#honestly it's a testament to the fact that you will be able to adjust quickly lol

[crispyflowerblaze]

college tips and thoughts

so i’ve been a college freshman for one semester now, and i feel like that qualifies me to give some of my random tips and thoughts about college! stuff like adjusting to classes and being away from home, roommates and friendships and dating, and more stuff

hopefully this is helpful! this is gonna be broken down into several parts btw

part 1: adjusting

the most important thing to remember is that you can’t do it all, but that’s okay! day to day life is just your new attempt at trying to do however many things you want to do, and in the grand scheme of things it will never feel perfect, but in the moment there’s always something wonderful about that. it seems hard to really live in the moment because of our expectations and plans and goals, but i think the key to living in the moment is to realize that one day can only be composed of so many things. if you can, try to just stay outside a little longer and enjoy the trees and flowers and how the breeze makes everything look. that always helps me destress.

additionally, when you’re stressing about classes or anything else, try to remember that you’re dealing with basically everything you had to deal with in high school, plus the new struggles of living away from home, meeting so many new people and not having old friends, learning to live with a roommate, doing chores and dishes and laundry in less than ideal conditions, and more. there’s so many great aspects to college life and independence, but it’s also super overwhelming! honestly, you can be a little more lax with chores, laundry, etc. than you would be at home, since there’s just so much going on at college.

this is where your choice of college comes into play. every college situation is going to be an adjustment when you’re living on campus, but choosing one closer to home will make it so that you can come home for a long weekend more often, there won’t be huge travel costs, and your parents can potentially come up on the weekend to bring you anything you realize you should have taken with.

if it sounds like this is staying too far inside your own comfort zone, that’s totally valid! i chose a college less than an hour away from home, and i’m very happy with that choice, but it’s also great to go farther away and be more adventurous that way. however, keep in mind that you’ll have that new immersive experience with a city even if it is pretty close to home. i’ve been to my college’s city plenty of times before coming here, but that’s so different from actually living here! i like the familiarity, while also being glad that there’s so many new things to discover.

then there’s homesickness and missing all the people still at home or at different colleges. for me, the homesickness didn’t stay very long. part of that is because i was able to go home for a long weekend a few times during the semester, but even if that wasn’t the case i think i would say the same thing. i think people are better at adjustment than we realize, and that our new daily routines seem to always end up feeling normal. so if it’s the beginning of your college life and everything feels weird and out of place and difficult, try not to worry so much, because i think it’ll even out soon enough.

[bedeliainwonderland]

I understand disliking a character..but you realize anything that happens to bedelia in context of the show is driven by hannibal, right? the man you ship her with? the stinger, her fear, all that necessitates her self preservation is instigated by hannibal. the show frequently did a disservice to its female chars, but hannibal was the tool they used to do it. denying that and then shipping him w/ your fav only to turn it around on another char seems...hypocritical.

Ahh yes, some good ol’ anon hate, I missed that. Honestly, perfect timing, I am having the worst of times and getting to talk about my favs literally saved my day. So thanks!

First of all, Bedelia and Hannibal are a canon ship, whether you like it or not, so let’s get that out of the way (as opposite to certain other ship but that is a whole other thing). I merely fill in the blanks of what the show failed to provide because, for some inexplicable reason, the show named “Hannibal” was centered on a character named Will and every other character (especially the female characters) served only to further his “man pain”. But I digress, that is surely not why you chose to hide behind that grey square.

I don’t know whether you follow me or just saw that one reblog (which ironically weren’t even my words but I stand fully behind everything said), but I have already spoken about this extensively. Every day, really. I find it hard to understand how something is hypocritical when it is based on canon information. I am not denying anything. So here we go, under the cut, because I have a LOT to say:

The stinger- oh god, you all know how much I hate it. First of all, there is no proof that Hannibal is involved, we don’t know who is involved, that is kinda the point of a cliff hanger. We don’t even know if it’s real. But it’s absolutely pointless and makes no sense! It was quite literally Fuller wanting to do something “shocking” to finish off the series without any regard to continuity or characterisation. It was supposed to be shocking and look aesthetically pleasing, that’s it, no logic. It is as if he looked at the character list and thought “hmm, which female character is yet to be hurt? Oh right, Bedelia!” The so called “punishing Bedelia” as the fandom loved so very much is mere misogyny. Why can’t a female character do something morally questionable or even plain evil and get away with it? Because Will didn’t that is why. If she were a man, no one would scream for “she has it coming”, no, he would be uwu baby.

Having Hannibal involved in that would be completely out of character and contradictory to all their previous interactions/ their relationship. So let’s expand, shall we?

When we first see Bedelia and Hannibal, it is mentioned that she has been his psychiatrist for 7 years. 7 YEARS, let that sink in. No one, NO ONE, has been in Hannibal’s life for such a long time. It is clear she means a lot to him. If she didn’t, he had plenty of chances to kill her. It is established she is a loner, so it would so easy for Hannibal to dispose of her and claim “she left to UK” or something, like he did with his secretary. But he didn’t because he cares for her and she is important to him. He literally says he feels protective of her. Every session, you can see how much he needs her approval and how he hangs on her every word. How hurt he was when she said she wasn’t his friend (and yet he did nothing). How enamoured he is with her. When he comes to bring her dinner in Savoureaux, the dish included roses! Such a romantic.

Hannibal knew Bedelia was similar to him that is why he set up the whole Neil incident; he wanted to make sure she is. Do note that Bedelia wasn’t ever in danger, since Hannibal was there to step in if needed. But here is what I’ve found interesting; Bedelia killed someone, proving Hannibal’s hunch right, but she refused to fully acknowledge that part of herself. And Hannibal let her withdraw, doing nothing (as in not killing her, as I’m sure he had done many times with unsuccessful “candidates”) merely securing her continuous therapy. Because she was more than just another experiment to him.

And Bedelia isn’t so innocent in other aspects as well. She knows, yet she purposely evades the truth while talking to the FBI (“Will could use friends like Hannibal” ha!) under the cover of patient/ doctor confidentiality and even warns Hannibal directly (“they are starting to see your pattern). I have had my fair share of “Bedelia doesn’t care for Hannibal” posts and nothing could be further from the truth. If she hadn’t cared, she would not have done any of that.

But then of course, Hannibal’s game goes one step too far and he gives her the written permission to discuss him with the FBI. This is bad for Bedelia because it puts her under the scrutiny as well and that is not where she wants to be. Bedelia’s self-preservation always comes first (both Bedelia and Hannibal are egocentric by nature). Yet, she still comes to say goodbye to him and he lets her go! The script described Hannibal’s reaction to her words as “imperceivable wound”. “But he then went to kill her!” I hear you say? *Thor’s gif* Did he though? If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it then and there. No, he went to check if she were really gone (again, script) and whether she betrayed him. That was his only concern (betrayal is a big thing with Hannibal), but she didn’t. She even left him a memento. It said it was a memento of friendship, I think it was a “see you later” card.

This is getting super long, so let’s quickly skip to Florence. Bedelia left with Hannibal, knowing exactly who he was. Unlike other (all of them, actually) characters, she did not reject him/ was scared of him. “You let them see you/ I let them see enough” exchange says it all. She is not surprised by him or shocked by what he is; she is merely stating the facts. She has long accepted him in full. They lived together in Florence, openly behind the so called veil, as fake husband and wife, but the wedding rings remained intact even at home (showing how important it was to them, not just a front), displaying a ridiculous amount of domesticity and intimacy. This deserves a whole separate post but I am trying to be brief(er). “But she was scared!” you might shout again, except that she wasn’t. Even if Antipasto purposely played with the ambiguity of her situation for suspense purposes, the following episodes made it clear she was exactly where she wanted to be, from the very start, on her own terms as Hannibal’s equal. We were obviously misled by the promos, they promised us a Bedelia and Hannibal show and what we got was, well, you know… And that is yet another post altogether.

Now to the glorious farewell, boy, do I love to talk about that. Bedelia packs Hannibal’s bags and tells him to leave, and he does! What more, he promises to tell her story. HER STORY. Now, that is a major thing, because Hannibal has never ever done that for anyone. He always turns other people’s stories into his own, manipulating and adjusting accordingly. But with Bedelia, he simply agrees to do it, on her own terms. Not only that, he is visibly impressed and enamoured by her. Again, if he wanted to kill her, he could have just killed her then. He was going to get caught anyway, what is one more murder? All this “he waited until he could eat her” story makes no sense at all, since as it was already mentioned, he knew her for almost a decade, plenty of time to eat her if he wanted to. He lets her go because he wants to. Because he cares for her.

The point I have made several times is that Bedelia is the only person that Hannibal treats as, well, a person! Everyone else is beneath him, meat only if you will, but not her. Even the ever so special (apparently) Will and Abigail aren’t treated as “people”. Bedelia is the only person that Hannibal respects; that is what makes her so special. Not love (even though he obviously loves her), because respect is rarer for Hannibal than love. Sure, he “loves” Will, the same way you love your favourite book. You want to have it and you don’t want anyone else to have it, but you don’t expect the book to return your feelings. Bedelia is Hannibal’s only equal.

The Red Dragon arc was a mess of epic proportions so I don’t even want to get into that. But I do appreciate the acknowledgement of Bedelia’s darker side and now she has become comfortable with it since Florence. Let’s make a few notes so it doesn’t look as if I am purposely omitting things: Hannibal’s letters to Bedelia? Clearly a part of his “telling her story” and helping her cover, plus he was not able to send her proper letters, so that is his way of telling her he thinks of her. Sessions with Will? You can’t really take everything she told him at face value, she is obfuscating after all. Why would she be honest with Will? She wouldn’t be, she was just continuing what Hannibal has started with much better results (slightly too good actually, as proven by Will’s stupid plan). Bedelia wasn’t afraid Hannibal would come after her, because she had no reasons to be. NONE. She was protected by him.

So there you have it, the great many reasons why I am so unapologetic in my shipping. Because it is all there. Thank you for reminding me why I love these two so much! Have a great day, maybe next time you can message me off anon.

(And thanks to all who got to the end of this almost dissertation, this is my testament, I love you all fellow bedannibal fans!)

[lettersofwrittencollective]

The Pull (7/?)

Summary: The Ragnulf’s are one of the oldest lines of werewolves known. A gift from ancient times was given to the line. Though not all of the line will experience it. There are some who will experience a Pull. This Pull leads them to their true mate, a soulmate. The problem is, just because the wolf finds their true mate does not mean that they are the same for that person.

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective 

Pairing: Stiles x Hale!Cousin OC (Reader)

Word Count: 2039 

Warnings: Panic attacks and angst (also side note, if you find something else, let me know i can edit) 

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It’s a few days later and you’re running late for class because you’d stayed up the night before trying to see if you could figure out where Derek and Peter were. You hadn’t found anything and had actually fallen asleep sometime around 4.

