“Adios,” Steve grins, taking one last look into the soulless, mechanical eyes of the plush before he drops it into the dark abyss of the labelled cardboard box.

That cursed thing can be some other parent’s problem...

“What’s happening?” Joanie yells, poking her head in from the hall.

Steve freezes, his arm now midway between reaching back into her closet for another forgotten toy – this time a grey tabby cat that got chewed up by a very real cat mere moments after Nancy had gifted it back when Joanie was two.

He glances at Eddie for backup, only to be met with a raised, judgemental brow. His partner pointedly folds his arms and leans against the doorframe in defiance.

Steve can’t help but roll his eyes at himself because, yeah – of course, his family would put on a united front against him. And he was foolish to think Joanie’s homework obligations would outweigh her infinite curiosity that borders on nosiness.

“Uh…” he hums, floundering immediately as his heart races a mile a minute.

He watches as his daughter walks to the box and peers inside. She gasps and dives in head first, her haste almost tipping her into the box completely.

“Not Abernathy!” she shrieks, holding the demon spawn up as she rocks herself and the box back upright.

The toy chirps and blinks away earning a high-pitched yelp from Eddie.

“St-Steve...” he stutters, whimpering as he points a shaking hand at the sentient being.

Steve grimaces at the toy held firm in his daughter’s grasp, looking like it has risen from a cardboard grave, readying itself for the kill.

[spilledbeans116]

DBZ: The Princess Saga

Ch. 2: The Dance - Vegeta x Reader - 3,385 Words - SFW

// Vegeta x fem!reader // Uses Y/N // Saiyan AU //

Read Part 1 here!!!

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    Brushing your hair was quite easy, and you smoothed it out with your hands afterwards to prevent it from frizzing up. The dress, however, proved to be the difficult part. Your jumper was stretchy and fit your body snuggly, no zippers or buttons required. The satin dress, while still form fitting, required a zipper that you couldn’t pull up all the way. Had you been in your room, where you wanted to be, you could simply step out and ask one of the hundreds of other maids for help. However, you were not in your room and there were no other maids around.

    A knock came at the door; It was actually more of a loud banging. “Woman, what the hell is taking you so long?” The prince's voice rang out, pissed to all hell. What else was new?

    “I can’t reach the zipper!” You called back. The banging stopped and you heard an annoyed sigh. 

    “Just open the damned door and I’ll zip it for you so we can leave.”

    You paused for a moment, making sure to hold up the top of the dress and cover yourself. You tried once again to zip it up from the small of your back to no avail. You sighed and opened the door, making sure to have your back to the prince.

    After the door was open, there was no sound of footsteps coming to help. “Uh, Vegeta? The door is open.” Your tail swished behind you anxiously as you waited for the prince to do something.

    Then the sound of his dress shoes clacked against the tile to you, where you felt his warm hand grip the zipper. He paused as you pulled your hair away from your back, and he pulled up sharply to close the dress. The sleeveless dark blue gown highlighted your shoulders nicely, and complimented the prince’s cape. The folds were soft, and the way the top of it was cut showed off your chest. You looked good in fancy attire.

    You heard the prince turn on heel and quickly make his way to his room's door. “Hurry up,” he grunted, not even bothering to wait as you slipped on your shoes and blue scouter and ran after him. To be fair, his face was as red as a flame and he didn’t want you to see. He opened the door and you smiled as you saw the big bald saiyan waiting out in the hallway.

    “Vegeta, why is your face-“

    “Shut it Nappa now let’s go get this damned thing over with.” You fell in stride with Nappa as you both walked down the hallway behind the prince, with you on the right and Nappa on the left. Your dress billowed behind you as you walked briskly down the hall. The hallway was decorated with ornate gold statues, blue flowers, and sloping ceilings. Vegeta had ordered the walls to be decorated with the ancient tapestries depicting the legendary super saiyan, who’s hair shown bright gold and his eyes a blinding blue. They were stunning depictions, but still just legends all the same.

    “Wow Y/N, you look beautiful!” Nappa smiled at you. As scary as the older saiyan looked, he truly was a sweetheart. 

    “Thank you Nappa. You clean up nicely yourself,”  you grinned. He was wearing the dressier model of your everyday armor, which you had the same version of in your closet. The body suit underneath was black, with a dark gray chest plate and dark blue stomach piece. His tail was wrapped tightly around his waist and his scouter piece glowed blue as it picked up the power levels of the servants you passed.

    “No one complimented my appearance,” Vegeta growled, not bothering to look behind himself.

    “I think you look quite handsome, sire,” you smiled softly as he turned to meet your eyes. He seemed annoyed, but what you could not see was his tail whipping around wildly under his cape and the blush that came to his cheeks as he faced forwards again.

    “Yeah Vegeta! You look all grown up!” Nappa said as he clapped his hands together. 

    “He still looks like a mama's boy to me,” the person stepping up next to Nappa laughed. He was wearing the same outfit as the older saiyan, but his long, dark hair was a stark contrast from the bald man.

    “Raditz! You made it!” Nappa laughed heartily, swinging his arm around Raditz’s shoulder. “Where’s Kakarot?”

    “Right here!” Kakarot smiled, stepping up to the other side of you. “Hey Y/N! Wow, you look really pretty!”

    You smiled in return and glanced over his outfit; it was the same as the one the other two had on. You went to thank him before Vegeta cut you off. “Don’t compliment her Kakarot, her ego is already bad enough as is.”

    “That’s ironic coming from you,” Raditz grumbled under his breath. As annoying as the prince could be, you enjoyed the little group that came with your job. They hadn’t been as welcoming of you at first, but once you trained with them you had earned their respect. It helped that you shared meals with Raditz and Kakarot almost every evening; at least, the ones when you weren’t with the prince babying his every need. For those, a good chunk of the time Nappa joined the two of you as well. It was also a bit of a help that you grew up in the same area as Kakarot, so you sort of knew him before starting work at the castle.

    “So Vegeta, are you ready to find a mate?” Raditz asked, wiggling his eyebrows as everyone but Vegeta and Nappa chuckled. Nappa gave a slight frown, to which you raised an eyebrow at.

    “I’m ready to get this damned night behind me.” He grunted, stepping up to the ballroom doors. “Don’t act like idiots. Woman, stay by me.” 

    You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Yes sire.”

    Kakarot and Raditz opened the doors as you, Vegeta, and Nappa walked into the room together. A hush befell the room and everyone kneeled as the prince went past. This was the part of the banquets he enjoyed; the part where everyone honored his lineage and power. It made him feel strong and caused his ego to flare up to an even higher level of unbearable. Your tail wrapped tightly around your waist as you stared at the bowed heads of the prince’s servants and followers.

    The prince sat on his throne beside his father, where Nappa stood with you to the right of the prince (you being the closest) and Raditz and Kakarot took their places to the left of the king. 

    “You may rise,” the King's booming voice echoed throughout the chamber as Vegeta huffed in annoyance, not wanting the moment to be over. Each separate house had selected a prime saiyan woman made for the title of queen to be presented to the prince later in the night. Out of all of them, he’d choose his favorite, based on his tastes alone, to dance with. 

    “Woman, fetch me-“ the prince began, but his father quieted him.

    “Son, they are not here to serve you tonight. Go and enjoy yourselves, as I doubt this will happen again.” You glanced at Nappa, wide eyed, who seemed just as shocked as you. The four of you bowed.

    “Thank you, my king,” you all echoed in unison. Vegeta said something hurriedly to his father, who shook his head and continued to watch the crowds of high society mingle.

    You tossed a glance over your shoulder at the prince, giving a soft wave as he rolled his eyes. He tossed his hand over the right arm rest and let it dangle beside the throne as he smirked and flicked you off. You stuck your tongue out at him as you walked to the table and began to make a plate full of snacks.

    “Man, I thought he would have been a lot happier to have women swooning over him all night. I sure would be,” Raditz grumbled, grabbing food off the table and shoving it into his mouth. Nappa elbowed him and Raditz began to choke as Kakarot slapped his back repeatedly. Raditz then swallowed sharply and gasped for air as Nappa shoved a plate into his hands. Having served the prince for so long, you had some idea of the manners required for tonight, and Nappa was a saiyan elite born into the higher class and had been taught the basics since birth. It was clear, however, that Raditz and Kakarot did not fall into either category and therefore stuck out like a sore thumb.

    “Maybe he’s shy!” Kakarot whispered, piling his plate high with the finger foods. 

    “No, he’s just…” Nappa looked like he wanted to say something but stopped himself as music began to play.

    “He’s just full of himself.” You replied with a roll of your eyes. The four of you took a seat at one of the empty tables and began to eat your food. The table was covered in a white table cloth, with fancy silverware, napkins, candles, and a large bouquet of blue and gold flowers in the middle. The decorations matched the rest of the ballroom, which had marble and gold floors and vases of large plants hanging from the pillars holding up the ceiling. Vegeta and his father’s thrones were golden of course, with the cushions a bright red, standing out in the midst of the blue, white and gold decorations. The thrones sat perched above the dance floor, with marble steps and a dark blue carpet leading directly to its edge. 

    You had to admit, as silly as this whole thing was, it truly was one of the fanciest things you had ever been to in your life.

    “Look at those dopes, dancing around with their noses in the air,” Raditz rolled his eyes and continued to shove food in his mouth, spewing a bit onto the table as he continued. “They think they’re better than us.”

    “They are better than us,” you sighed sadly.

    “Aw come on Y/N, don’t talk like that.” Kakarot frowned slightly. “I don’t think anyone is better than us.”

    “Maybe Frieza,” Nappa grunted, earning a laugh from the four of you.

    “See any girls that catch your eye, Nappa?” Raditz smirked, nudging the older saiyan with his elbow.

    “Nah, they’re all too prissy pants for me,” Nappa chuckled. “Not my type.”

    “And too young for Nappa!” Kakarot laughed, spewing food everywhere again as he shoveled more into his mouth.

    “I don’t know, I think that one over there looks pretty nice,” Raditz smirked, pointing his fork at a taller saiyan woman, wearing a battle chestplate over her purple dress. Her hair was long, and she was the only one not dancing alongside the suitors. She was also the only one wearing armor as a suitor tonight. Instead of dancing, she was laying with her arms crossed against one of the pillars, glaring as the other women made fools of themselves with their silly gala dances. Her head swiveled to meet your eyes and you quickly looked elsewhere, a chill running down your spine.

    “I think Vegeta shares your thoughts Raditz!” Kakarot giggled, nodding his head towards the prince. You looked over to see he was staring at the girl with a curious expression, and you felt your heart falter slightly. You couldn’t help the frown that came to your face. 

    “Hey no sour expressions!” Kakarot nudged you gently. “This is a fun night! We never get food this tasty in the barracks!” 

    You gave a sad smile and nodded. “Yeah I guess you have a point there.” Nappa was staring at you weirdly again and you bristled. “What is it, Nappa?”

    “Do you know how to dance?” He asked suddenly.

    “Nappa, I was born by the city limits in a tiny hut, do you think I can ballroom dance?” You laughed. “That’s like asking if Raditz can dance!”

    “Hey! I’ll have you know I can and I’m decent at it!” Raditz huffed, crossing his arms and frowning while his brother giggled.

    “You can’t ballroom dance to save your life!” Kakarot laughed, causing his brother to smack the back of his head. “Hey what did ya do that for?”

    Nappa shook his head as he chuckled and took off his scouter. “Come on, I’ll show you how.”

    You glanced around nervously at the hundreds of high class saiyans talking amongst themselves or waltzing around the dance floor. “I don’t-“

    “Come on, they all know me here and they won’t think twice of it.” He stood up and offered you a hand, which you took hesitantly before taking off your scouter as well. As soon as it was set down on the table, he yanked you to a corner of the dance floor.

    He placed one of your hands on his shoulder as he placed his hand on your waist. He then grabbed your remaining hand in his and held it to the side of you two. You could barely reach his shoulder, and his hand on your waist felt massive; gods he was a huge dude. 

    “Alright now step in time with me. And a 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.” You awkwardly waltzed around with Nappa, who was surprisingly a light dancer on his feet. His white boots clacked around the ballroom while you stumbled around with him to the music.

    “Wow Y/N, you’re horrible at this!” He laughed quietly as you rolled your eyes and smiled.

    “Gee, thanks big guy. I didn’t know I was dancing with the prince.” That earned a hearty laugh from your dance partner, who quickly quieted down and apologized after the dirty looks he got from the other dancers.

    “I’m only pulling your tail. You’re not too bad for a newbie,” he smiled; It was a sincere smile and warmed your heart a bit as you continued to be terrible at waltzing.

    “Thanks Nappa.” You couldn’t help but steal a glance at the prince, who was now staring at you and Nappa. You floated up a bit and gave a soft smile from over Nappa’s shoulder before he seemed to huff, cross his arms, and look elsewhere. What a cranky man. Then again you’d probably be bored sitting up there too, watching as everyone else at a dance hosted in your honor got to have fun and you didn’t.

   “Has Vegeta always been this cranky?” You asked Nappa quietly, touching down onto the floor again.

    He nodded his head. It was well known that besides being Vegeta’s trainer, the large man also acted as his nanny of sorts; a second dad if you will. Vegeta, although he’d never admit it to his face, looked up to Nappa as more of a father than his actual dad.

     “For as long as I can remember, he was always the way he is; spoiled and grumpy.” 

    You chuckled at his response. “That sounds about right. I can’t even imagine him as a kid.” You had been working by Vegeta’s side for six years now, and you were the first maid that stayed longer than five days without quitting or pleading insanity from his attitude. 

    Nappa’s stare blanked for a moment before a soft smile grew on the older man’s face. “Actually, before he went to work under Frieza, there was just a small bit of time where he was no different from any other saiyan child.”

    “I can’t imagine what that was like for him,” you said, glancing again at the spikey haired prince, watching as he talked quietly to his father.

   “He got over it quickly, not like he had a choice.” Nappa began to smile, staring off wistfully as he thought of the past. “He used to have bangs.” 

    You gasped. “No he did not!” You, of course, already knew this, having seen the prince on the television during his father’s speeches as a child. Yet, you didn’t want to disrupt the older saiyan’s happy memories.

    “He used to act like a kid too, whining for toys and to go play outside. Of course he couldn’t just play anywhere, so he would climb the tree in the courtyard while I watched from the benches.”

    You smiled as Nappa talked about the young prince with such admiration. When it came down to it, it was clear Nappa thought of Vegeta as his son as well. When he was in the middle of talking about how he’d carry the prince above his head and Vegeta would pretend he was a rocket, a tap on your shoulder made you jump slightly.

    “Hey Y/N!” Kakarot smiled. “Mind if I steal a dance? I’ve been practicing!” He motioned over to Raditz, who was now mumbling curse words under his breath as he sat back down at the table and once again began to pile food into his mouth with reckless abandon.

    “Oh, uh, sure! If Nappa doesn’t mind that is!” You replied, glancing up at the bald saiyan.

    Nappa scrunched up his face for a second and glanced in the prince’s direction. “Uh… I guess for a bit wouldn’t hurt.”

    “Don’t worry, we’ll be quick!” Kakarot smiled again. He was always so happy for a saiyan; sometimes you forgot he wasn’t just an off worlder. If it wasn’t for his tail, you wouldn’t believe he was the same species as you.

    Nappa flawlessly switched his hands out with Kakarot’s as you placed your hand on his shoulder. He went over and started talking to Raditz as Kakarot spun you around quickly.

    “Woah woah woah we gotta keep pace with everyone else!” You laughed as he spun you faster.

    “This is more fun though!” He smiled. “They’re too slow!”

    You laughed and agreed but made him slow down anyway. The two of you were getting glares from the suitors as you shared the dance floor with them, but for once you didn’t care. The king had been right; when would you ever get to do something like this again?

    “Why did you want to dance?” You chuckled, staring up into his eyes. He seemed to be thinking about it a bit before he gave his response.

    “I was bored!” You felt like a rock just got dropped on your head but you laughed anyway. He could be really stupid but his personality was refreshing. You began to fill in with the rest of the dancers, all of whom were now paired up with a male servant and dancing around the room, their brightly colored ball gowns that depicted their houses swirling together in a blur of rainbow colors. You and Kakarot were no different, even if your outfits were less grand and your colors belonged to the prince's royal guard. Vegeta thought he had only glanced away for a moment before he realized he couldn’t find Nappa’s tall, bald, satellite head circling the dance floor with you. 

    “Where the hell are they,” he grumbled, spotting Nappa at the table with Raditz. The two were caught up in an intense conversation, with you nowhere to be found.

    “Looking for your entourage?” The king chuckled darkly. Vegeta just grunted and looked away from his father, resting his elbow on the chair's armrest and placing his chin in his hand.

    “Hardly see why you would care.” He grunted.

    “I quite like the two of them together. They seem close.” Vegeta rolled his eyes at his father’s words.

    “Nappa is as old as you father, I hardly doubt anyone else thinks that.”

    “Not him you oaf, the saiyan boy. What’s his name? I don’t recall it… Bardock’s son.” Vegeta’s head immediately whipped up as his onyx eyes scanned the dance floor only to find you waltzing around with none other than Kakarot. His loose grip on his chin changed to a tight grip on both armrests of the throne, the intricate gold designs cracking under his hands. 

    “How ideal. He’s a good fighter, isn’t he? I know she has proved herself to be one as well. Their offspring would benefit our armies an undeniable amount.”

    “The hell are you talking about, old man?” Vegeta spat, his eyes never leaving the two of you. 

    “Watch your tone, boy,” the king frowned. Vegeta didn’t even notice, watching as you smiled up at Kakarot and the two of you held onto each other. It made him feel a pit of uneasiness in his stomach; he felt disgusted by it. 

    There was no way he was jealous. He was the prince of all saiyans damn it! He watched as you stumbled and Kakarot caught you, holding you closer and continuing to laugh. Okay, maybe he was jealous. Not of your affections or the fact that Kakarot was able to hold your soft hands and your curving waist, or that Kakarot got to stare down at you in that gorgeous, deep blue dress. Not that you were wearing his colors and looked as beautiful as ever in it. Not even because his father talked about you and Kakarot’s potential children like it was set in stone. No, of course not. He was jealous his damned rival got to waltz around the floor and he did not. At least, that’s what he told himself.

