#his neck is a little busy so ill definitely change it if i draw him like this again. but itll do for now its a sketch anyway

[wasyago]

quick "chip" sketch from ep 109

[wincore]

sweet tooth | dong sicheng

pairing: vampire!sicheng x reader

words: 2.8k

summary: out of all the inconveniences a vampire boyfriend could pose, there’s about two tonight: a) him losing it at the next person who compliments his fangs, or b) you losing it at sicheng’s 100% blood alcohol content

genre: vampire!au, boyfriend!au, college!au, (tooth-rotting) fluff, comfort, humour

warning(s): mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, college halloween parties

song rec(s): candy - baekhyun // wish you were sober - conan gray

a/n: let’s pretend it’s halloween pls <3 also im sorry it’s so short and more drabble-ish but i wanted to write something gentle and comforting so!!! yeah ^^ also there is no plot. eep.

It’s two in the morning.

Or rather, it feels like two in the morning. 

A frat party is a horrible substitute for an actual Halloween party. The alcohol content is through the roof and the number of pairs making out is enough to make you feel queasy. You never knew horror themes had the innate ability to make people so flagrantly horny—you’re half glad you’re not, god forbid, single. Most of your friends were too busy, however, to organize the close-knit party you usually have each year—so here you are, with an invitation from a friend of a friend (of a friend). Your boyfriend might be the only one feeling more out of place than you are.

You glance at Sicheng from the pool table, the cup frozen against his lips while his eyes scan the room from corner to corner. You don’t do crowds and neither does he; though he does have the unwitting ability to charm any crowd he’s in. You’re not quite sure if he’s still unaware of that.

You watch as a girl you can easily recognize from your campus approach him, all smiles and giggles. She says something and you scoff, almost completely certain about what it is she said.

Sicheng might be unaware of it—but you are, and painfully so.

She looks at him starry-eyed and the scent of rum wafting around her. A part of her jacket is off her shoulder, a faint blush covering her cheeks that you can spot even under the dim lights. She’s definitely flirting—you know that because rumours go around faster than assignments in this university. Choi Joohee has a very public, very open crush on your boyfriend.

It’s not like it bothers you. Not at all.

Just a little bit.

Jealousy has never been your thing and you’re half certain what you’re feeling isn’t even jealousy—just a taste of alcohol and the proximity of a Halloween house party.

Speaking of which, the only thing harrowing about this place is the amount of alcohol everyone seems to be consuming—including your boyfriend. Ten dragged Yukhei home a while ago and a part of you is still not confident enough to handle a boyfriend with very pointy fangs and midnight cravings for blood (or juice, as Ten disgustingly phrases it). 

Sicheng nods along to something Joohee asks, an eyebrow raised quizzically on her and you assume he’s been zoning out the whole time. The urge to laugh surfaces and you swallow it whole. He’s so cute, even in this state. The lights dance across his face; candy blue, rich purple, saccharine red. The colours don’t help him stand any straighter, or slur his words any less.

You think it’s time to help your boyfriend out. However, the moment you walk through the swarms over to them, Joohee’s face sours. Of course, as the only competition (is it a competition if you’ve already won?) to the object of her affections, you don’t rank too high in her books. It made you a little upset at first, but you got used to it. (“She’ll get over it,” Sicheng had reassured several times. “Don’t worry.”)

People grow, and with that thought, you let it be.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Joohee tells Sicheng and walks away, like he’s supposed to follow her.

You roll your eyes and turn to Sicheng, who’s had a very delayed response to Joohee’s departure. His head is tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded and you’re almost afraid he’s going to drop to the floor right there and then. This is bad. The thing about vampires is that they absolutely should not, under any circumstance, have alcohol. Calling your boyfriend a lightweight is beyond an understatement.

“Sicheng,” you call softly. 

He turns to you, taking a moment to process, before pulling his lips into a wide smile. His fangs poke out even when he presses his lips back together, a contemplatory look over him.

“I thought you left me here.” He forces a sardonic smile.

Drunk off his ass and Sicheng still manages to be annoyingly sarcastic.

You open your mouth and close it again. It’s not like you can chide him without letting your fondness show. The Adonis features that grace his face don’t help. Flushed all the way to the neck, a drunk Dong Sicheng is very rare. The last time this happened must have been at least two years ago (and though you weren’t there then, the way Ten and Kun freeze up at the slightest mention, you decided to not ask).

“Why did you drink?” you ask, huffing. “You can’t even smell alcohol.”

There’s a short pause.

“Because you were ignoring me,” he replies, leaning in.

Heat washes into your cheeks. You forgot how unrestrained he gets with alcohol in his system.

Sicheng seems to have enough consciousness left in him to feel somewhat embarrassed, standing up straight and fiddling with his thumbs. You slip your hand into his without delay and pull, trying your best to navigate through the crowd. Is an ordinary Halloween party too much to ask for? Just when you can finally spot the front door, Sicheng stops abruptly, making you stumble backwards into his chest. He smells like the old deodorant he’s been using for a year underneath the smell of beer and… is that blood?

“Where are we going?” he asks sharply.

“Home, Sicheng,” you whine. “You can stay in my bed.”

He stays rooted in place stubbornly, and you wonder what it is now. This is the time you have to wonder if you’re dating a (potentially) immortal creature or a recently birthed baby.

“We should enjoy more. You’ve hardly smiled the past few weeks,” he mutters.

Your heartbeat spikes for a moment, when he brushes the hair from your face. All this time and he hasn’t changed the words he offers to you in private, the care on his lips and fingertips. A room full of people who aren’t listening is the best place to talk.

The first time you saw Sicheng was in the middle of the night, in the dark hallway of your shared apartment building, blood staining his jaw from a bag he’d acquired from med student Wong Kunhang. (You’re very sure that’s illegal.)

Needless to say, you’d fainted immediately after. When you came to, you were met with a man with pretty eyes and fangs poking out his mouth and in a bed that wasn’t yours. There was no blood this time but you screamed anyway, cut off by the man’s hand over your mouth.

“Calm down,” he said, voice surprisingly deep. “It’s not like I’m going to kill you.”

“You were planning to kill me?” you asked, panicking.

“I just said I wouldn’t,” he replied quietly, eyes wide and almost as stressed as you are.

Sicheng heaves a sigh, massaging his forehead. You shake yourself off the memories, tugging at his shirt so you can sit somewhere at least. The alcohol must have numbed his ears too. The low R&B tunes make no sense on Halloween night; even less when they’re played a few bars above the acceptable volume. If you’re not out of here soon, you might lose your hearing altogether.

The couch is slightly less stinky than you would have expected. (You grimace as you think to the last time you were at a frat party and in particular, the vomit.) Beside you, Sicheng mumbles about something you’re not quite sure of, a quiet rant with one-track emotions. It makes you giggle and for a moment, you forget the predicament of being stuck with a drunk vampire boyfriend who has just finished teething.

“Hey, guys.”

You look up to see Jihoon, the very friend of a friend (of a friend) who had invited you to this mess. It’s not like you harbour ill feelings towards him; but the guy has approximately zero ability to read the room. It’s mostly funny.

Sicheng makes a vague gesture that you assume means ‘hello’, sitting up straight so he doesn't look noticeably tipsy. You make light conversation with Jihoon, Sicheng’s arm around your waist tightening reflexively. You don’t plan on party-hopping, no matter how much Jihoon urges the two of you—seriously, does he not see the look on Sicheng’s face? He looks more zombie than vampire.

“You know, you don’t actually have to wear costumes for this, right? We didn’t set a theme,” Jihoon remarks, tilting his head to face your boyfriend. “The fangs are really cool, though. Holy shit. Dude, they look so real.”

Sicheng’s lips twitch but he forces them into a smile, trying to move as far away from Jihoon as possible. The fangs are usually not out and about in the open, slightly retracted during the day. The night, however, keeps him on edge. Sicheng hates the spotlight that only ever shows up for the wrong reasons, and he’d much rather graduate without having to deal with horny vampire-lovers. (It’s not that sexy; and you know from experience.) 

The way Sicheng looks makes you wonder how many people have pointed out the fangs tonight. You purse your lips to keep yourself from laughing.

“Thanks,” he responds, voice his usual deep baritone. 

Jihoon leaves after being unable to draw any more conversation out of Sicheng, some peace gracing you despite everything.

If you ever write a book on how to deal with vampire boyfriends, the first rule would be to never kiss him at night. The fangs are not as withdrawn then and they hurt. (The second is, of course, to never let them get a whiff of alcohol.)

When Sicheng first kissed you, it was midnight and you were at the convenience store to buy a few lunchboxes and instant coffee mix. You’d yelped when his fang had pricked your lower lip, alarming the worker and around fifteen minutes of (dishonest) explanation later, the two of you had left without buying what you came for.

After fretting for a while, Sicheng had kissed you once more with careful consideration—till the damn fangs got in the way again. It was sweet for a moment—like candy—though, the metallic taste of blood had invaded it afterwards. No matter how awkward or painful it was, your elation outweighed the rest. 

Kisses weren’t the only thing interrupted by fangs.

The turtlenecks and scarves certainly raised an eyebrow in your circle of friends. There was concern at first, then teasing and then a whole lot of inside jokes which made you want to smack each and every one of them. (“They’re hickeys, I swear, not vampire bites,” you had informed Ten. “Ew. I did not need to know that.” “Shut up.”)

Even so, Sicheng is warm—always has been, and not on the skin.  

You feel pressure on your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck and you adjust yourself so it’s more comfortable. 

“Tired?” you ask.

“Not at all.”

You shake your head at his lie. Gently pushing his head away, you get up from your seat and pull him up with all of your strength. Linking your arm through his, you smile at him when he raises an eyebrow. It’s time to get home, you’ve decided and these are times when one vote is enough. 

When you reach the front door, stumbling out with your suddenly talkative boyfriend, the autumn breeze hits you. Under the moonlight, the rosy hue over his cheeks is clearer and even more so when he smiles.

“It’s like our first date,” he says. 

You smile back at him.

“You were so embarrassing,” he adds.

Your smile drops and you smack his arm, eliciting a soft complaint from him.

Your first date was the only normal thing in this relationship—a date at the amusement park on Halloween, a bunch of kids mistaking your now boyfriend for Count Dracula and caramel popcorn smeared over your fingers. 

Sicheng sighs, lowering his head to rest his forehead against your shoulder. The two of you stay like that for a moment or two, the party music finally fading and Sicheng’s warmth seeping into you. You fix the lapels of his jacket absentmindedly, fingers tracing over the material. His hands rest lightly against your back yet still secure. 

A kitten lick at your neck jolts you back to reality. You gently push him by the shoulders, finding his fangs bared already. He stays unmoving for a few seconds before closing his mouth and going back to leaning against you, breath falling in waves against your neck.

“I’m not your juicebox, Sicheng,” you snap, frown deepening.

“But you have so much blood,” he mumbles, his forehead hot against your shoulder.

“Sicheng.”

He sobers up a little, pulling back with a stream of pouting apologies. You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Despite everything, your boyfriend is such a child sometimes. There’s a short pause.

“But wait, don’t go biting someone else’s neck,” you quickly add, flustered.

Sicheng suppresses a smile.  

“So I can have a little—”

“No.”

Sicheng pouts but agrees enough to follow you, the two of you moving soundlessly over the sidewalk. Being alone with him has always been easing; you don’t need a crowd for comfort. 

With fingers interlaced, you walk alone with him as the orange street lights cast shadows on the buildings lined up. A few more blocks and you’ll reach your apartment, get to push Sicheng into bed and pray he doesn’t throw up at your front door—and yet still, you walk as slow as you can as if the autumn wind will be gone as quick as it arrived.

The number of people shrink the further you get from the party, and you heave a sigh of relief, glad to be away from, what you and your friends call, the rich neighbourhood. The familiar path to your apartment, no matter the pricing, has much better air to breathe in. It’s past midnight and yet, you can see the city lights in the distance, the ones that never sleep—for the living or the dead.

Something runs into your legs and you jump onto Sicheng, who in turn flinches away with a strangled yelp. 

You look down to see a giant golden retriever in a white blanket which you assume is meant to be a ghost outfit. It wags its tail, sniffing around your boyfriend’s legs, making him giggle as he crouches down to pet the creature.

“I’m so sorry!” 

You look up to find a young girl holding a pumpkin almost as large as her head, an apologetic look over her head. Some part of you is happy to see a costume, considering you were robbed of yours. (Sometimes you dream of matching costumes but again, the damn fangs.)

“Piri loves people, I’m so sorry if he bothered—oh hey dude, cool fangs.”

Sicheng offers the fakest smile ever, accompanied with a thumbs up gesture. You sigh, apologizing to the girl before parting ways. 

“That’s the eighth time tonight,” Sicheng says, scowling almost. “I counted.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. Calm, relaxed Dong Sicheng tends to lose it at repetitive comments with only three sips of beer.

When you reach the apartment building, clouds cover the moon and you draw your jacket closer to yourself. You think for a moment about the inevitability of time and whether you’re even allowed to fall in love this way. You push the thoughts aside almost inevitably. When the time comes, you will have a decision to make—and after everything, it is love which turns people. 

For now, you can enjoy this Halloween night with your (literally) one-of-a-kind boyfriend.

You fumble around with the keys, Sicheng looking at you with sleepy eyes as he leans against the wall. He must be worn out from the alcohol by now.

“Hey,” he calls, the words more muffled than usual. 

You raise an eyebrow, tugging him inside all the while maintaining your balance.

“You know my favourite blood type?” he continues.

You shake your head. “If you’re thinking of feeding, I’ll get some blood bags from Kunhang.”

Sicheng pouts. “You ruined the line.”

“Huh?”

“Yours. Yours is my favourite blood type.”

Despite the terrible execution of his so-called pick-up line, you find yourself shaking with laughter. You’re not sure if it’s the late night or the October air—the two of you share the silliest of laughter at the doorway to your apartment.

Within the moment itself, Sicheng leans in to kiss you and your hands move to run through his hair out of habit. The taste of beer and the prick of his fangs makes you pull away. You look at each other for a moment before you give in anyway and kiss him against the doorframe.

October ends with memories—your first date, Sicheng’s cooking disaster, and now this. It’s blissful for the few moments the two of you let it be. That is, until Sicheng opens his mouth.

“Oh, by the way, can you apologize to Ten for me? I think I bit him thinking it was you.”

“Sicheng, what the fuck?”

October ends with proximity, sweet as candy and warm as toast—stumbling into bed with all that and more.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @ouranzine Flowers of the Host Club! I got overly ambitious with this piece, and the idea was too big for the word count. I do like the idea still.

…

…

…

…

Hikaru was used to seeing strange sights on a daily basis. It was the selling point of their club, the ability to transport their guests to different worlds, change seasons, and perform magic. He had ridden elephants to school, created an indoor jungle, and discovered there were very few things that couldn’t be done without money and an Ootari.

Very few. Sometimes he worried that world domination was the next logical step.

Either way, by this point, he didn’t think he could be surprised anymore. Yet standing here in his classroom, staring at Haruhi’s desk, he discovered that he was utterly wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. With ten minutes left before lunch ended, students slowly trickled into the classroom around him. The ordinary framing made the sight before him even more extraordinary. Rubbing his eyes, he asked, “You see it too, Kaoru?”

“I do. I don’t believe it though.” Next to him, Kaoru squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them again. When the sight before them didn’t change, he pinched his cheek. “This isn’t a dream.”

Hikaru clicked his teeth. “That was the only explanation. Unless…” He paused dramatically and covered his mouth with a trembling hand. “It’s an illness?”

Kaoru’s eyes widened and he pressed his palm against his forehead. “Terminal?”

Grimly, he nodded. “Possibly.”

“No!” Kaoru leaned against him, trembling. “It can’t be—”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Haruhi cut in dryly, resting her cheek on her hand as she stared up at them. Seated at her desk, she gestured at the clock. “Don’t you need to get to your seats?”

“And she’s worried about us! Her!” Hikaru wiped a tearful eye. Leaning forward, he squeezed her shoulder and gave her a pitying smile. “You don’t have to be so brave for us. You can let us know how you really feel.”

“Trust me, I do.” Haruhi sighed, running a hand through her hair. Giving a troubled sigh, she accepted her lot in life and gave in. “What are you talking about?”

Wearing matching identical grins, Hikaru and Kaoru pointed at the small bouquet of roses balanced precariously on the edge of her desk. At least a dozen long-stemmed red roses poked out of pink wrapping paper. “Who’s that for?”

“None of your business,” she answered immediately, adjusting the bouquet so it rested more securely on her desk. With a tender smile, she patted the bundle.

That abrupt brush off just made him more curious. Undeterred, Hikaru pressed, “Is it a lover?”

“No—”

With a teasing grin, Kaoru guessed, “Multiple lovers?”

“Definitely not.” She massaged her forehead, her frown deepening. “I can barely handle you guys as it is.” As though she just realized something, Haruhi froze and her skin paled.

“What’s wrong?” Hikaru asked, as though he didn’t know exactly what was on her mind. Or rather, the five somethings on her mind.

Slowly, like a broken robot, she turned to them. She looked both silly and cute and he stifled a laugh. “You’re not going to tell Tamaki, are you?”

“Milord?” Kaoru gasped. “You’re right, he certainly does have to know about this.”

Haruhi looked at Hikaru pleadingly. Instantly, he felt his skin flush and she had to be doing it on purpose, right? She had to know what she did to him, right? Kaoru smirked at him from over her head and Hikaru sighed before relenting. “Well, maybe if we had a bribe…”

“A bribe?” Haruhi blinked before clapping her hands. “Got it.” Gently, she extracted two roses from her bouquet and held them out. “Will this do?”

The oblivious smile on her face said it all: she had no idea what this looked like. Haruhi was a weapon just waiting to go off, with all of her natural flirting. Her rose dangled in front of him innocently. Well, a flower was a flower, and he could deal with it. In fact—as a thought struck him, he looked up and exchanged glances with his brother.

They could have a lot of fun with this.

“We’ll take it.”

-x-

If the sight earlier was an unexpected one, this next one was anything but. Kaoru stared blankly at the corner of the music room, where a dark gloom had set in. Tamaki was crouched in the corner, drawing circles on the ground with a finger. If he listened closely, Kaoru was certain he’d hear the soft mumbling of a lunatic.

He’d heard it often enough from his brother as Hikaru realized that his feelings might be more than a crush.

“What’s wrong, milord?” Kaoru asked, dropping his school bag and trotting over to Tamaki’s right.

“H-haruhi…” Tamaki mumbled, looking up all teary-eyed.

“What about her?” Hikaru asked, standing on his left.

“She’s…she’s…” Tamaki warbled, a fresh set of tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them with a sleeve and wailed, “She’s abandoning me!”

They turned around to where Honey and Mori were sipping tea, looking utterly nonchalant. “Haruhi didn’t come for lunch,” Honey explained, looking a little disappointed himself.

“She’s also not joining us today,” Kyoya said and Kaoru had to fight the urge to jump. The shadow king had an alarming ability to disappear and suddenly reappear.

“WHAT?” Tamaki’s jaw fell and an incoherent stream of sounds escaped his mouth.

Kaoru raised a brow. So she’d cleared it with Kyoya first, then. Judging by his expression, the slightly amused curl of his lips, he probably knew exactly what was going on. Hell, he probably knew about the flowers too. In that case, though, he wouldn’t mind them having a little fun with it. Resting a hand on Tamaki’s shoulder, he smiled gently. “Haruhi has a good reason.”

“She does?” Tamaki’s eyes grew wide and he looked up at him hopefully.

“A very good reason,” Hikaru continued, grasping Tamaki’s other shoulder.

As though rehearsed, they both added, “She’s giving someone a bouquet of flowers.”

Tamaki nodded. “Okay. That makes sense—” Cutting himself off, he looked from one twin to the other desperately. “What?”

“She got them at lunch,” Hikaru mentioned idly.

Kaoru crossed his arms. “And she wouldn’t tell us who they’re for.”

“WHAT?” Tamaki yelped, jumping to his feet. “DADDY DOESN’T APPROVE OF ANY BOYS.”

Trying not to grin, Kaoru nodded to Hikaru. It’d only take one more push. One more really easy push. Together, they pulled out their roses. “She gave us one though.”

Kaoru could hear the straw snapping. Tamaki moved from rage to jealousy. “She gave you flowers?” He twiddled his fingers. “She’d give me flowers too, right? As her daddy, I get one, right?”

“Of course, milord,” Kaoru lied, patting him on the back.

“I want one too!” Honey swiped the last cookie and swung off his seat.

Kaoru exchanged a smirk with his brother. Sometimes, it was all too easy.

-x-

There were many ways a matter like this ought to be handled. Delicately, since Haruhi never liked it when they focused all of their attentions on her. Subtly, because she wasn’t supposed to know what they were after. Individually, since they didn’t want to overwhelm her.

Tamaki, of course, threw all of that out the window. The second he spotted Haruhi in the hallway, he charged like a bull in the china shop. “WHO IS HE?”

Reportedly, the desperate screech of a terrified not-father was heard all around the world.

As they were all good friends, the host club understood that this was who Tamaki was and that while he remained a dense brick about his feelings, this was the only way he could deal with the muddled emotions buried deep in his heart. There was something sad and poetic about it.

It was also terribly amusing to watch Haruhi assassinate him with her response and they didn’t want to interfere with that at all.

-x-

Their school was a strange one, Honey knew. The seasons changed yet no one aged, the grounds had room for every type of scenery conceivable, and the hallways extended as long as narratively convenient. As long as he waited in a hallway, Haruhi had to go past him at some point.

Almost as though on cue, he heard a soft tapping as Haruhi walked down the hall. Clutching his Bun-Bun close, Honey skipped over to her, a bright smile on his face. “Haruhi!”

Surprised, Haruhi stopped in her tracks. “Honey?”

Standing in front of her, he clutched his rabbit and stared up with big, teary eyes. “You’re not coming to the club today?”

“I…” Bingo. While Haruhi might not be all that feminine or tapped into her motherly instincts, Honey prided himself in being able to find even the most dormant of instincts and pry them out. Haruhi rubbed the back her neck, giving him an apologetic look. “I can’t today.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Honey sighed, rocking back and forth on his feet. He stared at the ground. “I had dessert ready and everything.”

Haruhi’s brow knit. Troubled, she scratched her cheek before giving up and sighing. “Maybe next time?”

“Yay.” His expression brightened and he looked up at her once more. Pointing at her flowers, he asked, “What are those for?”

“It’s nothing.” Haruhi shrugged, straightening up now. “I have to get going, okay?”

No, this wasn’t good. He hadn’t gotten the flower yet. Pushing down his panic, he shot her a winning smile. “Could I smell them?”

“What?” Haruhi raised a brow.

“They must smell nice.” Honey looked at her innocently, batting his eyes. “I can’t?”

“Ugh. No, it’s fine.” Haruhi held out the roses delicately.

“Yay!” Honey leaned forward and pulled out a rose. There, mission accomplished. Smelling it, he grinned. “It’s so sweet!”

-x-

“Alright, next is milord—” The twins stared at Tamaki, who was still sulking in a corner. “Nevermind, too much damage. Mori’s up next!”

Mori stiffened. The club’s activities were fine when they involved the other members, when it was a group thing and not an individual issue. Alone, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Especially since he was hiding at an intersection, watching Haruhi walk down the hall. Behind him, the twins and Honey were gently egging him on, trying to get him to do something. Say something.

But what?

Mori didn’t know the answer to that. He could only watch as Haruhi walked further away, cutting past another intersection. She looked to her left in surprise before disappearing around the bend. Immediately, the twins broke into laughter.

“That was even worse than milord!” Hikaru guffawed, hunched over as he laughed.

“He didn’t even try!” Kaoru added, wiping the tears from his eyes. “He just watched her go!”

“Wait!” Honey peeked around the corner and gasped. “Look!”

Mori quickly rushed to the corner. As did the rest of the host club. Honestly, it was a miracle they hadn’t been spotted before this point. “What?” he asked, steeling himself.

“Is that?” Kaoru asked, surprise colouring his tone.

Mori could only nod. Eagerly heading toward them were two small forest animals: a tanuki and a rooster. In their mouths was a single rose. The constantly fighting pair were working together for once.

A wave of love washed over him. He’d have to spoil them tonight.

-x-

Tamaki stared vacantly as he sat under the staircase. Honey had a rose. Mori had a rose. The twins had roses. Everyone but him had a rose. Well, him and Kyoya, but Kyoya didn’t seem interested. It was unfair that Tamaki alone didn’t have one. He was her father!