As you’re running to class, you hear your name being called. The principal's secretary is waving you over and it’s not like you’ve got much of a choice so you head over to the older woman. Thankfully, she doesn’t scold you for your tardiness. In fact. she actually hands you a new schedule, explaining that some teachers needed to have some adjustments made and lets you go.

Looking at your schedule you notice that the only thing that’s changed is that you now have World History first and Econ last.

It’s as your making your way to Mr. Yukimura's class that you’re suddenly hit by the inability to breathe. The sensation takes you by surprise and you almost double over. That feeling like someone is choking you begins all over again. It’s happened a bit more often the last few days but there’s no rhyme or reason to it. Thankfully, you’ve kind of figured out how to get through it. Leaning against a set of lockers in the hallway, you repeat the mantra  your family has always used to center themselves “I am the sum of the Heart, the Mind, the Instinct… “ You force yourself to breathe through each word.

It’s when you feel like you’ve almost got control of it that you hear doors being opened, you look over and see both Scott and Stiles rushing out of the history classroom and down the hall.

You’re not gonna follow them, at least that’s what you tell yourself. Without conscious thought, though,  you had already moved down the hallway and were entering another set of doors, the same doors they had just crashed through.

You find Stiles panting over a sink, his heartbeats through the roof and you hear Scott ask “-how do you tell if your dreaming or awake?”

“Your fingers” you answer, Scott jumps and turns to to look at you, surprise on his face. However, hes quickly pulled back to Stiles.

“You have extra fingers in dreams.�� Stiles manages to get out, he’s still breathing hard and you’re worried that he’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen.  

Scott looks down at his hands before putting them up in front of him. “How many do I have?”

When Stiles doesn’t even look at him, you call his name at the same time that Scott’s able to actually get his attention .

“Come on Stiles, look at my hands and count with me.”

Stiles tries, he really does but he can’t seem to focus on Scott. You reach out and grab Stiles’  arm. When he turns to you, you lift your other hand and put up your forefinger. He seems to struggle, even still, and so you say his name again.  “Stiles, please?” You’re not sure why but that seems to help him focus and so the two you begin. Slowly, the two you count your fingers all the way to ten.

Stiles realizes that he’s not in a dream you can see the despair flood across his face. The emotion is so powerful, you let out a small whine. It’s only when he falls back against the wall and slides down to sit on the floor do you realize that at some point, you had intertwined your fingers with his.

As Scott moves past you to sit with his friend,  he squeezes your arm and murmurs a soft thank you. Nodding your head, you take a step backwards, allowing the two friends their space. You can’t help but think it’s a testament to just how freaked out Stiles is when he makes no comment about your help, no snark or sarcasm. Instead, he just looks at Scott.

“What the hell is happening to me?”

“We’ll figure it out. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Am I? Are you?” it’s the uncertainty  in his voice, that causes something within you to stir. You’re not going to let this, whatever it is, destroy them.

“Scott,” Stiles continues “you can’t transform. Allison's being haunted by her dead aunt.. And I’m straight up losing my mind. We can’t … We can’t help Malia. We can’t help anyone.”

“You can try,” you say before you’ve thought of anything and Scott looks at you, a sad smile on his face. Stiles gives you a look that says he’s not sure. “Stiles, you can try..”

“Natasha’s right.. We can try. We can always try.” Scott says to his best friend.

There’s a million things that can be said in the silence that envelops the room. No one is actually sure of what they’re going to do or how they’re going to do it. It’s the bells shrill ringing that brings you all out of moment.  When neither of the boys move, you pick up your discarded book bag and begin to make your way out.

As you’re walking out, you hear a soft, slightly melancholy voice, “Hey, Natasha…”

“Yea Stiles?”

“Thank you..”

“Anytime.” you whisper and push the door open. A scent catches your attention and you stop in the doorway taking a deeper breath. “Malia?”

Scott’s on his feet moving towards you when he seems to realize that Stiles is still trying to stand, his legs somewhat wobbly. You motion for Scott to go be Scott and make your way over to Stiles.

It takes a moment before he’s steady on his feet. As soon as he is though, you’re both headed out the same way Scott went. You want to ask Stiles to stay behind but you’re sure that, that particular request will not go over well. So, you pull him along with you as you follow Scott's scent.

You’re just down the hall from the locker room when there’s a loud clanging and a thud. Stiles is running and you follow suit, getting past him and pulling the door open. You see Scott and Kira standing to the side of some fallen lockers and Scott’s eyes are scanning the area.

“Kira!” you call and the girl seems startled that you’re there. Stepping into the room, you push past Scott, the girl seems to finally register you’re in the room. “Hey,” you say softly, trying not to startle her further, “You okay?”

The girl nods her head and you pull her by the elbow, guiding her away from the broken mess. You sit her down on one of the benches that’s still standing. She’s shaking and so you pull an arm around her and try to comfort her. Slowly, she stops shaking.

“Was that really a coyote? How did it get in” Kira asks softly, her voice on the edge of panic.

“I - I don’t know Kira..” you say, realizing that there’s nothing you can think of that would bring Malia to the school let alone inside.

You continue to try and soothe Kira and you’re not sure how long you’re there but Mr. Yukimura is soon rushing in, calling his daughters name. Kira gets up quickly and you allow the man to embrace his daughter.

Leaving them to their moment, you look and realize that you’re not sure where Stiles or Scott are at. There’s deputies and animal control coming into the room and you’re lucky that you’re able to get  past them.

You go and sit on the floor in front of some lockers, your head leaning against the cool metal and your knees tucked up to your chest, you close your eyes and try to drown out the noise around you. Today, has been, quite a ride for you emotionally. You’ve found yourself becoming very protective of Scott and Stiles, making promises you’re not sure how your going to  keep.

It’s because you’re trying to drown out the world that you don’t hear your name being called. However, when a shadow falls over you, you open your eyes to see Isaac looking a little out of breath and very worried. He kneels down in front of you, taking a one of your hands in his larger ones while asking if you’re ok.

Confusion laces your voice when you ask him, “Honestly, I’m just really tired and feel like I could use more coffee.. why?”

“Why weren’t you in econ this morning?” and it’s then that you realize, he had no idea. His concern begins to make more sense.

“Oh, Isaac, I am so sorry! I was running late and then they gave me a new schedule and I was going to text you when I got to History but then Scott and Stiles had some kind of thing.. And then this thing with Malia almost mauling Kira and…” you chuckle softly “Do you see why  I need coffee?”

Isaac raised his eyebrow at you and then moved to sit next to you. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you watch as even more animal control and the deputies begin to filter into the school.

“How did the other night go?” Isaac asks and you shake your head while on his shoulder.

“Honestly? I’m not sure it went all that well. Scott seems like he’s going to trust me so I guess that’s a good thing. Stiles though, he seems to not be a fan of me. You know when we got to his house, he demanded to know why I was there. I mean sure, it might be a bit odd that I’m there but seriously, who is going to complain about more werewolves around to protect them? Then, I swear, the guy decided to drive like a maniac to try and terrify me but he doesn’t know Aaric’s driving… and then when we’re there I didn’t think he actually was gonna keep an eye on me the entire time. I mean seriously! What does he think I’m gonna do? Is it because I’m related to Peter and Derek? They’ve-”

“Natasha..” Isaac cuts you off, a laugh leaving his throat. “While I’m glad you’re getting to know them… that’s umm... Not actually what I meant.”

It takes you a moment to figure out and you are so glad that you’re leaning against Isaac and that he won’t see the flush of your face,  “I mean, I’m sure that Scott or Allison told you how we found her den but Scott - well he’s still struggling. So I went to go look and couldn’t pick up anything. Isaac, it was like she hadn’t been there in days based off the scents I was getting but we had just seen her, so how is that possible?”

“Well has that ever happened before?”

“No… it was the first time I couldn’t get my senses to connect..”

Both you stay silent, each of you contemplating different things about what that may mean. You have a suspicion of something but don’t want to say anything until you’re more sure about it.  There’s a commotion down the hall and you and Isaac both adjust so that you can see better.

It’s the man from last night. The one that was sobbing near the cruiser. He’s being escorted out by deputies and you can tell that he’s upset but he’s also mad. His face is hard and he looks like he is on a mission… That can’t be good.

Isaac's phone distracts you by chiming repeatedly, like someone’s sending him multiple messages. You figure that it’s Allison and are about to tell him to go take care of his not-girlfriend when he turns to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t heard from Derek?”

“Didn’t I tell you that? Peter’s gone radio silent for a couple days now too.”

“Uh… no... I definitely would have remembered you telling me that…. You can’t stay at the loft alone.”

“I’m sorry Isaac I swear I thought I told you- Wait why?”

“We need to meet Scott.” He says as he pushes himself up and begins to move towards the school exit.

Huffing you get up and begin to follow him as you call out, “You do realize that’s not an answer right?”

Isaac just keeps going. 

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tag list: @nicole-lynne @fandom-princess-forevermore @capandbuck @biles-bilinski-24 @stiles-o-dylan24 @fiveisadorable @falling-stars-never-cry @blueraindrops

Do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is the property of lettersofwrittencollective . Associated characters belong to MTV and are being borrowed for this work, all OC’s are the property of lettersofwrittencollective. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Posted 14 March 2019

[darkworkcourier]

based on this ask, courtesy of @arthurmergan o7

(i’m also kinda wanting to do an OC version of this, since i’m self indulgent. but this son of a gun is x reader. o7)

- - -

There’s worse places to do this, and definitely worse times. Where and when are up for debate, but at the moment, you have no complaints about where you are and what you’re doing except that it’s freezing. Too much exposed skin right at the windward side of the ridge near the Overlook, right at the time of night when the wind is particularly biting. 

Not that anyone’s complaining out loud. You certainly can’t, considering the fact that your mouth is way too occupied with Javier’s own. He kisses you harder than you’re used to, biting down on your bottom lip, one of his hands behind your head to keep you in place as you moan against him. He tastes like the cigarettes he’s been smoking all night, and you can’t find yourself hating it as much as you’d thought. Then again, he and Charles are giving everything about this night a new sort of association. You’re freezing, yes, but Charles’ cock is buried so deep inside of you that you can’t bring yourself to care. Everything smells like cigarettes and last, desperate cups of coffee and the cold metal smell of early snow, but Charles is fucking you hard, and Javier’s kissing you silent. 

You’re pressed almost flush against Javier now as Charles fucks you with the driving power of a draft horse. Your next moan comes out like a sob, and you can feel Javier laugh against you just as much as you can hear it. He pulls away from your lips just enough to whisper into your ear.

“You keep makin’ noises like that and we’re gonna get some unwanted attention,” he says. You can feel his warm breath on your neck. Then, his thumb is on your bottom lip, brushing the curve of it before slipping into your mouth. You can feel the callous on his thumb from the hammer of his revolver, and you deliberately run your tongue over it. Even though you can’t see it, you know he’s smiling.