    “Actually, I’ve thought about it before as well. With you finding a mate of your own soon, I’ve drafted a letter to the girl's parents, offering an arranged marriage of her and Bardock’s son.” Vegeta's right hand snapped off the top of the arm rest and he tossed it to the side as he stood up abruptly. 

    “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His father growled. Vegeta took another step down the blue carpet and towards the dance floor.

    Kakarot was spinning you so fast again to the point that you were seeing stars. “Kakarot I’m gonna throw up, stop it!” You laughed dizzily.

     “Me too!” He chuckled, coming to a slow stop. “Alright I’ve had my fun, I need some water!” You let go of his hand and placed both on his shoulders as the two of you laughed in the middle of the dance floor.

    “WOMAN!” The prince’s voice rang out, high above the music and the dancing of the crowd. Everyone immediately stopped dancing or talking and the band stopped playing abruptly, turning to look at the prince to see who he was calling out to. You were no different, and a feeling of uneasiness washed over your entire body. He called every female “woman,” but when your eyes met his you knew he was speaking to you.

    “Move.” He spat at the crowd, and they parted out of his path. He looked furious, but the suitors didn’t seem to care. Some bowed to him as he walked past, others curtsied. A select few reached out to him but he shouldered his way past them. When he reached you and Kakarot, he stopped, reaching out a hand.

    “You’re dancing with me now,” he spat.

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

Like these two chapters? You can find the rest of them here on ao3 or here on Wattpad! Thanks for scrolling this far, likes and shares are appreciated! Check out my page for other one-shots, and I'm open to requests!

-<3 Beans

[ghost-maya]

Thanks for the tag @fivedayslater !!

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Oh god... I haven't cleaned that out in ages... most of the non one piece ones are abandoned unfortunately :") - I'll still put the rest in the "read more" bar in case anyone is interested but it's probably best to stick with the op ones lmao

Behind Blue Eyes

life's a precious thing

Deep Sleep

Ghost Hunting AU Outline

omegaverse outline

sanji's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad heat

Straw Hat Vampires

The Cruise - Outline

The Skyscraper

(+ 2 wips that have not made it out of the discord dms yet. let's call them "zosan closet pwp" and "nami x conis pwp")

Tagging: @ms-all-sunday @abilusanji @brunetta6blog @misqnon @summerofspock @sinelanguage @redyarns @lakesandquarries @purpleneutrino

Fandom works (mostly haikyuu lol):

Gelphie Omegaverse

Zukka Canon Divergence AU

A leap of faith

A Whisker Away AU

BokuAka in BOTW

Just Sum World Building

KageHina Witch Fic

Kageyama Birthday Oneshot Thing

kghn band au thing

KGHN hurt/comfort

Shadow God Kageyama AU — Outline

SPSS & PSS: Operation SakuAtsu

The Absence of Hinata Shouyou

The Kagehina Wedding Saga - Miwalisa

The Kagehina Wedding Saga - Planning

The Silver Lining

train au??

TSL Info & dumping grounds

MLP:ZLS Loredump

Zelink

Long Forgotten Words

Original works:

*Record Scratch* *Freeze frame*

Character background stuff

Character Info

Coffee shop AU: A Character Study

Dandelions

Evergreen

Getting into Mo's Voice Stuff

I have too many beginnings

in the classroom

Izzy vent

Kit's backstory

Kitzy Banter

leandy

Lucilleana Fic

Magic System

Nanowrimo Outline

The Ghost of Wilson High School

Train

Untitled document

Untitled document

Untitled WIP (A Novel Study)

Venty Thing

Vy's Butchered OCs

Word Vomit

World Building.exe

Zodiacs

If anyone ventured in here; hello! I'm happy to post/talk about any of these still. Some are a LOT more recent than others. This game finally had me move my "miraculous ladybug" folder out of there bc i know i am truly never going to touch those again rip 😭

Also bc i find it interesting - the last time i did this game was 2 years ago. Hyperlink if anyone wants to see which "wips" have been sitting around for 2+ years now (i dont think i published any of them.. just put them in the abandoned folder..) *sweats*

[quantum-bliss]

Day 1 of Recovery

I don't know why I am even calling it recovery, I guess I am tired of the word heartbreak and also tired of being depressed. I figured changing the title might trick me into moving forward, but I will still write on my hearbreak saga ocassionally.

Today I decided I needed to stop being an emotional vampire and actually begin working on my life. I decided I should begin by spring cleaning. Of course a simple task would lead to yet another revelation.

While emptying my closet I found a bag of memories. From elementary, through college, all the way up to 2020. It was a weird feeling to see old pictures, reading old journals, seeing old pay checks, and old accomplishments. I asked myself, what happened after 2020? Why do I have nothing after the year?

I realized after that year I kind of stop trying or in other words stopped living. The cause is unclear, but maybe it was the final straw of being attacked at work, or maybe it was the hellous verbal assault my sister unleashed on me, maybe it was traveling out of state for school only to have to medically withdrawl, maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was the constant disappointments, maybe it was the constant pain, or maybe it was everything. But I was never the same after that year. I gave up on life and I did not even know it.

But somehow going through the memories made me remember how life used to be before this pain. That there people, places, and things I loved. There were dreams I pursued. There was life before heartbreak, and in some ways it was beautiful.

I saw the trips you and I went on, the tickets, and the hotels. I also saw the trips I went on with other people. I saw our old pictures, I also saw their old pictures. I found your cards, I also found their cards. I even found a card that said good friends are hard to come by, with a note saying sorry. This friend seemed to be remorseful for something, but its been so long I have no idea what even happened. I wonder if I can also get to that place with you.

The process was therapeutic to say the least. It was like I had a flash of all of my happiest moments, with the love from people I had left behind. It was then that I realized, my heart has so many beauty things in it and somehow I have blocked all of it out.

I recognized I could never be happy with the life I built just around us. I had given up on having light from everyone else and decided to just focus on holding your light. But the problem with holding one light is, at some point, that light will dim and without other lights being there life would become dark again.

It did become dark and thats not your fault. Much like everyone else in the box of memories, you cant be perfect. The way I have been feeling is a result of me shutting off the light from the people and things that once brought vibrance to my world. I realize my mistake now, and I will do my best not to hurt myself in this way again.

So this is day 1 of my recovery and the future looks brighter than yesterday.

[nem0-nee]

(Crying I don’t think my first ask went thru LMAO)

Can I get ∅ for Mayuu’s opinion on Nox? (And mby Saga if u want ksjfjsbdhfb)

DFFDSK the other one went through, but I'm answering this one to be silly 😈

Sadly no doodle for this one + the future ones... at least not yet >:o

[Flipping through the logbook, you're presented with two entries]

[What lies ahead beckons you to turn the page]

v [take the plunge?] v

[ TALE OF SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, CONT. ]

Teach me your ways!: You could say that Mayuu looks up to Nox in a sense, especially when it comes to dual-wielding combat. She’d definitely take the opportunity to spar with him for the experience! After all, it’s quite rare to come across another fellow dual-wielder. “Our battle may be legendary, so don’t go easy on me now” The prefect takes a stance, preparing herself for what’s to come.

Please don’t report me: Let’s just say that there were one…two?- Definitely a certain amount of occurrences where Mayuu almost struck Nox. She claims it was out of self-defense since she was caught off guard by his presence. Nothing says hello like an elbow to the face. “I’m so sorry- I SWEAR I didn’t mean to do that?!?!”

You’re a cruel one, Nox: Mayuu finds the degree of his dislike for fae to be odd. But she supposes she can’t judge him; she doesn’t know him too well, even with knowledge of him in past timelines. But still, it’s somewhat heartbreaking for her to see how he is with faeries, especially considering that the ones she knew were nothing but helpful. “Don’t you suppose that…you’re being too much?” Mayuu wears a look of disapproval.

[ TALE OF AGGRAVATING ANOMALIES, CONT.]

What the hell’s up with him?: He’s weird as hell, and that’s not really saying much… Everyone is strange and hella weird to Mayuu. But what separates him is his creepiness and overall vibe. She can handle nervous weirdos like Idia, but Saga? Yeah… No thanks. “If I had to choose between cleaning up the entire campus or hanging out with Saga for an hour, I’d be heading straight for the janitor’s closet right when you mention his name.”

Take a chill pill, I meant no ill will: At first, Mayuu didn’t really bat another eye at this fellow. NRC students are weird, she knows that well. But Saga’s accusations of her being suspicious of him? Especially with that “glare” of hers? The prefect felt… disheartened. Ah Mayuu, your natural RBF never fails to bite you in the ass… “What glare?! THAT’S JUST HOW I LOOK!?!?” Mayuu said calmly.

I’m crazy?? YOU’RE CRAZY!!: To no surprise, this poor prefect is fed up with Saga. No matter how many chances of redemption she gives him, it just seems hopeless. His remarks about her only add more salt to the wound. “Lord have mercy- this f- MAN is going to make me lose my hair before I turn 20!! I don't judge him for his 'hobby', so he better not judge me for strangling Kyuu.”

Understandable, please shut up: Despite being the listening type, Mayuu can’t help but get overwhelmed when this guy opens his mouth. His nonsense is just a neverending stream of negative blabbering… Believe me, she has tried to respond back, but that just seems to encourage him to ramble even more. “My brain can only handle so much… he’s like a toddler when he babbles. Christ, my head’s spinning again just by thinking about it.” Mayuu looked like she was about to lose it then and there. Yeesh, guess he was too much for her to handle.

[ - The clock has struck 12... END OF CHAPTER -]

[moongothic]

MCM Shelf Saga

Part 1 - Introduction, Commencing Stripping Hell

Spring has come, which can only mean one thing. It's time for another furniture refinishing project.

So you might remember this chair I've refinished before, and you might remember how I mentioned in the backstory of that post that my late mother had painted three pieces of furniture (a chair, a desk and a shelf) in matching colors, the three having been left to collect dust in one of our attic closets for the past few decades.

Indeed, this is one of the three furniture pieces, and just like with the chair, I ain't keeping it if it looks like that. It's either getting refinished or yeeted, and since I don't want to waste perfectly good furniture, it's the former. And since the weather now allows it, it's time for me to get started on working on this beast of a project.

Now there's actually two things I had to do before I could begin this project. Step one was disassemble the entire unit because, TL:DR; we could not move it out of the tiny ass closet without either moving a fuck ton of furniture and storaged items out of the way and maybe break something while hauling this outside, OR just disassemble it 'cause it needed to get dissambled anyways.

So, with dad's help we did just that (with relative success, we did have to break some of the original screws because they had dug into the wood and made disassembly impossible otherwise, but it's fine that hardware can be replaced) and brought it to the patio where I can work on it.

The other thing I had to do was actually quickly check if the shelf was safe for me to work on. If you want more info you can read the chair post but long story short, I was worried there could be toxic car paint under this paint layer and if there was, I was going to refuse to refinish this piece. But all I did was gently sand some paint off a shelf to see what was underneath and it was wood so! Safe it is!

So this is probably somekinda MCM shelf, the style looks like it and the color of the wood could suggest it. The main unit of it is made of just veneered chipboard but hey, it's vintage chipboard, and there's nothing wrong with it, so it's still worth giving a second (a third?) life to

Didn't take a photo of it with the drawers and the sliding door still inside but I doubt that matters. Parts of the inside of the unit did get painted over which is. Not great for me, but it is what it is

Intrestingly, the sides of the shelf (that make both the feet of the unit as well as where the shelves hook onto) seem to have been black originally, as the inside facing parts never got painted over. Meanwhile the main unit has some veneer damage right where the sides were... Like it's not great but since that part does get completely covered it's not a huge deal

And the shelves of the shelf. As you can see, I did a quick test on them to see what was under the paint and it looked safe to work on

So I actually kinda started by testing my paint removal methods on one of the shelves. When I did the above check up, I noticed the paint was quite hard to just sand through, so just sanding it didn't seem like a great option. I did also soon discover the paint was quite hard to scrape.

Now, I did't want to use paint stripper since it causes me that severe nausea, so I decided to try out a hot air gun to remove it. And it did work! However

First off I just wasn't excited about using electricity 'cause. Energy crisis. Y'know. Shit's expensive.

While it worked it wasn't super effective? It might've been just poor technique on my part but I felt like I had to stand there blowing hot air onto the paint for a long time for it to start reacting before quickly sweeping in to scrape a tiny section clean before starting again on another tiny tiny section

And the main thing... Under the paint there seemed to be an old finish of some kind. Probably a poly coat, IDK. But I was getting worried of how it was reacting to the heat. Like. IDK I was worried it might melt and damage the wood or something

So. I had to go crawling back to the paint stripper. Because in the end, it felt like the safest option for me to use (nausea aside). From the chair project I knew it would be able to remove the paint easily and knowing this whole thing has a lot of thin veneer all over it, it'd probably be the best way for me to ensure I didn't damage the veneer too much.

Goop time it is

I did one coat of paint stripper and let it sit over night (plastic wrapped so it wouldn't dry out)

Here's what the sides were looking like after one round of paint stripper. It really wasn't going to be enough so what I ended up doing was that I applied another coat of paint to the top and let it do it's thing for like an hour (while I was walking my cat), before coming back. I then did another round of stripper on both sides while I finished removing the paint residue from the top

So here's what two rounds of paint stripper did to the top, as well as one round to the inside bits. It seems like the paint may have permanently strained parts of the inside where the wood was raw as it did not want to come off at all, though fortunately the worst parts are the parts that'll end up getting covered by the drawers so it could be worse

Now the paint stripper did not make the old finish come off the main unit really. It did soften it, but that didn't make it easier to remove, it made it just kinda goopy and unpleasant to remove but, since I had no other choise, I kept on going at it and scraped it away along with the remaining paint residue

After I finished working on the top I went back to remove the rest of the paint from the sides and the old finish. Eventually getting to this point

The veneer is not in great shape, there seems to be some possible water damage marks on the wood (possibly from the stripper??) OR there might be just more of the old finish there that I haven't managed to remove yet

The veneer is super thin. I could keep on scraping and sanding it, but I'm just really afraid I might go through the veneer and do some really bad damage, so... I kinda wan tto try using oxalic acid first. If there's water stains, the acid should be able to remove the stains, meaning there's less sanding for me to do in general and less of a chance of me sanding through that veneer.

But I don't have oxalic acid at the moment, and I kinda wanna finish stripping the paint off from the entire unit first, so this first part is coming to an unsatisfying end.

The main unit has been put to the side while I finish stripping the rest of the unit, starting with the drawer fronts!

((Sidenote: I am planning on staining the wood dark/black so the stains aren't super worrysome for me, the dark stain would end up hiding most of them I'm sure))

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Finale)

[oxbowreality]

I'm cleaning out my closet and trying on every garment and I found a pair of pants that fits me like a glove. almost perfectly. the only problem is that it's part of my school uniform from high school, but the fit was so freakishly good that I kept them. I might even take the pattern off them.

[healing-through-reflection]

What Was the Rush? / Reflections on a Toxic Upbringing

Introduction Today, while browsing a real estate website, I came across an en-suite for a master bathroom. It’s something I’ve always wanted, and it triggered memories of my father’s frustrations about not having one. He often compared himself to others, feeling envious of his brother-in-law’s home, which prompted him to take on an ambitious project: turning half of his bedroom into a walk-in closet and bathroom. He decided to tackle this endeavor alone, armed with tools he had accumulated over the years — many of which were duplicates. The house became a chaotic scene, with tools and construction materials scattered everywhere. My father would misplace a tool, buy a replacement, then find the original again, all while claiming it was somehow our fault — the children — even though we rarely touched his tools unless ordered to put them away.

A man sitting on the floor surrounded by flooring in boxes, reading an instruction manual with his hand on his forehead, suggesting frustration or exacerbation.

Chaos Under Construction Building the bathroom and closet became a drawn-out saga that lasted for years. My father’s bedroom was directly above the TV room, which meant there was no ceiling in the TV room until he completed all the plumbing. This added to the ongoing chaos of our household. Tools and construction supplies filled every nook and cranny. My siblings and I often joked (only to each other and never near father) about how any empty space in the house would inevitably be filled with something — often junk.

The landing between our bedrooms was a disaster zone, cluttered with items we had to navigate daily just to get in and out of our rooms. It was a fire hazard, yet it remained that way for months. Still, our rooms were our sanctuaries, places where we could exercise some control over our environment — until he decided to build that damn closet.

This is how the TV room frequently looked, except there was no ceiling. Just add a couch, a desk with a computer, and a TV, of course.

The Damn Closet I was around 12 when my father emptied the two closets in his room, clearing out the accumulated junk. In hindsight, it seemed like my parents were hoarders. They stuffed boxes full of clutter and piled them in my sister’s room, which was larger than mine. Their clothing was hung on rolling clothing racks — three of these racks were rolled into my room and shoved under my loft bed, effectively taking up half of my personal space. My desk, which I had carefully organized, became a victim of this invasion; my belongings tumbled to the floor in disarray as they moved the racks in.

Something like this “Because it wouldn’t look very nice” Then came the instructions. They announced that they would come into my room anytime they needed clothing. The clothes were to stay there indefinitely, and my room would now be referred to as their closet until their new one was built. I was not to complain about it. I BEGGED them to leave the clothes on the landing area, which they had finally cleared. It made more sense this way; they could access their clothes without invading my space and privacy. The answer was a simple, resolute NO, and their reason?.

“Because it wouldn’t look very nice,” they insisted.

This infuriated me. How could they prioritize appearances over my feelings? The chaos in the TV room, the constant mess and construction debris piling up around the house — none of that seemed to matter to them. I felt a swell of resentment as I considered that if a guest were to come over, we would spend days cleaning to present a polished image, but they couldn’t spare me the inconvenience of their clothing on the landing? If guests were a concern, couldn’t they just roll the racks away temporarily?

