#i have no regrets nor shame whatsoever

[quabiitv]

"The Big Four"™ Headcanons!

Pin oral stims when she's nervous (Chewing on her nails, sleeves, etc etc) + affectionately bites Coiny when nobody else's around (which surprises him)

Coiny and Pin are embarrassingly clingy towards eachother (always asking where the other is, thinking about what the other would think, mentioning them at any given moment)

Leafy has clipboard lists for EVERYTHING. Organizing an event, random memories, her iconic nice list™, her CHRISTMAS THEMED nice list..™, etc etc. She has a specific orange clipboard that's a list of things Firey likes and dislikes (Firey doesn't know yet)

Coiny has a tooth gap, and loves to use it to whistle (It annoys everybody)

Firey and Coiny both had a crush on eachother at one point, mostly in early BFDI, but neither of them knew how to handle it or that it was even a crush so they opted to act like they hate eachother instead. Both will deny this to the high heavens

Firey loves action/superhero comics, despite not being able to read very well. He sometimes asks one of the other three to read it to him, but rarely out of embarrassment

Leafy and Coiny had an experimental 'situationship' in late pre-split after Leafy argued with Firey. It was more of an emotional thing for both of them, both wanting somebody to receive those emotional needs and give them. It ended during the split on good terms, where they both decided it'd be healthier for them to part ways for now.

Coiny had an identity crisis starting in mid BFDIA up to now (this'll have it's own post, but I thought I'd mention it in passing)

The four of them have movie nights a lot, which results in a lot of chaos. Pin being the one to make the popcorn and get the snacks, Firey and Coiny fighting over which movie to choose, and Leafy finding their arguing more entertaining than any movie.

Firey instinctually warms himself up for anybody he's hugging, which results in Leafy being VERY clingy (not like he minds)

Leafy probably has one of those "Keep Calm And Be Kind" t-shirts

Coiny has a HUGE sweet tooth, mostly because of Pin and her pastries. Has been found hiding in the cabinet while eating sweets (He regrets nothing)

Coiny's the shortest out of the four of them, often falls victim to short jokes. Firey leans his elbow on his head a lot to annoy him

Pin pinches everybody's cheeks, sue me

Pin loves to run her hands through Coiny's hair or fidget with it in some way whenever they're having an intimate moment

Coiny has the worst sleep schedule known to man (goes to sleep at 2-3 AM and wakes up at 6 AM), usually stays up playing videogames or watching cartoons

He also found a hat (the beanie in my gijinka for him) during early BFDIA and kept it, and ended up getting super attached to it (he'll go rabid if he loses it)

Firey loves to wear dresses. Leafy dresses him up 24/7, no embarrassment nor shame is detected whatsoever. It's fun for the both of them

Leafy gets really emotional during ungodly hours, Firey's learning how to comfort people better through her. She always appreciates everything he does

Somewhat adding onto the last HC, Firey lacks empathy in contrast to Coiny, who has high empathy. He's learning how to comfort people better and put himself in their shoes, and be less emotionally distant

[taraljc]

One thing that always struck me in WandaVision was how Wanda used her powers in ways she hadn't since Age Of Ultron. Once she joined the Avengers, we never see her in Civil War or Infinity War use her powers to control anyone else's minds and bodies, or to induce hallucinations / nightmares.

I think that it is a part of her powers that she rejected--that she herself felt ashamed for using them against the people who would later become her peers. Particularly Steve, who was the first she formed a bond with and who trusted her when she told him the truth about how Tony Stark was incapable of seeing reason vis à vis Ultron.

The only time we ever see her use her ability to control others by imposing her will upon them was when she had the soldiers retrain their guns on Director Hayward. and the only time we see her induce an hallucination again was with Agatha. Hayward and Agatha were the villains of the piece in the traditional sense and she felt justified in her behaviour, but that doesn't mean that it was right and moral.

But I do think that was the moment when she stopped hating that part of herself and recognised that she had been closing parts of herself off because she was uncomfortable with them. And it was in a way her accepting culpability for her prior actions as well as recognising that power is neither innately good nor evil but merely a tool that can be put to any purpose and it's the intention that matters.

I don't think Teen has processed yet what truly happened with Agatha, Jen, and Lilia when his powers manifested. I think he feels deep regret and shame, coupled by remorse and guilt about what he in that moment believes to be his culpability in their deaths. obviously this will be short-lived, and I think it will be very interesting to see their reactions once they catch up to Agatha and Teen.

One of the parallels that I am really enjoying them exploring are the parallels between both Agatha and Wanda, and Wanda and Teen. I actually hope that Agatha is able to help Teen understand and accept his power in all the ways she wasn't able to help Wanda, not because she wants to siphon his magic but because she genuinely cares no matter how much she hides it behind the various masks that she wears.

Part of the reason I was so angry about Multiverse of Madness is that it completely ignored the fact that no-one knew Wanda was a witch prior to the events in Westview and even then, only Wanda knew any of that. None of the public did. So far as the Avengers and the wider world understood, her powers were the result of a science experiment by Hydra exactly the same way Steve Rogers had been during World War II.

Only she knew what had happened in Westview, and she had to process that information in complete isolation while being corrupted by the Darkhold, but with no knowledge whatsoever of the history of witchcraft or its place in the world when compared to sorcery.

And instead of actually exploring that, it's completely skipped because it's inconvenient to the story they want to tell, which had no actual basis in Wanda's story thus far. Stephen Strange and Wong act as if it's common knowledge that Wanda is practicing witchcraft and that they had always known that Wanda was practicing witchcraft which is a HUGE continuity error that no-one has ever actually addressed. And it bothers me a great deal because so much of the plot of the film hinges on knowledge that there is no way anyone could have gained. To the point where I've basically discounted it completely as not part of the MCU because it doesn't fit. none of the pieces fit with the other films and it doesn't build off of the first film well nor does it fit with WandaVision and it's just so poorly written in direct comparison to Spider-Man: No Way Home.

but what I love about Jac Schaeffer is that she has taken the hot mess and character assassination of Multiverse Of Madness and found a way to make it work with everything that has gone before in ways that make sense logically and emotionally. and at no point does it judge Wanda for her actions when she was under the direct influence of the Darkhold and her judgment was completely impaired. But neither does it sugarcoat her actions in Westview. she is responsible, and accepts responsibility for her actions even though her actions were not under her control and she was unaware of the true extent of them until Agatha kidnapped her children and gave her her first lesson in the craft.

Much like the events of Civil War where Wanda was able to partially contain an explosion created by former SHIELD/Hydra agents that would have murdered countless thousands of people (not to mention brought the entire building down) she still bore the guilt for those deaths she could not prevent and shouldered responsibility for them in public even though they were not her fault and in fact she spared everyone in the immediate area through her quick thinking.

Wanda has always accepted that she deserves whatever misfortune befalls her because she somehow deserves her pain. It's survivor's guilt taken to be extreme and that's I think why WandaVision hit me so hard because of course she doesn't deserve loss after loss after loss with no comfort and no family to support her-- found or otherwise. No-one does.

I genuinely hope that Teen avoids this fate because he doesn't deserve it, either. He's only a few years younger than his mother was when she was duped by Hydra, and I hope that Agnes will be a better tutor and mentor to him even if it is only for the final four episodes of the series.

The first episode would not have mentioned how absorbing Rio's power would destroy Agatha without that being Chekhov's gun. but my hope is that it won't be permanent, even if it is inevitable.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Small Stories Hour: Ballad of Kid Corduroy

Close Call or The Losing Battle That Kid Will Fight for Another Fifteen Years

↳ The barkeep set a tankard of amber beer on the counter with a little more aggression than strictly necessary. His beady eyes found the dirt patching every surface of Russell's face disdainful, his upper lip curling beneath a thick black mustache.

That was not Russell's immediate concern, however, as he had to stop himself from dumping the contents of the tankard down his gullet in one go. He hadn't had a proper drink in days; a sip of river water here and there wasn't enough to sate him, especially under the experience of having vomited shortly after the last river disagreed with him. The beer, though lukewarm and stale, got the job done, and he gulped it down in desperation, holding his hat to his head as he tilted it back to pour as much of the bitter liquid down as possible.

"What's goin' on over in Winslow?"

Russell paused mid-pull and lowered the tankard from his face to hear the three men in the corner of the small saloon without drawing too much attention to himself.

"They still ain't heard from that boy, the one that ran away," another man said. "The Corduroys' boy, Russell. I think they called him Kid. It's been a couple of months since he's gone. Got a cousin lives over that way an' she's sayin' the whole town can't find hide nor hair of him."

"He just up an' left in the middle of the night, ain't that right? He runnin' from the law?"

Russell dropped his head and slumped his shoulders, the mention of his hometown igniting the usual feelings of guilt and shame while also kicking off his self-preservation instincts. He slid a couple of coins across the bar top with two fingers.

"Not from what I hear," one of the men said. "He was a good kid, but he might as well be dead by now."

Suddenly not as thirsty as he'd been when he first arrived at the saloon, Russell made a point to avoid revealing his face to the men as he slid off the stool to make a quick exit. He mounted his horse and rode away, reminding himself never to stop in that town again. It was too close, too risky.

A few hours into the afternoon, however, he regretted not taking more advantage of having a source of beverages at his disposal. Thirst clutched his throat in a tight grip, addling his brain.

"Where we goin', Radish…?" Russell muttered, keeping an ear open for running water. "I'm lookin' at another rough night if I don't get somethin' to eat soon—"

Shots rang out in the too-near distance, and Radish jolted to a stop, whinnying his complaint. Russell clutched the reins and attempted to calm him while also searching the endless trees ahead.

A wail started from the forest, growing louder with each passing second until a man exploded from the bushes, screaming at the top of his lungs and brandishing a rifle in one hand while bleeding profusely from the other one.

"Run!" he shrieked, tearing past Russell and Radish. "There's a wolf after me!"

Russell glanced back to the trees, about to question the man's claim, when an actual wolf sprang forward, hellbent on making a meal of the man with no prejudice whatsoever. Its hungry jaws snapped and drool flew every which way from between its razor-sharp teeth, paws making craters in the dirt underneath it. Upon noticing Russell and Radish—apparently an easier meal—it skidded to a stop and bounded in their direction instead.

Without giving it much consideration, Russell drew his revolver from his gun belt, slapped the hammer back with his palm, and aimed true between the wolf's eyes, firing in the midst of its arced pounce. The momentum carried its body under Radish, who began to rear and spook in response to all of the action happening at once, and a hoof came down and snapped the wolf's neck before he took off.

"Hey, whoa!" Russell grabbed the reins again. "Easy! Calm down, boy, you're alright!"

Radish finally slowed near the bleeding man sitting at the side of the road, and it became clear that the man wasn't from anywhere nearby as he had on a peculiar arrangement of clothes, not the least of which was the bright red tailcoat worn over a slim-fitting vest and golden ascot.

Russell retrieved a handful of loose bandages from the saddlebag and dismounted. "Sir…here, I just got these yesterday for emergencies." He caught sight of the bloodied appendage as he got closer, his stomach lurching once he realized that half of his hand was missing, leaving only an index finger and a thumb. "Oh, sweet Jesus…and this might be an emergency…"

"Thank you," the man said in a peculiar accent. It sounded very formal, probably English, and he set the rifle down next to him to shakily wrap the bandages around what was left of his hand. He failed to start the wrap several times. "Not sure what the point is…it's not just my body that's ruined now."

Crouching in front of him to help, Russell did his best to ignore the sharp coppery stench wafting from the wound. "What d'you mean by that, if you don't mind me askin'?"

The man sighed. "Young fellow…my name is Horace Purcell, and you just killed my life's work."

Russell paused pressing the wound with bandages and looked at Horace. "Excuse me?"

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful…I am endlessly in your debt for saving my life." Horace pointed with his good hand to the lump of fur lying motionless in the road. "That was the star of my entire act. 'Horace Purcell and the Wolfman,' I'd called it. You could watch me perform tricks with a wolf as big as a man. We'd toured the whole West, just me and Angelo. I'd worried for a while that things were going poorly when Angelo started to clear out chicken coops about a week ago…"

"That was your first clue?" Russell said. He shook his head. "Not that you decided to go runnin' around with a wolf bigger'n a lion?"

Horace chuckled, a surprising reaction given his current state. "You're right, I know. I was never one to shy away from a challenge back home, not a mind here in foreign lands."

"You gonna be okay on your own?"

"Yes," Horace said, and he seemed sincere. "If all else fails…I'll take the next boat out of here."

Russell tilted his head, frowning. "Well, I meant are you gonna be okay without half a hand."

Horace blinked at the bandages as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh, yes…I suppose I don't have a choice, do I? I'll adjust. Better a hand than my life, as it were."

"D'you need a ride somewhere? I ain't goin' nowhere in particular."

"Normally I would say no, as I'm quite self-sufficient; however…circumstances may require I at least have help to my next destination."

Russell finished patching him up to the best of his ability then assisted Horace Purcell onto the saddle before securing the rifle and mounting. "This is Radish," he said, patting the horse on the neck. "Say hello to the nice gentleman, Radish."

Horace chuckled again, arms looping around Russell's waist. "How quaint. Good afternoon, Radish. I hope you don't mind an extra passenger. I'm staying at an old friend's homestead not too far from here, and I think I can navigate from where we are."

The road split off into a stretch of plains that went on for miles, boasting very few hills and even fewer distant mountains. A gathering of deer bounded away from the road through the tall grass and scattered a flock of indignant birds into the air.

Russell kept Radish at a steady canter for much of the ride, the wind cutting across his skin. "What happened back there, anyhow?"

"Ah," Horace said, booming voice carrying over the impacting hooves and the wind. "Bit of a disaster, I'm afraid. I'd opened Angelo's cage to feed him, and he decided my fingers would be better suited for his dinner than the rabbit I'd caught."

"You'll wanna see a doctor for that, by the way," Russell advised. "Wounds have a nasty habit of gettin' worse."

Horace remained silent until they reached the homestead—a small wooden cottage in the middle of a sprawling field, tucked against a hill blanketed in tiny white flowers that mimicked snowfall. It all looked so new, it didn't even have a path leading up to it.

Russell slowed Radish to a stop and helped Horace down. "You got someone lookin' after you, sir?"

"Not until this evening." Horace grunted in pain despite the two of them going out of their way to avoid making more contact with his hand than needed. "I'll soak my wound in whiskey, metaphorically speaking."

Russell gestured for him to go ahead to the house while he unloaded the rifle. "If it ain't too bold of me to say so, I'd like to stay until then to make sure you're okay."

The worst of it had started to sink in as evidenced by Horace's perpetual grimace and slack walk toward the house. "Yes, of course..." He pushed the door open with his shoulder. "Please…make yourself at home. It's the least I can do, Mr. Corduroy."

Russell froze with the rifle in hand and his entire spine tensed. He peered at Horace from under the brim of his hat.

Through growing discomfort, Horace managed to imbue him with a cheeky smile that pinched the corners of his eyes. "Word gets around, I'm afraid. But you don't have to worry…it stops with me."

"Mr. Purcell, I can't say enough how important it is that I'm not identified by anyone."

"I admit it crossed my mind to alert the sheriff of Winslow of your whereabouts, but you did save my life…" Horace's face fell into something melancholic. "And what kind of man would I be if I condemned another man to being found when I'm guilty of evading the same?"

Russell's fist whitened around the rifle. "Swear to me you won't tell a soul."

"On my dear mother."

A tense silence swelled between them until Russell felt it safe to breathe again. He hitched Radish's reins to a post at the corner of the fence and followed Horace into the house.

The next several hours consisted of Russell watching Horace sleep off his pain on a cot against the wall of the living room, and when a friendly-faced woman arrived by way of carriage long after the sun had set, he explained what happened and that Horace should see a doctor by morning at the very latest.

He made sure he'd be looked after, then he hopped onto Radish's saddle and rode off full gallop into the night, chills still bolting through every appendage from the previous few hours.

[lazysealdash]

@wulfila i remember seeing your comment under one of deltarune fanarts asking for susie in a sexy santa costume, and so i'm very behind on schedule, but i mean it's december so, yeah

[tannieschim]

when the camellia blooms | pjm

park jimin x kim! reader | 1 | 2

sypnosis: diagnosed with the hanahaki disease, you had only two options - accept a deathly fate, or never love again. 

genre: au, angst, fluff, humor, friends to lovers? maybe.

warnings: many talks of death and dying, namjoon is the sweetest brother omg, unrequited love, swearing, pining, longing, fictional added terms and effects of the hanahaki disease, really sad reader, really sad characters, and lots of angst.

word count: (read author's note)

reminder: this is a sequel. please read part one here; however, this also could serve as a stand-alone, but I would advise you read the first part as well for the full experience.

a/n: i was mauling for a long long long time over whether i should do three parts at most or just keep this one really lengthy, and since i was afraid of losing track if i chose to cut it in parts again, i just decided to make this one quite a bit long. sorry!

"let me try to love you back to life."

"Is that what you think?"

You remember the long pause before your response, a deafening silence amidst the growing tense and suffocating air that evening as you spoke.

You had known then that Jimin regretted what he said the moment he did, but it was too late. He’s already said it, and he’s hurt you.

Jimin looks at you with ache as you stare accordingly at the blank wall, noticing the way your eyes have begun to well up in tears as the familiar feeling of tightness succumbs your throat, light feathers of pink flowers forcefully being swallowed down, "Do you think that I don't remember? That I simply don't care? That I'm just on the fence playing peek-a-boo with death on my door?"

Focusing on you with a heart contrite, Jimin places his bottom lip in between his teeth, eyes meshed together amongst sorrow as he swallows in shame, feeling completely guilty at his preceding words.

"y/n I-"

You then laugh ironically, halting him to a stop.

"Forgive me, Jimin."

Your throat is furthermore burning by each passing second as you direct your gaze at the cause of your painful love, "Forgive me if I prefer to want to spend my last days in peace with the acceptance of my crushing fate. Forgive me for not wanting to die on my death bed sulking and cursing the universe and God and myself and whatever I can for this unfair hanafuckinghaki sickness. Forgive me-"

You uttered every word that night with a sense of despise, a sense of spite, each one a striking arrow shot directly at Jimin's heart.

"-if I choose to pretend to be happy and to be okay for my brother and for your sake." You spit out, last words purposely said with more effect.

Taking a few steps closer towards him, you point your finger accusingly against his chest as your tears willingly fall, lips slightly quivering as your anger all the more increases the moment you two lock eyes.

Your breath is caught at the back of your throat as you look up, finding yourself standing in the very front of Jimin's presence.

You swallow harshly, height difference being of no use as your red eyes focusedly trained on his same ones tower over him, both pairs seemingy battling for agony, "But don't you stand there and accuse me of being indifferent- fucking indifferent of all fucking things towards Sung's death. She was my friend before yours, and losing her hurt just as much as anything else."

You remember crying out, not finding an interest on holding in neither your sobs nor your coughs any longer as you did so right at his face, further recalling how you felt not even an ounce of guilt whatsoever as you purposefully reminded him of your current illness in hopes of making him feel worse.

“y/n please...” Jimin barely utters out, almost visibly fading from the way you raise your voice further in his attempts of cutting you off.

"Don't. Don’t you dare accuse me of ever forgetting that night, because as far as I remember, I was the one who kept inside the pain of losing someone close. I was the one who held you when you cried, consoling you to an unbearable extent that I forgot to console myself." Still looking at him in the eyes, you speak out words of regret as you proceed to cough lightly, the pain inside you endlessly growing that you insisted on passing it to someone else.

One word after another, you could remember physically witnessing the pain in Jimin's eyes.

The way his eyebrows were furrowed together and the glistening streaks that ran along his red cheeks were an evident proof of your success in wounding him, but you didn't care. You told yourself you didn't care. You lied to yourself in saying you didn’t care.

No. You didn't care.

For once, you could still sense that rushing feeling of wanting to lessen the burden of falling in love with Jimin. For once, you wanted to make him feel the pain you've kept inside you for the past two years. For once- for once you wanted to be the cause of his pain, not the other way around.

But that once lasted only as is, just once.

The moment you speak those words against him, your heart begins to ache all the more, the dreaded feeling of guilt and shame and love and pain all united together in rising above your limit as you abruptly collapse onto his arms, growing weak and coughing brutally as the camellias say hello to its desired lover.

You eyes begin to desperately search his as you cling onto him, head proceedingly buried against his chest all the while sobbing uncontrollably, apologies escaping past your visibly whimpering lips, “I-I'm sorry, Chim. I didnt- I don't blame you, I'm so sorry-"

You remember seeing Jimin, just seconds ago having been distraught and practically falling apart from your direct words, somehow manage to gather himself as he stands his ground, still and determined on holding you securely.

His arms are wrapped around you in a protective yet delicate manner, eyes trained worriedly on your fragile state all the while patting your back, tenderly comforting you, “Shh- shh. It’s okay, y/n. Just breathe. Focus on your breathing, that’s right.”