Charles changes his angle just a fraction, adjusting you with his hands on your hips. He hasn’t said much-- hasn’t had to. Everything he’s wanted to say has translated into how hard he thrusts, where his hands go, the soft, wordless sounds he makes. 

However, you hear him breathe out in a shudder. “Keep ‘em occupied?” he suggests to Javier, who laughs again.

“With pleasure.”

You only have a moment to try to decipher that before one of Javier’s hands is in your hair, stroking with suspicious gentleness. “You want this?” he asks, voice low and dark.

“Huh?”

He kisses your forehead before speaking again. “My cock in your mouth. You want that?”

It takes you another moment, and you suppose you can’t be blamed for your slow response. Charles’ new angle and the soft grunts of his pleasure are blocking out most of your higher thought, and the distinct thrill of Javier’s suggestion doesn’t help with the clarity. That, and the fact that the three of you are going about this well within the sight of camp where any person could simply stroll down the ridge at their leisure and see you-- well, honestly, you can’t be blamed at all.

“Y-yes,” you finally say. You wet your lips, ignoring the frigid bite on the wind that follows. Then, you nod against Javier’s shoulder. “Please.”

“Aw, can’t resist that when you’re bein’ so polite,” he says. Then, he makes a gesture to Charles that you can’t see. “Think you can keep ‘em steady?”

“You know I can.”

Again, you have only a moment to think when you feel one of Charles’ arms wrap around your midsection, his other hand a firm grasp on your bare hip. He’s so warm, and hotter still as he fucks you with a powerful slowness, with every thrust deliberate and intense. He kisses the back of your neck, down your spine through the layers of your clothing, as out of array as they are. It’s a testament to his personality on the whole, how gentle he is, but how fierce all at once. You know he loves you in a way that can’t easily be put to words. His hold on you is reassuring, and it’s a wonder how he can make you feel so safe, and yet so exposed.

Then, Javier’s hands are back on you. One hand is in your hair, the other on the underside of your jaw as he gently guides you downward. He’s leaning up against a tree for support, and you feel the rough scrape of his wool poncho as your face brushes against it. Charles keeps you supported, practically holding you upright at all.

This much you’ve practiced, and as soon as you feel the hot brush of Javier’s cock against your mouth, all that’s to follow is a matter of secondhand instinct. Your mouth opens on contact, taking him in in increments. You try to stay mindful, as cold as you are and as tired, minding your teeth and the rhythm you start to build. Soon enough, you’re swallowing him down, then pulling back, and continuing this until you hear his breath hitch.

“Yes,” he hisses. His hand runs through your hair. The other hand moves to your shoulder. 

It’s amazing, how quickly the three of you settle into the rhythm you start to set. Charles thrusts as you do, slow and steady, just right to build up that hot coil of pressure that feels like it’s shared among you. The sounds of the night are fade away, drowned by their shuddering breaths and low grunts. You think you can hear yourself as well, but all sounds blend into this odd harmony. Your pleasure is Javier’s is Charles’. Charles is bent over your back, holding you to him, his moans so deep and goddamn lovely that you’re dizzy with all of it, with his sounds and the hot, heavy weight of him in and on you. You telegraph this pleasure to how you handle Javier, your hands on the base of his cock, fisting it where your mouth leaves a space. You taste him as you feel him; his cock twitches against the flat of your tongue and you feel that first salt-tang flavor in you mouth, knowing that he’s enjoying this immensely.

And then you think of being found. Someone coming down the ridge, eyes adjusting the to dark, and finding the three of you rutting against each other. You wonder what they would think, what they would say. Part of you wants to be found, wants your love for these men to be on display as they take you from two sides.  You think you hear Charles curse. You know you can feel his grip on you tighten. His thrusts become more erratic, quicker. He says something that you can’t quite hear, but it becomes apparent that you didn’t need to. He lets out this choked sound, half buried between your shoulders as he comes. His spend is hot inside of you, and he makes a few more shallow thrusts as he holds you through it. For the better, you think. You’re not far behind, with that same hot pressure building up inside of you, around you, through every last nerve in your body until you’re sure that you’ll black out from it. One of Charles’ hands moves lower, helping to guide you through your orgasm. Typical, you think. He wouldn’t allow you to go without it, and he’s quick to help build it up to the cresting point, like the high, strong note of a song. It’s blinding when it does come, falling down through your core like an avalanche. You shudder, your keening muffled by Javier’s cock in your mouth, which only pleases him more.

After that, you devote a little extra effort to Javier, even though you’re not completely keen on this ending quickly. If you could, you’d want to do this all night. Honestly, you’d be happy to spend a week with just the two of them in some cabin in the woods, alternating between enjoying their company and fucking them and being fucked senseless. As it stands, this is the most you can get, and you’re happy with every second. 

You swallow Javier down as far as you’re physically able, considering the odd angle. He doesn’t seem to mind, his hand leaving your hair presumably to muffle his own groans of pleasure. The thought that you’ve brought Javier to this point where he has to keep himself quiet does a wonderful thing to your ego, and serves to help you redouble your efforts.

He says your name through his hand, and then he’s tugging your hair again, his moans reduced to gasps and soft breathy sounds. He’s beyond discernible words, and beyond noise at one point when you can taste him in hot spurts on your tongue. The angle makes it difficult to swallow all of it, but you do your best, sucking him off and running your fingers over his twitching cock, down to his balls, and back up until he finally has no choice but to weakly push at your shoulders. 

“Oh, fuck,” is all he can say between his gasps. 

There’s a suspended moment of time where the three of you are still. Charles still holds you, softened inside of you but unwilling to let you go just yet. Your forehead is pressed against Javier’s hip, his cock hot and wet beside your cheek as he breathes his way back to stability. He’s stroking your hair, or maybe Charles is. It’s difficult to tell where all of you begin and end, and you really don’t have a need or want to know who’s who. You know Charles pulls himself out of you, and you know someone helps you stand up straight (ignoring that strain in your back). There are lips on the side of your neck, on the back of it, and hands seemingly everywhere.

“Don’t wanna go back,” you say to them, not to one in particular. 

Javier laughs against your neck. “I know,” he says.

“We have to,” Charles adds.

You shake your head. It feels right, being between them, still colt-legged from your orgasm, and knowing the two of them are the same. 

For a long moment, it’s quiet save for the hiss of wind in the trees and your breathing. Then, you hear and feel Javier yawn. Charles laughs, and then you do as well. 

“I’ve been up since eight this morning,” Javier says quietly. Then, you feel his hand on your face. “And not like we can’t do this again.”

Charles nods against your shoulder. 

“That better be a promise,” you say.

As the three of you get ready to head back into camp, you have no doubt that the two of them will be good for it.

[1dffexchange]

Great Unexpectations

To: Inm @in-madhouses​

From: E @unofficialxstyles​

Summary: Alana Bosworth thinks Dickens is overrated. That and the fact that there was no such thing as too much coffee.

Niall Horan begs to differ.

A tale of two different people, one coffeeshop and a how things never go the way we expect them to.

There probably was no such thing as too much coffee.

Sure, everyone talked about the effects of overdosing on caffeine-among which was infertility, by the way, but nobody actually cared. Coffee was a nectar of the Gods.

And sometimes, Alana Bosworth did think she was God.

Or at the very least maybe a distant, distant, distant relative of the heavenly being.

Afterall, she was able to (read: nearly) finish a ten thousand word assignment in one sitting a day before the submission deadline. If that was not a testament to her powers then perhaps, drinking a total of no less than six cups of coffee was.

Still, as Alana threw her body against the smooth wooden counter that overlooked a quiet, deserted street, she could not help but to second guess her coffee addiction. She hated to admit it but six cups did seem like a bit much.

So she did what any sane person would do in her shoes-she reached for her phone and punched in some numbers. The person on the other end of the line picked up after three rings, specifically, but what was supposed to be cordial greeting was instead replaced with muffled screaming and a loud thud.

Ouch.

“Henry…Henry I told you…no, no,” the voice at the other end of the line sounded distressed but Alana merely waited it out. “Honey, please. Okay, okay, fine, eat the cake,” There was another muffled scream, random shuffling and then, at long last, a proper, “Hello,”

“Hello to you, too, Kat,” Alana responded brightly, adjusting herself so that she was seated upright once more.

“Alan? Hi,” came the response. Unlike before, Katherine Bosworth-Ferguson sounded a little more excited this time. “How are you? You haven’t called in like two weeks. Mum was getting worried, you know. She keeps thinking you’re passed out drunk in a London pub or something and one of these days she’d be getting a call to let her know that you’re dead,”

Alana cringed.

First of all, pubs were never her thing.

Second of all, she did wish her mother had more faith in her.

“You guys actually give me far less credit than I deserve, Kat. You know I could bust ass if need be,” Alana replied, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. There came a sound at the other end of the line once more, a little croak that indicated Kat already had a counter argument fully ready to launch but Alana quickly cut her off. There were more pressing matters at hand.

“Hey, listen I know it’s late I was just calling to see if you maybe knew how much coffee is like too much coffee? As in a lethal amount?” Alana questioned.

Three beats of silence passed.

Birds chirped.

Henry dropped his fork on his now empty chocolate cake plate.

“You….called me….to…ask about…coffee,”

“I’m figuring if there’s anyone who’d know about such things, it’d be a nurse and you’re a nurse so,”

“Exactly what time is it there,”

The question prompted Alana to glance at the watch she had on. “A little after 12.....oh,” The redhead sheepishly smiled, even though her older sister could not witness her slight embarrassment. “It’s early there,”

If eyerolls could be heard, she was pretty sure she heard Katherine’s tumble to the back of her head.

“You should be going to sleep,” was all Katherine said.

The screaming resumed.

“Listen, Alana, I would love to catch up but Henry is now covered in chocolate cake and heaven knows what else so I should really go. Henry…Henry no,” Once again, Katherine sounded livid. “But to quickly answer your question, caffeine has side effects so don’t drink too much of it. It does increase memory, though so if you’re into entering the spelling bee or something, coffee is your best bet. Text me…later, or call me at a better time…maybe text before you do…I have to go. Henryyyyyy,”

With that, the line went dead.

Sisters before misters, they always said.

Unless of course one had a sister with a robust three year old keen on destroying everything he touches.

Then maybe it was time to get a mister.

Or maybe not. Those were always a problem, too.

Knowing she’d get nowhere that night with her burning questions about coffee, Alana pursed her lips, threw her phone into her bag and then resumed her position slumped against the counter. She closed her eyes for all of seven seconds.

“Uhm, miss,”

Good things never did last, of course.

Alana opened one eye and was met with a tall, blonde man looking at her with an odd mixture of curiosity, politeness and a hint of irritation.

She opened the other eye and sat up. He pointed at the clock on the wall.

“We’re closed. We actually closed fifteen minutes ago and….you have to go,” his accent was think but his tone, albeit a little understandably impatient, was apologetic.