I held my tongue, knowing that voicing my thoughts would lead to punishment — yelling, grounding, and more, possibly violence. The unspoken rule was clear: never address the elephant in the room. The elephant being that the image they worked so hard to maintain was not grounded in reality. We didn’t have a nice house; it was chaotic and poorly maintained.

This is what our house would have looked like on a daily basis.

The Real Reason I believe my parents put their clothes in my room to shut the door on a never-ending project. My dad started it despite a full-time job, four kids, and other hobbies. My mom was home all day on disability, yet she had to live with his decision. She hated change, and seeing clothes in the hallway would have been a constant reminder of this unnecessary project, which would likely take years to complete. In her delusions, imagining my room as a luxurious walk-in closet was easier than confronting the reality of a project that had no end in sight.

This is a representation of speaking to my mother. She wanted so badly to live a in her delusions. She would deny, viametly, wrongdoings and injustices within the family. She’d rewrite stories to suite her force narritive that all was good. It was frustrating and heartbreaking speaking with her. She would not help or change the situation, she would simply change the description of the situation to make it easier to ignore. My father, on the other hand, was driven by his ego. He didn’t want the reminder either, but for him, it was more about pride. He viewed himself as too successful to need a hallway to store clothes. He rarely considered our feelings — everything revolved around his comfort. Any decision he made was about his happiness, not ours. He often reminded us we should be grateful for the roof over our heads and the minimal food and clothing he provided.

He was always angry, even when happy, he was always on the verge of explosive anger.

Emotional Reaction I cried so much after the clothes were moved into my room. I was 12, just beginning to develop a sense of self, and my room was my sanctuary. Suddenly, it was invaded. My older sister came to talk to me when she saw I was upset. I told her how unfair and invasive it felt, and her response was dismissive: “Stop complaining. You should see how much stuff they put in our middle sister’s room. This is nothing. Get over it.” Her words cut deep. I felt even more alone. Growing up in an abusive household, my siblings and I typically supported each other when things were unfair. This time, though, I had no one on my side, and it left me feeling completely unheard.

I felt so alone and unheard.

Retaliations I retaliated in two ways. First, I rearranged my room. My mom had said, “It’s so great! We can walk right in and access the clothes like a real closet!” That was true. My bed was against the back wall, making the room feel spacious. But I didn’t want my room to feel like a perfect closet, so I moved my bed to a different wall, making it harder to get to the clothes. I even used the clothing racks as walls to create a little desk area. My mom asked me twice to move it back, but I refused. I was 12, feeling petty, and wanted some control.

My second act of defiance was writing a list of rules. It went something like this:

Do NOT enter without knocking first! Wait for me to answer before coming in! Be quiet and don’t wake me if I’m sleeping in MY room. Etcetera

Like this but with the rules, I also coloured it and made it pretty Before my parents could see the note, my oldest sister came to me again and told me to take it down. That she has made bad decisions like this when she was angry too. That it won’t help or do what I think it will. I understand what she meant, really. That my father, the narcissistic tyrant would see the list, rip it down, yell at me using colourful, hurtful and aggressive language to express that in HIS house, he could do what he wanted and that I, a mere child who has and is nothing without him, will NOT tell HIM what to do.

However, her advice hurt me more. I could not understand why she was so adamant about disagreeing with me. I just wanted to be heard, and I felt that no one was taking me seriously, respecting me or my privacy.

In his mind, he was not physically abusive because he did not leave bruises.

The Bathroom This took years to build. Multiple evenings where I (and I believe my siblings as well) would have to stand there and help, hold buckets, pass tools, or be around ‘just in case’. Evenings hearing the yelling and swearing out of frustration, knowing not to get too close or that I would be next. Knowing that if he asked for something by barking orders aggressively but vaguely, we had to do everything we possibly could to do what he wanted without daring to ask for clarification. I’d tidy the TV room up while he worked so that he didn’t look around and declare a whole family cleaning session of the entire house. I was always so focused on preventing his outbursts, believing him when he blamed me.

It always felt like walking on eggshells around him. You never knew when and why he would explode. It was terrifying and exhausting.

Final Thoughts After reflecting on all the chaos, injustice, and constant tension, I realized something. By the time my dad finally finished the bathroom, I was 17 and the last kid left living at home. I was the only one using the shared bathroom, while he and my mom enjoyed the bathroom he’d spent years building for themselves. The spare room next to mine had been turned into a storage/guest room.

It hit me then: this would have been the perfect time for them to tackle that project. One teenager still at home, with an entire spare room where they could have easily stored their clothes during construction and even set up a temporary closet. Instead, they dragged this project out for years, during the busiest and most chaotic years of our lives.

Now, I haven’t spoken to my parents or siblings in over eight years, so I don’t know exactly what their situation is anymore. I’m pretty sure none of my siblings live with them now, and they’re likely empty nesters. But from what I know about them, I doubt they ever considered the irony of it all — the years spent building that bathroom and closet, only for them to be the ones who benefit from it now. They probably rewrote the story in their minds, painting themselves as selfless parents who sacrificed for ungrateful kids that just didn’t understand what it took to provide.

Was it worth it? Do they even understand the depth of this issue? The irony of the situation? What was the damn rush?

Sidenote: This is my first blog post, and I’m using this platform to reflect on my childhood. Going no-contact at 17 was the best decision I ever made. My life has only improved since then. I welcome any feedback on my writing or format — thanks for reading!

[flesh-of-a-hare]

now, come out with your hands up, we've got you surrounded...

fun fact, i've been sitting on the idea of making a rough animation/animatic based off this slice of this song for like,, forever, at this point! and yes it would've been essentially just this but with Flourish(tm)

the Bitter Bones Saga Lore behind this explained:

originally, this was gonna be based off the (extremely cringy) on-going Bitter Bones Saga (where my self insert/sona is a coworker of Sun and Moon, whom Sun and Moon can't stand, and the entire plot is how this mentally ill bitch is like, anti-coping over it)

The two silhouettes in the first part that are mocking Bones ("Well, well, look who's again, went out to look for some reason to hide again") are mental representations of Sun and Moon (but simplified to rlly basic silhouettes here bc i was afraid of being too cringe on main). The reasoning is bc i was picturing that it starts with Bones having a rough day working with Sun and Moon. they wave at the kids as theyre leaving but can tell neither Sun nor Moon wants them there so they go into a closet/storage room to get away for a moment, trying to take a deep breath and mentally orient themselves.

That's when their Inner Bones (the pink rabbit silhouette with pointy teeth) starts mocking them, purposefully antagonizing them and ripping them a new one. the Sun and Moon silhouettes are more of what they imagine Sun and Moon are thinking of them, secretly making fun of them behind their back, more than they are like Sun and Moon are actually there and saying those things.

the "Well, well, buddy, you found it" is Inner Bones holding up a mirror, basically saying 'YOU are the reason you shouldve stayed home. you're stupid, you're dumb, you're cringe, you only ever make a fool of yourself and inconvenience the people around you. stupid lil idiot. fuck u'. and Bones reacts by attacking 'Inner Bones' (except, in reality, it's just a mirror, symbolism for how they're attacking themselves, ik ik very deep) bc damn bitch i know ok shut the fuck up!!!

the last part, which has no lyrics bc im lazy, was originally going to be Sun or Moon opening the door to the storage/clsoet or whatever and being like ?????? tf is going on in here, as Bones stands over a busted mirror, probably crying like an idiot. Them turning into a small demon-rabbit creature is more like symbolism for how it feels to be caught in the middle of having a mental break down, like you're caught in your most animalistic state, a deer caught in headlights, and you know the other person is looking at you like you're a freak of nature.

the ending would've been Sun/Moon being like 'what r u up to in here???' where there's this long pause before Bones turns around with an almost-normal-person-like facade up, smiling as though they arent bothered and weren't just attacking a mirror. "i was looking for something but accidentally knocked something over, i'll go get the broom and clean up!!" and they walk out with a fake, cold, empty expression on their face, leaving Sun/Moon standing alone, looking down at the broken glass and smears of blood silently. but im lazy so i didnt draw that part lol

[chocoenvy]

Choco-san! (Is it okay to call you like this?)

I have a idea to for saga

what if Creator/God!darling is on period? ( if you write something like already feel free to ignore it)

like going through mood swings and period cramps,

while male Genshin characters helping Creator/God!darling would be like confused cause they never had period. ( expect Childe and Aether who has siblings )

Thx 🙏

- Night.M anon

Sure! You can call me whatever you want lol

I believe I've seen something like this before however it was more centered around the girls instead of the guys. So uh... i may have made it a transmasc!reader. I understand that's probably not what you wanted and i'm sorry but the inspiration got me :( I hope you like it still

My Lord

Sagau!Thoma x Transmasc!Reader

warnings: menstrual cycles, reader is referred to with masculine nicknames but is afab, blood and all that mess, dysphoria, reader has poor hygiene habits due to dysphoria

Dread filled your heart at the feeling in your lower abdomen. You knew what it was, wasn't like it was new, but it still hit you like a truck every time it happened.

Now, you were in Teyvat, without a safety net. You had an entire system back at home for how you'd deal with this stuff, for how you'd minimize the dysphoria as much as possible. But now there was nothing you could do.

Where could you even get the products you needed at? If you walked into a store and asked for them, they'd still recognize you. They'd know you weren't what you say you are.

Not to mention the fact you stained the sheets, how would you clean those without anyone knowing?

You whined into your knees, your covers covering the dirty sheets while you sat on the floor just trying to pretend you didn't exist.

You'd rather die than ask anyone here for pads or tampons, for your favorite characters to know that you were 100% afab that experienced menstrual cycles.

Tears pricked your eyes at the embarrassment, and the only thing you could do was stayed curled up on the floor hoping the ground would open up and swallow you whole while your whole body and brain shook in pain.

A knock from the door sent a strike of icy cold fear straight into your heart, "Your grace?" You heard a muffled masculine voice from the other side.

You rolled yourself under the bed, attempting to stifle your sobs so he wouldn't find you. You didn't want anybody seeing you like this, you just wanted this to be over with already. You wanted to sneak out and find something to use and ignore it until the week was over. Starve yourself until there were no nutrients for your body to use so you would never have to go through this. Anything anything anything so you can get rid of the pain for physically and mentally.

You'd do anything-

"My sovereign?" There was a whine in the back of his throat, you could hear him scurrying around the room in search for you, "My Lord?" He shouted frantically, "Where are you?" You could hear him rummaging through the closets, bathroom, every corner for you.

Your heart stopped as you heard the covers be moved. Of course he'd move them, that's the first place anyone looks for someone. Your tears continued tenfold as you heard him gasp and a sob escape his throat.

"Your grace..." His boyish voice was soft, and suddenly you saw his eyes staring at you. His teal eyes were sympathetic and a frown tugged down on his lips, "Are you okay?"

You whimpered, curling more into yourself.

"Oh dear," he frowned, holding his hand out to you, "Can you come out?"

You whined louder, and the frown on his face grew.

"Come on little guy you gotta get outta there, I bet you feel really yucky right now hm?" You didn't say anything, "I need you to come out, I promise no one will make fun of you."

With a frown, you grabbed onto his hand and he gently tugged you out from under the bed and held you in his arms, "There's my prince!" He giggled, arms wrapping around you comfortingly.

You buried your face in his shoulder, cheeks burning crimson from embarrassment.

"Does it hurt much?" He inquired, his head tilted in worry. He gently tilted your head up with a hand.

You barely nodded but that was enough for him.

"Ah, I see." He grinned, "Well look at you! Handling so much pain like a man! You may be more of a man than Ayato dare I say- Oh! But don't tell him I said that!" He said with a wink.

You laughed along with him, "I won't." You croaked, your voice still scraggly from the crying. You groaned, wiping your tears away with your sleeves, "God I feel so gross, I'm gonna take a shower."

"With the lights off?" He asked as you stood up.

You nodded, cringing at the thought of taking a shower with the lights on.

"Alrighty then, but please be careful." He stood up with you, "I'll be right in here cleaning up if you need anything. If you slip or something just shout and I'll be in there. Don't worry about being embarrassed you hear?" He grapsed your cheeks firmly but gently with his hands, "I don't care what you look like and I especially won't be worried if you're in danger, okay?" He tugged a bit with a kind smile, "So don't hesitate to call for me if you need it alright? I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you under my care."

Your eyes softened looking at him and you nodded, "You give me this talk everytime... but I will Thoma, you don't have to worry." You grinned up at him.

He giggled, "There's that handsome smile I love so much!" He kissed your cheek and patted your other one, "Now go take a shower, and remember what I said."

You nodded, "Of course."

Entering the bathroom you had memorized well, you were able to semi-comfortably take a shower even with all of the lights off.

Though you still... knew what you were. What you were born as, you were acutely aware of it. And on these days more than anything it felt harder than any other to ignore yourself.

However... Thoma was making it a whole lot easier. Underneath the door there was a box with a not attached.

For my handsome man <3 With a little drawing of him smiling off to the side. You scoffed with an affectionate smile, he sounded like such a mom. Inside the box were the items you needed (and another note saying that he had chocolate for once you got out. The note had also assured you that he hadn't mentioned you when he got the items. He'd merely told the maids that they were for the bathrooms in the palace since they were "out of stock" in some).

You sighed, really Thoma was too good to you.

Now that you were in more comfortable clothes and all cleaned up it felt easier to cope with the situation.

You swung open the door to the bedroom with a refreshed sigh, the pain was still throbbing in your lower abdomen but you could handle it. You just needed to lay down.

"Ah, there you are!" Thoma grinned, his hands paused mid-making the bed to look over to you, "How was your shower? I got you some new sheets and comforters while yours are in the wash."

"Thank you Thoma," You smiled genuinely, "And it was nice, I definitely feel a lot better." You went over to his side, staring at the freshly made bed.

"I'm glad to hear it pretty boy," Your heart melted as he patted your cheek, "The bed's all ready if you want to lay down, breakfast should be up in a few minutes but I was able to sneak a few chocolate bars up here." He winked, showing you the chocolate from his pockets.

You gave Thoma a hug, "Thank you so much Thoma, you're an angel I really don't know if I'd have survived without you." You smiled genuinely at him before letting go and flopping on the bed with a satisifed sigh at the fresh sheets.

Thoma giggled at your behavior and continued to clean the rest of the room whilst you wiggled under the covers.

"Thomaaaaa," You whined, eyes poking up from over the covers, "Won't you join me?"

He chuckled, pausing his ever busy hands to sit down on your bedside, "How could I ever refuse you, my lord?" With that he pulled your head onto his lap and gently threaded his fingers through his hair.

You buried your nose into his thighs, smiling lightly at the feeling.

Thoma didn't have the heart to urge you to stay awake, even when the servant came in with the tray full of warm, freshly made food. He saw your sleeping form and merely asked if Thoma wanted it instead. To which he accepted, though he kept majority of the plate untouched in case you woke up and wanted some.

He breathed out a laugh, "Good night, my prince." He hummed a small tune to you, and a smile graced your face.

[elizabethchristenia]

‘Mask’

I just finished my entry for the 2021 Foundations Revealed costume competition and got it entered a few hours before the deadline. Whew. It’s been... a long week.

I came across a poem, ‘Mask’ by Beth Bachmann and had the sudden idea... “Hey, that costume competition was for a literature character this year, wasn’t it? I wonder when that ends...” 11 days. It ended in 11 days. And with the business still shut down and me in isolation, I decided... why not? What else am I REALLY going to DO with the next 11 days anyhow? Could a mask count as a character? Here’s to hoping it does!

I made a mask from the pattern by @mctreeleth and also a jacket pieced from the giant pile of cabbage left after making over a thousand face masks while in quarantine. 

I started by pulling a pattern off my husband’s old patched 4XLT work shirt that has become my favorite house coat during the pandemic, so I had a fairly simple pattern to make out of the fabric I was going to piece. 

My original plan was to have an ombre effect on the jacket, light at the shoulders to dark at the hem. When I started laying out the pieces, it ended up also having a rainbowy effect from reds on the left to blues and purples on the right. It took about two days to sort and cut all the pieces of fabric from the mask scraps - the largest is 4″x 5″, and I drew the line at the smallest being 2″x 2″. When I wasn’t sure in what order to put the brighter colors in terms of going from light to dark, I pulled out my phone and used it as a tool to look at them in greyscale mode, and went with what order they looked like they should go when the color wasn’t involved.

I pieced each panel over top of the pattern piece it was going to be on, and added a little extra for wiggle room, then thread traced each piece onto the panel, stay-stitched just under 1/4″ from the edge, and cut. I bagged out the bottom hem as I flat-lined each piece to stash fabric that had been too loosely woven for masks, but was perfect for lining fabric. I then joined everything together with french seams and boom - quilted patchwork jacket.

Making the mask took longer than I expected. Based on the amount of Bridgerton and Fate: The Winx Saga that played in the background while I was working, it took about 14 hours from start to finish.

Printing the mask pattern onto interfacing was brilliant - although trying the DIY scotch tape/interfacing trick didn’t go so well. The time it took me to unjam the printer isn’t part of the 14 hours. I did manage to print it onto a 8-1/2 x 11 commercial poplin meant for printing your own photos onto fabric to put into craft projects - then I added Heat ‘N’ Bond onto the backs before cutting out the pieces. That went wonderfully and made the mask pretty sturdy once it was finished.

For the most part, I followed the instructions that were with the pattern - but I did end up making a few changes: 

I didn’t bother to top-stitch the bottom center seam. There’s no way to go all the way to the tip of the beak by machine, and nobody’s going to be looking at the bottom of the mask much anyhow. I just pressed the seam open very well on a sleeve board.

I didn’t add a fabric face strap - instead, I put two eyelets at the top and bottom of piece #10 after I was done and ran a lanyard through them with a cord lock, which worked very well.

On the round eye pieces, I edge stitched a line on the inside after flipping the lining around to the back side to keep everything smooth and in place.