Your breathing has gone erratic, lifting your head a tad bit in order to look at him as you reminisce that night, when you were the one holding him as he cried. "I'm so sorry, Chim."

You remember the first few of your countless apologies which Jimin nevertheminds, holding no other concern than that of which is your state of well-being.

"It's okay, okay? We're okay. Now c'mon, walk with me to the sofa. You can do that right? On three. One, two three..”

Minutes feel like hours as you recall the way Jimin assisted you for a time on end, treating you as though you were a rare delicacy with his manner of tenderness, softness, soft whispers against your ear and soft touches along your spine as he helps you find your amity once more.

Unaware that he is just that — your amity, your armistice.

Sat on the sofa, you continue on controlling your breathing as you inhale in and exhale out, Jimin's voice supple and light by the side of your earlobe as words of encouragement slip past his lips, still slightly red and swollen from his previous cries.

You could practically feel his breath against your ear with the sheer distance between the two of you, the noticeable intimacy of both your positions making you shudder and shut your eyes in an attempt of preserving in place another series of newly blooming flowers.

Standing up abruptly, you look at anywhere but Jimin as you scan your surroundings, all before making a clear statement.

Hesitantly, you whisper, "I think I should go."

Jimin's eyes haltingly falters, confusion capitulating his entire expression before attempting to reach out to you, "So soon? I think you should stay y/n-"

"Why?" You intervene motionlessly.

Caught aback with the benevolence and lack of sentiment in your voice, Jimin unrequitedly stutters as he responds, "Because y-your condition is still not well and I-"

"My brother is a doctor, Chim. I'll ask him to stay with me."

"-I just think it'll be better for you to stay here for a while and rest-"

"Better for me?" You begin, once more keeping his words short, "Or better for you?"

You remember Jimin's widened eyes, clearly not expecting you to say what you did.

"I.." Jimin thinks before continuing, hands grazing yours just as he speaks, "I just want you here. I need you here."

At his words, you remember recalling that exact phrase spoken to you the night Sung died, just when he caught himself falling apart and firstly reached out to you.

You remember the way he stared at you with a sense of longing, a sense of yearning, deeply wanting to convey an emotion you don't- you refuse to understand.

Because you recognizes the love held not only on his eyes, but on his touch, on his lips,

making you want to kiss him, hold him, touch him.

God, you just want to love him.

“Jimin..” Your voice feels light against his face, whispers eluding past your lips as your breath leaves a wisp along Jimin’s plump cheeks, stroking the slightly pink and flushed skin from the sadness it’s undergone not too long ago.

His eyes beam longingly at you, conveying messages that seem foreign to your understanding as your heart palpitates unevenly against his grasp. But it was enough to block your mind, it was enough to drive you wild, it was enough for you to completely lose all sense and thought-process, your brain not reciprocating anything other than what the heart is yearning for.

Him.

And lastly, you remember not being able to hold yourself back as you bring to life the buried words you have kept underground for the longest time.

Your eyes trained directly at his averts down to his lips, the camellias no more blooming as it succumbs to desire, craving no more than to offer him the love you have saved in secret for the past twenty four months, "I love you, Jimin."

Lowly pronounced words as you gaze at him, breath still and steadily fanning the smile slowly forming on his lips.

"I love you too, y/n. You're my best friend."

You remember your conflict, the feeling of pure loss and distraught overtaking you as you remain still. There you were, being loved by him completely, yet it is a love that seemingly leaves you feeling incomplete. Feeling unwhole and broken, feeling void and sunken.

You remember hearing your heart physically crack as you perceive his words, your sight lingering on his own, mockingly filled with a kind of love that you didn't want.

A love that you, quite literally, didn't need.

As soon as you hear what he’s chosen to disclose, you crack an unwilling fictitious smile on your lips just seconds before a hand covers it, your body limpingly maneuvering against Jimin’s hold as you feel your throat contract once more, catching his undivided attention.

Eyebrows furrowed, Jimin calls out in confusion, “y/-”

You remember the endless coughs that had suddenly broke out of you, the worst of what is offered from the Hanahaki being at present time the moment his lips offer a chaffing smile, his concern and sincerity being your death unbeknownst to him.

Coughing vigorously, you push Jimin aside as the overwhelming feeling of sorness and torment leads you to spurt out tears by the corners of your eyes, pushing you to whimper out cryingly. Your back is turned from the origin of your agony as he calls out your name, a voice so quiet yet loud against your hearing, emotionally wounding you as you cry out in pain.

"-y/n..?"

Because you remember a one petal.

And then two, then three,

and you remember blood.

Not wanting to let him see you in such a state that shall most definitely force him to fully understand the meaning of your supposed ‘love’ for him, you run out of his home, opening the door and not bothering to shut it close as you hurryingly exit out.

You ignore all of his calls and pleas as you run

and you run

and you run

and you run

and you cough, thanking the heavens silently as you locate a bus stopped after passing a few blocks.

“y/n wait! Please!-”

You step inside the transportation with no intention of looking back, forcing yourself to cancel out the calls of Jimin's voice, muffled from the reaches of the outside bus doors. A voice that's calling you. A voice that you most definitely would run to if given the opportunity, a chance that excludes coughing and hurting and crying

-and dying.

Ignoring the whispers and talks of the three other passengers inside the vehicle, you avert you tearful sight from and to the driver's concerned gaze as you send a small forced smile his way, meekly stating,

"I don't have any cash on me, but I'm dying in 30 days. You'll let me ride, won't you sir?"

You remember that eventful day, exactly five days ago, one hundred and twenty hours since you had avoided any association with Jimin.

He's contacted you endlessly, knocked on your door several times and even stayed outside your apartment overnight during one weekend, and each time you had luckily spent it over at your brother's. The times he went there though, you were gone and so was Namjoon, leaving him calling out to your brother’s empty studio apartment.

Five days without fits of vicious coughing, yet five days without him.

Is that the sacrifice you have to make to be healthy?

Then, would that be the sacrifice you'd have to make to live?

"Jimin called me."

"AH- Kamchakya!" Your thoughts are finally cut off as you jump at the sound of both your brother's voice and the slam of the door. Stumbling backwards, you barely get the chance to hold your balance as your hand clutches your clothed chest, visibly startled at your brother's sudden presence.

Namjoon had entered your apartment nonchalantly as he shut the door close behind him with no more than a small smack, yet his strength effects the opposite of what is intended.

Eyes widened, you attempt to catch your loss of breath before bending down completely, hands now placed on both knees, "Joon what the hell?! You couldn't have knocked?" Turning aside, you conquest onto throwing the first thing you could find at the genius which he opposingly catches without a beat, throwing the tablecloth right back at you easily as he takes small steps forward, mumbling a small apology afore repeating his previous words, "Sorry. Jimin called me. For the tenth time in five days, may I add."

Rolling your eyes at his bluntness, you contrastingly fail to catch what you once threw as you walk a couple steps back, grabbing the now dirty item and attempting to hide the way your chest tightened by the mere mention of Jimin's name.

"Jimin called you. Congratulations. Would you like an award, big foot?" You joke accordingly.

Now stood up in the kitchen, Namjoon leads on to making himself at home through the means of providing himself something to eat, attempting to hide a small smile dragging its way onto his face out of gladness in finding that his little sister is not letting some pathetic disease affect her overall personality.

"Big foot? That's a new one." Reaching for the bread and peanut-butter, he calmly makes himself a sandwich, as that is the only food he can prepare without failure, all the while strategically conversing in a serious talk with you, "But don't play dumb with me, y/n. You know Jimin and I aren't on good terms right now. Since..." Namjoon trails off, wanting to obviously avoid the topic of your illness.

You sigh, chest heaving as this doesn't go unnoticed by you, of course. Yet not wanting to go down that path in the early morning either, you choose to passively ignore the way he quickly averted his eyes away from you and let him continue.

Clearing his throat surreptitiously, Namjoon proceeds to act indifferent towards the newly formed tension, "-anyway, he and I aren't okay yet but he's still called me for the tenth time, and I finally answered. You're telling me you aren't even a tiny bit curious on what Jimin and I spoke about?"

You've now sat yourself on the kitchen counter, careful not to hit your head on the overtops as you habitually clean up the mess your older brother had habitually started on creating, "I'm not curious, Joonie, because I don't need to ask."

"Mhm, is that so?" Namjoon turns around to look at you, his head somewhat tilted sideways as he proceeds to happily munch away his sloppy and disgusting-looking meal, "You already know what he said then?"

Neatly putting away all the ingredients of which your brother has taken out, you begin to shift in your spot as you look down at your now wobbling feet which you noticed have too begun to unconsciously shift and play with one-another.

You respond hesitantly, letting out another sigh, "Probably asking how I'm doing? Telling you to say sorry to me for him? A bunch of sappy stuff, I bet. He didn't even do anything wrong."

Smiling every so slightly, Namjoon nods his head meekly as he makes his way to the fridge in order to grab some water, throwing his sandwich in the trash bin in the process, "Yeah.." he pauses before chuckling softly, "-that's our Jimin.. Holy shit that sandwich was fucking disgusting by the way. Aish-" He curses before pouring some of the cool liquid on a glass and desperately chugging it down, tears forming around his eyes as he scoffs in distaste.

Confused and surprised, you check to see the bread if its begun to form any mold, which you find none.

"Huh, I wonder why. The bread is good." You say just before stepping off of the counter carefully, "-can't believe you managed to fuck up a sandwich, Joon. You really do suck at cooking, don't you? Well I guess, food in general." You addingly joke, which Namjoon, in contrast, takes complete and total offense to.

Yet just as he is about to bark back at you with a Nobel Prize winning poetic insult, you unintentionally proceed, therefore cutting him off.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to leave you the recipes of your favorites before I leave, okay?"

Smiling at him innocently, you find no flaw in your choice of words, making your brother's heart ache without warning as you look up at him with a tilted head.

"I know how much you love my cooking anyway, no matter how many times you claim that you don't." You laugh lightheartedly, "I might forget though, since I forget everything- but hey, Jimin cooks a little bit too, so just go to him whenever you miss my cooking, yeah? I know you guys fight a lot but please try not to once I'm g- mph!"

Pausing, your voice is unexpectedly muffled as your lips come in sudden contact with your brother's shoulder, completely quieting you down.

Taking a moment to fully comprehend such an unforeseen situation, it wins a small while for you to come to notice that he has completely submerged yourself in a tight embrace, both arms wrapped around your waist as his chin is placed right on top of your head.

You didn't know how to react.

It is without a doubt that you and Namjoon are close, don't get this wrong. And furthermore are there the endless comforting shoulder rubs and thoughtful words of advice from time to time, but a hug? A hug is usually where the two of you draw the line, both finding an unspoken mutual perspective on personal space.

So to find yourself in his position, with both your hands up in the air by the side of his waists as you remain frozen from the abrupt fright, you remain still, the only thought being in your head is how the last time that the two of you practically hugged this long was back from your parents' passing.

That being thirteen years ago.

Namjoon, on the other hand, does not give a flying fuck as he feels nothing but yearn for you. Your previous words has caused something inside of him to trigger and suddenly feel a certain lack of your warmth and existence, which he hates.

Don't worry, I'll make sure to leave you the recipes of your favorites before I leave, okay?

That's exactly what you had just said.

-please try not to once I'm gone.

You would have added.

His mind is in disarray, his medicinal IQ of 148 fading into an 8 as his thoughts are gathered in shambles, trying so desperately to rid of the now forming vision of a future without your not-so-bad-but-not-good-either cooking, a future without your Namjoon please get a liscense nagging, a future without your unbearable teasing, a future without-

a future without you.

How could he wake up to a future that's missing his little sister?

Namjoon is an orphan now. You both have been for thirteen years. The orphaned doctor, he would sometimes call himself.

And thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor swore as he looked upon his parents' opened casket for the last time that he will never abandon his sister. Thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor cried as he smiled against the clear plastic on his dead mother's pale box, swearing under oath that he could never let an accident take his sister away too. Thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor choked back tears as his hands leave prints against the plastic of his father's case, promising to keep the strength he trusts his dad would have asked of him to endure. Thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor painfully smiled as he kneeled down and looked at you, your black gloves of mourning beginning to dampen as stains become visible from your attempts of wiping away your brother’s tears.

Thirteen years ago, Namjoon mentally vowed in his deceased father and mother's name to always prioritize you first, determined in a future of being his little sister’s hero as he lastly placed a bouquet of soft pink camellia flowers on top of his parents' shared grave, squeezing your smaller hand intertwined with his.

Thirteen years ago, he was only thirteen, yet he had been the father and the mother and the brother his eight-year old sister needed.

Namjoon didn’t realize when he started crying.

At this point, the both of you are now on the floor, the age difference having been confusing as you are the one cradling you older brother tenderly.

Your once frozen hands are now soft and delicately wrapped around his back, rubbing in circular motions as you mouth words of comfort against his ear. Dampness could be felt on your shoulder down to your chest as your brother maneuvers while sobbing silently, head now seemingly permanent on the base of your neck.

Does being sick always come with scenes like this? You think to yourself.

"Shh, Joon. C'mon it's okay. Shh, it's alright," You coo softly, your own tears subsiding as you don't care of much other than your brother's current distress, "Joonie, c'mon. Seeing you like this is breaking my heart."

Okay scratch that, your tears aren't subsiding, they're sliding.

"Joonie..." You whisper softly yet desperately, wanting nothing more than to console your brother ever so leniently, "-please stop crying."

Suddenly, you feel Namjoon halt as he abruptly pushes away from you at an arms length, hands holding both sides of your shoulder as his reddened eyes direct yours before making the suggestion,

"Get the surgery."

Truly, that was not the right time to bring up the surgery, of this Namjoon is certain.

And to be honest, he doesn't even have a clue whether there is a right time to bring up the surgery. But he's become overwhelmed and desperate, wanting nothing more than to guarantee your life be saved. So although the timing doesn't match, he allows the situation to happen and chooses to not take back his previous words, instead facing whatever you decide to let on. Fate shall take its course.

Caught aback, you look at your brother bewilderedly, "What?"

"Get the surgery, y/n." He sniffingly repeats, nose still red and mouth still dry from his previous and still cooling breakdown.

"What are you talking about, Joon?” You smile slightly, eyebrows knitted and confused. “What surgery?"

"y/n," Namjoon begins, voice short and desperate, "I told you about this, didn't I? I was training for medicine a few years ago, yeah? I was an intern volunteering. My superior's patient had the disease, th- the Hanahaki disease, right?" Namjoon speaks relentlessly as he becomes breathless, looking slightly crazy as he rambles over a particular memory which you have no recollection of discussing with him.

"His name was Jung Hoseok, one of the first ten Hanahaki surgery recipients. He survived, y/n. The surgery was a complete success. He's alive even to now and I also still have his contact saved in my phone. Look-"

"Wait wait wait," You shake your head, hands coming to stop his phone-reaching hands all the while trying to process the vast information suddenly provided, "-the Hanahaki surgery? The surgery you did a Science project on that I helped you with during your senior high school year? F-flower Chowder? The Flower Power?" You finish, grinning at the newly found memory yet just moments before frowning entirely,

"Joon, you're telling me to get the Flower Power?"

Namjoon inhales a short intake of breath as he looks down and shuts his eyes, dreading the soon-to-be-happening conversation, "I know this seems crazy but-"

"Yeah no shit, it's crazy."

"Just hear me out oka-"

"This is really bat-shit off the walls crazy, Kim Namjoon!"

"-it's medicine, y/n. It's not really crazy-"

"medicine. my. ass."

"-it's been successful each time it was performed, and-"

"Joon just stop it!"

"-it's the only way to save your damn life!"

With wide eyes you blankingly stare at him, scoffing in disbelief at his sudden raise of voice, "Save my life? Then what? I go to live like a fucking robot for all eternity? Lose all my emotions and live as some kind of cyborg? We aren't in a fucking sci-fi movie, Joon!"

Processing your words, Namjoon does understand your point; but he's become helpless, the helplessness making him reckless, the recklessness making him desperate, and the desperation leaving no room for understanding your point, "A robot is still alive, y/n."

All in all, a reckless mess.

"A robot is still al- what?! Joon, are you hearing yourself?" You speak incredulously.

No, truth to be told, Namjoon is not hearing himself.

"I don't know what you think this, but I am not about to turn into some kind of sim with no feelings. Both you and I know that I would rather die as I live than live as I exist to be nothing more than just that, existing." You speak threateningly, "Don't you ever make me go through that, Joon. Not even as a last resort and not even when I'm not awake anymore to defend my point."

Holding up your right pinky finger, you raise your eyebrows, staring at him expectantly, "Promise me."

Namjoon glances down at your raised finger, jaw clenched and gaze hesitant. Yet just as he proceeds to reach forward in order to seal the deal, he speaks one last time, defeated, "And what if it is the last resort, y/n?"

You look at him, eyes downcast as you begin to subconsciously lower your hand as he continues, "What if you're moments away from leaving me? What do I do? Do I just let you die? Do you really expect me to just let you die even wh- when there's an option to take where you can live?" Namjoon is breathless as he speaks, voice desperate in convincing you.

Sighing, you lower your head slightly, "Joon, I already told you that I'm okay. I'm ready. I've accepted it-"

"But I haven't." Namjoon cuts you off, his words serving a stab at your heart.

"I haven't accepted it. I won't accept it." He takes hold of both your hands, lowering his height so that the two of you are on same eye level afore smiling sadly, "I've lost both our parents, y/n. I've accepted that. I've lived with that. But you can't ask me to accept losing you either because I don't think I'll be able to keep myself sane without you around. I need you, y/n. You're my sister, my anchor, God, you're my lifeline. You've kept me going for these past thirteen years, and I love you. I love you so so so so much, nae yeodongsaeng." He finishes, your heart crumbling at the sight of his flooding eyes.

"And I'm sorry if this is somewhat unfair to you, but please." Namjoons cries out, voice barely above a whisper as he sheds diring tears, "-please choose to try. Choose to try to live.

-If not for you, please do it for me."

"Fuck you Namjoon." You curse mutteringly, voice low and steady as you stand in front of Jimin's door for the past ten minutes.

You twist and turn like a little child as you curse mentally, feeling dread throughout your entire physicality and not at all wanting to continue with your plan. Nonetheless, you remind yourself of your brother's desperation and of your reasons for doing this.

For your brother, you cheer on.

"Okay. Okay! I can do this." You jump up and down, feet bouncing lightly against the hard ground, repeating the same phrase over and over again, "I can do this."

Turning to knock, your mind then suddenly flushes with dread as you subconsciously retreat back to your car, hands waving frantically around, "I can't do this."

"y/n?"

You freeze.

Fuck.

Hands still amidst the air, you stay still, unbelieving of the situation.

"y/n? What are you- is that you? Am I seeing shit right now?" He mumbles the last words to himself, which he silently thanks goes unbeknownst to you as you stay frozen, feet glued onto the ground and heart beating out of your chest at the familiar sound of his voice.

Hesitating, you muster up the determination to slowly turn around.

Your throat tightens once more all the while your heart contrastingly does backflips as you physically see him for the first time since five days and-or one hundred and twenty hours and-or a very painful long time for someone who's in love with someone.

"Hey, Chim." You meekly call out, trying to hide the anxiety creeping in within you.

Jimin, still processing your presence after countless failure of trying to see you, steps forward lightly, eyebrows furrowed as he evidently attempts to figure out the right words to say, "Hey."

"Hey." You wince as you attempt a grin.

Jimin's lips form a tight smile, "Hey."

.

.

.

Shit, this is so awkward.

The thought enters the both of your minds as a seemingly unprecedented tumbleweed passes by.

Clearing your throat, you notice the way Jimin looks down at his fiddling thumbs and curious little pinkies as you speak out once more, trying to ease the visible tension, "So are you going to invite me in or what?" You laugh breathily, chest heaving up and down in desperation of holding in those God-awful petals.

Jimin looks up at you with wide eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as he nods his head repeatedly, "Right- right! Yeah come in. This is your home too, you know." He speaks as he holds out his keys and turn to unlock his door, not noticing the way you've weakened among with the just fallen petal that silently wisped past your lips.

This is your home too, you know.

It's insane how such light words could make a person feel so lost and contracted.

Seven simple words that were spoken without a thought have you in a dazed mentality, hand tighteningly gripping your clothed heart before faking a positive expression as he turns around to face you.

"You can head inside first." Jimin shows that beautiful smile, moving aside as he lays his hand out in the direction of his now opened abode.

You only nod in return as you waste no time in entering, mumbling a small 'thanks chim' as you pass by.

He then follows soon after, set and determined on making you feel at home as he steps forward.

