#i mean those things often mildly bother me but sometimes it gets Worse. now is one of those Worse times

[arcadian-vampire]

Had a dream the other day that's triggered my paranoia sooo so bad. I've been fighting the urge to delete a ton of stuff and burn my old journals and notebooks, and I Cannot stop eyeing my phone camera suspiciously. I have to cover it whenever I do something 'embarrassing' like eating or whatever. I wince every time I open my browser to look up something, even if it's an incognito tab. Very fun totally chill having a great time rn

[words-writ-in-starlight]

For the ask meme: Sarah x Jareth (I almost wrote that as David Bowie), 14, 22, and 29!

I am RIGHT NOW watching Labyrinth with my partners, EXCELLENT timing!  Cut for length.

14) When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Jareth has never been “sick” a day in his immortal life.  He’s been stabbed, poisoned, cursed, and hungover, but even the weakest goblin is rarely “sick” and Jareth hasn’t spend enough time around mortals to have a good grasp of the fact that nonfatal illnesses even exist.    

Point is, there’s an intermediary period between Sarah pointedly ignoring every owl in sight, no matter the coloring, and Sarah becoming the Goblin Queen where she forces him to visit the mortal world more than he has in living memory, including his.  (Jareth has a vague sense that he might have been here more often once--perhaps when he was young, before he was King--but he’s been King so long, and the Labyrinth has a chain-tight grip on its own.)  Toby is entranced, and also terrified--he doesn’t buy Jareth’s glamour for a second.  Sarah spends half her life running interference on Jareth’s behavior, and the other half doing a double major in political sciences and folklore.  Which she decided to get before she agreed to start talking to Jareth again, thank you, kindly fuck off.

Point is, eventually even Sarah’s suspiciously excellent immune system clocks out for the day, and she wakes up with a splitting headache, a wet and congested cough, and a sense that her skin is being abraded by even her softest sheets.  She’s not sick-sick, it’s just a nasty head cold with a fever, but she calls out of class and flops down on the couch and mumbles non-answers to the goblin who lives in the top of her closet when it scuttles out to see why she’s still home.

She doesn’t even realize Jareth is there until she feels a shadow fall over her and cracks an eye to peer up at him blearily.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks in his most forbidding Goblin King voice, and she groans and pulls her blanket over her head.

“Go away, Jareth, I’m tired.”

“I will not,” he says automatically as he jerks the blanket down to her shoulder, and then he’s crouching down in front of her, mismatched eyes dangerous and inhumanly bright in the yellow light of her little dorm apartment.  “Who did this to you, Sarah?  I will not leave without an answer.”

“No one,” she says, squinting up at him.  “It’s just a cold.”

“’Cold’,” he repeats, in the same skeptical way that he said ‘phone’ when she complained about his unannounced visits.  “I am not aware of that particular toxin.”

“I’m just sick, it’s not like I’ve been poisoned.”

“An illness?”  He pauses, pulls a glove off one hand and reaches out to touch her cheek experimentally.  His fingers are always cold compared to hers, and she shivers hard when he touches her skin, but he doesn’t flinch.  There’s something odd on his face, a locked-up hardness, and he says, “What is it?”

“A cold,” Sarah says again, pulling her blankets back up to her chin and shutting her eyes.  “I’m just going to feel like garbage for a few days.  Probably less if you let me sleep.  Come back and bother me on Saturday.”

He doesn’t leave.  Whatever, Sarah decides--that’s his problem.  She’s tired and feverish and annoyed and she’s going to sleep whether Jareth likes it or not.  She thinks he’s talking to someone--probably that snitch in the closet--about something--sounded vaguely like library and cold--but that’s Not Her Concern.  Sarah is done here.  She feels the end of the couch sink down by her feet just before she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, the Goblin King is still there, reading a book filched from one of her shelves, pen tapping idly against his lips--he’s marking up the fairy tales again, god, she hates his guts sometimes--and there’s a series of tidy piles on the rickety coffee table.  It looks like someone robbed a pharmacy and cleaned out their Cough And Cold aisle, and then sorted their booty by color, which suggests probably goblins just smart enough to recognize a word their king showed them, but not smart enough to read the labels.

Sarah smiles a little and grabs some cough drops from the top of the red pile, and condescends to drape her legs over Jareth’s lap before she goes back to sleep.

22) Where does their first kiss happen?

Sarah has a much harder time in college than she expected.  Not with being away from home, although she does miss Toby something awful and spends every second of her breaks with him.  No, the problem is that she has to share a room.  All the way through freshman year, she has a roommate, and--

And the roommate is fine, she’s a perfectly inoffensive girl from Chicago who keeps her things on her own side of the shoebox room they share and doesn’t bring anyone back to the room and never makes noise late at night, but Sarah hates it.  She can’t quite put her finger on why--is a little afraid of what she might say if pressed, if she’s honest.  She has these half-finished thoughts that involve words like territory and invader and mine.  Sarah has worked very hard not to be a selfish teenager or, possibly worse, the kind of girl who sometimes talks to a Goblin King and wonders privately if his final offer was serious.

Sarah has no plans to be the Goblin Queen, is the point, no matter what Hoggle mutters under his breath when she admits, the summer after her first year of college, that she’s talking to Jareth again.  (He just--he can come see her, there, and he can look like a person, and none of her other friends can, and people are weirdly nervous of Sarah, these days, and she was lonely, okay, so she let an owl into her room while her roommate was gone, and let them who never made a bad choice in college throw the first stone.)  And that means getting over herself and never voicing any of the thoughts that creep into her head about how her roommate, who has every right to sleep here, deserves to be thrown in an oubliette for disturbing Sarah’s peace.

Sarah is better than that, these days.

The only person who isn’t fooled is, of course, Jareth, who is very perceptive and also very persistently determined to visit regularly.  He smothers smirks when he sees Sarah force herself to be kind, and once offers, sweet as arsenic, to take Sarah’s roommate off her hands if you just say the right words, precious.  Sarah glares at him and pointedly turns her back, and he laughs as he leaves.  But he never does anything to her roommate, and Sarah doesn’t think about how Jareth never actually does anything to her space or anything in it, and doesn’t think about the rules that fairy tales handed down for millennia about places that fall under the power of a creature not to be toyed with.

She’s signed up to room with the same girl for sophomore year, because she doesn’t have a reason to claim a single and seniors always snap up the free ones.  But she shows up to get her key, and the registrar frowns and clicks a few things and then shrugs and hands Sarah a key.  He gives Sarah directions to one of the buildings up-campus, and Sarah goes, not particularly suspicious--she’s never been to the up-campus buildings, because people are nervous around Sarah and, while she’s manages to make a friend or two, no one really invites her back to their room.  Into their space.

Sarah opens her door and stands there, staring, mildly shocked.

Apparently, she is now the proud resident of a senior-only dorm room, one of the very tiny apartments that are supposed to house two people, with a kitchenette and a couch and everything.  There’s no one else’s name on the other door.  Sarah is late moving in, but there’s no sign of anyone here, except--

The Goblin King is sitting at the desk in the bedroom that gets the most sunlight, feet kicked lazily up on the wooden top and playing a pair of crystals between his fingers, and he smirks at her.

“I know, I know,” he drawls, vanishing the crystals with a twist of his fingers.  “I have no power over you.  But the school’s quartermaster--”

“Registrar,” Sarah corrects automatically.  He makes a dismissive gesture.  “Did you--do this?”

“Of course,” Jareth says.  “This...situation is apparently the height of luxury at this institution.  You did so despise that fluttering creature--”

“Molly was perfectly nice--”

“--and I see no reason for you to endure her for another year.”

Sarah--should really say that he’s an interfering, high-handed bastard who pretends that he has the divine right to arrange her life to his liking, and keeps rules-lawyering his way around her totally legitimate freedom from his interference.

Sarah really doesn’t want to share a room again.

“What do you want in return?”  She doesn’t even pretend that she’s not suspicious, and he puts on an offended face, bringing his feet down and pressing his lips together.

“It is a gift, Sarah.”

...oh.  Sarah blinks for a moment.  He sounds--geniunely annoyed.  Gifts are, in her knowledge of the Underground and the fae alike, serious business.

She acts without thinking, takes a step forward and tucks her hair behind her ear, and kisses the high point of his cheekbone above his frown.  When she pulls back, she sees a moment of transparent, raw shock before he orders his face into a self-satisfied and haughty raised eyebrow.

“Don’t say anything,” Sarah tells him, feeling her cheeks burn.  “If you can keep your mouth shut, this might resemble a nice moment.”

“If I had known that I could claim debts in kisses--”

“You can’t!” Sarah interrupts loudly.  “Don’t get any ideas!  Now get out and let me unpack!”

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Jareth is already thoroughly decided that Sarah is eventually going to agree to be his queen, one way or another, by the time she finally sighs and opens her window and tells the owl that if he’s very very good, and doesn’t talk to Toby, and looks like a regular person, she will speak to him just to get him to stop lurking.  He breaks all of those rules very quickly, of course, but she doesn’t kick him out--instead, she yells at him, and he puts on his coldest and haughtiest voice as he snaps back at her, and it’s fun.  Jareth never could turn down a challenge, and it’s been a long time since he faced a challenge he might lose, and just like the first time, it makes him ruthlessly determined to win.

It’s not news to him, therefore, that he loves her.

She manages to lie, obfuscate, and generally bullshit her way around admitting what she does at school for nearly three years.  But she starts writing her thesis and slips up, and Jareth is stretched on her bed in the apartment he arranged for her like he lives there when he idly picks up a piece of paper and skims her proposal and she sees his eyebrow rise slowly before he holds it up at her.

“What’s this, precious?”

“Homework,” she says flatly.

“‘Thesis Proposal,’” he reads aloud, drawling.  “‘Sarah Williams.  Proposed title: I’d’ve Et Thy Heart of Flesh: Fairy Tales as a Portrait of Royalty Through History.  Majors: Folklore and...’”  His mocking drawl pauses, and he can’t quite hide his transparent delight as he finishes the sentence.  “‘...and Political Science.’”  

When he looks up from the page, she has a stubborn set to her mouth and a bright spark in her eyes, almost angry.  “It’s not about you, you arrogant prick, I picked my majors years ago.  Give me that, I need the notes.”

“And what do fairy tales say about royalty, dearest?”

“That they’re prideful jerks who steal kids for armies and play favorites--the paper, Jareth.”

“And what do you plan to do with your degree in politics?”

“Regicide,” Sarah snaps, and jumps out of her chair to snatch the paper out of his fingers.  He lets her, and smiles at the way she blushes stark red across her cheekbones and down her throat, and wonders whether she would like the emerald ring he’s kept in his private chambers for the past three years.

Mortals have been doing diamonds, for betrothals, but he thinks green suits her better.

[mst3kproject]

The Neanderthal Man

Since I'm taking a break from fishmen, I might as well let Bigfoot catch up a bit.  The Neanderthal Man isn't exactly a Bigfoot movie, but it’s along the same lines and its entire starring cast has MST3K pedigrees.  Robert Shayne was in Indestructible Man and Teenage Caveman. Richard Crane was Rocky Jones, Space Ranger! Beverly Garland was in Swamp Diamonds and Gunslinger. Even the composer, Albert Glasser, wrote music for Invasion USA, Last of the Wild Horses, and almost all of MST3K’s Bert I. Gordon movies.

Some little mountain town in the middle of the Sierras (which the Portentous 50's Narrator takes some trouble to tell us is a primeval place where 'the defacing hand of civilization has fallen but lightly') is having a rash of saber-toothed tiger sightings!  At first these are laughed off, but when the game warden himself sees one cross the road in the middle of the night, it's time to do something about it.  The warden shows a cast pawprint to Dr. Ross Harkness in Los Angeles, who is interested enough to come up and see for himself. Local Mad Scientist Dr. Groves pooh-poohs the whole thing, which is enough to tell me that we're not dealing with a local cryptid here.  Somebody is making prehistoric monsters.

So... I may not have actually run out of movies, but I seem to be running out of plots, because this is a remarkably similar movie to Monster on the Campus. The major difference between the two films is that Dr. Blake turned himself into a caveman by accident, while Dr. Groves here is doing it on purpose.

Another difference is that Monster on the Campus' story, while silly, was linear – events escalated in a way that felt logical, and there were reasons why things happened when and where they did.  By contrast, The Neanderthal Man feels like a first draft.  At the beginning of the film, we're dealing with the saber-toothed tigers that Groves has been creating by injecting cats with his de-evolution serum.  We hear about these slaughtering game and livestock, and it seems like only a matter of time before they move on to human beings.  The beginning of the film is quite upfront about the fact that Groves is responsible, too, as it is only mildly mysterious in its depiction of one of the creatures escaping his lab.

Sometimes the saber-tooths are represented by an actual tiger, usually filmed from behind or at a great distance so nobody has to put the prosthetic teeth on it.  They do have prosthetic teeth, but they're only visible in a couple of shots. Imagine being at a bar and some guy tells you his job is sticking fake fangs on real tigers for a caveman movie!  For close-ups, there's a hilarious puppet head that looks like the sort of thing you'd see mounted on a frat house wall as a joke.  The director had the sense not to linger on this in motion shots, but later we see still photographs Groves has supposedly taken of his experimental subjects and they're even stupider-looking than we imagined.

Anyway, this goes on for a while with rising action, as the game warden goes to get Harkness and they manage to shoot one of the animals, only to have it vanish from the kill site when they try to show it to Groves (the movie never bothers to explain how that happened, incidentally. The ending suggests that the creatures change back when they die, but there's definitely no dead kitty cat at the scene, either).  The whole movie could easily have just had the cats and their creator as the antagonists, perhaps even ending the same way as Dr. Groves proves his work to the other characters by injecting himself. That's not what happens, though.  Instead, the story mostly forgets about the cats one we find out Groves has also been carrying on human experiments.

(Before himself, Groves' first experimental subject was his disabled Latina housekeeper.  Another series of photos show her half-transformed into a cavewoman who for some reason is wearing drag queen false eyelashes.  And as long as I'm talking about the movie being gross and bigoted, there's a bit where a woman is violently raped.  This happens off camera, but the audience is not allowed to entertain any illusions about it.)

The problem is that before we see him give himself an injection in the arm, we have had absolutely no indication that Groves has been giving his serum to anything besides the cats! Cats are stealthy, cryptic creatures and if one of those has been seen wandering around killing things, then surely a full-on caveman beating people to death would not be able to stay out of sight!  If what we were seeing were the first time Groves had tried the formula on himself then that would be an explanation, but his notes reveal that he's been doing it for so long that he's on the verge of losing control of the transformation and permanently reverting to a pre-human status, as indeed he does for the climax.  Much like the stupid dinosaur in The Beast of Hollow Mountain, the movie's main monster is given no build-up whatsoever!

There's worse yet, though.  The main characters, Dr. Harkness and Groves' daughter Jan, are barely involved in the 'caveman' part of the plot. They get phone calls about the various murders that Groves is committing in caveman form, and they snoop around the lab to figure out things the audience already knows.  The same story could have been told without them, perhaps with the game warden and the hunter as protagonists, and it would probably have been more interesting. The script also repeatedly has Dr. Groves wander in and bluster about how the tiger sightings are hallucinations and tall tales, which seems a little unnecessary when we already know he's responsible. The film-makers can't seem to decide whether they want us to know that or not.

Dr. Groves wears glasses.  Maybe the reason his primitive alter-ego is angry and breaking shit (although it does politely open and close the window it climbs out of, which made me laugh) is because it can't see. This is also my theory about why the Hulk smashes, and what do you know?  In Avengers Endgame he's got Hulk-sized spectacles and only smashes when he's told!

The direction of The Neanderthal Man can probably best be described as 'serviceable'.  It shows us what's going on, but doesn't particularly add anything to the proceedings.  The 'Neanderthal' mask is immobile and uninteresting, not much better than somebody's Party City Sasquatch costume.  Even the eyes are just painted on, meaning the poor guy in the costume can’t do much because he can’t see where he’s going.

The dialogue is often very strange, with characters talking like they're in a Jules Verne novel. If only one person did this, it might seem like a character quirk – it works for Dr. Groves, for example – but it's everybody. Seeing the cat carcass is gone, Harkness declares, “I refuse to believe in the supernatural!  There must be some logical cause and effect to this unholy adventure!”  Groves' fiancee Ruth berates him for ignoring her, saying, “I want you, the man I once knew!  The good companion, the cheerful friend.  I want the happiness we once found in each other.”  It's bizarre to listen to, and often audibly awkward for the actors.

Monster on the Campus was kind of trying to be about how humanity must choose to evolve away from our inner savage, although the finale didn't bear that out.  There's a scene in The Neanderthal Man in which this movie seems to be trying to go in the opposite direction, saying that we were never savage to begin with.  Dr. Groves is speaking to a panel of scientists about the size of the brain in various 'primitive' species of human.  He points out that by the time we reached Homo erectus we were already working with four times the cerebral jelly of a chimpanzee, and argues that our ancestors would have been recognizably human in their behaviour and problem-solving capacity.

(Amusingly, his chart of human evolution includes Piltdown Man, which was proven to be a hoax literally a few months after this movie's release.  What makes this even more tragic for the writers is that their list of primitive humans seems to be the only place where they actually did any research.)

The problem with Dr. Groves' theory is that he already knows it's wrong. We soon learn that he's been experimenting on himself with his serum for a while already, and his notes show that he knows very well he regresses into a near-mindless animal.  The movie does not even try to reconcile these ideas.  If Groves were continuing his experiments in the hope that perfecting his serum would give him a more accurate reconstruction of ancient man, that would be one thing, but the script never goes there.

So now that we've had two 'man turns into caveman by injecting science juice' movies, of course I have to ask which one is better.  Monster on the Campus wasn't a good movie but it was definitely an improvement on The Neanderthal Man in several respects, and although I don't have any way to find out for certain, I suspect it was an intentional remake.  It's definitely more entertaining and gets bonus points for including the Meganeura dragonfly, but nothing in it is nearly as funny as The Neanderthal Man's fake tiger head.  I guess if you're gonna watch one or the other, stick to Monster on the Campus, but if you're gonna watch both, start with The Neanderthal Man and do them in chronological order, the better to spot the inspirations and references.

Before I go, a fun paleontology fact: current thinking is that the saber-toothed cat's eponymous fangs actually didn't show when it had its mouth closed!  There are zero cave paintings or ancient sculptures of a saber-tooth cat with teeth visible, and when scientists looked at the structure of the enamel in the canines, it suggested that in life the teeth were hidden by big, fleshy, St Bernard jowls.  Google 'smilodon lips' and behold how this looks fully three hundred percent more ridiculous than you're imagining.  I love nature.

[pocket-void]

A Cup of Coffee

A/N: I am so incredibly relieved to have finished this, but anyways! This is the second fic for Smaller Sides to Life, and I hope it’s alright. (Might make a mini list for that eventually) ^///^ I feel better about this story after thinking about it, and honestly I’m pretty content! Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day/night. u///u

Pairing: Loceit Words: 3596 Content: Flustered Janus because it just kind of turned out that way akjefabekf, it’s mostly Janus’ POV, there’s like a handful of swear words, it is fully light hearted u///u Summary: Janus and Logan always share the kitchen in the morning, being the earliest ones to rise. They never really talked, nor were they ever close, but it turns out that maybe they both have wanted to be.

Google doc if you like reading Cambria font or something, since I haven’t quite figured out Ao3 and don’t know if I ever will. >///< Also I believe uh, @sophiexteresa you wanted to be tagged...?

“Tssss...ouch.”

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee.

Some days it’s rich, fulfilling, and satisfying; a perfect and refreshing way to start the day. A cup that wakes you up with a gentle spreading warmth and wraps you in its delicate aroma that soothes your mind.

Other times however, it’s bitter, bland, and too watered down to really be properly enjoyed, resulting in a disgusting aftertaste that lingers just at the back of your throat; a constant reminder of what could’ve been, a better cup of coffee. It’s doubly worse when the coffee is not only bad, but also way too hot. The only possible benefit of the harsh sting that comes from the first sip is that it completely numbs the taste buds, effectively nullifying the admittedly awful flavor of the beverage, which of course will inevitably come creeping back regardless because there never truly is an escape from the shame and disappointment that is failing to make something as easy as a cup of joe. 

Perhaps the simple truth was just that Janus was not very good at making coffee. He was never going to admit that, obviously. Heavens no, he’d rather down another cup of scalding bean water before that ever happened. It’s not like he’d be able to taste it right now anyways, with his stupid numb mouth and all. Still, the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep something as simple as coffee consistent was definitely an odd flaw that weighed heavily on his stubborn pride, much more than any petty insult ever could. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it all that made it feel like such a thorn in his side. Hypothetically, one should be able to follow a procedure each and every morning and end up with a, if not identical, similar tasting brew each time. Well evidently that was not the case with Janus, much to his chagrin. Out of the seven days in a week, he could maybe make a decent pot only during two of those days; maybe three if he was lucky. Over the course of a year he has drunk more overheated, burnt, and under extracted cups of coffee than he could even bother to count, which he didn’t, because it was frankly beyond embarrassing at this point. If coffee wasn’t such a crucial part of his morning, he wouldn’t hesitate to label it the absolute bane of his existence. Curse those pesky grounded beans.