No, wait, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t here to get a rose, he was here to find out who she was meeting. Who exactly those flowers were for. There was the soft thud of footsteps and he looked up to spot Haruhi. Finally. “Haruhi,” he called out, slowly getting up.

Haruhi groaned before turning to look at him. With a deadpan expression, she asked, “Yes?”

“Haruhi, I…I..” Tamaki stared at the roses in her hand. A pang hit his chest and he clutched his shirt. Was that the pain of fatherhood? It had to be, right? “Those roses…” Standing up, he staggered toward her. “Are they for someone important?”

Instantly, Tamaki turned red. No, that wasn’t what he was supposed to ask. That wasn’t it at all. Haruhi looked at him in surprise. Her expression softened and she nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Tamaki felt boneless and almost crumpled onto the ground.

“I should have realized what would happen the second the twins found out.” Haruhi sighed, pulling out a rose. She sniffed it. “I can see why you use them, they’re sweet.” Holding out the rose, she smiled at him. “They suit you.”

Tamaki blushed. “W-what?”

“Here, take it.” Gently, she pushed it into his hand. “Now you can tell them to stop bullying you, alright?”

Bullying? No, that wasn’t what this was about! Well, it did get him a rose from Haruhi, but that wasn’t the point! Who were the roses for? That’s what he had to ask. That’s what—

When he looked up, Haruhi was already gone.

-x-

Kyoya chuckled as Haruhi hastily headed toward the entrance. She looked like a woman on a mission, which, he supposed, she was. After all, the entire host club had been blocking her exit until now, a dense obstacle course that maybe he should repeat for a future host club event. Leaning against the wall, he raised a brow. “You should have known this would happen.”

“Yeah.” Haruhi didn’t look surprised to see him. He wasn’t sure if that rankled him or not. “I should have just gotten these after school.”

“Well, it was at a good discount.” He adjusted his glasses. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a small card. “You can come here for the pictures later. In exchange, I’ll remove their proceeds from your debt.”

“Business as usual, huh?” Haruhi rolled her eyes but accepted the card nonetheless. “Still, thanks for the flowers. Oh, and here.” She pulled out a rose and held it out.

“What?” Perplexed, he looked from the rose to her.

Haruhi shrugged. “I already gave them to everyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to leave you out.”

-x-

“I’m home!” Haruhi called out, slipping off her shoes as she closed the door behind her.

Her father poked his head out of the kitchen. “Great.” His smile grew brighter at the roses in her hand. “And you got them!”

“Yeah.” Out of habit, she added dryly, “But it is a waste of money.”

“Nonsense, things for your mother are never a waste of money.” Ranka clicked his tongue, giving her a disapproving shake of his head.

She couldn’t disagree with that entirely. If there was one thing her time with the host club had taught her, it was that there were times when money had to be spent. That there were things, people, where the expense was worth it.

And her mother was definitely one of them. Approaching her mother’s altar, Haruhi gently placed the diminished bouquet of roses. “Happy birthday, mom.”

[thorniest-rose]

reddie halloween prompt #6 pumpkin

Eddie had lived in denial for a long time. It was a denial that had clung to him since he’d been a little boy. Never letting himself get dirty. Being scared of falling ill. Not letting his eyes linger too much on the handsome men he saw in the pharmacy or at the grocery store. And never letting himself enjoy food. Because food meant gluttony. It meant allergies and intolerances. It meant turning out like his mother, who he watched grow bigger and rounder every year.  

He spent years like that, not letting himself enjoy anything. Convincing himself he was so frail that all he could eat were egg whites and leafy greens or the leanest chicken with a plate of boiled vegetables. No gluten. No sugar. Hardly any fats or carbs. For more than 20 years he was as austere as a Puritan. And he told himself it was for the best. 

Until Richie, that was. Until they had finally defeated the clown. 

Things started to change then. Slowly at first but surely. Eddie left his sham of a marriage; he came out of the closet; he admitted to Richie one night, as the two of them shared a bowl of ice cream by Richie's swimming pool, that he was in love with him. And then, after he let himself try a slice of challah one day at a coffee shop downtown, toasted gently and spread with honey, Eddie let himself fall. 

First, Eddie made banana bread using some old, overripe bananas on their kitchen table. Then he baked chewy oatmeal cookies one morning after he’d served up their overnight oats. Before Eddie knew it, he was cooking up a storm: he ordered cookbooks, watched videos, bookmarked blogs. And he started to love the act of cooking. Looked forward to planning out their meals and going grocery shopping. There were fluffy ricotta pancakes in the morning; a cheese and spinach quiche with salad in the afternoon, chicken thighs baked in white wine, olive oil and parmigiano reggiano in the evening. And then, teasingly, a silky mousse or sliver of cheesecake.  

Richie, who had the biggest appetite out of anyone Eddie had ever known, scarfed down everything Eddie made as quickly as a dog. He'd been happy to see Eddie enjoy food more and actively encouraged his cooking.

What Eddie hadn't expected was how sexy Richie had found it. How he watched Eddie cook with his blue eyes lit up with some kind of mischief. Sometimes coming up behind him so he could trail his hands over Eddie’s hips as he cooked, snaking a hand around his chest to tweak a nipple through his t-shirt, or to press the flat of his palm to Eddie’s lower stomach in a vaguely territorial touch that had Eddie half-panting as he stirred. 

Eddie always kicked Richie out eventually, swatting him away with a wooden spoon or elbowing him in the stomach. But it didn't stop Eddie from growing ruby-cheeked or getting hard in his pants. Something Richie definitely noticed as he chuckled and said, "You feeling okay there, baby?"

Which is probably why he should have seen this coming. Not that he thought it would happen that morning, as he prepared a homemade pumpkin pie for the first time. That he’d end up pushed up against the counter in their spacious, airy kitchen with Richie's jeans shoved down his thighs and his cock balls deep inside Eddie's ass. 

The pie looks good. Eddie had completed the crust, and he’s busy with the filling: mixing eggs, spices and fresh pumpkin purée in a bowl. Or at least he was trying to. Because Richie’s cock was nudging his prostate, and every time Eddie tried to focus on what he was doing, Richie would tilt his hips slightly and brush up against his sweet spot.

Richie had spent the whole time cooing into his ear, telling him what a good boy he was, as he stroked Eddie's hips like he was a skittish, easily frightened domestic pet.

The whisk clatters to the counter as Eddie lets out a high-pitched moan. 

“I can’t do it,” he says, his head hanging down between his shoulders. 

Richie leans in and swipes his tongue against the bare skin at his feverish nape.

“I think you can,” he says. “Come on, baby, you’re doing so well.”

Richie hadn’t fucked him that morning like he usually did, making the excuse that he had an important Zoom meeting. That he had to get ready for some presentation with the big suits about the future of his show. Eddie had said okay, that made sense, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed as Richie kissed him on the cheek and disappeared out the room. 

But it turns out this was why. Richie had been saving it for this. 

Eddie tries not to moan at how deep Richie is inside him. There’s nothing between them, not even a layer of latex, and it’s almost too much. Richie’s cock is stretching him wide - with a shiver, he can imagine how obscene his hole must look around Richie’s cock - and on each small thrust into him, Eddie can feel Richie’s balls brush against his thighs. 

“I hate you,” he mutters as his arms tremble, hands clenched so hard around the edge of the counter that they're porcelain white.

Richie tsks against his neck. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to your finance, is it? When he takes such good care of you.”

Eddie laughs, and it sounds manic. “Is this what you think taking care of me looks like?”

He expects a joke, or a witty retort. Instead what he gets is Richie’s fingers tightening to a bone-bruising grip on his hips. Eddie would cry out, goes to, except Richie shoots out a hand and shoves three thick fingers into Eddie’s mouth, stifling the sound. 

With an edge of steel Richie says, “Why don’t you stop talking back and do as you’re told?”

Eddie starts to say “okay”, only he can’t, not with Richie’s fingers in his mouth, how they press down his tongue. So he nods his head as much as he can to get the point across. He’ll make the pie. He’ll be good. 

“That's better,” Richie says.

He pushes his fingers deeper into Eddie’s mouth, getting them wet to the knuckle, the force of it making Eddie gag. It feels like a warning. That Eddie better be good because he's not in the mood to play. Then he pulls them out as fast as he’d pushed them in, bringing them back to Eddie's hip.

"Go on then," he says, but this time there's the hint of a laugh in his voice. Like he finds humiliating Eddie like this funny.

Eddie feels winded, the corners of his mouth feel bruised, but he picks up the whisk again and starts swirling the filling. It’s not as fast as he’d usually do it, but it’s the best he can do. Behind him, Richie starts to pick up the pace a little, pulling out and pushing his cock deeper into Eddie’s needy, clenching hole. He hits his prostate again, making him arch back against the tall line of Richie’s body. 

“R-Richie, I can’t,” he says, on the verge of dropping the whisk again. Of abandoning the pie and begging Richie to fuck him. 

But he knows that won't do.

From behind him Richie says, “Why don’t you shut the fuck up? I thought you could be good? Do you want me to pull out?”

Eddie shakes his head. He doesn't. Even though it was maddening: the torturous, slow push of Richie’s cock inside him, the feeling of his zipper rubbing up against his ass, the drip of precome at the end of Eddie’s dick where he’d grown flushed and hard against the counter. But the thought of Richie pulling out and leaving him there while he went to the bedroom to jerk off was even worse. He has a thought of Richie coming all over their bedsheets, of wasting his come instead of depositing it deep inside Eddie where it belonged, and he almost whines.

“No Richie, I want it so bad, please. Please don’t pull out,” he begs, in a voice he doesn’t even recognise. Something high and wanton. A voice he didn’t even know he could make until Richie laid him down on his bed one night all those months ago and pushed inside him for the first time. 

“Beautiful boy,” Richie says sweetly. “Finish it, come on,” he murmurs.

So Eddie does. As Richie continues his slow, tormenting pace, Eddie finishes whisking the filling and lifts the bowl with shaky fingers so he can pour it into the pastry shell. He almost drops it, but manages to right the bowl at the last second. Afterwards he stares at it: the beautiful, flaky, butter pastry crust with its autumnal filling, and that floaty feeling of satisfaction comes over him. He’d done good. He did exactly as Richie told him.

“I’ve done it, Richie,” he sighs, his voice sounding faraway. “I’ve finished the pie.”

He melts when Richie kisses him on the side of his neck, scraping his teeth over his pulse point where it jumps rapidly.

“I knew you could do it, Eddie, I knew you could make me happy.”

And Richie rewards him for it. With one hand he pulls Eddie’s hips back and with the other he pushes Eddie’s cheek down against the counter until Eddie's bent at an obscene angle. At a fuckable angle, Eddie thinks with a shiver. But that’s the last coherent thought he has for a long time because a moment later Richie’s pulling out until just the tip of his dick is spearing Eddie open, and then he does what Eddie’s wanted all this time. He shoves back inside, the squelch of the lube pornographically loud in their quiet kitchen, and he rails him hard, letting that hidden, ferocious side come out.

It’s the hardest fuck Eddie’s had in days, and fuck it feels so good, his ass bouncing off Richie’s sharp hips on every thrust, Richie's cock punching his tiny hole open, and the low-pitched growl coming from Richie’s throat making his dick drool at the tip.

It's something he can't believe he's denied himself for so long.

"I kind of want to eat this pumpkin pie out of you," Richie suddenly says. "Would you let me do that? Just finger it inside of your dumb cunt and then eat it out of you?"

And it shouldn't sound hot. It should sound ridiculous. But it doesn't stop Eddie from crying out or his balls drawing up.

"I'm going to-"

He cuts off on a high whine as Richie reaches around and grabs him in warning.

"You better not. Not until I say."

Eddie nods, and Richie starts fucking him again, hammering his prostate on every push inside him, muttering so filthy it makes Eddie flush all the way down to his chest.

And when Richie finally tells him to come he does, clenching around him until he shoots sticky white all over the counter. 

“Good boy,” Richie says as he pulls his cock out to smear the sticky head against the sore skin at his hole, making Eddie quiver. “Now let's go for that money shot. How much do you think you can make Daddy come?"

And Eddie, with gusto, shows him.

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

 “See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

 “That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

[jamaisjoons]

intro: her mini #1 ⤑ knj | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞singe dad au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2.1k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: none! just jiminie being an adorable baby

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: I wasn’t actually going to update this series until after spooky month, but then miss Sora suggested I write a lil drabble in celebration of Jimin’s birthday and I just couldn’t resist!! However,,,, this is clearly longer than a drabble and thus ITS A MINI!!! So here we are!! // dedicated to @honeymoonjin who I love with my entire heart and soul ♡

⏤ Main Series Masterlist

“Noona!” Jimin calls out. Smiling brightly, you wave at him. The six-year-old runs towards you, his little backpack bouncing in tandem with his hair.

“Jiminie! Hi Puppy! Did you have a good day at school?” you ask, crouching down to his eye level.

“I did! Where’s Daddy?” Jimin asks, curiously looking around for his father. You bite your lip, sending him a small smile.

“Daddy had to work today, so noona is here to pick you up. Where are Taehyung and Jungkook?” you ask, looking behind him for his brothers.

“It’s Wednesday! Gukkie and Hyungie have art club!” Jimin replies, smiling brightly at you.

“Oh? Joon didn’t tell me anything about that. Okay,” you reply, a slight frown marring your face.

“Noona,” Jimin suddenly whispers, his chubby little hand tugging at your jumper as he draws your attention back to him. Turning to him, you quirk your eyebrow, watching as he nervously looks around. His little feet shuffle around and you notice that he has one hand behind his back - clearly hiding something.

“Jimin? What’s wrong Puppy? What do you have?” you question, gesturing to the hand behind his back.

“Daddy’s not here? Are you sure?” Jimin asks, his voice hushed and tone almost conspiratorial. From his tone, it seems as if he’s almost hoping Namjoon isn’t around. Cocking your eyebrow, you look at him in surprise. It’s completely unlike Jimin to not want Namjoon near him - the boy was practically attached to his father.

“Daddy’s definitely not here, no. It’s just you and me today. Is everything okay?” you ask softly. Jimin bites his lip.

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Daddy?” Jimin asks, his eyes widening and lip jutting out in the cutest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. You’re at a loss for words. You wish you could promise him that - but Jimin isn’t your child and if it’s something Namjoon needs to know, then you’re almost duty-bound to tell him.

“Jimin- honey, I can’t promise that. What if Daddy needs to know?” you reply. Jimin sniffles slightly and your heart breaks a little.

“Please noona!” he begs and the slight whiny tone in his voice has you caving in with a sigh.

“How about this? You tell me first and I’ll decide whether Daddy needs to know or not?” you say, attempting a compromise. Jimin’s face scrunches up adorably, his cheeks puffing up as he ponders your offer. Then, with a nod, he thrusts the hand behind him in front. Your eyes widen when you notice the plastic bag filled with water, a fat little goldfish swimming around. From the golfball like shape and its thick domed, opalescent scales, you know it to be the Pearlscale goldfish.

“Jimin?” you wearily say. As much as Namjoon loves sea creatures, you know the boys are forbidden from having pets. They’re still too young to properly take care of them and with Namjoon’s busy schedule, he just didn’t have the time to parent three kids as well as a pet. It’s also why the boys were so incredibly close to Rap Mon - he wasn’t technically their pet, he’s yours.

“Hanbinnie’s fishie is sick! I told Hanbinnie that my Noona is a sea doctor!” Jimin says, smiling proudly at you. Your heart lurches, face softening at his use of ‘my Noona’ before he continues, “So here! Make him better!” Jimin says, a wide grin on his face as he thrusts the bag into your face. Reeling back, you startle slightly before gently taking the bag out of Jimin’s hold.

Carefully, you inspect the goldfish. It doesn’t look sick you think - but then you spot it. Cotton-like white growths form along the underbelly of the goldfish, obscuring the iridescent orange scales. You frown slightly. A fungal disease? It’s not particularly contagious - however, it can lead to fatality - even in hardy creatures such as goldfish. Though, from what you know of the Pearlscale goldfish, they’re incredibly sensitive and vulnerable to changes in temperature or pH; and with the weather getting colder, it’s no wonder that the fish caught a fungal disease. It does, after all, only occur due to stress and a lowered immune system. Once done examining the fish, you let out a deep exhale.

“Puppy,” you sigh, “goldfish die sometimes. They’re not pets people keep for a long time,” you continue, trying to be as delicate as possible. The minute the words leave your lips, however, Jimin’s eyes begin tearing up, his cute little button nose turning rose as his bottom lip quivers.

“No! Noona, please! Save the fishie,” Jimin cries, little whimpers escaping his mouth. Instantly, your heart breaks and you gather the sobbing boy into your arms. Jimin clutches your shirt tightly, little fists curling into the material as his tears soak into the fabric.

“Oh honey,” you coo, gently petting his head as you try to console him. Jimin always did have the biggest heart in the world and he loves animals - you know from the way he gets excited every time Namjoon brings him over to the aquarium and he gets starry-eyed - or the way he cuddles up and strokes Rap Mon while telling your pup about his day. Indeed, Jimin has the biggest heart in the world - and apparently, just the thought of someone else’s fish, not even his own, passing away, has him crying in your embrace.

“Please noona,” Jimin sobs, little hiccups escaping him. Taking in a deep breath, you put him at arm's length. You cup his face in your hand, your thumbs brushing away his tears before placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Jimin snivels under your ministration, body slightly relaxing in your hold. Then, you hand him the water-filled bag and easily pick him up into your arms.

“Alright, Puppy. Let’s see what we can do, yeah?” you finally say. Jimin’s lips curl into a large, watery smile.

“Yes! Thank you Noona!” he cries, laying his head on the crook of your neck before snuggling into you as he delicately holds the goldfish.

Face softening, you pull him tighter into you as you walk to your car. How hard could it be to treat a goldfish after all?

Sitting in your lab, you carefully move the goldfish from the bag and into an antiseptic, empty tank - of course, after making sure the tank’s conditions were suitable for it. Jimin stands close to you, hands on the table as he peers over the edge, watching you carefully. He’s barely tall enough to overlook your actions and even as he stands on his tiptoes, only the top of his head and his eyes make it over the counter ledge. Carefully, you grip onto the fish, making sure to keep your clutch gentle while also holding firmly enough so it doesn’t slip out of your grasp - not that your latex glove covered hands are helping.

Plopping it into the tank, you watch as it frantically swims around its new location. Undoubtedly, it’s stressed - not only from your handling of the creature - but also from its new environment. Hopefully, however, it acclimatises pretty quickly. You know that additional stress can lead to white spot disease - and considering the fish is already ill, you want to avoid any further strain on its immune system.

As you leave it to get acclimatised, you move along to gathering the different equipment you’d need to treat it. Jimin watches you with hawk-like eyes before he begins following you around like a lost puppy. Once you’ve gathered the correct equipment and treatments, you take a seat at your laboratory counter once again.

You begin by undoing the filter from the tank, taking out the active carbon as swiftly as you can before replacing it: after all, the fish needs clean water if you want it to recover as soon as possible. When you replace the filter once again, you feel Jimin tug at your trousers. Turning to him, you let out a little laugh as he holds onto the legs of your slacks, his little body jumping as he attempts to crawl into your lap.

Unsnapping the gloves from your hands, you wrap your arms around him and pull him into your lap. Jimin grins at you before shifting into a more comfortable position. Your arms cage his body as you resume working on the fish. Jimin’s eyes follow your exact movements, watching as you reach out for a little brown glass bottle. He turns to you, his head tilting up slightly.

“What’s that noona?” Jimin asks, curiosity laced through his voice.

“Methylene Blue,” you hum back in response, not really thinking about your answer. Jimin’s features twist, his face falling.

“What’s what?” he asks. You stop, letting out a little laugh.

“Sorry honey,” you apologise. You’d completely forgotten that Jimin is simply a six-year-old and not a trained veterinarian like you are, “it’s a type of medicine. To treat your friend’s fish,” you explain. Jimin nods in response, turning back to watch you carefully unscrew the lid before he once again turns back to you.

“Can I help?” he inquires, his head tilting to the side. A smile curls on your lips before you nod at him. Jimin grins brightly in response before excitedly placing his little, chubby hands on the back of your own. His hands follow yours as you treat the tank with a few drops of the solution, watching as the colour of the water tints blue.

“Is that it?” Jimin asks, his body moving forward as he stares at the fish in interest. With a chuckle you shake your head, instead, reaching for another bottle.

“Not just yet. We need to add the freshwater aquarium salt and then let the fish do the rest. Hopefully, it will recover soon,” you reply gently. Jimin nods enthusiastically.

“Hanbinnie will be so happy! I can’t wait to give him back his fishie and tell him my noona made him better!” Jimin happily says as he kicks his legs enthusiastically. Once again, your heart swells at his use of ‘my noona’.

“Would you like to add the salt, Puppy?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you even think about them. Jimin sits up in interest, his entire body perking up as he nods frantically.

“Yes, please! Can I?” he asks, the words racing out of his mouth as he buzzes with excitement. A light laugh leaves your lips and you stroke his head before nodding. Taking the bottle in your hand, you measure out the appropriate amount into a beaker before handing him the glass jar.

“Okay, just sprinkle this over the water and then we’re done!” you reply. Jimin carefully takes the beaker into his little palms, the jar almost dwarfing his hands. Then, with the utmost look of concentration and his little tongue poking out of his plump lips, he carefully sprinkles the salt over the water.

“Like this?” he asks, nervously turning to you.

“Just like that!” you reply, arms automatically wrapping around his plump little belly. Jimin keens under your praise, smiling brightly as his eyes turn into little half-moons. When he’s done, he places it back down and leans his head into the crook of your neck, watching as you finish off by stirring the water - as gently as you can to not disturb the goldfish - so the salt mixes in.

“All done! Now, I’ll need to keep Hanbin’s fish here in the lab under observation for a couple of days. But when he’s healthy again, you can come and get him and give him back to Hanbin, is that okay?” you ask. Jimin nods eagerly.

“Yes! Thank you noona! You’re the best!” Jimin responds before twisting in your arms and hugging you tightly. Your face softens as you once again wrap your arm around him.

“Mhm. Are you ready to head home now?” you ask and Jimin nods once again before hopping off the chair and running to grab his coat. Laughingly, you follow him before helping him put on his jacket and wrap up warm. Then, you hold out your hand, letting Jimin’s mitten covered one grab it.

“Come on then. I’m sure Daddy, Taehyungie and Jungkookie are waiting for us,” you say as you lead him out of your lab. Before you do, however, he stops and looks at you with curious eyes. Turning to him, you cock an eyebrow as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Noona… do you think I could become a sea doctor?” Jimin asks. Your eyebrows shoot into your hairline at his sudden question, surprise filling you.

“Hmm. You’d have to work hard, but I don’t see why not,” you finally reply. Your words cause him to beam brightly at you, a toothy smile on his lips as his eyes squish together.

“Then I’m going to become a sea doctor! Just like you noona!” Jimin calls out cheerily. And with that, he tugs you out of your own lab.

a/n: i sincerely hoped you enjoyed this cute lil mini of jimin and yn,,, because I know I enjoyed writing it 🥺 please lemme know what you think!!! // intro her will officially return in november!!

[scribeofmorpheus]

Covet of the Wolf  [2]

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Warnings: language, references of blood and injury.

A/N: I do love using Peter as a shenanigan plot driver, he’s so dramatic I couldn’t resist. Some characters from the previous series will begin to take backseat because i’m juggling waaaay to may characters. lmfaooo.

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

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[previous][○][next]

~

“Peter,” Derek all but growled. You could picture his snarl without having to look at his face.

The dark silhouette stepped out of the shadow, “Hello, lovers.”

It was indeed Peter. Older, silver streaks growing in places that weren’t there the last time you saw him. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and wide—unsettlingly so. He cocked his head to the side, that shit-eating grin of his lining the skin around his lips. He seemed smaller somehow. Thinner.

You swallowed. The anger you felt towards Derek and your little—or perhaps big—argument was shelved to the back of your mind.

Derek marched down towards Peter so they stood on the same even ground. This wasn’t at all how you’d pictured their reunion. A hug may have been too much of a fantastical notion, but a handshake at the least seemed appropriate. They did neither, simply staring each other in the eye as if speaking through the flinches and blinks.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked.

“What?” Peter held up his hands to show he bore no ill will. Then he reached into his back pocket and waved a card with delicate calligraphy letters on it. “I was invited.”

Derek snatched the card, “This is my invitation card. Did you break into my loft?”