Alana nodded her head in understanding and stood up, mumbling her own apology. “Didn’t see the time. Life gets like that when you have to finish a damn assignment on three hours of sleep after finishing one the day before. Life sucks and especially so before Christmas break,”

Alana began packing her bag, throwing a stack of notes and her laptop into her carry on before stacking four empty coffee cups neatly and handing it over to the barista. She knew he was the barista because he was a familiar face-he had been making her coffee over the last year with no less enthusiasm than an energizer bunny each time.

He did not prepare her coffee consistently, of course, but he was there often enough to know her coffee order before she even got a word out and to sometimes use his staff discount.

When the weather was extra nice, they’d even engage in small talk.

His name was Niall.

“Tell me about it,” Niall replied cordially. “I’m this close to being dead but you know…extra cash always helps; especially around Christmas. And they say a bachelor’s will get you far in life….They never mentioned the need to get through this phase, first,”

Alana snorted, then nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Bachelor’s? More like Bache’s gonna kill me,”

Niall, much to his credit, had the courtesy to chuckle lightly at what Alana already knew was a failed attempt at a joke. He held the coffee cups in a silent gesture of goodbye.

“I… should go clean up. Goodnight,”

“Goodnight,”

She watched Niall disappear behind the double doors that led to the kitchen before heaving a sigh. The young woman grabbed her coat and began her trek back to her dorm room-just two blocks down from Barney’s Coffee & Cakes.

Replaying the few words that she and Niall had exchanged earlier, the reminder of Christmas approaching made her smile in nostalgia. With the most awaited holiday just two weeks away, despite her excitement of spending it abroad for the first time in her life, she did at times wish she had chosen to spend it with her family. She could already picture Katherine, Joshua and Henry taking a photos with the Christmas tree at her parent’s house, her father in his ugly Christmas sweater insisting everyone taste the turkey he’d already perfected the recipe for and just staying up with her mother on Christmas night, talking about all the things they were thankful for in the last year.

The mental image made her miss her family a little bit more but she comforted herself with the fact that she was about to experience something different, this time with friends she had made over the last year, which made the anxiety dissipate a little.

By the time she had reached her front door and turned the key into the lock, Alana was, once again, affirmed over the decision of staying in London for Christmas instead of heading back to Los Angeles a week early.

That is, until she opened the door to a sight straight out a porn production.

“Holy Jesus,”

The curse that left Alana’s mouth broke the obvious sex laden trance two of her friends were in and they immediately broke apart while having the decency to actually look guilty. She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air, making her way towards the kitchen.

“I thought you weren’t coming home,” It was Soo Young-Soo to everyone else-who spoke first. She got up from her position on the sofa and trotted towards Alana. The latter thanked the heavens Soo still had her t-shirt on.

“And what gave you the idea?” Alana poured herself a glass of water.

“I don’t know. You might have decided that someone at the coffeeshop was worth getting laid with. You spend like…all your time there,” Soo commented, positioning herself next to Alana against the kitchen counter.

“Not all-”

“All,” Zayn, Soo’s boyfriend, volunteered. Upon careful inspection when her attention was turned to him, she noted that he too was still fully clad. “Would it kill you to live a little, Alan?”

“I only go there when I need to complete an assignment,”

“That doesn’t mean being there all the time?” Soo poked Alana’s arm, earning a protest from the latter. “Honestly, Alan….you’re beautiful and you’re funny sometimes. Talk to people. So what if you don’t meet deadlines? Not making it for one assignment wouldn’t kill your grades,”

Alana offered Soo a stare that could rival Medusa’s.

“You forget that I’m here on exchange and my grades do matter because my records are going to be sent back to UCLA and I want to graduate when I get back or my year in London will come to moot,”

“Your year in London is already moot,” Zayn argues. “You came to London a boring bug and you’re leaving London…a boring bug,”

She loved Zayn-adored him, really-but sometimes, he had the emotional quotient of a pig.

In an attempt to defend herself and to prove a point of sorts, Alana crossed the space between them and smacked Zayn squarely on the head. There were times where she hated his truthful and wise moments-even if they were….truthful and wise.

“I’m not boring. I party with you guys,” Alana defended herself.

Zayn chortled.

Soo grunted in apparent disagreement.

Alana looked between them both.

“Look, Alan, there’s nothing wrong with being a homebody and considering game night a party but really, let loose a little,” Zayn advised. “Like Soo said…you’re young and beautiful. And maybe call yourself Lana instead of Alan,”

“What’s wrong with Alan? I like Alan and everyone calls me that,” Alana scrunched her face up. “It’s much more unique than an Alana being called Lana,”

Logic, duh.

“Yeah,” Zayn stifled a yawn. “But being an Alan won’t get you laid as often,”

“You’re very misogynistic you know. You’re lucky I love you or I’d have put a lock on our door a long time ago,”

This time, Soo laughed from where she was in the kitchen and Alana cracked a smile.

Of all the things that had happened in the last year-which really was not much- she was most thankful for having Soo as a roommate and then, by default, meeting and becoming friends with Zayn. Unlike her, they were both students with King’s College and were her first friends. It was Soo who brought her on a ‘Locals Only London’ tour on her first week here and Zayn who invited her to his birthday party-where she met a few other friends she had grown to appreciate.

In turn, it was one of her outer circle of friends who had introduced her to Barney’s-which quickly became her sanctuary. It was less popular than the other coffeeshops in the area because it was a little rundown-with some scratched out tables and rickety chairs-but somehow, Alana thought those very features held true the coffeeshop aesthetics and were ones that made the place all the more cosy.

Plus, Zayn and Soo did occasionally get up to no good in the room so to Barney’s was a quick escape plan.

“Life’s not all about getting laid though is it,” Alana finally replied, sitting herself proper next to Zayn. Soo soon joined her other side. “Anyway, getting laid thoughts aside…are we still doing the Christmas gift exchange thing with Harry and Jen?”

It was the highlight of Alana’s Christmas abroad.

At the mention of this, surprisingly, the previously playful air around them tensed a little and Alana did not miss the look Soo and Zayn shared. Instantly, it sent warning bells ringing in her head. When they had talked about Christmas plans a month ago, it was Soo who suggested they had a small gathering in a nearby bar-just having drinks and hosting a gift exchange. Alana had jumped on the idea, thinking it was a perfect way to celebrate the holiday.

“About that….” Soo broke the silence, biting her lip as if not liking her next words, either. “Zayn’s parents invited us down to Braford for the holidays and we…kinda agreed. It was totally last minute, we didn’t know,”

“Harry and Jen will still be here,” Zayn offered.

Alana felt her heart clench but she quickly gathered herself and smiled. Holidays were family time, too, and she could not be selfish about things like these. Besides, Zayn and Soo had done so much for her-she could not expect them to stay back against their will, too.

“I’m not as close to them but…it’s okay. We’ll manage. You guys go, have fun,” Alana assured them. “Say hi to your siblings for me, Zayn. Would love to meet them someday,”

Zayn ruffled the top of her head.

“Will do, Lana,”

Alana groaned. “It’s Alan,”

Soo hugged them both.

---

Christmas eve in London was like one of those postcards on a window display one saw whilst walking along the streets heading to the Tower Bridge. It was snowing lightly, bright lights lit up the street and there were muffled noises of celebration going around campus. Alana jammed her hands inside her pockets, soaking in the sights as she headed to Barney’s. It was two hours till Christmas and she did not feel like spending Christmas eve alone so she had decided to head to her favourite hangout instead.

Soo and Zayn had left for Bradford three days before. An unusually teary Soo apologised profusely for pulling out the plug on their holiday plans and it took a firm hearted Zayn to pull her away and multiple assurances from Alana that they’d see each other before Alana went back to the States before Soo would let her go. Alana gave them both their little gifts-a bottle of Soju and pair of concert tickets for Soo and a thrifted leather jacket for Zayn which proclaimed his undying love for Guns and Roses, embroidered at the back-before bidding temporary goodbye.

That Christmas eve, Harry, Jen and her had met up at the pub as planned, sharing a few drinks before doing the exchange. At Harry’s invitation to attend a Christmas eve countdown party afterwards, Alana had decline, using the excuse that she was a little bit tired. In truth, however, Alana had no interest in spending time with people she barely knew.

She was certain she would have listed the benefits of coffee to an unsuspecting stranger and branded herself a weirdo for life and she would very much like her Christmas eve to be pleasant.

Even if Jen did stay true to her teasing promises and gave Alana an ugly sweater for Christmas.

Finally arriving at Barney’s, Alana was unsurprised to find that it was even emptier than it was before. Despite the wooden walls being decorated with proclamations of a “Merry Christmas” and a few miserable Christmas cards, Alana doubted anyone would want to ring in Christmas drinking coffee. The young woman walked up to the counter, ordered herself a latte then sat herself by the usual spot, by the window, as she awaited for her coffee to cool down.

As she stared out the window and watched people heading towards their Christmas plans, Alana could not help but to admit that she’d miss Barney’s as much as she’d miss Soo and Zayn. Barney’s had seen her through late nights, early mornings and days where she just needed to treasure her aloneness. Somehow, the wooden walls has seen her grow over the last year-the unusually quiet girl had taken a leap of faith, going to another country for an entire year, alone, merely to pursue the unknown. It was a walking cliché but hell, it was Christmas eve.

Heaving out a breath, Alana pulled her knees up to her chest and took out the book she had been attempting to read over the last week. One of her classmates, while in conversation about the best literary classics of all times, found herself in genuine disbelief when she realised that Alana had not yet read Great Expectations. Alana had defended herself, letting her classmate know she had attempted it before but just never properly understood it and had given up. She was presented the book a day later by the very same classmate with the promise that she would read it over the Christmas break.

Her second attempt, so far, was a failure. She was at page twenty seven when she closed the book, pushing it across the table in mild frustration.

“Not a fan of Dickens?”

It was Niall.

Alana looked up to find him looking at her in ill-disguised amusement.

“I just don’t think it’s as much a classic as its touted to be. Or maybe I just don’t understand it,”

“You think Great Expectations is sub-par?” Niall had the audacity to look surprised now. He perched his bucket of collected mugs against his hips, eyebrows raised.

Alana made a face, then chuckled.

“Wait here,”

Before Alana could protest or question the semi-stranger before her, Niall disappeared behind the double doors. When he re-emerged, he spoke in hushed tones to the other barista, gesturing towards her. With a firm nod from the other, Niall undid his apron and quickly joined Alana, sitting across from her.

He would have been skiving had it not been for the fact that the only customer was her.

“Care to tell me what this is about?” Alana’s asked. She leaned back in her chair, then folded her arms across her chest.

“I’m here to tell you what you missed out with Dickens,”

Niall’s grin was smug.

“Right…because what I really need on Christmas eve is a lecture about the great Charles Dickens,” Alana mocked, looking pointedly towards the book.

Niall seemed to contemplate his response and in those moments, Alana dared a glance at him. Only then did she fully register that his eyes were a deep blue and that he had a slightly dented chin. His hair, while mostly blonde, had highlights of auburn in them.