“...Are you alright?” A voice calls out from the other side of the kitchen. Seated at the dining table just a few feet away was Logan, halfway through a book just like he was on most days. His own empty mug casually placed atop a scattered collection of papers that no doubt contained endless notes on various facts, vocabulary words, and details of the coming week’s activities.

Of course, how could he ever forget the second most embarrassing part of his already lackluster mornings. The fact that the only other intelligent person in the living space had to watch him do this ridiculous charade every day. They’re the only ones who’d ever be awake at this time of day, as such is the fate of two people with actually proper sleeping habits. He has no clue how Logan manages to bear witness to this laughable display with a straight face, though perhaps the man was just not really paying attention. As he was, more often than not, too absorbed in hastily scribbling down notes about whatever topic had caught his attention that week to probably care about Janus constantly burning his delicate tongue over and over again. Which, to be fair, was a good thing. Wasn’t it? Totally. Right. Of course he wouldn’t want Logan to see him act a fool, why was he even asking. It’s not like anything he was doing was ever going to be as interesting as whatever the man was reading up about, as disappointing as that was. Not that it mattered currently, seeing as how for once he did manage to notice and- Aw shoot he completely forgot about that didn’t he.

Janus simply makes a face and squints, lips still slightly parted as he held his tongue between his teeth. He sighs and, with a mildly sarcastic gesture of one hand, replies with simply “Yes”.

Logan responds by raising an eyebrow, gaze still remaining firmly upon him.

Now maybe it was the way the gentle sunlight filtered through the slightly fogged up windows, or the way the dust danced under those soft golden beams, but the sight of Logan seated at the table somehow seemed to shine with an almost unfair ethereal glow. Now if only the reflection of his glasses didn’t also obscure his eyes...

Janus blinks. “Oh it’s just great.” He finally complies, rolling his eyes and ignoring the fact that he was probably just blankly staring for the past few moments. You know, like a fool. Which he was not. “Nothing big, just the usual.”

“The usual.” Logan repeats, sounding rather unimpressed. To which the snake reacts to by immediately placing a gloved hand over his heart.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

“Quite the contrary,” The other shuts his book. “I am well aware of the fact that you tend to make this mistake on a nearly daily basis.” 

The record scratch was almost audible.

“You-” Janus practically stumbles at the revelation that Logan was, in fact, actually aware of his struggles with the abominable coffee machine and its products’ disastrous burning touch. Memories of his daily mishaps slowly begin to flood his mind, and as he recalled each and every previous morning, the sound of nails being hammered into what might as well be the coffin of his tattered pride echoed louder and louder in his ears. Well it was either that, or the blood that was currently rushing through them from his suddenly racing heart. For a moment he wasn’t even sure how to respond, but the creeping heat that soon invaded his face was all too prevalent to ignore; a burning sensation rivaling even that of his tongue. 

In hindsight, he was perhaps the foolish one to not expect someone as perceptive as Logan to notice such things. Maybe it was wishful thinking at best. But surely nobody could’ve foreseen Logan ignoring the mistakes he was making even after taking note of it, right? Logan, who’s known to instinctively attempt to remedy mistakes when he saw them. Logan, who gets way too caught up in silly errors and misunderstanding figurative statements. Surely he would’ve said something, anything. But he knew? He knew and he didn’t say anything? He knew and he just watched as he made a fool of himself every day? What would’ve been the purpose of that? Was he secretly mocking him? Did he find this amusing? Janus winces. That thought perhaps stung more than it should have. 

He quickly turns away with a flick of his capelette and pretends to occupy himself with cleaning up the counter. Focusing his attention to the obnoxious yellow of his gloves rather than the gaze he still felt on his back. “Ah, so you knew.” Janus mumbles, managing to muster up his best attempt at remaining casual. “Did you even need to ask, in that case? Didn’t think you would be paying attention to whatever I was doing.” Honestly—now ain’t that a joke—he wasn’t really even sure what else he could say to that. “You have better, less mundane things to be paying attention to, no? Surely I’m nowhere near as interesting as the books you oh so love to stick your nose in.” The soft chuckle that emanated from behind just made him want to coil up into a ball and dissipate even more, but he stands his ground. He’ll just...get through the morning and subsequently try to never think of this moment ever again. He’s totally fine. 

“I wouldn’t say you aren’t interesting, Janus.”

Ok nevermind, maybe he isn’t-

“I beg your pardon?” Janus almost instantly snaps his head back towards the man at the table. A decision he immediately regrets as he locks eyes with a softly smiling Logan—gently leaning forwards as his chin rests upon crossed hands—and Janus feels his composure once again fly right out the window. 

“I said I find you interesting.”

He takes a deep breath. “Don’t repeat that, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said-”

“No no, I didn’t mean that, actually stop.”

Logan quirks his eyebrow yet again, in the snarky yet triumphant way that showed when he knew he was right about something. While the confidence was admittedly charming, Janus for one really wishes he’d stop doing that. Especially right now.

“Would you like me to elaborate?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.” No he fucking didn’t, why the hell did he say that. He nods curtly, setting his coffee cup aside as he awkwardly leans against the counter for support more than anything else. Ignoring the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave this current predicament, he hoped to god, the bastard, that the panic settling in his bones wasn’t showing on his face.

Logan smiles a little. “Well personally, I rather enjoy our time in each other’s presence during the morning.”

He enjoyed his company? “Well I certainly wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’ve also observed that you tend to have great difficulty making your preferred morning beverage the way you like it, correct?”

Ouch. “No?”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Logan replies without pause. “While I find your persistence admirable, I think we’ve reached the point of reasonable doubt a good while ago.”

“Mhm, yeah, great. Great. And are you just going to sit there and humiliate me, or are you actually trying to make a point?” Suffice it to say, he was not a big fan of hearing about it.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to offend or belittle you in any way.”

Janus scowls. “So what? Have my mistakes finally bothered you enough to actually speak up about it?”

“Well, I had anticipated you asking for assistance one of these days, but it seems like I have underestimated your tenacity.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he opens up one of his notebooks. “Truly a miscalculation on my part.”

“Miscalculation?” He gives a weary glance at the notebook. Logan had tons of them; each one having a different color or pattern that denoted their specific purpose. A sudden realization hits him as he gets a brief glance of the yellow cover. “Have you been observing me??”

“For the past few months, yes.” The man looks back up with a click of his pen. “Is there a problem?”

Is there a problem? How the hell does he just say these things? Of course there was a problem! How in the world was he supposed to live this down knowing that Logan didn’t just notice him every morning, but also was most likely taking excessively extensive notes? He was beginning to think that his attempts to make himself less conspicuous in the morning had subsequently led him to be less perceptive about what the other was doing instead, and that was an irony that he did not want to think about right now.

“Well I simply don’t see any benefit for you in doing that.”

That actually seems to make the other take pause. “There is no benefit.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There is no benefit.”

“You really need to stop repeating things when I-” Deep breath Janus, deep breath. “I’m not actually asking you to- Nevermind that, why are you doing this then?”

Logan lightly taps his pen against his chin. He shrugs. “I just wanted to figure out the best method of assisting you.”

“Oh and why would you ever care to do that?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. Just a quiet, all encompassing silence interrupted by only the occasional distant chirping of birds, as the two remained where they were in the kitchen on what was supposed to be a typical Tuesday morning.

Truth was, he didn’t want to hear it. And for one moment, just that moment, time seemed to slow. As Janus stands by the counter, with the bittersweet smell of his still cooling cup of coffee gently wafting his way and his eyes still focused on the twinkling starry blue that was Logan’s eyes, something within him was absolutely terrified. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know why. Or perhaps he did, but for the sake of himself he had never dared to acknowledge it. He couldn’t. How could he? His world sat upon an ever delicate balance, and he was not one to step towards any risk of tipping that scale. So he never did. As much as he wishes he could. To be important. To be just a few feet closer. To be just one seat away. To be sitting at that table, silently listening to Logan rant about the latest book he oh so loved to stick his nose in, and to take a sip out of a cup that was not his own. As much as he wishes he could. But no, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Yet a part of him still hopes, and he curses himself for it.

Every part of his body is telling him to get out right now. To run. To spare himself the agony being here instead of literally anywhere else. To save himself before whatever words that were about to leave Logan’s mouth completely shatters the status quo that he was already accustomed to. He knew he was hoping for too much, it was too late to take anything back, and at this point even if it were just a kind hearted gesture from a well meaning acquaintance, he didn’t think his currently pounding heart could bear the affirmation of what he already suspected. It was frankly a lose-lose situation. A situation he should’ve known better than to get himself into. A situation where he knew the best solution was just to leave.

Which is why within that moment, just one moment in which time had seemed to slow, when Janus is suddenly pulled back into reality as he now finds himself glancing upwards at Logan, who was now standing a mere two feet away. He instinctively attempts to take a step back, but his heel taps against the counter, clearly surprised at the sudden shift in positioning. Had he really been that lost in thought? Janus finally breaks away his gaze to look to the side, holding his breath as if he were bracing for whatever the other had to say next.

“Am I not allowed to?” The unexpected softness in Logan’s voice was so incredibly unfair, and it obliterated any guard that he could have ever possibly put up. 

“I- No, you just...” He inhales rather sharply. Get a grip. “Just why would you-”

“Janus.”

He looks back and suddenly they’re face to face, barely a few inches apart, and within moments he completely forgets how to breathe.

Logan laughs. He laughs. With a tenderness he has never seen etched across the man’s typically serious face. Janus stares, completely mesmerized by the beautiful yet admittedly confusing sight, and forgetting about just why he was so flustered not too long ago. He feels his hand be slowly taken into another as Logan lifts to hold it within both of his own.

“Would you mind if I made your coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks, voice barely a whisper and lips still curled in an enchanting smile.

It was a request that barely registers itself in Janus’ mind, but he quickly manages a nod after swallowing practically nothing; his mouth suddenly dry. The only thing he could focus on was just how darn close those lips were, or how deep his eyes were, or how he still smelled faintly of chamomile tea, or- “Please.” He states, with whatever remaining dignity he had left.

The other seemed pleased with the answer, and the silent understanding that was present between them felt almost too nice to be true, yet it managed to put all of his worries to rest. Part of Janus wishes time could stop right here, with his hand delicately held between Logan’s and his heart quietly swelling within his chest; the other part promptly snaps him out of that ridiculous fantasy to focus back on what was actually happening. Logan hadn’t yet moved from where he was.

“Uh…” Janus lightly bit his lip, the next thing almost paining him to suggest. “Could you perhaps...let go now?” 

“Of course.” Logan says, loosening the hold on the other’s hand. An admittedly disappointing gesture, but it’s not like anyone was going to admit that. “There are still tasks that we must both attend to.” But before he steps back to return to his seat, he gently leans in to lift Janus’ hat and plants a soft kiss upon his forehead. The expression Janus showed as a result is surely priceless as his eyes grow wide and heat instantly flares across the rest of his face yet again. He couldn’t even get a word of protest out before Logan walks away after a small pat on his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“...Right.” He replies, and promptly excuses himself from the kitchen as fast as humanly possible. He genuinely didn’t think he could handle staying there for much longer. His head was still spinning from everything that had happened, and the simple promise that was to be fulfilled the next morning sat heavily on his mind for the rest of the day. Did he know what he was doing? Was it on purpose? Was he allowed to believe in what he hadn’t thought was possible before? Janus places a hand over his forehead, the feeling of warm lips touching against his skin still rather fresh in his memories. Maybe, he could allow himself to enjoy it? What a dangerous thought, but ever so enticing. Here he thought that he could avoid it forever, and eventually it would be forgotten. Like a fool. Which he just might be.

It was something he’d probably never escape, but was it a curse? Or a blessing? Or perhaps it was neither, since neither of those things exist. But alas these feelings did, and if he couldn’t throw them away, then he’d have to keep them.

The next morning inevitably came, and with great anticipation Janus pauses a few steps before entering the kitchen. He places a hand over his heart, as if the action would somehow manage to soothe its wild rhythm, and takes a deep breath. He enters, hesitant and still groggy from just getting up, completely not knowing what to expect.

Logan was there, as usual, sitting at the dining table, papers scattered all across the surface and eyes attentively scanning through the pages of yet another book. It felt almost like a crime to disturb his concentration, but a new detail catches Janus’ eyes. A second cup, placed but a foot away from the other on the table; the area around the mug being mildly less cluttered as if to make room. 

Janus finally steps forward to make his way to the table, his arrival being politely greeted with a “salutations” from the other, and immediately given an offer to sit.

“Here?” He gestures, giving a tentative glance towards where he was used to standing. A comfortable distance away, by the counter. But now that safe haven seemed so far away.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that he pulls out a chair and takes a seat. His eyes wander towards the various papers that cover most of the table’s surface. Notes, facts, and schedules, just like he always imagined. The confirmation of being correct about something never fails to amuse him. He sneaks a peek at Logan, whose gaze also shifts up from his book without lifting his head.

“Reading about coffee today are we?” Janus chuckles.

“There can be a surprising amount of depth to any subject.”

“Hmm.” Janus hums. “...Tell me about it.”

And so he does.

While the two sit in tranquil harmony, with Logan explaining the intricacies of coffee, from its history to its benefits to its various methods of consumption, and Janus patiently listening while staring down at the drink that was poured for him beforehand, in the cup that he has always used each and every morning before. Amidst the pleasant atmosphere and the comforting voice of another, he eventually takes a sip.

It was perfect.

“I’m pleased you like it.” Logan comments, noticing the content expression on his face.

“You really did your research huh.”

“It took a few months. It was difficult to gather data when there was no consistency in the methodology that you used.”

Janus coughs and glances away again, but he hears the small chuckle underneath Logan’s breath.

“I can walk you through the process one day if you’d like.”

“I think I’d rather leave it to you.”

“A wise course of action.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.” Janus mumbles, smiling a little to himself and completely accepting defeat in that regard. 

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee. And now, sitting here at the table under the gentle light of the rising sun, perhaps every following morning could be similarly warm, fulfilling, and just as perfect as well. 

After all, every cup was now going to be just the way he likes it.

[ice-cream-nekogirl]

can you meet me tonight in detention? (Iida Tenya X Reader)

I’s been wanting to write for Iida for a while... and so I did! My best... I love this boy he’s so underrated compared to Deku, Bakugo and Todoroki and he’s so nice... uptight... but nice...

Summary: Even the hardest workers get stressed out and exhausted, but sometimes stressed out just snap...

Warning: The reader is not going to be very kind in this story because well... while I have my limits on how mean a reader can be, I also thought it’d be neat to feature a mean-ish kind of reader in a story. But... if you don’t really like, I don't recommend this.

I also wrote this because I’m so stressed out I wish I could scream at someone since the people I’m around IRL either don’t notice or just don’t give a shit. 

Also angst, mentions of stress and anxiety, but with a happy ending. 

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vw9k5HWGwI

I'm not a bad guy So don't treat me bad if I'm feeling sad, alright? Please don't be mad if I don't smile back, alright? If I fuck up my words, don't think I'm absurd, alright? Alright?

“Are you serious…?” You said outloud as you sat on your bed, looking at your phone and reading up on certain pages and wikis that interested you as a means to distract yourself from the fact that you had a shit-ton of homework due at the end of the week, as well as like 3 different tests.

Thankfully, Iida was already kind enough to actually help you study for the test that was today in class, and even helped you in the other subjects and yet for some reason your brain still felt empty. He was so nice, he really did help you but you envied how he could easily retain this information. Clearly, he knew you were struggling, but you had a feeling he didn’t entirely get just how much you were struggling both emotionally and physically.

You wanted to tell him, you did but at the same time it wasn’t any of his business. Iida was too sweet to put up with your bullshit and you weren’t going to do that to him. So to you it just felt like it made more sense to bottle all of this up rather than be upfront with your stress. And anything else you might have felt for him…

When did school get so hard? And when did it catch up to you all so fast? Did you procrastinate worse than you thought? Or were the teachers just being extra cruel?

At this point you had no idea, but all that mattered was that you were in your dorm room and could only partially relax before those fucking tests. You just wanted to sleep for the rest of your life or at least sleep all the way through your school-life until you get somewhere you want.

The worst part? 

The second you blinked you realized that you had already somehow fallen asleep and the clock on your phone read 8 am. God... you couldn’t...

You couldn’t get yourself out of bed yet, you had to just lie down for another 5 minutes before those motherfucking tests.

“(Y/N). Are you okay?” However, a soft knock and a soft voice broke you from your thoughts but it was only Uraraka and you sighed in relief. She was okay, you didn’t mind hearing from her. “Uh huh I’m good Ochako.” You replied neutrally and you didn’t have to see her face to know she was smiling.

“Oh good! Breakfast will be ready soon okay?”

You smiled a little bit and gave another relieved sigh, “Okay… awesome I’ll be there shortly.” Good, you could stress eat at breakfast and try to not freak out or throw it back up when you start your tests.

Once you made it to the kitchen to eat with everyone, keeping to yourself and managing to somehow eat enough to satisfy your hunger for a little bit. Although you didn’t seem to notice that some of your friends, namely Uraraka, Midoriya and Iida had noticed how little you’ve been eating lately.

You barely had much breakfast at all...

However, you didn’t want to bother anyone at all until everything was taken care of so you quickly hid away once breakfast was over so you could relax in the commons for a little while longer until class starts and then you had to do all those blasted tests.

Once your ass hit the soft couch, you immediately put your ear buds in to play the first song that came to mind to block out the rest of the world for at least 3 minutes.

“Find a cure Find a cure for her life Put a price Put a price on her soul.”

“Oh my god Oh you think I'm in control Oh my god Oh you think it's all for fun.”

“Oh my God…” You mouth the lyrics and bobbed your head to the lyrics with your eyes closed, completely ignoring the reality around you as you sang this beautifully angry song that sounded just like your life right now.

“(L/N).”

And you had no idea that someone was trying to get your attention as you just kept mouthing the lyrics and dancing in seat to the rhythm. 

“(L/N).”

Nope, you couldn’t hear anything, you were too busy rocking out and listening to the screaming and the cries for help that you made you wanna scream too. Yeah! You were going to do it!

“(L/N)!”

Except you didn’t shout, it was someone else who had raised their voice and tapped your shoulder as you opened your eyes in shock and looked up at the offender with wide (E/C) eyes. It was Iida, and he didn’t look too happy with the fact that you had your earphones on full blast and didn’t hear him. But your shocked look just turned into a look of annoyance as you reluctantly put your music on pause.

“Please take off your headphones.” He started by politely requesting that you take the buds out of your ears and God you were so annoyed but did it anyway, “Ugh…” What did he want now? You were NOT in the mood.

“What Iida?” That came off a lot ruder than you intended to but at this point you were starting to care less and less.

“You really shouldn’t listen to your music at such high volume, it might actually worsen your hearing overtime.” He just HAD to give you a little mini-lecture about how listening to music too loud was going to make your hearing worse as you get older.

Why did you have a crush on him? Dammit, you wanted to focus on the fact that he was so handsome because he was. He was so handsome and such a good guy, and you adored him, but right now you weren’t in lovey-dovey mode, you were in hella-stressed mode and thus in a bad place to be lectured.

Hella-stressed mode brought out a less than pleasant side of you, where you just saw all the flaws in people and sometimes you did things you often regretted afterward. Right now you were holding it all back though, for Iida’s sake…

I'm physically exhausted Tired of my knuckles beating I'm chewing gum to pass this time Sadness, can't you see it? You're too busy seeking self-pleasures Look at how I'm feeling You write me up and say it's love And I can't believe it...

“Whatever, I’m going to the bathroom to wash my face or something... I’m exhausted.” Standing up, you tried to exit but he stopped you before you got the chance to take even a step forward. “I’m sorry (L/N) but could you please stay where you are? There’s something you and I need to discuss because I think it’s very important regarding your exhaustion.”

“Ugh.” You replied in annoyance, completely missing the concerned look on his face turn mildly offended, but at least he didn’t call you out on it. “I know you’re quite busy, but as of late you haven’t been eating very well. I’ve noticed it. I recommend that you start to monitor yourself because skipping even one meal can impact your moods and affect your health. Look at yourself, you’re out of it and that makes me wonder if you’ve been getting enough sleep.” He was telling you this like you didn’t already know that.

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded and hummed as you tried not to express ALL the annoyance you had right now.

“You’ve been falling behind a little bit too, I think it might be because of this decline in eating well. So please start taking better care of yourself okay? I can help you though if you-.” You had to stop him right there.

“I’m well aware of that Iida. Why do you think I’ve been working so hard? I know I’m falling behind… that’s why I’ve been working my ass off lately.” Keeping your cool (but barely) you explained yourself and hoped that it would make him see from your point of you, but he didn’t seem to entirely get your plight.

“And I commend you for that, but I’m also talking about your health here. Not taking care of yourself is going to make your grades suffer, it’s why you’re struggling right now.” Iida meant well, he really did, but he just did not understand…

“Is that really why I’m struggling? Is it?” So you lost some of your patience with him but didn’t raise your voice. Although he was a bit surprised at how you were biting back.