Yet a sight goes inevitable as your head spins around a moment barely passing as you enter his home, catching the vision of Jimin accidentally stepping on the camellia flower, the fragment that symbolizes your unrequited love, your pain, which lay on the timid ground, cracking it in half.

It seems the universe really is telling you something.

You ponder to yourself as you gaze wanderingly, the now torn petal not leaving your sight.

Smiling ironically, the formidable occurence somehow boosts your acceptance of the situation at hand as you make your way to the sofa, speaking aloud even more so formidable words, "We need to talk, Jimin."

Just moments before sitting down, Jimin remains still, eyes glazing at you directly for a second before gathering himself and proceeding to act indifferent, "Of course."

Jimin. He thinks.

Not chim, Jimin.

"Jimin I-"

"No please-" Jimin cuts you off as you begin to speak, "Please let me say first what I've been keeping inside for this past week of being avoided by you."

You didn't know whether you were supposed to take offense or not, yet nonetheless you decide

"-just wanted to let you know that I'm getting surgery."

I can't believe she's calling me Ji- "What?"

You smile empathetically, "I'm getting surgery, Jimin."

part 3, maybe?

taglist: @itsdingdong @honeyd99 @010op10 @chubsjmin @outropjmm @nynhope

[ninarances15]

Just because us Asians use honourifics, that doesn’t mean we are all blood related, Jesus Christ...

As an Asian and a Hetalian, I just want to say something on this whole discourse.

I don’t know much about the discourse surrounding @frukmerunning, but I have read people’s post about it. For those who don’t know, she made an Instagram story on how she doesn’t see China and Japan as blood relatives, and they technically aren’t in canon, and that Nichu isn’t incest in her own opinion. After that, people started to call her a pro shipper of inc*st, a p*do, and even had the audacity to doxx her! Making her delete all of her social media accounts.

Ok, people have their own opinions and views when it comes to Hetalia characters. Personally, I don’t see China and Japan as relatives either, and if I do, it would be a bit weird for me and that would be racist. Just because us Asians refer to our elders as “big brother”, “big sister”, “auntie”, “uncle”, etc. That doesn’t necessarily mean we’re related! It’s our culture and our own way of showing respect! (Jesus Christ, it’s like how people say all Asians look alike🙄. If it’s a joke, sure. But if you really think we look the same, well no, we’re not physically alike.) Just because Japan calls China his “big brother” that doesn’t mean they’re both blood related. And shipping Nichu isn’t p*do (however, it will be considered p*do if someone ships China x child!Japan).

I think the same thing can be said to America and England, Spain and Romano, etc. it’s not incest, nor is it p*do to ship them (for me, they’re not related in any way, and it will only be p*do if people ship England x child!America, Spain x chibimano, etc.) But again, this is just my opinion, and people have their own, I know that.

BUT REALLY, WAS IT NECESSARY  TO DOXX AND INSULT SOMEONE JUST BECAUSE THEY SAID A HARMLESS OPINION?! JUST BECAUSE THEY DON’T SEE NICHU AND JAPAN AND CHINA AS RELATIVES, THAT DOESN’T MEAN THEY SHIP THEM!

I ship Philippines and Indonesia (I’m not sure if the buff guy is him), they are both Southeast Asians, but they are NOT AND I MEAN NOT RELATED! Honestly, I would be confused and offended if people will tell me that shipping them is wrong because it’s incest.

In this case, imagine China and Japan as roommates, living in the same house, but have separate rooms, but they are not related whatsoever. The house is the East Asian region, and the separate rooms are the independent lands that each country has in real life. Same thing can be said, after the amount of fanart I’ve seen of the Asians together, like one big happy family (I have no problem if people see them as that, but I would just say “no”, that doesn’t mean we’re related. Despite the stereotype that Asians get along and love each other. In real life, there are discourse between those real countries.)

I know some people see them as relatives and that’s fine, just don’t shove it down other people’s throats. Some don’t see them as relatives, but don’t shove that down other people’s throats.

I don’t want to point fingers, but there are so many posts indicating that the ones who bullied @frukmerunning are Westerns. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met some people from the West and they’re really nice. But what I really hate is that the harassers are the ones that overshadow the good ones, because of so many drama happening in the anime community (and maybe many others).

Listen, just because you guys don’t call your elders with honourifics before their name that much, and think you’re ALWAYS right, and that different cultures (in this case, Asian culture) are “alien” to you, that doesn’t mean you have the right to harass someone, bully them, insult them, and think you’re always the right person in this argument. Because, honestly, what happened in this discourse, makes people like you lower than anyone else. And all cultures are different, people have a different way of living.

Also, isn’t the whole point of Hetalia is to join together, make pasta not war, and just have fun learning each other’s culture and history, because we’re all equal at the end of the day, even though we laugh at each other’s stereotypes. And not being biased on whose culture is “correct” and whose is “wrong”? I literally hoped that this fandom improved and moved on to be better ever since HWS came out, but no, with this whole discourse happening, I’m so disappointed😑😑😑.

I’m gonna ask you guys this: Would you guys do the same thing to Hima? Because he (I’m guessing) doesn’t see all Asian countries (even his own) as blood relatives. How would you feel if someone did the exact same thing to you? People like you seem to enjoy bullying someone, I’m guessing you would love it if someone bullied you too. But I would also like to add, even if @frukmerunning does ship Nichu, that doesn’t give you the right to bully her. That still makes you lower than anyone and you won’t achieve anything, other than shame and regret and a bad portrayal of yourself from other people’s perspectives.

With this whole discourse, I’m beginning to think bullying and disrespect is part of culture too, huh? I guess it’s a lot easier than simply clicking away when you know someone will talk about something you don’t like.

Anyway, even though @frukmerunning’s social medias are deleted, you can still support her redbubble here: https://www.redbubble.com/people/frukmerunning/shop#profile

(With this whole discourse, you learned a fact: Asians use honourifics to respect their elders (relative, older friends, etc.) I have friends that are older than me, and I use honourifics. Until I stopped, since my friends don’t mind being called by their names. But just to make sure, learn honourifics if you met someone who’s Asian and older than you, out of respect. (I don’t think Asians are the only ones with honourifics, but I’m just not sure. But correct me on that.)) *sighs* First, people generalize all Asians look the same; second, generalize that the only Asians that exist are China, Japan, and South Korea; and now generalizing that we’re all related????

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 27 - ao3 -

Matters settled, eventually, and just as eventually, it started getting better.

At first, Lan Qiren wasn’t sure if matters were actually better, or if he’d just grown numb and accustomed, but after the past year and more he thought that there was a serious possibility of it being the former rather than the latter.

Probably the biggest difference was the birth of little Lan Huan, who’d joined the world as a fat and squalling infant that Lan Qiren had loved at first sight and sleepless night – he was still too young to be separated from his mother, or at minimum his wetnurse, but Lan Qiren made a practice of visiting every few days to try to prepare himself for caring for him. The women were generally happy to shove the baby into his arms and let him play guqin or xiao for him until he fell asleep. Apparently Lan Huan was actually a very peaceable baby, an assertion which Lan Qiren had initially doubted on account of the circles under everyone’s eyes, but when he’d said so, the wetnurse had glared at him and pronounced that saying such things meant that the next child would be a true wild terror, and probably a biter to boot.

The frequency of Lan Qiren’s visits was actually less about Lan Huan, although he liked his nephew very much, and more about trying to establish a precedent for visitation. He hoped, eventually, to be able to bring Lan Huan to see his mother on such a frequent basis, once or even twice a week, knowing as he did that He Kexin lacked the temperament for seclusion. To his regret, she’d ended up spoiling that plan not long after she’d recovered from her pregnancy, misinterpreting his frequent visits as an interest in her, and he’d been forced to cut back for a while out of sheer disgust at the mere concept. He bitterly scolded her in his mind for being seemingly incapable of seeing any other reason that he would visit so often, especially during the times that Lan Huan was already asleep, although he suspected in his heart that the real reason was simply likely a longing for a connection with the only other person she regularly saw. 

He still had hope of negotiating regular visits with his sect elders, eventually, but now he knew he’d probably be lucky if he managed to make it once every fortnight, when originally he’d hoped for twice a week.

Disturbing female disciples is prohibited, after all. Lan Qiren had a very good reputation, being widely known to be frigid as a stick of ice, using his brother’s terms, but there was only so much he could do when there was known to be an expressed interest on the other side, especially an interest of adulterous nature. And couple that with what had happened between them before…

At least she’d restrained herself to only making a verbal offer, this time.

Lan Qiren did not know how to explain to He Kexin in a way that she would understand that although he visited her regularly as a matter of duty, and although he was the only person other than his brother with whom she regularly conversed, he did not enjoy his time with her – that he blamed her in part for the destruction of his dreams, the shattering of his heart in a way that would likely never heal, even though he did not blame her for his brother’s obsession with her. It was not her fault that his brother had fallen in love with her, or that he had taken such extreme measures for her, and yet…

“She’s still a bitch,” Cangse Sanren announced, and her new husband smothered a snicker in his sleeve. “What? She is.”

Lan Qiren sighed, and Wei Changze, smiling, made an excuse to depart and let them talk between themselves. He was a good man, with an irrepressible sense of humor that regularly made Cangse Sanren laugh without any shame at all, howling and hooting like a monkey. He had courted her assiduously even after she’d departed the Lotus Pier, headed off to complete her education regarding the mortal world in the various Great Sects, and yet had been oblivious to the fact that she treated their liaison as a serious one – perhaps he had only truly believed that she would give herself to him when they actually married, their interminably long courtship finally ending the way any blind man would have guessed it would from the very beginning.

“I asked you to come here so that you could meet A-Huan,” Lan Qiren said. “Not to relitigate the matter of He Kexin, who at any rate is already suffering the punishment for her unwise actions.”

“Unwise is an understatement. She killed a man! On no basis, and without even a formal challenge! If she’d just kept her sword in her sheath and not jumped ahead three steps –”

“I’m aware.”

Cangse Sanren made a rude noise, but settled back, grumbling. “The baby’s cute, though,” she added begrudgingly. “Looks like you.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you, he is my nephew. To the extent you can identify any traits whatsoever in a roly-poly puppy like A-Huan, they’re family features.”

“Of which you’re the finest representative!”

Lan Qiren gave her a look, and she grinned unrepentantly at him. “Heartbreaker,” she teased, but a moment later her smile faded. “Have you spoken with your brother?”

Lan Qiren’s gaze dropped to the table. “There’s no need,” he said. “He has always been torn between pride in his capability and the admiration of others on one hand, and a yearning to retreat from the world and its annoyances in order to focus fully on his cultivation on the other. Other than occasionally meeting with his wife, he is now able to wholly focus on the latter, and unlike He Kexin, his temperament is suited to the strictness of our seclusion practices.”

“There might not be a need,” Cangse Sanren agreed. “Did you speak with him anyway?”

“Once,” Lan Qiren said, voice short. After a few long moments, he added, a little painfully: “He said that our father had always seen seclusion as a means to reunite with his wife.”

Cangse Sanren hissed in a manner not unlike a very angry cat, or possibly an agitated snake, her eyes very nearly turning red from rage: naturally she knew about the whole awful background, the many years of age between Lan Qiren and his brother and the way his brother had always blamed Lan Qiren’s belated birth for the death of their mother, and by extension the shattering of their father’s heart when she left him behind, gone too early.

Lan Qiren’s brother had also said other things, mad things, things that Lan Qiren sought to forget as soon as he’d heard them but which he knew would likely haunt him in the dark of sleepless nights for the rest of his life. The worst of it was that Lan Qiren still loved his brother, who he’d idolized for so long: his brother who was the perfect gentleman when he wanted to be, capable of being kind and charming and generous, of excellent cultivation and who excelled in each talent, who was thoughtful and reserved and in his own way a very good sect leader – the Qingheng-jun that the rest of the world had seen, the one that Lao Nie had befriended, the one so much of his sect had pinned their hopes on.

Lan Qiren felt, as always, like an inferior substitute.

No one had made his brother fall in love, nor to take such terrible actions to protect his love from her own foolishness, and yet, if Lan Qiren could have found another way out that the sect would have accepted, he would have. It would have been better, in his view, to lash them both with the discipline whip until they lacked flesh if it meant that they would stay free. A human could live with pain, but he wasn’t so sure they could do without freedom or hope…

Aren’t you just the same as me, his brother had sneered at him through the door that would part them for the rest of their lives, lashing out like a rabid dog that sought to hurt others in order to ease its own hurt, or else would you snap yourself into a thousand pieces begging for a scrap of my approval, which you will never receive, or whoring your vaunted righteousness out for a smile from your ‘sworn brother’?

Lan Qiren hadn’t done that, and wouldn’t. Unbelievable as it seemed, his stubbornness had stood up against Wen Ruohan’s and won; it had been Wen Ruohan who had changed to match him, rather than the other way around. He had vowed that the Fire Palace remained useless, and Lan Qiren believed him, especially when even Lao Nie confirmed it to be true. They had taken to exchanging letters this past year, since Lan Qiren could not visit the Nightless City until he had stabilized the Cloud Recesses and – sworn brotherhood or no – a visit by Wen Ruohan to the Cloud Recesses would be taken as a formal exchange, sect leader visiting sect leader.

Perhaps now, after a year, when he had more fully settled into his role…

“Did the trash say anything else?”

For a moment Lan Qiren was unsure whether Cangse Sanren had somehow managed to follow his thoughts and was now referring to Wen Ruohan, against whom she still bore something of a grudge, but then he realized that she meant his brother.

“Anything of value, anyway,” she huffed, tossing her hair and baring her teeth in the way she used to do before she realized that human beings didn’t use threat displays in that manner.

“He picked a courtesy name for A-Huan,” Lan Qiren said. “As is his right, of course.”

That had been Lan Qiren’s true motive in going to see his brother, in fact. He had refused to go see his brother for months, even if etiquette suggested he should go to pay his respects; it was only after A-Huan was born that he had finally yielded. It was only upon seeing the round and innocent face of little A-Huan starting to smile that he felt compelled to bend his stubborn back and compromise himself to reach out – there was very little, he found, that he wouldn’t do for his little nephew, who had no one else in the world.

His brother had been largely disinterested, though, even when Lan Qiren had inappropriately brought the child over for him to see – it had been too early for propriety, before the first month ceremony which marked the moment when the child could be exhibited more broadly, but Lan Qiren’s heart had hurt at the idea of his brother not seeing his son before the rest of the world had had a chance. It was not a large distance between the seclusion house his brother had chosen for himself, the same one that their father had planned to use before his suicide, and the house set aside for He Kexin, which Lan Qiren had taken to privately calling the Gentian House on account of the flowers that crowded around it. 

Everyone had turned a blind eye to Lan Qiren’s little excursion – but his brother hadn’t cared.

It was He Kexin that he loved, that he was mad for, and in his selfishness he could not see extending that love to anyone beyond her. Lan Qiren was resolved to teach A-Huan to do better, to think of others first, to care for other people and think not only of them but of the people beyond them, just as he looked at He Kexin and thought to teach him to make his own judgments of people, to listen to their side of the story and analyze it carefully based on what he knew.

He could only hope that it would help.

When his brother had told him to leave, that he didn’t care to see the child, Lan Qiren had left, returning Lan Huan to his mother’s care, and returned himself to his brother’s door, boiling over with rage, to give him a piece of his mind. 

It had backfired on him, of course. He would have been better off not going back at all – the rules said Do not succumb to rage, and they were right. All he had managed to obtain was a sore throat from all the yelling and a fresh set of nightmares.

And a name.

At least he had gotten Lan Huan a name bestowed upon him by his father, as he deserved.

“He selected ‘Xichen’,” Lan Qiren said, drawing out the characters and passing it over for Cangse Sanren to see. “It’s a good name.”

“Lan Xichen,” Cangse Sanren said, sounding it out and thinking over the meaning of the characters. “Yes, that’s a good name. Full of ambition and well-wishes…I bet the rotten trash-heap sees A-Huan as another incarnation of himself.”

Lan Qiren didn’t exactly disagree. Still, it would be rude to say so; he coughed and shook his head. “What about you?” he asked instead. “Are you and Wei Changze planning on giving A-Huan a playmate?”

And himself a student, in a dozen years or so. He’d started accepting students from rogue cultivators and other sects, just the way he’d planned; it was still in the early stages. He was still writing to small sects with fewer resources and offering to take their problem children because he knew that that was all they’d be willing to send to him, an outsider – there had always been lectures offered by the Great Sects, but they were one-off things, often accompaniments to discussion conferences or else excuses for the sects’ adults to gather and socialize while the children learned a few days’ worth of material. Taking another sect’s child for a full season, the way he planned to, was a much bigger ask. Much less to teach them his Lan sect rules, which weren’t even seen as applicable by the rest of the world…

Still, Lan Qiren had hope that eventually he would be able to demonstrate his merit; if his teaching worked with this first set of children, he hoped that it would work in the future for more of them. He hoped he’d be able to help them learn something, but even if he didn’t, they would at least have the experience of traveling – of visiting another place all on their own – so that if something happened in their lives to rob them of their freedom, they would at least have that much to remember. And in return, he would have them, his students, the feathers to brighten and color his dull nest and let him experience a little of what the world was still available to him.

Cangse Sanren laughed. “Not for a few years yet,” she said, eyes dancing. “You’re still safe! We want to have some time for ourselves, first – we’re going to travel around as rogue cultivators. I’ll write to you from every city, and send you things!”

Lan Qiren smiled.

“But only,” she said primly, “only if you promise me you’re not actually going to go through with growing that awful beard of yours again –”

“I’m a teacher now. I’m entitled!”

“You’re too young! You have to wait until you’re at least thirty for a beard.”

“By what rule?”

“My rule! Also my aesthetics; you’re so pretty –”

“I explained to you my reasoning already,” Lan Qiren complained. “What do you have against it, other than an aesthetic preference which is completely irrelevant to me?”

“I’m a rogue cultivator from Baoshan Sanren’s immortal mountain,” she proclaimed. “I seek to improve the world wherever it may be, fight evil and promote good, and keeping you clean-shaven is such a clear and vast improvement to the beauty of the world that it must be fiercely fought for –”

“Cangse Sanren!”

She burst out laughing. “How about this?” she giggled. “You can grow it after you’re thirty, or else whenever I’m not here, so that you can have it when you’re teaching your classes.”

“Thank you for your generous permission,” he drawled.

“No, no, it’ll be good!” she beamed at him. “That means that when I’m gone for good, you’ll have something to remember me by.”

Lan Qiren’s smile disappeared. “Cangse Sanren –”

“I told you long ago that I was doomed,” she reminded him. “Anyway, I’ve kept a low profile, haven’t I? I’m not dead yet, and you never know what might happen. And anyway, like I always said, a short life in exchange for a good life is a bargain I’m willing to strike…anyway, enough about me. Tell me about your children! The students, I mean; are they really all terrible bear children, without a single good trait between them?”

“They’re fine,” Lan Qiren said, distracted by what was quickly proving to be a new favorite subject. “I don’t know what everyone complains about with them. So what if they’re mischievous at first? In the end they all learn, you just have to give them attention and figure out what it is that they like, what will work to give them a basis to use in the future…”

“Surely some of them have to be disasters.”

“Don’t worry, I’m certain that your future child will be a fiend in human flesh born for the sole purpose of wreaking havoc on the serenity of my classroom,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “To be matched only by the inevitable offspring of Lan Yueheng and Zhang Xin, should they ever choose to put aside their furnaces and chemicals long enough to have them.”

Cangse Sanren giggled. “Just you wait,” she warned. “They’ll have a whole host of children, just like the common folk do; none of this two-and-done that you noble scions of the Lan sect prefer. They’ll have an entire horde for the next generation, and just when you think that you’re finally done with them, they’ll have an ‘accident’ twenty years too late, a child of their old age, and you’ll have to teach them alongside children young enough to be A-Huan’s heirs…”

“Why must you curse me?” Lan Qiren complained. “What have I ever done to you?”

It had been a good visit.

Yes, Lan Qiren thought, he was starting to adjust, little by little. The life he had now was not what he wanted, not what he’d dreamed of, but he could live with it – he had to, of course, but he thought that he also could. He would play for his nephew instead of a nameless crowd in a distant city, he would teach students a generation too early, he would only leave the Cloud Recesses on short excursions – night-hunting, or discussion conferences, or visits to his friends, to play with little A-Jue over in the Unclean Realm or the slightly older A-Xu in the Nightless City, whose would-be sibling had not made it despite Wen Ruohan’s concubine’s best effort. Wen Ruohan had written in his letter that he had promised her another as compensation, but only in a few years, once her body had fully recovered and A-Xu was old enough that another child wouldn’t be seen as a threat, which seemed fair to Lan Qiren.

He would live.

He might even enjoy it.