“Can’t break in if you know where the key is,” Peter walked around Derek and headed for the homestead. “Best go greet the stunning brides to be. Y/N.” He tilted his head at you.

“Peter,” you half-smiled. It was a relief to see he was alright. The current situation, however, not ideal. You didn't know how to react, so you let the Hale's do all the reacting.

Derek grabbed Peter’s elbow, “What are you really doing here, Peter.”

Peter shrugged then winked, “It’s like I said. I’m just here for a wedding.”

 The tub was warm, reminding you of warm summers swimming in the lake as a kid. Your skin had started to prune, but you also knew that once you got out the tub, that meant facing Derek. Facing the tension.

An unexpected knock at the door made you gasp. Derek’s voice had that mix of concern and soft-spoken weariness: “You alright in there?” He wanted to make up. “I got towels.”

You glanced at the stack of towels on the shelf by the soap and smiled, “Come in.”

He opened the door slowly and walked with a low hanging head. He sat on the edge of the tub, not making eye contact.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he ran his hand through his hand, the curling ends were still a foreign sight to see. They did shape around his face beautifully though. “I guess being here, with all the… I just forgot what it was like.”

“What what was like?”

“Being around family…feeling like a part of one.”

You took his hand and kissed between the dips on his knuckles, “Just so we’re clear, I’m not saying no. I just don’t think we should be thinking about marriage when we still don’t know the full effect of the mark.”

You kissed the bandage hiding his mark. He recoiled subtly, pretending to shift to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you—”

Derek grumbled, head leaning back onto the tubs walls, “Of course it bothers me. It itches a little.” He smiled warmly.

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not what I meant. If the mark didn’t bother you, why do you get all prickly around Peter? And don’t tell me it’s always been that way…You avoided talking about him the last couple of months and now that he’s here you practically looked like you were ready to tear his throat out. Why?”

Derek shrugged, “It’s Peter.”

“Derek,” you sighed.

“Okay, I just…He never shows up out of the blue for no reason.”

“Maybe he missed you.”

Derek huffed, “I’m sure he did.”

You snaked your wet arms around his neck and whispered low, “I know if I didn’t get to see your handsome face for a long time, I’d be really, really lonely.”

Derek craned his neck so his lips were close enough to feel the heat of his cheeks and lips. You indulged in his open invitation and kissed him, deeply. Derek found your hand and laced your fingers in his.

 Maggie and Caleb were arguing about something in her room, you had been busy checking boxes, making sure everyone was dressed and all the flowers were in the right places. Derek and Peter hadn’t been seen all morning. You imagined they were out in the hills arguing or something.

Jonah needed not one but two shirt changes because he kept getting them stained.  The first stain was jam and the second was a coffee stain. Jonah didn’t drink coffee, but he did like peddling it out as a bribe for something. Esme had taken over Markus’s room for the day and Markus had returned from the airport with Stiles.

“Stiles,” you hugged him warmly, a frown pulling on your face. “I thought you were bringing Lydia?”

Stiles winked and pulled out a tablet, “I am, she’s just going to be a couple thousand miles away.”

You shook your head, “And they say romance is dead.”

“I’ll just go set this up in the barn quickly,” he smiled like a goof from ear to ear.

Maggie looked gorgeous in her dress, you had to run up to her room to drag Caleb by the collar away because they kept fighting over the pettiest squabbles. Derek and Peter reappeared just in time for the start of the ceremony. Neither looked too pleased. Derek made every effort to seem okay. You could tell he wasn’t. Even Stiles was behaving suspiciously around him, whispering with a frown of his own when they were together. Derek’s habit of secret-keeping was getting under your skin.

If you had had time to think, you would have found everything a little strange, but there was barely enough time left to get dressed before the ceremony started.

You couldn’t reach the zipper at the back of your bridesmaid dress. It was green, not a lime green that was too bright or a forest green that was too velvety and dark; the dress was almost deep emerald, not silky in material and tight. Maggie was never one for body-hugging dresses, she enjoyed wide felt skirts, and her preferences showed obviously in her choice of bridesmaid dress.

Out of nowhere, Derek’s warm hands met yours and he whispered something as he helped zip you up: “Green is definitely your colour.”

You blushed, the reflection in the mirror was breath-taking. Derek in a dark suit with no tie and an unbuttoned collar. You in the dress that complemented his human eyes. His large hands on your waist. The flush of your cheeks matching the shade of lipstick.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” you turned around and tugged his suit jacket. “We should take a picture. Commemorate the moment. Something tells me it will be a long time before I see you in a suit again.”

“Hmmm,” he leaned in and kissed you. “You’re hard to forget. Especially today.”

The first bell tolled.

You pulled Derek with you as you left the room, “Come, we should get to our places.”

 The ceremony was small, simple in a delicate and intentional way that could be described as classy. As Deaton officiated, everyone was thrown off when Esme had been the first to shed a tear during the vow exchange. The red ribbon that bound Maggie and Esme’s right hands was the only vibrantly rich colour that stood out. Caleb explained it was a homage to hand-fasting.

Stiles sat next to an empty chair occupied by his tablet, Lydia, who dressed for the occasion despite being miles away, watched through a laggy video chat connection.

The reception was quieter. A few people exchanged jokes and Caleb got hilariously drunk on white wine. You were a little tipsy yourself, snuggled next to Derek who smelled of a rather expensive cologne you weren’t used to.

Peter looked bored, so you ventured over to pick his brain a little.

“Peter,” you announced yourself as you sat down on the empty chair beside him.

“Don’t you look radiant today,” he sipped whiskey.

“Where’d you get that?”

“You’re family has quite the collection of alcohol in that alcohol cabinet of yours.”

You leaned close to whisper, “We aren’t supposed to steal from Dad’s cabinet.”

“Well,” Peter sipped his whiskey slower, savouring the taste. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

You noticed he wasn’t wearing a bandage to hide his mark.

“You want to see it?” Peter raised a brow.

“What?”

“The mark.”

You looked over at Derek, he was in the middle of having a one-sided conversation with Jonah. You felt guilty but you didn’t know why.

“Yes,” you nodded.

Peter rolled up his sleeve. The mark was still—no longer moving under the skin. A raw colour, pinkish-red like a rash. The symbol was familiar to you. You’d seen it somewhere, or at least an iteration of it.

The crows from Deaton’s photograph, you realised. A double spiral.

You were drawn to the symbol, wanting to touch it, hoping it would hold all the answers if you just reached out…

Without warning, everyone’s heads pulled up, nostrils growing larger and then smaller. A werewolf tick. It was only the non-supernaturals that didn’t react; you, Stiles, Deaton, Maggie and Caleb. Them and Peter.

“Right on cue,” Peter took his final drink of whiskey.

Derek stood from his chair, an accusatory stare burning imaginary holes in Peter’s skull.

Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stake. He tossed it at Derek, “You’re gonna need that.”

“What did you do?” Derek’s eyes glowed blue, the stake shaking in his fist. The commotion drawing everyone’s attention. Your stomach churned and you felt nauseous.

“I may have run into some trouble,” Peter shrugged. “You weren’t answering my calls. I needed a little help.”

“So you led them here?” Derek moved quick, suddenly Peter’s shirt was bunched up in Derek’s fists. You sat back down. Vertigo getting the better of you.

“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Stiles asked the room.

Derek hissed, letting go of Peter’s shirt to grab his arm.

“It’s the order…” you whispered in realisation.

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, his next words coming out loud and exasperated: “I thought they weren’t a problem anymore.”

Peter frowned as if innocent, “See, I thought so too. But apparently, something crawled out of a very old box when we killed the old man walking around in my little nephew’s brain. And Astrid tells me it’s a sign of the end of days. Blah, blah, blah. So naturally, some wanted revenge. I—I may have overestimated my…ability to handle things and…well now I’m here.”

Maggie stood up from her chair, anger turning her skin a terrifying shade of red, “So you used my wedding as bait?”

Esme grabbed Maggie’s hand as if to hold her back.

“Safety in numbers,” Peter winked.

The barn doors flew off their hinges. Everything happened so fast. Snarls, slashing claws, a few curse words exchanged like it was Secret Santa. At one point, one of the last remnants of the order got close enough to Caleb to slash at his belly while he shielded Maggie. Out of the blue, two other people arrived, both men and both friendlies from what you could tell. One had a greying beard and short sandy brown hair. He was holding a shotgun because it would seem the Hale's didn't have any friends who baked or had a more domestic hobby than werewolf hunting. The other younger of the two was handsome, with sad eyes that drooped like a puppy's. They were a werewolf yellow, a colour you’d only ever seen on Jonah. His were more intense. Brighter. At one point, you thought you heard Stiles mutter the name, “Isaac.”

You didn’t care, there was no time to care about anything other than Caleb. You rushed over to Caleb’s side to tend to his wound. It was then, as you held his stomach and had trouble breathing that you realised just how beautiful he looked in his blue velvet suit.

 The ringing in Derek’s ears was superficial. The sharp stabbing pain it brought to his ears meant nothing next to the chaos unfolding in the room.

The white cloth on the joined dining tables was soaked on one end, a deep red, almost black under the candle light in the barn.

Derek’s heart beat rapidly. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. Was it hopelessness? Fear? Dread? All of them at once?

Instinctively, his hand sought after yours. He could feel you, smell the faint scent of your perfume, behind him. But you didn’t take his hand.

Derek glanced behind him and saw you there, applying pressure to Caleb’s gut wound. Shock in your eyes. A look he swore to himself you’d never wear again. Not while he was by your side. But there it was, wide eyes and quivering lips failing to stay shut behind a clenched jaw. And this, all this destruction. The blood. The weeping brides—one out of anger, the other out of desperation. The blood soaked table cloth. And a severed head held in Peter’s hand. All this happened because of him.

Derek looked down at the mark that could pass for a rash on his arm. His claws extended and he tried to cut it out. But it simply healed back to normal.

This was all because of him. Him and that damned mark.

Standing beside him, unseen by all except Peter, was Alyster.

Dead Alyster living in Derek’s mind. Incorporeal, but all the same there, knocking about in his grey matter.

“Today was meant to be a happy day,” Alyster spoke with a faint shiver of regret. His voice contained to Derek’s consciousness. To the supernatural mark. Alyster’s face held a sadness permanently plastered to his drooping, lined eyes. “It would have been. If you had listened.”

Blood meandered from Derek’s nose to his chin. That smell. He knew that smell. It was pungent, earthy. The smell of decay. And it was coming from the severed head in Peter’s hand.

Suddenly the head began to mummify, skin turning leathery, cheeks sunken to the teeth.

Someone screamed, maybe it was Jonah maybe it wasn’t. A retch or two, some disgusted sounds. But Derek couldn’t focus on anything. His senses were running rampant.

Peter dropped the head. It didn’t land with a squelching sound. It didn’t land at all. Before it reached the ground, it turned to dust. Millions upon millions of finite skin particles reduced to a puff of dusty brown.

“You’re an asshole, Peter,” Derek was panting, his words wheezy.

“You should have answered my calls,” Peter’s face was glistening with sweat. “Jerk.”

Peter’s nose bled too. He didn’t seem to fight the pain. But Derek did. He held out, for as long as he could. Then, like lead balloons, both Peter and he fell. The mark burning like hellfire.

A connection severing from the collective. One of many considering the other dust piles on the floor.

Members of the Order of Sagittarius had just been killed.

And it was by their hand. Again.

[moonwaif]

Of Bunnies and Sleeves and All Happy Things

Summary: When Lan Wangji tells Wei Ying to go pester somebody else, he doesn’t expect him to actually do it. Or, Lan Wangji definitely, absolutely does not miss Wei Ying's attention--despite the fact that he can't stop thinking about it.

Pairing: WangXian

Words: 3,000+

Rating: G

Tags: two dorks, failed attempts at flirting, Lan Zhan is jealous, but he doesn't know it, unresolved romantic and sexual tension, Mutual Pining

Warnings: alcoholic beverages

When Lan Wangji tells Wei Ying to go pester somebody else, he doesn’t expect him to actually do it. But the next morning, Wei Ying passes him wordlessly in the corridor like a cold breeze. In the library later that same day, Wei Ying never once throws a crumpled paper or a deliberately provocative statement his way. Instead, Wei Ying copies the text dutifully, pausing every once in a while to stretch or sigh. When the time is up, he opens his mouth like he's about to say something, and Lan Wangji tenses with anticipation. But then Wei Ying's lips close, his brow furrows, and he turns, departing without so much as a goodbye.

Lan Wangji is stunned.

He sits motionlessly, staring at the space where Wei Ying stood just moments before, trying to puzzle out what just happened. Maybe Wei Ying found a new distraction. He wonders briefly what--or who--it could be, then catches himself. Turning his attention back to the text in front of him, Lan Wangji tries to disregard the ever-expanding feeling of tension in his chest.

He doesn’t see Wei Ying again until the next day’s lecture--although “see” is perhaps not the right word. Aside from a quick, initial glance darted in Wei Ying’s direction, Lan Wangji spends the rest of the lecture steadfastly ignoring him. For once, he is able to. No paper men come creeping up over his shoulder. No drawings find their way onto his desk, no jokes are hissed in his direction. It’s not until he hears the familiar whispering that he finally darts a furtive glance in the culprit’s direction. It’s Wei Ying, of course. He’s leaned over his desk, grin wide and eyes shining--the same way he usually looks when trying to pester Lan Wangji. The boy in front of him--a cousin of Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji thinks, although he isn’t certain--tilts his head so that his ear is pointed toward Wei Ying’s fast-moving lips. His breath catches, and both their shoulders shake as they fight to suppress giggles.

Lan Wangji looks away.

The next time Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying, he is accompanied by Jiang Wanyin, Nie Huaisang and the nameless cousin. They are on the other side of the courtyard, headed in the opposite direction from Lan Wangji. He wonders where they are going. After all, it is only natural to be concerned--anyone would be--since wherever Wei Ying goes, trouble is sure to start. As he ponders, Lan Wangji catches snippets of their conversation.

"See?" Wei Ying says, tossing Jiang Wanyin a winning smile--the one that always does something funny to Lan Wangji's stomach. "I told you I could do it."

Jiang Wanyin snorts, skeptical. "Whatever! I saw you stealing glances when you thought no one was looking. You won't last even one more day."

"Who says I can't? You make it sound like I'm obsessed."

"Aren't you?" Jiang Wanyin quips back. Wei Ying gives him a sour look.

"I think Wei-xiong can definitely do it," Nie Huaisang says confidently. His cousin nods in agreement. Wei Ying immediately brightens.

"Of course I can! Jiang Cheng, I hope you have more money than you do faith, because by the end of this week you better be ready to pay up."

Are they talking about  . . . a bet? Lan Wangji frowns. Gambling is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, since all games of chance should be avoided by men of virtue. He considers intervening.

At that moment, Wei Ying looks up, their gazes locking across the distance. The concerns that just seconds ago seemed so pressing to Lan Wangji vanish. He waits for Wei Ying to call out to him, waits for him to come racing over with that embarrassingly obvious enthusiasm that Lan Wangji does not understand but has somehow grown to expect.

Wei Ying looks away.

Lan Wangji's chest tightens like a vice. He watches as Wei Ying throws an arm over his new friend’s shoulder, and the four of them round the corner, disappearing until nothing but the echo of their laughter remains.

 ----

Over the next few days, Lan Wangji has more time to practice guqin. He completes all his readings and even has spare time for additional studies. None of his meditation sessions are interrupted. Best of all, he does not find himself in any unexpected or disgraceful situations.

So why does he feel so ill at ease?

“Wangji.”

Lan Xichen’s gaze is gentle, like a warm hand on his cheek. They have just finished eating with their uncle. Now they stand outside, surrounded by a curtain of cricket song under the evening sky.

“Something troubles you,” Lan Xichen says. Lan Wangji's lips purse. A second passes. Lan Xichen’s chin dips slightly, eyes carefully reading his brother’s expression. “Is it . . . young master Wei?"

Lan Wangji swallows. His brother smiles.

“If something troubles you, or you are worried for your friend, perhaps you should try speaking with him.”

The thought of approaching Wei Ying makes Lan Wangji's stomach flip. What would he say? Should he apologize for speaking harshly? No, he could never apologize to that flippant Wei Ying, who flouts his disregard for propriety like a badge of honor. Wei Ying, who pokes his nose into other people’s business, who sniffs out trouble like a dog digging for a bone. Wei Ying, who flutters his eyelashes and tosses out handsome smiles like casting a net over a flock of butterflies. Whose whims change as easily as the wind, first carrying him to Lan Wangji before whisking him off to someone else.

Lan Wangji quickly changes the subject by asking his brother if there has been any progress with the investigation. Lan Xichen lightly reproves his inquisitiveness, but seems to understand. The topic of Wei Ying is closed.

 ----

Since the Yunmemg Jiang sect's arrival at the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji has broken many rules. He has fought without permission. He has acted impulsively. He has even used a bad word to hurt others. Today he is dangerously close to breaking another rule, because when he spots Wei Ying in Caiyi Town, he instantly finds himself of two minds. Wei Ying flits about the stalls, handling knickknacks like an excited, greedy child. There is a pleasurable squeeze in Lan Wangji’s lower abdomen as he watches--the sensation of something missing sliding into place. He takes a step forward, then stops, shocked at himself. How dare he approach Wei Ying? Especially when his brother has sent him on an important task, no less. His grip tightens around the pouch of herbs in his hand--the object of his errand. No time for distractions. He should hurry back to the Cloud Recesses.

At that moment, Wei Ying stills. His posture is familiar to Lan Wangji--a barely perceptible tilt of the head, a slight stiffness in the neck. He’s thinking. Planning. Deciding what to do. His gaze slowly slips away from the trinket in his hand and gravitates in the direction of Lan Wangji. Mouth dry, Lan Wangji waits for those eyes to find him, to brighten with recognition.

'Wei Ying.' He thinks the name with all his strength, as if somehow Wei Ying will hear him.

But he must not, because Wei Ying suddenly turns away.

"Ugh, I'm hungry," he declares. "Li-xiong! Hey, Li-xiong. Feed me something good!"

Nie Huaisang and his cousin float into view, followed by a typically sour-faced Jiang Wanyin.

"Didn't you just eat?” Jiang Wanyin scolds. “How can you complain so much and waste other people's money?"

"I've been training a lot lately," Wei Ying whines. "Working so hard, I should be careful to eat more, right?"

Wei Ying nudges him impishly, then returns his attention to his new friend.

"Li-xiong agrees with me, right? That's why he'll take us somewhere good to eat."

He reaches out and starts to tug on "Li-xiong's" sleeve. Lan Wangji's jaw tightens. He watches as Nie Huaisang joins in on the disgraceful display, whining and tugging on his cousin. Laughing, the cousin relents.

"Fine, fine! But let's find a place to sit down and have a drink."

Wei Ying wags his finger. "Ehhh, Li-xiong, you rascal! I like your style."

'Shameless,' Lan Wangji thinks. 'Boring.' But his feet don't move, nor does the lump in his throat, nor Wei Ying's hand as it clutches the other boy’s sleeve. Wei Ying has touched Lan Wangji that way before. At the time, Lan Wangji had been surprised by the sudden warmth. Speechless, he merely glared until Wei Ying let go, wincing. But this boy is not glaring. He is smiling, laughing, as if Wei Ying's touch is nothing special. He and Wei Ying must touch each other frequently, Lan Wangji realizes, and the lump in his throat swells until it hurts to breathe.

‘It’s supposed to be me,’ he thinks, and the thought is so abrupt and so inappropriate that it steals his breath away.

"Hey," Jiang Wanyin says suddenly, and Lan Wangji realizes with a start that he's staring in his direction. "Isn't that Second Young Master Lan?"

By the time Wei Ying turns around to look--if he even bothers to, as distracted as he is by his new friend--Lan Wangji is already gone. And this time, Lan Wangji doesn’t expect Wei Ying to follow.

 ----

That night, Lan Wangji tells himself that he isn’t waiting for Wei Ying to come back. But when he hears the voices outside, he is suddenly and unequivocally enraged. Darkness has long since fallen, and the dormitories of the Cloud Recesses are still as the waters of the cold springs. Now four different whispers, snorting and slurring drunkenly, come to disturb its still surface--to disturb him. Rising, Lan Wangji storms from his room and to the courtyard. He derives more than a little satisfaction from the way they all seem to freeze.

"S-second Young Master Lan!" Nie Huaisang stammers. "Wh-what are you . . . We were just . . ."

“Drinking is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.” Lan Wangji looks directly at Wei Ying. “You’ve broken the rules.”

Wei Ying lets out a little huff, rolls his eyes. Lan Wangji’s fists clench. Before either of them can say anything, Nie Huaisang interrupts.

“B-b-but Second Young Master Lan! We didn’t drink in the Cloud Recesses. We drank outside.”

“Wow, Nie Huisang!” Wei Ying claps him on the shoulder. His face is clearly impressed. “So even you can be crafty like this, huh?”

Nie Huaisang simpers cheekily behind his fan, and then the two start giggling and mooning over each other the way they always do, and Lan Wangji just can’t stand it.

“No going out at night in the Cloud Recesses,” he retorts, and the laughter withers. Wei Ying’s face suddenly brightens with realization.

“Ah, but Lan Zhan, we came back just now! When we went out, it was still light. As long as we’re just coming back in the dark, we shouldn’t be breaking any more rules, so it’s fine, right?”

Lan Wangji knows that this is not how the rule works, but he’s too furious for explanations. Wei Ying, meanwhile, actually has the audacity to look pleased with himself. Tossing his head, he glances back at the others, clearly gloating over his own cleverness.

"Besides," Wei Ying continues, "tomorrow is Li-xiong's last day in the Cloud Recesses. Can’t you just let it go?”

"Shameless," Lan Wangji practically growls, but he isn't sure what to say after that. Wei Ying just smiles.

"Aren't you the one who's being shameless right now?" he coos, and Lan Wangji's insides go cold. "You don't have to go so far as to pick a fight, Lan Zhan. If you missed me so much, just go ahead and say it."

But Lan Wangji can't say it, so he draws Bichen.

 ----

The punishment is particularly humiliating--not just because Lan Wangji has disappointed his uncle and brother, but because Wei Ying looks especially smug as the five of them are forced to kneel the next morning. Like he's proven a spectacularly intelligent point, or won a prize.

"See?" Wei Ying hisses at Jiang Wanyin. "I told you--"

Jiang Wanyin cuts him off with an elbow to the ribs.

Since Lan Wangji and Wei Ying are deemed doubly guilty as having both broken curfew and instigated acts of violence, they are charged with kneeling longer than the other three. Nie Huaisang and his cousin shoot Wei Ying a sympathetic look as they slink off. Wei Ying just puts on a brave smile and whispers, "Bye, Li-xiong! Remember to come visit me in Yunmeng!"

Lan Wangji's stomach curls. "No talking," he snaps before he can stop himself. Wei Ying gives him a sardonic look.

"Aren't you just breaking your own rule by talking?" he asks. Lan Wangji's face hardens, but he can't quite ignore the pleased little thrill in his chest.

Wei Ying is speaking to him again.

"Aren't you just being unnecessarily rebellious?" he retorts back, invigorated. Wei Ying blinks at this, then heaves a little laugh.

"You know what, Lan Zhan? You've been really argumentative ever since last night. Don't be so self-righteous. You'll have a hard time getting along with others."

"Unlike you, who gets along with others so well," Lan Wangji claps back, surprised by his own vitriol.

Wei Ying shrugs. "Most of the time. People with good taste get along with me, anyway. Oh, that reminds me!"

He reaches suddenly into his sleeve. Lan Wangji tries not to look, but his eyes are inevitably drawn as Wei Ying removes something, holding it out for Lan Wangji to see. A small, wooden bunny, crudely carved and even more crudely painted, sits in Wei Ying's palms.

"Ta-da!" Wei Ying declares. "Isn't it cute?"

"Mn," Lan Wangji answers, taken off guard. His ears burn as Wei Ying's smile widens.

"Right? I bought it when I went to Caiyi Town yesterday. Lan Zhan, you like rabbits, don't you?"

The sound of a throat clearing has both of them straightening their backs. Lan Qiren gives them a particularly scathing look as he passes by. Lan Wangji's ears burn even hotter with shame.

"Anyway," Wei Ying says, as soon as Lan Qiren has disappeared, "that's why I--"

"No talking," Lan Wangji mutters harshly.

Wei Ying heaves an exasperated sigh, but unexpectedly doesn't protest. Instead he leans over. With unnecessary flourish, he sets the figurine down directly in front of Lan Wangji's bent knees.