Rather than folding the edge of the large circle down and pinning a ton of tiny pleats in place, I ran a line of small gathering stitches around the edge of the larger piece and used it like a drawstring to pull the large circle to the back side of the eye pieces and hold it in place. I ironed it well, and ran the gathering strings through the eyehole to the inside of the mask. I didn’t cut them off until after I had the eye pieces stitched down onto the mask. (I wish I’d taken a picture of this step, because it’s a lot quicker than the pinning - alas, it was 2 am and I didn’t think to.)

I didn’t slip stitch the eye pieces down onto the front of the mask. I pinned them in place, with pins situated kind of like spokes on a wheel. I edge stitched the eye pieces onto the mask by machine, walking the machine over each pin by hand. (Note - I was using an industrial sewing machine that handles thick fabric just fine and has a much heavier foot pressure than most home machines, so that probably helped this turn out well.)

If I were making this again, I would attach the bias for the eye holes from the front and fold it around to the back instead of the other way around - just for an aesthetic factor. It was a lot easier to make the final line on the bias look clean - which, sadly, will never be seen inside the eyepiece. The line around the bias inside the mask is the one part of mine that looks a bit messy.

Over-sized round “John Lennon” Sunglasses worked perfectly for lenses on this. After a while, they do fog up - I’m betting that wipes meant to keep the inside of goggles from fogging up will probably fix this.

I paired the jacket and mask with my pre-quarantine garb skirts and leather hat (shaped much like the quintessential illustration of a plague doctor), a shirt from my closet, and a cotton duck corset I had already finished as an experiment in color (Each external faux bone casing is in a different color radiating around half of the corset.) and also as an experiment in edge shaping - I made the corset extra-long, and then hand drew scallops around the bottom of the corset - not quite deep enough to count as tabs. I wanted to see if the bones were enough to keep these down and flat on the corset, or were they long enough they would flip up when worn? (Spoiler: They actually sit flat - yeay!)

Also learned on this project - when your husband is taking the photographs, and he is much taller than you, every picture that isn’t of your back will end up being a boob shot. XD

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 21 - The PoisonQuinn's Cottage

My official gif maker @abimess, thank you.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: +18, Smut, kissing, teasing, explicit languange and content, violence, magic.

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 21 - Part XXI - The PoisonQuinn's Cottage

"Where?"

Wanda asks as soon as the ground stabilizes at your feet.

You take a deep breath, looking around. The beach is beautiful.

"Harley." You clarify. "Sorry, that was the first place that came to mind. Maybe I should try another one."

But before Wanda could agree, a blonde witch was emerging from inside the small cottage on the edge of the beach a few yards away, a confused look that turned into an excited exclamation when she recognized you.

"y/n!" She shouted contentedly, running to catch up with you.

You laughed as she threw herself into your arms, nearly knocking you to the ground.

"Good to see you too, Harley." You comment between giggles, and she only steps aside to greet Wanda, who has suddenly become a bit grumpy, in the same intensity.

You spend the next few minutes being pulled into the cottage, as you and Wanda try to superficially explain what happened and Harley prepares tea for you.

"It's so incredible to have you two here!" She says. "Everything is in chaos in London, but places like this feel like a private paradise."

Harley's speech is interrupted by a ringing bell, and you and Wanda exchange curious glances at the way she gets excited.

"It 's Ivy!"

Pamela Ivy is a very intimidating woman, to say the least. Her eyes are as green as the grass in her front yard, and she has an appraising expression, clearly apprehensive about coming home to find two wanted women having tea with her wife, especially during a war.

But Harley introduces you quickly, smiling all the while. You really missed her.

"You can stay." That's what Ivy said gently as soon as Harley finished speaking. "We have a guest room, I hope you don't mind the plants."

"No, it's perfect." Wanda says. "Just one night, we don't want to disturb you. We'll try to get back to my place as soon as possible."

Ivy lets out an exclamation as if remembering something, and walks quickly through the kitchen, until she fits into the cupboards and pulls out an old telephone.

"It's magic, I think it's one of Dad's inventions even, Miss Stark." She clarifies as she places the equipment on the table. "If you can manage to make it work, you can contact the wizards of the order."

"That's incredible, Ivy. Thank you so much."

When Ivy said “don’t mind the plants”, you expected two, maybe three vases in the corner of the room. Certainly a plant covering the ceiling, dozens of flowers on the floor, and even shelves of small pots were not in your plan.

But Wanda gave you a warning look, and you quickly fixed your expression so you wouldn't let Ivy know that maybe that was too much.

"Make yourselves at home, there are clean sheets in that closet, and the bathroom is down the hall to the right. I guess you must be missing a shower and a tub." She teases with a smile, probably knowing that most of the witches were fleeing across the country and camping wherever they could, comfort being the last priority.

You and Wanda quickly thanked her, and she left the room.

Looking around the room, you sighed, moving to sit on the bed as you took off your shoes.

Wanda moved to put her purse on top of the dresser, and suddenly you remembered.

"Do you think Agatha will come looking for the sword?" You ask worriedly, but Wanda just bites her lips, thoughtful.

"She's not part of Gryffindor, so it's not hers." She says, shrugging. " She has no right to keep it therefore."

"I don't think she cares about those rules, Wands."

"Then let her come and get it." Wanda retorts with her arms crossed. "I want to watch her try."

You bite your lips at the girl's pouty expression, rising to her feet. When you reach her, she sighs, and you let your hands rest beside her cheeks.

"How are you feeling?" You ask softly, stroking her skin with your fingers, and Wanda leans into your touch, but just shrugs. You bite the inside of her cheek, looking at her fondly. It takes a moment for her to take a deep breath, and then to uncross her arms, wrapping them around your body, and bury her face in your collarbone.

"I'm so tired." She confesses against your skin, sounding tearful. You let your arms go around her neck, and squeeze her against you.

"I know." You murmur back, and Wanda inhales deeply, seeming to relax against your embrace. "Do you want to take a shower and come downstairs?"

"Are you saying I stink?" She teases making you giggle, squeezing you even tighter.

"No, on the contrary, you smell pretty good for someone who's been sleeping in the woods for weeks." You retort and to prove your point, sink your face against her neck, inhaling in a dramatic way that makes her laugh.

You stay for a moment longer in each other's arms, and you know that Wanda just needs to know that it's okay, that you're here, to calm down. She breaks the embrace, and you think she's going to pull away completely, but she puts her hand on your cheek, and smiles shyly.

"I need to remember that you are the only person I can trust." She whispers, looking hurt, and you touch her hand to your cheek. You understand now. Wanda is tired of people stabbing her in the back.

"I will always be there for you, Wanda." You begin by mimicking her movement. "But you have other people too. It's not just because Agatha is a two-faced bithc that you can't trust anyone else. There's Pietro, your father, and my family too. Our friends."

Wanda's eyes filled up with tears, but she just nodded softly, and you smiled at her.

"It's normal to have those doubts when you go through things like this." You say. "But I will always be here to remind you that you are not alone, Wands."

Wanda moves forward, and kisses you on the lips softly. It's a thankful kiss, but you melt just as much as any other. You sigh, and so does she, holding your lips together for a moment longer before pulling away.

"I love you." She murmurs against your lips. "Don't forget."

And she pulls away before you can say it back, but is smiling mischievously at the way your cheeks are flushed, reaching for a towel in the closet on the way and leaving the room.

You have just realized that she must also love the way she affects you.

//-////-////-//

With clean clothes, and a full stomach, you are sitting on the porch, a disassembled radio on the floor in front of you, as you try to figure out exactly what part to fix to get it to turn on.

"Have you tried Reparo?" Wanda asks curiously, sitting at the outside table with Harley and Ivy, all three with mugs of tea in their hands. Ivy murmurs in agreement, and it is Harley who completes:

"It must really be a Stark invention." She says. "All equipment needs to be fixed in a non-magical way, that's always been the company's trademark."

You, who had been silent until now because you had a screwdriver between your lips, take the object out of your mouth to agree "Oh, yes, it's definitely from Dad." You say. "Only he would be stubborn enough to invent a radio that can't be fixed with magic."

"Nebula and Tony's books are missed now." Wanda comments making you smile.

For the next few minutes you actually try to fix the radio, while the girls update you on the latest changes regarding the war.

It's worse than you expected actually. Lawlessness, public executions, mass arrests of aurors.

The ministry really was being controlled by Mephisto, after Minister Johann had been assassinated and found dead inside his house. His task force, the red skulls, had mostly joined the death walkers.

And Mephisto was now unbeatable. Ivy used to be an Auror, but with the arrest of the officials who didn't bow to the new blood purity policies established by Thanos, the new Minister of Magic at Mephisto's behest, she retired from the position.

She and Ivy were living in Cornwall, in this small cottage, isolated from the rest of the magical world, growing their own food, and using magic for what they couldn't get without money. It was a simple life, and they seemed very happy.

Harley didn't keep in frequent contact with the order, but she had had Fury teach her about radio frequencies for members in case either side needed support.

And she assured you that she hadn't seen the names of any of your friends or family in the papers, so it was good news.

Wherever they were, they should be on the run like you and Wanda have been until now, but at least they were safe.

You sighed, giving up on fixing the radio. Maybe a good night's sleep would be all you needed to get some idea.

"Hey, you guys must be exhausted, but there's a meteor shower tonight." Harley comments excitedly, and Ivy smiles at her excitement. "If you want, you can watch it with us!"

You exchange a look with Wanda, and nod in agreement before getting up to wipe your hands of the radio dust.

A few minutes later, you are outside again. Wanda was waiting for you on the porch, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, which she wraps around you too.

You walk hand in hand along the beach until you reach the highest point on the hill, where Harley and Ivy are already waiting at a fire point, where there are wooden benches like the floor, and a small closet from which Haryley pulls one muggle telescope too.

"It's Morgana's Meteors season." Ivy counts when everyone is together. "The ancient witches believed it was the shower of blessings from the gods on our people. Even plants grow stronger at this time of year."

"It's beautiful." Wanda comments looking at the particularly starry sky. You bite the inside of your cheeks, looking at her as you mumble in agreement.

"You know, muggles often say that the witches get stronger as well during this month.” Harley murmurs to the group, tightly wrapped in her girlfriend's arms. You smile, looking up at the starry sky above you.

"That would be a good thing, we're in need of strength right now." Ivy comments also thoughtfully.

Wanda slips her hand around your waist, straddling you sideways, and you let your arm go over her shoulder.

It doesn't take long for it to start. The bright spots in the sky make all of you let out soft exclamations of excitement.

And you watch until the very end. As the small comets start to disappear, you and the girls start talking.

"I have to say I was a little bummed not to be invited to your wedding, Harley." You comment in a playful tone, enjoying Wanda's body against yours as you are sitting on the wooden bench, and she is practically lying on top of you.

Harley chuckles at your line, interlacing her hands with Ivy's. "Well, technically no one was invited."

"And how was the ceremony?" Wanda asks curiously, and Ivy gives a nostalgic smile.

"Beautiful." She says. "It was in the spring of last year, and well, we were already engaged, but with everything that was going on, we didn't have such close plans to accomplish everything."

"And then we were having coffee on the porch, and she turned to me and said she didn't need a priest, or a party. She just needed me, and any second without being my wife was a waste."

You and Wanda smile at the words and Harley, watching the two exchange passionate glances.

"Following that trail that way, you reach a forested area." Ivy narrates while gesturing. "The forest people performed the ceremony for us under the stars. They blessed us with the words of the natural gods, and presented us with the blessings of the cosmos. A goblin conjured these rings." She says showing the objects in her starry hands. "And then we recited our vows."

"It was really quite beautiful, wasn't it my dear?" Harley comments, straightening herself better in her chair to kiss her wife quickly.

You feel Wanda entwine your hands under the blanket, and you pull yourself into a full embrace. You rest your head in her hair, sighing slightly.

A little more small talk ensues after that, until Harley is yawning and comments that she' s already going to bed.

You exchange a look of understanding with Ivy, who notices that Wanda has made no mention of getting up, and say goodbye to the two girls by wishing them goodnight.

There is a moment of peaceful silence, where you and Wanda just stare at the stars in each other's arms until she speaks again.

"Do you think we'll ever be like this?"

It is so low that it takes you a moment to absorb the words and their meanings correctly.

Like this. Like Ivy and Harley.

"I'd like that." You murmur back.

“Which part?” She asks with a playful tone, her thumb caressing the back of your hand. “The wedding in the woods, or the beach?”

You smile, using your free hand to hold Wanda closer by the waist. “Let's see, marrying you anywhere sounds amazing, then moving to a beautiful cottage and having breakfast with you every morning? That’s pretty close to heaven I would say.”

Wanda giggles, relaxing against you. You don’t need to look at her to know she has flushed cheeks.

But she goes silent again, a bit tense. You frown, as you move your hand to guide her to turn herself so you can face her. While she moves, you rest your back against the wood of the bench, and she turns completely to you, but her eyes don’t meet yours.

“What’s wrong, darling?” You asked worriedly as you moved your hand to her cheek, caressing her skin gently.

"Do you think we're ever going to get to that? That we'll win this war, and break the bond, and then we'll be free to be together?" She asks quickly, and you don't even have time to assure her that you do, because she's talking again. "It's just that I'll always be the Scarlet Witch, Y/N! I won't be able to quit it like a job and be free, you know? There's always going to be people after me! Wanting my power, wanting my help! I don't want you to feel obligated to stay with me just because of the prophecy and-mphm” You kiss her on the mouth, and she gasps in surprise, melting against your lips. But you pull away as she blinks in confusion, half drizzy by the sudden action.

“I’m staying with you because I love you, Wanda.” You assure her in a serious tone, even though your gaze is tender and worshipful. “I don't care if we have to spend the rest of our lives running away together, or living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. I don't want to be anywhere if it's not by your side, Wanda.” You confess. “No prophecy will change that.”

Wanda gaps softly, her eyes watering as she smiles at you. She’s leaning her forehead against yours next, and closing her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"With all my heart." You move your hands intertwined along the height of your chest, to land hers in the center of your racing heart. "Can't you hear it? It 's yours."

She lets out a relieved sigh, and moves closer until your lips are almost touching. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I promise you I won't.” You say before you kiss her mouth firmly, feeling her gasp against your lips.

You kiss calmly, but with intention. Wanda's hands move up to your neck, and yours down to her waist.

And when she slides her tongue across your lip, begging for passage, you pull her onto your lap, deepening the kiss as she sinks against you.

She starts to sigh as her body heats up, moving her hips down, and you gasp, feeling her tongue dance against yours sensually and a familiar tightness at the pit of your stomach begin to form.

Wanda breaks the kiss to catch her breath, and you rest your forehead against hers.

"A-are you sure?" She asks in an almost shy whisper, also with her eyes closed as she tries to normalize her breathing. You let your fingers dig into the fabric of her blouse, finding the warm skin of her waist.

"Yes." You confess in a husky voice. "I want to make love to you under the stars, Wanda."

Wanda advances against your mouth, kissing you with passion.

You respond with equal intensity, feeling your head spin as her tongue circles your mouth, gasping as you feel her hips press forward.

Your hands start to move up again, and find the exposed skin of Wanda's breasts. She shudders as you skim her ribs with your fingers, moving up her sides until you grab her breast with your full hand.

She breaks the kiss into a hoarse moan, squeezing her hands on your shoulders, and you stare at her adoringly.

Wanda's cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are dark and ajar, as she's breathing through her mouth with difficulty. You play with her nipples between your fingers, and she bites her lips to hold back her moans, making you smile, as you use one your free hand to pull her blouse up.

"Take it off." You ask, and she moves quickly to obey.

And with her breasts exposed in front of you, you sigh, looking at her worshipfully, and making her blush.

"What?" she asks shyly, but you just rest your hands on her waist, your fingers caressing her hips.

"You're just so beautiful, Wanda." You confess breathlessly, bringing your mouths together again, until you are just inches from her flushed face. "And you're all mine."

Wanda sighs before you kiss her, melting against your lips. Her hands go up to your hair, pulling you to her, and you squeeze her waist, hugging her tightly, and the feel of your breasts bumping together makes her gasp, breaking the kiss.

You take the opportunity to move your mouth down her neck, kissing the skin slowly but firmly, and Wanda sighs with each touch, her hand tightly in your hair, holding you in place.

At the height of your breasts, she closes her eyes hard, feeling your lips around the hardened nipple, the grip on your hair loosens before tightening again, and she shivers as you suck the tip eagerly.

"Oh-fuck." She moans disconnectedly, her hand forcing your head forward, begging you to continue. You use your other hand on her free nipple, and Wanda thinks she is going to combust.

Your mouth is hot as hell, licking and sucking her nipples with desire, and Wanda begins to squirm in your lap, whimpering for more.

You use your free hand to hold her in place, steadying her against your lap, and she moans hoarsely, pulling the hair on the back of your neck to bring your mouths together again.

She kisses you hungrily. Demanding. She wants you to stop teasing. And you smile against her lips, finding it amusing that even as she squirms at your touch, she wants to maintain control. And all you want is to see her lose it.

Then you bite her bottom lip as you break the kiss and pull away, feeling the liquid desire run down in your belly as you see the way she is looking at you.

"Touch me." She asks firmly, and you stare at her as your hands move down, caressing her thighs over the fabric of her pants.

"Where?"

"You know where." She replies, making you grin, moving your fingers forward, playing with the elastic of her pants.

Wanda thinks you are going to ask her to stand up, to remove the garment. But you move your fingers forward, and touch her over the fabric, and she tenses, holding her breath.

You smile at her, teasing her over the cloth, and she sighs, shuddering. Your touch is gentle, and it makes her more aroused with each passing minute, the wetness beginning to show through out of the fabric, and you murmur in satisfaction as Wanda closes her eyes, having trouble keeping them open.

"More." She almost begs in a breathless moan, making you sigh as you raise a hand to her cheek.

"Look at me." You ask, and wait for her to open her darkened eyes. Your shallow touch encourages her to throw her hips forward, seeking more friction, but you only push your fingers away making her moan in frustration. "I want to look at you."

"And I want more." She retorts naughtily, your circular touch over the fabric making her tremble. "Please."

You bite your lips, pushing your hand away. Wanda has no chance to protest, because you move into her pants, touching her directly inside the warm skin, and any complaint turns into a deep moan that makes her close her eyes tightly.