He only wondered a little, about Wen Ruohan – his sworn brother had, he thought, expressed some mangled version of feelings towards him, feelings that well exceeded the ordinary course for sworn brothers and which he thought he had made clear were not unwelcome, but amidst the hubbub that had later ensued Wen Ruohan had not spoken of it again. Lan Qiren could understand that he had been distracted, first by Lao Nie’s marriage – now ended, according to Lao Nie, who seemed as unperturbed by his announcement that his wife had disappeared permanently and would likely never be returning as he had by anything else about this mysterious woman that Lan Qiren had never had the chance to meet and now never would – and then by Lan Qiren’s brother’s situation. 

And yet, he would have thought that there would be something…

Wen Ruohan has lived for generations, he reminded himself. He is an ancient monster of the old sort, unmatched by any other living being, excepting only perhaps those that long ago retreated into seclusion or the mountains. Waiting a year or even a few is for him little more than a brief pause. He may yet reach out again – and, of course, you could do the reaching out yourself, if you weren’t such a coward.

It wasn’t cowardice that stopped him, of course, no matter what names he called himself. It was uncertainty, and also, in his own way, a form of care – it was the Lan sect’s curse to love too strongly, to prioritize their hearts above all common sense. Lan Qiren did not want to burden Wen Ruohan with an offer that would not satisfy him, to hang around his neck an obligation of unwanted feelings the way his brother had done to He Kexin.

Lan Qiren could not see a way in which he could offer Wen Ruohan his heart and not his body, yet he knew himself well enough to know that he would be unhappy if he tried to offer both. He could exert himself if he really had to, force himself to go through the motions that seemed so dull and unpleasant, all squelching amidst bodily fluids and inelegant grunting and none of the attraction that other people had to compensate for it. But he couldn’t do so sincerely, and he wouldn’t be able to do it for very long without developing resentment at being forced to endure such a task routinely – and it did seem that regular people wanted it all the time.

Such a feeling, if ignored, would breed disorder between them, poisoning their hearts…no, Lan Qiren could not make the first move, to take the step that would breach the paper between them, change them from their current status as brothers and nothing more. 

He had made his position clear.

The only question was – what would Wen Ruohan do about it?

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Small Stories Hour: To Annex the Kid

Close Call or The Losing Battle That Kid Will Fight for Another Fifteen Years

↳ The barkeep set a tankard of amber beer on the counter with a little more aggression than strictly necessary. His beady eyes found the dirt patching every surface of Russell's face disdainful, his upper lip curling beneath a thick black mustache.

That was not Russell's immediate concern, however, as he had to stop himself from dumping the contents of the tankard down his gullet in one go. He hadn't had a proper drink in days; a sip of river water here and there wasn't enough to sate him, especially under the experience of having vomited shortly after the last river disagreed with him. The beer, though lukewarm and stale, got the job done, and he gulped it down in desperation, holding his hat to his head as he tilted it back to pour as much of the bitter liquid down as possible.

"What's goin' on over in Winslow?"

Russell paused mid-pull and lowered the tankard from his face to hear the three men in the corner of the small saloon without drawing too much attention to himself.

"They still ain't heard from that boy, the one that ran away," another man said. "The Corduroys' boy, Russell. I think they called him Kid. It's been a couple of months since he's gone. Got a cousin lives over that way an' she's sayin' the whole town can't find hide nor hair of him."

"He just up an' left in the middle of the night, ain't that right?"

Russell dropped his head and slumped his shoulders, the mention of his hometown igniting the usual feelings of guilt and shame while also kicking off his self-preservation instincts. He slid a couple of coins across the bar top with two fingers.

"That is somethin'," one of the men said. "He might as well be dead by now."

Suddenly not as thirsty as he'd been when he first arrived at the saloon, Russell made a point to avoid revealing his face to the men as he slid off the stool to make a quick exit. He mounted his horse and rode away, reminding himself never to stop in that town again. It was too close, too risky.

A few hours into the afternoon, however, he regretted not taking more advantage of having a source of beverages at his disposal. Thirst clutched his throat in a tight grip, addling his brain.

"Where we goin', Radish," Russell muttered, keeping an ear open for running water. "I'm lookin' at another rough night if I don't get somethin' to eat soon—"

Shots rang out in the too-near distance, and Radish jolted to a stop, whinnying his complaint. Russell clutched the reins and attempted to calm him while also searching the endless trees ahead.

A wail started from the forest, growing louder with each passing second until a man exploded from the bushes, screaming at the top of his lungs and brandishing a rifle in one hand while bleeding profusely from the other one.

"Run!" he shrieked, tearing past Russell and Radish. "There's a wolf after me!"

Russell glanced back to the trees, about to question the man's claim, when an actual wolf sprang forward, hellbent on making a meal of the man with no prejudice whatsoever. Its hungry jaws snapped and drool flew every which way from between its razor-sharp teeth, paws making craters in the dirt underneath it. Upon noticing Russell and Radish—apparently an easier meal—it skidded to a stop and bounded in their direction instead.

Without giving it much consideration, Russell drew his revolver from his gun belt, slapped the hammer back with his palm, and aimed true between the wolf's eyes, firing in the midst of its arced pounce. The momentum carried its body under Radish, who began to rear and spook in response to all of the action happening at once, and a hoof came down and snapped the wolf's neck before he took off.

"Hey, whoa!" Russell grabbed the reins again. "Easy! Calm down, boy, you're alright!"

Radish finally slowed near the bleeding man sitting at the side of the road, and it became clear that the man wasn't from anywhere nearby as he had on a peculiar arrangement of clothes, not the least of which was the bright red tailcoat worn over a slim-fitting vest and golden ascot.

Russell retrieved a handful of loose bandages from the saddlebag and dismounted. "Sir...here, I just got these yesterday for emergencies." He caught sight of the bloodied appendage as he got closer, his stomach lurching once he realized that half of his hand was missing, leaving only an index finger and a thumb. "Oh, sweet Jesus...and this might be an emergency…"

"Thank you," the man said in a peculiar accent. It sounded very formal, probably English, and he set the rifle down next to him to shakily wrap the bandages around what was left of his hand. He failed to start the wrap several times. "Not sure what the point is...it's not just my body that's ruined now."

Crouching in front of him to help, Russell did his best to ignore the sharp coppery stench wafting from the wound. "What d'you mean by that, if you don't mind me askin'?"

The man sighed. "Young fellow...my name is Horace Purcell, and you just killed my life's work."

Russell paused pressing the wound with bandages and looked at Horace. "Excuse me?"

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful...I am endlessly in your debt for saving my life." Horace pointed with his good hand to the lump of fur lying motionless in the road. "That was the star of my entire act. 'Horace Purcell and the Wolfman,' I'd called it. You could watch me perform tricks with a wolf as big as a man. We'd toured the whole West, just me and Angelo. I'd worried for a while that things were going poorly when Angelo started to clear out chicken coops about a week ago…"

"That was your first clue?" Russell said. He shook his head. "Not that you decided to go runnin' around with a wolf bigger'n a lion?"

Horace chuckled, a surprising reaction given his current state. "You're right, I know. I was never one to shy away from a challenge back home, not a mind here in foreign lands."

"You gonna be okay on your own?"

"Yes," Horace said, and he seemed sincere. "If all else fails...I'll take the next boat out of here."

Russell tilted his head, frowning. "Well, I meant are you gonna be okay without half a hand."

Horace blinked at the bandages as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh, yes...I suppose I don't have a choice, do I? I'll adjust. Better a hand than my life, as it were."

"D'you need a ride somewhere? I ain't goin' nowhere in particular."

"Normally I would say no, as I'm quite self-sufficient; however...circumstances may require I at least have help to my next destination."

Russell finished patching him up to the best of his ability then assisted Horace Purcell onto the saddle before securing the rifle and mounting. "This is Radish," he said, patting the horse on the neck. "Say hello to the nice gentleman, Radish."

Horace chuckled again, arms looping around Russell's waist. "How quaint. Good afternoon, Radish. I hope you don't mind an extra passenger. I'm staying at an old friend's homestead not too far from here, and I think I can navigate from where we are."

The road split off into a stretch of plains that went on for miles, boasting very few hills and even fewer distant mountains. A gathering of deer bounded away from the road through the tall grass and scattered a flock of indignant birds into the air.

Russell kept Radish at a steady canter for much of the ride, the wind cutting through his skin. "What happened back there, anyhow?"

"Ah," Horace said, booming voice carrying over the impacting hooves and the wind. "Bit of a disaster, I'm afraid. I'd opened Angelo's cage to feed him, and he decided my fingers would be better suited for his dinner than the rabbit I'd caught."

"You'll wanna see a doctor for that, by the way," Russell advised. "Wounds have a nasty habit of gettin' worse."

Horace remained silent until they reached the homestead—a small wooden cottage in the middle of a sprawling field, tucked against a hill blanketed in tiny white flowers that mimicked snowfall. It all looked so new, it didn't even have a path leading up to it.

Russell slowed Radish to a stop and helped Horace down. "You got someone lookin' after you, Sir?"

"Not until this evening." Horace grunted in pain despite the two of them going out of their way to avoid making more contact with his hand than needed. "I'll soak my wound in whiskey, metaphorically speaking."

Russell gestured for him to go ahead to the house while he unloaded the rifle. "If it ain't too bold of me to say so, I'd like to stay until then to make sure you're okay."

The worst of it had started to sink in as evidenced by Horace's perpetual grimace and slack walk toward the house. "Yes, of course…." He pushed the door open with his shoulder. "Please...make yourself at home. It's the least I can do, Mr. Corduroy."

Russell froze with the rifle in hand and his entire spine tensed. He peered at Horace from under the brim of his hat.

Through growing discomfort, Horace managed to imbue him with a cheeky smile that pinched the corners of his eyes. "Word gets around, I'm afraid. But you don't have to worry...it stops with me."

"Mr. Purcell, I can't say enough how important it is that I'm not identified by anyone, I—"

"I admit it crossed my mind to alert the sheriff of Winslow of your whereabouts, but you did save my life…" Horace's face fell into something melancholic. "And what kind of man would I be if I condemned another man to being found when I'm guilty of evading the same?"

Russell's fist whitened around the rifle. "Swear to me you won't tell a soul."

"On my dear mother."

A tense silence swelled between them until Russell felt it safe to breathe again. He hitched Radish's reins to a post at the corner of the fence and followed Horace into the house.

The next several hours consisted of Russell watching Horace sleep off his pain on a cot against the wall of the living room, and when a friendly-faced woman arrived by way of carriage long after the sun had set, he explained what happened and that Horace should see a doctor by morning at the very latest.

He made sure he'd be looked after, then he hopped onto Radish's saddle and rode off full gallop into the night, chills still bolting through every appendage from the previous few hours.

[neokids]

Fortune's Fool: Act XI

Masterlist (read previous and future ones here!)

Act XI

Tw: Lots of blood, character death, violence, murder, guns, knives, weapons, foul language, self-inflicted wounds, suicide, overall graphic content

“Miss Hwang,”

Yeji turned around to see a messenger awkwardly standing, he was oddly keeping his distance as if she carried the contagious madness.

“Yes?”

“Your parents ask for your presence in their office. They would like to speak to you right now.”

And they didn’t even bother to check what had happened downstairs in their own house, how thoughtful.

“Regarding what?” Yeji asked, anticipation building up causing her to fiddle with her fingers behind her back. “They did not say. They just asked for your presence. Immediately.”

Yeji let out a sigh as she made her way upstairs, she glanced back at the pool of blood all over the living room, how on earth would they clean this up. She also noticed her relatives talking so casually amidst the scene, as if nothing happened. As if it wasn’t contagious.

As she approached her father’s office, the door immediately opened. Yeji was taken aback by the sudden appearance of her father holding the door for her, it was as if he was waiting for her all along.

“You asked for my presence? Are we to discuss recent matters?” Yeji asked as soon as she sat across from her father and mother. Lord and Lady Hwang only looked at each other as Yeji noticed something in her father’s hands. He held a creamy white envelope sealed off in a rich gold stamp. She eyed it as well before glancing back to her father.

“How are we going to get rid of the bloodstains downstairs?” Yeji asked again, leaving her first questions unanswered.

“We’ll call for someone to clean it up.” Her mother said, dismissing Yeji’s current worries.

“Mama, it’s the madness. It’s in our house now, who knows who else will suffer. It could be a viral contagion, we should ask the other servants if they made contact with the ones who tore their throats out.” Yeji explained, ultimately regretting the decision seeing as her father narrowed his eyes at her in confusion while her mother eyed her quizzically.

“What made you assume it was viral?” Lady Hwang asked simply, no tones of suspiciousness in her voice.

Yeji froze as soon as she realized she blurted out a piece of information she found out from Jeno, but she had to remain calm. Her mother wasn’t the type to stay silent when she finds something suspicious, she was the type to confront someone directly.

“Hearsays,” Yeji replied calmly, “At this point, anything is possible.”

“Moving on,” Lord Hwang said firmly, clearly wanting to dismiss the current topic. “Summoning you here to talk about this madness wasn’t the reason we called you here.” He pushed the thick white envelope he was holding towards Yeji.

“What is this?” She took it, observing the intricately written gold letters curve with elegance. It was heavy as well.

“An invitation,” Lady Hwang explained, “To a masquerade ball from the Chinese.”

Yeji opened the envelope recklessly, wanting to get it over as soon as possible. She read that it was indeed an invitation from the Chinese, specifically signed by a man named ‘Xiao Dejun’

“It’s going to be held next week in the gazebos,” Lord Hwang added as he redirected his attention to the other stacks of paper on his desk. “They want to celebrate the joined forces and powers of Korea and China!” He recited flatly as Yeji read the exact same lines on the invitation.

We are extending our warm welcome to all of Viper-gang members, it reads in royal blue ink.

Yeji heard her mother scoff, causing her to tear her attention away from the invitation and towards her mother. Lady Hwang had a clear expression of distaste on her face, obviously not buying whatever the Chinese had written on the invitation. “If they wanted to celebrate, then they should start remembering that this is our country, not theirs.”

“However,” Lord Hwang added, as if he didn’t hear what his own wife had to say, “If they wish to celebrate, then let us celebrate.” Her father said sternly, he looked up to his daughter staring at him with a mouth opening and closing, finding the right words to say. “Also I believe there is another invitation somewhere in that envelope?”

Yeji rummaged through the invitation to reveal another card, this one bright red in color and had silver lettering,

It was from the Lius.

But it wasn’t for Yeji, it was for her father. Mr. Liu was requesting another meeting despite how many times they have been turned down. A few weeks ago, Yeji turned him down only for her to turn down his son as well. She didn’t know why they were so adamant about selling their product, they weren’t prominent nor known whatsoever. In fact. Nobody knew who they were or where they came from.

“Well,” Yeji said as she slid the envelope back to her father’s hands, “Why should this concern me?”

Something about the silence irked Yeji, the silence contained unleft words from both Lord and Lady Hwang’s mouths. They were waiting for something, an answer, a follow up.

“Well,” Lord Hwang began, “I would greatly appreciate it if you were to go with me,” He finally said as he folded his arms against his chest.

“You’re not certainly making me go to this ball, right?” Yeji asked to confirm, eyes shifting to her father who had a serious expression on his aging face to her mother who looked like she wanted to end this conversation immediately.

“It’s always your choice, Yeji.” Her father said flatly. Something to know about Lord Hwang is that he never took no for an answer, especially when it came from a family member. Better yet, his own daughter. “But I prefer if you would.”

“Appa,” Yeji whined, “I did enough partying in America to last me the rest of eternity. Surely the Chinese could discuss and bargain all they want, but in the end we always know they will never have the final say in this country.”

“Yeji,” Lady Hwang scolded.

“What?” Yeji retorted, righteous.

“No, she has a point.” Her father said as he raised a hand to stop Lady Hwang, “They only wish to mingle and propose their products to me, I would let you go if it weren’t for a certain someone requesting your presence.”

Lord Hwang had his gaze pinpointed on her. Yeji however, remained silent. She blinked once, then twice. She already knew where this conversation was heading towards.

“I see,” Yeji decided to say plainly, she didn’t want to press on whoever requested her presence. Judging by the sent invitation from the Chinese, and a separate invitation from the Lius, it was already a dead giveaway.

Yangyang Liu.

“We need all the power we can get. We need the forces, the allies, the security and comfort knowing that we will continue our reign in this city. I need you to be my little translator when they mutter something in Mandarin, thinking I can not speak their mother tongue.”

Yeji made a disgruntled groan from her throat. “As you wish, appa.” She stood up and took the letter from her father’s hands once again. “I’ll go as you wish!” She exclaimed as she tried to walk outside Lord Hwang’s office. Just as she was about to reach for the doorknob, her mother suddenly spoke up. “Wait,”

So. Damn. Close.

Yeji turned around as she cocked a brow, “This….Yangyang,” Lady Hwang started “Why is he requesting you?”

Lady Hwang said his name as if it held meaning to her. Lady Hwang thought that it had some effect on her, she didn’t know that that effect would be her getting annoyed more than anything.

Yeji pursed her lips into a thin line, “He is Mr. Liu’s son, obviously.” she replied, apathetic. “I believe the main reason why they requested for another meeting is because they are still trying to sell their product to us.”

“Is he handsome?” Lady Hwang asked, curious for herself rather than her own daughter.

“My god, mama.” Yeji replied as she tried to stop herself rolling her eyes. She walked towards the door again, hopefully able to leave this time. “He is just using me, this is just business. If you would excuse me, I have to–what the hell are you doing?”

The latter part was directed to Hyunjin, who was standing right in front of her as she opened the door.

“Relax,” Hyunjin smiled a very much fake smile, “I was on my way to the balcony.”

They both knew it was a lie–Hyunjin not bothering to try and make a more believable expression. Yeji closed her father’s door with a loud thud. She waited for her cousin to say something, but he only stared back, his plastic smile not leaving his face.

“Well do you have anything to say to me, Hyunjin?” Yeji asked, crossing her arms. Hyunjin’s smile only grew wider.

“Only one,” He said as he eyed the door, knowing full well that Lord and Lady Hwang could hear their conversation, “I just can’t wait to go to this party, jiāchǒu bùkě wàiyáng.”

Yeji stiffened, satisfied with the reaction he had caused, he turned around merrily and left. He shoved his hands to his pockets as a whistle from a song left his lips.

The family’s shame shouldn’t be exposed.

“Méiyǒu shé me kě jiēlù de,” Yeji muttered. She stomped as she went down the stairs, glaring at the relatives who were still near the crime scene, happily going on with their latest gossip they just had to share. She made a beeline towards the kitchen to see Karina seated on the counter chomping down on an apple. She had no idea how Karina managed to find an appetite when she was seated right in front of a huge stain of blood.

“So?” Yeji asked as she tapped the counter beside her cousin.

“What? Oh, I gave up trying to remove the stains ten minutes ago.” Karina answered as she took another bite of her apple. After chewing for a while, she tilted her heads towards the side as she looked at the stain.

“It kinda looks like a dog, don’t you think?” She asked as she looked at Yeji who looked at her with a concerned look on her face.

Yeji only stared at her as she swallowed her bite. “Too soon?”

“Way too soon,” Yeji replied, shaking her head. “You busy? I need your Rover ties.”

“For the nth time–” Karina answered, rolling her eyes as she tossed remnants of her apple towards the trash bin, “I do not have Rover ties. What am I finding though?”

Yeji grinned, one thing she loved about her cousin was her eagerness to play spy and to go to unknown grounds. “Jinyoung Park’s address.”

Karina only needed to wrinkle her face, not quite surprised for the sudden request. Yeji could ask her to go get the weirdest most bizarre things, and she would still oblige. Yeji didn’t need to reason out her request as Karina leaped from the counter and feigned a salute to her cousin, her lips turning into a quick smirk. “Yes sir!”

…

“Lice?” Jeno echoed in disbelief

“Lice-like,” Kun corrected, head shaking in the process. He examined a strip of skin he collected from the corpse Jaemin and Haechan brought back to them. They could see the tiny bulges of pockets where the dead insects resided. Jaemin was turning pale while Haechan had his fingers placed on his mouth.

“They jump from one host to another like lice through the hair, I believe they only die when the host dies.” Kun went on as he further pressed onto the membrane, beside him was Doyoung audibly gagging from the sudden autopsy they had to perform. Nevertheless, the Neos had seen far stranger things.

“Oh good heavens,” Jaemin suddenly blurted, feeling dizzy as he gripped onto the table. “We could have been infected.”

Haechan made an exaggerated groan, “They’re dead already,” He said as he motioned towards the insects and the dead body.

“And yet you made me dissect that,” Jaemin retorted, recalling the previous scenes. He shuddered, suddenly remembering how disgusting it was. His body was on full vibrate mode, “How–”

“Gentlemen,” Jeno prompted, his fingers drumming the table he leaned on. He suddenly felt like all the oxygen from the lab was being sucked out, he couldn’t breathe. He had already woken up with a throbbing headache since he wasn’t able to get a good sleep. He tried to redirect Jaemin’s and Haechan’s attention back to Kun, but it didn’t work.