Strange how she had seen him throughout the year and only then noticed the most obvious details.

“About that…why are you here on Christmas eve?” Niall’s sudden change in topic caught Alana off guard, causing her to frown. Her response prompted Niall to shoot his arms up in defence and after laughing lightly, added. “I mean, I’m sure you have better Christmas plans than coming here to get drunk on coffee,”

“I don’t get drunk on coffee,”

“Well, with a six cup black coffee record, you might as well have,”

“I’ve had ten once back home,”

“And….where is home?”

The question, although catching Alana off guard, caused her to grin. “Smooth one-if that’s your way of finding out where I live,” Alana pursed her lips, reaching for her coffee. “Home is Los Angeles. Only here for exchange…which officially ends in a week,”

Sometimes, when Alana got nervous, she tended to give more than she cared to admit.

“That’s…pretty far from here. No plans tonight?”

Alana shook her head no, then added. “My grand total of two friends decided to love it up back in his hometown so I’m left with a barely friends Christmas secret Santa thing and Dickens in a coffeeshop,”

Yup, she was definitely nervous.

Instead of appearing sorry for her, however, Niall shrugged.

“Sounds a whole lot better than working on Christmas eve,” his voice was laced with an undertone of sadness and that alone, somehow, made Alana sit up a little bit straighter.

“Well, you have your barista buddy if it counts for anything…and an equally lonely customer,”

As if to proof a point, Alana raised her cup in a quiet toast before sipping her drink.

“Jack’s about to knock off; he has a party to get to…but you’re more than welcomed to stay,” Niall stood up then and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I uh…better go clean up. We close at twelve so don’t make me chase you out…again,”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Alana joked.

“Hopefully it wouldn’t be the last, either,”

The laughter that escaped Alana’s lips carried through the now empty space, She chose to sit back and do nothing for a while, watching as mere minutes later, Jack emerged from behind the counter, waving at Niall as he approached the front door. He noticed Alana during these moments and with an enthusiastic “Merry Christmas”, was on his way.

Perhaps, in all of England, her Christmas was the most boring.

In the two hours that followed, Alana alternated between attempting Dickens and checking her phone-though she spent more time doing the second. The group chats she was in were filled with Christmas greetings and updates, the most active being one of her family and her close friends back home. Both groups seemed to be preparing for Christmas in full swing. Her father was roasting the turkey, as usual, and her friends were already calling dibs on what they’d be bringing to the party at Carlos’. Alana felt a pang of sadness wash over her but as quickly as it came, she halted her thoughts by reaching for Dickens, focusing now on Pip and his journey on Christmas eve.

Perhaps, in some greater metaphor of sorts, Dickens on Christmas did seem appropriate.

“Looks like I am going to chase you out,” Niall’s sudden interruption brought her out of her semi-reverie in nineteenth century England.

“Is it twelve already?” Alana looked at the clock to find that they were exactly five minutes away.

“Not yet but I wanna wish you Merry Christmas instead of chasing you out right at midnight. That would be very Fairy Godmother of me,”

“Indeed,” was all Alana said before standing up, packing her bag and then swinging it over her shoulder.

“Did you get anywhere with Dickens?”

“First base, if I’m lucky. But I think it’s more of a cordial friendship at this point,” When the response was met with a puzzled look from Niall, Alana giggled. “We’re at page forty and I am still not impressed,”

Niall did the unthinkable then.

“Come over to my place then…tomorrow…not tonight…because I have to clean up and it’s…not appropriate, anyway,”

Alana blinked.

Twice.

In slow motion.

“I mean…if you want to. I did a review on Dickens last semester and maybe it’d be easier for you to understand and appreciate it and also….I kinda don’t want to spend Christmas alone,”

As if to confirm her suspicion, Alana asked. “You’re asking me out?”

“No…yes…I mean…we’ve known each other almost the year right so that makes us friends and we’re just…hanging out on Christmas and I have gingerbread cookies and we could talk Dickens or not and you can say no-”

The rest of Niall’s words blurred into the background and in its place was Zayn’s voice telling her she needed to live a little and live a life outside Barney’s that was less calculated. Leaps of faith were never her thing but perhaps, there was no harm in this one-especially since she knew deep down, she had nothing to lose. It was a tiny gathering between friends and if she had to put it in her own words and her own terms, it was kind of like a Christmas study date.

“-and of course I have boardgames and-”

“Okay,” Alana answered at last. “I’m pretty sure we’d get nowhere with Dickens but I do love gingerbread cookies,”

Niall held in his response for a moment after the agreement was forged, unable to belief that his spontaneous idea of asking a fellow lone soul to spend Christmas together would bear fruit.

“Yeah…yeah okay,” Niall finally found his words but unconsciously scratched the back of his neck in sudden shyness. “I’ll go get my phone and then text you my address,”

While Niall went to get his phone, Alana quickly reached for hers and with rapid speed and an equally quick heart rate, ignored the multiple texts she received to send a message to Soo.

“Got asked out on an almost date for Christmas. Merry Christmas to you and Z!!!!!!!!! xxxxxx”

Just as she hit send, Niall emerged once more and handed his phone to her so she could type in her number. A knowing smile formed on her lips, however, when the name space was filled with the name “Karen”.

“Uhmm…my name is actually Alan. Short for Alana. Alana Bosworth,”

Niall looked puzzled. “What do you mean….?”

“I mean….” Alana paused and licked her lips, unable to hold in a laugh that eventually escaped her lips. She held his phone up. “I mean my name is Alana not Karen. You might have misheard me saying Alan…everyone calls me Alan…. and assumed my name was Karen and wrote it down by mistake. You’ve been writing it wrong the whole year,”

It was Niall’s turn to blink twice. In slow motion.

“What do you mean I’ve been writing your name wrong for a year?” Niall turned pale, his eyes reflecting obvious embarrassment. “Why have you never corrected me?”

“Because,” Alana was laughing without inhibitions now and gave herself a few moments to gather herself. “….Because you only asked once and I thought I could correct you the next time I saw you but you never asked for my name again so I’m….Karen,”

Niall ran a hand through his hair, opening his mouth as if to say something before quickly deciding against it. “You mean I’ve mistaken you for a Karen the whole year,”

Alana nodded in mock seriousness, the nudged her new friend. “It’s okay…no big,”

Typing her phone number in then, she gave herself a missed call before handing the phone back to Niall who looked a little less shocked than he was before but still clearly beating himself up over getting someone else’s name wrong for a whole year.

“Relax, Niall. It’s okay, really. At least now you know, right?” Alana assured him. “Text me your address tomorrow and we’ll meet up,”

Niall nodded his head robotically.

“Okay,” Alana was still amused as she backed away and towards the door. “Goodnight, Niall…and Merry Christmas,”

“Good….goodnight, Kar….Alan. See you tomorrow. Merry Christmas,”

Niall blew out a breath of utter shock as he watched Alana leave. When he finally fully recovered, he dialled a number on the phone. The other person picked up almost instantly.

“Hey…yeah buddy…Merry Christmas to you too. Listen, you wouldn’t belief what happened, Zayn….”

[serenephenix]

... To help you

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

…To help you

[Fandom]:Voltron: Legendary Defender

[Rating]: Gen/ Gen

[Genre]: Family, Hurt/Comfort, centers around Veronica, Marco & Lance

[Warning]: mention of very protective but ultimately supporting siblings

[Word count]:  4.800

[Status]: completed

Post season 7 – related to this post I made

[Omg help me I’m back on my shit again. After months of having been unable to write I can’t seem to stop. Have fun guys. This is suuuuuuper self-indulgent by the way. Kudos to anyone who makes it to the end.]

[Important PSA after the first comments on Ao3: No bashing the team, be it in the tags or in a reblog. Lance is not a prize to be won by either side]

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 Once might have counted as nothing more than a fluke. A second time she might play off as a coincidence maybe. By the third time, Veronica had a sinking feeling plaguing her. After the fifth time, she had stopped counting and instead started to consider that this had to be more than a mere “fluke”.

Far be it from her to hold grudges or make hasty decisions, but the more time Veronica spent around team Voltron, the angrier she became almost every instance.

Honestly, the fact that her ire had grown enough to be noticeable even to her family was admirable in itself – there were few people that could pride themselves in having disturbed Veronica’s inner peace so profoundly that she was falling back into bad habits.

“You’re chewing on your pencil.”

She startled, taken aback by Marco’s nonchalance. She cleared her throat and demonstratively put the poor, abused tool down to recline in the uncomfortable chair they had stolen from another room down the hall so that at meals everyone had a chance to sit at the relatively small workbench that served as their table and “office” outside of office.

But the last one only truly concerned Veronica herself.

Marco was idly scrolling through something on a datapad, finger lazily dragging along the surface. Judging by his expression it had to be pictures from before the war had broken out – small glimpses of the past he had managed to take with himself on an even smaller chip he had guarded with his life. It was incredible he had ever thought of taking them with him, much less having stored them there in the first place.

The original chip still hung around his neck, attached to a sturdy necklace and protected by a plastic casing that had seen better days already. A testament to the trials and losses the journey from Cuba had brought with it.

She caught a glimpse of a picture –fairly old, since she caught her nine year old herself in the left-hand corner – and she felt something in her chest tighten as she caught sight of Abuela smiling up from an angle. Such a sweet smile, unsuspecting of all the terrible things that were to come.

There was no way that Marco had not noticed her taking off her glasses to wipe at the corners of her eyes, but he had the grace to not further comment on it.

“I miss her.”

“Me too.”

She wished she could have seen her at least one more time. Once the Galra had arrived she had not managed anything more than to text her family in a group chat, telling them to run and hide.

After communications had been cut by the invaders, there had been many nights where Veronica had lain awake, wondering, worrying, sometimes crying in the privacy of her small bathroom.

So, when she had reunited with them months later after the missions in the tunnels, the joy had blinded her to the terrible truth for a few minutes.

Knowing that her family was mostly safe and unharmed was a blessing, but as her parents sat her down and told her in soft whispers that their Abuela had suffered a stroke or heart attack during their crossing, Veronica could not stop herself from thinking that it was unfair.

One more time. What she wouldn’t give to tell her one more time that she loved her.

But it was too late, and as she rationalized (as much as it hurt), she was so much luckier than many of her friends and comrades. Many of them had no more family to return to outside of this building.

The gurgling and hiss of the faucet had Veronica looking up, watching with a small smile as Marco came back with a glass of water she accepted gladly.

“Thanks.”

Marco shrugged, corner of his mouth twitching upward a little.

He had been the one to try CPR on Abuela when it had happened. Of course he would, seeing how he had been a lifeguard at Varadero beach for a few years now. Still, it had not worked. Veronica hoped that Marco did not guilt himself over it.

Likely sensing she might ask first if he did not intervene, he pointed to her pencil, her gnawing having left clear indents in the smooth plastic: “What’s up with that?”