Lan Wangji would rather die than look down.

Wei Ying makes a face but says nothing. He settles back down reluctantly.

They pass the rest of the punishment in silence. Wei Ying pokes at pebbles, squirms, whistles and sighs. Lan Wangji stares straight ahead, until his eyeballs ache and he realizes he's forgotten to blink. The little white rabbit taunts him just outside of his periphery. Lan Wangji wonders what Wei Ying could possibly mean, teasing him this way. Is he trying to gloat? Why else would he show Lan Wangji a trinket that is obviously meant for someone else? Maybe it's for Jiang Yanli. She seems kind and gentle. Perhaps she has a soft spot for small, mischievous creatures. Or maybe it's for Jiang Wanyin, as part of some inside joke Lan Wangji isn't privy to.

Or maybe it's a parting gift for Nie Huaisang's cousin.

Lan Wangji spends the next few hours focusing on his breath.

When the time of their punishment finally concludes, Lan Xichen dismisses them. Wei Ying leaves first, but not before shooting Lan Wangji one last glance. Lan Xichen doesn't miss it, of course. His eyes, twinkling, trail after Wei Ying as he departs. Then he turns, gaze landing on the small wooden rabbit perched in the pebbles, just at the tip of Lan Wangji's boots.

"Is that yours, Wangji?" he asks, voice warm with amusement.

Lan Wangji bends to retrieve it. The rabbit is coarse in his hands, and unexpectedly light. The poorly painted eye sockets watch him haphazardly as it sits in his palm. He blinks back at it, as if startled that it hasn't yet hopped away. He thinks back to yesterday in Caiyi Town, remembers Wei Ying lazily browsing the vendors and stalls.

Wei Ying may be careless, but Lan Wangji knows he did not leave this rabbit behind by mistake.

Lan Wangji has to swallow back a smile.

"I am glad to see that you and young master Wei are getting along again," Lan Xichen comments. "It's good to see you happy and at ease."

'Am I happy?' Lan Wangji wonders, but the answer is clear. Even after having spent hours on his knees, pebbles and hard ground digging into his joints, he feels strangely relaxed. He is happy that Wei Ying is talking to him again, he realizes with sudden and absolute clarity. Happy that he didn't completely push Wei Ying away with too harsh words; happy that he has not been so easily forgotten. But he is not sure why this makes him happy, or what that happiness means.

Lan Wangji tucks the rabbit into his sleeve. There will be plenty of time to think things over while he monitors Wei Ying in the library tomorrow--provided Wei Ying is not too much of a distraction.

 ----

Wei Wuxian heads from the main pavilion directly to Jiang Cheng. He holds out a hand, palm up. "Time to pay up."

Jiang Cheng scowls. "This doesn't count. You deliberately provoked him first."

Wei Wuxian pretends to look scandalized. "It's not my fault he patrols the Cloud Recesses like a hawk! Besides, the rules of the bet never said anything about who provoked who, only who talked to who first. You saw it yourself; he was the one who approached me, fair and square. I told you he wanted to be my friend!"

Jiang Cheng digs out his coin purse reluctantly. "If he does, then you both deserve each other! The way you chase after him is ridiculous. It's gross just to watch!"

Wei Wuxian counts the coins happily. "Well Second Young Master Lan must like it, because he couldn't hold himself back. Haha, and to think you were so sure that I was the one who wouldn't be able to stay away!"

"He only approached you because we were breaking the rules," Jiang Cheng gripes. "If he hadn't caught you, he'd still be ignoring you."

Wei Wuxian's smile falters like a candle flame in the breeze. He recalls the sight of Lan Zhan's back--the smooth black hair, the white clad shoulders--retreating amongst the crowded street of Caiyi Town. He'd been so sure Lan Zhan would approach him that time.

If he hadn’t caught you, he’d still be ignoring you. Yeah; Jiang Cheng was probably right.

But whatever! So what if that fuddy duddy Second Jade of Lan looks down on him? Teasing Lan Zhan is one of the few fun things to do in the Cloud Recesses, an oasis in a desert of lectures and rule books and curfews. And that's all it is--just teasing. There isn’t any deeper meaning behind it. The bet had proven it, after all. Wei Ying could literally stop talking to Lan Zhan any time he wanted to, just like that. So what if it made the days longer, or left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't seem to fill, no matter how many bowls of shijie's soup he stuffed himself with? All that matters is that it's over now. Wei Wuxian doesn't have to hold himself back like a caged cat, or bite back the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. Things can finally go back to normal.

Lost in his own thoughts, Wei Wuxian doesn't notice Yanli approach.

"Who's ignoring A-Xian?" she asks with a smile.

Wei Wuxian is suddenly overcome with a wave of shame. He pockets the coins hastily. "No one, no one," he lies. The last thing he wants is for Yanli to find out that he and Jiang Cheng have been placing bets on a person. She probably wouldn't think it was very kind, and he'd hate himself if he disappointed her. And now that he thinks about it, really thinks about it, she'd be right to be disappointed. Playing these kind of games with another person . . . Couldn't that potentially be hurtful?

Whatever, whatever! As if Lan Zhan would ever bring himself to care about anything Wei Wuxian does, as long as he's not violating the Lan sect rules.

"What's for dinner?" Wei Wuxian asks, and the three head back to their main quarters.

On the other side of the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji removes the rabbit from his sleeve, sets it on the table beside his guqin, and allows his face to soften.

[worldwidebt7]

Hell(L)ing || 02

§ — Pairing: Chimera!Taehyung x Empath!Reader (with mentions of Reader x Other Members)

§ — Genre: SciFi AU, fluff, angst, smut, horror

§ — Wordcount: 3,161

§ — Rating: M

§ — Warnings: My attempt at writing something creepy...? So, I’ll be both sorry and glad if it does scare you a little hahaha

§ — A/N: Chapter 2! Yay! I’m surprised to actually be tagging people for this! I’ve never had anyone want to be tagged in my written stories before... It makes me so happy! Writing and drawing are BOTH great creative passions for me, which is why comics are what I lean towards on most days, but sometimes I want to swiftly move through a story, and drawing takes too much time... I know you guys are here for my art, but I hope you’ll enjoy my writing as well! Again, this was originally for @bang-tan-bitches​ ‘Monster Mash Challenge’, which I really wish I had entered, but there was so much good writing that you should definitely check out!

 Summary: You moved out into the wilderness to live a calm, peaceful life. Your abilities made it impossible to live in crowded places, so even if you wanted to you couldn’t return. But when something happens outside the realm of even your normalcy, you start to think that maybe having everyone else’s emotions bearing down on you isn’t such a bad alternative to being trapped with your own.

You spent the remainder of the afternoon pacing around your kitchen, sending glances at the business card on your counter top, and considering calling Seokjin. ‘Genetic Anthropologist’ is what it said on the card; clearly his job title, but you had no idea what it entailed. You could define the words separately, but together it created a delineation that you couldn’t even fathom. His strange career aside, you couldn’t help but be troubled about the boy you saw earlier.

He had been in the area you were fairly certain was now Seokjin’s property, and the fact that the purple-haired man hadn’t mentioned any relatives or roommates concerned you. It was a biting feeling, rather, that you couldn’t shake off. You were rational— you considered it was a friend or family visiting, but there was something so… off about the boy that you feel like you should check on your new neighbor to make sure he was fine. Or at the very least warn him that there was someone lurking near his home.

Deciding that you wouldn’t be able to calm your nerves otherwise, you pulled your phone from your pocket and dialed his number, making a mental note to save it in your contacts afterwards. It rang; once, twice, three times— and continued to ring. For a moment, you mildly panicked; what if something had happened to him? Sucking in a breath, you pulled the phone away to hang up and try again, when you heard a man’s voice come through your phone.

“Hello?” In an instant, you smashed the phone back against your ear in alacrity.

“S-Seokjin? Kim Seokjin?” You replied, your heart racing. You weren’t sure why you were asking if it was really him, but you wouldn’t put it past yourself to type in the wrong number when you were hastily attempting to contact him.

“…Yes…?” His answer was drawn out, a defensive tone slipping through his words. You let out a breath of relief, placing a hand on your chest as your pulse began to stabilize. You hear him clear his throat. “Uh, who is this…?”

“Oh! Right! Sorry, this is Y/N, your neighbor?” Embarrasses, you laugh at yourself. How was he supposed to know that you were calling? And of course you hadn’t say anything— you were more concerned about making sure he was still among the living.

“Oh! Y/N!” His pitch changed drastically at the mention of your name, and you couldn’t help the little smile and shallow eye-roll produced by this. One conversation with this man and you were already reacting to him as if he were a friend. This, while nice, was also alarming considering the deception that dripped off of his emotions when you had contact with him. “How can I be of service?” You could practically hear the purr in his voice, though the question brought you back to why you originally called.

“Oh, um…” Releasing an exhale through your nose, you pondered at your wording for a moment before continuing. “I, uh… I actually wanted to let you know that I saw someone near your house earlier…” Seokjin was silent, not that there was really much to respond to, but he was so still that you couldn’t even hear his breath.

“…Oh?” His voice broke through the thick quiet, and you swallowed, the defensive quality to his tone returning tenfold and turning his usually cheery voice completely stony.

“Y-yeah.” You stuttered, suddenly feeling pressure building in the conversation. “A boy… w-with black hair… He was down by the lake earlier today….” The palm of your hand rubbed nervously on your sweatpants as you flexed and unflexed your fingers. Normally, you didn’t get much through a phone call, voices were rarely an accurate representation of one’s true thoughts, but the weight of his aura was so severe that you felt a chill throughout your body.

“Oh! Yes, that’s my roommate!” His suddenly chipper voice made your head spin. “He won’t be around much, but don’t mind him if you do see him!” He let out a laugh, which didn’t sound particularly genuine. Your brows furrowed, trying to connect all of the doubts flying around in your mind.

“Ah, I see…” You chewed on your bottom lip. As unable as you were to read the situation, you knew something was up— there were truths, half-truths, and lies being told here, of that you were sure, but you couldn’t decide what pieces of information were which. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have bothered you if I had known.” You forced your voice to sound light, not wanting to come across rude or give away your reservations about the information being given to you.

“It’s no problem, I must have forgotten to mention him before,” And so he was back to, what you assumed, was his usual self. Alarmingly, you felt yourself relax. “Besides, I’ll always take any excuse to talk to you.” You snort, and a very different sounding laugh echoed through the phone— much like a windshield wiper. That, you could tell, was his true laugh, and what an infectious sound it was. Against your better judgment, you laughed as well.

“Are all conversations with you going to be like this?” You asked, attempting to recollect yourself. It terrified you how easily this man made you relax within his denigrations, and you now realized you would have to build a wall between you and Kim Seokjin.

“What are you talking about, I’m a delight!” He let out an indignant gasp— sarcastic, for the most part, but you had a feeling a very small part of him was actually offended. “Such a delight, in fact, that you should invite me over for a dinner date!” This time, you sputtered, a light blush rising to your cheeks. So much for that wall.

“W-we’ll see!” You manage to squeak out, causing another boisterous laugh to come from the other side of the phone.

“I’ll hold you to that Y/N!” And you could practically hear the wink he surly executed at your expense. You sigh and promise to invite him over once your pantry is stocked once more in a week. He hums, “You’d better! Remember, I have your number now, I can call you until you cave!” Another laugh and you assured him that you’d be contacting him again soon. With that, the two of you bid farewells and hung up.

Another heavy sigh left your lips as you placed your phone down on your counter. You were eerily calm after the whirlwind of emotions and doubt you had just over a simple phone call with Seokjin, and you could honestly say you were scared. He knew how to completely tear down your defenses and make you comfortable with him. The scarier part? You wanted to be at ease with him. Looking at your phone once more with a worried glance, you stepped around the peninsula of your counter to begin cooking dinner.

The following evening, your television played some mind-numbing show which you had little investment in, but for you it was a welcomed distraction from your thoughts. You hadn’t been able to work on your book at all— to your great chagrin. Namjoon would be visiting you in less than two days and you still only had four-fifths of a book prepared. You’d give it another go tomorrow, but you were starting to think that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to just ask Namjoon for help. He was an excellent writer and would surly be able to give you some insight into why you were struggling.

You sighed, feeling a bit light-headed from what you assumed was stress. It wasn’t unlike you to become ill from over-exertion, especially with your abilities; it took a lot of energy and mental stamina to hone in and stay connected to others’ feelings the way you did. You had long tried to control it— you wanted to shut the essentially open door you had linking you to other people, but all attempts proved futile. It was draining, and though you did your best to stay away from other people, you still couldn’t help the exhaustion you felt after interacting with those few you did see. A sharp pain on the back of your neck had you groaning and moving a hand to rub the afflicted area. Man, you were tired…

Your phone lit up with an unimportant notification which allowed you to see that it had become quite late; much later than you were usually found awake. Deciding that the nameless show playing on the TV was far less important than sleep, you reached for the remote and pressed the power button, effectively turning off the senseless chattering of the shallow character. You shifted in your seat on the couch, only to immediately freeze in terror.

On your blackened television screen, there was a reflection of everything in front of it, and, in turn, everything behind you. There was the outline of your furniture, and you sitting upon it, but it was none of these things that caused your entire body to break out in a cold sweat. No, it was the secondary figure, the larger figure, the figure standing deathly still behind you.

Your breathing became erratic and your hands shook with how tightly they were gripping the seat cushions of your couch. You could only hope that the figure was separated from you by the thick glass of your window wall and not currently in your living room as your mind reeled trying to remember whether or not you had locked the doors to your house.

How had you not felt him coming? Even now, aware of his presence, you could hardly feel a thing. Just detached curiosity and… hunger… for what, you couldn’t tell. You’d never experienced anything like this, and every bit of your intuition was screaming that he was dangerous.

Your heart beat painfully against your sternum as you realized you had a choice— run, hide, or fight. Running could be eliminated; you had no where to run to, even with your car parked out front, and who knows if you’d even make it there before him. Fighting was out of the question as you had noodle arms and zero self defense knowledge, making you practically useless in any confrontational situation. This left you with one option:

Hide.

You took a couple of unsteady breaths to urge yourself to move, move, just move! Hand shooting out to grab your phone which rested on the coffee table in front of you, you sprung to your feet and immediately took off towards your stairs. Climbing them as quickly as your feet would carry you, your eyes flicked over to the figure hovering outside your house and you regretted the action immediately.

Those eyes. You’d only seen something similar in cats or dogs or birds when light reflected off of them— they were glowing in the dark, the only feature defined in a human figure shrouded in shadow. Not human, you mind screamed at you. Not human, not human. It wasn’t human. You knew, instinctively, it was something else.

The figure didn’t move an inch as you frantically scuttled up the stairs and you tore your gaze away, focusing solely on reaching the safety of your room and immediately throwing yourself into your closet and slamming the door. The only sound in the space was your choked, heavy breathing, but all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. You looked at your phone, clutched pathetically in your shaking hands. You had to call someone, anyone. Your friends? No, they wouldn’t get here in time. The police would be the same story, as you were at least a thirty-five-minute drive from town, and even further from the city where your friends lived. A small glimmer of hope registered in your hazed mind as you scrolled through your contacts. Hitting the name immediately, you pressed the phone to your ear and sniffled. You could only hope he would answer, it was so early in the morning so there was no guarantee, but if you still knew him like you once had—

“Hello?” a groggy, sleep-deprived voice floated through the speaker like music to your ears and you let out a choked cry. “…Y/N?” He asked, slightly more alert at your desperate sob.

“…Yoongi…?”

Min Yoongi was the only man in your life that you had allowed yourself to form a relationship with. You had met him as a freshman in college— he had been a resident assistant at your dorm and had taken it upon himself to show you (and a small group of other students, mind you) around the immediate area. You had noticed that his emotions were almost always calm and focused on whatever he was working on, and that made it easy to be physical with, as this was still at the point where your gift was sparked by touch. So, you went out of your way to get to know him.

Over time, your persistence won him over and he tentatively asked you out on a date that started a lovely three-year relationship. Well, rather, the first two-and-a-half years were lovely; the last six months were, as you remember, rather sobering.

He was a year older than you, and, in turn, graduated a year ahead of you despite his double-major (the man was a workaholic, honestly). At first, the two of you did your best to see each other— you skipped out on regular college weekend get-togethers to meet him or spend a few days at his apartment. Besides the distance, you didn’t think much else had changed between you, until he stopped touching you. Quite literally, in fact. If you would try to initiate hand holding, he’d quickly stuff his hands into his pockets. If you tried to kiss him, he’d dodge with a cough or a sneeze. One of the few times you had managed to graze your skin against his, you finally realized:

He cared about you, but he didn’t love you anymore.

It was the first time you had experienced the dissolution of such powerful emotions, and you realized that this would be your life. You would always have to experience your significant other and how they felt about you; you would always have to suffer through them falling out of love with you. Yoongi knew this— he was one of the only people you had spoken to about your abilities at the time, not wanting to ruin a normal university experience with rumors and students coming up to you and asking you for readings. But he knew that you’d be able to tell the difference in his feelings towards you, and tried to hide it.

When you finally asked him to sit down with you to discuss the change, he allowed you to take his hand to get a sense of the totality of the expiry of his love. However, you could also feel his immense sorrow, his guilt over hurting you. He really, truly still cared about you; just not how you wished he did.

Through tears, you let him go with a smile, telling him that you understood— because you did. You knew better than anyone the shift and tides of emotions, but you also knew that he would always care for you; the time spent together had not wasted away into the atmosphere. You remained friends over the years, but rarely ever contacted each other as the two of you had simply grown apart in your growing lives separate from one another.

But tonight, in your panic and fear, his number was the one you pressed. It was logical, of course— you had learned about the lake front homes from him after all, as he lived near-by cabin enjoying peace and quiet in his own solitude. So, in calling him, you knew that he would have the best chance to reach you in a swift manner. You couldn’t, however, say that there wasn’t some emotional aspect to the phone call. He was familiar, and the familiarity was a comfort to you. Just hearing his voice over the phone telling you he would be at your house in ten minutes or less had calmed your nerves significantly.

And so, the two of you stood in the middle of your living room in the early hours of the morning with every sing light in your house turned on. Having him there, standing in front of you in grey plaid pajama bottoms, a white tee, and a pair of PUMA slides, you picked up on the friendly affection he held for you, as well as slight irritation most likely caused by being out at this hour. You had told him everything; the figure, it’s eyes, the fact that you could barely get a read on him, the feeling of non-human you perceived.

“Not human?” Yoongi asked, clearly skeptic about the entire ordeal and if it hadn’t been for your sheer terror in response to it all, you were sure he would have just left immediately. You pouted, knowing how crazy it sounded, but also unable to simply brush aside your instincts.

“Yes, Yoongi, it didn’t feel human.” You were almost offended that he didn’t believe you— what would you gain from lying about this? Except for the obvious fact that your ex-boyfriend, who you found great difficulty moving on from for quite some time after your breakup, was now standing in your house at two-thirty in the morning. Still, as much as you had loved him, you were not interested in rekindling a relationship with a man who clearly was not in love with you anymore.

“Crazy glowing eyes aside, what makes you say that?” He inquired, plopping himself down on your couch, lazily man-spreading as if he’s a frequent visitor to your dwelling. You would have smiled, if it weren’t for the doubt he held in regard to your confession.

“I told you,” you huffed, running your still shaking fingers through your hair. “I couldn’t read him. Not like everyone else. I didn’t even feel him coming!” You tossed your hand in the direction where the figure appeared. Yoongi sighed,

“Maybe your powers are getting weaker?” He suggested, to which you shook your head.

“No, I had no problem detecting you when you arrived, and I can read your emotions as well as ever.” If only your abilities were fading, your life would be so much simpler and you would love nothing more than to move back to the city where your close friends resided. “Exhaustion, irritation, doubt, concern, fondness…” You rattled off all the emotions rolling off of him in waves, though they were still as mellow and manageable as they always were. He dropped his head to rest on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

“Years of knowing you and I’m still not used to that…” Your heart sank a bit at this even though you knew the comment was not meant to be malicious, your senses telling you he meant it in a teasing way. But it still reminded you that you were not normal. After a moment he pulled himself forward to rest his forearms on his knees and ruffled his bleach-blonde hair. “Alright. I can see you’re seriously freaked out by this…” He looked over at you, his sharp eyes almost trying to read you like you were able to read him. “…I’ll sleep on the couch tonight if that’ll make you feel better.” You released an alleviated sigh before bouncing over to him and wrapping him up in a chaste hug.

“Thank you, Yoongi…” He didn’t exactly return the hug, only reaching up and patting your back reassuringly, but you felt the small spike of comfort and serenity at the friendly action, and that was enough to tell you that your gesture was appreciated.

Afterwards, you gathered spare blankets and a pillow from your linen closet for Yoongi to use for the evening. You had tried to offer him other amenities, such as water or tea, but he politely turned you down, clearly wanting nothing more than to sleep. Thanking him once more, you retired to your own room, leaving your door open and turning the light on your bedside table on to illuminate the darkness. You kept your back towards the window in your room, not wanting to subject yourself to the self-inflicted fear you would surly create from the moving shadows of the trees just outside. You were on the second floor, surly safe from the beings that lurk below and now, with the thought of Yoongi snoozing on our couch, you allowed yourself to slip off into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

TAGS:

@coolavidreader​  @beesthoughtsblog​  @breadcaaat​  

[imaginesmai]

Tom Holland-Fluff Alphabet

Requested by two anons. Hope you like it! I actually lost your asks, deleted it before time, so I’m sorry. But I got your requests right!

Affection (PDA, how they are in private…)

In public, Tom has certain doubts about kissing you. He knows how the media can get when a famous is in a relationship, and knows that his fans can be aggressive. He doesn’t want any type of hate reaching you, so he decides to keep your relationship out of the public eye for the first month. It’s not a matter of being ashamed of you, and you’re sure of it when a very nervous Tom asks you if you want to meet his family. It’s just a matter of protection and care.

Once the press finds out about you, he’s still a shy guy. Sure, a few pictures on Instagram of you two doing silly things and stories of your daily life, but he doesn’t like to share his private life with the whole world. When you two take a walk, he will take your hand or kiss your cheek, but never make out with you in a public place.

In private, affection is Tom middle’s name. He won’t hesitate to show you how much he loves you every second of the day. Kissing your cheek when he’s passing by, helping you with anything without a second thought, touching you absentmindedly when you’re with friends… The ‘I love you’ are like your good morning; he says them when you wake up, before you go to bed, with a random note or a text, and every time he sees you. For him, the world spins around you, and he likes to let you know that.

Baby (do they want a family?)

Since the moment he met you, he knew he wanted to have something more with you. In the set of Avengers, or in any other set, he had seen a lot of people playing with their children, and admire from afar how they love each other. He can’t help imagine both of you with a small family of your own. Children with spiderman pyjamas, a house with a garden where Tessa and some other dogs could play, Sunday’s lunch with your families and the kids, holidays trips to exotic places.

Tom knows you’re too young for that, but he does bring it up sometimes. When you’re having lunch in a small restaurant and he sees a family. When you’re in the park and a little kid approach him. Even when you go to the cinema and he sees those special seats for the children.

However, if he could choose, he would probably have a family of dogs.

Cuddles (how and when)

That’s not a question. Tom Holland is always up for cuddles. In the bed, couch, cinema, after lunch, before bed, whenever you want. If you’re standing, he will gradually grab your hips and pull you closer. He puts his head your shoulder and nuzzle his nose on your neck, like a small cat. If you’re reading a book laying on the bed, he’ll put his head on your stomach while playing with his phone. Then, he crawls up little by little until you can’t see the book because his head is in between and the letters. His cute brown eyes looks up at you and he smiles, showing you the dimples of his cheeks. It doesn’t matter if what you’re reading is something important or not, he’ll be there, hugging you, until he falls sleep.

His favourite way to cuddle is on the couch. Tom will lay on the couch with you on his side, while a movie (probably spiderman, let’s be honest) stars playing and Tessa steps between you two. He likes to watch your eyes focusing on the movie or closing slowly. Actually, he likes to watch you when you’re not looking. You run your hand over Tessa’s fur and he plays with your hair. That’s probably what he calls heaven.

Dates (what are dates with him like?)

Time is something that, as an actor who travels a lot and has his family in another country, he values a lot. Tom can spend months in a different country, filming a movie or doing press tours with his cast mates.