“I told you, my hands were full.”

“You were holding two knives, you could have easily slipped them in your goddamn pockets.”

Jeno gave an apologetic smile to Kun, there was no way he could get Jaemin and Haechan to stop. When the two weren’t busy discussing theories or other normal things, they would argue. Most of the time, it would be about nonsense things that shouldn’t be worth debating over. They would get so engaged in each other until you could see one of their faces going red, or vines starting to pop out from their necks.

“As I was saying,” Kun continued, realizing the two men infront of him had no signs of stopping anytime soon, “since we have much more advanced resources in our facilities than all of Seoul, I could try manufacturing a cure, if that sounds good to you.”

“The only thing that sounds good to me is when you finally shut the fuck up!” Jaemin suddenly exclaimed to Haechan, causing Kun and Jeno to turn their attention once again to them.

“Yes,” Jeno pleaded, making Kun smile a boring smile to him. “That would be great. Thank you, Kun–”

“Don’t thank me yet, Mr. Lee.” Kun tutted, “I can’t manufacture anything without you and your friends’ help.” Kun’s last statement effectively made Jaemin and Haechan to stop fighting. They exchanged glances and slowly turned towards Kun, who was serious as a priest giving a sermon.

“Anything,” Jeno promised, making Jaemin quirk a brow as Haechan nudged him to prevent hearing his whining. “I need to run live experiments,” Kun nodded to himself, “Yes, a live victim. You must find me a live victim.”

“A live–”

This time it was Jeno’s turn to nudge Jaemin’s side.

“Noted,” Jeno said quickly, hoping his two friends would stay silent, “we’re on it. Thank you, Kun. Truly.”

When Kun nodded to them, Jeno pushed himself off the table he was previously leaning on. He quickly dragged both his friend and cousin towards the exit. Jeno was rather quite impressed when Jaemin managed to stay silent the whole time they were making their way towards the doors, not hearing a single whine nor complaint leave his lips. It was only when they were under the dark sky clouding the city did Jaemin finally burst.

“Ya! What the hell?! How the hell are we supposed to find a live victim?! Who the hell would be our live victim?! You know what, don’t answer that. I volunteer in Haechan to be the experimental–Ow!” Jaemin’s rant came to a stop once he felt Haechan’s palm smack him on the head. Jeno sighed as he continued to walk, kicking a few pebbles blocking his way. Jaemin, full of energy as always, was bouncing.

“Careful,” his cousin warned. “Might trip on a pebble.”

“You’re giving me a headache.” Jeno replied as he turned around.

“How are we supposed to know a victim is a victim?” Jaemin went on as he ignored them both, “We only know they were infected once they have succumbed to it! Not to mention they only have a solid five minutes left before they die.”

Jeno shut his eyes momentarily, when he opened them again he felt like he could fall asleep that instant. “I don’t know.”

The walk home was just Jaemin and Haechan bickering once again. Jeno barely contributed to their usual debate for his headache only grew worse. Once they reached the entrance of the main mansion, Jeno could only muster a quiet farewell, leaving Jaemin and Haechan to stare at him. They understood him though, they knew Jeno always got silent when he had too many thoughts clouding his head.

Jeno meekly opened the heavy entrance doors. All he needed was a quick nap and maybe a few pills to ease his throbbing headache so that he could come up with a plan for Kun’s–

“Jeno,”

Jeno’s head jerked up to his father looking down on him from the top step of the staircase. His eyes narrowed at him per usual, his lips forming into a thin line.

“Yes?”

Without saying a word, he extended his hand to give Jeno a piece of paper. He thought that his father would come down to meet him midway, but Lord Lee only remained where he stood. This caused Jeno to hurriedly come up the stairs to keep his father from waiting. The piece of paper turned out to be an invitation with a name and address written in reflective silver ink.

“Find him,” Lord Lee sneered when Jeno looked up for an explanation. “I have heard from my advisors that the Rovers may be the center of all this madness.”

Jeno’s fingers tightened on the invitation he held, “What?” He asked, quite taken aback on the sudden request, “But the Rovers have been trying to be on our side for years–”

“Yet we push them away everytime,” Lord Lee refuted, not interested in what his son had to say, “Obviously they are changing strategies, trying to side with the Vipers seeing as we lost them. Before they could do anything we must counter them immediately. Stop them.”

Was it simply the Rovers’ strategy? Were they trying to kill all those in a gang or mafia so that the violence could finally stop? Were they trying to panic the crowd so that the crowd would listen to them? So they could rule over?

“How am I to stop a whole political party?” Jeno murmured quietly, “How am I to–”

Before Jeno continued, his father had slapped him on the head causing him to grip on the stair’s railing to prevent him from falling down the stairs. He moved away from his father, hoping he could avoid a second hit. He shouldn’t have countered his father vocally when he was an arm’s length away.

“I gave you a name and an address, did I not?” Lord Lee snapped, growing impatient with his own son. “Go. See how true the word on the street is.”

With that, his father returned to his own office, not even bothering to glance back at his son. He gripped the piece of paper tightly, his head throbbing worse than before, Jeno inhaled before muttering bitterly,

“As you wish.”

[keanureevesisbae]

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 4

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 3.3k

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Three weeks pass by. Three whole weeks of Henry hoping he bumps into his favorite pair again, but no luck. After that time he saw Olivia and Vanessa on the curb and the four of them went to the park, was also the last time he saw them.

He seriously regrets not asking Olivia for her number, so he could arrange more of those kinds of “dates”.  He already has an excuse: “Kal needs to be around kids more and since Vanessa doesn’t have a dog, it’s a win-win situation, honestly”.

After Vanessa fell face first into the mud, the two of them left, because she was in need of a bath and Kal was too, because he thought it would be funny to roll into the dirt as well.

These weeks passed agonizingly slowly. The fact that he wasn’t working, isn’t helping at all.

It did gave him the time to realize one thing though: he is falling for someone he barely knows. Google searches for Olivia Tran didn’t bring him a lot, except one of the things he already knew: she’s a veterinarian at Animal Clinic Westside. No social media whatsoever, something that he finds pretty rare and unique.

But finally the day he has been looking forward to has arrived. He is sitting in the waiting room of his favorite animal clinic. He hasn’t seen her yet and he sure hopes that she’s even working today and if so, that she is going to help him out. If she isn’t helping him and Kal, then it’s the universe telling him she is not the one for him.

If she does help them, he needs to ask her out, because he doesn’t know if he can’t endure time apart from her again.

While he is waiting with Kal, Henry looks around at the other animals, even the creepy bird who hasn’t stopped staring at him. For a second Henry is afraid that the bird will recognize him, but he shakes off that thought before he can think about it even more.

A door opens and he hears: ‘Kal?’

He noticed how in this clinic (and maybe elsewhere too, he doesn’t know), they call in the patients by the names of the animals, instead of the owners. He is eternally grateful, not wanting to draw attention that he is in fact Henry Cavill.

He looks up and sees his favorite vet standing in a doorway. He can’t help but smile. He notices a bright grin on her face and from that alone, this day can’t be ruined if it’s up to him.

Besides, he needs to ask her out now.

Henry stands up, tugs Kal’s leash and walks over to the doctor. Olivia steps to the side, letting him and Kal go into the room first. he smells great, he thinks to himself. Like lavender, he didn’t notice that before.

‘We should weigh him first,’ she says, placing her clipboard to the side. ‘He does look slimmer already.’

‘I’ve been restraining myself,’ he laughs. ‘It’s just really hard to say no to this face.’

‘Weak,’ she comments, chuckling in the process. Henry knew he missed her, but after that comment left her lips, he didn’t realized how much he missed her. ‘Come on, Kal, get your fat ass on the scale.’

Henry places his hand over his mouth, but a loud laugh leaves his lips anyways, especially when Olivia looks at him with a playful look on her face. She checks the screen and claps her hands when she hears a soft beep, indicating the scale is done measuring Kal’s weight. ‘Good boy, Kal, you lost three whole kilos already.’ She presses a kiss on top of his head and looks up at Henry. ‘You’re not as weak as I expected you to be, mister Cavill.’

Henry smiles, as he’s taking in her appearance. Those two times he saw her, she was already breathtaking, but there is something different about her today. Is she wearing lipstick? He notices her hair isn’t in the usual bun. Her wavy locks frame her face and when she runs her fingers through it, he has to look the other way, because damn, she is beautiful and this isn’t the time to faint.

‘Anyways,’ she says, a blush appearing on her cheeks, probably because Henry kept gawking at her, ‘this big boy needs to get his shots today.’

‘I do have to tell you, he isn’t the greatest with needles,’ Henry warns her.

She nods. ‘Aren’t you projecting your own fears on your dog?’ she jokingly asks him.

He wonders if she’s like this with other clients or if she strictly reserves this for him. He sure hopes it’s the latter, though he feels a bit attacked, because it may be true, that thing she said about projecting his own fears on his dog. ‘No, he really doesn’t like them,’ he says nonetheless.

Olivia prepares two shots for the big canine, who keeps staring at her, but letting out a small whimper. ‘I know, baby,’ she says to Kal in a higher voice, ‘it may be scary, but it’s over before you know it.’

She sits next to him, pats his head, while Henry crouches down near the dog as well. He can’t help but stare at her. She is so pretty and the way she is comforting the dog, he falls even more in love with her.

When she grabs the syringe, Henry swallows hard, while Kal’s entire body shakes with excitement.

Olivia glances at him, before she sticks the needle into Kal’s thigh. He doesn’t even whine, but Henry rubs his own face. ‘Are you okay, Henry?’ she asks, but he doesn’t hear what she says anymore, because he passes out.

≫≫≪≪

Henry wakes up in the corner of a room, his back pressed against the wall and his legs sprawled out in front of him. Kal is no where near him, while Henry swore they were together before he fell asleep.

He had a nice dream, of the beautiful doctor at the animal clinic. He dreamed that they were sitting in the park, her head against his shoulder, as they watched Vanessa and Kal play. It was nice to dream about her like that, just like he did that in those three weeks he didn’t see her.

He tries to remember where he is and when he looks around, he sees he is at the animal clinic. The examination table, his own dog sitting next to doctor Olivia Tran, who walks up to him and crouches down in front of him. ‘You’re up,’ she says with a chuckle. ‘For such a big guy, I never assumed you’d pass out like that, simply because I was giving your dog a shot.’

‘Oh fuck,’ he mumbles, rubbing his face, a sad attempt to cover his flushed cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘No need to, it was kind of funny, especially when I had to drag you around this examination room and had to explain to the assistant that the loud thud she heard, was the owner that collapsed and not the overweight dog,’ she laughs, handing him a paper cup filled with some water. ‘Here, drink this.’

He takes a tiny sip, still embarrassed of what happened to him. God, did he really just pass out in the examination room because his dog was getting a shot? ‘This is really painful,’ he chuckles, hoping it helps him not to feel the shame he is feeling right now, but it’s not working at all.

She places a slender hand on his calve, causing him to hold his breath because of the sudden touch. Him passing out like that, does have his perks come to think of it. ‘Listen, it happens to the best of us. The first time I had to help deliver a lamb, I threw up and passed out in my own vomit, in front of the entire class, so honestly: it’s okay.’

Olivia stands up again and holds out a hand. He carefully places his in hers and she pulls him up, though he mostly pushes himself up, because he is afraid he’ll drag her down. Not that he would compla—

No, he can’t think like that, not when his jeans is already this tight. Later tonight he can think about the possibilities that came with her pulling him up.

‘Thanks, Olivia,’ he says.

‘Are you feeling okay? You want something sweet to eat, before you hit the road again?’

That is so thoughtful of her. ‘Maybe some sugar would be of help,’ he says.

‘Perks of having a six year old,’ Olivia says, rummaging through her purse, ‘I’m always prepared for emergencies.’ She hands him over two candy bars. ‘You can have those, Vanessa doesn’t like them anyways.’

‘How is Vanessa doing, by the way?’

Henry might not know Olivia very well, but what he does know, is that something happened.

‘Is everything okay?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, it’s just that her teacher continues to pester me about how Vanessa should change her work ethic, which I think is too much to ask of a six year old and… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you with this. You probably don’t even care.’

‘No, I do care,’ he quickly says. Way too quickly.

Olivia sighs deeply. ‘I’m just worried about my girl sometimes. Comes with becoming a parent I guess.’

He wishes he could agree. ‘Listen, it might be extremely inappropriate, but I have to ask.’ He can hear the wise words his common sense is screaming. Abort mission. Don’t do it, Cavill. For the love of God, don’t ask the gorgeous doctor out on a date. ‘Would you like to go out with me? Like… Tonight? For dinner?’

Olivia crosses her arms in front of her chest. Why isn’t she saying anything? ‘As in a date or as a thank you for saving your dog?’

She is not making it easy for him and he has to give her props for that. That’ll teach him from asking cute women out, who just smiled at him and were nice to his dog. ‘A date,’ he says, all of the sudden not too sure about this action anymore. ‘I know it might be weird, because of what you do for a living and how we met, but I… I’m really interested in you.’

‘In me as a person or what’s in my pants?’

Well both, but he can’t say that, without looking like an absolute creep. ‘In you as a person, what kind of man do you think I am?’

She chuckles. ‘A man who is afraid of needles and can’t say no to his dog,’ she tells him. ‘I’ll go out with you tonight. Can you remember my number or do you want to put it in your phone?’

≫≫≪≪

It took Henry about three hours to go through his entire closet, just to find the perfect outfit for tonight. He didn’t want to look like such a try hard, but he also didn’t want to look like a slob. He eventually opts for a simple black sweater with some fitted jeans and his Chelsea boots. It’s casual, yet it has a fancy streak to it. He grabs the grey blazer from the hanger and while he checks the pockets, he hears Kal whimper, who lays flat on his bed. ‘We’re going out tonight, bud,’ he tells the large canine. ‘You are going to keep Vanessa and her babysitter company, while I’m going out on a date with Olivia.’

He still can’t believe this is happening. He asked the doctor out on a date and the most bizarre thing of it all, was that she said yes.

Olivia Tran said yes to him.

He would lie if he said that he wasn’t nervous. In all honesty, he is about to die from his nerves.

He checks the clock and realizes he should leave his place now. He clicks his tongue, causing Kal to follow Henry downstairs. He puts on Kal’s leash and when he closed off his place, the two of them get in the car. He hums along with the song on the radio, as he drives to her house.

In the past he went on tons of dates. He likes dates, getting to know someone and finding out whether or not they are compatible. But there is something different about this date. He wants to get to know more about Olivia, but he is afraid that once she gets to know him, she’s not interested in him anymore.

He parks his car in front of her house and he takes a deep breath, trying to procrastinate the moment that he has to walk up to the door. Kal whines, as if he knows where they are and he sees that as a moment to get out of the car. The two of them walk up to the door and he rings the doorbell.

‘Mommy,’ Vanessa says from the other side of the door, ‘Henry is here.’

‘Do not open the door!’

‘But mom…’

‘Sweetheart, what if it’s not Henry, but a pervert?’ Olivia asks.

‘Oh my God, Olivia, the person on the other side of the door can hear you!’ he hears a different female voice scream and he can’t help but chuckle. He wondered what kind of household Olivia would have and somehow this situation seems fitting.  

‘Mom, what’s a pervert?’ Vanessa asks.

‘A disgusting human being,’ Olivia explains.

‘Is Henry a pervert? I thought he was Superman?’

‘Olivia, I mean it,’ the other woman says, ‘people on the other side of the door can hear you two.’

The door finally opens and he sees both Vanessa and Olivia standing in the doorway. ‘Hi Henry,’ his already favorite duo say in unison.

‘Hi there,’ he says with a smile. It’s six in the evening and Vanessa is already in her pajama. From the looks of it, it’s light pink with bears on it.

Kal pushes past him, to give the little girl a lick on her cheek, causing her to giggle.

As endearing as that sight may be, he can’t help but look at Olivia, who wears a grey plaid pants paired with a black shirt that hugs her upper body. The outfit shows off her godly proportions. He even sees a hint of tattoos on her arms, but she grabs a coat and it covers them up before he can see them properly.

But if he saw it correctly and she does have tattoos… That’s almost unfair. She is already beautiful, but add tattoos in the mix and that gives him enough to dream about tonight.

Another woman appears in the doorway and she hums in approval. ‘It’s such a shame that I wasn’t on call when your dog started to throw up,’ she says with a smile. She extends her hand and says: ‘Hi, I’m Belle.’

He saw her earlier today. She is another vet and when he was paying for the appointment, she bumped her hip against Olivia’s and they shared a look, one that best friends share. Guess Belle is the certified baby sitter. He quickly shakes her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Henry.’

‘God, you were right, Olivia,’ Belle says, ‘he is even more handsome in real life.’

Henry detects a fire red blush on Olivia’s cheeks, but she looks down and slips on a pair of boots that have a heel, something he hasn’t seen her wear before. He wants to take in her entire appearances, glancing her over more than once, but he restrains himself, since he doesn’t want to look overly eager.

‘That must be a sign that we need to go,’ Olivia says, before she pinches her friend in her side. She leans down, to give Vanessa a kiss. ‘Be nice to auntie Belle and Kal, okay?’

‘Okay, mommy,’ Vanessa says. ‘Can Kal sleep in my room tonight?’

‘He can,’ Olivia says.

The little girl smiles and looks up at Henry. ‘Is that okay with you too, mister Henry?’ she asks. ‘Kal is your dog.’

‘He can sleep in your room,’ Henry says, touched by the fact that she actually thought she should ask him about this. Olivia is raising such a lovely and polite girl. He truly admires her.

While Olivia rummages through her purse, Belle crouches down and whispers something in Vanessa’s ear.

‘Okay, I’m ready to go,’ Olivia says with a smile.

‘Enjoy your night,’ Vanessa says to the both of them, as Olivia steps out of the doorway. ‘And you two shouldn’t have too much fun.’

Henry nearly chokes on his own spit. ‘Belle, I swear to—’ Olivia wants to say something, but swallows the words before she can express her true feelings. ‘I love you, Vanessa,’ Olivia says to her daughter.

‘I love you too,’ she says to her mother. ‘Will you give me a kiss when you get back?’

‘Of course, angel.’

Vanessa smiles. ‘Bye, mister Henry,’ she says to him.

‘Bye sunshine,’ he says to the young girl, who starts to beam with happiness when she hears her new nickname. He doesn’t know where “sunshine” came from, it just slipped out.

Olivia and Henry walk to his car, but he can’t help but notice how she keeps looking up to him. He opens the door for her and he watches her get in. He waves to the two—three, if you include Kal—in the doorway, before he gets in himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia says, the second the door closes.

‘No need to,’ Henry laughs, starting his car. ‘It was funny.’

She snorts, while she waves to Belle, Kal and her daughter as he drives off. ‘Well, leave it to Belle to embarrass me.’

‘She a close friend?’

Olivia nods. ‘Very close friend. When I found out I was pregnant with Vanessa, she was there for me when no one else was. She forced me to live in her house for a while, even after Vanessa was born.’

Henry frowns. ‘I thought it was just your ex who wasn’t there for you.’

She sighs. ‘Well, my parents and two brothers weren’t too keen on me having a kid out of wedlock. My mom kicked me out seven years ago and since that moment, no one has tried to contact me. I haven’t seen them ever since.’

This is un-fucking-believable. He knows for sure that, had this happened within his family, his brothers would be over the moon to be an uncle of yet another kid and his parents would love another addition to the family.

And her family just kicks her out?

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he says and he means it from the bottom of his heart. ‘Were you close with your family?’

She shrugs. ‘Growing up I was. Not really with my mom, but with my father and brothers I was super close. I thought that they would love it, a little bean added to the family. Guess I was wrong. But you know, I have Belle, so that’s enough for me right now.’

Right now. That means the door is open for someone else, right? Or is he trying to read something that isn’t there?

‘By the way,’ she says, ‘how did you come up with “sunshine”?’

Why does Henry feels like he just got caught? ‘Just slipped, I guess. I’m so—’

‘Don’t you dare apologize, Cavill,’ she interrupts him. ‘I love the nickname and did you see Vanessa’s face?’

He does actually. He recalls the way her face lit up with happiness and pride.

Olivia looks to the side and when he stops for the traffic lights, he meets her gaze. She smiles. ‘I’m really happy we’re on this date,’ she says. ‘And maybe I’m a bit rusty in the whole dating department and is what I’m about to say way too blunt, but I need to tell you that you look really handsome tonight.’

Maybe that is too blunt, but Henry doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. His hands get a bit clammy. ‘Thank you, Olivia. Allow me to be just as blunt.’

‘Surprise me.’

‘You look stunning and I’m really happy that you agreed on going out with me.’