Veronica took a large gulp of water first, deciding if she should answer honestly.

Her mind was made-up instantly.

“Lance has been considering staying with us.”

Marco blinked at her in clear shock. His flat palm came to slap at his forehead before it started smoothing his hair back.

“Oooooh… so that’s what the whole morning crying was about.”

Veronica nodded. Neither she nor Lance had explained themselves to the rest of their family and so far she had respected that, even if Maria, Luis, Mama and Papa had needled her. They were worried and Veronica understood it all too well, but Lance was the one who needed to decide for himself when to open up about his impending choice. Today though had put a few things into perspective for her and she needed a second opinion for that, and out of all of their other family members, Marco was one of the more discrete ones. He’d know not to blab.

“I personally think he should stay.”

Marco did give her a questioning look at that but waved his hand for her to go on.

“A team should be about respect and trust. And there is nothing against teasing each other or making jokes. Even our MFE fighter pilots tend to do it,” she smiled fondly at that. One might not be able to tell, but those kids were masters of banter in their own right. According to Veronica’s own tally chart Leifsdottir and Kinkade were tied for first place, not by the amount of shots fired but by the accuracy and truthfulness of them. Griffin and Rizavi, even as a united force, stood no chance.

Veronica’s smile vanished though, as she remembered the interactions she had been privy to over the past week, where she had taken over for a communications officer that had fallen ill.

It was probably due to their late night conversation and the endless praise Lance would wax about his teammates, but what Veronica had seen and heard instantly made that cold yet blazing protectiveness resurge.

As she had concluded, team Voltron was indeed made up of wonderful individuals, unique and incredible in their own ways.

When one gave it a bit of thought, having former cadet Keith Kogane work almost seamlessly with a team felt like a fever dream. While Veronica had never personally interacted with the defiant youth back in the day, she had heard complaints from all of the staff forced to deal with him. The calm leader giving instructions over the comms was almost unrecognizable. Captain Shirogane always seemed to swell with quiet pride whenever it was pointed out.

Veronica could understand him all too well – if anyone were to talk that same way about Lance, she would likely not react any differently.

Pidge, or rather Katie Holt, was indeed just as smart as Lance had emphasized. Not that there had been any doubt about it during the briefings and strategy talks leading up to their final stand, the young woman coming up with a multitude of scenarios whenever a new element and detail was added to their plans. Veronica was all too curious about finding out just how she was processing things so quickly even without a computer handy. In regards to snark, she and Rizavi would get along wonderfully.

Hunk was the main reason they had managed to salvage many of their vehicles in the aftermath of the fight. She had yet to taste any of his cooking (which Lance reminded her daily was to die for), but what she could say was that he was a creative engineer. Just the other day, she had listened to him chatter with his friends all the while helping one of their engineering groups restarting an emergency generator for a medical facility. In the end, he and the other engineers had ended up building it from scratch, Hunk throwing in suggestion to get the most out of it. Some of these adjustment sounded downright alien - which they most likely were.

Princess Allura herself was one of the most regal and beautiful women Veronica had ever had the pleasure to meet. Which may be why she was rooting for her brother and, subsequently, liked flustering Lance with comments and remarks regarding Allura’s interest in him. But as much as Allura was a princess, she was also a kind and devoted person, one of the first to rise to coordinate the actions for reconstruction and the last to leave in the evening.

Amazing people in their own rights and yet…

“I do not think staying with team Voltron as it currently is will do Lance a lot of good in the long run.”

She looked at Marco over the rim of her glasses.

Her earnestness must have hit a nerve, since slowly Marco’s surprised expression shifted from disbelief to concern, his brow furrowing and mouth pinched.

“What makes you say that? Lance seems to like them. Can’t be that bad then, can they?”

Veronica let those words settle a little.

No, the members of team Voltron were not bad people, not by a long shot. But just as any other individuals with agency, they had their faults and made mistakes.

Allura, as Veronica had noticed, could be somewhat stubborn if she saw herself in the right.

Hunk could be dismissive of others when under pressure.

Pidge had a tendency to be unrelenting, be it in her very scientific explanations or tasks she had set herself.

Keith seemed to not always think things through entirely, sometimes getting blindsided by details that had not been discussed prior, ultimately tripping him up.

But all of these, in Veronica’s opinion, were excusable.

She needed to take a deep breath, indignation rising inside her like bile. It was not helpful or necessary at the moment. She needed to keep a clear head. Marco’s judgement need not be clouded by her feelings.

“Did you know that when you are in a relationship long enough, you become deaf to certain things being repeatedly said, both parties no longer noticing it even happens?”

Marco gave a cough that soon turned into full-blown laughter.

“Tell me about it. Marta would never shut up about me messing with her nifty system for all of our clothes,” his expression lost a bit of its mirth. Veronica could only guess that he was mentally revisiting the rooms of a house that was probably destroyed like much else on Earth, “After a while, it just became a running gag. Heh, even the kids were getting a laugh out of it.”

“Exactly.”

He started at her sudden interjection, at the harshness in her voice as she gripped the glass she was still holding with a little more force.

She took another deep breath as Marco slowly came closer, taking with him his chair with protesting screeches from chair legs dragging across the floor.

Once sitting, he leaned forward, crossed arms resting on the table’s surface, face grim.

“What’s going on?”

Veronica raised her left hand, elbow still on the table and started massaging her temple with her thumb. The pain when she pressed just the right spot was distracting enough to calm her.

“I’ve been dealing with communications for a while now, to help with coordinating the reconstruction efforts. Ever since Lance told me about wanting to quit, I might have paid more attention to him and his team, however subconsciously,” her lips twitched but there was nothing funny about all of it, “And this past week, since taking over for officer Anatoly, I’ve been in charge of communicating them their tasks. For that, I’m on the comms constantly and I hear everything that’s going on.”

She took off her glasses, putting them in front of her, wiping at her tired eyes. The screens were doing them little good.

Marco was kind enough to wait, even went to refill her glass and Veronica thanked him for it.

“I cannot tell you how many times Lance has been treated as ‘dumb’ in this one week alone.”

Marco’s stared at her open-mouthed, indignation making his shoulders hunch and his brow furrow so deeply that Veronica was almost afraid the resulting wrinkles would be permanent.

His mouth closed with an audible clack that had both of them wincing, but it did obviously not quell Marco’s anger.

“All of them?” He merely asked, and suddenly Veronica was no longer sure this had been such a good idea.

She put a firm hand on his shoulder, felt him tremor slightly under it.

“Not all of them.”

It still did not seem to appease him.

“What about his commanding officer? Shouldn’t he intervene?”

Veronica resisted the urge to suck in her lips, thinking back to all of the instances where Captain Shirogane had indeed intervened when the team’s discussions went too far off topic for them to still be entirely concentrated on their tasks.

Her heart felt heavy.

When words failed her, she merely shook her head.

“Just as I said: you become deaf at some point.”

The chair went crashing down as Marco surged to his feet, stomping towards the door, and it took all of Veronica’s strength and weight to stop him as she latched onto his wrist with both her hands.

He turned on her sharply, his eyes ablaze with fury and Veronica was so, so glad that she was not at the receiving end of that raw fury.

“This solves nothing,” she reminded him, her voice calm while everything inside her was anything but.

Marco tried to unlatch her, but if he thought her training was for nothing then he was sorely mistaken.

“MY BROTHER DID NOT GO TO WAR TO BE CALLED DUMB!”

His voice boomed through the confined space and Veronica was beyond thankful that right now everyone else was still gone, that luckily it was just them here.

Marco gave another shot at throwing her off, but just as with the first time, Veronica stood her ground, digging the heels of her shoes into the floor.

“I agree with you, I do,” she amended, voice growing louder at the last few words as Marco still resisted, “But antagonizing the people he looks up to and loves is not going to help him!”

Because her brother had told her as much. Shortly after their heart-to-heart, Lance had repeatedly come to her when he could not sleep. As far as Veronica could guess, the impending decision was robbing Lance of sleep. As if recurring nightmares he refused talking about were not already doing a fine job of it. On one of those nights, as Lance had heavily leaned into her side with drooping eyes, he had whispered about the time he had spent hunting coins in a mall’s fountain to get Pidge some retro console from Earth. He had fondly whispered of Keith’s cluelessness about simple cheers, mentioned Hunk and Pidge’s reprogrammed Paladude, a gaming session with Coran and their team leader (and Lance still refused to tell her why he had suddenly been crying at that one), or how Allura had helped him train with a cool sword he had yet to show Veronica.

Lance, undoubtedly, loved his team just as much as he loved them. And Veronica did not doubt that if she asked the team, they would likely call Lance their friend. That did not mean however, that they were properly showing their appreciation.

Veronica would be lying if she said that none of their own family had never called Lance a ‘brat’ or a ‘dumbass’ on occasion. Because Lance, for all of his helpfulness and sweetness, could be a pain to be around. Still, at the end of the end of the day and after every sibling squabble, there never had been any doubt that they loved and supported him.

And as she had observed recently, Lance had very much mellowed out and matured during his stay in space.

Which was why she agreed with Marco’s statement but could not allow her very loyal older brother to hunt down any perceived offenders on Lance’s behalf.

Lance did not need added conflict in his life, and Veronica would not forgive herself if she were to become the source of it.

Marco gave a huff but remained still, face turned to the closed door leading to the hall.

Veronica seized her chance.

“I want Lance to be happy. I promised him that I would respect his decision no matter what. And there might be a chance that Lance does want to go back out there. You’ve noticed as well, right?”

The way Lance would sometimes look out at the night sky, tiny dots of light reflected in his eyes as he gazed out with a longing that was far beyond any of their understanding. It was the core of Lance’s conflict.

He had seen space and its wonders, was enticed by it like those old sailors by the sirens’ calls, but just like the legendary Odysseus, her brother was tired and weary just like most of his friends.

And if Veronica had to guess, there was a good amount of loyalty involved in Lance’s indecisiveness.

Loyalty to his friends.

Loyalty to his duty as a defender of the universe.

Loyalty to their family.

Marco was growing less tense under her touch, allowing Veronica to let go with one hand to cover her eyes.

“If Lance wants to go back out there, I will let him,” her voice dropped to almost a whisper, “but I do not want him to be stuck with people that will inevitably bring him down.”

There was pressure building behind her eyes.

“I don’t want to lose him too.”

Barely a minute ago, she had held onto her brother to stop him from leaving, and the next she found herself enveloped in a bone crushing hug.

They held onto each other for a long time, Marco drawing back first as he gave her an apologetic smile.

“Is there any way to fix this mess?”

Veronica had given it some thought over the past few days. The conclusion she had come to was daunting.

“I think the first thing that needs to be done is addressing the issue. At this point, I’m afraid that Lance will try to rationalize it.”

When they had been younger, Lance tended to do that a lot. He might grow angry if someone treated him unfairly, but in the end he would always find a way to explain it away. Usually the common nominator was Lance himself. In an educational environment, it had sometimes saved Lance’s behind, since he’d end up applying himself more for upcoming tests.