You let out an affected sigh, delighted with the way she feels hot and wet against your fingers.

But you don't move, using your free hand to force her chin forward and make her look at you again, her cheeks flushed as she opens her eyes with difficulty.

"Look at me, darling." You ask again. "Don't close your eyes or I'll stop."

She nods helplessly, unable to contain the moan that escapes when you move your fingers inside her.

You think you are somehow winning a dispute, seeing the way she is completely losing her composure, rolling over against your fingers, moaning your name with her mouth open.

And then you feel it.

She is sharing the sensations of what you are doing to her, the feeling of absolute pleasure in having you inside her, how aroused she feels. And you gasp in surprise and excitement, your touch almost failing inside her, as you use your other hand to squeeze her waist, looking at her with flushed cheeks as well.

Wanda smiles at the mess you have become, but she doesn't have time to vlangorize because the knot in her core is tightening, and she is beginning to spasm with pleasure all over you.

"Oh." She moans loudly, squeezing your shoulders. "I-I'm going to..."

"I know." You gasp back, still feeling everything. From the way she's pulsing and closing against your fingers, to every pleasure sensation in her body that you’re causing. "I-I can feel it. Fuck, baby."

"Don't stop." She begs and you raise your hand to keep her looking at you, your gaze warning even though you can barely keep your eyes on her as well.

And you feel your whole body shudder, Wanda's eyes begin to glow red as she reaches her limit, moaning loudly as she arches her back against you, and her orgasm brings yours too, you gasp and feel the knot explode, spreading the pleasure to your whole body to the tip of your toes. You sink your face against her collarbone, trying to recover from the intensity.

When you manage to calm down, you both giggle softly. Impressed, comfortable.

Wanda puts her hands on your neck, sighing softly that you keep your fingers in place, but without moving.

"That was even better than I expected." She confesses against your lips, her gaze half lazy from the recent orgasm.

"Oh, and you've imagined that many times?" You tease making her smile.

"You have no idea." She says before kissing you firmly. And you only don't lose your composure completely because you press her sensitive clitoris with your thumb, and she pant against your lips. "That' s not fair." She almost whimpers, and you feel how hot and slick she already is again.

"Did you know that your eyes glow red when you cum?" You ask as you move your fingers deep inside her. Wanda can only murmur, moaning low-pitched. "It's hot to see you losing control. I don't think I'll ever get tired of it."

"Please, just fuck me already." She begs under your steady fingers inside her, and you smile, using your free hand to grab her right breast.

"I want to taste you baby." You say as you remove your fingers, and you think Wanda will complain, but she just looks at you with adoration as you take your fingers to your mouth, savoring her juices, and moaning at the taste. "You are absurdly delicious."

"Fuck." She sighs moving forward and kissing you hard.

She starts thrusting her hips forward again, devouring your mouth willingly, tasting herself on your tongue, and moaning against you.

You think she's asking for more, don't let me go. And you won't.

//-//-//-//

Your little moment in paradise doesn't last long.

It is true that now, after reaching such an important point of intimacy with Wanda, you feel more connected than ever, but there is still real life to face.

And a war to fight. And a fixed radio.

It only takes four hours after you wake up and drink coffee to get it done.

Wanda teases in your ear that a few orgasms were enough to stimulate your geniality and you joke that she'd better keep giving you many then, even if your cheeks are flushed.

But the mood changes when Nick Fury is on the other end of the line, surprised by the new frequency.

"How did you get access to this line? Who's talking?" He asks quickly, sounding tense and annoyed.

"Professor Fury it's me!" You quickly exclaim. "Y/N Stark! I'm-"

"Y/n" He interrupts looking a mixture of surprise and relief, but then there is a small noise, and his tone of voice changes as well. "No, it could be a test. Tell me, and I'll block this line if you answer wrong, Howard Stark lost something in a detention with me, a gift I gave to Y/N Stark and his brother. What was it?"

You blink in confusion at the lack of confidence, but answer quickly. "An invisibility cloak, sir. You brought it to my house, and told me he lost it in his fourth year."

Fury sighs in relief.

"Miss Stark, you don't know what a great comfort it is to hear from you." He confesses and you are even a little embarrassed. "Miss Maximoff is with you, too I presume. Please tell me everything is all right."

"Yes, Wanda is here, and we are fine." You say. "We are trying to get back to you all."

"We can't send locations by radio. The places are protected by the spell of secrecy, we can't speak aloud without breaking." He says quickly. "But let me think." He speaks and is silent for a few minutes before doing so. "Let's try one of the witch villages, to use a portal key to a hiding place okay? And ladies, you have no idea how happy your family members will be to hear that you are safe."

You spend a few more minutes on the radio talking to Fury, and he also greets Wanda before hanging up.

The equipment is old, and it starts to fail again, so you need to trust that the plans won't change.

Fury says you need to meet at the entrance to the village of Hogsmeade at the appointed time for him to apparate with the portkey, get you safely to the nearest hideout.

“I guess all we can do it’s wait.” Harley says as you give the broken radio to her to keep it.

The meeting is in two days.

So you get busy helping Harley and Ivy with the house, since you don't have much to do there.

You sleep entwined with Wanda, and wake up the same way, or better, since she kisses your face until you are awake.

And you can smell coffee being made, and hear the voices from downstairs as you are getting up, and Wanda presses you against the door before you go downstairs, kissing you with enough intensity to make you wish you were back in bed.

"Good morning." She murmurs against your lips, teasing about this being a proper good morning, and you smile, pulling her back, and kissing her cheek several times as you repeat the greeting and make her giggle.

And you are having breakfast with the girls, while Ivy is reading the Daily Prophet, and Harley hands you the jam and casually comments, "It's so good to see you together again, Y/N. You seem to glow when you are together."

You and Wanda turn as red as Ivy's hair, and this seems to amuse the other two women.

As the two of you mutter an embarrassed "Thank you, Harley," the girl gets up to check the mail.

It's a good day.

This quiet routine, of having breakfast together, reading the newspaper, helping Ivy with the plants, and Harley with lunch, and then letting the girls believe that because you are your father's daughter you understand something about mechanics and try to fix the machines they have at home, and then reading books in the living room, or playing board games, and in the evening drinking tea on the veranda.

It seems normal. Peaceful. And so it is short-lived.

The next morning, you and Wanda wake up together again. She had to be quiet the night before, because you slid your fingers inside her pajamas, and she bit your shoulders to hold back her moans, but she woke up lazily in your arms, not wanting to get up.

The softness of the moment was ripped from you like a band-aid as you got up for breakfast, and the first letters arrived.

"It's Iron, Y/N." Harley recognized the owl first. It was a surprise to say the least. But since the order was supposed to know where the cottage was, you assumed that was how they found you. On top of everything else, it was your owl.

"Hello, friend." You greet the animal, which also seems happy to see you, leaning over and hooting loudly at the feel of your touch on its beak. "You're getting old, Iron."

Wanda smiles at the way you treat the animal, but her expression drops when she shifts her gaze to the window.

You are removing the mail from Iron's clutches, and you feel Wanda touch your arm.

"She's here."

Wanda says simply, and you already know it is Agatha before you even look.

The witch stands outside, her dark cloak in contrast to the white sand around her. And she has an indecipherable look in her eyes, her hands inside her pockets as she stands still, waiting for you two to come outside.

"Harley, Ivy." You say turning around. "Stay inside, okay?"

Harley looks like she's going to disagree, but Ivy touches her shoulder, and she just crosses her arms, nodding.

You stroke Iron one last time before placing the letters and newspaper he's brought on top of the closet and escorting Wanda outside.

"You tricked my owl into finding us, Agatha?" You ask aloud, walking ahead, wand in fists. "You sound desperate."

Agatha smiles. "Well, I found her at your house, wandering like a ghost after her family. It was sad to watch, so I thought it best to feed her."

"Would you like me to thank you for that, then?"

"No, Miss Stark." She retorts, adjusting her posture, now you can be a wand too, and feels her body tense up. "You will thank me when I save your life."

The spell that hits the glass panes of the Cottage doesn't come from either of you.

It comes from the sky, from the black shadows coming toward the house.

You exclaim in surprise, and your first instinct is to stand in front of Wanda, and you are surprised to have Agatha's wand pointed in your direction.

But she doesn't aim at you. She conjures a golden force field on top of the house, protecting both the property and the witches inside from the spells the walkers cast.

And with the frustration of not being able to attack the place, they quickly land.

"Don't you two ever get tired of running away, children?" a bearded man says, as he lands a few feet away from you. You don't respond because you are dueling with him the next moment.

"Stupefy!" You shout, and the man laughs as he deflects. You can hear Wanda dueling with the second witch behind you.

"You're gonna have to use something stronger than that, Stark." He warns as he casts a curse at you, missing by a few inches.

The fight is short-lived, however, as the wizards are wrapped in the purple chains you know well, and lifted into the air with ease.

As they let out loud complaints, Agatha walks over to you.

"My sword, now." She commands, but Wanda stands between you.

"It doesn't belong to you." She says, but Agatha laughs, and looks at you.

"Do you think it's yours, Miss Stark?" She teases. "You are not worthy, and you know it."

You frown, undeterred by the attempted offense. "It wouldn't have presented itself to me if I wasn't. Agatha, don't pull that one on me now. Why are you really here?"

The older witch hesitates, genuinely surprised that you asked. She swallows dryly, and with a flick of her fingers, the chains tighten, and the wizards have their bones broken, screaming in pain and falling to the ground with a thud. You look at them in horror, but their groans of pain make you realize that they are not dead.

"Despite everything, I was honest with both of you" She confesses. "I've told you things I've never told anyone else."

"Is that some kind of apology?" Wanda interrupts with her jaw locked, but both she and Agatha seem shaken by each other's presence.

"I won't apologize for doing what was necessary, Wanda." The witch says. "But I will not make the same mistakes of my past. I let Natalya leave, and my pride killed her. I won't let the same thing happen to you."

Wanda gets teary-eyed, but says nothing, looking away to the ground.

"You came to make things right, then? And not to get the sword." You say and Agatha nods.

"That has gone on long enough, Miss Stark." She says. "You need to destroy the horcruxes soon, and Wanda needs to complete the fusion ritual, to be able to face the dark lord. There is no more time to waste."

You sigh, nodding in understanding.

"We were just going, Agatha." You say. "Meet with the order, maybe they can help."

But Agatha's expression falters.

"Oh, dear. You didn't get to open the letters, did you?" She asks and you look at her with confusion. "Nick Fury is dead."

Wanda looks at the witch immediately, in shock just like you.

But Agatha checks the sky again.

"There's no time to waste." She says. "I used Iron to find you, and the walkers used Fury's transmission. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible."

Agatha let you say goodbye, and grab what you needed.

She also greeted Ivy and Harley quickly, who seemed hesitant to trust her, but didn't protest.

You and Wanda hugged and thanked them in farewell, before you left the Cottage again.

"This time, let's go to the one place I should have taken you from the beginning, girls." Agatha says as she stands still in the sand, extending her forearm to you. "My house."

You swallow dryly, but intertwine your hand in Wanda's before touching the principal's arm, and with that, everything spins around you.

//-//-//-//-//-//

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[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (April 23/2021) - The Lessons

Those resisting the Egg meet on Cloud Prime to prepare for the Red Banquet, composing backup plans and wondering if the Eggpire really is trying to turn over a new leaf.

Ranboo experiences something strange while talking to Foolish about the mansion and goes searching for some answers, confronting Sam at the prison.

---

VOD LINKS:

Foolish

Philza

Captain Puffy

Jack Manifold

Ranboo

Hannahxxrose

---

- Foolish picks out an outfit for the Red Banquet.

- Phil continues to work on the massive basement build.

- Puffy needs a Banquet skin as well. She meets Foolish at the Holy Land.

- Foolish shows Puffy the Nether Portal entrance to his summer home that he’s been working on. He also still needs therapy from the catmaid incident.

- They meet with Sam and Hannah on Cloud Prime. Foolish hands them all Rolexes for the Banquet.

- They discuss the Banquet. Sam says Bad told them they wanted to “turn over a new leaf.” They notice Bad used the same phrases for all of them. Foolish and Puffy are both skeptical. 

- Sam thinks they should have a backup plan. He pulls out diamond blocks, saying he can donate riches. The Eggpire doesn’t want them bringing items, but Sam thinks they should hide armor somewhere down near the Banquet area just in case.

- Hannah and Foolish leave.

- Antfrost comes over and Puffy and Sam briefly speak with him. They tell him they’re excited for the Banquet, for the hatchet that they’re going to bury and the leaf they’ll turn over.

- Right now, Antfrost is working on final preparations. Sam asks if there’s anything he can help with. Ant says they could bring shrimp for Puffy’s shrimp cocktails.

Puffy: “Well, I mean I was promised it was gonna be there -- that’s kinda the reason why I showed up, honestly, was -- was for the shrimp. And you know the leaf, of course, that we’re turning.”

Ant: “Of course, of course. It’ll be there, it’ll be there.”

...

Sam: “Is there anything specifically that we should look forward to?”

Ant: “I think just everybody getting along and you know, becoming one. Turning over a new leaf.”

- They say goodbye and Antfrost leaves.

- Sam and Puffy speak. Can they trust the other two, Hannah and Foolish?

Sam: “I know one of them’s your son--”

Puffy: “No, listen, listen. See, Foolish is innocent. He’s too good, too pure. But me and you, we’ve been here since the beginning. We’ve seen this unfold since the Egg showed up, and I don’t think they’ve seen all the bad.”

Sam: “I don’t think they quite grasp how much the Egg has changed those two.”

Puffy: “God no...”

- Sam has a plan: to set a trap to destroy the Egg if necessary. He’s hesitant, though, as he doesn’t want to destroy the Egg if they really are trying to turn over a new leaf. They can drop TNT down the tunnel right on top of the Egg. He’ll have to sneak in a lever somewhere.

- Sam wants to give them a chance to turn over a new leaf, but this is their last chance. It’s now or never to gain their trust back. 

- They agree to not tell Hannah and Foolish a thing about this. The less they know, the less danger they’ll be in.

- Puffy says goodbye and Sam leaves to collect TNT. They’ll speak later.

- Puffy wanders off and thinks to herself.

“This has to be on me and Sam. There’s no -- I trust Foolish and I trust Hannah, but they haven’t been here since the beginning. They don’t know. They don’t know better.”

“I wanna trust Bad, I wanna trust Antfrost and Punz and I wanna trust that they’re being honest and they do want to make a difference, but...just too much has happened, they’ve changed too much, and I think there’s too much to risk, there’s too much on the line. It has to be like this. It has to be done."

- Puffy goes to prepare sets of armor.

- Jack gets some Netherite enchanted.

- After Tubbo chooses Ranboo over Jack on his stream with Tommy, Jack goes and leaves a sign in front of Bee ‘n’ Boo to get back at him:

Hope you have fun owning your hotel with Ranboo

- Jack </3

“It’s the worst kind of villainy, chat...making his feelings hurt.”

- He goes back to enchanting.

---

The Enderwalk Saga: Chapter One

The Lessons.

---

- Ranboo is in Michael’s room. He draws the Axe of Ender for a few seconds before throwing Michael a golden apple.

- He has to go speak with Foolish to talk about the mansion about the payment. When he reaches the mansion, he finds Foolish in the library. Foolish has himself a cake.

- The mansion is nearly complete, and Ranboo is excited to move in.

- Foolish tours Ranboo around the mansion, showing him the various rooms, including a war room that Tubbo requested. Some he’s not sure about. Maybe he could get some books -- he asks if Ranboo’s much of a book-reader.

- There’s also a panic closet that Foolish has already tried out after a certain chandelier.

- Foolish tries to bring Ranboo back to the war room but loses his way. As they pass the bee on the lead, Ranboo draws his axe for a moment again. Foolish reaches it and shows Ranboo a secret back space.

- Foolish brings up the deal he made with Ranboo to thank him. Not the mansion, but the shulker box. Ranboo is confused -- what deal?

- Foolish’s voice fades away for a moment, replaced with Enderman noises.

Words appear on the screen.

Lesson 14:

If you have the opportunity to gain a favor, take it.

- Foolish tosses Ranboo a grass block to hold. Ranboo carries it as he continues talking to Foolish. He nervously tells him he’s just remembered he has things to attend to, and they can talk later.

- Foolish leaves, and Ranboo speaks to himself. He’s confused. What was that? What deal was Foolish talking about?

- He leaves the mansion and heads out from Snowchester back to the mainland. He says it must not have anything to do with the “experiments” he’s been doing. There wouldn’t be any side effects. 

- Ranboo pauses in front of Bee ‘n’ Boo.

“I remember this...I have to finish this."

Lesson 27:

Do not reminisce on what you have lost for it will weigh you down.

- Ranboo is confused. Why is he only remembering this? 

- The Prime Path is splattered in red.

“He’s still in prison...can’t have anything to do with him.”

- Ranboo walks past L’manhole, eating potatoes.

“It was all going so well...why now? Because of what?”

- He heads towards the Panic Room but passes it. He’s just going for a walk. He figures he needs to tell people what he’s done.

- Ranboo makes his way down the railway.

Lesson 53:

Never fully trust anyone.

- He just has to block them out. That’s what he’s been doing this entire time. The experiments were doing well, he figured out how to cause it. He knew there might be side effects, but he didn’t think that this is what it would be.

- He heads back the other way to Tommy’s summer home, stopping on the hill and looking towards the prison. He promised himself he wouldn’t go in there again. 

Lesson 67:

Leave no evidence of what you have helped with.

- What did he do?

- It’s just because he hasn’t eaten. He eats more potatoes and starts heading home.

Lesson 94:

DO NOT LET THEM KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.

The words flash on the pages of a book.

- Ranboo stops in front of the Nether Portal.

He has to go to the prison. He needs to find the fourth book.

- Ranboo runs back to the prison. The red splatters continue on the path leading there.

“For the greater good. It’s for the greater good. It’s all for the greater good.”