“Yes I believe so, that’s why I’m suggesting that you eat better so you don’t struggle like you currently are right now, and furthermore I recommend procrastinating less, I’m aware that you’re prone to that, which may also be why you’re struggling.” Twitching your eyebrow, you lost the ability to look at him because the more he spoke, the more it felt like he was just calling you out.

“Not everyone can be as on top of it as you okay?” Maybe this time he’d get the message to leave you alone, because right now you wanted him to just go and not remind you of how much you were sucking and how much stress you were in as your heart started to race...

And this wasn’t one of those crush heartbeating things, no, you were trembling because of everything that was starting to crawl into your skin as you resisted the urge to pace and run away or do something else undesirable...

Iida was even more surprised, but he still tried to be sympathetic because he was, he really was to your plight even though he wasn’t completely aware of how you were feeling. “(L/N) please… I’m not trying to put myself above you or offend you, I’m trying to help you because I’m worried about you and I want you to-“

That’s it…

“Dammit will you just SHUT YOUR TRAP AND LET ME HAVE THE LAST WORD FOR ONCE?!” There was nothing you saw other than red as you suddenly just screamed at the class rep and ignored how your shout had alarmed some of your classmates as they somewhat awkwardly arrived at the source of the shouting. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You simply couldn’t have someone trying to talk you down and ignore the fact that you were so pissed off and stressed out. And you REALLY didn’t need someone to kick you while you’re down. Whether they intended to do that or not, you didn’t need it and you didn’t want it.

Iida was visibly horrified, his eyes went wide at your sudden outburst but he couldn’t just let you get away with talking to him like that when he was just trying to help you. “(L/N)! Watch your language and please don’t use that tone with me when I’m trying to help you!” Voice slightly raised, he still tried to retain a sense of professionalism and not just snap at you like you were doing as you gave him a look. Who the hell was he your dad?

“You may not be feeling well, I can sympathize with that but that’s why I-.” He really wanted to help you, and it was actually kind of hurting him that you didn’t seem to want it. But he had to help you, maybe he should have been helping you more. Because right now…

You couldn’t with him. You literally could not.

You could not pretend that everything was all right anymore, and Iida was unlucky enough to be around you while you were definitely not all right.

Hey, can you meet me tonight in detention? I can feel your blood pressure rise, fuck this tension Let me crawl up into your mind, did I mention? Pretending everything's alright is detention...

“No you know what? Just stop! I am SICK to death of you always droning ON AND ON about shit I could care less about, because the truth is dude-” You were ready to just go on and on but to your shock, Iida was still trying to talk over you as a means to put an end to this. He hated the fact that he was even arguing with you about this, he never wanted to argue with any of his dear classmates.

“Enough already (L/N)! I won’t be spoken to in such a manner when I’m looking out for you! Please just let me-.” He cut you off, so you immediately did the same.

“No! Be quiet! That’s your problem! You’re like talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, YAP! Blah blah blah, on and on over and over again!” You made a mocking voice as you used both your hands to do the ‘blah blah’ gesture much to Iida’s slight horror at the way you just went off on him and weren’t stopping...

He tried very hard to try and get his word in as he stammered and every time he tried to speak you raised your voice and made yourself louder, meaner...

“Like oh my GOD I can’t believe how ANNOYING I didn’t realize you were until now! What kind of taste do I have?! I mean oh my GOD! You’re grating, you’re an uptight ass, you bitch, you nag, you’re privileged and don’t even know it, you’re an oblivious snob, you stick your nose in everyone’s business and you strut around acting like some kind of God Mode Mr. Goody Goody Two shoes, well cut it the fuck out! I’m tired of it man! I’m tired as hell, and I don’t need you up in my business and bothering the hell out of me you annoying priss! And I especially don’t need some privileged rich boy telling me that I need to take care of myself, when I don’t have the fucking advantages that you have!” As you let out quite a furious tangent and listed off all the things you disliked about your class rep with your fingers, you were so furious and making all these hand gestures you didn’t see the appalled look on his face. 

You DID see small glints of tears threatening to well in his eyes though. Oh he’s going to cry now? Typical. Apparently, he couldn’t handle the truth, could he? Classic rich boy move.

“(L/N)! N-Now you’re just being rude!” Iida was so lost for words at your barrage of insults and apparently how you really felt about him that there was little he could say to defend himself. Never in his life has anyone told him things like that.

And he looked even more distraught when he saw you laughing, “Oh! You’re gonna cry now? WOOOOOW… so you can dish it by being on people’s ass but you can’t even take it? I don’t feel sorry for you... Did I hurt your feelings? Did I hurt the rich boy's feelings~?”

“Stop it…!” His voice cracked ever so slightly and he hated himself for it as you relentlessly went in to drive the final knife into the fresh wound.

“Well then how about YOU stop fucking up my school life and leave me the hell alone already you four-eyed, made-in-the-shade jerk?!” You were standing big as you shouted at him with exhausted eyes that he couldn’t see through his tearful ones.

“Y-You’re going to detention after classes are over!” Iida quickly snapped back. He wasn’t certain if he had that authority but he needed to do something, anything to reassert himself, even though his quivering lip and the tears in his eyes hardly made him intimidating for you as you scoffed and threw your hands up in the air.  

“Great! I’m gonna love it there! You wanna know why? Cuz I get to be away from you!”

The fact that you were in trouble and definitely going to detention didn’t seem to deter you as the taller male hitched his breath, forcing back the rest of his tears and threw an arm to cover his eyes when the traitorous tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn’t let his classmates see him like this, he couldn’t let you see him like this so he could only do what his available part of his brain told him to do, the part based on emotion, and so he quickly dashed off away from his classmates as Uraraka and Midoriya tried to call him back while you just huffed and watched him run off with slightly wide eyes…

De-detention De-detention Pretending everything's all right is detention...

“Oh my… (L/N)… please, I understand you’re upset but… please let’s all just calm down…” However, because the other could tell you were still mad, Yaoyorozu tried to fill in for Iida in getting you calm down, but unfortunately she underestimated your anger at the moment.

“Ohhh like it’s SO easy… you’re just as bad as him Yaoyorozu! What’s the rich girl got to worry about huh? You can calm down easily since you can afford EEEEEEVERYTHING in the world…” You were still pissed and reacting purely on anger without even thinking of what you were saying, and poor Yaoyorozu walked into the lion’s den not knowing that the lion was awake and pissed.

You were the lion.

“W-What?! B-But I-.”

“But NOTHING. Calm down?! That’s easy for you to say! You’re SO fucking smart and I bet everything Asshole-sensei gives you is like no fucking problem, what are you even doing here Yaoyorozu?!” You couldn’t take it anymore, what were all the rich kids doing at this school when they could do whatever they wanted? While people like you, Uraraka and Kirishima were working your asses off because you had to actually work for it.

It wasn’t Iida’s fault, and it wasn’t Yaoyorozu’s fault either and you knew it, but you were so pissed off and at an all-time stress high you thought the tears welling in her eyes were innocuous and just another way to get sympathy from the others. Of course, the princess wanted sympathy because she wouldn’t and couldn’t understand real world struggles. And you were certain that the princess was going to get what she wanted because you had no doubt that she always got what she wanted.

“I-I…” Oh now SHE was crying,  wow...

“I-I’m here to be a hero like everyone else is! Just like you!” She exclaimed and covered her mouth when the tears were coming and she couldn’t stop them, but you had no sympathy for her right now. She could do anything she wanted, and she wanted to be a hero? So why didn’t she just buy her way into an agency?

“Oh! You’re crying now! HA! Classic princess move, can’t handle any kind of real world truth because you’re SOOOOO sheltered and happy in your big fancy castle and people like me are stuck in little shitholes barely making ends meet, well go cry home to your rich mommy and daddy sweetheart don’t cry here. If you can’t handle real-world shit, go cry home to mommy and daddy and maybe think about how great you have it and how you have never struggled a goddamn day in your life, while people like me got shit and have to deal with everything by ourselves using what WE got every goddamn day...” Your display of aggression and downright callousness shocked everyone, but Jirou didn’t hesitate to step in to defend Yaoyorozu when she burst into tears and ran over to a worried Ashido and Uraraka.

“Okay that’s it! You better leave her alone (L/N)! And chill the hell out! She didn’t do anything to you!”

Wrong choice of words…

“I need to chill the hell out?!”

“Yeah!”

Girl vs girl, Mineta was much too scared to enjoy the concept of a catfight as you and Jirou got up in each other’s faces, but it didn’t last long when your anger took the reigns, “How about you shut the fuck up so I don’t have to listen to your condescending smart-ass comments?! Ain’t nobody asked for your imput!”

“I’m serious (L/N)! Cut it out or-“

“Or what?! I can kick your ass easily Jirou, don’t even try me right now, cuz I am HELLA stressed out and my telekinesis can fuck anything up cuz of the headache I’ve had for the last two weeks. I already beat up several people in the Sports Fest and another edgy chick at the USJ. But if you wanna try to pick a fight with me go ahead, it’ll end badly I guarantee it…”

Your threat actually intimidated her because she’s seen you use your telekinesis quirk in battle and you got good with your quirk, but didn’t have COMPLETE control over it especially when your emotions got the better of you and you were in the WORST possible mood. Jirou reluctantly backed off as you scoffed.

“Good.” You could have beaten her in a battle, but that was the last thing you wanted since you were tired and mad as hell. You were going to feel horrible about it later but right now you were stuck on anger, and your concerned classmates just wanted to help you.

“(L/N)… being angry is not a pretty feeling…”

“Yeah, c’mon now just… try and-“

Not wanting to anger you any further, kind souls like Aoyama and Ojiro attempted to try and get you to calm down, but it didn’t work…

“Try and what?! I don’t need you guys to tell me what to do either! What can you dolts even do?!” You shouted at them too, and already the two blondes were scared as hell and trembling at the volume you were using.

“Aoyama! You’re a joke and I have NO idea how you even got into this class!” You pointed at the taller blonde who’s eyes widened and he backed away slightly, and then you turned your finger over to Ojiro.

“Ojiro you’re even worse! You’re weak-willed, boring and your so-called costume is the definition of a fashion faux-pas!” Suddenly you shouted that last word a little bit louder as he, like Aoyama, backed away slightly when your words straight up attacked them…

Quietly Aoyama gasped when the words hit him, it was a tad bit dramatic but genuine as your words sincerely did hurt as the tears instantly sprung to his eyes while Ojiro felt an uncomfortable swell of hurt in his chest as he couldn’t fight his own tears at how much that stung and how you just kept yelling.

“What kinda advice do two of the most frivolous students in our class have for me? Hmm?! Go on, lemme hear it!”

“N-Nevermind… s-sorry for bothering you…” Ojiro tried and failed to hold back the tears in his eyes, and it wasn’t just him, Aoyama was on the verge of tears as he hiccuped, “O-Oui… w-we didn’t mean to… upset you…”

They both timidly apologized, before they both dashed away from you, crying as they covered their eyes. in an attempt to hide their tears On any normal day you would have felt horrible, but not right now, not yet…

“(L/N)!”

Your next victim in the making? You turned with a frenzied look in your eye to see a very nervous looking Midoriya as he was trembling where he stood. He KNEW he was in trouble just for daring to speak up and you could tell he was AFRAID. “P-Please… s-stop this…? I-I know that you’re mad but…”

“Well, well, well, well, wellllll~!” Cutting him off you threw your hands in the air, “The famous Deku, always, ALLLLLLWAYS gotta play the motherfuckin’ hero, well… NOT TODAY DEKU!” You went from 5 to 10 just like that as Izuku shrunk and yelped a bit.

“I’m not in the mood to be hearing nothing from your goody goody two-shoes ass cuz I got shit on my mind you couldn’t even begin to understand cuz you’re SOOOOO smart, so when I say ‘Shut the fuck up’ I mean SHUT THE FUCK UP!” God you were being so mean and a part of you felt horrible when Izuku was trembling with fearful tears in his eyes, but you were still angry and your anger was still in control as you saw the green-haired boy back away…

“Right choice… now… does anybody else have anything that they wanna share or ask me?” You asked everyone else, outright warning them all as Bakugo snickered a bit at how angry you were. Was it wrong that he found this kind of awesome? Way to tell off the privileged ones and the losers and ESPECIALLY Deku…

I wanna go home and you say, "Now is not the time" Fuck being all alone in back of the classroom, ah Stop calling up my phone, trying to say that I've been out of line When all I ever asked was to go to the bathroom...

“Why did Iida, Ojiro and Aoyama just run off crying?”

Aizawa’s voice broke you out of the rage you were in as he entered the room. Even though you turned to face him with the same exhausted and irritated look on your face. He wasn’t having it, but neither were you. However, you knew better than to shout at this asshole that was your teacher and you didn’t need to be in anymore trouble than you already were.

He knew you were pissed off and stressed out, but he saw three of his students run off in tears, and then Yaoyorozu and Midoriya were crying too. Classic stress-induced meltdown…

“I made them cry sir.” You muttered and raised your hand as you didn’t look any less annoyed. Yeah you made them cry, so what? Dammit… you made them cry… for some reason that didn’t feel very good when you actually said it outloud.

“Why?” He asked you in a plain, simple tone as you tried not to look anymore annoyed. “Iida told me things I didn’t want to hear. So I yelled at him. Ojiro and Aoyama tried to get me to calm down, but I didn’t wanna hear that neither, so I yelled at them too. Yaoyorozu and Midoriya too.” You had to reluctantly admit what you had done, and to your shock Aizawa didn’t seem TOO annoyed.

“Iida said I have detention because I was rude to him. I don’t really care that I was but I will be in detention.” Sighing, you at least had enough balls to admit that you weren’t going to skip detention, which mildly surprised Aizawa as he sighed.

These kids…

“Very well. Make sure to apologize to everyone when you’re done.” He wasn’t good at the whole comforting and making kids make up, so he just expected you to apologize because he knew that you would start feeling bad soon. You weren’t normally like this, it was just stress and he understood that, but he wasn’t going to straight-up tell you to relax. And you didn’t expect him to either since he knew his students knew better. 

Aizawa cared about his students, and you knew that, and you were actually glad that he didn’t punish you any further and instead just made sure you remembered to go to detention.

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER…

You did it. 

You finished all the fucking tests and you were freaking the fuck out. You had no idea how you did, but at the same time you really didn’t give a shit. They were done, and that’s all that mattered to you right now.

Yet, why didn’t you feel as good as you wanted to? After a test you normally felt SOME relaxation and proceeded to treat yourself or just go to sleep after everything was done. Except, treating yourself felt impossible…

For one, you had detention to go to after school. Second, once tests were finished you became aware of how HELLA awkward everything was in class after your meltdown. Iida refused to look at you the entire time as he quickly averted you and avoided you every time you were in the vicinity. Every time you even looked at him, he ignored you. Which actually really stung...

Then Midoriya and Jirou almost seemed nervous when you were close too, as they looked away from you out of fear that you’d say something mean again. Then Yaoyorozu, Ojiro and Aoyama practically teared up when you looked over at them.

Clearly… they were all still feeling hurt over your words and how you behaved. Did you feel bad? Yes…

“Are you okay (Y/N)?” Thank God Uraraka at least wasn’t treating you like some kind of monster as she seemed the most concerned for you.

You shook your head and sighed, “I was SO stressed out Ochako… I just… snapped… I know it’s no excuse for what I said to Iida and the others but… god… I was SO stressed out… and I took everything out on them… I needed to, I mean I shouldn’t have but I just… felt like I had to…” You could be honest with Uraraka, and although she didn’t approve, she understood.

“I know… it’s okay… I wasn’t feeling very good either because of the tests either... it’s stressful, it really is... But… you can still apologize to them… when you’re ready. They’ll understand, after all… Iida… Deku, Jirou, Yaoyorozu, Ojiro and Aoyama are nice. I know that they’ll forgive you and understand why you were upset and know that you really didn’t mean any of it. They know you (Y/N).” She gave you a soft smile in hopes that it would reassure you, and it did a little bit as you gave her a little smile in return.

“I sure hope so…” 

Even though she could tell you were nervous, Uraraka had faith in you. She knew you could do it, and she knew that you would win them back because after all they were in this together right? Everyone stressed out when it came to trying to be good at what you’re doing.

You thought so too. You were sad, that’s all, you were stressed out, that’s all. It wasn’t an excuse, but still. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

And you really didn’t mean to hurt Iida...

Hey, can you meet me tonight in detention? I can feel your blood pressure rise, fuck this tension Let me crawl up into your mind, did I mention? Pretending everything's alright is detention 

What have you done?

Being in detention with Present Mic made you realize that you screwed up. Albeit because he tried to do The Breakfast Club thing by making you and the other students in detention just write why you thought you were here. In English.

You didn’t really have a problem with English but thinking about why you were in detention and writing about why you thought you were in detention made you realize EXACTLY why you were in here. You snapped at your innocent classmates, threatened one classmate, and made some of your classmates’ cry, even when they were trying to help you, you made them cry…

You made Ojiro cry. You made Aoyama cry. You made Midoriya and Yaoyorozu cry.

You made Iida cry…

You made the boy you’ve been crushing on for quite some time cry. He wanted to help you and you said all of those horrible things to him and made him feel lower than he’s probably ever felt. And Iida really was a sweet guy. Yes… he was uptight, yes he came off as a bit of a snob, but dammit, he only bothered you because he cared about you, he helped you because he cared about you, and you yelled at him and hurt his feelings.

The thought made you want to cry as a tear dripped down your cheek and onto the paper you were writing on to confess your crimes.

“Hey… it’s okay now (L/N)…” Present Mic was kind enough to offer you some sympathy though because he and Eraser knew that you were just under a lot of stress and meant none of the nastier things you might have said to your classmates. “It’s okay… the worst part is over for now doncha think? It’s time to move on! And squeeze in some downtime afterwards yeah~! Maybe relax yourself now that you have a little time to breath!” He was still as excitable as ever, and it actually made you smile as you wiped your tears away.

“Yeah... yeah you’re right sir...” 

No more negativity. Not right now.

You wanted positivity, and show that kind positivity to your classmates from now on. As soon as you were finished with your paper and handed it to Mic, you were rushing out the door. “You got this!!” He made sure to give you that support too, because he knew a stressed-out student when he saw one and that’s the only reason you got upset in the first place. They needed to do something about students and mental health…

Tonight I can feel your blood pressure rise Let me crawl up into your mind Pretending everything's alright Is detention...

To be continued...

[artificialqueens]

In The Morning Light (Biadore) - Chaoticnachokitten

A/N: Heyy!!^-^

Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this, I had a ton of fun writing it:)

Special thanks to @aqtanawrites for not only betaing, but also coming up with a title<3

(I promise I’m working on Behind the Scenes, I haven’t forgotten about it, I’m sorry it’s taking so long:/)

It was a beautiful morning. The sky was light blue and crystal clear, there wasn't even a tiny cloud in sight. The sun was shining in the most beautiful color, keeping the world warm and giving everything a bright, almost magical hue. The birds were cheerfully singing outside. Some people might have called it the perfect morning.

Adore, however could care less about the beautiful scene that was going on outside. She woke up feeling like something, or rather, someone was missing, and she didn’t have to search long to find out why she was feeling that way: a short glance to the other, now empty side of the bed was enough. For some reason she felt mildly betrayed, probably due to the fact that she hated waking up alone and that Bianca knew this fact. Then another feeling stopped her thoughts. Having been too distracted by feeling betrayed she had only realized now that her head was hurting in that awful, pounding way.

Then her memories of last night came back. All in all it had been a great evening, there had been a lot of talking and laughing mixed with more serious topics, but she had definitely gone overboard with her alcohol consumption. Again.

She decided to do what she had planned around a minute ago. A genius plan, at least in her opinion, designed to save her morning. It consisted of three easy but effective steps. 1) find Bianca 2) drag her back to bed and 3) get the much needed attention and affection she usually needed when she was hungover.

Sighing, she got up slowly to begin the search, which unsurprisingly didn’t take very long. She found Bianca in her living room, sitting on the couch while looking at her phone.

“I’m never drinking again” Adore announced, attempting to shield her still sensitive eyes from the sunlight that was flooding in from the windows.

“Good morning to you too. Also, that’s what you said last time.” With that, Bianca turned back her attention to her phone, typing something.

“Well, I mean it this time.”

“That’s what you sai-"

“Anyway. Why are you here and not with me? It’s one of those rare times where we actually have a few days off and you’re already ignoring my basic needs.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow at that.

“Girl, go get some painkillers. You usually only get that whiny when you have a headache. And I assume you’ll find them yourself, you essentially live here.”

Adore made a disagreeing, high pitched sound, and shook her head.

“Can’t you just get off your phone to go back to bed with me? What are you even doing that’s so important that you’re not even paying attention to me?”

“The people are tweeting stupid stuff again.”

“Just leave them.” Adore was letting her voice become very whiny now.

“Fine. Just give me ten minutes.”

Adore was sure that she could wait ten minutes, so she sat down next to Bianca. Since she was craving physical contact, she somewhat awkwardly tilted her head so she could rest it on Bianca’s shoulder and closed her eyes, she didn’t bother to look at whatever oh so important thing was happening on Twitter.

“Bitch, you really need to shave.”