But this was not school, and this was not merely tests they were talking about.

Veronica loathed to think what conclusions her might already have or might come to in the future, should a mission go wrong.

Marco gave a groan next to her, knowing all too well what his sister was referring to.

“What’s more is that Lance is not doing himself any favors. I’m talking about dismissing input that is too complex for him and shutting down attempts to simplify it.”

Because she had heard it herself. Usually it was Pidge, sometimes the Altean advisor that Lance would shut down the moment they went to explain a given topic in depth. At this point, it also no longer mattered whether this behavior was the origin or the result of the team’s perception of Lance.

“You called?”

Marco froze at the voice sounding from the door they had not heard opening, and Veronica felt any hope of formulating a plan of attack fly out of the window.

Marco turning around allowed them to look at Lance who stood in the entrance, head cocked to the side and holding out a generic white plastic bag.

Lance’s eyebrow was drawn up, giving both of them a very questioning look.

His expression was enough to tell them he had undoubtedly heard that last part.

This was not how she wanted this conversation to happen, but if they did not tackle this at once it would only lead to misunderstandings.

Marco was ready to stammer his way through a lie, she could practically hear the gears turning frantically inside his skull, and she decided to intervene at once.

“Actually, yes,” she gestured at the table with a placating smile, faltering a little when she noticed the chair still lying on the ground. That detail did not escape Lance’s notice and he frowned all the harder for it.

This was not going as planned.

Lance needed to be as relaxed as possible. She needed a distraction.

“What do you have there?” She asked, glancing at the plastic bag still dangling from Lance’s wrist. He appeared taken aback by her sudden interest, but a genuine, excited smile spread on his face.

“Oh! Yeah, this is from Hunk. I asked him if he could cook something for you guys, since none of you believe me he’s a good cook.”

He was bouncing over to the area where the plastic plates and cutlery were stored and Veronica watched a little helplessly as Lance set the table for the three of them while Marco quietly put the chair back in its place.

He looked so happy, pouring water into an electric kettle while dumping a few spoonful of a powder substituting coffee into three mugs.

She wanted this to last. She wanted for Lance to smile like this more often, to be happy and not worry about leaving people behind.

Once everything was set for the three of them, Lance saying he hoped the others would come soon, he finally wrangled out an inconspicuous hot pink bowl out of the bag. The moment he removed the lid, Veronica could feel her mouth water.

“Are those...,” Marco started, voice almost an awed whisper.

Lance’s grin was almost reaching his ears: “Yep!”

There was no mistaking it. Veronica would recognize one of her favorites from a mile away.

She knew she was gaping in a very undignified way but…

“How?” she breathed, taking one of the looped pastries between her fingers, inspecting it with wonderment.

“Don’t ask me. I have no idea how Hunk still managed to cook half of the stuff we ate on our trip back and still make it look like Earth food,” his expression momentarily turned into a grimace before easing into something less disgusted, “Sometimes you really don’t wanna know though.“

He shuddered a little while Marco was already biting off half of his buñuelo, slapping the table with the flat of his palm.

“This is so good,” he finally said, looking close to tears.

They laughed good-naturedly as Marco reached for a second, when his first one was still held in his other hand.

It looked and smelled a lot like the pastry they had baked back at home on special occasions. Hunk had even taken care of covering it with thin streaks of dark caramel. It was every bit as soft and tasty as it looked when she took her first bite, and she now understood Marco’s sudden outburst.

It was one of the few pieces of home she’d had in a few years.

“It’s really good,” she said, actually sniffling, making Lance laugh again.

“I know.”

They ate in silence, Lance closing the lid once they each had two (“So there is some for the others!” he had reprimanded Marco), and each taking a sip from their coffee.

Marco had been won over, obvious in how he kept pestering Lance with questions.

“Where did your friend even get all of the ingredients? Do they have a secret stash of cassava here on the base?”

“Once again: don’t ask me, ask Hunk. He can tell you.”

That had Veronica looking up, still cleaning her glasses with the hem of her shirt. Under the automated evening lights, Lance looked a little washed out. Now wonder, his day had been longer than hers, even without actually having spent that much of it outside of the base.

Now or never. She put her glasses back on, turning to Lance fully and garnering his attention at once.

“On that same matter, Lance,” and she almost did not say it, not when this would instantly break this small reprieve from their everyday lives, “you get along with your teammates, don’t you?”

For a few tense seconds it looked like she had broken Lance with her question.

His chuckles were filled with confusion and discomfort.

“What are you talking about? Of course we get along, we’re team Voltron after all.”

She could feel Marco’s nervousness as if it were her own. This was not going to be a nice conversation.

“I’m not merely asking about your cohesiveness as a team, I’m asking about your solidarity as a group of friends.”

Lance was already reclining back into his chair, his eyebrows going up as he stared at her in incomprehension, hands bracing against the edge of the table.

“Veronica, I’m really sorry, but I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.”

She was ready to retort, when Marco beat her to it.

“Are you really okay with your friends calling you dumb?”

She could not believe him. Veronica threw him a glare she hoped would melt his head off but Marco just returned hers without any remorse.

Their attention was drawn back to Lance as he waved his hands around.

“Woah, woah, hold on a tick! What’s this about? And what’s up with you anyway!” He addressed Marco directly, irritation palpable in his voice.

“This is not some kind of joke Lance,” Veronica interjected, giving her younger brother a stern look that threw him off, “You know I’ve been listening to you for a while over your channels, and I admit that I… do not entirely approve of what I’ve heard so far.”

It was more than just “not merely approving” but there was no need to rile Lance up further. If he was any bit as protective of team Voltron as he was of them, there would be no getting through to him by accusing them of anything.

Still, Lance’s eyes moved from her to Marco quickly, obviously not understanding or accepting what was happening right now.

Finally, and sadly, he leaned back with his arms crossed. She wanted to hit Marco for his blunder. This was now going to be harder than ever.

“My relationship with my team is great. What do you even mean by the stuff you heard?”

Band-aid it was then. Quick and painful.

“I am not okay with my brother being repeatedly told and treated as an idiot.”

Hurt flashed across Lance’s face at that but what really caught Veronica’s attention was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. So he was not as unaware as he pretended to be.

He swallowed dryly, hunching in on himself, his eyes shielded by his brown locks with how much he’d lowered his head.

His words were so low she almost did not catch them.

“Doesn’t matter.”

She was ready to explode from tension alone at this point.

“It does, Lance. It matters to me and everyone else!”

She had not meant to shout but this was just too much. Both Lance and Marco jerked in their seats at her outburst. The defiance he had previously shown was quickly bleeding out of Lance, as he made himself even smaller. He suddenly looked like he’d aged at least a decade.

Still, he said nothing, not in his defense nor of his friends. Just sat here with them; a tense silence consuming them all.

Marco was careful in pushing his chair away as he got up. Veronica was unsure what he wanted to do, knowing Marco he might either stay or leave to fight this battle another day.

Relief flooded her when instead of going to the door, Marco circled the table and before Lance could even react, had their brother enveloped in a tight hug. It was a little awkward, Marco having bent down his bulk to embrace Lance while the latter’s arms hovered in the air a little uselessly, blinking back at Veronica in confusion.

Marco was not really a man of words, and Veronica not someone who sprung into action easily. But maybe, with their forces combined, they might be able to get through to him.

“Lance,” she said quietly, her calm voice having her brother glance at her with his still bewildered expression, “I know you really love your friends, but that is no excuse for them to walk all over you when they hurt you. Even if they do it unintentionally.”

He was enraptured by her face, not even caring about the tears undoubtedly clouding his vision.

Time to put her cards on the table.

“I would feel better knowing that, if you go back up there again, you do it with people that respect you and your boundaries.”

There was no more holding back the tears. Lance’s entire face crumbled, one of many small sobs bursting out of him as he kept staring at Veronica pleadingly, his arms at once clinging to Marco so tightly he might leave bruises.

Not that Marco minded, Veronica could see Lance’s jacket straining a little with how tightly he was winding his arms around him.

Veronica settled with smiling at them fondly.

One step at a time while the clock kept on ticking.

[iced-blood]

The Call to Action.

A follow-up to this piece, laying the groundwork for an experiment I’ve had in mind for quite a while. Though this piece starts off as a strictly DM post-canon jaunt, it will eventually veer off into AU territory, so I’m tagging it as such now.

Let us begin.

No matter how old he got, Mokuba Kaiba’s favorite method of greeting his brother, especially after an extended absence, was to leap into his arms. The very fact that Seto was still able to catch him, even at 15, was a testament to the elder Kaiba’s impeccable training and outright terrifying upper body strength.

Thus was Yugi greeted that morning — as he stumbled into the kitchen and searched desperately for a source of caffeine — to the image of his heart’s dearest walking completely naturally, as though nothing at all were amiss, with a deadpan expression on his face and a grinning, giggling teenage boy riding on his shoulders.

That Mokuba was still dressed for the stage, with his heavy boots and an infinitude of belts and chains dangling from every angle on his long leather coat, made the sight all the more surreal. It made it look like Seto was wearing a sort of half-cape and the single-most elaborate set of pauldrons ever constructed.

Yugi smiled. “Hidey-ho, boys,” he said with a little wave.

Mokuba waved frantically. “Hi!”

“... Mokuba, how long has it been since you slept?”

“Sixty-three hours!”

Seto closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, while Yugi did his best to mimic his mother’s are-you-kidding-me-right-now face. At Mokuba’s deliberately clueless look, Yugi shook his head and went through the machinations of starting up a pot of coffee. “Honestly, Seto, what are we going to do about that boy?”

“If I knew the answer to that,” Seto responded flatly, “I would have made such a fortune selling my own line of parenting books that it would make Solid Vision look like a lemonade stand.”

“Um, excuse me?” Mokuba put in, affronted. “I’m right here.”

“I’m aware,” Seto said, as he rolled his shoulders and adjusted his weight.

Yugi smirked over his shoulder. “How was the show?” he asked.

“Uh-mazing!” Mokuba declared. “My gawd you have no idea!” He then launched into a play-by-play of his weekend, which had apparently involved — from his description — roughly two thousand concerts, fourteen buffets, sixty-seven meet-and-greets, and more than enough best ... things ... ever to fill a museum.

“Have you eaten in the past twelve hours?” Seto asked, after a lull in his brother’s monologue. Mokuba grimaced, and his silence was answer enough. Seto slid smoothly to one knee. “Go on,” he said. “Sit at the table. I’ll make you something.”

“Yes, Niisama ...” Mokuba grumbled, but the sparkle was still clearly vaulting in his eyes. He hopped down, slipped over, and gave Yugi a quick hug; Yugi ruffled the young Kaiba’s hair. “Niisama seems different,” the boy murmured, barely loud enough for Yugi to hear. “Did you do something?”

Yugi smirked. “I might have.”