- Sam is standing outside the entrance, cleaning up the ground. Sam tells him no one is allowed to visit the prison, but Ranboo pleads with him to be let in. Sam insists that no one can go in, especially not Ranboo.

- Ranboo says he doesn’t want to visit Dream.

Ranboo: “I need to be put in the prison, Sam...”

- He can’t tell Sam why. Sam says he doesn’t need to be in the prison, he hasn’t done anything wrong.

Ranboo: “I CAN’T TELL YOU WHAT I HAVE!”

- Ranboo insists again. Just a couple years. He asks what he has to do. Sam says there’s nothing he can do that would make him put Ranboo in the prison.

- Ranboo tells him there are 93 reasons why, and there could be hundreds. Thousands.

- What if he paid Sam? Sam says no, that Ranboo’s a good person.

Ranboo: “I can’t tell you how wrong that is.”

Sam: “Ranboo I can’t put you in the prison, you wouldn’t be able to go see Michael anymore. What would Tubbo do? And Foolish is building you a house right now.”

Ranboo: “Exactly why I want to be put in there, Sam.”

- What if Ranboo put himself in the prison? Sam says he can’t. He wouldn’t lock Ranboo in there for things he only imagined he did.

- Sam draws his sword and tells Ranboo to go home.

Ranboo: “Are you gonna kill me?”

Sam: “I don’t want to. I don’t think I’ll have to. I think you should just go home.”

- Ranboo and Sam say some parting words.

Ranboo: “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Sam: “Listen to me. You are a good person.”

Ranboo: “I am?”

Sam: “Yes, you are.”

Ranboo: “I don’t think so, Sam.”

Sam: “I do, even if you don’t.”

- Ranboo leaves.

“I know what I need to do. I’m not gonna get put in there...and I at least need answers. I need answers. I need answers right now. I need to go. I need answers, and I know who can give me answers. I know who can give me answers...”

“I have to go. I have to go to the one person I know who can give me answers in regards to this...okay. I know where to go, I know what to do. It’s dangerous, hard journey, but, I know what to do. I -- I shouldn’t have done anything. I shouldn’t have done anything! ‘Cause it was fine! But then my curiosity got the best of me and now -- now there are 93--94--90 -- there are so many reasons! That I don’t wanna know, I don’t wanna remember anymore!”

“But...I’ve opened up Pandora’s Box. I’ve opened up Pandora’s Box...and I don’t know what to do. ‘Cause instead of closing it...there’s no way to close it."

- Ranboo returns to the Arctic. 

“The way that the Enderwalk works is something that I’ve been trying to figure out for a long time. But I know what can help me.”

- He enters his house and starts brewing splash water bottles.

“If I can’t get answers from anyone else...then I know the one thing that can give me answers.”

- Ranboo writes in his Memory Book: What am I?

“The one thing that can give me answers...is myself.”

- He throws down the water bottle and the screen goes black as the Enderman noises sound.

SEE YOU SOON.

- Hannah fixes up her house, making it pink again.

---

Upcoming Events:

- The Red Banquet (Sunday)

- Dream SMP one-year anniversary (Saturday)

- Tommy’s plan

- Quackity’s business opening

- Dream’s lore video

[soranihimawari]

Happier than Ever

We are finally at the end of the Timeskip!Miya Osamu x Yakuza!Yn saga…

Read these in order: coffee black, food for the lawless

Rating: MDNI, nsfw scenes, violence, gun violence, allusions to yakuza lifestyle, etc. (this is basically more plot with sex scenes if you think abt it)

Summary: a meet the parents fused with osamu finally being told the truth about yn from the source herself, he chooses to make a life changing choice, encouraging her to see how they might not be “happily ever after,” but “happier than ever.”

Word count: 9K

Fun fact, this is how I pictured yn-chan’s older brother to be! I played the yazkuza games and it was a blast.

Around the Lunar New Year, you find yourself working double overtime with your colleasguet at the morgue. There were a lot of bodies and files to convert to update it before the cutoff date since the holiday seasons had started. Thankfully, the executive board decided there was more than enough left over from the budget your department was able to obtain one to two interns year round. The clock reads 20:37 (8:30p.m.) when you finally concluded the autopsy; the recorder was still on as you begin stitching the poor sap on the slab. Your intern that afternoon stands at the end of the silver table readying the hose.

“The cause of death for this old fellow is an overdose to adrenaline post the recent use of blood thinning agents in the last thirty-two hours. Liver temperature and rigor timestamps support this theory as well,” you say clearly into the device, thus pressing end. The next few minutes go by in silence as you both efficiently make an effort to clean up the mystery you solved.

“Do you think you ever get tired of being surrounded by the dead?” The intern asks,a steady diction in the way they speak to you is quite alluring. You inhale sharply and with a smooth exhale, you choose your next words carefully.

“No, never,” you answer. There is a smiling lilt in your voice. “Because the dead deserve as much respect as the next person. Death is only the beginning, so it is a tough job, but we are what we love, right Chiba-Chan?”

Your co-worker sticks out their tongue at you when the nickname is said aloud explaining that the Chan should be replaced with a different honorific.

“Would you rather have me call you one-chan?” You ask with a jovial tone and suddenly the demeanor changes.

“As long as you still get to be ‘sensei’ to me, teach,” the westernized titled makes you chuckle a bit.

“Alright,” you take a note of the time. “Is it ok if I leave you here to do the rest? Doctor Enni should be in with your relief as well in the next twenty minutes for the overnight shift. Leave all the …”

“Files on their desk that needs to be signed off and the recorder is set to replay in case they need to turn it in to the authorities. Sheesh, have some more faith in me, hah.”

You hang up your lab coat closet to the automatic sliding doors. “You know I do. Have a good night chibi-chan.”

Waving a hand over your shoulder, you place your badge on the end of your shirt as you make your way toward the elevators. The ride up to the main floors was a quiet one. The moment you had cell service, you make a phone call to hear a familiar voice.

“Hey there,” you greet as you leave the world of healing behind you. “Are you busy right now? … No, I haven’t eaten yet Osamu…Meet at your place? Ok.”

You place your phone back into your pocket, the badge clip is also put behind it as your cardholder wallet is located in the front one. You make it to the subway staton across the way in under fifteen minutes; there were a few people aboard the RLS lines which are the direct bullet ones to transport its passengers halfway across the town centers. You might have worked in the regional hospital in the heart of the metropolitan area, so it’s not too far of a stretch when the chimes of the late night patron rings through the empty onigiri shop.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” your boyfriend’s voice comes through the kitchen. However, he sees you sitting at the counter, a smile adorning your faces.

“Now I know you’re not turning away a hungry customer. What shall I do when my boyfriend hears about this?” You muse as he walks around the counter space to lock the door and turns off the neon sign.

“Good thing I know a scrub like ‘im, doc,” he says.

The last year or so has been filled with many milestones, a majority are categorized by the framed photos on the ‘hall of fame’ wall decorating the manager’s office of Onigiri Miya. Your first holiday together was captured in a photo where your brother’s gift of snapdragon blooms made the expression of surprise turn into one of intrigue. Osamu akss the importance of the flowers and he wasn’t prepared to hear you speak about the deceased caretakers who found you way before your brother did. Through mistified eyes he pulls you into the most sincere hug you had in a long time. Once you calm down and control your emotions, Osamu helps you move forward one step at a time. He kisses your temple when he says it’s ok to take a break especially when he mentions he took some time off to spend with you. Sure, the phone calls never stopped especially around Christmas week, yet things were going great.

Now, you’re both here, enjoying the quiet calm of each other’s company.

“I’ll just be a minute, ok love?” Osamu presses a kiss to your lips, untying his apron. His baseball cap is subsequently snatched from he top of his head as you place it on your noggin, giggling as he shakes his head at your antics. You meet him at the side door where he locks the second door after verifying all deadbolts are secured. Your boyfriend takes a hold of your hand as you two begin walking toward his flat.

Two hours pass before you are finally situated in front of the other. The stew on the kitchen stove is bubbling away, this time you stand in front of the gas stove, stirring its contents with a wooden spoon. Osamu’s footsteps are heard coming out of the shower, smelling of grass and the sea. Domestic life wasn’t quite your style, you told him once, but now you’ve dove into the deep end. Falling in love was never part of the plan since you still sought an out from the underground life you’ve successfully kept hidden away. In actuality, you have your brother to thank since your whereabouts professionally are still unknown to the lower members. Sure a few tabs were kept on you, yet the boss and his equally powerful ‘old’ lady are the ones who needed a monthly status report. So far, you are thankful things are quiet. Where you go after your shifts end are kept tightly under wraps since your brother makes a motion for the town square which includes Onigiri Miya to be considered a safe haven is in the final stages of being approved. Your brother notifies you about this development and you breathe a sigh of relief. As long as Osamu’s safe to do what he wishes and what he loves, then you are free to love him for a while longer. Your thoughts dance around all this in the hearth of the place where you spend most of your free time. The key you are presented by Atsumu on Christmas Day was another surprise since the twins thought it be best if you ever need a break from, “mah genius chef little bro, yer more than welcome to stay over with me…What? Ya already gave ‘em a key to yer place ‘Samu.”

Shaking your head when you place the spoon to rest in the ceramic ladle holder on the side, you feel Osamu’s presence grow stronger behind you.

“Hi pretty baby,” his voice is weary and warm against the right side of your neck. An arm wraps around your waist as you tilt your head to the side.

“Missed this,” you succumb to his advances quite quickly. You make a lewd remark about how setting the table is really a turn on, causing Osamu to efficiently obey you.

“Just say ya think it’s hot,” your lover teases you the moment the second bowl is set on the table.

“If I have to say it, then I don’t get to enjoy watching you flex your hospitality muscles for me,” you muse. “Besides, you need to eat something other than me every once in a while, handsome.”

Osamu shoots you an incredulous look, completely flushed as all blood drains from his face for a moment before thoughts of the previous bouts of sex clouded his mind.

“Still thinking about last time, huh?”

Your shirt you have since been bequeathed by Osamu, rides up slightly to show off the yellowing bruises his hands left behind when he held you above him. He was gentle enough, yet when he matches your tenacity, you retaliate in a mutual front. Each of you find yourselves building palaces in the humble bones that encases the heart that beats.

“Shaddup,” Osamu tries to bite back the grin he’s forming, but he fails the moment you kiss his cheek.

“Be good,” your voice taunts.

“For you? Always,” his answer makes you hum in approval.

With the dishes soaking in the sink, both of you agree to knock them out in the morning. You’ve both decided to enjoy the next couple of days off together. Perhaps a trip home to introduce you to the people who helped shaped him and his brother into who they are today sort of thing.

“So, what do you say?” Osamu whispers, tucking a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

You’re closing your eyes when you say in an equally low tone, “that sounds nice ‘Samu.”

You turn your body around to face him, using the heat he emanates from his chest to lull you into sleep. His right hand keeps your shoulder warm while his left runs through your hair when a confession of how he views you is the last word your conscious mind hears. Much to his surprise, you nod, agreeing automatically with him.

Dreams are vivid and bright, much like the morning rays. You’re on the phone currently with your brother who decided to check in on you since you mentioned context you have a long weekend ahead.

“Yes, really… oh for the last time, his folks said it was fine… what? No, I don’t know what kind of wine they like…shouldn’t you know what to get a lover’s parents?!…” a snicker is heard across the kitchen table where you were seated. Your boyfriend is in front of you making some pancakes listening to your side of the conversation with your brother. You mouth out a thank you toward Osamu who places another hot cake hs baxon top of the first two on your plate.

“I’ll figure it out… and yes, if it’s anything but ‘meeting the parents’ I’ll call you. Later ni-chan,” you press the end call button as an aggravated sigh escapes your nude lips. You seemed a bit peeved since Osamu said you didn’t have to bring anything else since you pretty much are the person most of his family was interested in meeting. Sure, you have had your moments with running amuck with Atsumu and not to mention the party from a couple months back…

“Osamu,” you mulled over your words before you sliced into your short stack.

“Hmm?”

Soft gray eyes glance up at your somber expression. You don’t know why nor how to explain the apologetic look you have, so you do what you do best: you enlighten him.

“You don’t want to go,” he guesses.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you begin. There’s hope in your demeanor now, so you make it known to Osamu why you are acting this way. When you explain, he just laughs baffled by your sudden admission of never meeting anyones parents. Then again, how were you going to phrase the only times you’ve done so is because your handlers needed someone silenced.

“I’m not exactly a normal person, with normal jobs…” you realize you said the second part so casually.

Osamu brushes it aside and agrees that he’d give you some time to think about joining him in doing home for a weekend. Suffice to say that when he sees you leaning against his car (parked on the side of his building) with a backpack and sunglasses, he bows his head grinning to himself. As you walk toward him, Osamu is suddenly very aware of how much he loves you. He presses a kiss to your hair and when you’re both about to drive off, you stick a hand out your window to block the glare from a few buildings behind you on the side mirror just to be sure. You breathe a sigh of relief, and when your boyfriend tells you it’s ok to nap, you nod, stifling a yawn. The glare from the rays suddenly doesn’t seem too strong anymore the minute you slide up your sunglasses.

Elsewhere, the scene plays out through the lens of a marksman’s telescope with the silencer still in place.

“The little duck has a friend…”

Your phone buzzes in your lap and when you check the caller ID, you open your eyes just a crack to glance over at Osamu who steadily taps his fingers to the beat of the radio. You grumble a little and he laughs, knowing you’re not the most articulate after a nap, yet he keeps his eyes on the road. Mile markers and road signs dictate it’s not too much further, so with your phone still making quite a small ruckus, you answer. The call was a warning with a troubled voice from your brother. Apparently he had to resort to a burner phone after he did a quick sweep of Osamu’s neighborhood place. You had an inkling someone from your organization had been following you a few weeks back, yet to make sure, you had texted your brother when you made up your mind about visiting Hyogo. Sure, maybe suggesting to Osamu to sleep over your place when you come back would be a good idea since your collection of weaponry in your closet cabinet, but more than often not in you’d wind up at his place with only kitchen knives at your disposal. Regardless, your brother mentions he found the sniper’s nest at the top of a building several meters away and he reassures you he will get to the bottom of who is making sure you’re carrying out your orders as necessary for the boss.

Osamu peers over his shoulder to take a look at you and you mutter a thanks while exhaling a sigh of relief. You end the call telling your brother how you’ll be back in a few days, mentioning perhaps now would be a great time to break the news to the love of your young life what kind of family you’re in. Your brother takes a deep breath and he advises you if anything at all, the truth will make or break your relationship. His voice is filled with compassionate concern when signing off since he has more work to uncover. By the tone, you figure you’d hear from the higher ups another tribunal would be held since your brother would probably silence the sniper permanently (disposing of the body with a chemical combination of sorts). Murderers and underground debt collectors are what usually filled your family, but living in the shadows moonlighting as a licensed professional would mean if you’re discovered, your license to practice would be revoked and a black dot on your records would be very hard to remove.

“Who was it?” Osamu pulls you from your muddled thoughts.

“Ni-san,” you put on a brave smile after noticing the billboard for the upcoming exits. You lean your head against the closed passenger side window, humming along with the music.

“Ah,” your boyfriend replies. There was a shy smile on his face when he remembered you giving your brother the finger while mid-kiss. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s good actually. Excited for me since I’m meeting your folks, haha,” you hold your hand for him to take. Osamu laces his fingers through yours to hold your hand until the exit for his hometown comes up.

Couple of hours in the car allowed you to enjoy the rest of the day and early evening with your boyfriend the moment his family’s house comes into view. There were a few cars parked on the side of the driveway. The cars Osamu recognized as a few of his extended family was quite a surprise for him.

“What’s all this?” You ask quietly when he put the car in park.

“A Miya family reunion,” Osamu answered. He lets out a nervous chuckle before unbuckling his seatbelt. “I mentioned I’m coming home for a weekend with my girlfriend and we got ambushed by a family reunion…Shit.”

You shrug your shoulders letting him know that it’s ok and expressing you don’t really mind it at all.

“Shall we go and say hi?” You ask, an encouraging smile on your face seems to put your boyfriend at ease. He kisses your forehead after you undo your seatbelt. With little fanfare, he opens his door and comes around to open yours. Once the car is locked, both of you stretch your legs, walking toward the front door. You could hear the laughter and the ruckus caused by a relative asking his father when they’d all be meeting you. Osamu holds your hand and whispers something which makes your heart race: “Rain or shine sweetness, I will always love you.”

You have no time to return the gesture since Osamu swings the open door wide open to announce your joint arrival. All eyes were on you suddenly the moment there were loud welcoming cheers thus pulling you two apart. A bunch of polite hellos and friendlier hugs were exchanged until the noise dies down when you and Osamu are handed paper plates. His mother says there’s food in the kitchen for everyone since you’re the last two to arrive. The Miya family, if anything, are a bit noisy, but there is a lot of love emanating from the room. Minutes later, you are asked the questions about career, how did you meet their boy, etc. You answer each inquiry as quickly as you can in between stuffing your mouth full of delicious home cooking. Several hours later and with the final cousin leaving the main Miya house, you finally have a moment to collect yourself. You hear Osamu speak to his parents about life in the city more in depth while you stand in the kitchen. You had offered to help clean up the dinner serving plates along with the now emptied punch bowl. There was a tea kettle left on the stove, you think it would be best to make some in the morning for breakfast; the thought is a kind one since you’d be staying overnight for a few days.

“Yn-san is special to you, huh?” His mother’s gentle voice is endearing.

“What makes you say that oka-san?” Osamu shrugs. He is leaning back in the sofa chair in the living room.

“Honey, I noticed you looked at yn-san like the sun is pale compared to them,” she goes on. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the way yn-san looks at you too...”

Osamu becomes quiet, sort of smirking while he glanced at his father too.

“Son, those eyes of theirs kept searching for you when the rest of the family kept asking questions. Seeking your approval after every noticeable ‘nice to meet ya’ and ‘sure, the city is nice, but this was a great way to meet you all.’”