Adore just sighed and silently pouted. She managed to wait around two minutes before deciding it had been enough time. The position her head was in was straining her neck which made the headache worse, she was tired, cold, and wanted to go back to sleep, but not alone, of course so leaving wasn’t really an option.

“I’m cold.”

“Well, you’re literally only wearing shorts, I’d be cold too. Go put some clothes on, easy as that.”

“I didn’t have any intentions to get up already though, and I’m just patiently waiting for you.”

When that didn’t get her desired reaction, Adore decided to change her strategy.

“It’s 10am on a rare day off, and you actually choose getting canceled on Twitter, again, may I add, over giving me my very much needed attention?”

Finally Bianca switched off her phone.

“Fine. What do you want?”

Adore didn’t answer, though her green eyes lit up after finally getting her way. Instead she just grabbed Bianca’s hand and pulled her back into the bedroom.

“See? Way better than being mean on Twitter, right?” Adore exclaimed. Her voice came out louder than expected, and she managed to make her headache worse, causing her to groan and rub her forehead.

With her full attention on Adore now, Bianca’s voice had a more soft and caring feel to it, which was reserved for moments like these.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you some painkillers or water or something?”

Adore immediately shook her head. The position they were in was incredibly comfortable, at least to them it was. They were facing each other while their bodies were completely intertwined.

While the amount of touching in their relationship might look excessive for some people, especially since they were ‘just’ friends, it was only natural for them. Adore was naturally all about being physically close to people she loved, the friendship they had for years now had managed to break the protective walls Bianca had built up, allowing her to just let things happen sometimes. Including Adore dragging her back into the bedroom when she technically had time to work on different projects.

“No, I’m fine, can you please just stay here and kiss my head or something?”

Bianca chuckled.

“I’m not sure about the efficiency of that, but sure.”

With that, she gently put her lips on Adore’s forehead and placed a feather light kiss on it.

“Better?”, she asked with a sarcastic undertone.

“Actually yes, thank you” Adore answered in a very innocent tone, ignoring the sarcasm.

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts before speaking up again.

“Honestly, this is amazing.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“You aren’t even going to ask me what?”

“I think I already know what you mean.”

Adore gave Bianca a questioning look.

“This, right now. What we have. Everything we’ve been through. How lucky we are to have each other. I wouldn’t want to trade it for anything in the world.”

“I mean, I’m not sure if I intended it to be that deep, but yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.”

Adore made sure to look Bianca straight into the eyes before continuing.

“I'm really lucky to have you.”

“The feeling is mutual. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They fell silent after the exchange of the words they used every so often, simply because everything that needed to be said out loud was said. It wasn’t like they had suddenly stopped talking, they both knew each other well enough to be able to communicate silently. Neither of them wanted this moment to end. Needless to say, the whole Twitter thing was completely forgotten. At least for the day.

[kilyra]

You a Fangbanger Now?

Eric Northman (True Blood) One-Shot

A/N:  Well, absolutely no one directly requested this, but I’m carrying on with the Eric Northman arc because I love him, I’m trash, and this is my slop offering - so this is following “You Will” and “You Did, Sweetheart”. 

Defending Eric Northman to your raging roommate is the last thing you thought you’d ever find yourself doing, and Eric seems equally surprised.

Warnings:  Swearing. Like the eff word on repeat. No spoilers though (I myself am only on S3 or 4, so this is an early Eric style fic…also, please don’t send me any spoilers).

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! (Credit for this amazing gif goes to @bonniebird​. Thank you SO much!)

The shrill, echoing shriek woke you from a dead sleep. Sitting bolt upright, you were already fighting to get free from your sheets before you could understand why you were even awake.

A crash in the kitchen jolted you to your feet, sending you scrambling for your bedroom door. Adrenaline flooded your veins as you raced down the stairs, your bare feet thudding on the hardwood.

Tearing around the corner into the kitchen, you skidded to a stop, squinting at the brightly lit room. Your roommate was holding a knife but was shaking too hard to keep it still. Coming far enough into the room to see what she had cornered, your heart pounded harder.

Fear melted to a heavy feeling in your stomach as you spotted him. Eric fucking Northman.

Casually leaning against the counter, a faint grin played on his lips as he watched your roommate uselessly wave the knife his direction. Raising his eyebrow, his eyes briefly darted to yours, twinkling with amusement.

“Who the fuck are you?” She was boarding on hysterical.

Rubbing your eyes, you tried to keep the sleepy groan from your voice. “Amy...Ams, what's going on?”

“This creepy fucker broke into our house. I came into the kitchen and he was just...just...here!”

Reaching over, you squeezed her shoulder. She tilted her head towards you but kept her eyes on him. "Whoa, whoa...hey, hey. That's just Eric, he's a fr-."

His eyes found their way back to yours as you stopped short. There was hardly a shift in his bemused expression, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch at your sudden discomfort.

Friend? Seriously?

“He's...Eric. It's fine...”

Pulling away from you, Amy shot you an incredulous look as she backed up enough to keep on eye on you both. “Fine?! It's...it's not fine!”

The alcohol on her breath hit your nostrils, and you were suddenly very aware that she was practically waving the knife at you. Facing your palms towards her, you took a careful step back. Eric's face clouded slightly as he pushed himself from the counter, but your roommate seemed oblivious to the shift in her situation as she continued.

“Y/n! He...he appeared...like some goddam ghost or something.... T-that's not fine.”

Her wrist flicked to drive home her point when suddenly Eric was beside you. The knife clattered to the floor as Amy half-screeched and backed into the wall behind her. Ice rushed through you, but you somehow managed to stop from jumping as he rushed close.

Standing at your elbow, his low tone was steady and calm. “It's late. I was making sure you weren't an intruder.”

But why was he already in the house?

Amy's hands visibly trembled as she clamped them over her mouth. Slowly pulling them away, she looked from Eric to you. “S-so w-what? You a...a fangbanger now?”

Letting out a soft snort, Eric's lips pressed together as he gave you a sidelong glance.

You didn't see the humour. “Seriously? He's only here because of you.”

Her hands dropped lower, hovering awkwardly without her knife to grip. As you watched, her face briefly fell as though she knew exactly what you meant. But it was quickly hidden by a glare. “What's that supposed to mean?”

The fact she was drunk did nothing to stop your irritation from exploding into burning anger. “What do you think, Ams? Do you have any idea what your disappearing act did to Sookie? Strange vampires show up, there was practically a new murder each week, and you just leave without saying anything?”

Clenching her jaw, Amy crossed her arms. Her narrowed eyes flickered to Eric as he tilted his head, but they both stayed quiet.

“She thought those vampires had you. Or worse. That girl called in all the favours she had to look for you, and even got Eric to watch over me and our place, alright? None of that would have happened if you hadn't taken off with your loser boyfriend to go get high for two weeks.”

"Yeah? Well, I'm back now! And it had nothing to do with fangers or any of the other bullshit Sookie got herself into, so there's no reason for him to even be here. Besides...don't I have to invite him in or some shit? Couldn't I just revoke-”

“Watch it.”

Even Eric's eyebrows shot up as you growled.

“The whole time you were off with those assholes, he was here for me. He went above and beyond to keep track of my safety and, frankly, the only sleep I got was when I knew he was around. Sookie wasn't the only one spooked when you disappeared, you know. Have a little respect.”

In truth, you still weren’t sure why Eric gave you his blood but you were positive it wasn’t to help keep you safe. And it was next to impossible to sleep when he paid you a visit. But you were way too pissed to care that much about the truth. 

Shifting between her feet, Amy's lip curled. “And I wonder what Sam'll think about all this.”

Curiously watching your argument unfold, Eric didn't seem bothered by her threats. But you were finding it hard to think over the pounding in your ears. Leaning forward, you jabbed your finger at her as she flattened against the wall. "I'm the leaseholder so go ahead and play that game...see what happens. But for fuck sakes, I'm literally the only bridge you haven't burned yet, do you really want to go there?"

Everything seemed to stand still as your final blow of words landed on your roommate. Finally, her eyes darted between you and Eric before she started blinking rapidly. A small drop of pity formed in your chest and you knew you'd be having a gentler talk with her in the morning.

Throwing back her shoulders, she stormed past you without another word. Maybe the gentler talk wouldn't exactly be in the morning...

Turning slightly, you watched her leave, making sure she didn't try anything on her way out. It was Eric's soft chuckle that drew your attention back.

“Mmm, I'm impressed.” His cool voice contrasted the fire still running through your veins. But when you turned back, his eyebrows were drawn together as his gaze swept over you.

It felt like he was taking you in for the first time since you stumbled into the room. Your skin prickled at his confused stare as it lingered over you. Memories of all your heated dreams with him edged into your mind and you realized how little space was between you.

Running your hand over your hair, you lightly scratched at your scalp before you shrugged. It took effort, but you managed to keep your tone flat. “Yeah?”

As he cocked his head to the side, you realized he wasn't wearing his usual smug expression. The former amusement had also drained away leaving a serious look in its wake. “You stood up for me.”

Taking a step back, you crossed your arms and took a moment to study him for once. The statement was simple, but you could hear the question in his tone. Pressing your lips together in a light frown, you weren't sure what to say.

His eyes stayed trained on yours and, for a moment, you were worried he was going to glamour you. Just as your stomach started to flutter, he continued. “I've never had someone do that before. Not like that, at least.”

Swallowing back the nervousness that formed a thick lump in your throat, you took a sharp breath. "Yeah? Well, you're not off the hook."

That seemed to snap him back into his usual self as he scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Stilling again, he lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I already told you, it's the middle of the night and I thought she was an intruder. A loud, clumsy int-”

Waving him into silence, you were mildly surprised when the gesture worked. “No, I mean why were you here? You were already in the house when she came home...Why? What were you doing here?”

The brief glimpse at the Eric you knew grew stony as his features relaxed and his lips drew into a straight line. His pale blue eyes stared at you from behind the mask of his blank expression. He stayed silent.

Your sense of power grew as the vampire seemed to quietly recede at your question. “Okay, then. Do you do this often? Because, Amy's right, you know. Now that we know what happened, you don't need to keep watch anymore.”

His throat worked as he let his focus trail to the side. He seemed to hear what you were saying, but there was no reply. It was unnerving.

“So? Are you here a lot?”

Snapping his eyes back to yours, the muscles in his jaw flexed before his glare softened. “I stop in sometimes.”

Since you woke up, your racing heart hadn't slowed, but with his admission, it tried to hammer out of your rib cage. In a rush, your cheeks grew warm. Eric Northman. In your room. While you were sleeping. 

The worst part was, you weren't sure if that was upsetting or exciting.

Chewing the corner of your mouth, you noticed his eyes flash to your lips. But still, his expression was unreadable.

“Why?” You practically whispered the question.

Blinking slowly, his gaze lowered before his eyebrow arched in a quick twitch. Looking to the side again, he avoided your stare when he finally answered. “I don't...have an answer for that.”

Your lips parted in a wordless reply as you watched him. The quietness in his tone was as surprising as his answer, and you weren't sure what either meant.

Not that he gave you long to think about it.

In a sudden moment of decisiveness, his head jerked towards the door. “I should go.”

Wait.

The plea was on your lips, but with a soft breeze skimming across your skin, he was gone.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two  @getlostinyourparadise   @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @pansmexualparker   @thatchampagnebitch @mysteryoflovve  @edweirdoddlepot  @divadinag @crazy-fandom-girl1 @givemeabite @breanime  

(Guys, please let me know if you want to be removed from this taglist! I have some of you on here because you encouraged this rabbit hole a while back and this is your fault - but I can take you off the list if you want LOL)

[kumeko]

Prompt: Brock gets shrunk to a finger size due to Hank Pym and Jack has to keep him entertained.

A/N: Written for HHdiscord, for @marveltrumpshate! I was originally planning a 3-5k fic (5 because it took so long!) but this mutated to a 7+k fic instead. I find this hilarious since the first thing I had to ask when writing this was “who’s Jack Rollins?” 

Here’s chapter 1!

…

…

…

…

There were many reasons to work for Hydra—a chance at status, the money, the ability to alter the world, the money. No, seriously, if you got high enough in the ranks, the payout was unimaginable. Unfortunately, not one of those reasons was their medical plan, substandard as it was. It was a pity, considering how often Brock’s men got injured when facing a superhero.

 Then again, maybe that was why they didn’t offer one. The overhead costs would be astronomical.

 Still, there had to be a better solution than sitting in his subordinate’s kitchen in the middle of the night, the light flickering above him because Jack didn’t remember to screw it on tight enough. Brock couldn’t say how many times he’d visited Jack’s rundown shack of a home, only that somehow it looked worse at every visit. While they weren’t getting paid the big bucks, they were certainly getting paid enough to afford better digs. For some reason, Jack liked living here; he had a rare strain of loyalty, the stupid kind that would get him killed.

 Brock just hoped that wouldn’t happen soon, it would be hard to find a competent replacement. Even more so now that the fucking Avengers were tossing everyone they could find into the slammer. A sharp sting interrupted his thoughts and he grimaced. “Watch it,” he growled, snapping his head to his right.

Next to him, holding a cotton swab dipped in alcohol, Jack raised a brow. “It’s not like it can sting less. It’s an open wound, what do you expect?”

 It was the truth. Brock glared at him anyways. “I can still hurt you.”

 Jack looked utterly unimpressed. Firmly, he pressed the cotton swab down once more, cleaning the wound. “If you can still threaten me, I guess you’re fine.”

 “Like there was any doubt,” he muttered, glancing down at his raised arm. There were three long slashes on his arm of varying depths, all reminders of what it means to go against S.H.I.E.L.D. Begrudgingly, he had to admit their field operatives weren’t bad. At least they gave him a bit of a challenge; it would be boring otherwise and he didn’t sign up for Hydra to fall asleep.

 Jack glanced at him, then back at the wound. Firmly gripping Brock’s arm, he started dabbing again. “No, you’re too good for them.”

 “Damn straight,” he bit out, resisting the urge to flinch as the swab brushed a more tender region. It was easier to deal with when he was the one patching himself, but Jack had insisted. Distracting himself, Brock scanned the kitchen, his eyes jumping from the clean plates in the dishrack to the sparse but organized counters. There was something ridiculously domestic about Jack despite his hulking frame. No doubt there was a frilly apron hidden somewhere here, and Brock chuckled darkly at the thought.

 Jack raised a brow at the sight but said nothing as he started to wrap a long, cloth bandage around his arm. He pulled tight with each round, almost enough to cut off circulation but not quite. “Maybe…”

 When he trailed off, saying nothing, Brock turned back to him. “What?”

 “Just…” Jack bowed his head, his shoulders hunched as he focused on bandaging. Hesitantly, he suggested, “Tomorrow’s mission, getting the Pym particles—maybe we should delay it.”

 It was the most asinine thing Brock had ever heard. He snorted, not sure if he should be insulted or just amused. “As if. Think Hydra would stop for something like this?”

 “Then what if you—”

 Now he was insulted. “Think I would stop for something like this?” Brock snarled, yanking his arm out of Jack’s grip. The still untied bandage started to unravel, loosening around his forearm.

 “Hey!” Jack protested, trying to snatch back the bandage.

 “Do you?” Brock repeated, keeping his arm away. With his good hand, he grabbed Jack by the collar and pulled him down till they were at eye level.

 Jack was good at many things, but eye contact was not one of them. He looked away. “No.”

 “This is nothing.” Not quite satisfied, he let go and held up his forearm once more. “Don’t be such a fucking mother hen.”

 “I’m not,” Jack shot back, tugging on the bandage harder than necessary.

 Brock wanted to laugh. For someone with Hydra, he was a poor liar. No longer insulted, he eyed his subordinate, amused. Part of him wanted to needle Jack more, to push his buttons; he’s seen Jack scared, worried, hurt, but never angry.

 At the very least, the sex would be amazing.

 Maybe he could try after the mission.

 -x-

 “This it?” Standing in front of a tall, dilapidated building, Brock frowned. The place looked like an apartment on the verge of being torn down rather than a secret hiding place of a superhero. Sure, Hank Pym was an ex-hero at this point, but that sort of stench never really washed off. The government always paid them off one way or another.

 “Yeah.” Jack shifted from one foot to the other, antsy. Dressed entirely in black, he blended in with the shadows save for his green night-goggles. The street was darker than it ought to be at midnight, the streetlights here dead so Brock didn’t have to break them. “Thought it’d be nicer.”

 “Guess it doesn’t pay to retire no matter what side you’re on.” Brock shook his head, feeling mildly disappointed.

 “Retire?” Jack gave him a look, before looking at the rest of their squad spread out around them. Half a dozen men dressed in black, tensely studying the building in front of them, ready for a fight. “That’s not even an option, is it?”

 Brock didn’t bother to answer. Jack was right—Brock couldn’t even name some of the newer guys, they’ve cycled through so many. He had no illusions about his place in Hydra—they’d use him until they couldn’t, and then they’d dispose of him the first chance they got. Unless he rose to the top or saved a good nest egg, he wasn’t going to make it past 40. 50, if he were lucky.

 Not that Brock needed luck. He made his own and in a place like Hydra, he thrived.

 Jack checked his watch. “It’s almost time to start.”

 “Have two guys come down from the top.” Brock pulled on his mask as he shifted to a commanding tone. His shoulder ached from the movement but he bit back a wince; he was here to do a job. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything. He liked that about him, it was hard to find a professional sometimes. “We’ll go in through the front and pin him in.”

 “What if he shrinks?” Jack asked, pulling down his goggles and readying his gun.

 “Doesn’t matter. We’re not here for him, but for the particles.” Brock gestured to two members of his squad. They nodded and quietly slinked toward the front door. One of them stood to the side, gun cocked, while the other forced the door open.

 Nothing happened. Brock jogged forward, his gun drawn and goggles on. Scanning his surroundings, he commanded, “Catch him if you can. But I don’t mind if he’s bloody or dead.”

 The inside of the building was surprisingly clean and empty. Someone lived here, even if it wasn’t Pym. For a lobby, the area was sparsely decorated, a wide square room with a single chair on side and a board full of keys on the other. Not bothering to grab them, Brock headed to the apartment rooms. “Everyone take a floor,” he barked, already making his way to first floor rooms.

 He kicked in the first door he found and rolled in. Just like the lobby, the apartment room was empty, the walls all newly painted white. Signs of people without the people. His goggles indicated no signs of Pym, small or otherwise.

 As he exited back to the hallways, he bumped into Jack coming out from the opposite room. “Not here, unless he’s small,” Jack griped, glaring at the carpet as though Pym was hiding in its fibers.

 Maybe Pym was. As good as his equipment was, it wasn’t that good. Brock stepped more forcefully. “If he is, his fucking equipment has to be around.  If I’m chasing him a second time, he’s dead.”

 It was easy to keep up the energy as he burst into the next apartment. And then the one after that. The entire first floor was cakewalk.

 By the fifth floor, however, it was just getting tedious. Even with the fact that his team had split up, dividing and conquering the fifty-storey building, it still took time to investigate each room. The results were the same each time—no Pym, no particles, no equipment. Occasionally, the empty rooms had furniture, indications of their previous tenants, but Brock wasn’t sure if it was just a red herring or if there was some meaning in it. He wasn’t a detective, he’d leave that work for the cleanup team after.

 “The teams above are almost done,” Jack relayed to him, standing stock still as he listened to his earpiece.

 Brock shot open a door half-heartedly, tired of it all. “Fucking finally. Can’t wait to leave.”

 “After we finish this hall, we’re done.” Jack checked the room across the hall with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.

 “He wasn’t here at all,” Brock grumbled, checking the last room in the hall. “Who thought he was?”

 Jack shrugged, already leading the way to the stairwell. “Dunno, one of the intelligence units.”

 “When we get back, I’m having their head.” As Brock descended down the stairs, he ground his teeth. Their steps echoed through the stairwell. “Waste of a night.”

 “Yeah. Everyone’s out now.” Jack opened the door to the first floor lobby and headed toward the front doors.

 “Your house,” Brock stated shortly, still pissed.

 Jack smiled. “I thought you didn’t like my house.”

 “I’m not breaking my bed.” Brock snorted. There was only one kind of distraction he needed after this, and it was going to be rough.

 “I don’t know why I bother to repair it,” Jack muttered, opening the glass door. He lingered at the entrance, looking back at him. “Coming?”

 “One sec.” Brock scanned the lobby one last time. Just like when he’d arrived, there was nothing here that caught his eye, no sign of the man or the particles they were after. The door closed in front of him and he sighed before following after Jack. “What an utter was—”

 As he exited the building, his body started to tingle. Brock stared at his hands as a fuzzy, glowing light enveloped him and the building. He felt disconnected from his body, like he was half-asleep and listening to Jack go to the bathroom.

 He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the glowing lights were gone but he still felt fuzzy. Maybe his arm had been poisoned yesterday. Maybe it was blood loss.

 “Brock?” Jack yelled, his voice sounding way too loud. His shadow fell on Brock, looking like it could eclipse the sun.

 “What?” As usual, Brock looked up at his subordinate. And then he craned his neck back and looked up even more.

 Fuck, Jack was always a tall man, but he was a fucking giant now.

[padfootagain]

On The Cheek

Here I come with a mix of angst and fluff for our lovely Ineffable Husbands!! I hope you all like it, tell me what you think about it!!