As Seto began to flit about the stove for the old rituals involved in making breakfast, Yugi stepped up beside him. They worked well in tandem, Yugi handing various tools and ingredients over before Seto even thought to request them. Mokuba, for his part, watched the pair from his spot at the table in the breakfast nook, leaning his head against one hand with his eyes half-closed.

“We’re seeing initial feedback coming in for Crimson Halls,” Seto said.

“Oh?” Mokuba perked up. “What are they saying?”

“Devilish,” Seto said. “Horrifying. Delicious.”

The grin that rose on Mokuba’s face was startling. “Excellent.”

The conversation about Kaiba-Corp’s latest game continued, though Mokuba’s responses quickly became comprised of various grunting sounds. When Seto finished making his brother’s meal and immediately set about wrapping it and storing it in the refrigerator, Yugi started to ask what he was doing — until he noticed that Mokuba was fast asleep, head on his folded arms.

Yugi smiled. Tilted his head. “I swear. He’s just like you.”

“Don’t speak blasphemy in this house,” Seto said, as he walked over and lifted his brother into his arms; he started across the room toward the hallway. “I’m putting this one to bed. When does your shift start?”

Yugi checked his phone. “I’ve got an hour. S’pose I should get ready.”

Seto leaned down; Yugi leaned up. They shared a quick kiss, and then went about their own business.

By the time Yugi had showered and dressed himself for work, Seto had set himself up with coffee, a bagel, and his laptop computer in the parlor. “Battle from the home front today?” Yugi asked.

“Mm,” Seto said, sipping at his mug. “I intend to make sure Mokuba gets enough sleep today.” He smirked. “You’re right about one thing. He does have my stubborn streak. And when he’s convinced he’s fine, he doesn’t take kindly to reminders that he might not be.”

Yugi sauntered over, leaned down, and kissed Seto’s cheek. “I’ll be back at 3. Good luck, soldier.”

Seto winked at Yugi. “Luck is for the weak.”

Just as Yugi had turned and was headed for the front door, and Seto was turning back to his work, Seto’s phone rang. The young CEO’s ring-tone was bright, loud, and sudden. It blared like an alarm going off in a haunted hallway. Seto grimaced as he fished the offending device out of an inside pocket of his jacket, glanced at it, and grunted.

He clicked at a button with his thumb and held the thing almost gingerly to his ear. “Kaiba,” he said flatly. Yugi stopped at the door and watched. “Yes. This is he. Who is this?” Seto leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing. Yugi almost turned away and left the house, but something stopped him.

Something about the expression on Seto’s face said this wasn’t a simple business call.

True to Yugi’s intuition, Seto snapped his laptop shut and set it aside. He rose to his feet, his breakfast and his project forgotten. “When?” he asked, quick and sharp. “Where?” His eyes were searching, blazing. He was silent for almost three minutes; Yugi could just barely hear the voice on the other line, clipped and professional. “Fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Seto removed his phone from his ear, stared at it for a moment, and sighed.

“... Sorry, kid,” he said, as he headed for the stairs toward his brother’s bedroom.

< insert dramatic cliffhanger here >

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[mysurveys]

Simple Reminders Survey

Survey #1 on the Countdown to 2018!

What could realistically be the cause of my struggle?

Right now I'm only struggling with ongoing health issues because I have shitty genetics. It's not really the direct fault of myself or anyone around me.

What do I know but refuse to acknowledge or admit?

If I really know something then I admit and acknowledge it. I'm an upfront person and a logical thinker.

What am I not doing that those who're happy and successful are?

Contentment and success are relative. I'm most often successful at accomplishing the things I want to do and I'm generally content when I'm not directly dealing with difficult health issues like I had been last year.

I'm feeling content right now in fact. I didn't get to accomplish some things I wanted to do last year, but I can still get to them.

What am I resisting?

I think I'm always somewhat resistant of negative changes that can't be corrected. I'm not accustomed to or happy with the way my mother has changed due to becoming a senior.

I'm resistant of accepting it for what it is, but I find that to be a rather typical response when you're adjusting to such things. I'm working on it.

What am I ignoring or putting off?

Nothing too important, just my usual 2016 procrastination with pastime projects. I wanted to start playing ACNLv2 on the winter solstice, but my copy arrived too late and then I had health problems. It was a rough year for many of us. I’m hoping 2017 will be better.

What could I be putting more effort, energy and focus into?

The same as above, but there are more important things for me to be doing lately. I want to get to it this year, though.

How might I be needlessly wasting money?

I'm sure I buy too many entertainment items as a borderline shopping addict due to Bipolar, but I'm able to put restrictions on myself.

Otherwise I think that I waste money on buying too many Sprite Zeroes. I'm trying to find good alternatives now that I'm seeing a nutritionist.

Where do I spend my time?

At home, hanging out with my cats, eating out, going to movies, shopping, doing things online, taking care of my nonprofit "work" and doing a variety of other hobbies and everyday responsibilities as well.

When it comes to time management, I need to procrastinate less and become more focused concerning my personal projects and their assorted goals. I'm trying to do that this year.

What am I doing with the spare hours in my day?

I'm on disability and I'm thirty, so I often have spare hours. I do the above things as well as playing video games, watching television, trying to fix my health issues, pursuing personal goals and more.

Are my days efficient and productive?

Some of them are and that's really all that you can ask of someone with my mental and physical health issues. Several of them have been recently too.

How do I react to events outside of my control?

You only control yourself -- your thoughts, feelings, actions, words, beliefs. I have very good self-control and awareness. That translates into handling situations and circumstances well.

I'm obviously not perfect, but I improve with age and I know how to both evaluate myself and fix problems that arise in my life. Some of them just take longer than others.

Do I listen and think before I speak or reply?

I'll always listen, but I had absolutely no filter in the past. I've worked on developing one. I'm not overaggressive anymore and I pick my battles even better now. I'm still working on some aspects, though.

Am I giving my body its necessary physical requirements, proper nutrition, energy and exercise?

I'm not going to exercise; I went through that hell just trying to participate in PE and I was having chronic pain issues from it. As a hypersensitive, it doesn't do me any favors.

I've found a nutritionist currently and I've already implemented some major changes to my diet, but I've only had one session with her so far.

What do I consume too much of and what might I rely on far too much?

Sodas are my number one weakness as far as consumption goes. I'm not too codependent on anyone despite needing a caregiver for things like dyscalculia and DTD, though.

I don't feel too reliant on any person or thing, which also includes my use of social media and electronics in general. I don't go online every single day for instance.

Do I give myself time to sit in silence and reflect?

I think I could do more of that despite already doing it often, but I would also include prayer.

How do I fill my mind -- with books, wisdom and education or gossip, drama and distractions?

I occasionally read an educational book, but I more often watch educational TV programs or do research online. So maybe I could do more reading this year than usual. That would be nice.

I don't gossip and I don't have much drama in my life, but I get distracted by lots of things as someone with Bipolar II. Just focusing can be difficult some days. That's something I try to work on whenever it happens.

Am I guilty of constantly comparing myself to others?

I've never been guilty of that. I'm not anyone else, so why should I try to be someone I'm not? I want to be who I truly am while also improving upon myself with age, and that's what I do.

Do I believe that everyone walks a different path and that no two journeys will be exactly the same?

Obviously. Why is this even a question? People's lives are individual experiences, but there are some things that're universal.

Morality is absolute because moral relativism is simply illogical. Only a God who's absolutely perfect can define a moral standard too. Things like that are a universally shared experience.

Do I believe I have something special and amazing to offer and give to the world?

This is also obvious. Everyone has talents and skills to offer.

Do I continue to expand my awareness and learn new things?

Of course. That's why I read nonfiction, watch educational programming, and do actual research online rather than just looking at cat videos and frequenting social media.

Most people don't do all of that these days. Many choose to ignore the need to educate themselves. I’m not like that.

Am I more focused on a steadfast goal rather than just doing and enjoying work I love?

The only "work" I do is something that I truly love and it fulfills me, but there are steadfast goals in it. They're not mutually exclusive.

Having both simultaneously is better than just focusing on something you enjoy doing or strictly being goal-oriented, honestly.

Do I have a creative outlet and how do I express myself?

I have various creative outlets when I need them. I express myself through my clothing, accessories and even my style of glasses.

And I also have taking and making surveys, adult coloring and playing video games such as Animal Crossing to express my creative, imaginative nature.

Do I tend to focus more on the problems themselves or on finding the solutions?

You have to understand the problem thoroughly before you can find an appropriate solution, but that doesn't mean you have to dwell on what's going wrong. I don't get entirely stuck like that. I also find solutions quickly.

What's the energy I bring to things, to projects and to others -- what is my vibe?

That varies. If I don't like you, I let you know. But I'm trying to be less standoffish in that way without losing my upfront nature.

I'm not overaggressive anymore, but I can be too critical. You can't be a morally sound person without being judgmental, though. That's just impossible. I make excellent judgments and I'm not afraid to use my gift of discernment.

Am I open or closed, and do I smile more than I frown?

My face is usually neutral, but I do more smiling than frowning unless my health is plaguing me. I'm a very upfront person too; I'll be open and honest with you if I'm going to speak to you. There's no point in hiding myself.

Am I more apt to love or to hate?

I don't hate anyone as person. Anyone I could hate is simply someone I don't care about. There are only a handful of people I greatly dislike.

What's my life story that I continue to tell and identify with?

You'd be stupid to think I can express my life story adequately here without writing you an entire book on it. But I'm more than the labels I place upon myself or those I have placed upon me by others.

My life story certainly isn't simple and concise nor is it complete, but it is a testament to Christ. “This is my story, this is my song.”

How's that serving me; does it drag me down or build me up?

We're all playing out a complex story of successes and failures, but our deeds aren't the key to our salvation. The most important choice in my life was accepting Christ and He builds me up through everything.

Whether I'm on calm seas or being tossed by life's storms, Christ is at my helm and He strengthens me. Otherwise I'd be dead.

Do I firmly believe my past limits what I can achieve today, or am I clinging to an excuse as something to hold accountable for my struggles and suffering other than myself; who do I blame?

A lot of my problems are just due to genetics. You can blame the devil and the original sin of mankind for that. But my past doesn't limit my future even though I do have reasonable, rational limitations.

Having dyscalculia means I'll never be excellent at math and having DTD means I shouldn't go anywhere alone. Those are realistic limitations, not the actions of my past.

Do I believe a person's past problems can be overcome?

You can't change the past, but you can make different choices in the future. It isn't always an easy thing to do, but it's not an impossibility. I often make changes to myself. You have to change to improve and grow as a person.

Do I believe that all of these are just behaviors and that everyone single one is able to be changed?

My past is more than my previous behavior, honestly, but I'm in control of myself. I'm fully capable of improving as a person.

I don't need anyone else to push me into that. No self-help guru, therapist or psychologist is going to give me a set of magical keys to becoming a better person. God and I are working on me.