He tries to travel home as often as he can. When he comes back, he likes quiet dates. Having you over and playing board games with his family is probably his favourite. He’s a huge family guy, so as soon as your relationship is solid enough, he presents you to his family and friends. If you’re not with them, then going out with his friends is also cool. However, he needs time alone with you too. Tom likes taking you out for a walk or for an ice cream, going to the cinema and then talk about the film in a bench of your favourite park. He wants you to feel as if you were a normal couple. Sometimes, that’s impossible because he has to stop to take a photo with a fan or to sign something. So expect that, every few weeks, Tom manages to sneak you around and plan a trip just for the two of you.

Dates also happen when you visit him. If he’s in New York or in another country, you will find an airplane ticket on your mailbox to where he’s staying. He loves that kind of dates. Tom will show you around the city while bouncing up and down in excitement; his favourite place to eat, where did he record the first scene, what place reminds him of you. All of that while talking about his cast mates. Then, he introduces you to them and it’s safe to say that you both freak out on the same level.

Entertainment (how do you spend your free time)

Tom can, and it’s a fact, look at you for an hour without getting bored. You can be doing anything; homework, house chores, reading or with your computer. If Tom is in the same room than you, he will lose focus on anything else and only see you. He puts on his in-love eyes, placing his head on his hand and forget about the scripts in front of him. You can talk to him, the phone can ring or the building could be on fire; he won’t stop staring at you.

His favourite thing to do with you in your free time it enjoy your company. He doesn’t need fancy restaurant or expensive dates, you can have the best time of your life playing ‘UNO’ on your bedroom and trying to avoid Tessa eating the cards.

Feelings (when did they know they loved you?)

Tom knew he was madly in love with you when he left to film Spiderman: Far From Home. It had been a stressful day; he had gotten coffee all over himself, it was cold, he didn’t know anyone and a terrible wave of homesickness had hit him since he had woken up. He had missed your face time, saying that he was too busy and would call you at night.

Even if he didn’t want to say it, the main problem was that one the crew had taken her dog to set, and Tom had thought about Tessa. The dog had bought happiness to his life, being away from her so much time was too hard. So he spent the whole day with a pout.

When he arrived to his hotel room late at night, he just wanted to curl up in bed and cry in peace, away from the paparazzi and his friends. Tom didn’t expect seeing you with Tessa in the lobby, trying to convince an angry woman that you were Tom’s girlfriend. Tessa was moving around anxiously, wanting to break free from the leash and run around that enormous place. You had only brought with you one backpack, that seemed really heavy from where Tom was staring at you.

Turned out, Jacob had called you and told you about Tom’s mood, so you had decided to pay him a quick visit to where they were filming. It didn’t matter that it took you more than what you earned in two months and a tiredness that weighted on your shoulder.

Tom didn’t have time to greet you, because as soon as Tessa saw him, she broke free and tackled him to the ground. As you hugged with a jumping dog around you, Tom mumbled for the first time the three words sentence, and realised that there was not a day on his life that he didn’t want to spend with you.

Gentle (kind or rough)

You can’t change my mind, Tom is the kindest dork on earth. Like, he’ll ask before doing anything, and I mean anything, with you. Holding your hand, kissing your cheek, wrapping his arms around your shoulder or wiping a hair out of your face.

In bed, he’s also kind. You have tried rough or had stuff sometimes, but it always ends up the same way; Tom fussing over you and panicking because he thinks he has hurt you. There is not an inch of roughness in that boy, seriously.

Holidays (favourite place)

Tom’s favourite place to spend the holidays is somewhere lost where he can enjoy time with his family and you. If both of you are free, he loves to take you to a small trip for a week, nothing too expensive but where you can have time alone away from everyone.

However, he prefers family vacations. Since the first summer that you had spent together as a couple, he had invited you to come with his family on holidays. His brothers love you, his parent do too, and you’re probably closer to Harry than Tom himself, because that boy is the definition of friendship. So, you don’t have any problem going with them.

Usually that kind of holidays mean stress for Tom. The good kind, though.

You team up with his brothers to prank him, and he can’t take a step without fearing that a spider might be somewhere. Throwing each other to the pool, drawing strange patterns with sunscreen on the others back. But if there is a thing that bothers Tom, is the privacy.

You two literally don’t have any of it. If he, by a chance, wants to get intimate with you, one of his brothers or his mother will open the door asking for something. Or they just wanted to see the TV. It’s just, your room is fresher that ours. Anyone, expect no sex while you’re on holidays.

Tom might complain about it and about his family stealing you away, but he doesn’t want it any other way.

Impression (first impression)

This is kind of a little imagine where Tom meets you for the first time.

Hospitals were, at the same time, the best and the worst part of his day. There was where Tom found his happiness, between the excited children who shouted when they saw him on his suit; but also, he found a deep sadness, when one of them had to leave the room because of his or her illness.

“Hey” Benedict appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulder. “Maybe you can take a break. You know, go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat.”

Tom was sitting on an empty table, too small for an adult. Still, he had been there for two hours. In front of him stood three different puzzles undone and a cute doll with a red dress. Her previous owner was then in surgery, her little heart giving her awful problems. He sighed and looked up to the man, who had a worried glint on his eyes. Maybe it would feel good, he thought. He had been there for hours, and a coffee actually sounded good.

“I guess” he mumbled, getting up. “I-I’m going to get something. Text or something if you know anything. About the girl.”

“Sure” he offered him a half smile. “Don’t worry, Tom. She’s gonna be fine.”

He answered with a small grunt and left the kids’ room. There weren’t much of them, because it was probably dinner time and because their energy had ran low after spending a whole day with the avengers.

They had appeared in the hospital as a surprise; Robert, both Chris, Benedict, Scarlett and him. The day had been going great until the girl who was playing with Tom and had been attached to his leg couldn’t breathe. Tom had panicked and called the doctor as soon as he noticed, yet when she arrived she was unconscious and he was holding her small body in his arms.

The ghost feeling of it made Tom take a turn and enter into one of the rooms for ‘only staff’. Inside, it was dark and humid, but it was perfect for him to hide for a few minutes. He was sure the press would be in the corridors waiting for him. The rest of the cast had already left, except Benedict and him, who wanted to wait until the little girl was fine again. And from the window, he had seen some reporters waiting for him to come out.

When the door closed behind him, he let out a shaking breath and the first tear rolled down his cheek. It was all so stressing. The social pressure, the influence he had over those children, the responsibilities, the fame. There were moment when everything seemed to big for him. It was one of those moments.

Tom sat on a small bed and hid his face between his hand, letting the tears roll down freely. It was silent for a while until he started sobbing.

“I can leave if you want.”

Probably, if someone had been recording that moment and had shown it to him later he would have died off embarrassment, because the high-pitched scream he produced sounded un natural. He jumped to the right a few inches, almost falling off the bed, and looked to his left. There, in a bed similar to the one he was sitting on, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

And it wasn’t as if he saw much, because it was dark as hell.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” you let out a little laugh. “I just thought I should make myself known before you saw me.”

“H-How long have you been there?” Tom asked, his eyes not leaving your face.

You weren’t wearing the ugly hospital uniform; beside that, to him you looked too young to be working there. You were sitting cross-legged with some leggings and a huge t-shirt with a weird drawing. If he wasn’t so scared about the pictures you could have taken of him crying or that you could be an stalker, he would have drooled because of your smile.

“Was here before you came” you shrugged. “I didn’t think anyone knew about this room, so I come here sometimes. When, you know, it gets hard outside.”

“Oh” he coughed awkwardly, looking at the floor. “I thought-I thought there wasn’t anyone in here.”

“Yeah, it’s not where you expect to find someone” you said. “I’m Y/N, and you?”

Tom looked up and found you in front of him. He could then see clearly the front of your t-shirt; the logo of a campaign who helped families and children in hospitals. At your question, he raised a brow. You seemed genuinely innocent; but he had met people like that before, fans that didn’t know where the privacy started. Still, he couldn’t resist the urge of touching you, even if it was just your stretched hand.

“Tom” he mumbled. “And, uh, what are you doing here?”

You sat beside him and told him how you were helping the families of those children; keeping them company, being positive for them, and how you needed a break from all of that and decided to step away for some hours. After listening to you, he felt kind of silly when he thought how he had cried over a little girl. Your ‘job’ (volunteering, you had said) was much harder than making two appearances each year in a local hospital, yet you comforted and smiled at him when he cried about his little friend.

“Rachel is a brilliant girl” you explained. “I met her four months ago. Did you know that she can spell ten words in a minute? And she’s only eight!”

He thought that, usually, people spoke about those children as if their illnesses defined them

Rachel is a good girl, she has blood cancer.

Bryan, cool kid, but he has a brain tumour.

It put a smile on his face that you spoke about Rachel with joy, and little by little he forgot about his previous sorrow. When he could finally break away from your beautiful eyes, he noticed that it was already dark on the sky.

“I should get going” he mumbled. “I have things to do-Not like I’m having a bad time, no, I’m-I’m glad you’re here. I mean, not glad, like glad. Just like I enjoy your company. But I have, you know stuff.”

Tom had reached the conclusion that you didn’t know who he was. You had been talking with him for hours and, still, hadn’t asked for a picture or a follow on Instagram. And probably you had understood him like no one else. Cutting short your ‘meeting’ wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he needed to go back or the car would leave without him.

“Oh, I’m sorry” you blushed. “I didn’t notice the time.”

“Yeah, me neither” suddenly, a light popped up in Tom’s mind. It was a crazy idea, one that, heard by any of his cast members, would be disapproved. If he hadn’t had enough troubles with the spoilers things, he was going to get in some more; he didn’t care. “Are you going to be around? Tonight, or tomorrow.”

“Yeah, my brother has to pick me up tomorrow morning. I’m spending the night here, Rachel’s parents might need help.”

“That’s nice” Tom smiled. “Do you think you can give me your number? To know about Rachel, I mean. I really want to know if she gets better. Just for that! And if you want, it’s totally okay if you don’t. Actually, it’s a little weird that-“

He started rambling and the blood rushed to his head until you could almost distinguish the soft red from the dark in the room. You placed a hand on his shaking one, making him stop talking and look at you.

“It’s fine by me” you said. “But I didn’t think famous actors should be doing that? Giving their personal number to the first stranger they met.”

“But you’re not the first-“ Tom shut himself in the middle of his sentence and looked at you with wide eyes. “You know who I am?”

“You’re wearing the spiderman suit!” you laughed “And I’ve seen the rest of the cast this morning.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” his voice was nothing more than a whisper.

“Well, I thought you needed someone to talk to” it was your turn to blush.

Tom thought you were the most adorable person, as you started talking about how you were a big fan but you understood that everyone needed to talk about their things too. As he gave you his number and received a kiss on the cheek, he left the room with a new happy smile.

Jealous (protective or overprotective)

Protectiveness is not his thing. He knows when someone is flirting with you, but trusts you enough to push them away and come back to him. If whoever is flirting with you doesn’t get the hint, it’s his time to step up; he’ll probably talk to him calmly and make him understand that you don’t want anything with them, because you’re happy with him. Words usually works and that’s the end of the discussion.

If he has to be jealous, he’s the puppy jealous. Yeah, that’s a thing, and probably he started it. It’s kind of similar to when you don’t acknowledge Tessa because she’s misbehaving; she’ll start whining, pouting and following you with her ears down. When Tom is jealous, he’ll look at you with sad eyes, follow you with his head down and answer with nods or shakes to your questions. Until you ask him what’s wrong; he tells you in a quiet voice and you hug him for a few minutes until he feels alright again.

Kisses

His favourite type of kisses are the lazy ones or the pecks.

Lazy kisses mean that you have enough time to enjoy each other company. Making out in the couch, cuddling in bed sharing kisses or slow love making in the morning. That’s the kind of thing he’s addicted to. When he arrives home late from filming, sure, he likes to kiss the hell out of you and trap you in bed for two days in a row. But he prefers calmer things.

Besides Tessa and too much cuteness, pecks are the other part of your relationship. Tom will steal them every chance he has. If you’re watching a film and you want to go to the bathroom, peck. When you’re waiting for him as he films and he gets two free minutes, peck. As he plays with his brothers and you pass by, peck. You have counted them before, and in a day he can easily give you over one hundred pecks. Not that there is anything to complain about.

Love (who says it first, how many times)

If he could say it every hour of the day, he would. He’s always thinking about those things you do for him, or just the small routines you have picked up from being together. So, not only Tom is the first one saying it, but also who says it the most.

There are more ways of saying I love you, not just with words. For example, if you have had a rough day, when you meet Tom he will have the cutest dinner prepared with your favourite movie. The first time he tried to do so went really bad, because he left Tessa in the apartment with him. He thought that she would help you to cheer up, but she ended up throwing the table where the food was and chewing the TV’s wires. You came home to Tom running behind Tessa in his boxers and with foam on his hair, as she carried the his towel. It doesn’t matter if things don’t go as planned, you know he tries and that’s more than enough.

Other way of saying I love you without words is spending 24 hours without sleep and taking a flight of five hours just to see you for five minutes. You don’t even have to tell him that you need him with you. If he notices something off in your voice, he’ll be there. If it’s your birthday or a special occasion, he’ll be there. And if he just miss you a lot, he’ll be there. You don’t spend more than a month without seeing each other.

When he stays for the night and has to leave early in the morning, he leaves thousands of notes with cute words in your toothbrush, the milk or in the door. Along the day, your conversation with him is the cheesiest thing in the world; lots of I love you, I miss you and adorable pictures of each other.

Memory (favourite memory together)

It’s simple but, without any doubt, his favourite. It happens a lot of times, and is his favourite moment of the day.

Tom’s head was about to explode. He felt a constant pain on the middle of his forehead, between his eyebrows, and on the back of his neck. He had tried pressing on the spots, putting something cold or hot, and even taking some tea. Still, it hadn’t gotten any better, and the reason behind it was in front of him; the damned script. For the past three hours, he had been trying to learn it, but it was already late at night and nothing had entered in his head.

Groaning in frustration, he looked up to the wall of your apartment. He had promised you a perfect night, but he wanted to end the scrip first. Not that it was happening any time soon. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him and saw you standing on the doorway. You were wearing pyjama bottoms, too long for your legs, and one of the spiderman t-shirt he had gotten you in his last convention. Your hair was standing on every direction and it made his heart thrum inside his chest. You rubbed your eyes before walking towards him, yawning.

“Hey baby, what are you doing up?” he asked, voice gentle as he placed the script down. His body ached and he probably should had stood up and stretched, but you were coming his way and he would be damned if he moved an inch.

You sat on his lap gently, and Tom sneaked his arms around your waist to lock themselves around your body, like an automatic reaction. Your hand carded his hair, pushing the longer strands of his curly locks back from his forehead. Tom closed his eyes and hummed happily.

“Isn’t that what I should be asking you?” you gave him a sleepy smile, as one of his hands reached your arm and stroked its way down and up.

“Still got a few pages left” he grunted, and grabbed your small hand in his.

He bought it up to his lips and kissed it, letting you rest it against his cheek. A small and tired smile made its way to his face.

“You said that three hours ago” you pouted slightly through the sleep. “And promised to spend a night with me.”

“I know” he sighed. “But someone has been distracting me all night.”

He had been gone for two months, and just that week he had come back to you; so you had squeezed even the last second of his time, because you knew he would leave soon. Probably, in that week, you had ended with the Kamasutra; and still, you wanted him by your side that night.

“Please”

A puff of air hit your ear as he laughed, winding his arms around your waist to pull you closer, in a more reclining position before his hands went up your back, drawing lazy circles over your shirt. Tom pressed his face against your neck, leaving a small kiss in your pulse point that made a shiver run through your back. He held you safely as you pushed at him, trying to get away from his ticklish lips. Tom’s eyes found you as you tilted your head up from his shoulder so you could look him in the eye, narrowing your own at him as your mouth pursed.

“Come to bed with me” you said. “I don’t know how to sleep without you.”

“You’ve been sleeping without me two whole months, Y/N” he chuckled. “That excuse is not valid.”

“Yeah, and they have been shit, Tom” you sighed. “Please. I just got you with me this week.”

“Just a few more minutes, alright?”

“Alright.”

You bit back a smile, briefly considering dragging him by his ear to the bed yourself. But you were getting quite sleepy and comfortable on his lap, so you stuck a hand between the two of you and fisted his t-shirt softly. Tom pressed a silent kiss to your temple and went back to his script, the headache gone. It was silent after that as he went back to his previous task. Your eyes focused for a while on his hands and veins, the soft light of the lamp making his skin look more tanned. His soft breathing and the rhythm of his heart in your ear slowly lulled you, your eyes going droopy.

When you finally fell asleep against him, Tom felt the luckiest man in the world.

NO (something they won’t do in your relationship)

Pressuring you into anything. Tom knows that each person is different, and that everyone needs their time when doing things they are not familiar with. As an actor, as I said before, he has a difficult life. Is always away filming or doing press tours; and when he’s home, life is different. Because there are fans, photos and social media.

So Tom would never, never demand something to you. The effort you make when you face time him in the middle of the night (different times), long flights to see him or keeping up with his fame are enough for him.

If you need time to say the L word, he’ll wait whatever is necessary. If you need time to get intimate for the first time, he’ll comfort you with a small on his adorable face. If you need a little break from the media, he’ll gladly offer you to go somewhere private on holidays.

For him, you’re always the top one priority. Not job, not friends or hobbies. Tom feels like he’ll forever be grateful for you, and won’t, under any circumstances, force you to do anything you don’t want to. There are times where he might use his puppy face; to get your attention, ask you for help in something or just being cute around you. But he won’t use them to get something he knows you might not want.

Orange (favourite colour and why)

All the colours.

Green, because he thinks of that time where the two of you went away on a vacation and had the time of your life in a small cabin in the woods. You smiling up at him from the grass, the small picnic he prepared for you, making love in the room with the fantastic views.

Red, as it reminds him to the suit he bought to the premier. It wasn’t that special; what was special was seeing you that night in his jacket as you woke up from bed to drink water. Let’s just say, you stayed up for a little longer.

Blue; honestly, that’s his favourite colour since he was a kid. He loves seeing you in blue dresses, shirts or pants.

Pink, and that’s his little obsession. Every time he goes out, and he sees something pink, he thinks of a little girl. A little girl with his eyes and your nose, with your hair and his smile. He can’t help but associate the colour with the future with you.

Yellow. It’s not really yellow, more like the colour of the light, if that’s a thing. He liked to print into his memory your face in the morning, the light touching your cheeks and making your eyelashes longer.

Parents (how is their relationship with your parents)

One word: amazing.

The first time he met them, Tom was a stuttering mess. He offered your father a shaky hand and almost cried when he gripped it too hard. Your mother hugged him and the only idea that popped in his mind was to pat her back; which came out as really, really awkward. First meeting was, in general, chaotic. Tom had been so nervous that he couldn’t eat a thing without feeling as if he was going to puke, and his knee had been moving so much up and down that even your father had told him to stop.

Then, came the good part. Your dad asked him about his job, or studies, and he started talking about spiderman and Marvel. The ‘fan’ side of your family appeared, and they started talking about the comics and the films. Soon, the attention of the room was drawn to Tom and the awkwardness disappeared.

Since that moment, Tom is always inviting your family to the meetings. He presents his family to yours, prepares lunches for the both of them and tries to have the best relationship.

Quirks (worst habit they have)

Spoilers, we all know that. You can’t see a movie he’s in without knowing the end or something important before.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in the movie or not; as long as he has seen it, he will spoil it for you. He tries not to, because he knows that it annoys you. But he can’t help it, because the guy is too clueless to understand when he has to shup up.

Romantic (little details or non-verbal ways of saying I love you)

Take my jacket, it’s cold outside

He said it on your way to the supermarket. You had been on your period and, even if it was the middle of December and the coldest day of the year, you just needed a quick visit to the supermarket. Having Tom to go without you wasn’t an option, because last time he called you crying because he had gotten lost looking for your pads. And he didn’t want to let you go alone, so you were both walking while the cold bit your skins. Being the stubborn girl you were, you hadn’t brought your coat with you, just a stupid sweater. So he offered you his.

“Unless you don’t want it! That’s-That’s fine, I’m not forcing you into-“

You were about to protest, but were quickly shut when a particular hard gust of wind hit you, making you clatter your teeth. Tom gave you a soft smile and put the jacket over your shoulders. Making you stop in front of him, he buttoned it up and pulled it closer to your body. He left a kiss on the top of your head and continued walking.

I think you’re beautiful

Tom blurted it out when you were trying the dress for the premier of his film at his house, in his room. It felt all so familiar to him, that you standing there in all your glory with your purple dress made him want to drop on his knees to you.

It didn’t hit him until a few seconds later, because he was staring at like a child to his sweets. Your hair tied up, your legs showing and the beautiful necklace you had decided to wear, his gift from the past Christmas. Immediately, he blushed and opened his mouth, ready to do what he always did; stutter until you forgot about what he had said.

That time, he just smiled to you through the blush and told you that you really were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Have you eaten?

He had asked without thinking, just a natural reaction. People around you were running around, trying to get everything ready for the shot. It was Tom’s most important scene, and he was nervous as hell.

You had managed to get into the set and spend a few minutes with him; still, as you sit in his trailer, the first thing he does is checking you’re comfortable enough.

Sad (how does he cheer you up)

A text with a different emoji has him in your house within hours. Tom knows you like the back of his hands, and know when things are too hard for him. Maybe fans being rude, missing him too much, family problems or just wanting to be down for a while; the reason doesn’t matter, Tom knows how to cheer you up.

First, he’ll show in your house with Tessa, two bags full of food and some films that you might like. If he has time, he will bring you a stuffed animal; and let me tell you, he tries to always have time for that. Half of them are missing a part, because Tessa will eat it in the way to your apartment. Seeing Tom with a guilty face and half of a teddy in his arm is already good enough for you.

Then, he will let Tessa cuddle you while he prepares the living room. When he’s sad, he loves how Tessa fits between his arms and lick his face, so he gets her to do the same. The dog probably love you more than him, yet he denies it. While she makes you smile, he builds a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor to lay down; turn off the main lights and use only soft ones. Then, puts the move.

Finally, he’ll sit with you and hug you in his arms, whispering sweet things and everything he loves about you. The film is for back noise, because if there is something that cheers you anyone up is having Tom making slow love to you kissing and adoring each inch of your body.

Trickster (jokes, pranks…)

Jokes, pranks… are his thing, sure. As I’ve said before, he doesn’t have any problem in having prank wars with you. He never takes them too far, of course, because he would never harm you in any way. Tom will team up with his brothers against you; then, betray them and work with you to prank them, while you’re crossing him with Paddy and Sam.

Throwing popcorn at each other during movies and getting kicked out of the cinema, pushing each other to the water in the holidays, tickling him until he’s crying and, in return, having your feet ticked too. Tom and you area always messing with each other.

Underestimated (what surprised him the most about you?)

Probably that you’re not as obsessed as his fans. You know how to appreciate his work and the things he does, and know when the fame is too much for him and needs to feel like a normal person.

(I’m sorry this is short!)

Vaunt (how much do they show you off?)

Too.

Fucking.

Much.

That boy, that boy can’t stop talking about you. Sometimes, he’ll start talking and, when the person he’s talking to leave, he won’t even notice. He starts the conversation from nearly nothing. If someone says blue, he will start talking about how good you looked on the shirt you brought a month ago. If he smells cookies, he talks about how bad/good are you at cooking.

The worst thing are when you’re not with him. There are times where he has to be away from you for months. His castmates, usually the one who suffer him, have to endure his whining and puppy face whenever you finish the call you had with him or when he sees a picture of you.

Officially, you can say you have Tom Holland wrapped around your finger.

Wedding (do they want one and how they want it)

Tom wants to marry you and isn’t afraid of say it out loud. See that girl? Yeah, she’s gonna be my wife someday, man. After a year of dating, he had actually changed your name contact on his phone to ‘future wife’.

Also, he knows it has to be great. Sometimes he talks about that with you, late at night when you’re both in bed already. He wants something big; for example, a beach place. Yeah, he would like to marry in a beach, both of you in white with the sound of the waves behind you. In his mind, the most important part would be to represent your favourite movie; he doesn’t care how much it costs, how much he has to work.

For you, only the best.

XX (something you’re the only one to know)

That he has a spot, behind his right ear, that makes him crumbled into a fit of giggles and cute smiles. You discovered when you woke up one day and wanted him to pay attention to you. You ran your hands up and down his hair, as Tom hummed in happiness; when, without you noticing, your hand moved and you scratched his spot.