Lots of feels, you are warned.

Gif not mine

Word Count : 4366

He cracks at all the cracks that once were wide opened but had mended. He burns out through all the scars of past burns. He drowns in tears he's cried a thousand times before.

He pours himself a whiskey, drinks up the glass in one gulp, takes the bottle again to pour himself another, but thinks better, and puts down the glass instead.

He moves just a few steps away, he can’t get the energy to walk to his bedroom or even to the sofa, so he reaches for the closest wall to lean against instead. Soon, he’s slipped against it, making his shoulder heat up a little with the friction against the grey wall, and he sits there, curled up on the floor, holding on his bottle of whiskey like it’s a safe line. Tears taste like bitterness and salt.

He’s waited six thousand years. Six thousand years of silent ‘I love you’, silent 'Don’t leave me’, silent 'I’m here for you and I’ll always be’. Six thousand years of 'he can’t love me, ever, he’s an angel, and I’m unforgiveable’ and 'Oh but maybe he could…’

Six thousand years of fighting against his feelings while they consumed him in a bonfire more terrible than the flames of hell. Always the certainty that he will never have more than friendship, and always the hope that maybe one day he will be loved too.

Sometimes he thought he could see the feeling in Aziraphale’s eyes. Love, or at the very least, great fondness. So he kept on hoping despite reason yelling to let go.

He was there to protect him, no matter the danger, no matter where or when, he was there. He was there to save Aziraphale and what he loved most for millennia.

Then a bomb exploded on a church in 1941, and a few years later, the angel gave him the most dangerous thermos covered in tartan in the universe. And Crowley thought there was something a bit more than friendly then.

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

Six thousand years… at the time, Crowley wanted to laugh at the words - or cry, he wasn’t sure. He did get tremendously drunk as soon as he was alone. But then, he accepted it. He learned to even see a sign of hope in these words. After all, these words didn’t mean 'never’, they meant 'not yet’.

Besides, there was the matter of heaven and hell joining the entanglements of love and feelings and morals and wants and denials and longings, and that made a very messy mess. He knew Aziraphale wanted to protect himself, but most importantly, him.

But then, Tadfield, Adam, Dog, the world not ending, the non-existent trial, and their sides were rid of them. Or more exactly, they were rid of their sides.

It made the mess they lived in a little less messy, but Crowley didn’t want to push things too quickly. So he was patient, and truly hopeful for what seemed to be the first time. And he thought he could see signs of affections addressed to him.

He drinks up a long, long gulp of whiskey, the liquor proceeding to burn his tongue before setting his throat on fire too. He has a heart-broken rictus.

He guesses he is bad at reading signs…

His whole frame is shaken by a sob. He knows he should have accepted long ago. Be happy to be just a friend. And he had been, really. He still is. He has waited for 6000 years, and if Aziraphale needed 6000 more to be ready to love him this way, then he would embrace their friendship in the meantime. So… why can’t he be happy then? Why does it hurt so much to be pushed away? It’s not like it’s the first time it hurts like this. It’s just reopening wounds, and breaking fears loose, and tearing on fragile bits of souls apart, and making him fall in a pit he knows all too well. It feels like the Fall, but not quite like it. It feels almost worse.

It really does shatter an entire universe when one thought he had someone, and realizes that actually, he is alone, and maybe has always been.

The floor is cold under him, and the wall cold against him, and the glass of bottle in his fingers too is rather cool, and when he drinks it burns, but more like ice than fire. It feels so cold to be alone. He remembers the warmth of the bookshop, Aziraphale’s warmth, and he wishes to be back there now. He knows he can’t go back though. Not now. Maybe not ever.

It’s crazy how it hurts to breathe. His veins are burning, and he wonders if his blood could be ashes now. Maybe he’s breathing ashes, that’s why it’s so hard to fill up his lings and empty them again, all that frozen burn needs to get somewhere.

As he shakes on the ground, clinging on his whiskey, he calls himself a fool once more. It has been a while, but the words he thought about so many times echo through his mind again, and he believes them more than ever this time.

How could Aziraphale love him. That way?! He is a fool, a poor idiotic fool. What could the angel see that is loveable? Nothing. He’s nothing more than a demon, fallen. He’s a snake changing skin to hide how hard he feels and how much it hurts, but it’s just pathetic, really. He’s a fool to ever think that an angel could love him.

He drinks up again, choking a little on the liquor as a spasm close to a sob shakes him whole. By now, the bottle is half empty.

He reckons that he should be used to it by now, it's the same pain that comes back over and over again. Throbbing and knocking on his heart like a headache piercing through your temples at night. Sometimes it's more painful, sometimes it hushes, but never disappears. It hurts too much to sleep it all away, so all you can do, really, is stare at the ceiling or close your eyes, waiting for the painkillers to make the pain subside just enough for you to dive into slumber. And you hope that the next morning, it will be gone. But often, it's still here. Just a little less painful, more bearable, but it has settled and it will take more than a restful night to make it leave you alone.

And that's the worst part of it. Crowley's suffered like this before, it's just a matter of tearing his scars apart to expose his dark blood all over again. He knows the pain like he knows an old enemy. It's familiar, if not reassuring. It hurts too much for him to just pass out, although he tirelessly takes another swig of the best medicine for a heartbreak. Maybe a little bit more of it will make him drift away. Maybe he'll sleep for the next century, like he's done before. Maybe he won't bother to wake up this time.

He repeatedly hits his head against the wall, as to mark the words he repeats in his head, the pain tainted with a dash of anger.

You're an idiot. Of course, he doesn't love you that way. Stop it. Stop hoping for it.

Wise words he reckons, but has he ever been wise? Curious, yes. Wise? He doesn't think so, and in the matter of Aziraphale, he acknowledges the certainty.

He plays the scene again and again in his head, and he can't believe how stupid he has been. But then, he was with Aziraphale in Saint James's park, on their bench, and there was no one around. They were laughing, Aziraphale had finished his cupcake, and they had fed the ducks a little earlier. The sun was slowly falling through the sky, but it was still warm on their skin. It was a nice afternoon. And Aziraphale sat just a little bit closer than he usually does, and there was a brush of fingers before he held Crowley's hand. It was a chaste but loving gesture. It felt tender. It felt like a 'I'm here with you and I'm happy to be', it felt like a 'we've lost 6000 years, we shouldn't waste 6000 more'. And when Aziraphale looked at him, with his deep blue eyes and his pale locks messed by the soft wind, Crowley was certain to read in his eyes something that was close to how he felt. He couldn't feel love the way the angel did, but he was pretty sure it was love. He recognized himself in this look painted on Aziraphale's features. And Crowley thought then that it was time to take a leap of faith. After all these years, now that there was no one to hurt them because of the way they might feel, now that they had a true chance to be happy. So he leaned forward, too afraid to try to kiss the angel on the lips and aiming for his cheek instead. The sting of Aziraphale's words in the Bentley that evening in Soho was too vivid still for Crowley to take a giant leap, a step forward would be enough. He didn't want to go too fast again, so he reckoned that he would let the angel take the next step, if he wanted to.

What a fool he was to think Aziraphale might want to.

His lips met the soft cheek, a mere kiss, almost innocent if only Crowley's entire frame had not been shaking, and his heart pounding, and his entire reality bursting into an uncontrollable combustion of withheld feelings and denied touches and maybes and one days and almosts. It lasted just a couple of seconds, and Crowley pulled away with a shy blush and a hopeful smile. But he immediately read in Aziraphale's wide eyes that he had made a mistake.

Angel?

His voice was a mere whisper, while Aziraphale mildly blushed and increased the space between them on the bench. And there was nothing more painful than his reaction to Crowley's kiss.

Eyes wide in panic, or was it horror?

Pulling away and sliding to the opposite side of the bench, or was it the other side of the world?

Letting go of Crowley's hand as if it had burnt him, or was it the demon's trust and heart that he was letting go of?

The demon was grateful for his sunglasses that hid the tears forming in his yellow eyes. Before Aziraphale could say a word, Crowley had disappeared from the park.

You're such a fool, Crowley. Of course, he could never love you that way.

The demeaning voice is familiar, it's been repeating words as harsh as those since his Fall. It almost sounds like Satan's.

He's sobbing again, and his cheeks are wet with tears that roll down his face and fall onto the sleeves of his folded arms. He hasn't noticed it, but he's leaning against the wall separating his plants from the living room. They hear him, of course, and it makes them all terribly sad too. They've seen him carrying some plant he was to 'destroy' to simply put them somewhere else, and ever since, they haven't been that scared of him. They know that he's actually a rather nice person – although he won't admit it. So, they stretch their leaves a little more, and force their chlorophyll to reach the most vibrant green shade, just in case he would pass before them, to make him feel better. But Crowley is still on the ground, and not going anywhere.

The phone rings and is left unanswered, Crowley doesn't even bother to listen to the message recorded on the voicemail. He doesn't care. Nothing matters anymore.

The bottle is empty, but quickly fills up again.

Just a little more alcohol, and he'll forget it all.

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

 Worried is an understatement. To describe how terrified Aziraphale is, one would have to picture the scariest feeling they have ever experienced and multiply it by a hundred, at the very least.

He's called Crowley three times since their parting at the park, and he can't stop cursing himself for his stupid reaction. He didn't have the time to stop Crowley from walking away, and spent hours in his bookshop trying to figure out what to do next. He called, but the demon didn't answer.

No choice left, he has to make sure Crowley is okay, that he is home, safe in his apartment.

When he knocks on the dark door and there is no answer, his heart skips a beat. By now, he's not just afraid of what Crowley might say when they see each other again, he's terrified that something might have happened to the demon.

"Crowley!" he calls through the door, knocking again.

He is met with nothing but a perfect silence.

"Crowley, dear, it's Aziraphale. Open the door, would you? I just want to check if you're okay."

Again, nothing meets his plea but the echo of his voice through the deserted corridor.

He heaves a sigh and snaps his fingers to unlock the door, stepping inside the flat. Guilt pulls at his heart for a second, but then, he's too worried about Crowley to care about trivial technicalities such as breaking into his apartment.

He has barely walked a few steps inside, closing the door behind him, when he spots Crowley's motionless form lying on the ground. And his heart stops working altogether this time.

"Crowley!"

He runs more than walks to him and lets himself fall next to the unconscious demon. Or well, not quite completely unconscious yet. His lopsided spectacles reveal one of his eyes, not quite closed. It's reddened and glimmering, puffy too, and Aziraphale finally notices that his cheeks are wet. He finds the empty bottle of whiskey on the ground right next to Crowley, and heaves a sigh of relief.

The idiot is just drunk.

"Crowley, you need to sober up."

"Are you… you… her'? Or 's me that is, me hallucination… nation… nationatisating…?" the demon fails to articulate properly.

"I'm here," Aziraphale answers patiently, but sighes again all the same. "Now, really, you need to sober up."

Crowley shakes his head like a child refusing to eat his greens.

"No' want to."

"Crowley…"

"No… No feelings… 'tis too muuuuuuch…" he keeps on moaning.

He freezes when Aziraphale cups his cheek, drying his skin with his thumb in a soft caress.

"Crowley, please. Sober up."

"I don't want us to… chit-chat chitty-chatty talk through the whole… the whole… point."

"Why not?"

Crowley is too drunk to control anything that comes out of his mouth or his eyes, that's why he starts crying again, and speaks words too true to be uttered while sober.

"Cause if we… we do the talking… then you… you're gonna… you will tell me stop. You'll tell me 'no, Crowley, never', and I can't… I can't hear it. I'd rather… I'd rather stay drunk… I still need tha' hope."

But Aziraphale doesn't budge.

"Crowley, please. For me."

The magic words, and the bastard knows it.

Crowley's eyes fall closed, and he winces hard as the alcohol is extracted out of his veins and finds its way inside the nearby bottle again, and the surplus magically disappears into thin air.

When he opens his eyes again, Crowley's struggling to breathe.

"Angel? What the hell are you doing here?"

He finally notices that Aziraphale is still stroking – and drying – his cheek, and he sits up in a jolt to break the contact.

"You didn't answer my call, I was worried something might have happened to you."

"I'm fine," Crowley grumbles back, straightening his sunglasses and standing up, quickly enough so he can discreetly dry his cheeks while the angel stands as well.

"You're obviously not fine, Crowley."

"I said I'm fine."

"I've just found you crying and almost unconscious on your floor…"

"I SAID I'M FINE!"

His voice goes up before he can control it, spinning around to glare at the angel, his best friend, his only friend, the one he so ardently loves and has loved ever since that conversation upon the walls of Eden…

Aziraphale straightens his coat, and Crowley knows the gesture means he's both uncomfortable and hurt. But he's too damaged himself right now to apologize.

"Go home, Aziraphale," he manages to add in a calmer tone, yet made hoarse by tears and a tightened throat.

"No, I can't. We need to talk."

"We don't need to talk."

"We do though. About what happened today at Saint James's Park."

"Angel, I'm actually begging you, just leave me alone."

But there's this glint alit in the angel's stare, this stubborn look that tells Crowley he has no chance of winning the argument. Aziraphale is not going anywhere.

"You… I… I'm sorry, I didn't… react the way I meant to," the angel stutters, twisting his hands together. "I was… surprised, that's all. I didn't think you'd do that."

"Obviously. Horrified fits better though."

It hurts, the sharpness, the harshness even, in Crowley's voice. Aziraphale's glance saddens, but at the sight of sorrow painted all over the demon's features, he doesn't dare to protest.

"I was taken aback, and I shouldn't have reacted this way. I realize that it might have made you feel… quite bad."

And Crowley wants to reply with something sassy, witty… if he is to be completely honest, he even leans towards something cruel to spit back now. But he can't. It's Aziraphale. And it's the most painful of it all really that shows through Crowley's open cracks and bleeding scars.

He can never have Aziraphale, but he can't live without him either.

"It's fine. Let's just… forget it all happened."

He heaves a sigh, and finally notices that he's standing in the doorway leading to his plants. He reckons the distraction would be welcome, so he gestures the angel towards the door as he turns around and steps into the room. The plants shudder a little as he enters.

"See you later, Aziraphale. I'm tired. And I need to take care of my plants before going to sleep."

But the angel doesn't follow the direction of the door that Crowley indicates. Instead, he follows the demon in the room.

The plants try to ignore the conversation, but they all stretch their leaves a little bit more towards the angel and the demon standing there, focused despite themselves on whatever will be spoken.

"Crowley…"

"I told you…"

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need for you to be," Crowley answers with a voice that sounds annoyed as he forces it not to break, while he awkwardly stands in the middle of the room, slowly reaching for the spray bottle already filled with water. "It was… silly of me… to do that…"

Outside, the sun is long gone, leaving only a path of stars in its wake. The moon has decided not to show itself tonight, and no clouds stain the firmament either. Downwards, the city shines with electric lights that can't manage to compete with the beauty of the stars above. Crowley moves towards the window, his back to the angel.

"I don't even know why I did that," the demon goes on as Aziraphale remains silent. "Really, I… I don't know what passed through my head."

He jumps when Aziraphale takes his hand in his, but doesn't free himself from the touch.

"I'm sorry, I panicked," the angel admits in his fragile, shaking voice, and if he can't see them, Crowley can hear the withheld tears Aziraphale is fighting against.

"I was being ridiculous."

"No, you weren't."

Crowley finally turns to his friend again, his lips parting slightly in both surprise and hope. He trembles when the angel reaches up to take his glasses off, but doesn't push him away again. Aziraphale smiles at him as he puts the glasses in Crowley's chest pocket and dives into the golden eyes.

"Here, much better," he breathes, blushing a little, his breathing becoming more and more uneven.

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"Did you mean that?"

"Mean what?"

It hurts to see how fragile Crowley looks. It's so rare for the demon to let his guard down, to let anyone see beyond the confident mask he wears so well. To see the cracks through his heart and soul is both a privileged and terrible sight, and it is granted to none but Aziraphale.

"That you… overreacted a little?"

"Well… yes…"

"Because I…"

Crowley clenches his jaw and blinks the tears away. It hurts so much to say it. It's a bit like lying, although, not really. It's not what Crowley wants, but he knows he can't have what he wants. So he chooses the best option left. And it hurts so much to ask for a seashell when one wants the entire sea.

"I don't want us to… not be friends anymore. I… I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Can you… please, don't… leave me… don't stop talking to me, don't stop being my friend. You're… you're my best friend…"

His voice breaks and he shudders as he gasps for air. The pain pushes the air out of his lungs too quickly for him to breathe properly, and even if he doesn't need air to live, his body has grown so accustomed to the practice that he does feel like he's suffocating.

"Oh… Crowley…"

Aziraphale gives his hand a squeeze, and raises the other to cup his cheek as tears threaten more and more to escape.

"I'm not going anywhere. Ever. We're going to stay together, forever. I promise."

"Forever's a long time, you're sure you're up for that?" Crowley tries to joke, but he means it too much to do so.

"Don't you know that already?"

Crowley merely shrugs in response, and silence settles between them for a moment. They ignore the plants still listening to them, and Aziraphale tries to ignore the way the stars outside seem to gather around Crowley like a distant halo.

It's hard to speak the words he's refrained for a long time now. When he thinks about it, Aziraphale finds himself a little silly. He's a being of love, after all, how can it be so difficult to express it then?

And he's been feeling this way for so long. He can't pinpoint a precise moment when it all happened, he reckons that loving Crowley is more a habit settling in his heart. It's progressive, it's quiet, it's certain and reassuring through the chaos of an uncertain world, but he's not quite sure when he started behaving this way. All he knows is that he couldn't live without it now.

"I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that, I… I didn't mean to push you away."

"I won't do it again, don't worry."

"I… I wouldn't mind if you did, really."

They intensely stare at each other and none of them can breathe anymore, their hearts they don't really need are beating too fast for that.

"Do you mean that?"

The angel nods, before going on his tiptoes and kissing the demon's cheek, the same way Crowley kissed him in the park.

They both close their eyes as lips meet skin. Just a moment, but it's enough for the entire universe to disappear.

When he pulls away, Aziraphale's cheeks have turned crimson, and Crowley finds that adorable. He feels a little dizzy. The pain is leaving, waning, vanishing, cracks are repaired, and wounds mended, and scars close and the bleeding stops. Hope settles through him instead. Hope, and a warm, ineffable feeling that feels a lot like love.

He realizes then that the entire world could break, it wouldn't matter. Aziraphale could repair his entire universe with a simple touch, a kiss on the cheek…

He raises his hand to touch Aziraphale's face as well, his long fingers travelling across his cheekbone and down to his jawline, making the angel tremble.

Slowly, carefully, he leans down, leaving Aziraphale plenty of time to push him away if he wants to. But he doesn't. Instead, he waits, motionless, a little shocked, but in a good way, astonished, until Crowley's lips meet his.

The kiss doesn't last for long, it's shy and delicate, as if they are both afraid to break the other under their lips. But it's soft and loving all the same and both Crowley and Aziraphale are certain that such a thing will get them both discorporated. There is no way in heaven, or hell, or on earth, for them to handle how amazing the kiss makes them feel.

Crowley pulls away, a terrified look on his face, and he and the angel share a stare for a few seconds, both of them trying to get their body to function again while their hearts are currently turning into fireworks, and their brains are only able to make one thought: 'we've kissed, we've kissed, we've kissed…'

"Huh… Was that okay for me to do that?" Crowley asked in a hoarse voice, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Aziraphale grins the brightest grin.

"Yes. It was."

"Can I do it again?"

"Oh, yes… please do… please do and never stop."

They exchange an excited grin, before Crowley crushes their lips together again.

The spray bottle falls to the ground and bounces a couple of times in a thud. The plants quietly cheer. The stars bend a little in the sky, gathering closer to watch the couple they have spent 6000 years observing finally united.

They hold each other tightly, as tightly as they have both dreamt of for so long, and it feels so good to finally close the distance of six millennia. There isn't an ounce of pain left in either of their hearts, no crack, no wound, no scar even. Even places none of them knew needed healing are mended. Things are exactly how they should be now.

They don't stop kissing for a long while, and they keep on kissing often after that first kiss.

After all, after six millennia reaching out, it feels good to finally be home.

****************************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

[allisondraste]

Temperance (15/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:    Liss makes a decision about her feelings, and then another contrary decision. Feelings are confusing, you see.

Note: I know it’s a really fast update, but I just had a fire under my belly.  I’ve been waiting for this chapter for... 14 chapters. ;D

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

Denerim, 9:31 Dragon

The flames from the forge burned hot, the warm glow illuminating the smithy as Liss sat lazily behind the counter and watched Bria work.  The Antivan woman had worked up a sweat as she honed her most current set of blades, a pair of silverite daggers that glittered orange with the flames.  It was an exceptionally cold day outside, even for winter in Ferelden, and Liss was thankful for the warmth. She was also thankful for the company.

Nearly four months had passed since she agreed to join Anora’s council, and while the restoration of order to the country was far from over, meetings had become fewer and further between.  Many major decisions had been made, and everyone held their breath waiting, hoping that tensions died down among the nobility so that they could focus on a common goal: restoring the areas most affected by the Blight.  Of course, the nobility wouldn’t be settled for long. Amaranthine was still a point of contention, but there had also been little word out of the arling in weeks, something that was particularly rattling for Alistair. He’d heard reports of some lone bands of darkspawn lurking on the roads outside the city, and took off alone to fight them. It was a stupid thing to do, but he said he could handle it and refused to let her accompany him.