A/N: Don’t worry, the next chapter will cover their date 😉

Taglist: @thelastsock​ // @flhorah​ // @sausagefest1996​ // @laufeysodinson​ // @xxxkatxo​ // @memoriesat30​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @crimsonrae​ // @henryobsessed // @madbaddic7ed​ // @summersong69​ // @lyrafraiser​ // @peakygroupie​ // @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ // @mary-ann84​ // @thereisa8ella​ //@crazyandanonymous4u // @xuxszx​ // @emmaofgreengabbles​ // @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​ // @onlyhenrys

[normal-person-wannabe]

Talk less, smile more (LMM/Reader)

Chapter 2

Notes:

Hey friends, i finally found the time to write this second chapter. Hope you like it. Oh, and if you want to be added in the taglist for the following chapter you only have to ask. See you soon. Stay safe. Word count: 1093 tw: swearing, mentions of sex

Your apartment's door slammed shut and you flew down the stairs like you were being chased by that one old uncle -who's not your real uncle- that every Christmas asks you if you're still single and makes unpleasant remarks about how if he were younger he'd "show you" how beautiful you are.

But risking a couple of broken bones was worth it: you did not want to be slapped by your sister, although you must admit, she knows how to make you fall into line and save yourself -and others- from your horrible time management skills. Sometimes she can scare the crap out of you, even though you know she does it for your own good.

You walk through your building gate at 6:55, thank goodness. No sign of that yellow tuna can of hers that somehow manages to resemble a vehicle. You start playing the game that you always play when you are waiting for someone: "guess the story of this bystander's life".

Like, look at that guy over there. He has a briefcase in his left hand and his phone in the right. He's walking slowly, his head lowered as if he was eaten up by guilt or shame.

Oh, he must've fucked up real hard. It could be a work thing.

Or -wait- maybe it's something more interesting, like he lost a lot of money at a casino in Vegas, perhaps even cheated on his wife with the dealer, or-

Stop, just stop. Your brain is going too fast. You're not a 3-year-old on Adderall, you're an adult, responsible, and -Oh my God!!

What if he has murdered someone and now he's regretting it!

Nope, not ok y/n, not okay. You'll behave yourself, because you're not nervous, you're not afraid that this "thing" you have with him will go south just before it really has started and you will end up hurt and shattered into tiny little pieces because you believed in it, and you poured your soul into it only to be disappointed by the harsh reality: you are not worthy of love. You're chaos. You have no chill whatsoever. For you, it's all or nothing, and-

6.58. That's weird, she's not at least three minutes early. You were starting to worry when there it was, her yellow little tuna can.

«What the hell...» you muttered, causing a puff of condensed air to pirouette out of your mouth. Three pairs of hands waved frantically at you from within the vehicle.

«Oh no, the whole gang is here...»

«Change of plans» Your sister screamed as she got out of the car «Come in for a hug, sweetheart, I missed you!»

«I missed you too,» you replied in a whisper, almost choked by the tightness of her embrace.

«Hop in, hun,» She said «we -and by we I mean me, you, Kate, and Liz- have plenty to talk about»

«We sure do» you sighed. The prospect of three women interrogating you like they were the freaking FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit was not a good one. You'd rather spend a peaceful evening alone with your sister and a plate of linguine allo scoglio but there's no going back now.

   «Are you ready to order, mie care signore?» the waiter asked, with a big smile and a slight wink.

«Yes, we are,» your sister answered in a cheerful tone «And how are your wife and baby, Andrea? I hear he's got his mother’s beautiful green eyes.»

«Oh, he's a very well-behaved baby, if you don't take into account the part in which he doesn't let me and my wife sleep more than an hour a night. But anyway, what can I get started for you lot this evening?»

«For me a pizza caprise?» Liz replied hastily. Liz had to be always the first one to do anything, which is why she had "mommy issues" and written all over her face.

«Capreese? Sorry, I’ve not yet figured out how to pronounce it»

«It's actually Caprese, which means from Capri, ma’am. That’s also where my mother was born.» he said, with a glimpse of pride in his eyes.

«Oh, that makes sense. So a pizza Caprese and a medium brown ale.» said Liz

«A pizza Caprese and a medium brown ale for the lady» he repeated while scribbling on his notepad.

«I'll take the seafood linguine and a white wine of your choice. I trust your judgment» intervened Kate in an almost less than a whisper. She's the cutie and the shy one of the group. And the one men usually prefer since she has the face and the voice of a Cherub come straight from heaven.

«I’ll take the ravioli burro e salvia. And can we have a jug of water so we can share it?» my sister added. «Oh and bring also a hot hot tea, 'cause she has to spill some!»

It was a "wink wink nudge nudge" situation. You felt their eyes on you and their laughter, but your mind was oh-so elsewhere.

«And for you, Antonio's favorite, who’s always daydreaming and never pays attention to me? The usual?»

Kate gave you a first nudge in between your ribs, but you were far, far away, back to when your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just give up, and his cock was filling you up so completely you forgot that a world existed outside of the heaving mess you were. You'll never forget those moments of beatitude, nor the raspy groans and luscious whispers that into your ears and onto your skin felt like velvet and honey. Kate gave you another nudge, this time so hard your head bolted upwards. You looked like you were caught with your hands in a cookie jar. Your cheeks were a bright red. And you were insanely hot. And a tad bit wet.

«Hey, yes, sorry, I was... yes I’ll take the pizza fantasia, so Antonio can surprise me.»

You always ordered that, and Antonio even said to you that you’re his inspiration for new pizza flavors. He also bought a little notebook with your name on it, in which to keep track of all the pizzas he made, so as not to make you the same pizza twice. He’s been so kind to you you couldn't not invite him to your graduation. He looked even more proud of you than your actual parents were that day. You loved the man.

«Sure, he'll be pleased you came back, he was starting to worry you would go to that new place across the street»

«Oh, I could never. He's like family to me. To us. You all are.»

«Thanks, ma'am, I'll be back in a sec with your complimentary antipasti della casa,  and your drinks.» You thanked him and smiled sheepishly. You knew what was coming next and you braced yourself for the pack of wolves in front of you that now has shifted its focus from the waiter to you, ready to jump right at you and bite your ass. 

«So» They all exclaimed almost in unison.

«So» You replied, biting your bottom lip.

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #1

1. The backbone to my emotions

As someone who  cannot conceptualise  time in any way whatsoever, I want to say sorry to my loved ones. I'm aware I still need to send my friends messages every once in a while and remind them I still want to be their friends and I need to actively work on this. I need to overcome this fear stopping me from being present and accepting peoples love and support. I want to break free from me and I want to feel content being on this earth, I want nothing more than to enjoy experiences with my loved ones. I love you I love you.

I am a young charismatic, creative individual learning to do things differently so I don't always have the same outcomes. I suffer from a Cluster B Personality Disorder; under the same umbrella of mental health I also experience extremely intrusive thoughts on a daily basis, that can become obsessive and compulsively hyper fixated thoughts in an instant. I have anxiety, depression and a lot of the time I’m deeply dissociated to a point where I struggle to believe I’m even real, even when I do know I am real- I have no attachment to my limbs or body as a whole and only feel alive in a spiritual sense or when I self harm. I don't want to get too into my illnesses; as I’m not someone who really likes labels, just know that everyday is a battle and each personality that exists within me is different. I wouldn't say drastically, however its evident for me and living with so many different masks can be intense. Especially when you've tried to convince people that you're just one solid mould in the hopes they don't perceive you as an intense person. I am going to try to take you through a few of my altars and moods starting with the emptiest subconscious alters that I call the backbones of my emotions to the more powerful  energetic ones that haven't managed to yet consume me over the years. I hope this can give people an insight.

Overall I present a pretty confident front, I like to appear like I’ve got my life together even though I’m so far from it, sometimes I’m not sure ill even find the strength to go on long enough in attempt to get my life together, which is a real problem but it's the sad truth. Don't waste time reading this if you're easily triggered as this piece of writing will consist of real and genuine feelings. I’m in no attempt trying to create content for people who enjoy turning blind eyes and wishing they didn’t see this so I’ll give you a fair warning. I'm not responsible for your triggers, whereas I’m responsible for the things I’ve done. I might have cared too much at one point, but I will not hold myself captive to those situations nor will I regret them. I want the lies, deceit and hurt that I’ve committed against loved ones to end, my secrecy has done enough damage and its exhausting pushing people away even though that’s not usually the intent, truth is I am so embarrassed of myself. I'm private, secretive and mysterious but I’ll also talk about my childhood trauma after like 5 minutes. I guess this says I’m happy to talk about my trauma because it's what I know and am comfortable with, I just struggle to tell anyone the real suicidal me behind my problems. I hate that I’m so young and feel like a dead person already.

I tend to act out or distance myself due to fear which isn’t clear at first if you know me, but does become obvious. I might appear as someone with no care in the world, like I’m unbothered, but I assure you that's the African pride combined with the Leo pride. I also don't want people to treat me like a footstool, which has happened when I’ve come off ass too passive. I care so much and over think absolutely everything, it's literally my only way of thinking. I have little to no self esteem and I have no clue who confidence is unless under the influence of something, be it weed, alcohol or psychedelics (which I don't take much of because I enjoy them and don't want to abuse them) I mean I can function sober, I don't even like to be out of control high or drunk, but as Chief Keef once said, I hate being sober. #i'mTrash4thereference. Although I’m not fully healed and functioning yet, I’m a developed character with both positive and negative traits. At the moment I’m going back and fourth between 'just stop trying' and 'you cant give up'. Sometimes depression is kind of like looking at yourself through a window, there’s this part of your brain that understands it'll pass, but you’re so far into despair that its impossible to see the way out, its a lot like being trapped. I am having a bad patch right now, the difference between this one and the last one is I’m more self aware with less of a desire to go on. At least I’m no longer suffering from paranoia and thinking everyone's out to get me all the time or that I’ll get trafficked walking home from somewhere, but depression and mania are so bloody invasive and there’s always that little voice in my head telling me ill never be good enough. Executive dysfunction kills my motivation because I have so many things to do and I cant pick anything to start first, it gets worse when my depression gets worse too. I'm not lonely though; I have a few people who care for me- and while I'm trying to not involve them in the metal episode, they are around to talk to and that means so much. My friends are super encouraging even though I've only briefly mentioned that I'm having a sad time right now, and that's awesome.

I hate that no matter how much better I get there's still this deep desire to get worse. I don't feel like a real person. I just feel like a collection of what people want me to be and various mental disorders. It would be so cool if I could admit to the world I have a personality disorder without feeling disgusting and without fear.

I've had plenty time to reflect upon every bit of thought that created the barbed wire surrounding my logical brain, I want to feel okay to be alive, but I so strongly just want to die. I am tired of fluctuating from feeling extremely vigorously suicidal to passively suicidal; where I just don't have the energy to carry it out myself. It's gotten way past the point that it doesn't matter what kind of day I have, I think about killing myself all day. Sleep is an escape from life and I'm always tired and wanting to 'sleep'. Deep down I feel like I’m waiting for the right time to end my life and it's not the right time yet because I still have a footprint to leave behind, I still have journal pages I want to burn. I cant just jump off the highest accessible building or mall car park I could find just yet- I don’t just want to ruin others by hurting them with my death. It's sad to think I grew into this mindset, waking up wishing I was dead.

Being abandoned by many people in the past made me doubt people and think everyone was out to get me or wanted something from me, it made me feel hurt and lone. So I felt it would be better to let people down before they could hurt me so I wouldn't repeat the same cycle when forming new connections. It wasn't intentional but I could just silence myself due to fear.

I just found myself feeling immensely hopeless, like I was too internally enraged at the external world to be able to trust anything of it. I definitely do want to get better because I’m tired of feeling this way, it's so exhausting and I hate pushing people away from me like I’m poison. I need to allow people to accept all of me.

Before picking up these coping mechanisms when I was younger and more insecure; I wanted to be a part of the world, I had this strong urge to fit in. I had to learn how to manage my anxiety and socialising became more exhausting stemming from my fear of being 'odd' or 'different', I didn’t want to be called out for being different- it was not a compliment at that age, it always felt like a being the joker in the card deck. I was intensely afraid of being judged or labelled as such. Being told I was a 'weirdo' didn't help at all, that type of criticism is what got to me the most. People made me feel like I needed to change, like I was too African, even in a joking manner it didn't help- because although I was okay with who I was, I did feel like I had to change and westernise myself to fit in. I ended up hanging around with people that didn't care, doing stupid things I didn’t even want to do, dating people I didn't connect with. Eventually I got tired of people using me for entertainment, tired of catering to those who refused to understand. I still have to admit there were many periods that I lowered my frequency to be on the wavelength of others that did not match mines at all, I hate that I'm someone who always feels the need to explain myself so people don't think I'm a bad person and even though I don't owe it to everyone and now I am able to make better choices and I'm no longer easily influenced, it still hurts that i was ever around people that made me feel like I was over exaggerating my mental health or uncomfortable to a point where I learned to downplay it or the mention of it. Now as a coping mechanism I’ve become so facetious and sarcastic about my trauma it's a struggle to take myself seriously at times. Users and abusers belittled me to such a point where I felt they'd underestimated my intelligence and most of all humiliated me. It made me tired of justifying myself so now most days I’m just a mute, but I really do finally have good people in my life who deserve some sort of explanation and it's a shame they don't get to be experience a truly present consistent me. It’s just after having the wrong eyes on me, I don’t want anything to see me. I hate attention because I’m so embarrassed of myself I don’t want to be noticed. People looking at me make me want to kill myself.

I've been told to move past my rage, to let go and become a grounded and level headed person. I've been told there is hope for all of us. Must be nice to believe that, all I could wonder was what it was like to get angry without getting homicidal and suicidal. Even on most days where nothing extreme would happen besides negative emotions, my brain still travelled to a dark realm. I've come to a point where I want to live in my daydream universe wile I physically rot away. That's my business. Sometimes I feel as though all my friendships are on a timer, or more so it's that my timer is about to go off, so I subconsciously shy away and make sure i have no deep friendships. Just in case my head decides to do something stupid.

I don't want to have no friends, I want to have friends and I do value friendships so much more than entitled relationships, I just have a difficulty maintaining friendships because it's exhausting for me, it takes a lot of energy to be social and on a level that isn't just superficial where I can just let go and allow myself to fully be. Sometimes I have a hard time relating to other people, and thus I may feel I don’t belong or don’t quite fit in- causing me to feel irritated, paranoid or even in pain during social situations. It's not always this bad, and I don't mean for it to sound dramatic. It's different when In person and I’m really relaxed and comfortable with the company. However virtually socialising and expressing will always be extremely anxiety enducing and its something I need to overcome especially going into this new phase of Artificial Intelligence.  So if I start to drift away it most likely isn't a reflection of you. The cycle goes I need alone time to recharge then I realise how long has passed and I just feel so bad I haven’t gotten back, I tell myself I’m an awful friend for dissociating for so long, and then I don’t know how to explain that so my anxiety rises, mood drops and I spiral back into a pit of depression, often wanting to relapse but refraining from doing so. Sometimes I manage to get out of the pit, but by then so much has piled up I don't know where or how to begin again.

I don't feel like I could have a normal friendship as well as romantic relationship. It's hard for me to long term imagine myself being fully relaxed enough to let my guard down and not reluctant to express. I don’t think there’s any condition where ill just be came and enjoy a connection without worrying that the other person isn’t putting in as much effort, or they have an image of me, or that I’ve amplified the emotions and even though I feel them that way do they really understand me or love me as much. Silence is so upsetting and I hate the fact I do it when I'm afraid of myself or don't feel good enough. I never intent for it to become 'the silent treatment' because in reality its not treating anyone, it's more a reflection of what I’m internalizing and not wanting or being unable to project and express those feelings without feeling like party pooper, an attention seeker or 'too deep'. I don't mean to give people false hope, I love the people in my life so much and every one I’ve met on this journey. I'm learning to look at life through a different lens and the people who contributed to my suffering will not be the definition of me. People have led me to believe so much and strung me along, not letting me go- and I realised those entitled controlling abusive relationships were not serving me. I couldn't keep doing it. Now even though I want closeness I end up pushing people away or leaving them in the dark because of fear, especially of something new because I've never experienced anything good and true for a long enough duration of time to rid me of that fear. I also have fear of rejection or hurting, I fear becoming too emotionally invested and becoming co dependant so I end up wanting to avoid the pain than actually wanting to experience the joy and growth the relationship could offer, so I end it before it begins to avoid any possible pain. I feel like I don't deserve these connections,and sometimes the depression runs so deep I have to push people away in case I want to do something stupid- I don’t want them to feel at fault, or obligated to be able to handle me. Sometimes I really can just only be with myself and my thoughts so I hide but it may appear that I’m pushing others away because of my isolation and neglect.

With everyone I know, I get this feeling that they're too good for me, their energy is so radiant and loving but I feel so broken and don’t want to depend on that. I've had perfectly ideal people come into my life and I feel they’re too good for me because I have a lot of work to do on myself first, primarily I need to build up confidence and self esteem because it's the root of most my issues. I want to relate to people, share our deepest fears and wishes without fear of judgement. It's not that I don't want to get better, I simply cannot remember what it was like to have an actual honest to god normal personality. The feeling of being a mentally unstable chameleon is all I have  now. I AM my illness, that's the only identifier I have left. I can't remember normality.

I understand that I’m lucky and I’m not ungrateful for the things and people I do have, it doesn’t mean that my life doesn’t suck because of those lucky things. I often think about if someone created technology to transfer life to another, I’d happily give them mine because they'd live it much better than me, I’m not worth anything to myself. I never wanted to be someone to cause pain on the people I love but now I do, even if that’s just through silence. I just disappear when I haven’t been doing well and  although I know things get better, recovery isn’t linear and that not all my days are bad, I just have extreme chronic feelings of emptiness.

I struggle to trust people because I don't want to be hurt but I need people so much, I hate feeling unloved. It's so overwhelming because I feel everything so extremely as if I’m going to explode.

My sense of self and reality feels destroyed, my future and dreams are uncertain and it's hard for me to move on, sometimes it scares me what I’m doing to people without the intention of it, being too much or not enough- or at least feeling that way. It's hard for me to give myself a reason and it's not on the people around me to fill my empty void, I hate forcing people to be my friend or understand my illness. I cant expect anyone to want to- it feels like I’m holding their hand while they pull it away; and even though it's not the case I feel awful, I constantly feel like I’m in a more pessimistic head space. I'm worried people will realise I'm as pathetic as I say I am.

[targaryen-stronghold]

Dany burning kings landing made no sense. I mean why? What was the point?

There was no point other than to vilify Dany and justify her killing in the next episode and the xenophobic behavior she encountered in the North.

1. Daenerys and “burning cities”

Dany is a Targaryen and she has dragons. Dragons were the Targaryens weapons for centuries, for obvious reasons and fire has always been their method of execution (symbolized in their house motto “fire and blood”). While the Starks used their greatsword Ice to execute traitors, the Targaryens used their dragons or fire. Therefore, Dany doesn’t need to know how to wield a sword when she has her dragons. However, she always used them to help the oppressed and destroy oppression. Like her haters like to bring up, she has indeed threaten her enemies with her dragons because duh, but several other characters have also threatened others and that doesn’t mean anything. But context is important: how and why she threatens to burn cities?

In Season 2, Dany arrives at Qarth. She and her people are exhausted from the Red Waste and she needs to enter the city in order for them to survive. Jorah even tells her the gates of Qarth are known as “garden of bones” because of the skeletons of people whose entering was denied. However, she’s met with suspicion and distrust and the Thirteen don’t want to let her in. When courtesy fails, Dany threatens to burn their city to the ground when her dragons are grown. This sounds more like despair than an actual threat because Dany knows neither she nor her dragons will survive if the Thirteen don’t grant them shelter. How could she burn their city to the ground if she and her dragons are dead? This threat also grants her the compliment: “you are a true Targaryen”.

Later on, during Season 5, Dany is chatting with Hizdahr zo Loraq and says one day Meereen will return to the dirt and at her command if needed be. However, this happens during the reopen of the fighting pits of Meereen. Dany is against it but eventually agrees because it’s tradition and important to her people. But she’s visibly uncomfortable during the fights and doesn’t recognize it as “greatness”. Hizdahr then says: that is a vital part of the great city of Meereen, which existed long before you or I, and will remain standing long after we’ve returned to the dirt. Dany is saying she doesn’t care about tradition, it’s the people she cares about. She’s also measuring Hizdahr’s loyalty in this scene. The real identity behind the Sons of the Harpy is still unknown at this point (Varys only unravels it’s funded by the former slave masters of the cities Dany freed later on). For all Dany knows, Hizdahr is still a suspect.