“Those are the eyes of someone who loves you,” his mother continues. They continue to talk, wondering often about their eldest and his professional sports career, but the focus goes back toward you and Osamu’s relationship. With the dishes done, you lean against the awning facing the living room.

“We’re going to head to bed in a little bit, yn-san,” his mother says when she sees you standing there. “Don’t go to bed too late either, ok?”

She rises from the sofa and kisses her son’s hair, pats your cheek and beckons her husband to follow suit (for him, he does the opposite). You two say your good nights before moving to sit on the couch together.

“Your family is nice,” you compliment. “They’re a little loud, but they are loveable people, hah.”

“I’m glad ya like ‘em,” Osamu said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “But do ya like me?”

You have this pensive look on your face when you hum. “No. I don’t think I do.”

“What?” A gasp escaped his lips, a frown forming on his lips.

“I think—no, I know—I love you, Osamu,” you stifle a laugh when you’re suddenly pinned on the cushions. Osamu’s above you with a toothy grin, he asks you to repeat what you said (which you do) before his lips smash against yours. If he were still a teenager, he would have found this extremely hot at the thought of getting caught. Funnily enough, he still did as this little make out session continues when your hair is entangled in his hand. Your hands are carding through his hair when you feel one of his knees prop between your legs to make space for him to be more comfortable around you. When there is enough time to breathe, Osamu caresses your cheeks, chuckling at how adorable you look kiss-drunk alone. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, arching your eyebrows suggestively asking perhaps now would be a good time to unload the car then perhaps continue where both of you left off.

“Maybe we could sleep on Atsumu’s bed?” You suggest. You distinctly recall the first couple of times you had Osamu over your place and he told you about how his brother brought home his first serious girlfriend and in a drunken stupor the setter fucks his girlfriend in his brother’s bed.

“Ya know what? That ain’t a bad idea,” Osamu laughs with you before crawling back to his side of the couch to grab your things. “Wait here.”

“Sure thing baby.”

Two backpacks later, you find yourself in the twin’s old bedroom. The bunk beds were set with more ‘appropriate’ twenty-something bedding than before. As you glance around the room, you could tell which side of the room belonged to whom judging by the accolades from volleyball to cooking competitions. In all honesty, you don’t know nor think both you and Osamu could fit on one of the mattresses, however, you let him test this theory when you laid on your back on Atsumu’s bed.

“See? We do fit,” Osamu is triumphant when you both decide to pick up from where you two left off. In a matter of minutes clothes are being shed and flung to the floor, your quiet mewls keep Osamu’s hands focused when his hands reach down to play with your arousal between your legs. Your hips buck up because of the friction his hands are providing you, you’re encouraging him to continue.

“Easy now,” Osamu’s stern voice is softly purring in your ear. “I know yer worked up baby, but let me have my fun.”

“Fi~ah~ne,” you breathe, trying to sit up to have his hand at a better angle before his fingers start to piston in and out of you. You’re biting your lower lip and sighing his name more as he continues to ‘have his fun’ as he says. Osamu has a lustful smile while he works on building your first orgasm of the night and in a matter of minutes,right when you feel the coil within you start to get taut enough to snap, he tells you to let go. Your head lolls back and you are forcing yourself to be quieter when you seem like you’re out of breath, all glowing slightly with perspiration, your lover’s name on the tips of your lips. Osamu, chooses to remove his hand from your spasming core, licking his fingers that are covered in your arousal in front of you. You narrow your eyes when he does this.

“You’re too gawd-damn hot when you do this,” you feel Osamu’s other arm supporting your lower back. He hums, informing you how sweet you taste; you pull him closer to you, the physical contact ignites a more passionate response. Osamu’s lips trace over your neck and shoulders, then tactfully over your own. His actions cause you to lean back down on the mattress, sort of chuckling at how easily you comply with his advances.

“Pretty boy,” you whisper when you’re given a moment to breathe, both your hands cup his face. His nose brushes against yours when he chuckles at the compliment.

“We have to be quiet now love,” Osamu warns, pecking your brow. You nod, agreeing with the suggestion. The same hand from earlier finds its way down toward your heat when he asks for permission to make sure you’re properly prepared to accept his growing erection. You affirm him you can go for a little teasing a short while longer. A few moments of intimacy begins as it always has, gentle and kind. Until you feel your second orgasm brewing closer, you don’t cry out his name, no. You hold Osamu above you with one hand on his shoulder while you enjoy the way he feels pulsating within, and he has to silence your moaning with his mouth on yours.

Inside this room, you have eventually crawled out from underneath him to rest in front of him. Eventually, your second orgasm comes and crashes down on you and around you, you feel the world go bright. Knowing Osamu isn’t going to last any longer, you, although panting like you ran a marathon, allow yourself to sit up, still conjoined. Rocking your hips against his, you take pleasure in feeling his arms entangle themselves behind your back. Your eyes are blurred by tears of ecstasy when Osamu’s hands grip the tips of your hair, moving you up and down. You drive him further to his own end, thus allowing him to paint your inside white with his cum. There was no need in hiding how full he had made you feel, yet with you attempting to shush him, you realize together you made a mess on a bed that isn’t his (nor yours). You slow your movements as does he, sort of laughing in between breaths. You shake your head when Osamu says this was the best homecoming he had had since he graduated from culinary school. You shook your head, saying you couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

“I don’t know if I can look your mother in the eye tomorrow since I’m almost one-hundred percent sure she heard both me and you cum in here,” you say.

“Hah~yeah, but,” Osamu starts, holding you closer to his chest. You rest your head against his sternum, returning his gesture.

“C’mon, we should go clean up and probably change these sheets…”

Osamu pecks the crown of your head, muttering that fucking you in his brother’s bed must be one of the perks of coming back here with you.

Half an hour later, once you both were dressed in something to sleep in, you helped Osamu change the sheets on the bed you abused together. Afterwards, you find yourself curling into your boyfriend’s brother, slightly hissing at the soreness settling between your legs.

“Remind me to stretch more before you fuck me,” you mumble when he asks if you’re ok.

“Noted,” he replies. He stifles a yawn while drawing patterns with his fingers over your clothed shoulder. The ministration causes your eyes to grow heavily with sleep and with one final kiss to your forehead, you drift to sleep.

During breakfast the following morning, your boyfriend’s parents are sitting at the kitchen table. Your hair is a bit messy and still tousled from sleep, yet there is a small stack of toast and eggs on two plates in the middle. Your boyfriend’s father is sipping a cup of coffee while his mother is asking you if you had any plans for today with Osamu.

“No, I don’t think so,” you say before you pick up a slice of toast. “Maybe explore the town centers or visit Kita-san’s farm.”

“I’m sure you two will figure it out,” his mom says with a smile in her voice. “Would you like coffee or tea dear?”

“Coffee, please,” you answer. A mug is placed in front of you with the warm drink.

“Osamu is still asleep?” she asks.

You nod after you take a sip.

“Makes sense since you seem to tire him out,” his mother says. The woman is neither bashful or shy at all about knowing about her grown children’s sexlife. Then again, her comment makes you choke on your drink.

“Ma’am?!” your cheeks are a lot rosier suddenly while staring at his father for a minute, who just seems to nod along.

“What? We’re all adults here honey. You’re fine,” she continues giggling about your sudden blush. “Afterall, you’re the only significant other of Osamu’s that he has brought home in the last few years. Honestly, we’re both just glad he has time to find someone to love.”

“Ah,” you agree.

On the night before you’re scheduled to leave since you’re on call at the hospital, your boyfriend’s parents had a christening to attend on the other side of town, so the house was yours and Osamu’s for the day. After everything was packed and the last bit of laundry was hung to dry, you succumb to another lustful tumble in his sheets. You’re on your knees this time, propped up, more than ready to continue; your hair cascades to one side, finding it harder to breathe when Osamu’s pace is relentless, but he grips your wrist.

Holding a pillow in your hands to muffle your moans, your voice is low and hoarse when you tell your boyfriend to lewdly, “fuck me like the dog you are,” hours ago and Osamu snarls against your ear.

“With pleasure,” his voice is not angry, yet his pace says otherwise. “Fuck me—yer made for me, ain’t ya?”

He laughs, reminding you to stay muffled by the pillow before he makes good on honoring your request. His lips are scorching your marked up body, his hands finding their purchase in the heat pooling between your legs. You nearly forget how your body responds to his hands, and you bite your tongue to remain quiet.

Inside the room, you crawl out gently from underneath the man. You have a broken whine of his name when you grip the pillows when he forces you over; Osamu breathes a curse behind you, hot air down your back which is starting to sweat and slip on his exposed abs. You don’t want him to see your face because it is glowing, red and furious blushes stain your smooshed cheeks. Grimacing at the pale white wall which is cool when you put your hand to reach back into him, just to get his dick to make you feel completely full. You’re panting when his hands cup you’re exposed breasts and he leaves bite marks with your name on his tongue.

“Th-that’s it angel,” he steadies into a brutal pace, pulling your hair back slightly when you feel his fingers massage your scalp a little. “Cum with me, yeah?”

You chuckle when you hear a praise again, making Osamu arch his back in a groan. A few more sounds of your hips being pulled back on his own until it has the knots in your stomach coming taut with wonton need for release. The mess you make is evident on the way the slick drips down your boyfriend’s shaft. As he holds you in front of him, you move your right arm behind your head to push him back into you, without the need to look back anytime soon; eventually when enough is enough, Osamu lets you ride him to build up a second and third orgasm. You tire him out like you typically do and whenever you’re through with using him, you stay somewhat conjoined, noting the softening of Osamu’s member. You’re sitting on his lap, legs propped in either side of his toned body, caressing his face.

“You did good,” you whisper against his lips.

“I have this amazin’ sex pot if a lady, ‘s all,” he says over your own lips.

“Think Atsumu would care we broke his springs?” You wonder aloud. Osamu chuckled and says something or other about how he finally had gotten his brother back:

“Alright, alright,” you peck his lips. “We should get cleaned up. You promised me dinner today with Kita when we went to visit yesterday.”

Osamu rubs soothing circles on your shoulders, kissing you there where you’re nuzzling into his chest.

“Let’s stay like this a little longer, hmm princess?”

Osamu’s gray eyes glanced down to your hazy ones, you stifle a yawn when you mention that if you fall asleep, Kita would need to know. After all, you remind Osamu how if that were the case, you’d rather just shower tomorrow after you use the toilet.

“C’mon, ‘Samu,” you try to wriggle free with a joyous smirk. Osamu just holds you tighter when he feels you remove yourself away from the heat he radiates. He keeps you steady when you try to stand, a sharp hiss is heard when you start to rub the inside of your love bitten thighs.

“Too much? I’ll carry ya,” Osamu teases, pulling over his shirt over his head; you nod, pulling the bedsheet modestly around you like a make-shift toga.

An hour later, you’re back on the proper mattress, curling back into Osamu’s body. He is warm and it is a comforting to know when you’re taken care of so eloquently. Osamu’s hand caresses your face, slowly dozing off when your lips graze the pads of his calloused hands. He calls Kita apologizing for not making it to dinner, but perhaps breakfast is better since your knocked out face is hidden behind a starry blanket.

Your phone in its DND mode, lights up with a message from your brother. A link is attached to the text, revealing the face of the botched hit by a rival gang. You refused to work for them once when you were recruited into the family, and now your brother has asked for persmission from an older-brother in the organization to sanction a kill on site (at at the very least make the assassin a mute). Thankfully, when you read this after Osamu is far too deep in his much deserved rest, you breathe a sigh of relief knowing the man was taken care of properly. The tribunal coming up between two organizations to redraw the lines of the turfs, your boss and his wife send a message to the rest of their rivals when a photo of your boyfriend is revealed in a red file, your face is obscured in the far end of the restaurant. You are given a little more leeway when your brother is asked about the man in the photo and what you were doing there. He realizes he cannot lie nor cover for you anymore. He relays this to you in a sense of urgency to be careful, so now with the threat of the much red and black in your ledger with your cover name being an alias of your birth name, you mustn’t delay the obvious.

You wait until your weekend away in Hyogo is over before you invite Osamu inside your flat a couple days later. You sent him a text saying that you needed to speak with him, but not to worry since nothing is wrong. Your brother stopped by unannounced saying you were told to push your boyfriend of nearly a year and half away for his safety. Your brother reasons you must have to put on an act to appease the eyes and ears of your organization. He kisses your temple when he leaves for the day through the fire escape, handing you a little more ammunition for your Glock in the safe in the false bottom of your nightstand.

Miya Osamu doesn’t become nervous or washed with anxiousness very often. The last time he felt this way was when he was on the court against the Karasuno crows in his third year of high school, however the same sensation came again the day before he opened Onigiri Miya for the first day (after pouring his heart and soul into it). Yet when you answer the door, you have a lovesick expression on your face.

“Come in,” you say, closing your eyes when he kisses your forehead.

He notices the files stacked high on the kitchen counter. Coffee is brewed on your drip kettle set up and you invite him to sit down at the floating island bar top.

“We have to talk,” you pour a cup for yourself along with one for him.

“Is everythin’ alright baby? Working too much?” He questions when you hand him his own cup.

You advise him to take a deep breath and you do too.

“You wanted to know about my family, right?”

“Mm,” Osamu takes a sip of his coffee.

“Promise me to not judge me until I get to the end of this story. Here,” you hand him a file folder. It begins with the crime syndicates from the late 1980s. You begin here and Osamu makes a joke or two before he realizes the cold stare in your eyes means you were serious. Rightfully so, he tries to keep an open mind as you speak about your true life story; being a witness to your birth parents’ murder due to a loan collection gone wrong at a jewelry store in Okinawa during summer vacation in the early 2000s makes him shudder. He reaches to hold your hand when you power through the introduction of your brother to you promising to keep his “one-chan” safe.

“Since I was eight, I was trained by ni-chan to keep my guard up when I first moved up in the family,” you have a disillusioned glance. “It was part of my upbringing to consistently be bandaging my fellow brother in arms. Hence why I chose to study medicine. The boss and his wife allowed me to enroll in school in the second year of middle school just to make sure I had some sense of normalcy. When I graduated from high school the same year you were in your last year as well, I was able to make an amendment to my contract for hire once I was in my second year of medical school in Seoul.”

You see Osamu read the rest of your file and he doesn’t lose any interest because he needs to hear this. You apologize profusely in between and the hazel gray eyes of the storm before you makes you grow small back into yourself. You still have to your will to finally wrap up to the day you first meet him. He whistles when you tell him how falling in love while undercover (he knows your government name, that was the one thing you never lied about) to ride out the rest of your agreed arrangement to having an out for this yakuza life, was clearly not what you had expected when you moved to this city. Osamu doesn’t say much, thumbing over the files of you and your brother. Your asked your brother to give you the cliff notes version of your career in the underground, including your transcripts when you decide that today will be the day to open up to your boyfriend and have him decide what he wants to do. Whether he would stay with you or to leave you, mentioning you support whatever he decides.

Five minutes turn to ten, and the silence is killing you. You finish your coffee, noticing Osamu has long since finished his, but his hand still holds yours. He rubs his thumb over your tensed knuckles, you visibly relax.

“If ya think I’m going to leave ya because yer in the morally wrong side of the tracks, yer out of yer god damned mind woman,” Osamu says to you. You weren’t expecting that at all, you expected yelling, anger, hostility.

“…what?” You’re jaw drops into an ‘o’ when he repeats what he says again.

“The person in these files are just one aspect of the person I love,” he says. “Am I angry you hid this from me? O’course, but I don’t care because she is still a part of ya.”

“‘Samu, I-I think I’m gonna cry,” you close your eyes, bringing his hand to your forehead. Your breathing hitches in your throat when you let out a shaky breath because you do what you said as if on cue. He comforts you, beckoning you to come into his arms. Broken apologies fall from your lips.

“I know baby, I know,” his voice is kind to you. “Yer were just tryin’ to protect me. Still are.”

You scoff. He wipes away your tears with a curled finger under your eyes; his lips press against the crown of your head. His reassuring you is such a foreign feeling because you create some distance between you two. You’ve calmed down enough, changing your demeanor with a small.

“There she is,” Osamu stares at you with hooded eyes. Although he doesn’t know what to do anymore but to trust you to keep him safe, he reassures you that your secret is safe with him. “My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

Your hands press against his chest when you ask him if he wants to spend the night; you explain that your relationship was outed by an assassin from another rival gang the day when you went to Hyogo. The assassin was after you, your brother tells you, knowing that any harm that befalls your lover would make you seek blood on your hands. Your hands shake again when you clutch the fabric of his shirt.

“Shh,” he mumbles when he kisses you, hard. The aggressive nature of his kiss makes a you freeze before you return his gesture. He takes your mind off the troubles of being loved by him; he stands up when you feel yourself lose your center of gravity leaning back, only to have Osamu catch you before you fall. Your arms move higher to loop behind his neck the more his kisses go from aggression to refortifying where he stands in your relationship. And you are certain if he asked you to run away, you’d follow with him to the ends of the earth. The rest of the night passes between the sensual kisses leading you to be carried by Osamu into your bedroom. Both of you agree (rather, it is implied) to save the sexual escapades for the morning, so when your half-dressed selves breathe in sync, your hands massage Osamu’s scalp. He presses a final kiss on your sternum, in between the valley of your breasts held by a lace bralette.

“I love you,” you say the three words. “I know I do, despite my fucked up childhood.”

Osamu chuckles reverberates on your abs, saying you had an easier time since you didn’t have “Atsumu ‘as yer brother.” He pinches your love handles, when you playfully smack his shoulder. You kiss his brow, readjusting your posture so you can rest comfortably in his embrace. As your eyes flutter close, Osamu traces the kanji for “honest love” over your plush shoulders, and you whimper muttering a “thank you for lovin’ me ‘Samu.”

Your words emit a fire in his soul, securing his place where he chooses to always be: by your side for as long as you want.

“Anytime princess. Ya own this heart of mine, and perhaps a part of my soul,” his voice amuses you when you smile. “Don’t worry, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Eventually, Osamu too falls asleep holding on to your body a little tighter that night. The promise of coffee and brunch in the morning is something special whenever you wake to see his sleeping figure, three years later, with a silver band on his hand; yours is kept on a chain around your neck as you rise with your alarm chime.