As soon as you did that, his legs kicked out of the bed and he curled into a ball, while giggling and scratching it himself hardly. You almost fell from your position, and looked at him with weird eyes.

Since that moment, you annoy him that way.

You (they talk about you)

“Dude, I’ve met this girl. I know I should have told you about her before but-damn, I didn’t even realise that the time flew by. She’s…I would actually call her perfection. Sweet, caring, nice and gorgeous. Most important, I don’t think I’ve ever feel this connected to anyone! She makes me laugh, happy and Tessa already loves her. I want her to meet the family, and to meet you, of course. But I don’t want to scare her away. I-I kind of see myself by her side for a long, long time Haz.”

Zzz (how do you sleep; probably include a visual)

Tom lays on his back, with your head resting on his chest. He had one hand making circles on your stomach or back, something to keep him distracted while you fall asleep. Because he likes to feel how your breathing becomes slow and how your face relax. His other hand is stretched, but as soon as you fall asleep, he always, always, run a finger through your cheek and just then he can fall asleep too.

Underneath the sheets, your feet are entangled, which leads to quiet curses when either of you want to go the bathroom. It might seem like a conventional way of sleeping, but both of you like it and Tom won’t change it.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[skittles1229]

Community Fanfiction (self insert/x reader)

 "Personally I don't see the appeal" you say under your breathe as you pick at the disgusting slop in front of you. Greendale's lunch left much to be desired, but I don't think they got famous for their lunches. From what I've read Greendale has seen it all, from campus wide paintball wars to a Dean that thinks Halloween is all year round. It's no lie the Greendale's reputation has been questionable for a while but the one thing I can say is that I haven't met many stuck up assholes since I've been here, granted I try to stay clear of that side of the hall. As I pick away at my phone, that's resting on the corner of the table, someone sits in the chair in front of me and I look up with my usual nonchalant face. There was an older guy, about thirty or forty, and he was quiet unusual. He reeked of an over bearing cologne and his hair was long and black with kinky curls, thought his hair was too greasy to even begin to look puffy. He has two large stars shaved onto his cheeks that connect to his sideburns. "I noticed you from Subway's shop. I've never seen you here before. You must be the city college girl." City college girl? Do I already have a rep here, of course they said that nobody would know and OF COURSE they were lying. "Yes, I came from City college but how'd you know that?" He smiled sheepishly and looked away scratching the back of his neck, when he finally looked back his cheeks were a slighter red shade. "Sorry, got excited. I'm Alex." He holds his large hands out to me, after a moment of my continued silence he brought his hand back down and coughed nervously. I propped my hand up on my elbow that rested on the table, at this point I had abandoned picking at my food and focused on Alex. "Let me guess this is how it went. The Dean got excited and told everyone and you were all curious to meet me today because everyone expected me to be some stuck up dumb blonde right?" Alex seemed astounded which means I was right. There is no secrets kept in Greendale and frankly I was hoping I could go here with a new name, background, and maybe I could just make up some person I've always wanted to be but.. I guess since my past followed me here I might as well live with it. I look back at Alex who has been staring at me since I last spoke, I stick my hand out across the table and give him the brightest smile I can. "My name's (y/n)." I say taking his hand, they were twice the size of mine, grungy and rough.

Alex seemed like a pretty awesome guy and after lunch he walked with me down the hall to Mr. Chang's Spanish class. We talked on and on and yes, he is very weird. Never would have pegged him for a meth head because they are usually more aggressive and like to give out those opinions that nobody asked for but Alex? Alex was pretty great. We walk into the class room and it's only us and four other people in the class so far, then again we still had 30 minutes before class. I sat in front of Alex and met his friends Garrett, Viki, and Magnitude. We talked for a while about D&D and about all the teachers but Alex kept mentioning someone name Jeff and the Greendale seven. From the way he talks about them I'm beginning to wonder just how normal this school was. There were less seats open and the only ones left were seven seats centered towards the middle of the room. Chang had already made his big chaotic entrance and nothing he said made any sense. Greendale definitely should do better in picking their staff because putting a mentally ill Chinese man as a professor was a less then good idea. That's when the Greendale seven arrived, Alex grabbed my shoulder and pointed to the group giving me everyone's names as the waltz in. Tall dark and weirdly antisocial was Abed the movie guru. He'll draw connections to real life situations through pop culture and meta references gained after years of watching TV and movies. Short large and carrying a purse that could fit everything but the kitchen sink was Shirley, the divorced mother of two who loves to bake. Very tall, old, and wrinkled was the jackass name Pierce. Alex says that he is worse then Jeff and is relentlessly mean just because he thinks it makes him look 'rad', how old.is this guy like 90? Then the small brunette who wore a silly school girl outfit and she hugged her books close to her chest as if she was in high school, Annie or little Annie Adderall. Alex will have to give me the details behind that later. Then came the last three, Jeff, Troy, and Brita. Brita seemed to be a very big female activist, if the fliers and stickers in and on her binder said anything. Troy was taller then me and he seemed attached to the hip with Abed, he almost had the same demeanor and smile as Abed as well. Then there was the infamous Jeff, if his looks alone said anything, he was a stuck up, sweater wearing, pompous ass and from the look everyone was giving him as he walked into the class I'd say I was right. 

They all sat down pierce sitting closest to us, Jeff next to him and Abed on the other side of Jeff. Britta sat in front of Jeff and Troy sat in the farthest seat to the left on that row, with Sherly sitting in front of Britta and Annie sitting in the front like the good little wanna be Senpai that she is, but once Chang began his intro duction to the class i got a feeling she would start regretting not sitting in the back or at least out of chang’s monkey finger reach. “Every once in a while,” Chang began, “A student will come up to me and ask Senior Chang why do you teach Spanish?” He chuckles while bending down holding himself up by propping his hands on the front two student desk. He continues, “Why do you teach Spanish...” Suddenly his smile fades from his face and it turns into an ugly scowl. “Why You?..”  He then leans into the boy who sits in the desk on the left  “Why not Math?” He asks scrunching his face up making the boy recoil in fear.  Suddenly whipping his head around and removing his hand from the boy I presume is named Matt desk’s all together. Leaning even closer into Annie's face as he begins to speak again. “why not Photography?” Chang walks forward still slightly crouched so that he can remain in his students line of sight. He then puts both his hands on Sherly’s desk, The smile she gives him is kind but her eyes say she might smack him with her purse at any moment. He then speaks once more in the hushed emotionless tone as before, “Why not.. Martial Arts?” He leans up standing straight and tall, as he begins to gesture his words with his hands in the over dramatic way I’m sure I’ll come to learn as distinctly Chang. “I mean surely it must be in my nature to instruct you in something that ancient like, Oh like building a wall that you can see from outer space.” Everyone in the room begins to look at each other with quizzical looks as the monkey like man continued his odd irrelevant speech. “Well, I’ll tell you why i teach Spanish, it is none of your business. M’kay” At this point his hands are making the classic Italian hand gesture where your thumb is meeting the rest of your fingers and you shake your hands vigorously as he starts to walk backwards towards the front his voice gradually getting louder as he got further away. “Now I don't want to have ANY conversations about what a mysterious and inscrutable man I am.” He then proceeded to stroke long imaginary beard hair as he laughed light a little Irishman in a cereal commercial. As he starts to walk back towards the front he then looks to Sherly and yells “I AM A SPANISH GENIUS!” while pointing at his face with his long twig like fingers. Chang continues his rant while making odd hand gestures like he’s having some kind of a mild stroke, “In Spanish they call me El’ Tigre’ Chino!” Followed by raptor sounds and Chang as he pretend eats Sherly’s neck “Cause my knowledge will bite her face off.” He says as he backs up away from everyone still wearing the same disturbing face as before. Everyone nodded their heads scared to upset the monkey man in the middle of his rant. “so don't question senior Chang or you'll get bit.” He continues to yell ‘ya bit’ for the next few minutes. 

He stood in silence for a minute with his hands clamped together as he studied the room waiting for a response from anyone. it startles everyone when he claps his hands together speaking in Spanish gesturing towards the white board behind him. “We’ll be having conversations in Spanish using the phrases we learned this week and you’ll be partnering up for this project.” He smiles at the boy who was sitting to his left earlier caressing his face with the back of his hand making the boy physically pull away almost tumbling out of his chair. “Now if you’ll look under your desk at the card i placed there, it should either have a picture or a word on it.” He picks up Britta’s and holds it up to the class showing everyone a small white house on the card. “Now anyone with the card that says casa on it will be Britta’s partner.”  Alex seemed to shrink in his seat as Chang made eye contact with him. “Got it, Starburns.”  i turn to look at Alex with a smile mixed with a questionable glare. He looks at me begging for mercy as if those words stung him. “Starburns huh?” I whisper over to him. He slumps his shoulders in defeat and slides deeper into his seat wearing a silly pout on his face. I lay my hand on his desk getting his attention back on me, “Don’t worry Alex I think that name is dehumanizing.” His smile crawled back onto his face and his chipper spirit seemed to return just as soon as it left. Chang claps his hands loudly to get everyone's attention, "Okay! See you Friday, find your partners, and what do we say at the end of class?" Everyone around me very dully grumbles 'Hasta la wago' at Chang while he twirls his arms around like a conductor. "Oh come on hands! Hands Gestures are Ninety percent of Spanish!" This time everyone says it again with a little more pep and they all throw there arms around copying Professor Chang's movements. He tells the class that they did excellent and they all clap as everyone shifts in their seats grabbing cards and talking amongst themselves. I grab mine from under my seat pulling it out to see a horse on my card. "Horse SOOO..?

 "A/N: Hey guys hope you enjoyed this so far but this is where you guys as the fans have to help me out. I want for this character to spend some time with everyone from the show but I'm not sure who to start us off with? Who do you think we should be partners with?

[cami-chats]

A Charmed Past

Fandom: Charmed (1998)

Pairings: Chris Halliwell & Wyatt Halliwell

Warnings: Unchanged Future Wyatt (but he doesn’t do anything violent, just a bit of stealing) 

Wyatt had single-minded focus. Combined with his raw power, it was what made him so dangerous. He had a goal and he was going to accomplish it, no matter what. Chris was different; he had a goal and he had five different plans for how he could make it happen without anyone knowing it was him or even knowing what the goal was. It was why they'd worked so well together, back when Chris had actually been working with him. 

This situation, for example, would've been made better if Chris had been the one to plan it. In fact, when Chris had done the exact same thing, it went better. But Wyatt no, he'd been so focused on following after his brother and getting him back that he'd forgotten one very important detail: when you went to the past, your powers didn't go with you. 

There was no way Chris had made this mistake. Going to the past to change their lives without his powers? It'd be suicide. Either he brought his powers with him, or he found a way to restore them after he got there. Wyatt hoped that it was the second one and also that Chris was willing to share, because as it stood, Wyatt was powerless in an unfamiliar world. Sure he could fight hand to hand and with a sword when he had to, but he was used to his powers, and more importantly, he was used to healing himself. Without that, he was a sitting duck in the grand scheme of powers. 

But powerless or not, Wyatt knew how to get by from when he did undercover work. A swipe here on a busy street and he had some money. He pocketed the cash and left the rest of the wallet on a restaurant's outside table. He walked for a while, a little lost in this world that wasn't very familiar, and stole a little more. It was enough for a snack (because he hadn't eaten in a while) and cab fare to the Manor. He didn't want to show up completely unprepared, so he tested a quick spell before hailing a cab. It was a stupid spell he'd come up with when he was a kid, and all it did was send a gust of wind in the surrounding area. He chanted under his breath, "Bring to me the wind, Zephyr's power lend," and waited to see what-- if anything-- happened. A strong breeze went through the street, and Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief as it blew his hair in his face. 

Of course, that brought up the fact that he needed a hoodie or jacket or something because all black was a little conspicuous in the nice part of the city in broad daylight. Without his powers, he couldn't afford for his hair to get in his face in the possibility of a fight, so he needed a hair-tie as well. He was a decent pickpocket, but full on thievery was a bit beyond what he was capable of right now. 

A quick-- if childish-- incantation later, and he had both items. When they were kids, Chris had made fun of him for his rhymes, but he'd never had any reason to refine it. Spells could backfire; his powers couldn't, and his powers were more reliable anyways. He'd have to go light on the spells or risk retribution for 'personal gain' which was definitely not something he had missed. 

He pulled the hoodie over his head and tied his hair at the base of his neck, then walked in a gas station and bought a granola bar. Now that he wasn't dressed all in black, people weren't quite as prone to avoiding him. It made him blend in more, but it also meant that they were more likely to bump into him, which he wasn't a fan of. He ate the granola bar in quick bites as he walked to a more busy street and flagged down a taxi. This not being able to orb business was a real pain in the ass. 

Wyatt watched the houses pass, the bright colors untainted by riots and the sickly miasma that had taken over pretty much the entire world by the time he'd come to power. It wasn't easy to get used to this, but hopefully he wouldn't have to. He'd talk to Chris, make him realize that what he was trying to do was completely unhinged, and then they could go back to where they belonged. And if things went spectacularly well, he'd be able to pull it off before Chris realized he was powerless and decided to use that to his advantage. Once, he would've thought that his brother would absolutely help him get back his powers as soon as he found out, but Chris was a bit of a wild card these days. He couldn't count on much of anything with him. Wyatt knocked his fingers on the glass to get the cabbie's attention. "Here's fine." He paid him, then got out of the car and started making his way towards the manor. It was a bit of a walk since he hadn't wanted to get dropped off on the front stoop, but it gave him time to try and think of a plan. 

He made it to Prescott Street without having any good ideas, and then he made it up the stairs and was still drawing a blank. Whatever, plans never worked with Chris anyways. He rang the doorbell, then waited. Phoebe was the one to answer the door, and she looked much younger than the last time he'd seen her. She'd aged well, of course, but she was what, thirty right now? No amount of well aging could replace youth. 

"Can I help you?" she asked, half nice and half suspicious. Given the number of times demons turned up on the doorstep, that was fair. 

"I'm here to see Chris, is he around?" 

She gave him another look, then-- probably sensing no ill intentions-- yelled over her shoulder, "Chris!" A long moment with no answer and she held up one finger to him. "Just a second." She closed the door, but it did nothing to muffle the sound from when she screamed his name again, this time loud enough for everyone in the house to hear her. 

Wyatt sighed and leaned against the wall as he waited. 

It took a minute, but then there was the sound of footsteps and Chris and Phoebe arguing. The words were impossible to make out at first, but he caught the tale end of Phoebe saying, "Well if it's a demon you can face him first, it's not really my problem. Don't worry, I won't let him kill you. Besides, he looked pretty human to me." 

"Phoebe, I don't have time for-" 

She opened the door, and Chris stopped cold, eyes going wide. 

Wyatt couldn't help but be amused by that. "Hi Chris." 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"I take it that means you aren't happy to see me," Wyatt said, at the same time Phoebe said, "Chris!" 

Chris clenched his jaw. "Phoebe, can you give us a minute?" 

"Does this mean he's not a demon?" she asked, but she already knew the answer to that. 

"Are you giving us a minute or not?" 

"Well I'm just saying-" 

Chris rolled his eyes and stepped outside, shutting the door closed. 

"Oh come on!" she yelled through the door, then threw up her hands and walked away. 

"What are you doing here?" Chris hissed. "And since when do you ring the doorbell? Or dress incognito?" 

"I learned a touch of subtlety in your absence," he said drily. 

Chris stared at him for a second. "You don't have your powers, do you." 

"No," he admitted, because lying to Chris didn't work. 

"For god's sake, Wyatt, did you chase me to the past and not think about it?" 

Wyatt glared at him. 

"Oh my god. How did you plan on bringing me back? I'm not going to go willingly, and without your powers, you can't force me." 

"I was hoping you'd help me get them back. You still have yours, after all." 

"You expect me to give you your powers back so you can force me back to the future," Chris said flatly. 

"Anything's going to sound bad when you use that tone for it, Chris." 

"How would you make it sound good?" 

"If you don't help me, there's a high probability a demon will kill me." 

For an instant, it worked. Chris was worried about Wyatt's wellbeing and he was about to agree that it was for the best if Wyatt had his powers. But then he remembered that here in the past, he wasn't in immediate danger. "That's- no, that's not going to happen. No one knows who you are, and if you stay here, the sisters will be able to protect you from any stray fireballs." 

"You want me to stay here?" was Wyatt's immediate response. Then he said, "Wait, 'the sisters'?" Wyatt had had a bit of a falling out with Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige after he took over the Underworld and stopped hiding that knowledge from them, but Chris had gotten along with them to their bitter end. He wouldn't be calling them that unless... "Did you not tell them who you are? Holy shit Chris, and I thought I had poor planning." 

"I couldn't just waltz up to the doorway and announce that you were going to turn evil and by the way, I'm his brother." 

"You can't waltz," was all he said to that. 

Chris glared at him. "You are so damn annoying." 

"If you couldn't tell them before, I don't see why that's changed now." 

"It's changed because you're here, dumbass." 

"You're the one that didn't tell them who your mother was." It was fun to do this again without the safety of the entire world at risk; if demons saw them bickering like they were still kids, they'd attack. Demons always thought they could run the place better than Wyatt, and the casualty would end up being Chris. But there weren't any demons here to see them, and it's not like they were wasting time. No matter when they left the past, they'd get back to their time at the same point. And even if he happened to be wrong about that, he'd get his powers back when they got back to the right time, and he'd be able to get everything back under his control. "How is it that you can be so smart about everything except family?" 

"Oh let me guess, this is when you tell me that it's pointless to try and resist your rule so I might as well join you before I reach the same end?" 

"I wouldn't let that happen." 

"Really?" Chris said, raising an eyebrow. "Because you don't have any active powers right now. It kind of looks like you aren't in a position to let or not let anything happen." 

"Nothing's going to happen to either of us in this time," Wyatt said, rolling his eyes. 

"You sound awfully sure about that for a guy that can't orb." 

"You can keep trying to rub it in, but it's not going to do you any good." 

"Let me get this straight, I refuse to help you get your powers back and you're cool with it, but when I let off a confetti cannon on your birthday, that was unacceptable." 

Wyatt gave him a flat look. "You did it during my official coronation." 

"You were already in charge, you didn't need a coronation." 

"Demons like their rituals, even if they're unnecessary." 

"I don't see what was so bad about it. The place needed the color, it was all brown rock and cave wall." 

"I had to kill ten demons, Chris." Because they'd automatically thrown energy balls at the disturbance, which meant they'd nearly killed Chris, and Wyatt hadn't really meant to kill them but protecting Chris had always been a reflex. It hadn't been a good look for his coronation, but there wasn't anything the rest of the Underworld could do about it. 

"Like I said, I don't see what's so bad about that." 

"You're a pain in the ass," Wyatt said, but there was no heat behind it. 

"You could've avoided me being a pain in the ass for a while if you'd stayed in the future where you belong." 

"Are you really that unhappy to see me? It's been a long time since we could have a conversation without you trying to lecture me about good versus evil and personal gain." 

"That's what you think ruined our conversations? Not-- I dunno-- your being the evil ruler of the entire world?" 

"See? Like that." 

Chris rolled his eyes. Before they could keep arguing with each other, the door opened, this time with Piper standing there. Baby Wyatt was on her hip, and this was already one of the weirdest experiences of his life. "Uh Chris? Yeah hi," she said with a terse smile, "I don't know what you're busy doing, but we could use you inside. Not to trivialize what Paige is going through, but she's having another identity crisis and we could use our whitelighter to talk some sense into her." 

"Does that ever work?" Wyatt asked. 

"No," Chris said. "Piper, we've got bigger problems than Paige's temp job kick or saving Richard quest." 

"Uh huh, and how's that?" 

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to point at Wyatt. "This is Wyatt. From the future." 

"What? But- Chris you said he was dead." 

Wyatt laughed. "What?" 

"No, I said evil gets to him, which it does." 

"He looks fine," she said, peering at him and holding her baby tighter unconsciously. "You're Wyatt?" 

"Yeah. Hi Mom, it's been a while." 

Her face fell. "Do we not get along in the future?" 

"You're dead," Wyatt said bluntly. "You have been for a while. And Chris thinks I'm evil because I took over the Underworld, he's always been pretty narrow minded." 

"I'm sorry, what? You- you took over the Underworld. Like you became the new Source?" 

Well that tone didn't sound good. "It was better than letting demons fight over it. And no, the Source's powers have a will of their own, I wasn't risking it." 

"Yeah, cause just being the regular king of hell was so much better." 

"Shut up." 

"Do you two know each other?" 

"Why yes we do," Wyatt said with a shit eating grin. 

"Wyatt-" Chris said warningly, but Wyatt ignored him. 

"He's my brother." 

Chris glared at him, and Piper's eyes went wide. 

"Chris...?" 

"You're such a dick," he muttered, and Wyatt just smiled wider. It had been a while since he had this much fun. Being ruler of the world didn't lend to a lot of relaxation time, and he had an image to uphold anyways. 

"Besides, Mom, as you can see, I don't need saving. I'm just here to bring Chris back before he can mess up the timeline." 

"Right, because telling her that was so great for the timeline. Look Piper, it's nothing to worry about. Wyatt doesn't have his active powers, so he can't do any damage here. All we have to do is follow the original goal and we'll be fine." 

"Get inside." 

"Uh, Piper are you-" 

"Now." 

Wyatt and Chris shared a look, which boiled down to Shit, we're in for it now. 

[roswelldetails]

RNM 2x07 - Como La Flor

Apologies for being so late this week!! Lots of translating to do, and research. Mucho gracias to @queenrikki for reviewing this one for me!

EPISODE SUMMARY:

OLD WOUNDS — Liz (Jeanine Mason) is forced to revisit a painful part of her past when her mother Helena (guest star Bertila Damas) shows up at the diner unexpectedly. Michael (Michael Vlamis) urges Maria (Heather Hemmens) to seek help after she experiences a strange vision, and Kyle’s (Michael Trevino) attempt to get Steph (guest star Justina Adorno) to open up doesn’t go as planned. Finally, Helena’s arrival in Roswell sends Rosa spiraling. Nathan Dean and Lily Cowles also star. Barbara Brown directed the episode written by Danny Tolli & Carolina Rivera (#207). Original airdate 4/27/2020. 

DETAILS:

Max and Isobel both describing to Rosa how it feels to use (and control) your powers.

Isobel:

"Ground your intention.  Feel the current running through your body, your hands guiding it with purpose."

Max:

"Okay, draw energy from your spine…"

Arturo on Rosa:

"I heard a little mouse crying in her room this morning."

Escamoles - like Liz says in the episode, they're ant larvae. One article I found called them "the Caviar of the Mexican desert". 

Helena calls Liz "mi corazón", which means "my heart".

"Arturito, te ves bien."

Arturo, you look good.

Adding "ito" to someone's name in Spanish can both be positive or negative.  It can refer to smallness or also tenderness (like an affectionate pet name).

@tasyfa pointed out that there was a little timeline error in this scene.  Arturo says that he hasn't seen Helena in 7 years, since Jim Valenti's funeral, but last season it was established in 1x12 that Valenti died in 2014.  Also, remember the show is a year behind reality right now, so it's still 2019. So off by 2 years.

The reason for Helena's visit - transferring her ownership of the Crashdown for Liz so that Liz can sponsor Arturo's residency for citizenship. I did a lot of research trying to understand and clarify why this is.  Thanks to those who weighed in when I was struggling to find a clear answer. Eventually I reached out to Define American, the non-profit org that provides support to the show on racial and immigration related issues.  Here's the response:

The short version is that Liz has to meet minimum income requirements in order to sponsor Arturo, because she has to be able to certify that she can financially support him.  Since she's currently unemployed except for the Crashdown, transferring half of the ownership to her makes her a business partner and helps her to meet the income requirements. 

The Spanish:

"¿Cuánto quieres, Mamá?" 

How much do you want, Mama?

"She has a very thoughtful manicure."

If you don't understand, it's cool. I'm not going to explain here.  Feel free to DM me though! I won't judge, promise!!

Narrative thread about Max's nightmare/memory continues from 2x03 and 2x06.  Don't forget that 2x03 was just Isobel remembering it. Max was a hallucination. So when he brings it up here, it might be something they haven't discussed in a very long time.

The Spanish from Rosa on her red jacket:

"Eres una mujercita."

Basically translates to you're a little woman or young woman.  I assume the "cita" is supposed to be diminutive here.

"Mom is an opportunist.  If she found out she had a kid who came back from the dead she would use you to get to Anderson Cooper. And then she'd use him to promote her latest lounge singer gig."

"Isobel pays double.  Becky tax." 