In Season 6, after returning from her venture with the Dothraki, Dany threatens to burn down Yunkai, Astapor and Volantis. Her city is under siege and attack. Her people (the people she freed) are in danger. She lashes out to protect them because she doesn’t want those she freed to slide back into chains and that’s what the former slave masters want. Also the Sons of the Harpy have been terrorizing the people of Meereen for some time now so of course Dany wants to put an end to it. She doesn’t go through with it, of course.

In short: every time Dany threatened to burn down a city (up until Season 8) she had a reason to do it and that reason was always to protect her people. It’s also unclear if she actually meant what she was saying because she never used her dragons for oppression or against innocents. She even lock them up when Drogon killed a child. Dany also made sure to always pay a respectful amount to shepherds whenever Drogon ate their sheep.

Shut up, Cat. You don’t want the audience to think you’re mad, do you?

2. The people of King’s Landing as victims

The “The Bells” was the first time ever in the series the people of King’s Landing were victimized by the plot. I’m not excusing the killing: I’m saying that up until S8 every time the narrative focused on them was to vilify them or to make them look fickle. Let’s see:

In Season 1, they cheered for Ned Starks’s execution, demanding for his head because he’s a traitor. The audience knows Ned was right in supporting Stannis Baratheon because he was Robert’s true heir, since Cersei’s children were Jaime’s bastards;

In Season 2, they mob against Joffrey Baratheon and Cersei Lannister (although one could agree they were justified because these characters are presented as villainous) but they tried to rape Sansa Stark (who’s a prisoner and also a victim of Joffrey and Cersei);

From Seasons 3 - 6, they cheer for Margaery Tyrell (she goes to the orphanages of the capital and funds several charity works so this is understandable) and Joffrey (when in previous season they were spitting on him) – this shows the audience how changeable they are

In Season 4, Tyrion Lannister talks about the wickedness and ungratefulness of the people of King’s Landing during his trial and regrets saving them;

In Season 5, they cheer for Cersei’s walk of shame and the narrative presents Cersei as a victim of their humiliation;

In Season 7, they cheer for Ellaria and Tyene Sand, and Yara Greyjoy’s capture and imprisonment and hail Queen Cersei and Euron (two characters who are presented as villainous by the narrative)

Euron and Jaime Lannister bring the inconsistency of the people of King’s Landing during their little chat in the very same episode: Jaime remarks the same mob was spitting on his sister not long ago and yet they are now cheering for her and Euron;

And then, out of the blue, we have this narrative in Season 8: mentally instable and villainous Daenerys Targaryen burns down the capital, murdering thousands of innocent citizens

This doesn’t work and doesn’t make any sense. You can’t spend SEVEN whole seasons solidifying the people of King’s Landing as wicked, inconsistent and ignorant and then victimized them in ONE episode because it suits the plot. This episode had one of the lowest rankings ever in the series and it’s not just because Dany’s character was butchered. The narrative itself doesn’t add up with what was previously established. 

3. Dany burning down King’s Landing

There was no reason whatsoever for Dany to burn down King’s Landing and kill thousands of innocent civilians. It doesn’t make sense from a military perspective and it’s illogical concerning her character. As said, every time she threatened to burn cities in past seasons she did it because she wanted to protect her people: either by wanting them to survive or to protect them from going back into slavery. Burning down King’s Landing is the complete opposite of her beliefs, and it does not fit her character or her motivations from previous seasons.

In Season 7 she specifically said she wanted to fly her dragons to the Red Keep and the Red Keep alone. She never said a word about laying waste to the entire city and there is no foreshadowing for her doing it, no matter how many nonsensical metas haters pull out of their sleeves, out of context gifs or D&D trying to justify their stupid writting options for her character.

But Season 8 was a bunch of nonsense and her character was entirely reconnected to serve this new “mad queen” plot: all her motivations suddently changed alongside with her character’s traits. Apparently protecting the people is no longer her first priority, she didn’t travel to Winterfell to protect the North but because she’s in love with Jon and the circus goes on until the bitter end.

Is this the same girl who spent years gaining the trust and love of the people of Essos!?

The purpose of this scene was to show Dany choosing fear as her method to rule over the people of Westeros and how Jon is more loved than she is. But this is such bollocks. Dany has only been to the Reach and the North, and outside the North no one knows or cares about Jon so this dialogue makes no sense. Actually, I doubt the people of the Reach fear Dany that much since she killed the Lannister soldiers who murdered countless innocents (including children) in Highgarden and terrorized farmers into giving up their crops. The majority of the people of Westeros don’t even know Dany or her motivations. The Riverlands despise both the Lannisters and the Starks because of the War of the Five Kings, and there are many Targaryen loyalists left. However, all of this was swept under the rug in the series. Dany knows she needs to earn the trust, love and respect of the people of Westeros because she has done the same in Essos, and that doesn’t happen overnight. Instead we got this. And yes, it’s stupid.

Conclusion

Dany burned down King’s Landing for three reasons:

Because D&D want to force the “mad queen” narrative down the audience throats: Dany is mentally instable, her father’s daughter, evil, a tyrant, even without any build-up;

For Jon to look heroic while killing her and have some ManPainTM afterwards;

For the Starks to be right in their xenophobic behavior because they are the heroes: “they are not xenophobes because she’s evil.”

That’s it, anon. That’s why she burned down King’s Landing in Season 8.

But does anyone take seriously a bunch of writers who kinda forgot the ringing of bells in GOT/ASOIAF lore does not mean a city is surrendering?

This scene is from Season 2, for fuck’s sake.

[stareyedplanet]

Freezer Burn

Pairing: Loki x OC

Word Count: 1143

Note: Written for Rae’s Leap Year Writing Challenge! It’s my first time publishing on Tumblr so here we go! Also, I saw the Super Bowl commercial and Loki’s like three second clip so I just had to include it!

Warnings: None that I can think of.

02

The hallways of the building were barren, not eliciting any confidence in Emma whatsoever. The plain decorations of the Time Variance Authority headquarters had never put her mind at ease, especially today of all days.

A promise had been made, and Emma would be damned if she wouldn’t believe him to carry it out.

She knew. She knew that today was the day that everything she ever cared about would be destroyed. Yet, she was hardly scared.

It had all started three months ago, when Agent Emma Titan had been assigned a case.

It had been shockingly easy to capture Loki. So easy, the entire agency was always on edge. It had only been her third day sitting in the room with him when he made his threat.

Loki was adorned in the beige uniform, the orange TVA bright against the dull color. His hair was short, above his shoulders, unlike the long hair they were used to. Emma’s co-workers had cross-referenced him against all the Loki’s throughout time, and eventually placed him as the 2012 version of himself.

It was confusing, and they need answers.

“We just want to know how you were time jumping.” Emma said, her voice smooth and calm, the complete opposite of what she was feeling on the inside.

Every question she had asked the previous days had been answered with silence. Today was proving to be no different.

“Look, Loki, you will never get out of these cuffs if you don’t give us answers. You were charged with the interference of historical events, and the alteration of the time stream, creating alternate time lines, theoretically creating a tear in the fabric of time itself. You’re already on thin ice.” Emma said, her patience thinning. “Not cooperating is only going to make it worse.”

Still, Loki said nothing, but Emma could see the slight upturn of his lips.

“Fine. Rot here for the rest of eternity. See if I care,” Emma told him, standing from her seat set ten feet from him, standard procedure.

Loki chuckled, the sound shocking to Emma. She hadn’t once heard him make a sound.

“I will escape,” he chose to say.

“You will never escape.” Emma told him, her voice steely.

“I’m gonna burn this place to the ground,” Loki hissed, a dark humor coating his words. “I’m gonna burn this place to the ground and everyone in it, just to get out.”

It was only a few months ago, but it seemed so long. Over that time, with the agreement that all cameras would be turned off, Loki began opening up to Emma. He told her of the Tesseract, and his plans to improve the mistakes of the past.

Over and over she had explained that they couldn’t allow him to do that, yet Loki always just laughed, smiled, and said he didn’t need their permission. So, she would change the subject, knowing that was the end of the useful conversation for the day.

They began to talk of all sorts of things. Emma had grown to know the real Loki, and had begun to love him because of it.

But today was the day, she was sure of it. Loki had told her that today would be the last day he found himself in this place. While she couldn’t entirely agree with his methods nor his plans, she knew there was no stopping him.

She stepped into the cell, where Loki was sitting in the same uniform, with the same hair cut, and the same cocky smirk.

“I’m wondering, where is it you think chickens come from?” Loki asked her, his arms crossed over his chest.

“The freezer section,” Emma replied with just as much snark as she usually did.

It had been his idea, to come up with a code to ensure that not only was Emma who she said she was, but also as a reassurance that all cameras were switched off.

Loki breathed out a sigh. He wouldn’t openly admit it, but he had grown to take a liking to Emma. It was the only reason he had warned her of what was to come, but it seemed she wasn’t smart enough to avoid the TVA for the day.

“What are you doing here?” He asked her.

“Trying to talk you out of your plans.” Emma replied smoothly, taking a seat in the much to close chair.

Loki chuckled, a deep sound that Emma found intoxicating.

“Darling, we both know there is no doing that. I tried to warn you of what was to come. You should have stayed home.” Loki replied, rolling his eyes.

“How could I when I knew you wished to burn my home to the ground?” She asked. “You of all people should have learned that a home is not a place, but the people you share your life with.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m your home, Little Dove?” Loki asked her, a teasing note to his tone.

Emma scoffed. “As if, Loki.”

“It’s a shame, I would have let you stay by my side.”

“How much longer?” Emma asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Not long, Little Dove,” Loki promised.

He had planned accordingly. There was a shift change in exactly three minutes. That, combined with it being the midnight shift change, meant that it was the perfect opportunity. The fire alarms would release his cuffed hands, the automatic procedure for all prisoners of the TVA.

“Please stop this madness, Loki.” Emma begged, her eyes pleading.

“Oh, Little Dove, it is much to late. Besides, I thrive in madness,” he told her.

Emma’s hands began to shake as time ran out. She needed to leave. She should have stayed home. Why didn’t she warn everyone? Why did she let him do this?

Her mind was racing a mile a minute.

She hadn’t asked how he had managed to set this all up, but she should have.

Regret overwhelmed her as tears began to fall from her eyes, her fingers gripping at her blonde strands.

“Three, two, one...” Loki counted down.

On cue, the blaring alarms sounded, the clink of metal sounded, and Loki stood with an evil smirk on his face. He stalked towards Emma as the smell of smoke and the panicked shouts of workers filled her senses.

For the first time since she first met Loki, Emma was terrified of the man before her. Her tears fell down her face swiftly, her breath coming out in choked sobs.

“You will be by my side for all eternity.” Loki vowed.

His hand waved over her head and Emma’s world went black.

@buckybarnesbeans

[liquidthedefunctblog]

Red Vs Blue- Oh oh, Oreo

A Red Vs Blue fanfic in which two soldiers attempt to sate their hunger.

Pre Season 1. Flowers is dead but no Lopez, Caboose, or Donut. Contains language because RvB.

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Dick Simmons was currently stuck in a 10ft hole in the ground digging through various packaged foodstuffs. His partner Dexter Grif had convinced him that since they had been on guard duty for several hours now, they were legally obligated a break. He had also convinced him that the best way to spend this break was to go and raid the food storage for Oreos. Simmons wasn't sure if American laws applied wherever this infernal gulch was, nor why the military considered Oreos a vital supply, but he thought he could do with a break. It wasn't like anything ever happened while they were on watch anyway. As it turned out though, this 'break' actually meant a different kind of work. Since the base was only comprised of one room, Sarge had decided that the best place to store supplies was under the ground. Thus whenever any of them required food, they were forced to dig their way down since Sarge insisted on refilling these holes with sand each time they were opened. Something about the blues being "vultures". Simmons had managed to make his way into the food storage, though Grif didn't provide a great deal of help. In the end however it seemed his efforts were for nought, as there was not an Oreo pack in sight. Simmons called up towards his lazy co-worker.

"We don't have any!"

"What the hell? I swear to God the shipment only came in yesterday..."

Simmons put his hands on his hips and cast Grif a stern glare through his helmet.

"What were you doing last night?"

"...patrolling the canyon?"

Simmons maintained his gaze, eventually causing Grif to crack.

"Okay fine! I was watching the cricket! C'mon man, do you expect me to watch sport without Beer and Oreos?"

"Cricket? What the hell were you watching that for?"

"I wanted to watch the Falcons take on the Giants, but the TV here can't get any American broadcasts. So I took a look through the channels and figured "Cricket. That's just baseball with British people right?"."

"Grif. Have you ever actually played cricket or baseball?"

"Pffft, who the hell plays sport? You're just mad because I'm more cultured than you. The game sucked anyway, nobody ever got past second base. Idiots kept going backwards."

Simmons looked down and shook his head with a sigh.

"And in this time you managed to get through an entire shipment of Oreos and beer?"

Grif crossed his arms in disapproval.

"It was a long game okay. And what kind of guy do you take me for? An entire shipment of beer?"

This provoked a response from Simmons that was equal parts confused and oddly proud.

"Wait you mean you didn't drink the-"

"I just drank the alcoholic beer. That's only like half the shipment."

Simmons pride was immediately replaced with shame, though if he was ashamed of Grif for doing what he did, or himself for associating with Grif, he could not tell.

"Grif. You still murdered your liver! Hold on. This is a military installation, where the fuck did you get beer?"

"I have my methods."

"Grif..."

"It really is amazing what you can get into a military installation when it has literally no security whatsoever."

"Fine, keep being vague. You owe me one of those though."

Simmons pulled himself out of the hole along with his shovel.

"C'mon we need to fill this thing up."

Simmons began filling the storage facility with sand, yet his orange comrade remained in place.

"Are you gonna help?"

"I'm supervising."

"Supervising? It's a fucking hole, just help me shovel dirt into it."

"And what if you fall into the hole and break your legs? You'll need somebody to go and report that so somebody else lower down in the chain of command can get you out."

"How does holding a shovel impact your ability to do any of that?"

"Seriously Simmons, safety first."

After finally refilling the hole, Simmons turned to face his failure of a workmate.

"Well, we wasted our break digging and refilling a hole, and we didn't even get any Oreos out of it. Good job asshole."

"Okay, Simmons, I know this looks bad. But I think we can still get Oreos out of this, while technically working."

"What, you gonna start up a factory? Make your own knock-off brand? Sorry to burst your bubble Grif, but we don't exactly have the knowledge, materials, or legal aid to do that."

"Just listen. The blues are a military unit too right."

"Right."

"So surely they should have some kind of food shipments. Including Oreos of course. All we need to do is tell Sarge they're getting ready to attack, then he'll try to get the jump on them by attacking first. Thereby giving us an excuse to be at blue base. All we need to do from there is head right in and grab what we can."

"That... actually makes an uncharacteristic amount of sense."

"You know it does. Now get on the radio to Sarge."

Grif and Simmons gave eachother a short nod as their sergeant approached. Simmons had informed Sarge that the blues were plotting to attack red base tomorrow, thus causing the red leader to prepare a scheme of his own.

"Gentlemen. Simmons has told me about those dirty blues' diabolical plot, and I have decided that to protect our beloved base and flag from attack, we're going on the offensive."

Simmons and Grif stood in unusual silence.

"Ya got anything to say about that Private Grif? Any disrespectful remarks or acts of insubordination?"

"Absolutely not sir."

"Excellent. I see my teachings are finally being drilled into you! My only regret is the violence and abuse it took to get there..."

"...Thank you...sir?"

"Of course it was a particularly effective method, all the shotgun shells and beatings. And you were a particularly awful soldier and human... Looking back I don't really regret it at all. Maybe one more for good measure."

Grif let out a high pitched scream as Sarge battered him to the ground with a single blow from the edge of his shotgun to Grif's head.

"Now then. We'll charge at them in a triangular formation. You two will stay at front, directly ahead of me. This means if they fire at us you should provide an effective shield while I contemplate the best course of action. You got that men?"

"Sir, yes sir." Simmons responded with a hearty salute.

Grif however remained on the floor, simply letting out a groan of pain. Sarge looked down at him.

"Back to your insubordinate ways huh? In that case I think we'd best charge in single file with you at the front."

Grif let out another groan.

The red team let out a loud battlecry as they charged towards blue base. The group was once singlefile, but had since devolved into a mess of individual soldiers. When they made it within attacking distance, Sarge gestured at his team to stop moving and called out to the enemy team.

"Attention blue team. This is the red team. Prepare for your imminent demise."

Two voices could be heard bickering inside the base.

"Just go up there already!"

"Why the hell should I have to deal with those assholes?"

"Because I'm the leader, I gotta stay back here and make tactical decisions."

"You're not the leader! We're the same goddamn rank!"

"Yeah well that's not the point here. The point is, you always say how much of a smooth talker you are, so go smoothtalk the reds! Just get out there and negotiate with them or something!"

"Me? But you're the leader, shouldn't you be in charge of negotiating?"

"Fine! I'll talk to them. You're coming up too though!"

A cobalt soldier with a sniper rifle made his way to the top of the blue base, with a teal soldier walking up behind him. The cobalt soldier lifted up his rifle and pointed it at Sarge.

"Okay assholes, get the hell away from our base."

He fired several shots meant for the red sergeant, all of which missed. Simmons leaned over and whispered to Grif.

"This is our chance. Come on."

The two ran away from the ensuing 'battle' and around to the side of blue base.

"Okay. Now we just have to find their food storage. I'll start digging here, you try that green patch over there."

"Uh, Simmons, don't you wanna try inside?"

"What? No! What idiot would waste valuable space like that."

Grif's shoulders sagged.

"You really need to stop listening to Sarge dude."

Simmons glared at him for a moment before relenting. The two walked inside the base to find a poorly organised shelf with a post it note reading "Food" in lazily scrawled handwriting stuck to it. The pair began digging through the supplies in an attempt to find the coveted biscuits.

After a while of searching Simmons turned around to see Grif fearfully backing away from the shelf.

"Grif? What's wrong?"

Grif's tone was a nervous one.

"Take a look."

Simmons moved over to Grif's section of the shelf. He grabbed a blue package and let out a depressed sigh as he read out the label.

"'Tesco Value - Vanilla cookies'"

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Don't steal knockoff Oreos. It's wrong.

[sternentinte]

Emogust 2019 - 12.08.|Life/Death AU

(Life I)

(In which Ran won’t let Shinichi be dead)

Sometimes Ran regrets that Shinichi doesn’t have a grave. It had been her decision, back then. She can still see it clear as day. It was almost a year after he had stopped calling and the police had just given up on looking for him. Ran had cried and been angry and very tempted to smash her hand against the wall of the police department until she broke all of her bones. She’s kind of glad she didn’t—it would make playing the piano a lot harder now.

Yuusaku and Yukiko Kudou had come to visit her. She was angry at them, too. She was angry at everyone and she was desperate, and she wanted Shinichi to tell her it was okay.

“Ran-chan!”

Shinichi’s mother had hugged her.

“Isn’t it terrible?”

Ran nodded mutely; she didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t say much in those days.

“Ran-kun.”, Yuusaku was calmer than his wife in front of him. “How are you doing?”

Ran searched his face. He didn’t look exactly emotional, but was visibly exhausted, more so than she had ever seen him. He had always been so composed.

She also didn’t know how to answer the question. What did they think how she was doing?

“Why are you here?”, she asked instead. Why are you here now?, is what she doesn’t say. Why weren’t you here before? When Shinichi needed you?

Yuusaku took a breath as if too ready himself.

“We’ve been thinking”, he says, “of getting a grave for Shinichi.”

Ran stares blankly.

“But we wanted to ask your opinion. We don’t even live in this country and this is were Shinichi would want to stay…”

Ran doesn’t hear the rest.

“He’s not dead.”, she whispers barely audibly.

“What’s that, darling?”, Yukiko asks.

Ran raises her shaking voice. “He’s not dead. You can’t know that.”

Tears are in Yukiko’s eyes again, but right now, Ran can only resent her for it. Yuusaku sighs.

“I know this is hard for you, Ran-kun, but it is time to face the fact that Shinichi is probably not going to be found anymore. It has been too-”

Blood rushes through Ran’s ears.

“Shut! Up!”, she yells, the words falling out of her without permission. But now the dam is broken.

“How dare you say this? How dare you give up on him? How dare you show up here now, way too late when he’s gone and- You should be out there looking for him? Aren’t you the oh-so-smart Mr. I’m-cleverer-than-police-but-their-work-bores-me-so-I-prefer-to-make-things-up novelist? Why aren’t you out there looking for him?”

He doesn’t seem fazed by her words, doesn’t seem angry, just tired, and maybe sad and that makes Ran even angrier. He has no business being sad!

“I did everything I cou-”

“Oh but you didn’t! You should have helped him long ago, when he first got into this mess, when he stopped going to school or sleeping at home, you should have interfered than, should have saved him, should have made sure this never even happened! You have no right to bury him now and pretend you did everything you could!”