Liss inhaled deeply and sighed, laying her head down on the counter, and earning her a chuckle from the other woman just before she dropped the blades in water to harden them.  Steam burst up from the tub and hissed loudly before settling down.

“Why are you laughing,” she asked, raising her head and donning the best scowl she could, “I don’t like it when you laugh at me.  It usually means you’re about to tell me some obvious truth about myself that I was too stupid to notice. It makes me feel inferior.”

Another chuckle and Bria shook her head, continuing to work.  “You come to me and say ‘Bri, I am bored,’ because you want company.  Yet you sit and mope about the whole time. I do not think you are bored, Liss. I think you miss Alistair.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Liss scoffed, “It’s not like that.”

“I did not say it was.” A mischievous grin flashed across her face before it was replaced by feigned innocence.

“He’s only been gone for a little over a day,” Liss explained, “Sure, I’m mildly concerned for his safety, considering that he insisted on going to fight those darkspawn alone.  I know he’s strong and skilled, but he’s also clumsy. What if he were to, I don’t know, get caught in a trap or something? I don’t miss him. I’m just worried.”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

“You picked the wrong profession,” Liss said playfully, “You’d be an excellent spy or diplomat.”

“In my country, spies and diplomats do not have long lives. I like to  think I chose wisely.” Bria walked away from the forge, dabbing at her face with a towel as she sat down beside Liss. “Besides, I am good at what I do.”  

“Fair point.”

“You know, Alistair speaks of you often.” She offered Liss a brief smile, genuine this time.  “I do not think your care for him is one-sided. You two might-.”

“Don’t, Bri,” Liss interrupted, shaking her head, “He is still in love with someone else.”

“Someone who he has not heard from in months.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Liss didn’t mean to laugh so bitterly.  She didn’t mean to let Bria pull all of this information from her at all.  She’d intended to, for once in her damn life, not act on her first impulse.  As much as she liked Alistair, and as easy as it would be to love him, she didn’t think it prudent to let infatuation and vulnerability make her decisions for her.  She had a knack for loving people who didn’t or couldn’t feel the same about her, and she knew better than to give these thoughts any space to grow.

“Life is short,” Bria remarked almost dismissively, “In Antiva, when we love someone we tell them so.”

“I’m not Antivan, Bri,” Liss said seriously, “I’m Fereldan, and in Ferelden, we hold all of our powerful emotions inside and live in agony for the entirety of our long, fur-coated lives.”

“Have you not suffered enough already?”

“Apparently not.”

Bria laughed, draped a friendly arm around her shoulders, and kissed her cheek. “Have it your way, muñeca.”  She hopped up from the stool and returned to the forge.

Liss remained in the smithy with Bria for an hour longer, more so for the warmth than anything else.  By the time she decided to leave, the air had chilled even further as afternoon turned to early evening, and she could see her own labored breath as she hurried to the castle.  She entered the main hall and rushed immediately to a brazier that remained lit in the center of the room, standing beside it before she was sufficiently warm, and then turning to go to her room.

A loud creak erupted as the large, wooden door creaked open again, and she stopped, looking over her shoulder to see Alistair enter.  Upon first glance, he looked no worse for wear except for some splatters of blood on his breastplate and dark circles under his eyes. A weight lifted from her chest at the sight of him, and she waved at him excitedly.  He did not seem to notice, so she waved again and shouted, “Hey! You’re back! How fare the darkspawn?”

For a moment when he looked up to see who was speaking to him, she caught a glimpse of the hurt behind his eyes, which he was quick to tuck away behind a handsome, crooked smile.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old.  They were very upset that you never write them anymore.” He laughed and raised his eyebrows. It was impressive how genuine the smile seemed. He was very adept at hiding behind that mask of his.

“Well, we didn’t exactly leave things on good terms, did we? What with the Blight and all.”  She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one hip to the other.

Alistair shrugged. “That’s what I tried to tell them, but they weren’t having it, so...I had to kill them.”

“Seriously, though, did it go smoothly?” Are you all right?” She scanned his body for any signs of physical injury, frustrated with herself for being so obvious in her concern, something that had never bothered her before. This was Bria’s fault.

“Pfft, a few darkspawn hurt me?” He tilted his head upward and crossed his arms in feigned offense. “Never.”

As he moved, she noticed a large gash across his arm that looked as if a blade had slashed right through his bracer and nicked the flesh. There were some discolored, green spots around the wound that looked like poison.  It would have burned, but may not have been obviously painful, especially in the heat of battle. Still, she was surprised he didn’t notice it at all.

Smirking, she tugged at his wrist, ignoring his grimace and tiny pained yelp as she pulled it up so he could see it. “Oh really? Then what’s this?”

He laughed, and attempted to brush it off as a scratch, but she knew better and so did he.  Depending on the poison, and especially considering the filthy darkspawn blade that inflicted the wound, the risk of rot or infection was substantially higher than with a standard cut.  She convinced him to go to the nurse, and he only protested briefly, most of it just a playful attempt to irritate her.

Liss watched and did her best to stifle her laughter as Alistair cringed and hissed off a string of curses that seemed to offend the very obviously devout, Andrastian nurse who treated his arm, causing her to work more roughly.  She cut and peeled away pieces of his shirt that clung to his skin, and although Liss knew it must hurt, she could not help but be amused at his choice of profanity. She lay a hand casually on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, though she doubted it would do much good.  

“Liss, you’re from Highever, right,” he asked when the nurse stepped away to work at a table, crushing and mixing the  ingredients of some sort of antidote.

“What gave it away: The last name, the fact that my brother is a Teyrn, or the fact that I’ve mentioned only about a hundred times since we’ve known one another?”

“You know what I mean.”  He grunted as the nurse returned and spread the dark green mixture on and around his open wound.  Liss cringed in sympathy, and had to keep herself from telling the nurse to be more gentle. It’d probably only make it worse for him.

“Yes,” she answered him, proudly, “I happen to be intimately familiar with Highever.  What of it?”

“I’ve been meaning to go there for a while now,” Alistair explained, visibly relieved when the nurse began to bandage the wound, “My friend, Duncan, was from Highever.  He died in the battle at Ostagar, and I wanted to visit so that I could, I don’t know, honor him.”

“I remember Duncan,” Liss said gently, squeezing his shoulder as she remembered the tall, soft spoken man she’d seen on occasion growing up.  “He visited from time to time looking for recruits - sometimes from our guard, sometimes from our dungeons. He didn’t seem to discriminate and I always admired that about him.  I was relentless with my poor father about wanting to join the Wardens, but he wouldn’t have it.”

“You’d make a great Warden.”  He smiled and then looked down at the ground.

“Thank you for saying that.  It always bothered me when Papa  told me no, but I know he only meant to protect me.  From what I’ve seen, being a Grey Warden is not quite as romantic as the tales.”

“Yes,” Alistair laughed, “There’s a disappointing lack of griffons.”

There was a long and heavy pause in the conversation, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.  The only sound in the room the nurse’s cheerful humming as she tied the bandages, pulling them so tightly that Alistair flinched.  She must have really disapproved of Alistair’s creative use of Andraste’s name.

“There you go young man,” she announced sharply, “That should do the trick, so long as you don’t move it around too much  until the antidote dries.”

He nodded and stood, thanking her for her time, to which she replied with an unimpressed grunt before walking away to tend to a guard who entered with a broken arm.  Liss could not bring herself to trust the nurse’s work, considering how roughly she’d treated her injured friend, and she moved to examine the wrappings herself. She could find no fault with them, and released his arm, satisfied.

“You’ll also want to keep it clean,” she added, looking up at him seriously, “You wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

“I know how to tend a wound, thank you very much ,” he snapped, pulling his hand away from her.  His words stung, and shame bubbled up in her chest for being such a nuisance.

“I just --,” she began, but just threw her hands up in frustration.  “Nevermind.”  

“I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her gaze and smiling at her softly, “I know you’re just worried about me… I appreciate it.  Really.”

As they exited the infirmary, and walked down the hall,  Liss remembered the conversation he’d started earlier. “I could go to Highever with you, if you want,” she offered,  “I haven’t seen Fergus since I got here, and he seemed bothered in his last letter. It would be nice to see him, to make sure he’s holding up all right.”

“I...” Alistair began, but froze, clearly torn. “Thats, well…Hmm.”

“What is it?” She touched his shoulders gently. She knew it was too affectionate considering her resolve to not act on her feelings.  He made it difficult.

“”It’s just, I…” He trailed off, laughing nervously and looked about the hall as if to avoid Liss’ gaze altogether. “Lucia and I planned to visit Highever together.  It was a long time ago, but it just made me think.”

“Oh.”

“But she’s not here, is she,” he spat, an edge to his words that was sharper than Liss was used to hearing from him, even when he was at his most sarcastic, “She probably doesn’t even remember.”

“I don’t have to go, if that makes you uncomfortable.”  She offered him a smile she didn’t mean and made an attempt to sound much less disappointed than she was.  She really did want to go home, and the trip would be much better if she didn’t have to go alone. “I just thought I would offer, you know, since I know my way around.”

“I -- no.  You should come.”  His answer was quick and he seemed just as surprised at it as she was.

“I don’t want to spoil your trip.”  She kept the excitement at bay, expecting him to rethink his decision at any minute.

“You? Spoil something? Never. ”  Alistair no longer seemed nervous, the smile that crossed his lips soft and genuine and Liss was very confused.  “Please come.  I could use the company.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”  

He nodded. “Of course! Shall we leave first thing in the morning?”.

“So long as you can bear to look at me without my beauty sleep.”  

“You don’t need it anyway.” He made the mark rather casually,  but immediately flinched and muttered a Sweet Maker under his breath.  He looked at her apologetically, though he did not recant what he said and it brought a warmth to her face.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she laughed, patting him on the shoulder as she walked past him and down the hall to her room.

They did, in fact, leave the first thing the next morning, and Liss questioned her judgement.  The journey from Denerim to Highever was just long enough that riding straight through was uncomfortable.  In the midst of a Fereldan winter, it was completely unbearable. She did not appreciate the frigid air and frozen rain that smacked against her face.  It was a miserable time, enough that she did not even feel like speaking until she and Alistair set up camp at the end of the day, and was able to thaw herself by the fire.

“You know,” he began, a playful tone in his voice, “ if you stand any closer to that fire, you’ll roast yourself.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad right now.”  She struggled to speak through shivers and chattering teeth.  “I’d sit inside of it if it weren’t, you know, for the burning flesh.”  She rubbed her hands together furiously in a vain attempt to keep them warm.

“I take it you’re not used to being out in the elements?”

Liss darted her head around to glare at him.  “Of course I am! What do you take me for? Orlesian ?”

“My apologies, Lady Cousland.”  He threw his hands up, and tried to keep his tone sincere, but she could see the laughter in his eyes. “I just assumed you’d have more comfortable traveling accommodations.  That’s all.”

Liss huffed.  “Bryce Cousland would never have his children being soft and spoiled.  ‘You’re Fereldan! Fereldans are hardy!’ He always said things like that.”

Her heart sank into her stomach at the thought of her father, his final words to her echoing in her ears almost as clearly if he were there.  He could have told her to be strong or brave, and bid her to avenge the family. In that moment, he could have charged her with anything, made any request, and she would have sworn on her life to see it through.  Her father was her hero, after all. Of course, he’d made no such requests of her. As he lay there on the floor, wounded, prepared to die so that she might have a chance to escape he made her promise to him that she would live a happy life.  Now, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to keep that promise. She could scarcely remember what happy felt like.

She paused, looking into the fire and steadying herself with a smile before walking away from the flames to sit by Alistair.  “I’m Fereldan. I’m hardy. It doesn’t mean I have to like the cold.”

Alistair frowned and he sat in somber silence, appearing to search for something to say.  “Your father sounds like he was a good man.”  

“He was the best ,” she managed to answer, smiling even though tears welled in the corners of her eyes.  It was strange to be so sad over someone whose memory was so happy. “I’ll never forgive that traitorous vulture, Howe, for what he did to my family.”

“I’m… so sorry,” Alistair muttered, his kind eyes overflowing with sympathy that made her chest hurt.  

“Queen Anora told me the Warden-Commander killed him.  She said that he’d taken her prisoner, and it was the only way to save her.”

“Yes,” he answered quietly, looking off into the distance, likely trying to remember the exact details, “In the process of freeing Anora, we stumbled upon his dungeon.  Hundreds of innocent people tortured and killed.” He paused and laughed bitterly. “He got what he deserved, if you ask me.”  

“Good,” she asserted, leaning into Alistair and resting her head on his shoulder almost unconsciously.  Her desire for warmth and comfort outweighed her reservations. To her surprise, he seemed to welcome contact as well, even going so far as to wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her closer to him. Perhaps it was the cold, or perhaps it was something else, but he’d never been so openly affectionate with her.

“I guess,” he spoke, finally, clearing his throat, “Well… I know what it’s like to lose everything.  I’d never really had a family until Duncan recruited me. When I lost them I felt so empty, and alone.”

She shook her head, angry with herself for once again failing to realize she wasn’t the only one who’d had a traumatic year.  “And then you had to save the world on top of it all. It’s kind of impressive.”

“Oh, I don’t know about saving the world,” he laughed away her praise, clearly uncomfortable with it.  “I couldn’t have done any of it on my own.”

“You aren’t giving yourself enough c-credit.” Liss shuddered.

“Maker’s Breath, Liss,”  Alistair exclaimed, “You’re still shaking.”

“I’m still cold,” she mumbled into his shoulder, her own breath warming her nose.  “And now I’m sad, too.”

“I know.” He nodded, leaning forward and turning his gaze to the fire before looking back to her, “Me, too.”

Alistair removed the heavy blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders and  draped it around Liss’, atop the other blanket under which she was already huddled. His eyes met hers as he did so, lingering, expressing more than he probably would have been able to conjure up with words.   It was an overwhelming urge she experienced, to lean in slowly and press her lips to his. It was soft, hesitant, and he had enough time to pull away if he wanted to. Something in his eyes told her that he wouldn’t, and she hadn’t been wrong.  

Still, she pulled away, searching his face for any sign that she’d overstepped, but there was none, and as she attempted to mutter an apology, he interrupted her with a kiss of his own, deeper, more urgent than hers had been.  He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, pulling her into an embrace. She allowed herself to become lost in the moment, reveling in the warmth and comfort, in the taste of his lips and the smell of his hair. It was a horrible idea, and she knew it, but it felt so good, and so right.  For the first time since she lost her family, she didn’t feel alone, and that was not something she could apologize for.

Without trying, and even with active attempts not to, she had come to care for him, to love him. She knew it was most likely a mistake, but in the moment, with his arms around her, holding her so close, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

[cakesunflower]

Sugar Coated Pain [Boxer!Calum AU] Ch. 14

All Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Epilogue | BONUS CHAPTER

Chapter 14

“I REALLY MISS him, Ellie.”

Noelle felt her stomach churn, the queasiness having nothing to do with the mild cold she had developed overnight. She was in the rain for maybe five seconds but apparently walking into her air conditioner blasting house was enough for her to wake up with a stuffy nose and phlegmy throat. Times like these she wondered if she had a sensitive immune system.

But that had nothing to do with the way her chest tightened as she gazed at Andrea’s sad face, her younger sister staring longingly at their father’s picture on the mantle under the TV. His smiling face, while comforting almost every day, felt a bit haunting at this moment. All the girls had been super close with their father, but Andrea and he were joined at the hip. She was the one who most often had days of missing him terribly. Today was one of those.

“I do too,” Noelle sniffled, mildly irritated for having a both congested and runny nose. She rolled her lips into her mouth, following Andrea’s gaze to their dad’s picture, wondering what he would do to comfort her younger sister. Then Noelle sat up, smiling, “Come on, let’s go to that fro-yo place he took us to. The one in Columbus Circle.”

Andrea dragged her eyes to Noelle, a dull excitement present amongst the sadness in her eyes, before giving her a once over. “You’re sick, though. Shouldn’t you rest or something?”

Noelle scoffed, waving her off as she stood up from the couch. “It’s just a little cold, I’ll be fine,” she assured, even if the mild soreness in her throat was irritating. Sitting around at home was too boring, and even if she was capable of joining Beverly at work, Noelle would rather be with Andrea today. “Get dressed and we’ll leave in a few.”

They split, going to their own rooms to change out of the pajamas they’ve been lying around in—though, it was still a few minutes until noon. Noelle changed into some shorts and pulled out the first crop top from her closet after a body shower, pausing in front of her mirror as she debated to do anything to her face. She settled for a coat of mascara and her cherry chapstick before grabbing her things and heading downstairs.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Andrea’s quiet voice sounded over the radio once they were in the car, since Beverly had opted for the subway.

“Shut up, yes I did,” came Noelle’s instant response as she made a right turn, the wheelchair folded in the back rattling slightly. She used to hate driving in New York, always thought that was a skill she wasn’t capable of possessing, but her parents sat with her in the passenger seat until she could drive and now it was as easy as breathing. Plus, Noelle was always willing to help her sisters feel better if she could. “We’re gonna eat some frozen yogurt and chill in Central Park and get our mind off of everything.”

Andrea was silent for a moment before she raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get your mind off Dad or is there something else bothering you, too?”

It was creepy how well Noelle and her sisters could read each other.

Still, for all their insights on their sibling, Noelle was sure Andrea couldn’t see the thoughts and images flashing through her mind, ones that made Noelle’s grip on the steering wheel tighten and her stomach to twist in unfiltered excitement. For a moment—and most of the previous night—all Noelle could think of was Calum showing up at the store out of the blue, of him kissing her and touching her in a way she’d been craving probably since the moment she met him.

She always thought his lips were begging to be kissed and now that she finally had, she was desperate to do it again.

True, Noelle was still trying to process how what last night happened came to be. How did Calum feel about her? What did that kiss mean to him, if it meant anything at all? Her excited twist transformed into a breathless, gut wrenching churn at the thought of Calum kissing her just for the fuck of it. But the look in his eye. . . A kind of softness she hadn’t expected, especially when he asked her to come to his match tonight despite looking bothered when she did show up on her own whim. It was enough to hold Noelle over into believing that Calum wasn’t randomly showing up into her store and kissing her senseless for no reason.

There had to be a reason. Noelle was sure Calum wasn’t someone who did anything without one.

 “The only thing that’s bothering me is this cold,” Noelle responded, trying to ignore the way her lips were tingling once again, as if Calum was kissing them. The genuine cough that followed her words only solidified her statement; she wanted this little fro-yo trip to be about them and their dad; boy troubles weren’t on the agenda. Even if the boy was Australian and gorgeous and basically a god.

Noelle inhaled sharply—or as sharply as she could through a semi congested, semi runny nose—as she pulled into a handicapped parking spot in the area closest to the frozen yogurt joint. She really needed to better herself on pushing Calum out of her thoughts. Thinking about him at first was hard enough, but now that she’s felt his lips on hers and his taste on her tongue? Nearly impossible.

After helping Andrea into her wheelchair, the two girls made their way inside the parlor, which was somewhat busy akin to the foot traffic outside. It could be worse, Noelle mused, since it was the middle of summer and tourist season. She knew Central Park would be crawling with people like ants on a picnic.

“I can’t believe you like that,” Noelle scrunched her face up in distaste, glancing down at Andrea’s cup. “It’s gross.”

“You just have no taste,” the seventeen year old shot back, her attention not deviating from her cup of dark chocolate frozen yogurt with coconut shavings. Meanwhile Noelle just shook her head and Andrea laughed. “It was Dad’s favorite! It’s good.”

The smile remained on Noelle’s face as she scooped up her own fro-yo. “Dad had weird taste,” she commented. Okay, so maybe dark chocolate and coconut shavings wasn’t the weirdest of tastes, and while Noelle liked the smell of coconuts, she didn’t enjoy the taste and dark chocolate? Noelle wanted to cringe at the mere thought of the taste.

When she noticed her sister shudder in disgust, Andrea snorted. “You’re a dramatic bitch.”

Noelle let out a faux affronted gasp before shoving a spoonful of strawberry banana frozen yogurt in her mouth, crossing her ankles. She was sat on a stoned wall that only came up to her hips when standing, and Andrea sat right in front of her. Noelle shrugged with a grin. “I’m not gonna apologize for liking what I like.”

The cold treat in her mouth seemed suddenly hard to swallow as, somehow, her brain decided to take her words and morph them into a thought revolving around Calum. But, really, had she truly expected to keep him off her mind for too long? Noelle would be lucky if she didn’t, since the moment she woke up, crave for his lips once again.

Kissing Calum had been Earth shattering, the kind of act she needed more than just a day to process. Him showing up at the store after hours, in the rain, and kissing her after appearing to be mad at her for avoiding him over the course of a few days? Noelle wasn’t going to lie—she may have pinched herself a bunch of times in bed, wondering if this was some kind of dream.