A Becky, according to common colloquial use, is an annoying white woman, usually entitled and privileged.

Lead bartender quit..meaning there's a job opening at the Pony…hmm. Wonder if any of our characters need a job... 🤔

Maria's vision:

Michael drops the change

Flash to Kyle dropping his keys & bending down to pick them up.

Kyle staring into a bright light.

Maria shouting his name.

"My heart was broken.  Liz ended things and a part of me died."

Max's story to Valenti… not all THAT far off from the truth.

Note: has anyone told him about Valenti investigating him? We know Liz and Isobel were questioned.  Michael was present when Liz was questioned. Kyle knows the whole theory his mom was pursuing. And he just wanders in there like nothing happened?

"Try leading several short staffed investigations with the mayor breathing down your neck."

Another subtle reference to the mayor, including the election banners hung around town in S2 and his "anti-immigrant agenda" which was referenced in S1.

Max has been with the department since he was 18 - this is the first time we learned that.  In 2x05 we learned he was there at 21. So that timeline has now been further clarified. Which also means he was hired during Jim Valenti's time as Sheriff.

"I need eyes on you at all times now."

Definitely implies a lack of trust, or possibly still wanting to keep an eye on him for the purpose of her investigation (not a fact, just a theory).

Steph tells Kyle that she's always hanging around the hospital because she's doing admin work for her dad.

"I'm starting to feel like you're a ghost who only I can see."

"Ask them if they can see me. Or if you were just talking to a ghost." 

Note that ghosts have been a running theme this season with Rosa returning from the dead. This seems to be in line with that. Or are they subtly tying Steph to Rosa (I'm grasping at straws here, probably).

Liz leaves the safe on 3...but before she changes it is on 81. Helena leaves it on 78 after stealing the ring. Good continuity, RNM!

The whole "my mom hates cops" theme is a little confusing to me.  I mean, it makes sense given what we know about Helena. Except that she had an affair with Jim Valenti, who was… a cop. And also an addict.  Maybe it was different because they rehabbed together (just an assumption, not a fact). Or maybe the Jim experience contributed to her dislike of cops.

Liz...might be grasping at straws when she refers to police work as "something you love" to Max.  He didn't exactly seem enamoured by the job when we first met him in Season 1.

First time we learn Max and Isobel's father's name. And it is… Dave. 🤔

The Spanish Helena uses when she meets Max:

"Pero que guapo estas."

But how handsome you are.

"Cuidado Arturito."

Careful, Arturo…

Helena found Liz and Diego's wedding registry online. 

“Look there are medical reasons for non-drug-induced hallucinations - epilepsy, schizophrenia…”

“My mom has a degenerative brain disease. My grandma did too. I've always known I'd be next.”

Helena wanted to be Selena.

Which fits with Liz's lounge singer comment earlier.

And the "drunkenly singing in the car with your daughters in the backseat" fits with the story Liz and Rosa discussed in 2x02 about the car accident they got into as kids with Helena driving drunk.

Helena shows Liz her ten years sober chip, suggesting that she's been sober since Rosa died, but Rosa finds pills in Helena's car later in the episode.  Oxycodone. The same drug that Rosa used to steal from her mom as a kid (which we learned about in 2x04) and the same drug that she and Kyle discussed when he was checking her health in 2x01.

During Helena's toast to Rosa:

Preciosa = precious

Rosa Linda… still not sure personally if this is a continuity error or a pet name.  I’m inclined to go with a pet name. Throughout the whole episode Helena uses lots of pet names, nicknames, diminutives to address people. Rosa Linda may be just another version of this since Rosa's middle name was pretty well established as Helena in Season 1 between her grave, memorial pamphlet, etc.

Kyle calls attention to Steph's bandage on her arm.  She says she gave blood, but it feels like she's evading.

Also she calls him McDreamy, which is a Grey's Anatomy reference. Kyle called himself McSexy (another Grey's nickname) in 1x08 as well.

Note: I've seen some people talk about the speech about his sick friend as being about Maria, but I think he's really talking about Steph.  Or both, vaguely. He's certainly trying to get Steph to open up to him. Here's what he says:

"I just found out a friend of mine is sick. And I can't do anything to help her. And I hate feeling helpless."

Only after Steph puts her walls back up, does he gesture to Mimi's files.

The Spanish:

"Oh, ándale, gùero."

Ándale is like, go! Or let's go! Gùero we discussed earlier...basically white boy.

Por favor - please 

Rosa's art that we first saw in 2x05 now looks finished:

Isobel's graffiti "In Pod We Trust"

Both Isobel and Rosa's graffiti:

Isobel's assessment of Rosa's art

"That's a black hole. An unstoppable force of destruction. And it's getting closer. I see a girl looking into her own doom. She thinks it's inevitable, that she can't stop it, but she can. See, she created it. That means she can destroy it."

Rosa on Isobel's efforts to help her:

"You and Max, you keep talking about harnessing emotion and grounding myself, right? But I can't do that.  It is in my DNA to be screwed up. Literally. My mom's mentally ill. So, so am I. I was broken long before Noah did what he did. That's why he chose me to prey on.  That's probably why he chose you too."

Maria on her grandmother:

"When I was a child my Grandma Patty was the only adult who understood my make-believe world. Thing is, I was six.  So my favorite things about her were just illness, I guess…"

Maria on her mom:

"She was always kind of out there.  By the time I realized it was more than that, I just became obsessed with money. Wanted to be able to take care of her. I invested everything Grandma Patty left me, and I worked, scrounged.  It was about three days after my mom was finally fired from her job at the Pony, I bought the place."

Maria's blood does not contain the alien protein that Kyle found in the Pod Squad and Rosa after being in the Pod for a decade. (and yes, he actually said Pod Squad, which feels like an OG fandom victory)

"Look, there is one thing I noticed in your grandmother's file. Her insurance company is the same one that paid for my dad's cancer treatments...My dad got cancer because of an alien incident at Caulfield Prison. A fake insurance company established by Project Shepherd covered his bills."

"Okay so my grandmother got sick at the same alien prison where your mother died?"

More Spanish (there's lots of it this week).

Helena, when she gestures to the present:

"Abre tu regalo."

Open your gift.

Quinces is just slang for Quinceanera.

Just in case you're not familiar with quinceaneras (Liz's was also referenced in 1x02).

"Mija, me enseñas tus prom photos?"

Daughter, show me your prom photos.

Regarding the power outage.  Liz thought it was Max. Max thought it was Rosa. But the wire is frayed, like it was cut or chewed through. So it wasn't alien power related.  When Arturo finds the wire though, he says, "Must have been a little mouse." Which is how he referred to Rosa earlier in the episode. So the question is, does he actually think it was a mouse? Or does he think Rosa cut the wire? And if Rosa did cut the wire, then why? To distract them while she goes after her mom's car?

In the big Liz/Helena argument, Helena calls Max “a güerito cop”.  Güero means white person, similar to the more commonly used gringo.  But by adding the “ito” onto the end (like discussed before), Helena is basically diminuitizing Max.  She’s using the “smallness” above to basically imply that he’s some white nobody.

“I may not be the PTA mom who made cookies for bake sales or hosted sleepovers, but I sacrificed everything to come to this country to give you a better life.”

This is...not actually true.  Liz and Rosa are both natural born U.S. citizens, born in Roswell.  So she didn’t “come to this country” for that reason. She was already here when Liz and Rosa came into the picture.  And it’s not like she came pregnant with Rosa or anything, since Rosa is Jim Valenti’s daughter.

The ring that Helena took was ARTURO'S mother's ring.  It wasn't even Helena's family's heirloom.   

Liz and Arturo sharing flan for dessert.  At the start of the episode before Helena arrived they discussed making flan for Rosa.

Arturo admits that he always knew the truth about Rosa's heritage. (*fistpump* that's one of my headcanons coming true). 

"Rosa es mi hija, siempre y para toda la vida."

Rosa is my daughter, always and for life.

"Maybe you're right. I am playing the hero. Just like you're playing the politician's perfect arm candy.  See, I did a little digging. And your boyfriend, Dirk-- he ran for city council. It's very impressive. But there's no mention of your daughters. I'm guessing Dirk doesn't even know about Liz or Rosa.  Does he know anything about you, Helena? 'Cause it would be such a shame if he found out about a little town called Roswell."

Helena gives Max the ring, but keeps the box… maybe that's what Helena really wanted?

Huevos = eggs.  Basically, slang for balls.

"I know that face.  You uncovered a massive conspiracy."

"I checked the Caulfield drives. No sign of a Patricia DeLuca, but there was a Patricia Harris. Her maiden name. She signed up to participate in an experimental trial. Government was interested in weaponizing alien abilities. They wanted to create super soldiers. Your grandma was one of the first human subjects."

"Kind of wish I was an alien instead."

"What happened to the experiment?"

"It was a total failure. Caulfield shut it down in the '70s after people started dying. I don't understand how your grandmother got involved."

"I do. Henrietta Lacks, Tuskegee, Holmesburg.  The DeLucas aren't the first black people to be secretly experimented on."

Highly encourage you to read these if you're unfamiliar with any of these references.  It's African-American history (and really a black mark on U.S. history) that's rarely taught in schools.

Henrietta Lacks:

Tuskegee:

Holmesburg:

Reality versus Maria's flashes… great gifset by @rosaortecho on this here:

Kyle rips his jacket, staggers out to the parking lot, drops his keys, and is almost hit by a car, but Michael throws him out of the way with his powers (and Kyle still ends up injured because he lands on a glass bottle).

"Now that we know your illness is related to Caulfield we can find a cure for it."

"Maybe it's not an illness. I saw the future today, Guerin. When I first found out Grandma Patty was experimented on, I was furious.  But what if my genetic inheritance isn't just injustice? It's also actual superpowers. Saved a life today. And not just any life-- Kyle Valenti's. Tomorrow he's gonna turn around and save five more lives."

Liz and Rosa's dueling big sister act is super fascinating.  Rosa admits that she wasn't going to burn the car, and then she saw Liz crying, felt helpless, and that's when her powers went all wacky and caused it to explode.

Meanwhile, Liz has spent the whole episode trying to keep Rosa safe from Helena, and is trying to comfort her here by talking about Helena's sobriety.

But--Rosa stole Helena's pills, so she knows Helena is not sober, and she doesn't tell Liz that.  Why? To protect her.

At some point these two should probably stop keeping secrets to protect each other and start actually sharing what they know.

Kyle stitches himself up.

Steph quoted in this scene:

"I was up in the gallery contemplating American downfall thanks to progressive socialism."

"People tend to bail when things get real. I'm not into that."

Cameron's car was impounded a couple hours away.

Max is turning in his badge and gun and is turning down desk duty to search for Cam.

Isobel and Michael's discussion at the Pony:

"Do you think that Noah chose me because I was already broken?"

"I think you are the only one of us who ever keeps it together."

"I'm serious, Michael. The night that drifter attacked me, why am I the only one who started blacking out? I mean, Max literally murdered a man, but I'm the one who breaks?"

"You were traumatized. We were kids. At that age, trauma gets etched on to your soul."

"But what if it's not in my soul? What if it's in my DNA? Look, my whole life, I've played Stepford wife, because I thought that's what I was supposed to do. But...I need to understand myself now. I need to know where I'm from.  And if I don't know who my biological parents are, how am I ever gonna know who I really am?" 

"What are you saying, Iz?"

"I know that we said we shouldn't look into the past, but…"

"It keeps pulling you back. Me too. I spent my whole life thinking I'd build a ship and blast off into the ether. And then the minute I decide to leave that all behind and focus on this good thing in front of me, I'm sucked back in. Maria's family was experimented on at Caulfield. I need to find out more so I can find a cure for her illness."

Rosa takes one of her mom's pills. 😭

MUSIC:

1. Cactus Groove "This World"

2. Shelly Fairchild "Drive"

3. Mathis Hunter "Mrs. Vinegar"

4. Big Stone City "Good For Zero"

5. Big Stone City "Way Down Below"

6. Selena "Bidi Bidi Bom Bom"

7. Elizabeth Moen "Best I Can Do"

8. Wagons "Keep Coming Back"

9. AG "Where Is My Mind" (Pixies Cover)

[winterironbang]

Art Previews

Below you will find the art previews for this year, remember authors that its not quite time for claiming yet!

Take a good look and pick 2-3 favourites and remember which Number they are for when claiming does begin.

1. Prompt: Tony was taken by Hydra not long after the New York invasion and experimented heavily on Tony. The Winter Soldier escapes his captivity and kinds Tony locked up in his dragon form in a huge cell and decides he should break this poor creature out as well.The Winter Soldier could be his own personality next to Bucky, and if so he doesn't like Steve if that would come up. Restrictions: No Rape/Non-con, No OT3 (Stuckony), preferably a rather happy ending, or bittersweet. No sad endings. CLAIMED

2 Prompt: Tony has always had a thing for swimsuit models.Limitations: go wild.Additional notes: happy to be as involved or uninvolved as the writer wants! CLAIMED

3. Warnings: None that I can think of? Prompts: Definitely don’t have to stick to this, but this was just what was in my mind drawing this — They’re a Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Demon each trying to do a good job for their assigned Human - Natasha Romanov. I’d love it if maybe they’ve been working together over time to help Natasha (maybe to get out from under Red Room) without actually really seeing each other for a while until eventually they do. Not-Quite-Identity!Porn of some sort, with a bit of oh no he’s hot when they meet. Just imagine the hijinks with a little Nat and these boys as her conscience! Ha! Limitations: I know Tony is depicted as a Demon here, but this is Tony, please don’t make him out to be the actual Devil? He’s just doing his job but - oh no! - he gets attached to his Human and adversary and only wants the best for them, screw Hell’s policies CLAIMED

4. warnings: none i thinkprompt: Post-apocalyptic AU! Scrappy mechanic Tony meets badass loner and fighter Bucky (with a clunky metal arm)? Maybe some getting to know (and later: trust) each other and surviving (together?) in a hostile world? Trying to make a living? limitatons and any additional notes:  No dubcon/noncon between Tony/Bucky, no sad ending, no super descriptive toture/body horror, Tony and Bucky should survive. Angst/Pain/Suspense otherwise are fine :)The second art is optional. CLAIMED

5. Desired collaboration level(s): I would love to be included with the writing/brainstorming process, even just so much as being a cheerleader for it!-Additional details/requests/Prompt: Pre-WI/getting together fic. Wing Au. Maybe something like "Winged beings are discriminated against/unliked/people are nervous of them. Picture scene is: Tony was sitting out in the rain/stuck in the rain, Bucky comes and sheilds him from it with his wing. -Do Wants: Hurt/Comfort, angst is fine too, must be happy ending please, I prefer canon-divergent, but total au is fine too. -Do NOT Wants: Beastiality, Mpreg, A/B/O dynamics, BDSM, D/S verse, Hardcore kinks, Genderbends, Non-con, MCD, underage/age-changes/de-aging, Sad endings!(I would prefer no other/background ships, but can be discussed!) CLAIMED

6. Warnings: blood Limitation: non-negotiable absolutely no Steve Rogers bashing Wants: OUAT crossover (non negotiable). Jefferson IS Bucky OR Bucky is Jeffersons twin. Steve as a main character as well. Prompt; Bucky goes missing after a mission, with seemingly no reason. A year later They find Bucky, only he's calling himself Jefferson and crying about a broken hat, and a horrific scar around his neck.

7. warnings: possible gun violence, languageprompt: loosely based on Killing eve "you hired me to kill you!?" "I wanted to see you..." basically, Tony and Bucky (established relationship? Mutual pining? ) haven't spoken in awhile for reasons (are they fighting? Busy? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) so Tony Hires Bucky to kill him. limitatons and any additional notes: none that I can think of but if you think there's something that could be squicky/a no go, just lemme know. I'm very open to collaboration with my author. CLAIMED

8.  No warnings or limitations.  CLAIMED

9. Warnings: None Prompt: Tony Stark meets Bucky Barnes in 1993 and they both fall for each other. One night, Bucky starts to cry. Tony asks what's wrong and Bucky tells him what happened to his parents. Notes: It really doesn't matter how you end this fic as long it includes some good old fashioned angst! CLAIMED

10. Warnings: noneNotes: Was thinking of a Brookly-99 spin on it, something cute and funny for some feel good happy, but very open to anything really :) CLAIMED

11. warnings: None Prompt: (Description: View is outside of a building. In one window Tony plays the violin. In the other Bucky types away.) CLAIMED

12. Warnings:NonePrompt: (description: Bucky is sitting atop a motorcycle. Tony is approaching him, offering his hand for a handshake. Scene is dusk on an empty road.) CLAIMED

13. prompt: tony is one of the last of his kind (inherited from his mother’s side). he hides his wings from the world, and only pepper, happy, and rhodey know what he is. everything else is canon as per the mcu. it’s up to the author to decide how far in the universe they want to take it, and if they wish to incorporate his wings elsewhere in the series, but tony is iron man and it must be post winter soldier. pre-relationship to getting together. limitations: please no graphic depictions of rape, suicide, or self-harm (specifically cutting. other forms of self-harm are okay, but please no self-inflicted cutting). no character bashing, ESPECIALLY of steve. no major character death. things i would like to see: BAMF!tony, ptsd (from either bucky or tony, or both!), a COOL secret reveal, angst, hurt/comfort, and fluff. some smut is okay! i would love if tony keeps the arc reactor. arm maintenance!! please!! tony being terrified of bucky finding out about his wings, and bucky being scared of hurting tony. relevant notes: tony’s wings are 18 ft (5.4 m) in diameter, and are red and gold. bucky still has hydra arm. that’s about it! i’m flexible on most things :) CLAIMED

14. Description/Prompt: John Wick AU in MCU Open for brainstorming or alternate interpretations Warnings: canon typical violence for story (john wick levels or mcu levels up to author?) Limitations:  DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings CLAIMED

15. Description/Prompt: any frontier myth/ old wild west tropes welcome Open for brainstorming or alternate interpretations Warnings: canon typical violence for story? Limitations:  DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings CLAIMED

16. Prompt: Romancing The Stone AU. Tony is a tech reliant city boy who is out of his depth in the South American jungle while trying to save a friend. Bucky is the broke traveller who he convinces to be his guide. Adventures and hijinks and a happy ending ensue. Notes/Limitations: Doesn't have to follow the movie if you're not familiar with it. I don't want Tony to be a damsel in distress that needs to be rescued, just a fish out of water who adapts to his new environment. Any rating is fine, smut is welcome, no character bashing.  CLAIMED

17. warnings: general audiences prompt: Bucky is part of the Avengers but he and Tony keep their distance. On a mission Tony saves Bucky from another fall. Later he asks Tony why he didn't let him slip when he knows he killed his parents. He doesn't believe Tony forgave him and confesses that he sometimes hates Steve for not catching him limitations: no Steve/Bucky/Tony, preferably no Stony, no ABO, no mpreg, preferably no BDSM or dom/sub CLAIMED

18.  warnings: malnutrition, (minor) injuries, shackleslimitations: anything involving children and/or pregnancy CLAIMED

19. Warnings:none Prompt: Mage Tony and assassin/rogue Bucky. Limitatons: No major character death, no infidelity, no unhappy ending, Bucky did not kill Tony's parents, would be absolutely fine with graphic sex Additional notes: Art will have at least one more companion piece featuring Bucky/Winter in Assassin type garb and probably wielding daggers. CLAIMED

20. warnings: none? prompt: Dreadful pirate Bucky with a heart of gold! limitaions and any other notes relevant to the authors for claiming: I'd prefer it if Bucky wasn't actually a bad guy. Go easy on the gore, and please don't do any noncon or dubcon between the OTP. Angst or pain are good as long as there is at least a hopeful ending! CLAIMED

21. Prompt: After the death of King Howard Stark, his son Anthony had to step up to the throne as the rightful heir. James Buchanan Barnes, a knight and new member of the Royal Guard, is sworn to protect his king no matter what. Even if that means protecting Anthony from his own damn feelings. Warnings: N/A Limitations: major character death, terminal illness, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, racism, incest, ableism Notes: Their designs are fantasy-influenced more than historical, and even though I was using MCU as reference, I aged Tony down since canonically Howard died when he was younger anyway! Also the scribble of a background is supposed to be inside the castle, during a party/ball or something? CLAIMED

22. Artist Withdrew.

23. Warnings: None Prompt: The Addams Family AU Limitations/notes: None CLAIMED

24. warnings: none? prompt: Warlord Bucky gets a new conquest: Tony. (How? tribute? prisoner? Marriage contract?) Tony may expect the worst, but slowly discover Bucky isn't so bad... limitaions and any other notes relevant to the authors for claiming: please no evil Bucky. I like getting to know each other and slowly falling in love. No dubcon/noncon between tony/bucky. CLAIMED

25. Warnings: implied violence, kidnappingPrompt: I went with four comic panels sort of depicting a kidnapping scenario. Bucky (probably) wouldn’t be the kidnapper — i'm gonna try and make him look more surprised in the final draft. Limitations: Go wild. G ratings through Explicit is fine with me. Preferably no M-Preg though.  CLAIMED

26. Warnings: None CLAIMED

27. Warnings: None CLAIMED

28. Description/Prompt: fluff or comfort? Warnings: - Limitations:  DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings CLAIMED

29. Desired collaboration level(s): I would love to be included with the writing/brainstorming process, even just so much as being a cheerleader for it! Additional details/requests/ Prompt: Human!Tony/Werewolf!Bucky. Werewolf au. Do Wants: Hurt/Comfort, angst is fine too, must be happy ending please, I prefer canon-divergent, but total au is fine too. Do NOT Wants: Beastiality, Mpreg, A/B/O dynamics, BDSM, D/S verse, Hardcore kinks, Genderbends, Non-con, MCD, underage/age-changes/de-aging, Sad endings!(I would prefer no other/background ships, but can be discussed!) CLAIMED

[novaviis]

sick!dick au, part four. hooo boy.

read part one here. read part two here. read part three here. 

Dick has a good week. He doesn’t suffer any migraines or vertigo, he’s adjusting better to his medication so he’s not as tired, he doesn’t have any fits – it’s a small victory, but it’s the best he’s felt in months. With it comes a sort of foreboding, knowing that it won’t last, that soon enough he’ll be right back in hell, so he doesn’t take it for granted. He still takes it easy, if only to save the people he loves the heart attack, but he enjoys feeling good while it lasts. He’s almost like his old self again, more lively and bright, without that heavy fog of fatigue and illness clouding his smile.

Because he’s been on a streak of good days, Wally asks Dick out of the blue one morning if he wants to go out that night. Just on a quiet date, somewhere nice. The weather’s been good too, so Wally woos him over with talks of patio dinners and maybe a glass of wine. Dick doesn’t take much convincing. Wally just smiles and says good, because he’s been planning this date night for a while and it’d be a damn shame if the other half of the date didn’t show. Dick does mention that he’d like to get a light workout in while he’s feeling up to it, and oddly enough Jason offered to go with and spot him. Wally fakes surprise and it’s super obvious. It should have been suspicious.

So, Dick spends some time at the gym in the Manor, just some running and light stuff – he doesn’t risk the high bars today, not wanting to push a good thing and ruin it. Jason is being really… weird, though. Dick just brushes it off as him not wanting to be back at the Manor at first, but he’s almost drawing things out, distracting him so it takes longer to finish his routines. Then, all at once, he’s all about wrapping things up, pushing Dick toward the showers so he can get cleaned up and ready for his date. I really should have been suspicious, and in a way it was, but it’s easier to just brush off his brother being a weirdo.

Dick showers off and gets changed into the sort of casual formal wear he usually wears on nicer dates (though his and Wally’s definition of a “nice” date is anywhere that serves more than one type of alcohol and doesn’t have a condiment stand). When he’s ready he heads upstairs, expecting Wally to pick him up. Wally is there, waiting for him, but the car isn’t. Barely holding back a grin, Wally suggests that they take a walk before they head out, enjoy the weather y’know? Dick doesn’t want to be late if they have reservations somewhere, but Wally just laughs and tells him not to worry about it. So, they walk out to the garden. It really is a nice night out, just before dusk when the sky is stained with peach and lilac. Dick is so busy admiring it at first that he doesn’t notice when Wally stops. When he does, he turns, and finds that Wally is on his knee.

“You’re fucking kidding.” The words leave his mouth before he can think properly, but he’s got the biggest smile on his face and his eyes are already watering.

“Not on your life, Boy Wonder,” Wally grins back and faulters for a second as he reaches into his pocket. “I’m gonna be totally honest, I had a big speech planned about how much I love you, but… you look so damn good tonight I think I forgot all of it. So, what of it? You wanna get married right now?”