Ran breathes heavily. She hadn’t meant to say this, but she wouldn’t apologise for it either. It’s one of the things she’d come to realise in the past couple of months—how little Shinichi’s parents had been there for him, not only just now, but ever since they left to live in Los Angeles. Ran was more than aware that her parents weren’t perfect, but at least she was sure they wouldn’t have left her like this.

She wouldn’t apologise—that’s why she just looked at him defiantly. For the first time there was real pain in his face, the way his eyebrows crinkled together and the hard line of his mouth. Yukiko had stopped crying. Ran couldn’t look at her.

“Yes”, he says, his voice still calm, but tainted by an unspeakable emotion, “you are right. I will respect your wishes, Ran-san.“

Ran had nodded stiffly.

Four years later, when Koizumi Akako, chief editor of Red Hearts magazine, steps into the interview room at the Suzuki building, Ran thinks of the grave Shinichi never got.

-

(Death I)

(In which Aoko thinks her life is over)

Aoko first thinks of it in the middle of the night and in the instant the thought strikes her mind, she is sure she is right.

She scrambles out of bed a little awkwardly, switches her bedside light on and grabs her phone from the nightstand, quickly entering her code.  She opens the app she uses to track her period. She is right—three week overdue.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, she tells herself, but it doesn’t work. Aoko doesn’t really think she knows herself to well, but something has been different, and everything seems to suddenly make an astonishing kind of sense. This is true, her instinct tells her and Aoko can’t get her mind to win the yelling match.

Instead, she panics.

She steps out of bed profusely, almost running towards the bathroom, lights on, door locked. But once inside, she doesn’t know what to do either.

Pregnancy test, she tells herself, right now.

Except neither her nor Ran have one of those lying around their bathroom and at two am, there isn’t really any way to obtain one.

Aoko stares at herself in the mirror, her hair messed up from bed, her face pale in the strange light. She takes a step back, bumping against the glass wall of the shower. She lets her legs give out under her and slowly slides to the floor.

What on earth have I been doing?

The question is not new, not really. She’s asked herself the same thing so many times over the course of the past few months, but it never felt as real as it does now, as if they were lone sane thoughts in the middle of a fever dream she has only now woken up from.

Kaito, she thinks. It’s a nonsensical thought, because Kaito has nothing to do with this, nothing whatsoever, except that if he finds out he will never look at her the same way again (—then on the other hand, why shouldn’t he? His significance in that aspect is a projection of her feelings, not his—) and that she really wished he did. That’s why she is in this mess at all, isn’t it? Stupid feelings.

But Aoko can’t shake them either, and the mixture of hurt and shame that fuels these second thoughts can’t overcome her initial thought, her instinct.

The phone is still in her hand.

She doesn’t think when she dials. Kaito picks up on the first ring.

“Aoko? Are you okay?”

Aoko’s stares at the phone in her hand.

“Aoko?”

“Yes, I’m alright.”, she presses, to quickly, “wrong number?”

She feels the tears coming down her face silently.

“Wrong number?”, Kaito asks, confused, but amused, “Who else do you call at two am? All your secret boyfriends?”

That one hits home too close, even if Aoko did never have KIDs phone number.

“Butt dial…”, she mumbles instead, trying to keep the crying out of her voice, but he notices anyway. Of course. He has always been better at reading her than she is at reading him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, bye!”, Aoko mangles out quickly, and hangs up immediately.

She lays her head on top of her knees and cries.

-

(Death II)

(In which Ran accepts an ending)

“Good morning, Mouri-san!”

Koizumi-san seems highly professional, and from a past interview, Ran remembers her as being not unkind—but like many journalists, at least many in the celebrity gossip branch, she has something of a shark. Ran knows she is not going to go easy on her, but that’s alright today. It’s what she wanted.

“Good morning, Koizumi-san. I am happy to be speaking to you today.” She does her best to smile.

“That is what I should be saying to you. Do you mind if I call you Ran-chan? It fits the tone of our magazine better.”

“Of course.”

“So, Ran-chan. The Gosho Girls are famous for not singing love songs.”

Here we go.

“As the main lyricist, you have always claimed that you wanted to produce more songs about other values such as friendship for example, since those themes are not as widely explored, as you told Teen Idol last October. Is there more to the mysterious lack of love songs in the Gosho Girls’ repertoire?”

Ran takes a deep breath.

“It is true that I believe that in our culture, relationships that aren’t romantic aren’t appreciated enough. I, personally, have gotten so much support from my family, my friends, and of course the fellow Gosho Girls over the course of my life and putting them at the center of my art is my way to thank them. I am very connected to my art and I express my feelings in the songs I write.”

“Why not do both? Write lyrics about friendship and romance? It is a popular demand among your fans and has been for quite some time. Have you ever considered it? If so, why did you decide against it?”

“As I said before, I feel deeply about the lyrics I write. My friendships and family relations in the past years have been more prominent and important to me than any kind of romance. My art reflects that. Some have suggested, that because of this, I might be damaged or incapable of true feelings. I consider those comments to be very inappropriate, especially seeing that many of my fans are young girls, who should not be subjected to the idea that romance is the only valid form of love or that they aren’t a full person without it, which I deem a dangerous and damaging idea. I am sure you agree with me there.”

I dare you, Ran thought, I dare you to contradict me.

She didn’t.

“The subject of your love life itself took heightened interest after an interview you gave about a month ago, where you insisted on being very private on that matter. After that an article made headlines claiming you were in a relationship with Kudou Shinichi-san, who was quite well known for being a high school detective. Is there any truth to those claims?”

And so the shark surfaces.

Be honest, Ran tells herself, takes a deep breath and starts doing what she came for.

“Shinichi and I were childhood friends. We met in pre-school and were very close for a very long time. He was an exceptionally smart child, a little arrogant at times, but very loyal and brave. He started solving crimes in high school, but he was always interested in them. He was a huge fan of Sherlock Holmes and his father, Kudou Yuusaku, is well known for the Knight Baron-series, of course. He was a great detective, anyone who knew him at the time could tell you that. I used to call him a mystery geek and a deduction nut. He was a good soccer player, too, but he quit after middle school to focus on being a detective.”

“Ran-chan, you don’t have to give me Kudou-san’s life story to answer the question.”

“I know, but this is very important to me, and I think your readers will find it very interesting as well.”

She paused.

“Please.”

Her voice was calm, but she felt her hands shaking. Koizumi-san waited for a moment, unconvinced, but the she nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“So when we were in our second year of high school, I won the regional karate tournament. Shinichi had promised me he would take me somewhere if I won—he had come to the tournament to support me and then left at some point to do some detective business. I was a little mad for him because of that so that was his way of making it up to me.”

“A date?”

“Not really. We weren’t dating at the time, but I guess it did fit the bill. Anyway, we were on our way home, when Shinichi must have seen or heard something, I’m not sure. He told me to go ahead and stormed. I had a bad feeling, but I did anyways.”

“He doesn’t seem like the most reliable guy. Bailing out on his girlfriend’s tournament and ditching her on the way home…”

“Oh, but he was. In fact, I think he was one of the most reliable people I have ever met.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one, he was there many times when I really needed him. Sure, he missed the tournament, but ultimately, he had good reasons—he left in order to investigate the death of another person. I think finding a murderer is, in the grand scheme of things, of higher priority than my match was. And I loved that about him. He valued the human life so much, I would be a bad person to truly hold that against him.” She stops for a moment. “Also, I wasn’t his girlfriend, don’t forget that.”

Ran takes another breath.

“I called him later that night of our not-date, but he didn’t answer. I was very worried, and I even went to his house, but he hadn’t come home yet. I couldn’t do anything but wait. When he didn’t come to school the next day, I almost called the police, but he eventually called me back. I was very relieved to hear from him. He told me that he had run into a difficult case and that he might stay away a while to solve it. I wasn’t too thrilled to hear that, I was still worried, but I knew he felt he needed to do that. I think the case turned out to be harder than even he thought it would be. Over the course of the next year, he called me regularly, but I only ever saw him a couple of times. I was, as you can imagine, in a constant state of worry, because I didn’t know where he was and what he was doing, and he only gave me vague answers. At one point my father and me went on a holiday to London. I met Shinichi there coincidentally. I was quite mad at him, and hurt, to be honest, because I had told him that I was going and he had said nothing about being there. We had an argument and he ended up confessing that he was in love with me.”

Ran took a break and sipped on her glass of water. Somehow saying all of this, relaying it to a stranger like a story had something liberating about it.

“He vanished right again after that. I could only give him my answer at our school trip, where he showed up again. We started dating there, but he disappeared again. His case wasn’t solved yet.”

“So you were, in fact, in a relationship with him?”

“Yes. However, shortly after, he stopped calling me. It was about a year after he had disappeared. Nobody ever hurt from him again. I filed a missing person report, but the investigation didn’t lead anywhere.”

Ran feels her voice breaking and takes another sip of water.

“It is likely that he was victim of a crime. Of course, we can’t know for sure, but the investigation was eventually stopped. Shinichi is presumed dead.”

Ran pauses and Koizumi-san doesn’t fill the break.

“This wasn’t mentioned in the article about Shinichi and me, which is why I thought it would be a good idea to clear it up.”

She closes her eyes, then opens them again.

“Shinichi was one of the best people I ever had the luck to meet. He was kind and brave and he had strong morals, and I think that was his own misfortune. He will, of course, hold a place in my heart forever. Above all, however, I don’t want his legacy to be that he was the guy that turned Idol Ran-chan bitter. It doesn’t do justice to him. I ask all of my fans to be respectful of that, please.”

I did it, Ran thinks. I said it all. .

In a strange way she feels free—freer than she has for a long time.

You didn’t get a grave, she thinks to wherever Shinichi is now, but I just gave you a eulogy.

-

(Life II)

(In which Aoko faces a beginning)

The morning sickness starts two weeks later.

Aoko hates it, partly because it is so cliché, but also because it is a reminder she can’t ignore this forever. She has to do something. Tell someone. But even that possibility leaves her terrified. And who would she tell? KID?

She had taken a (more accurately, three) pregnancy tests the day after her realisations and had her fears confirmed, but she had yet to actually do something about it.

She had tried to bring the topic up to Ran, ghosting around it by talking about having children and did Ran ever plan on it? But sadly (or luckily?), Ran couldn’t read her thoughts and dismissed the whole thing by saying it was hardly an option for her. Sometimes Aoko wished Ran wasn’t such a saint. Maybe that would make it easier to spit it out.

So there she was, the second day in a row, puking her guts out in the bathroom at their practice room.

The door opens and Aoko winces. She doesn’t really want to see anyone to see her like that, but now it’s too late for that anyway.

“Jeez”, Kazuha-chan’s voice says, “Are you alright, Aoko-chan?”

“Just a stomach thing”, Aoko starts saying, but she breaks into tears in the middle of the sentence. Stupid hormones.

“Are you sure?”, Kazuha kneels down beside her. “Hey, what’s up?”

Aoko can’t tell her. She cannot.

“Did you eat something bad?”

Yes, is what Aoko wants to say, but instead she just cries harder.

Kazuha puts her hand on Aoko’s forehead as if to take her temperature, but instead she lets her eyes glide over her thinking.

“Aoko-chan”, she says, carefully, “You aren’t pregnant, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, Aoko throws up into the toilet again.

-

Kazuha drags her to her apartment after practice.

Aoko hasn’t been at Kazuha’s place a lot—usually all of them meet up at her and Ran’s place or at work. She knows that Kazuha’s friend Hattori-kun lives here, too, but there doesn’t seem to be a trace of him.

“So”, Kazuha says, “how are we feeling about this thing?”

Aoko blinks.

“Are we happy about it or not so much?”

“Not so much.”, Aoko presses.

“Okay”, Kazuha says, as if her own feelings don’t really affect the ‘we’ at all.

“Do you want to tell me how this happened?”

“I suppose you don’t want a breakdown of human reproduction, right?”

Kazuha smiles a little. “I think I’m good.”

She leans her head form one side to the other, as if looking for words.

“So, you don’t have to tell me, but what I’m thinking that happened is that you and Kuroba-kun let out your repressed feelings at some point at each other without actually dealing with them…”

Aoko actually laughs.

“It’s worse.”

Kazuha blinks, and Aoko can practically see her resetting the pieces in her mind.

“So it wasn’t Kuroba-kun?”

“I had sex with someone else in order to deal with my repressed feelings by pretending that someone else was Kaito.”, Aoko clarifies.

Pause.

“Okay, that actually is worse.”, Kazuha admits eventually, “Do you, eh, was it someone you know well?”

“Kind of? Not really, but somewhat, I guess?”

“That’s not very clear.”, Kazuha says because it isn’t. It also is something Aoko has trouble explaining even to herself.

Aoko takes a deep breath.

“Kazuha-chan, can you please not judge me?”

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t give you the impression I was. I don’t think you’re a bad person for…”

“No”, Aoko interrupts, “it’s just. I slept with the Kaitou Kid.”

Kazuha stares.

“How did that ever even happen?” The incredulity in her voice is almost tangible.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Okay, okay.”, Kazuha pauses for a moment as if to reorientate herself in the conversation, “Do you have any way to contact him?”

Aoko shrugs. “Usually he just finds me?”

“Usually?”

“No judging, right?”, Aoko says, “it’s bad enough as it is.”

“No, it’s just a little crazy. I’m sorry, but it just is.”

“It’s insane.”, Aoko agrees.

They pause again.

“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”, Kazuha says eventually.

“Me neither.”, Aoko says. She buries her head in her hands. “Oh my god, Kazuha-chan, I am going to die. What is wrong with me? Why the hell did I do that?”

“Well, I don’t know why you did it, but you are not going to die. We’ll make sure of that.”

“Can we?”

Aoko feels her starting to cry again. “Didn’t you just hear anything I said? I got pregnant from sleeping with a freaking ghost, which I only did because I’m hopelessly in love with my best friend, who is starting to feel like a damn ghost, too. I’m majorly screwed over. And I can’t even be private about the whole thing because in at least a couple of months I’m going to be huge and I’m in a somewhat successful girl band and there are social media accounts dedicated to pictures of my butt. This is a catastrophe!”

“Hey, hey”, Kazuha says, and puts her arms around Aoko, a little awkwardly, but that doesn’t really matter. “We’re the best at dealing with catastrophes, aren’t we? Ran and Sonoko are dealing with one right now, and that’s just the newest iteration of the never-ending Kudou Shinichi-catastrophe. We stick together and we’ll work something out.”

“But how can you know that?”

“Well, something has to happen. The world always keeps turning somehow, no matter how bad it is. I bet you already noticed that, too. And there are a lot of people, who love you and who will help you.”

“Do you really think so?”, Aoko asks.

“Of course.”, Kazuha replies, as if the idea that people are going to turn away in disgust hearing about this is completely foreign and absurd to her. “You have all of us—me, and Sonoko-chan, and Ran-chan—Have you told Ran-chan about it yet?”

Aoko shakes her head and guilt floods her. “I tried, too, but I don’t know, I felt so bad and it’s kind of a hard topic to bring up with her…”

Kazuha raises her eyebrows. “What do you mean with her? I mean it’s obviously not an easy topic, but why is it harder with her?”

“Well…”, Aoko trails of. Why is Kazuha-chan so perceptive? “I tried to sort of lead into it by talking about kids in general and, you know, how they change a lot and if she’s ever thought about it and she basically just said that it’s not really an option for her, so she pretty much doesn’t think about it, and yeah. Probably not the best way to try and say that ever.”

“Probably not.”, Kazuha agrees, “But she has to know, soon. She’s your roommate. You can’t not tell her. Also, she’s one of your closest friends. You’re closer to her than to me and you’re talking to me.”

“Well, yeah.”, Aoko says. Sometimes she forgets how direct Kazuha can be. About some things. Others, not so much. “But I only told you because you cornered me with it. Wait, how did you even know?”

“My mum’s a midwife. She’s told me about a million things about it, so I know a lot of signs, I guess.”

“Makes sense.” Aoko pauses. “But, you know, the thing about Ran-chan is that she’s been through so much and none of it was her fault? And she’s still so kind and good and resourceful and she works so hard? And I’m such a mess and I have no clue how to pick myself up at all, and she does it all the time.”

“So that just means she can help you do it. She has experience.”

“Maybe.”, Aoko says. She’s not too convinced.

“And besides, you still have Kuroba-kun to help you, don’t you?”

“Why would he help me?”, Aoko asks, and almost wants to start crying again.

“He’s your best friend. You just said it.”

“Well, yeah.”

“There you go, then.”

Aoko doesn’t think Kazuha understands the mystery that is Kuroba Kaito, and she is too tired to explain something she doesn’t really get herself.

“Also”, Kazuha says, and her voice is quieter now, more careful, “you don’t have to keep it, you know.”

“I thought about it”, Aoko says.

It’s true. She has done her research about this, thinking it was maybe the only solution for this. She looks at Kazuha. She sighs.

“Kaito lost his father when he was nine.”, she finds herself saying, instead of answering the implied question. Kazuha lets her.

”He was a magician, too, world famous, maybe you’ve heard of him. He and Kaito were really close and when he died, Kaito was devastated. And he changed. He closed off from everyone. You know, magic is all about distraction and being flashy so no one can see where the real trick is happening. Kaito is really good at that. For a while it became really hard to actually pin him down, to see what he really thought or felt. I think I always was a little bit better at it than most people, because I could see through his charm-attacks. We insulted each other a lot, but it was more honest. He was getting better. Mostly he was annoying and ridiculous, but he was getting better. I was glad.”

Aoko closes her eyes and opens them again.

“But sometime in high school, it changed again. I don’t know what happened, but he closed off even more and I had no idea what to do about it and it just kept getting worse. Still does, actually. I try so hard to figure out what he’s thinking, but most of the time it is impossible. I can’t really get to him anymore. I can’t figure out what he thinks about anything, even how important I really am to him.” She pauses. “That’s why I’m not sure how he will react to any of this or if I can count on his help.”

I really want to tell him, though.

“Also, I feel guilty about it. For a lot of different reasons.”, she adds.

Kazuha doesn’t ask about that. Maybe she understands it, in some capacity.

“I don’t really know Kuroba-kun at all. But if he still spends time with you and talks to you, even after so many years when it would be easy to just grow apart or be too busy, then I’m sure he cares about you.”, she says.

It helps a little. “Thank you.”

“Maybe”, Kazuha says, “he’s just got a little dumb-boy disease. I have a lot of experience with that.”

Aoko grins a bit. “I can imagine so.”

Then she gets a little bit bolder, because if they can talk about her worst problems, than she can ask questions, too.

“Say, Kazuha-chan”, she says, “why are you and Hattori-kun not a thing?”

Kazuha blinks. “So that is kind of out of nowhere.”

Aoko shrugs. “You don’t have to say.”

But Kazuha just shakes her head. “I guess I owe you a truth here, too.” She hesitates, albeit briefly. “It’s because he doesn’t want to.”

That’s Aoko’s turn to be surprised. “Did he say that?”

“Yep”, Kazuha says, like it’s a comedy movie instead of her life. “It was a long time ago, though, so don’t worry. I’m mostly used to it.”

“Why though?”, Aoko can’t help but ask. “I was so sure he liked you.”

Kazuha shrugs. “Maybe he does. I figure he has his reasons. Dumb boy disease, I’m telling you.”

“I’m sorry.”, Aoko says, because even if Kazuha has seemed to make some sort of sense of that, she hasn’t. She just thinks it’s awful. And stupid. And hurtful.

But, to her surprise, Kazuha actually smiles at that. “Don’t be. Because I’m not. I’m still his best friend, and the most important woman in his life that’s not his mother, and I still make sure he doesn’t kill himself on account of being an idiot. I value that. Also, it’s not like I never date anyone because of him.”

“True.”, Aoko says, even though to her, none of Kazuha��� occasional dates seem exactly serious. Still, for some reason she is impressed by the sentiment.

“But you do get jealous when other women as much as talk to him?”, she says eventually, because regardless of what Kazuha says, Aoko has witnessed this a couple of times.

Kazuha sighs. “Do you have to call me out like this, Aoko-chan? I mean, yeah, you have a point. I guess nobody’s perfect, right?”

“Certainly not me.”, they both say at the same time.

They look at each other, then they laugh.

It takes a while for them to stop, even though there is no legitimate reason to be laughing at all, because everything is really not going the right way, but maybe that, precisely, is the reason.

When they stop and the apartment is silent again, Aoko makes a decision.

“I’m going to keep it.”, she says, and she knows it so surly like she knew of its existence even before she took the test.

“Are you sure?”, Kazuha asks.

Aoko nods.

“Okay.”, Kazuha says.

“Okay.”

——

@mintchocolateleaves, @sup-poki

So this is super late and only fits the prompt with a stretch of imagination and a lot of sense for metaphorics (or something), and it definitely went off-rail somewhere, but at least it’s long?