One—or was it two?—kiss from Calum and Noelle was even more into him than she thought possible. Funny how it only took that for Noelle to realize that she’s been around him long enough to decide whether or not she liked him. Which was almost funny, because Noelle’s only ever seen Calum at his toughest, when he’s constantly carrying that confident, don’t-look-at-me vibe so effortlessly. God knows what’s gonna happen if there’s another side to Calum she’s been missing out on.

“I miss him a lot, you know.”

Andrea’s soft voice over the sound of busy New York City yanked Noelle right out of her thoughts, pushing Calum all the way to the back of her mind as her gaze flickered to Andrea. Suddenly she was reminded why they were here in the first place and felt a rush of guilt. She shouldn’t be sitting around thinking about kissing Calum when she came out here to be there for her sister.

“I do too,” Noelle offered, looking down at her cup to swirl around her melting frozen yogurt. Honestly, Noelle may not talk about her father too much, but God, she missed him every day. His absence was heavily noticed in the house, void of his deep laughter that always brought a smile to Noelle’s face and the scent of his special chocolate chip pancakes that Noelle just couldn’t seem to get right. “Sometimes. . .” She trailed off, eyebrows furrowing at nothing in the distance. “Sometimes I wake up and think he’s still around, you know? It used to be every day when it first happened and now it’s not as often but—” Noelle let out a sigh, feeling the familiar burn in her eyes that almost always occurred at the thought of her father, “—it still sucks.”

That was a pathetic way to end her sentiment, but it was nonetheless true. It sucked not having their dad around, nothing filling the void his lively presence used to be. Even three years later with the smell of chocolate chip pancakes that weren’t made by him lingering in the air and the sound of his laughter only echoing through the walls either by distant memory or an old video on one of their phones, the reality of him being gone was akin to feeling her insides shrivel up slowly and painfully. At least, that’s what it felt like for Noelle.

“He would’ve been proud of you and Bev, you know,” Andrea spoke up, resting her sunglasses atop her head to squint up at Noelle, uncaring for the sun shining down on them. “The bookstore was his life and business has never been better. I think—” she paused, a smile slowly lighting up her face as Noelle held her breath. “I think by keeping the store and all the stories in it alive, you’re kind of keeping him alive too, you know?”

Shit, if Noelle was trying to hold back her tears before, now there was no stopping the waterworks.

But she did manage to hold them back, feeling the weight of Andrea’s words sit heavily and longingly on her heart. Her seventeen year old sister really knew how to bring Noelle’s emotions out, huh?

“He’d be proud of you too, you know,” Noelle assured with a grin, eyes glassy with unshed tears. Their surroundings was nothing but background noise to them, the only indicator of them being the sun on their backs and the light breeze. She put her nearly empty cup aside, hands on the stone ledge she was sitting on. “Especially for pulling yourself together. I remember you being so angry after—after the accident. For not having Dad or your legs. But you got through it. And you’re here. You fought and Dad would’ve been so proud.”

Noelle didn’t even want to think about the days, weeks, months following the accident that killed their dad and paralyzed Andrea. They were all hurting, so badly, and fourteen year old Andrea had to deal with not just one loss, but two. Noelle would never tell Andrea of the countless nights she cried in her room, the bathroom, wherever she could when she thought of the pain her sister was in the first little while Andrea was in the wheelchair. The loss of her father and watching her little sister go through something so awful felt like a hand had her heart constantly enclosed in it, painfully squeezing the organ every time Andrea even so much as winced at the nerve pain she used to feel before she ultimately lost feeling in her legs.

“Oh, my God—Elle!”

Andrea’s surprised gasp pulled Noelle out of her thoughts once more, staring at her sister in alarm. But when she saw Andrea’s mouth dropped open in shocked amusement, she followed Andrea’s wide eyed gaze to next to her, before Noelle’s own eyes widened at the sight she was greeted with. How the hell had she not noticed an adorable little dog licking away at the inside of her leftover frozen yogurt cup?

“Um,” Noelle stretched the word, an incredulous laugh escaping her as her gaze flickered between the black and white dog and her sister, who looked just as amused. The dog had a collar, so she assumed it wasn’t a stray as she glanced around for a potential someone looking for their pet. “Hi, buddy,” she finally giggled, reaching over to carefully pet the pup’s head.

The small, fluffy dog lifted its head away from the cup long enough to let out a chipper yip before its tongue began eating away at the contents of Noelle’s cup. Which, at this point, she considered was the dog’s now.

“He’s so cute!” Andrea gushed, rolling her wheelchair forward a bit to get closer to the stone ledge Noelle sat on. “Oh, my God, Elle, look at his little face!”

Noelle couldn’t help but grin as she looked at the dog, not even bothered that the little guy decided to finish off the rest of her frozen yogurt. Thankfully it wasn’t a chocolate flavored one, and it seemed like the dog was enjoying it. “I wonder who he belongs to,” she mused, her fingers still gently rubbing at the top of his head as she glanced around with squinting eyes. “His owner’s probably looking for him.”

Andrea rubbed his back. “Can we keep him if we don’t find his owner?”

Noelle shot her sister an amused yet flat look, unsurprised of Andrea’s desire to steal away the dog. Though, she couldn’t blame Andrea for her words. This was the cutest little—

“Duke!”

Her hand freezing atop the dog’s head, Noelle wondered if she somehow imagined the familiar voice amongst the busy hum of Central Park, wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her because New York was so fucking big and what were the odds that, when Noelle successfully followed the voice over her right shoulder, she caught sight of Calum jogging down the light hill behind her.

At this point, the way her heart started to quicken should’ve become a familiar sensation whenever Calum came around, but Noelle still found her breath hitching in her throat as she saw him near them. He had a red and white trucker hat on—Noelle didn’t possibly understand how he managed to make that look good—that allowed his dark hair to curl out from under it, sunglasses hiding his eyes behind the darkened lens. But she didn’t miss the way his jog slowed down into a walk as he neared them, his lips parting ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably, when he realized who he was approaching.

Of course Noelle noticed his lips. She couldn’t stop thinking about those Goddamn lips.

“Calum?” Andrea grinned as she instantly recognized him, drawing the older boy’s gaze towards her. “Wait, oh, my God, is this your dog?”

Noelle’s fingers may still be scratching the dog’s head, but her eyes were on Calum as he stood on the grassier side of the ledge as opposed to where Andrea was on the pavement. She greedily wondered if he was looking at her from behind the sunglasses, her curiosity intensifying when Calum’s head ticked her way ever so slightly before he subtly shifted, his broad body shielding her from the sunlight shining behind him.

He was totally looking at her.

“Yeah, he’s mine,” he answered, his attention back to Andrea as a small hint of a smirk graced his lips, glancing at the small animal among them. “This is Duke.”

Oh, God, he has a dog. As if he couldn’t possibly get more attractive, Noelle internally groaned, her smile absently widening when Duke lifted his head from the now empty cup, bumping it against her palm when she stopped scratching him. Her heart soared as she continued her fingers’ movements.

Moments later, Duke shuffled towards the brim of the ledge he and Noelle were on before ultimately jumping into Andra’s lap. “Oh, man,” she giggled, giving Noelle her empty cup to put to the side as Duke stood up on his hind legs, the front two against Andrea’s chest as he licked at her chin, emitting more giggles from the seventeen year old. Clearly, her focus on Duke had her totally ignoring the mild bruise and cut that could be seen on Calum’s face from his fight as she said to him, “I’m stealing your dog.”

He chuckled lowly and Noelle tried not to be obvious in the way her back straightened when Calum moved forward before bending down to sit on the ledge next to Noelle. Unlike her feet, his touched the ground as he laced his hands in the space between his thighs. “If he ever goes missing, I’ll know where to look,” Calum mused, lifting an eyebrow at Andrea, who just grinned innocently before giving all of her attention to Duke.

Calum’s arm barely brushed against Noelle’s, the heat of his body enough to stall Noelle’s breath in her throat. Unfortunately, because of the mild cold she was fighting off, that irritated her a bit too much as she began coughing, a groan amongst the coughs as she turned away from Calum and covered her mouth in her left elbow. “God,” she wheezed slightly, nose wrinkling in annoyance as she tried to clear her throat, the mild burning sensation ever present.

“Here.” Noelle glanced at Calum, blinking at the water bottle he was offering, and it was almost embarrassing how that simple action spurred the butterflies in her stomach. She took the bottle, smiling gratefully as Calum’s own lips curled slightly as she uncapped the bottle and took an air sip, not wanting to get him sick, too. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she breathed once capping the bottle and handing it back to him with a soft thanks. “Was in the rain for, like, ten seconds and I ended up with a cold.”

Calum’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at that, and he wasn’t too surprised to feel a pinch of regret for not having an umbrella or something last night for Noelle when he’d dropped her home. He wanted to laugh at himself for feeling guilt over something he had no control over; what was Noelle doing to him?

When Calum didn’t say anything, Noelle felt the need to fill the silence that settled between them—Andrea had rolled away with Duke, playing with him with the small stress ball she carried with her everywhere since the accident—as she wrung her fingers. “Are you training today?”

“Yeah,” he responded, shoulders squaring as he sat up, and even while sitting he unsurprisingly dominated her in height. Then something shifted in his features, Noelle noticed, as he faced her slightly. She wished she could see his eyes. “If you’re sick, you don’t have to come tonight.”

Noelle rolled her lips into her mouth, glancing at him. She suddenly felt nervous for a moment, as if she hadn’t received the biggest show of emotion from Calum last night when he had his lips against hers, a bit unsure of herself. “Do you. . . Not want me to come?”

The uncertainty she heard in her own voice prickled Noelle’s skin; she was a confident girl and while Calum caught her off guard, she no longer wanted to feel or act as though she was afraid of saying the wrong thing in front of him. Feeling any of that doubtfulness seemed a bit redundant to her, after last night and even though Noelle didn’t want to get too ahead of herself, she couldn’t keep the excitement from bubbling or her heart from feeling like it was soaring in her chest at the sight of Calum.

“I do.” His words were sure, and as if that wasn’t enough, Noelle truly felt her stomach plummet in anticipation when Calum took off his glasses, his cap shielding him from the sun as he leaned closer. The sight of his deep, dark eyes demanded Noelle’s attention as she couldn’t find herself looking away, her heart familiarly picking up its rhythm as Calum stopped a handful of inches away from her face. Close enough for her to smell his deliciously piney scent, but still too damn far.

When one corner of his lips tugged up slightly and his gaze dangerously dropped to her lips, Noelle held her breath, especially when his low, accented voice mused, “I told you last night I wanted you there, and I still do.”

Wow, Noelle felt like she was gonna throw up from the thrill Calum’s words sent her. But that wouldn’t be cute, so she invited the air into her lungs before quickly searching for the confidence she knew she had. Almost reluctantly, she leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow at him as she pointed out, “Can’t blame me for double checking. You have a habit of looking pretty annoyed when I show up at Astros.”

The heat that Calum felt rise in his cheeks was unexpected, rolling his lower lip into his mouth as a small yet sheepish smile tilted on his face. Normally, Calum wasn’t really one to regret his words or actions, but now he felt like a dick for making it seem like Noelle’s presence at Astros bothered him. And while it wasn’t her attendance that unsettled him, it was the other people that were there. He knew the kind of people—kind of men—that frequented Astros and Calum was quickly realizing he didn’t want any of them to give Noelle a second glance, even if he knew her presence demanded it. It was hard to look away from her once your eyes landed on Noelle, and that was another thing Calum was, admittedly happily, coming to terms with.

Honestly, why would he ever want to look away?

Eyes meeting Noelle’s, Calum pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth at the sight of her light eyes, shining brightly and Calum just knew it had nothing to do with the sun over their heads, long lashes framing them. He could make out the deep green flecks in the light hazel, no longer hidden and for him to admire in all their glory. Quickly regaining track of his thoughts, Calum lifted his chin slightly as he told her lightly, “Show up tonight and you’ll see I’ll be anything but annoyed, babe.”

Babe. Babe, babe, babe. How could one word stop Noelle’s world from spinning?

Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, mouth drying slightly as she picked up on the mischievous glint in his eyes. If his words didn’t hold the subtle thrill they did, Noelle would definitely be able to tell by the slight challenging quirk of his brow that Calum was flirting with her and both of them were consciously aware of it.

Her lips pouted into a small smirk, the action successfully catching Calum’s attention as Noelle sarcastically drawled, “That’s romantic.”

“What gave you the idea that I was a romantic?”

Noelle’s grin widened at the teasing lilt behind his words, a strange kind of giddy bubbling up at the fact that Calum was joking about romance with her. “I don’t know,” she hummed knowingly, feeling the fire in her cheeks at the next words to spill out of her mouth, “Storming into my store in the middle of a storm and kissing me was quite the gesture.”

Calum pressed his lips together at Noelle’s words, scoffing lightly through his nose as he tried to fight off the smile threatening to grow. The light teasing, the way Noelle was starting to clap back at him, was something akin to refreshing and Calum couldn’t help but revel in the fact that she was acting around him the way she acted with the people she was comfortable around. The knowledge of her being comfortable around him made him happier than he’d admit.

“Guess I’m just full of surprises.” Like you, he wanted to add, but didn’t just yet want to let Noelle know her power of catching him off guard.

Noelle’s smile widened slightly at his words, showing off her dimples as her eyes remained on his. God, was she ever aware that Calum was full of surprises. With a tight grip on the familiar confidence she knew she possessed, yet somehow lost when it came to Calum, Noelle decided, “If you want me to come to your match tonight, then I will.”

Her heart practically bolted out of her chest at the small yet satisfied grin curling at Calum’s kissable lips. “I’ll look for you.”

                                                       ♔♔♔♔♔

Noelle felt terrible. Both literally and figuratively; the former because throughout the course of the day her mild cold had just gone downhill, and the latter because she felt bad about being unable to attend Calum’s match. Her sore throat had intensified, her voice hoarse every time she spoke, only being irritated further whenever she coughed with phlegm stuck in the back of her throat. Her eyes were itchy, too, but while she didn’t have a fever, she did have some chills, so she wondered if it was the end of the world with her miserable mood.

Her love for the rain was easily replaced by irritation due to this cold.

“Take some NyQuil before you go to bed, okay?” Her mother was saying as she grabbed her keys from the small table by the front door.

“I already did,” Noelle lazily drawled from where she lay on the couch, a throw covering half of her body as she watched an episode of Suits.

She heard her mom let out a huff. “Then why are you up? Go to sleep, don’t fight the medicine.”

Noelle waved her mom off, telling her she’ll sleep in a little while before Mrs. Simon let out another sigh before bidding goodbye and leaving the house. It was nearing ten o’clock that night, but her mom had a surgery scheduled and was headed to the hospital. Andrea was busy in her room and Beverly hadn’t returned yet from Calum’s match, which only made Noelle let out a disappointed breath. She wished she was there.

Her eyes felt heavy, the drowsy effect of the medicine already kicking in though she kept her eyes open, absently watching the show playing on the TV. Noelle couldn’t help but wonder if Calum was as disappointed on not seeing her tonight as she was about not attending. She’d texted to let him know she couldn’t make it, and he’d said it was okay but that was it. Noelle still felt down. Sure, the violence and blood during matches wasn’t something Noelle was a complete fan of, which was funny because that’s why people attended them in the first place, but honestly—she was a fan of one of the best fighters there.

She hadn’t been to any of Calum’s matches for nearly a week and tonight she would’ve finally gone back to Astros, the place itself always making her feel uneasy but allowing her to forget that discomfort when Calum took the ring. She’d been looking forward to going tonight, especially when Calum literally, personally, told her he wanted her to be there—her health kicking her in the ass and preventing that from happening was a low blow.

It was about ten minutes after her mother left that Noelle’s phone let out a beep, and she picked up her phone to see that Beverly had informed her that the match was over, Calum had won, and she was staying over Ashton’s. Noelle put her phone back on the coffee table, burying her face in her throw blanket as she coughed into it.

Ugh, I want to die.

Around ten-thirty, she decided to call it a night since she could barely keep her eyes open. Her head felt heavy from the NyQuil, nose congested and throat itchy as she shut off the TV and stumbled to her feet, draping the blanket around her shoulders. She made her way towards the stairs, wanting to just collapse on the bed and not think of missing Calum’s match or her health, only to freeze after switching off the living room lights when a knock sounded at the door. The light above the door was on, illuminating the small space, and Noelle frowned at the door as she wondered who the hell was knocking.

But then her phone let out a ding, and when she checked the message she nearly dropped the device as she read Calum’s name and then his message.

Open the door.

Noelle’s heart dropped to her stomach, eyes widening as her gaze snapped back to the door just a few steps away. Calum was here? Suddenly she felt as though her dry throat had nothing to do with her cold as she took slow steps towards the door, her drowsy mind wondering if this was some kind of joke. Maybe the NyQuil was making her delusional or something—what the hell was Calum doing here?

But then, as if ripping off a band-aid, Noelle gripped the doorknob after unlocking it, swinging the door opening and freezing in the entryway at the sight of the tall figure standing right there. He stood in jeans and a grey tank with a beige button down on top, undone with the sleeves rolled to show off the tattoos on his wrist and hands. The sight of him had her staring at him in disbelief, lips parted, but the brown Panera bag he held made her disbelief mix with confusion and even anticipation.

“Calum. . . Hi,” she breathed out, left hand still gripping the doorknob as she stared up at him. He still had the two cuts on his face and the bruise was fading, and Noelle was relieved to see that there weren’t any new ones added on. “What’re you doing here?”

“You’re sick,” Calum stated matter-of-factly, as if that explained his unexpected arrival. Then he lifted the bag, his dark eyes meeting her hazel ones and Noelle was surprised to see, what she thought, uncertainty flash in his brown irises. “Got you chicken noodle soup because, y’know, everyone likes chicken noodle soup. And it always helps me when I’m sick so, uh, yeah. . .”

He trailed off, words now sounding unsure and Noelle fought the urge to say aw because this was too fucking sweet. If she was doubtful about her feelings for Calum before, then that was no longer the case because Noelle was positive she could feel her heart swell in her chest at Calum’s gesture. She knew he won the fight thanks to Beverly, and normally he’d be out celebrating with everyone else but he’s here, at her house, with soup because she’s sick and Noelle just knows that she’s fallen a little bit more for him already.

“That’s—” Noelle’s lips split into a grin, suddenly not so tired anymore despite the NyQuil running through her system, and she fought the urge to lean against the door like some lovesick girl as she peered up at him. “You didn’t have to, Calum; this is so sweet of you.”

Calum smirked as he lowered the bag, raising an eyebrow at her as he lightly jibed, “Don’t go spreading that around. I’ve got a reputation to remain.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she stepped aside to let him in. “Come on in, tough guy,” Noelle chuckled, watching as Calum’s smirk transformed into a genuine smile, one that made her insides flutter because she didn’t get to see it often enough and when she did, it was a memorable moment.

Sniffling, Noelle led Calum towards the kitchen, feeling his gaze on her back and it wasn’t until they passed the stairs where there was a small mirror on the wall where Noelle cringed slightly. She caught a glance of herself, cringing when she noticed the haphazard bun with messy strands sticking out and her nose pink from sniffling and blowing. Safe to say she didn’t look her best and while she knew it wasn’t a big deal because surely Calum didn’t expect her to look like she had her life together when she was sick—it still made her feel slightly insecure to look like this when Calum looked like that.

“It’s still hot,” Calum’s deep voice pulled her out of her mildly self-deprecating thoughts, looking at him with confused raised brows as he stood on the end of the counter and she slowly made her way over. “Have it before it cools down, yeah?”

Noelle hummed in tired appreciation, unable to keep the small smile from tugging her lips upwards as she grabbed a spoon from the drawer and the bottle of a hot sauce in a cabinet. As she poured some into the soup, the steam immediately floating once Calum popped the lid off, Noelle asked, “How’d your match go?”

Calum folded his arms on top of the counter, leaning forward as Noelle stood to his left. He glanced at her, the way the blanket fell over her shoulders and tendrils of hair fell out of her bun made her look so damn adorable—and Calum didn’t find anything or anyone adorable, other than Duke. The smile that played on his lips was difficult to keep away. “I won, so about how you’d expect.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she took a spoonful of the soup, wincing ever so slightly as it burned her tongue but reveling in the warmth it gave her throat. “A little bit of modesty is good for the soul, you know,” Noelle quipped with a quirk of a brow. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever admit that Calum’s cockiness was something she found so damn attractive.

“Just bein’ honest,” Calum chuckled deeply, feeling his shoulders relax at Noelle’s grin. He’d been nervous, honestly, when he was driving over to Noelle’s house, wondering if it was a good idea for him to show up in the first place. But then he decided fuck it and bought her some soup because he wasn’t going to show up to her house, knowing she’s sick, empty handed. Nodding towards the cup, he asked, “Is it good?”

“Mhm,” she hummed sleepily while swallowing a spoonful of soup, chicken and noodles. Somehow the familiar soup tasted even better because it was from Calum. Propping her left elbow on the table, Noelle rested her cheek against her palm and twirled the spoon in the cup as she brought her gaze back to Calum, failing to ignore the excited twist in her stomach as she realized he was already looking at her. It was a nice change from her stomach feeling mildly queasy throughout the day. “I think you bringing me soup totally counts as you being a romantic.”