It’s been two years overall since your brother’s sins caught up with you, and a frantic call is made to Onigiri Miya, the world comes to a standstill. Despite the fact you had told everything about the syndicate you work for, the boss calls you for a private matter. He notices your contract amendments yet again, and granted, though you know eventually you’d want out, if you were to have a family with Osamu, you’d still want some sort of detail.

“A light one if that,” your boss reads to himself. His wife looks over the copy of her copy of the contract as well. “Considering yn-chan’s one of our very best and higher ranking members, I’ll grant this kindness to them if there is talk of marriage.”

“Mm,” she says, grabbing a pen to add two more conditions. “Add this anecdote too.”

Handing the document to her husband, he glosses over it and approves of it. In the written script to be typed, your name is typed along side the compensation amount much too large for a grieving man and perhaps father in a few years time. Osamu’s name is never stated, but from what informants pick up when they frequent the onigiri shop is that what the owner and you share is in fact genuine.

A few weeks of peace passes, until early afternoon in the middle of the lunch rush, the phone for Onirigi Miya rings constantly. A few missed calls from Sunarin to a few of his professional athletic friends are on the call log. Apparently, there was a shootout on the docks, the news reports on the tv’s overhead thus making one of the cashiers raise the volume. Her boss, answers his phone and his brother’s voice says to not move from the restaurant because he’s on the way to pick him up.

“And whatever you do Samu, don’t watch the news…”

“Y-yeah. Got it.”

Osamu grips his phone tighter when he sees a familiar car in the background. Gunshots are still echoing and your brother’s old informant ‘mug shot’ for interpol is flashed on the screen. Your name comes up as a victim who was airlifted after found bleeding with excessive blood loss after two bullets pierce your clavicle and your left shoulder.

Atsumu is at the restaurant when the news comes back from commercial break and he sees the rebroadcast for the live updates at the docks, signaling it’s time to go. The other cashier glances over at her boss who is frozen trying to get the name of the hospital you’re at and that’s when Atsumu repeats the name, pulling his brother out the back and shoving him into the car. The patrons and other regulars who’ve come to know how special you are, gives the boys enough leeway. The girl who turned the tv off, runs to wave them off yelling, “we’ve got your back!” Her fellow coworker runs the register and for a solid week, Onigiri Miya is a somber gathering spot while everyone waits for a sign, a text, a call to keep updates. Atsumu’s the one to do this, considering when the girls explain to rest of the friends group you and and Osamu know, they recall watching the live story unfold.

Osamu developed a nervous tick of bouncing his leg when something goes wrong, you’ve called him out on it. Atsumu thought his brother outgrew it, but when the blonde hears your name in the victims’ report, he tells his brother to get a grip. The hospital comes into view after exiting on the highway. As Osamu checks in with the nurse’s station, he is told you suffered enough blood loss that you went into shock before the doctors could get you to the trauma operating suites. He sits down in the waiting hall and Atsumu finds him, not saying a word.

Your brother on the other hand is now hunted like a dog, but with his true cover blown, the news echoes the same rhetoric to call the anonymous tip lines.

“What a mess,” one of the nurses says as another victim, this time a doa patient, is sent to the morgue. “This one’s DOA from the docks, since the reports say the girl in theater six is a trained sharpshooter.”

“And they say the yakuza is dead,” the emt says, handing the nurse the paperwork.

Atsumu overhears this, as does Osamu, and it’s then that the brothers have a long discussion. Osamu speaks for you when his brother raises his suspicions ever since the time at the festival.

“All this to protect ya, huh?” Atsumu says. “Does ma know?”

“No,” Osamu sighs into his hands. “…What am I going to do? I can’t lose her yet…”

Atsumu, despite all the fanfare and siblings squabbles he had gotten himself into, he gives his brother a solid piece of advice: “Marry her. You’ve been with her for what? Three years if you count the year I got signed on to the Jackals, right? Marry her, because as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve grown to like her too.”

The blonde dance the raven haired m red n sit in t to be waiting room for an hour since their arrival since your operation to remove the fragments is a delicate procedure. One of the nurse anesthetists explain that due to your blood loss, the emergency surgery needed to occur so the fragments closer to a vital artery doesn’t pierce and causes you to bleed internally.

The surgeons and other attending doctor are informed of the twins in the waiting room waiting on word for any updates on the victim from the dock shootout when they have your medical files on their tablets. They each pull up the litany of injuries you suffered: a torn shoulder causing you to have screws put in place to heal, the stitches were indicative of where your life lines would be. The way your body has to be medically comatose until the blood transfusion is the most frightening part of this whole debacle.

“Anesthesiologists will administer lower dosages so she can wake up as long as the MRI results are negative,” the initial trauma doctor reports before bidding her colleagues good day. “We were able to pull her credentials for our neighboring hospital on the southwest corner of the plaza. She’s a medical examiner, huh?”

Osamu nods.

“They’re a bit eccentric, but they’re kind people. Strong as hell too, both mentally and clearly physically. She’ll be fine before you know it. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few more news to give others.”

Osamu and Atsumu pretend to know what the medical terms mean, so the latter asks if it’s ok to record the explanation to look up the details later. The primary and attending agree, relaxing a bit when they noticed the concerned distraught expression on their faces.

“This may be hard to hear, but I’ll start whenever you’re ready.”

Atsumu opens the recording app on his phone, he nods.

“Ok. The patient, YLN, YN, was found unresponsive with two gunshot wounds on the docs. The emergency response units notice she lies in a pool of her own blood mixed with the oil slick from the shipyard. About a liters worth of blood was administered until she exhibits movement. In the ambulance, though yn lost a lot of blood, she had to be restrained from pulling out the ivs used to keep her vitals in check under the illusion our medics were the assailants. Regardless, while we were able to remove the fragments, she is lucky to have escaped death’s door,” the surgeon says. There is a matter of fact way he speaks that makes the news he delivers a bit more tangible, albeit while rereading his reports to add. He also notes the officers and detectives have the bullets to start their investigations.

“Although we were forced to up her take on morphine, for the pain, the patient’s resistance tolerance was a bit higher than most, but nonetheless, when she started to clot, that is where the first signs of toxic shock was introduced. The bullets used were laced with a rare toxin whose properties were able to be pulled from snake venom to mimic an antidote arborists by the time the operating theater was opened. You don’t read stuff like this everyday, eh Leopold?”

The surgeon clears his throat.

“In any case, the patient, yn, would need to stay for a few days at most a week or two to begin physical therapy as well as receive routine shots of the anti venom to ensure no other triggering symptoms arise.”

The primary doctor who was able to rush you to the operating room was the one who pulled your vitals back to a semi-regular state post exhibiting shock (and with restarting your stressed out heart).

“But she’s ok?” Osamu needs to know the answer. He has to believe you’re ok, you made him a promise to be more honest with him.

You mentioned your brother had wanted to check out the docks this afternoon for a specific houseboat he wanted to buy because he was about to be out of the business for good. He mentioned something or other about wanting to travel to the northern side of the country to live back in the quiet sea faring village. You supported him and you agreed to tag along. Who knew it was going to be a trap to try to make sure the syndicate you worked for got the message from the rival gang (they really wanted you dead, so this was a warning shootout apparently).

The doctor has a hopeful expression on his face, humming in agreement.

“You can visit her when she wakes up, but for now, she is in the ICU until further notice,” she says. “She will be sore the next couple of days, so I suggest she takes it one day at a time. If you’ll excuse me.”

The twins breath a much earned sigh of relief.

“See? Ya were worried, so what are you gonna do when she wakes up ni-chan?”

A wobbly smile creeps on his brother’s lips, mumbling the name of the jewelry store by the bakery you loved to frequent.

Several minutes later, there is an older, but sharply dressed couple frantically approaches the nurses’ station. Osamu recognizes them from the night you opened about your family. Your boss and his wife arch an eyebrow at the twin boys, realizing who they were. However your boss introduces himself to Osamu, sheepishly saying he would have loved to have met under different circumstances. His wife on the other hand, hugs both of the boys. Even if they are dangerous and one of the most revered crime bosses in current times, the lady pats their heads.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” the lady hugs Osamu a little tighter. “I do apologize for not coming sooner, we had to hold a meeting at the conglomerate estate uptown… dear, why don’t you take one of the boys to grab some refreshments, hmm?”

Eventually Atsumu and the boss walk off to buy some coffee and snacks for their family counterparts, leaving your boss’ wife with a very quiet and hollow feeling Osamu. The walk to the far side of the bench after a student nurse gives them a map to where the hope wing is located. The hours are scripted in bold font, but for now, the one of the two people you were afraid of meeting Osamu now sits next to him.

“Ma’am,” Osamu’s apology is there in his countenance, yet the Yakuza woman tilts her had to the side as she chooses her next words to sound as genuine as possible.

“She is lucky to have you,” she says. “She may not be blood, but the girl is loyal to a fault; y’know my husband and I never had children, but if we did have one, we’d hope they would turn out like yn-chan…When she comes to, her contract is null and void.”

“Mmhm,” Osamu’s leg nervously trembles again. That is until the woman next to him holds his hand and gives it a polite squeeze. Her actions are genuine, like a parent worrying about their adult child. She decides to expand on her reasoning, while the gray hazels gloss over in frustrated tears of begging you to stay behind today.

“The girl promised not to get hurt, it’s written there as an anecdote, as long as it was not fatal,” she elaborates. “She gave up a majority of her protection detail because she fell in love… If you’re ever curious why she had wanted to leave all those years ago, the answer is so simple.”

The woman pats his hand this time, Osamu turns into her, his forehead colliding with the fabric of the suit lapel and she consoles him as though she was his own son.

“I should have told her to wait a little longer with me, have French toast with my brother before he goes home for the weekend…”

“I know, sweetie, I know. If it’s any consolation, take it from a crime lord’s wife, this life isn’t for everyone. And yn-san made good on her promise to always protect you and your loved ones first. Herself second, that’s just how she is and I’m willing to bed on god’s good green earth that she deserves more love, you (and by default your friends) give her more than necessary.

“As far as our part is concerned, yn is still a part of this syndicate, but she is forced to retire early due to her injuries.”

Then, it clicks in Osamu’s mind. The meeting was arranged to sequester the remaining living will of the dissolvement of your ties to their family. You were given an out and you amended it to include a future with whomever you wanted (with him in mind), and any future generations.

“My darling boy, do not misunderstand, she may be out of the know of the darker raise of the business, but on the straight side of our work, she is seen (legally) as the primary shareholder for our company. We’re never too far out of reach, but we will never put either of you, or your future children when the time comes, in the line of fire. I cannot guarantee that one-hundred percent, but my husband can make it so.”

Atsumu and the boss come back, talking about volleyball season, with the setter holding some sandwiches and the other holding a drink carrier with the coffee and teas.

Over the next five weeks, the scars heal and when you reach the six month mark since your discharge, you walk into a tattoo parlor where you have the word for “hope” from your mother tongue tattooed across the burn mark next to your arm.

Every morning and night, for the later half of that year, Osamu kisses you first on the lips, then over the word “Esperanza” until he proposes to you on the third year of your relationship in his family’s house. The friends (and by extent the boss sends your other brothers to Hyogo) and family you are surrounded by embrace you and Osamu when you finally realize this is where you ought to be. An epiphany happens everyday since then: Osamu never went against his word where as long as you’re still breathing, he will stand by you and vice versa. Time heals all wounds and when you come to the courthouse to file a marriage certificate with Em, Atsumu, and Sunarin’s signatures, “I’m officially a Miya,” are the words you first say when you turn to face Osamu.

“Hell yes,” he mumbled against your lips when you grasp his hand his band is shimmers in the setting twilight. The rings on your silver chain are cool against your skin when you celebrate your third anniversary in Seoul. It’s been a while since you visited South Korea, however, when you return home, you have a talk with Osamu.

“It’s not a rushed topic, believe me,” you say, closing your medical books. Life returns to normal, or as normal as you can get without wanting to try something new. “But what are your thoughts on starting a family?”

Osamu, who’s in the living room stands up, walks to your now shared kitchen in a penthouse your boss gifted to you on your wedding day post-debugging.

“Are you..?”

“No, but we can go at it until I—”

“Say less.”

You yelp when you feel Osamu lift you from your chair, and though, now empty, is toppled over to one side. Osamu carries you like a tired child and closes the door behind him.

“Off,” you turn to turn the bed lamp off as an onslaught of kisses and bites are silencing you.

“Whatever you say you want, I’m going to give you,” his voice is charged with lustful determination moments later while his pace is merciless. “T-tell me what you want.”

Your voice is strained from the amount of times you’ve sang his praises several times that night, but when he gently holds you steady, by the nape of your neck, he hears your request, nodding.

“I’m going to fuck your until you’re heavy with my child,” he breathes in deep, watching you cling to him. A fucked out expression on your face.

“Please, ‘sall~ooh~I want,” you burry your face in his neck, bopping along, feeling the fullness and welcoming the soreness in the morning.

Osamu and you, for at least three months continue on practicing as Em would call it on mimosa Sunday’s. That is until one September day, you ask for a coffee sans alcohol instead and your friend grasps your hand once the waiter walks to the kitchen.

“No,” Em says. “Really?”

“Thirteen weeks today,” you say. Adding a few more teaspoons of sugar.

“Shut up. How? I-I mean, we know how, you’re a fuck’n doctor, but like…”

Your laugh is a mirthful one, when you adjust your Jersey clothed dress.

“My intern called the midwife on duty and as morbid as it sounds, I heard the heartbeat on the clean slab, Hah,” you scratch your cheek.

“When are you going to tell him?”

You divulge your plan and Em laughs. You tell her she is sworn to secrecy until the shower because you don’t want Atsumu to put his bid in favorite uncle, and at this, Em smiles a little too.

“But I’m a shoe-in for godmother of the year, right?”

Another day is spent and as the child grows, so do you. Until the following spring, a healthy boy swaddled in blue is cradled in your arms. Fourteen hours of pain is nothing compared to the joy you have, watching the nurse hand your first born to Osamu.

“You did good,” he says.

“I had a little help,” you nudge his shoulders with your forehead. A small fist is wriggled free and Osamu stares back into small, widening eyes. A gurgle similar to a laugh, claims Osamu’s attention.

“Oi, I’ll have you know that yer ma is tough as nails, little guy,” Osamu’s words warms the room. The doctors note of the two-toned colors saying your parents must have had the recessive gene. It’s rare, but it is a lifelong uniqueness only a child you two could have had made the medic in you nod.

“At least he has my sense of humor,” you chuckle, laying back on the pillows. You motion for him to sit down next to you, enjoying a few moments of silence before a knock is heard.

“Send in the calvary?” You ask. “They waited long enough, haha. I’ll hold him.”

Osamu nods, raising his voice, “you guys can come in now.”

Another series of firsts occurs and pretty soon, the eight month clothes you’re gifted from Em starts to fit little Haru more. You’re still working from home, face timing the interns, building them through their autopsy one morning. Osamu promoted the two girls at Onigiri Miya to front of house supervisors after you were discharged from the hospital nearly five years ago, so now he spends his weekends with his favorite humans.

Tranquility was something you thought yours have to had earned, however you’re elated to know that on lunar new year, a red envelope with your son’s name is written in familiar script. Yours and Osamu’s comes with a gift of round trip tickets anywhere in the world in case you want to eventually grace the world with another Miya, and you exchange a look to Osamu who immediately says (after your son is asleep in the play mat), “Whenever yer want another one, we could always drop Haru off at Atsumu’s.”

“Who am I to deny what my husband wants?” you parrot his answer almost a year prior to the day, and he laughs.

“What a naughty thing I married,” he kisses your temple and you pinch his cheek.

The following morning, with holding Haru in one hand and pouring a cup of much needed coffee in the other, you pause and admire your son. His features are starting to show and it becomes striking clear he won the Miya gene lottery, is a spitting image of your features with heterochromic eyes (one hazel gray from Osamu the other from your bloodline) sits on your lap waiting for your husband to wake.

“You look like your father, but I pray you have my patience and sense of pride,” you boop his nose. “You’re not even a year old yet and I’ll make sure you’re never alone like I was.”

You return to your attention to the newspaper on the table. Haru is sitting comfortably with a pacifier clip on his bib as you point to a Peanuts cartoon. You read the strip aloud, and the babe is coos.

“Hey, Haru, you’re good at this,” you chuckle. “Can ya give me a ‘seven letter word to describe your uncle ‘Tsumu.’”

Haru closes his eyes and makes the closet thing to a thoughtful expression, but when he says “ba-da-bah!” You squish his cheeks, saying it was with a shot.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Osamu’s been watching you leaning against the door frame, asking your nearly one year old if he’d like creamed corn today and the boy twists his facial features.

“Guess that’s not gonna be on the menu today, kiddo.”

You glance over your shoulder to the cityscape wondering if your brother at large still, is faring well, while adjusting your grip on your child. You turn little Haru around until he slumps sleepily over your shoulder, while you rub soothing circles on his back. Haru’s breathing soon evens out, until you jump a little bit when you cover his soft spot protectively.

“Seven letter word for my brother?…try jackass,” Osamu’s voice startles you, making him chuckle and you pout saying he should be a little nicer, however when it fits the puzzle, your son blows spit bubbles when he laughs at the sudden movement before whining.

“Aww, c’meer,” osamu holds his son for you, as you straighten your shirt. “Your mother’s a lil jumpy today, that’s all. I got ya, see?”

He raises his son above his head, eliciting a laugh. “Nothing to fear, we’ll, except her wrath my boy. Heh.”

You frown a bit before turning to your two boys, laughing at the discovery you make when you write down the word. To your amusement it fits, shaking your head in disbelief. Suddenly, as you look around you, you have a small epiphany: This was happiness, you figure. You always had it, you just needed someone very fortunate with the gift of patience, a whole lot of love, and your son’s existence is proof enough to show you what true love means.

Epilogue: the last 3 years..

(I need the memories)