Dick is already nodding and pulling Wally up to his feet before he finishes, so it takes him a moment to register the right now, but he does, he asks Wally what he means. Wally is slipping the ring on his finger when he tells him that this was technically Dick’s idea. As he takes Dick’s hand and leads him around to the back of the Manor, he prefaces that they don’t have to do it like this, that there’s no pressure, that everyone knows the deal and if he doesn’t want to they’re just having a nice little party. Dick’s head is still swimming, and he can’t make sense of any of it until they walk around the corner and there’s a fucking wedding set up. It’s small, just immediate family and their friends (Wally’s family, aside from Barry and Iris, is missing but no one points it out). A little aisle, some fold out chairs, flowers and string lights all set up on the back lawn of the Manor. Dick is in total shock at first, and Wally is afraid he’ll be pissed that he essentially planned their wedding without him, and stammers out that they’ll do this for real one day, and he still stands by the fact that they’re not doing this “just in case” but he knew that this was what Dick wanted and it was worth the peace of mind – Dick just kisses him and tells him to shut up and marry him already.

It’s a quiet and simple ceremony, no bells and whistles, the officiant is from the court house, and it’s all tied up neatly within minutes – and no flash photography. The music is quiet in case Dick gets a migraine. At the after party, just a little dinner that Alfred was more than happy to put together, there are no dance lights – but hell, it’s no boring. It’s a night of laughter and love with friends. It’s all they need. Later that night, as they’re sharing their first dance, Wally feels Dick lean into him with his head on his shoulder. He feels a light wetness on his neck. For a single, terrifying moment, he’s reminded of that night at the Gala that started all this hell, when Dick collapsed against him just like this. He pauses, asking if Dick is okay, heart in his throat – but Dick just smiles and pulls back enough to show Wally that he’s just a little teary, that this is the best night of his life and he didn’t think it was possible to love him more. They’re married now, it’s official, and nothing can tear them apart.

And it’s not as if that was the “calm before the storm” and everything went to shit after that. Nothing that cinematic. There are rocky days, and there are good days, and there are very-bad-no-good-at-all days. Things continue on as before. Dick and Wally just take things one day at a time. Dick gets slammed with a migraine at work, and Wally has to pick him up and tell him regretfully, hours later when he’s a little more coherent, that he’s being put on sick leave. Dick does not take it well, but in a begrudging way, knew that it was inevitable.

Then, months later, Wally gets a call from Dick while he’s at the lab. He leans back in his chair and answers it casually, assuming Dick’s just calling to talk, maybe sort out dinner or something. All he can hear on the other end is heavy breathing. Wally sits upright in a second. Dick hasn’t had a seizure in nearly a year at that point. He was stupid enough to believe they wouldn’t come back. Dick sounds like he’s struggling to say Wally’s name, and all Wally can think is that he should have called an ambulance, that he would have if he’d been in the right mind, but Dick is clearly not in the right mind at that moment and the first thing he’d thought of was to call his husband. Wally’s knuckles are while around the phone as he asks Dick is he thinks he’s about to have a fit, and when Dick stammers out a yes, Wally tells him to stay calm, to lay down on the living room rug, and that he’ll be there – the sound of the phone dropping as Wally on his feet and running out in a nanosecond.

Wally arrives at their apartment in seconds, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. Dick is already in a full seizure, dropped in the bedroom. Wally hates that he knows what to do now, and goes through the motions calmly on the outside even as his heart is racing. The seizure slows down, and Wally gets Dick’s medicine, some water, and waits for him to come to.

But this time he doesn’t. Minutes pass, and Dick doesn’t stir back to consciousness like he usually does. His eyes are half open, but unseeing, and as Wally starts to panic, Dick starts to seize again. They were always told to try to handle it on their own and let it pass unless something is wrong. Something is really wrong. Wally calls an ambulance, drops the phone halfway through the call, and has to put it on speaker while performing CPR because his husband isn’t fucking breathing, where the fuck is the ambulance?! When the ambulance does arrive, Dick is breathing again, if just barely, and they don’t protest when Wally jumps into the back with him.

It’s an hour later that Bruce walks into the hospital room. Wally is sitting beside the bed with Dick’s hand in his, pressing his knuckles to his lips as he stares at the heart monitor like he’s counting every pulse. Dick is still unconscious, covered in wires, pale enough that the gold band on his finger looks like it’s sitting against paper. Bruce scrubs his hand down his face and lays his hand on Wally’s shoulder. He spoke to the Doctors. They’re doing everything they can.

Wally just slowly shakes his head. No, they’re not. But he will. Bruce asks him what he means. Wally doesn’t respond at first. Just takes a long, memorizing look at Dick, before standing up and leaning across the bed, pressing a firm, almost desperate kiss to his forehead. When he straightens up again, he looks back at Bruce. The Doctors said they needed Dick’s family medical history to be able to properly diagnose him, to predict where this illness was going and how to treat it. Fine. If they couldn’t find the Grayson medical history, Wally was just going to have to find the Graysons.

He can’t help but find it bitterly ironic that after everything he did to make sure he was allowed in that room, he was now walking out.

[huphilpuffs]

flares

chapter: 27/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3944 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: My sincerest apologies for how late this chapter is; the last few months got busy between ending uni and starting my first full time job, and the emotions here were really hard to write. Hope it’s worth the wait! And hug thanks to @obsessivelymoody for beta’ing for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan’s eyes are still burning when they get back to the flat.

Phil holds the door open for him, and he walks in with his arms wrapped tight around his middle. His blanket is still draped over the back of the sofa. There’s an open cereal box on the kitchen counter. The lounge is dark, TV screen black and windows covered.

It’s just how they left it, yet it feels stupidly, inexplicably wrong.

Phil’s hand lands on the small of his back, so gentle it’s like he thinks Dan’s fragile. Maybe he is. There’s still pressure behind his eyes, an ache between his ribs. Part of Dan feels like he could shatter under the pressure, fall back into a shaky heap of unwarranted tears.

His fingers press harsher against his sides. If he stops holding himself, he might fall apart.

Phil’s thumb drifts against the base of Dan’s spine. “What do you wanna do?” he asks.

Dan shrugs. They’re still standing in the doorway, backs to an empty corridor. He’s not sure what to do, where to go. It feels like the flat should have changed while they were gone, even though he hasn’t, not really. His back still hurts. There’s still a dull ache at his temples. The rub of his shirt against his chest still burns.

Nothing’s changed.

Yet Dan’s dizzy with how off-balance he feels.

“Wanna sit down?”

Phil’s voice is soft, careful, like he’s worried Dan will break down in sobs again, hurt himself as he does. His thumb rubs a circle against Dan’s back, low by his hips, as he presses forward gently.

Dan’s not sure if he does. It feels weird to just come home and do what he always does. But he nods anyway.

They settle onto the cushions side by side, a few awkward inches between them. The coarse fabric of Dan’s skinny jeans grates at his skin where it’s pulled tight around his knee. He should change, but now that he’s sat down, he can’t muster the energy to stand again. His whole body is tired.

His brain is tired.

Phil turns on the TV, pulls up the guide because whatever they were watching this morning has faded into a movie that seems dreadfully dull.

“Tell me if you see something you wanna watch, okay?” says Phil.

Dan nods. He watches the guide flick by to the too-steady beat of Phil’s thumb pressing the remote, and doesn’t say a word. A few movies he knows go by, a couple shows he knows he enjoys. Dan just lets his head fall back against the cushions, his eyes closed.

Phil sets the remote down. The dialogue of the dreadfully dull film drones on.

Neither one of them speaks over it.

---

“We should order pizza,” says Phil. “To celebrate, maybe?”

His hand is on Dan’s knee now, thumb drifting over it in little irregular patterns. At some point, he changed the channel to a sci-fi film that’s far more enjoyable. Dan even managed to muster some mental energy to pay attention to it, enough physical energy to lift his head from the sofa and open in his eyes.

It all fades now. His head lolls back and his eyes slam shut. Part of him thinks every little bit of energy he’s regained is trapped in his chest, bubbly and anxious and tight.

“Celebrate what?” he asks, voice tight, even though he knows the answer.

Phil squeezes his leg. “Your doctor actually listening to you?” he says. “It’s a step forward, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” says Dan. “Until–”

His voice chokes off. His throat hurts suddenly. Psychosomatic symptoms, probably, a distant voice in his head tells him. It sounds too much like his old doctor, back in Wokingham, who would order one test after he’d begged for months, only to roll his eyes when it was done.

Something warm presses against his cheek. It takes Dan’s foggy brain too long to realize it’s Phil’s thumb, wiping a stray tear from his skin.

“Until what?” he says.

Dan shrugs. “Until the tests come back fine,” he mumbles. “They always do.”

Part of him expects Phil to think that would be a good thing. Most people do. His mum would still wrap him in her arms and claim it was time to celebrate, even as Dan’s chest felt like it was caving in. She’d buy him a new video game the next day, once she gave up on punishing him into going to school.

He wonders, now, if she knew he was sad, if part of her was trying to give him something else to do than lock himself in his room and cry his ribs sore.

“Hey,” says Phil. He’s squeezing Dan’s leg again. “Then we don’t need to celebrate. Just, I don’t know, eat dinner?”

He smiles, crooked and concerned. Dan manages half a smile in return.

“Okay,” he says. “Just dinner.”

Phil nods, a little quick and jerky and definitely nervous. “Just dinner,” he repeats. “The usual?”

Dan hums, and rests a grateful hand over Phil’s as he makes the call to place their order.

---

They curl up in bed that night, tucked under layers of blankets.

The pressure almost eases some of the tightness in Dan’s chest, some of the worries racing around the back of his mind. The pillow under his head smells like home. It makes some of the lingering memories of the doctor’s office, the sterility of it, start to fade.

Phil’s arm drapes across his side, draws him in, and it almost feels normal again.

Except Dan’s heart still feels heavy, achy and anxious. His mind doesn’t want to shut off. When he closes his eyes he pictures the press of a needle into his vein, the cool press of ultrasound gel against his skin, the foreign tunnel of an MRI machine.

He’s heard they’re terrifying. It feels wrong that part of him is excited for it.

Phil’s arm tightens around him, a palm splaying across Dan’s ribs. He’s holding his breath, he realizes, and lets it out with a shudder as Phil’s head dips to dust a kiss to his shoulder.

“You’re thinking too much,” he mumbles.

Dan tries to shrug, one shoulder pressed to his pillow and the other tucked beneath Phil. “Can’t stop.”

Phil hums. He sounds tired, the sleepy kind that Dan can never quite find. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He doesn’t bother shrugging again, just lays there, staring at the white wall across from the bed that looks almost black with the lights off. Probably like the inside of an MRI machine. Or maybe not. Maybe there’s lights in there. Dan has no idea.

Phil’s hand skims down his side to rest on his stomach instead. “Can I talk about it?”

Dan swallows. “Go ahead,” he says.

He waits. Phil’s chin digs into his shoulder as he nods. His hand ghosts over Dan’s skin, back up his side and over his ribs and down to his stomach again. He wedges one of his legs between Dan’s, wrapping himself around him as though he’s scared whatever he has to say will make Dan want to run away.

The thought flits through Dan’s mind. Any anxiety fades just as quickly.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about this,” mumbles Phil. “Because I don’t know how you feel about this.”

Dan’s chest goes tight.

“And I was thinking that maybe you should talk to someone who’s been here for more of your, I don’t know, journey?” His hand presses almost harshly against Dan’s middle. His voice is a whisper, soft and shy, when he says: “I’ve only known you for a little while.”

“Feels like longer,” says Dan.

Phil smiles, lips dusting across Dan’s skin. “It does.”

A moment passes. If not for the continuous sweep of Phil’s thumb across his stomach, Dan might think he fell asleep. He almost wishes he had, except Phil’s been his best support system and, even though it makes his stomach churn, Dan wants to hear what he has to say.

“So who do you think I should talk to?”

Phil hums. “Dunno,” he says. “I would talk to my mum.”

Just the thought makes Dan’s chest ache. “No way,” he says, definitely too loud. “I can’t talk to her about this. I can’t– what if the scans show nothing again and–”

“Hey.” Phil presses against his stomach, holding Dan even closer. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want to,” says Dan. “Like really don’t want to.”

“Okay,” says Phil. “Okay. What about someone else?”

Dan swallows. Suddenly, this doesn’t feel like a night time, cuddled up in bed type conversation. He wishes he could see Phil’s face, all the hints that he’s actually just trying to help Dan.

“Like who?” he says. “And if you say my dad I’ll–”

“Not your dad,” says Phil. “I was thinking Taylor. She just went through something similar, didn’t she?”

“Oh.” He blinks at the wall. It’s still dark. “Yeah, I guess she did.”

There’s a puff of air against the back of Dan’s neck, a chuckle he doesn’t care to analyze too much. “Do you think she could help?”

Dan shrugs.

Phil hums. “Think about it,” he says. His arms shift around him, settling deeper into the mattress, heavier against Dan’s side, as though he’s ready to go to sleep now.

Dan blinks at the wall and wishes he felt the same.

He slips his fingers into the gaps between Phil’s, drags his hand up his body so it’s resting over his chest again, where parts of him feel like they might fall apart without something holding him together. Phil must be able to tell, because he presses another kiss to Dan’s shoulder, splaying his hand wide over the unsteady beat of Dan’s heart.

“Can I tell you something else?” he whispers.

Dan’s not sure why, but he doesn’t quite trust his voice anymore, so he nods.

Phil’s responding smile is pressed against his skin. “I’m still here for you, too,” he says. “No matter what, ‘kay? Even if I don’t know how to respond, you can always talk to me.”

Dan’s throat goes tight. His eyes burn. He nods again, wishing Phil could see his smile, because he knows exactly what three words he’d say if he tried to speak.

---

The hospital calls in the morning.

Dan stares at the unfamiliar collection of digits for so long it Phil needs to remind him the phone will stop ringing if he doesn’t pick up. His hands shake as he holds the phone to his ear, listening to a too-chipper secretary tell him they got his referral from his GP.

The MRI is booked for late next week.

Dan didn’t expect it to be that quick. Even x-rays have never been that quick. He wonders what Dr. Kissel wrote on his forms to get him in so soon, what scary possibilities are suddenly written in his file.

His knees are drawn to his chest, face pressed between them, when he hangs up the call. Phil’s hand is resting on his shoulder. It feels too distant. Part of Dan wants to bury himself in Phil’s arms again, sob away feelings that don’t make sense until he’s left feeling like he did a week ago.

Sore and kind of helpless, but not like this.

He doesn’t hug Phil, just sits there as Phil squeezes his shoulder and whispers: “You okay?”

Dan swallows. “MRI’s on Thursday,” he says. It’s not an answer.

Phil shifts closer like it is one. His hand drifts down, fingers brushing between Dan’s shoulder blades. Dan wonders if the MRI machine will go that far. He’s not even sure what Dr Kissel’s looking for, where she’s looking for it. Will it be just his head? His whole spine? Something else?

“Hey, breathe.”

Phil’s voice is low, close to Dan’s ear. His hand has flattened against Dan’s back, rubbing small circles that make Dan feel so very small, like he wants to curl up against Phil’s side and forget the rest of the world exists.

He’s wanted a doctor to order an MRI for so long. The weight of all his anticipation feels crushing now.

Dan lets his head fall to rest against Phil’s shoulder, tucking himself into the crook there because it feels safe. Phil, in all his anxious uncertainty about how to behave in a post-doctor’s appointment universe, is still the one thing that feels right.

His hand wraps around the upper part of Dan’s arm, where nerves are sensitive and the pressure aches, and holds on tight.

“You’ve had tests done before.”

“Never an MRI,” says Dan.

“Okay.” Phil squeezes his arm. It hurts. Dan doesn’t pull away. “What makes an MRI so different?”

“I don’t know.” says Dan, quick and automatic. “It’s, like, what they do for actual sick people.”

Under his head, Dan can feel the slow rise and fall of Phil’s chest, can just barely hear the faint beat of his heart. He’s steady, not like the unsure version of him that had held Dan tight last night and told him he had no idea how to help anymore, no idea how to understand what was going on in Dan’s head.

He takes a deep breath, holds onto Dan even tighter. “And you’re not an actual sick person?”

Dan’s whole body goes tight at the words. His breath feels like it’s been punched out of him. Phil squeezes his arm one more time, eliciting an even deeper ache there, and pulls away just enough that he can probably see Dan’s face. His eyes feel wide. His jaw feels tight.

Phil opens his mouth as though he wants to speak, but he doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t have to.

Dan knows he doesn’t mean it that way. He knows that, out of all the people in his life, Phil would probably be the first to declare him an actual sick person.

He’d probably say it before Dan, even. Maybe that’s the problem.

Dan’s wanted to be considered an actual sick person even since the pain first welled in his joints and decided to never really go away.

He’s never been considered one before.

Phil’s hand lands on his back again, another soft touch, another gentle circle, to fill in the silence.

After a moment too long, Dan finally manages to even his breathing, and mutter a quiet: “I don’t know.”

---

Taylor comes over in the afternoon.

She has a bad thrown over her shoulder and her hair thrown up in a high ponytail. It doesn’t feel like that long since he last saw her, but it must have been. She looks so much healthier. Her eyes look bright and her shoulders less heavy. If Dan was a more touchy person, he’d wrap her in his arms.

He almost does anyway, except he blurts: “I didn’t invite you,” instead.

Taylor rolls her eyes. “I know,” she says. “Your guy did.”

Dan feels his cheeks flush. He wonders, briefly, if Taylor always made comments like that and he was just too in his own struggles to notice, or if the help she’s gotten has brought it out in her.

Will getting help bring anything out him?

“He’s not my guy,” he says, gaze flicking to where Phil had lingered in the corner of the lounge after letting Taylor in. He’s not there anymore. “He’s my, like, flatmate. And friend.”

She hums, low and doubtful. “Yeah, sure, just a friend.”

The implication clear. It makes Dan’s stomach twist, his mind drawing up memories of Phil’s arms around him, his lips pressed against Dan’s skin. Taylor’s still grinning at him. It makes him squirm in his seat.

She must notice, because her smile softens. “Fine, if you don’t want to talk about Phil, why don’t we talk about why he invited me here?”

He swallows, shrugging one shoulder. His fingers drag against his thighs, nails stinging against his skin, as he watches Taylor set her bag down and drop onto the couch, legs crossed and back pressed to the armrest. She reaches out and snags one of Dan’s hands, drawing it into the empty space between them.

It’s still slightly warm from when Phil was sitting there.

“Phil said the doctor’s appointment went well,” says Taylor. Her voice has gone soft and sympathetic. “But you’re not handling it very well?”

Dan shrugs. “I’m fine,” he mumbles.

Her responding laugh is nothing but a silent puff of air. “You couldn’t convince me with that back when we first met,” she says. “What makes you think you can now?”

“I’m better now?”

“You are,” says Taylor. “Doesn’t mean you’re doing great though.” She squeezes his hand. “What’s going on?”

Her voice has gone even softer. It’s enough to make tears sting behind his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know, like, how to trust that it’ll actually work out this time. I’ve met some not shit doctors before and yet–”

His chest goes tight, throat burning. Taylor’s thumb sweeps across his knuckles. It’s too much like when Phil does it.

“Yet here you are,” she says. “Living in Manchester with a boy who cares about you, doing better than–”

“If you’re about to pull some ‘oh, maybe it was all meant to be’ bullshit on me I’ll actually kick you out of my flat.”

Taylor rolls her eyes, smiling. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that,” she says. “Just, like, what’s the worst that can happen? You get no answers and come back to live with Phil, who I’m pretty sure would help you with literally anything.”

“Oh.” Dan shrugs. Things would be like they were before the appointment. Part of him wishes they were, except– “What if I can’t handle being told it’s nothing again?”

Taylor shrugs. “You cross that bridge when it comes,” she says. “Phil said this doctor was really nice, and I know he hasn’t been through everything you have, but he’s had his own shit, and he really wants this for you.” She squeezes his hand again. “I don’t think he’d be happy for you if he didn’t actually think it was going to work out.”

“So you’re saying I should be an optimist?”

“I’m saying I didn’t think seeing a counsellor would help but someone told me I should, and I’m sure as hell doing better,” says Taylor. “Give it a shot. And if it goes wrong, you have Phil’s shoulder to cry on.”

She smiles. Dan manages half a smile back. “I guess.”

He lets it stay silent for a moment, gaze flicking across the Wii’s pause screen, then Phil’s closed bedroom door.

“Can I ask you something else?” he says.

“Go ahead.”

“You said Phil–”

She chuckles. “Oh, so now you want to talk about Phil?” Her fingers slip from his to pat the back of his hand. “You need to talk to him if you want to know. Mostly cause he’s hardly told me anything. Otherwise, I’d actually consider giving you information about the guy you like.”

“I don’t–” he tries to say, but he’s never been a good liar. He can feel his cheeks flaming red, can see the grin split across Taylor’s face before he says anything.

And then they both start laughing.

---

“How was talking to Taylor?”

Phil settles onto the sofa next to him, tucking his socked feet under his legs. His hand lands on Dan’s knee and a slight smile ghosts across his lips, like he knows what Dan’s gonna say.

It’s probably obvious, even though the tight anxiety in Dan’s chest is starting to return.

“It was nice,” he says.

Phil’s lips quirk. “She seems like she’s doing well.”

Dan hums his agreement, catching Phil’s gaze with his own. “Is that supposed to be a hint that I should follow in her footsteps and, like, get help?”

Phil’s response is a shrug, playful and happy and Dan missed spending time with him like this, missed the ease of being friends. He wills the worries in the back of his mind to stay there, where they were shoved by his conversation with Taylor, knowing full well they won’t.

He can already feel them coming back, faint memories of how he’d collapsed into bed sobbing last time a doctor had turned him away, a pressure in his chest that wants to ask how Phil is. But before he can say anything, Phil’s hand is drifting across the back of the sofa cushions, his fingers sliding into Dan’s hair.

“Still not feeling well, huh?” he says.

Dan shrugs. “Sorry.”

Phil hums. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “But I, uh, had another idea?”

A silent chuckle rumbles in Dan’s chest. It makes his ribs hurt. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be anxious no matter what, Phil,” he says. “At least until I know what the tests say.”

“I know,” says Phil. This fingers are massaging at Dan’s scalp. Dan’s not even sure it’s conscious anymore. “I just think it could help to get some things off your chest. The type of thing you’re not ready to tell anybody, you know?”

“Oh.”

Phil shrugs. “I used to do it when I needed to,” he says.

The questions well in Dan’s chest again, but instead of saying anything, he lets Phil’s hand slip from behind his head to take his hand instead. He helps Dan off the couch without an explanation, smiling like he really believes this will help.

He thought talking to Taylor would help, and, well, it mostly did.

Dan squeezes his hand and lets Phil lead him down the hall.

They slip into Dan’s bedroom, where his black checkered duvet has hardly been touched in weeks and unfolded clothes hang messily from his chest of drawers. His laptop is open in the middle of the bed, and the pillows that remain in his room pressed against the wall into a makeshift sofa.

Dan’s grows furrow, turning to catch Phil’s gaze.

“I, uh, think you should film yourself talking about your feelings,” says Phil. Before Dan can even try to respond, he continues: “I know it sounds crazy, but it makes you feel like you’re actually, uh, talking about things, but you don’t actually have to tell anyone.”

It does sound crazy. If Phil didn’t seem so genuinely convinced, Dan might laugh. “So I’m just supposed to sit here and talk to myself?”

“Don’t you talk to yourself anyway?” says Phil, quirking a smile. “But, I don’t know, pretend you’re screaming into the void. Oh! Or pretend you’re a YouTuber.”

His cheeks go pink at the end. Dan almost does ask this time, except his knees are starting to ache and he’s too lazy to stay standing through the pain today. He sits down on the bed, scootches back so he’s resting against the cushions, and stares at the black screen of his laptop.

Phil comes over, and presses a quick kiss to his head. “Just try,” he whispers. “And if it doesn’t work we can just play Mario until bedtime, okay?”

Dan nods. He watches Phil step out of his room, closing the door behind him, before leaning over to sign onto his computer. It takes him a moment to find the webcam app, and an even longer one to gather the courage to hit record.

The first few moments of the video end up a long, awkward silence, as Dan tries to comb through his thoughts to find something he can actually say out loud to himself without being absolutely mortified.

He settles on taking Phil’s advice, forces a smile and says: “Hello, internet.”