She was referring to their conversation from earlier at the park today, of course, and Calum huffed out a laugh as he bowed his shaking head a bit. Anyone else told him he was a romantic and Calum would tell them to fuck off, but Noelle teasing him about it lightened his chest and made him want to prove to her just how romantic he could get.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” Calum jested, eyes watching Noelle’s eyes fall shut as she scoffed out a smile at his words, her right hand picking up a spoonful of just soup as she put it in her mouth. She was practically falling asleep standing up. “You tired?”

“Drank some NyQuil earlier,” Noelle drawled, eyes still closed after swallowing the soup.

Calum furrowed his eyebrows, staring intently at Noelle with her eyes closed and cheek on her palm and he realized just how sleepy she looked. He knew the medicines drowsiness could take a quite toll, and that seemed to be the case for Noelle. He straightened, his voice automatically softening as he asked, “Wanna go to bed?”

“No,” Noelle shook her head, finally opening her eyes as she forced herself to fruitlessly blink away any sleep as she, too, straightened and shot Calum a half sleepy, half determined look. “I wanna finish the soup.”

But, shit, did she also want to go to sleep.

Calum’s presence made her want to stay up all night if she had to. For shit’s sake, he was at her house with soup he bought for her because he knew she was sick and Noelle didn’t want to let any of this go to waste. “You can barely hold the spoon, Noelle.”

Yeah. . . It’d be great if she didn’t feel like she was about to pass the fuck out.

She pouted at the spoon, as if it was its fault she couldn’t get a firm grip on it anymore. At this point, there wasn’t much of a difference if she was drunk or drowsy off NyQuil.

Nonetheless, she was surprised when the spoon was no longer in her grasp, blinking in confusion and as an attempt to get rid of some of the sleep as she watched Calum move to stand next to her from his side. Noelle watched in silent surprise, hugging the blanket closer around her shoulders as Calum dipped the spoon into the cup and scooped up chicken, noodles and the broth. When he raised it above the cup, his expectant stare met her stunned one, and he tried to fight off his amused smirk as he said, “Come on now, you’ve only got some left.”

Instead of doing as he said, Noelle’s lips parted as she stared up at him. He’s so tall. And pretty. “You’re gonna feed me?” she dumbly asked. She didn’t even cringe at her question, too tired to care.

Calum’s smirk softened, taking in her wide eyed look and even he couldn’t deny that he melted on the spot at the sight of her. “Wouldn���t be the first time,” he pointed out.

Noelle sniffled before opening her mouth and Calum fed her the spoonful, his lips parting slightly as if he was feeding a baby and gesturing for her to do the same. At this point, he didn’t bother hiding his smile as Noelle chewed with closed eyes, lips forming a smile of her own. Noelle definitely thought the soup tasted better when she was being fed it by Calum.

It was a quiet moment between the two of them for the next few minutes as Calum fed her the soup, making sure to get every bit of chicken and noodles, and Noelle dutifully ate every bit of it. She was growing sleepier by the second, the medicine demanding for her to go to bed, but being with Calum felt much more inviting than her bed. He looked so gorgeous—when did he not?—standing next to her, under the glow of the overhead kitchen light that Noelle didn’t want to tell him to leave, didn’t want to be by herself when he was already here.

She didn’t even notice that Calum had thrown out the bag and now empty cup, putting the spoon in the sink until he was turning to face her once more. Noelle still had the blanket around her and as she stared up at Calum, stared at his brown eyes and dark curls and stupidly handsome face, she wasn’t able to keep in the next few words from spilling out of her mouth, “Can you stay the night?”

Calum swore his heart fell to the very bottom of his stomach. He couldn’t even keep his cool when his eyes widened at Noelle’s question, sucking in a sharp breath because, once the fuck again, Noelle had taken him by surprise. The plan—not that there was much of one—was to come by with the soup—okay, so it may have also been to start making up for him being an ass to her when they first met—and to just keep Noelle company if she wanted him to. He wasn’t going to lie—he’d missed seeing her at Astros, feeling disappointed that she couldn’t make it tonight but not wanting her there anyway if she was too sick. Bringing soup over was just an impulsive thing, something Calum felt compelled to do. But Noelle asking him to come up to bed with him, even if it was just to lay down together, Calum would be crazy to say no.

When he didn’t respond soon enough, Noelle offered the smallest of smiles. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she muttered, taking a breath through her stuffy nose. “I mean, I’m sick so I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t—”

Calum instantly cut off her backtracking. “I want to.” Noelle shut her mouth, taking a soft breath because she may or may not have risked embarrassing herself when she asked that question, but Calum’s agreement—him saying he wanted to—was enough to warm up her cheeks. Enough to remind herself that feeling hesitant and maybe even a little bit insecure around Calum should become something of the past.

He noticed. Calum saw the hesitation in Noelle’s eyes once she had asked him, noticed the way she took in a breath as if preparing herself, through her drowsiness, for the rejection Calum would send her way. And in that moment, he realized that he didn’t want Noelle to feel like that towards him. He knew, from their recent interactions, that they were growing to be comfortable around each other—fuck, Calum wasn’t even going to think about that kiss from last night—and Calum was determined to get rid of any apprehension Noelle may still have.

“Let’s go.”

Noelle smiled a small, sleepy smile as they left the kitchen, turning the lights off as they went up the stairs. As Calum walked the familiar way to Noelle’s bedroom, she said, “Wait. I actually think Bev might have some of Ash’s pajamas, if you want them for the night.”

Calum paused in front of Noelle’s bedroom, glancing down the hall to where Noelle was still lingering by the stairs. He didn’t want to send her off back downstairs to Beverly’s room, but Calum would be lying if he said he was comfortable sleeping in the skinny jeans he had on now. And while he wouldn’t give a flying fuck if he slept in his underwear next to some girl, Noelle wasn’t some girl and he was sure hell as hell not going to treat her like one.

So he pulled away from Noelle’s door. “I can go get them.”

“It’s fine,” Noelle assured, her throat no longer aching as much as she took off the blanket. “Can you put this on my bed?”

Calum nodded as Noelle tossed the blanket from where she stood, and he caught it in one hand as Noelle disappeared back down the stairs and he entered the room, feeling the switch on the wall as it illuminated her room. After putting her blanket on the bed, Calum quickly went to the bathroom across the hall and used the toilet before heading back to Noelle’s bedroom, running his ring clad fingers through his hair just as Noelle returned.

“Here you go,” she smiled and Calum took the black and blue plaid pajama pants he recognized as Ashton’s. Calum noticed her smile, only showing hints of her dimples, was as sleepy as it could get as Noelle moved around the room, going towards the dresser to pull out some clothes. “I’ll be back,” she hummed before disappearing out of the room.

Without much thought, Calum took this moment to toe off his shoes and take off his jeans and boxers after emptying his pockets, pulling on the far more comfortable pajamas and when he dropped down to the same side of Noelle’s bed as he had the last time, Calum let out a content breath. Really, he couldn’t believe he was back here again, in the same bed he’d probably had one of his best sleeps in, waiting for the pretty girl to return to her bedroom. It was the kind of deja vu he most definitely welcomed.

He’s never done this before, never voluntarily and wholeheartedly get into another girl’s bed just for the sake of company—for the sake of comfort. Calum didn’t like to include that one relationship he had back in high school, thought of himself as a different person back then, because he never did now what he did back then. But this? Wanting to just lay with a girl? That was something he did back then, and he found himself missing that kind of closeness with someone without sticking something in somewhere.

As he settled in the bed, Noelle’s fruity scent mixed with something of her own, Calum felt his shoulders relax because he couldn’t help but feel so damn comfortable in here. He’s only ever felt comfortable, utterly at ease, in only a handful of places and who would’ve thought Noelle’s room would be added onto that list? There was such a homey essence in here, with the pictures and the books and little tokens that made Noelle’s room hers, and Calum was kind of proud of himself for not feeling too freaked out over the comfort he felt.

He sank against the pillows behind him, feet free of socks slide under the covers as he remained sitting up, waiting for Noelle to return. He’d been staring at the ceiling, blinking in surprise because how hadn’t he noticed the few glow-in-the-dark stars that were stuck up there, when her voice suddenly sounded out of nowhere.

“It’s kind of unfair you’re in my bed like that and I can’t kiss you.”

Calum straightened his head, eyes finding Noelle as she entered her room and shut the door behind her, though her gaze on Calum as her lips formed a pout. His own lips parted as a breathy scoff of a laugh escaped him, eyebrows shooting up in surprise because fucking hell Noelle couldn’t say shit like that without expecting him to want to act on it.

She wandered towards the bed, the overhead light off and just the bedside lamp on, dressed in her own pajama pants and tee with her hair now loose around her shoulders. Leaning forward, Calum raised his eyebrows in amusement despite the fact that he so desperately wanted to kiss her, too. He couldn’t fucking stop wanting to kiss her once again.

As Noelle came to sit on her side of the bed, Calum knew what she meant by her words but he couldn’t help but tease, “Who says you can’t?”

Noelle’s shoulders dropped, her pout intensifying into a whining one as she complained, “Calum.” His grin widened at that and Noelle was instantly smiling back because how could she not when Calum was showing off his perfectly white teeth and the crinkles by his eyes made her heart thump even more than normal. He has the prettiest smile, fuck. He was doing a silent laugh, one that shook his broad shoulders and Noelle didn’t ever want him to stop because it was just so adorable. Huffing jokingly, Noelle slid herself down to lie down with a dramatic declaration of, “The universe is against me.”

With that, she laid down on her side and pulled the blanket up, back to Calum and she swear she could’ve fallen asleep right in that moment when her head hit the pillow. But then the lights were off and she felt Calum shift behind her, and Noelle felt his arm slide over her waist and effortlessly slide her closer until her back and chest were pressed together. Noelle swallowed inaudibly at the immediate warmth she felt of him against her, of smelling his familiar scent, and if she didn’t feel herself die a little in that moment, she sure as hell did in the next.

Which is when she felt Calum use his free hand to pull the blanket down a bit and brush her hair away from her shoulder, then all of a sudden the unmistakable pressure of his lips on the side of her neck was the reason her skin felt like it was on fire, having nothing to do with the cold she had.

Noelle’s heart beated rapidly, hearing the pounding in her ears as she felt Calum’s nose and lips on her neck, felt the ends of his curls tickling her cheek and jaw as she stared wide eyed at the wall in the darkness of her room. Calum’s soft lips worked at her skin and Noelle inhaled a choked gasp when his teeth dug in slightly, her eyes fluttering when he continued his unexpected ministrations of sucking and licking at her skin.

Oh, God, was this happening? Noelle rolled her own lips into her mouth, inhaling sharply and trying to hold in any sound threatening to escape her because holy fuck this felt so good. She knew what kissing Calum felt like, like it was something she never wanted to stop doing, but Calum’s lips on her skin felt other worldly. The softness of his lips paired with the bite of his teeth and warm soothing of his tongue had Noelle’s stomach twisting tightly and the sleepiness in her head to be replaced by pleasured dizziness.

“Just because you can’t kiss me,” Calum low, gruff voice broke through the silence once he most definitely finished leaving a mark, his lips moving a little bit higher and Noelle felt her damn abdomen quiver in pleasure as his lips brushed against her when he spoke, “doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you.”

And then he was doing it again, and this time Noelle shut her eyes and her hand went to grip Calum’s, which was resting against her stomach, as he repeated his actions. “Calum,” Noelle gasped quietly, reveling in the way she felt his lips curl slightly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

He chuckled against her, the sound coming from deep in his chest that Noelle felt on her back and her sleepy yet hyper aware mind couldn’t help but think that this guy was absolutely going to be the death of her. Noelle could also feel his half hard length against the thin material of his pajamas, and she knew this couldn’t go on because as much as she wanted this to keep going, she was most definitely not having sex with Calum while she was sick. But he didn’t stop as Noelle felt his teeth once more, the mild pressure so God damn pleasurable and she didn’t even dare try to focus any of her attention on wondering what the fuck was happening—only on enjoying the softness of Calum’s lips and the fire he was igniting in her veins.

“I’ve every intention of finishing this, baby girl,” Calum hummed after his tongue finished soothing Noelle’s warm skin, pulling back ever so slightly to admire the second darkening mark that stood out against her skin even through the darkness of the room. His smirk, though Noelle couldn’t see it, was back on his face as he settled his head back down with hers resting comfortably in the space beneath his chin. With a promising squeeze to her hand, he promised lowly, “Just you wait.”

Noelle let out a sharp breath through her nose, briefly wondering how the fuck things had escalated that fast but not at all complaining. In fact, she so desperately wanted to feel Calum’s lips against her once more, but the moment he pulled back the drowsiness decided to make its way back into Noelle’s system, not even giving her a chance to revel in the small afterglow of the knowledge of having hickeys on her neck left by Calum as her already closed eyes remained so in an attempt to go to sleep. It was annoying how the NyQuil demanded for her to go to sleep right this moment, to not even give her the luxury of bathing in the mild yet thrilling high Calum’s lips on her skin provoked.

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep after she came down from the excitement of Calum’s actions, her breathing slowing down and her hand still grasping Calum’s. And as comfortable as Calum was in this position, of having Noelle so close as his own quickened heart calmed down from what he just did out of no-fucking-where, he couldn’t stay in bed much longer as he slowly but surely pulled away from Noelle. Making sure he only got up from the bed when Noelle was completely out, Calum clenched his jaw before making his way out of the dark room and into the hallway, heading towards the bathroom to relieve himself of the tension he brought upon himself from getting a taste of Noelle’s skin.

If only she joined him in the bathroom to help him out of his little—big—problem. Calum squeezed hit eyes shut against the locked door, letting out a sharp breath. Man, they hadn’t done much and Calum could tell he was already in deep. The only way he was able to ease the hardening he was experiencing in even the loose pants like a hormonal fucking teenager was to think of the ways he was going to fulfill on the promise he just made Noelle.   

tags: @aphroditebeautyshit @cartiercalum @modelukes @tothemoonmikey @candidcalum @perfectlycake @cakestan @lukesback @polarizehood @vaporlewk @luke2k18 @biggestslutforcalum @kinkycorbyn @nostalgia-luke @captain-what-is-going-on @hoodstations @calumamore @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent @rosecth @aghostofmgc @mollypayge @o-cece-d @hemmohales @crownedbyluke @vscsng @invisiblexcth @lukes-youngblood @sunflowertoejam @5sos-stan4lyfe @vistaviola @clum-thomas @justalittleofmyworld @babygirlcashton @ashsthetic @bahylon @angelbbycal @egyptiangoldhood @julianniez @morethanalover @romanticalumhood @calistajs @booklove-2 @pickleluke @rememberr-iloveyou @ghstofcalum @chloettegriffiths @lil-brown-princess @lifeakaharry @kimkimj @bfcalum @ngandtea @bitchinbabylon @my-world97 @babyloncth @haileygonzalezz @lifeofsterek @stfujace @miahelizaaabeth @cosmixcalum

[flowerslut]

Hide and Seek

I did not ask permission to write this... so... I am hoping that writing this is okay. I asked for prompts. I received a prompt. I loved the prompt. I needed a scene for the prompt. I am... trying not to write angst so much. Humor is good! Humor is fun. Ruff Bois AU is fun. Ruff Bois honestly doesn’t even read as an AU; it’s likely canon at this point if we’re being real. Here’s a Ruff Bois story. Thank you @gayvampiretown for giving us the headcanons that we both need and deserve. A thousand apologies if I don’t do them justice.

Prompt: Emmett/Rose - “This is fun.” “Seriously, we’re trying to hide a body.”

(sent by @herokingrobbstark)

Rosalie has always lived with a keen understanding of the way relationships are supposed to work. There is give and take. There is patience. Communication. Love. Understanding. Sometimes there’s a compromise but oftentimes there’s collaboration.

As a human, with a heart that ardently craved affection, Rosalie saw very little of those things in the glimpses she observed between the couples in her life. Between her parents, rarely. Vera and her husband, often. But she remained stubborn as always, figuring that if anyone could have a pure, happy love, surely she could find it easily.

She found it ironic—and still does, honestly—that it wasn’t until her heart stopped beating when she found herself bearing witness to a true loving relationship.

First, in the serenity she witnessed between Carlisle and Esme. Their calm understanding of one another frustrated, then quickly baffled, and eventually soothed her.

Then, not long after, she found it reflected in herself and Emmett. A cool relief soothing the burn that had been eating away at her over the couple of years she’d been despising her own existence.

Over the decades she’s learned—well, they’ve learned together—what it takes to make things work. She’s learned that sometimes improper communication can start an argument, but a total lack of it will ensure one. She’s learned what it means to quiet her own heart and listen, and that truly opening up starts with acknowledging that there are things that need to be expressed and heard.

She especially acknowledges that although patience sometimes has a limit, it’s still vital in trying times.

And as she holds a camera in her hands, trying to hold her tongue, she doesn’t think it’s an overstatement at all to call this one of those ‘trying times’.

“Rose, baby. You have to at least aim the camera at us or we’re not going to be in the frame.”

Rosalie counts to three, inhales, and running her tongue across razor-sharp teeth, she exhales slowly. Then, she lifts the camera up a few inches.

“Would it kill you to look through the viewfinder?”

Someone smacks the second voice—the sound of stone hitting hardened flesh—and Rosalie closes her eyes.

Another slow inhale. Careful movements as she opens her eyes, opens the screen, flips it toward herself, and glances down. The camera doesn’t budge as she does this, her hand always steady, and when it focuses fully on the three people in front of her, she feels nothing but a resigned sort of reluctance, pushing down the contempt she feels for the shape-shifter carrying her adopted sister-in-law.

She makes eye contact with Bella, who smiles sympathetically, and slowly releases the breath.

When Emmett and Jacob had become friends, she’d... tolerated it. Sure, the dog was a constant bother (and a fucking asshole on top of it), and yeah, if Emmett wanted to be within five feet of her after they hung out she made him change and shower (sometimes twice), but hanging out with him made Emmett happy.

And she’d learned over the decades that sometimes she had to tolerate things for her husband’s happiness.

Her one rule when they started recording these mindless, inane videos: keep her out of it and she wouldn’t say anything negative about it, leaving them to their antics.

But then Emmett asked her to do his makeup on camera, and she couldn’t just say no to something that was admittedly so funny. Especially when he pouted as he asked. Damn his expressive, handsome face.

And then soon after he’d asked her to do Jacob’s makeup. And she couldn’t pass up the once-in-an-afterlife opportunity to make him look like a cheap, drunk clown.

Thankfully, Jasper takes up the reigns in following the pair around to document their nonsense, so the boys typically keep their shenanigans to themselves. Of course she does not understand how the blond got roped into helping them out with their ridiculous videos, but Rosalie feels nothing but disdain for Jasper currently.

Because no matter how much he claims to be annoyed by their antics, Jasper is a filthy, enabling traitor. One who owes her big time when he and Alice get back from their trip to New York.

“You know, Alice will kill you when she sees what you’re wearing for this bit.”

Bella looks up at Rosalie from where she is in Jacob’s arms and half-shrugs. The pant-suit fits her perfectly, tailored flawlessly thanks to Alice, but Bella has always hated being ‘styled’. “The sooner she stops spending money on me, the better.”

She had a point there. Alice had gotten better throughout the years with leaving Bella to her own devices, but could still be pretty insistent. 

“Bella dressed up for the adoring masses,” Jacob grins, turning to wink at the camera.

Rosalie doesn’t bother holding back her exaggerated gag.

“I really didn’t.”

“Either way, ask for more Bella, and ye shall receive!” Emmett is almost waist-deep in a hole that he’s been digging up with his bare hands for the better part of five minutes now. He could move faster, but he claims to enjoy moving at more of a human-pace for their videos.

Makes it easy for the humans watching to keep up. And for the camera to keep up, too.

Since they’ve found their spot in the woods—an uninhabited Rocky Mountain valley along the New Mexico/Colorado border—Emmett has gotten straight to work, looking to dig a deep enough hole to stick Bella in, while still standing, but small enough that it wouldn’t look too obvious.

“Can’t help that she’s a fan favorite.” Jacob’s words are clearly supposed to be a dig at her, meant to rile her up. But she’s so beyond caring what the people who watch their dumb videos think that all she can do is roll her eyes.

“This is never going to work, you know.”

“Hey!” Emmett shoots her a mock-frown. “No negativity on set. Also, yes it will. Edward will lose his shit trying to find her.”

“No offense, Bella,” Rosalie glares at a pile of dirt that Emmett tosses a bit too close to her, “because we all know I’m in favor of irritating Edward, but how do you know he’ll even care enough to come looking for you?”

The couple had recently had one of their first real fights since their marriage over a decade ago—or at least the worst one the rest of the family had all witnessed. Which meant a lot of attitude from the bronze-haired vampire, a lot of stubbornness from their newest vampire, and a lot of annoyance all around.

Edward had accompanied Renesmee on a trip back to Washington for a bit, but according to Alice, before she and Jasper left on their own trip, he’d be back early and would leave the hybrid girl behind to visit for a few days before letting her fly back to Illinois on her own.

And with the knowledge that Edward wasn’t around to fish any ideas out of their head, Emmett and Jacob went straight to work. Bella, who was still very much sore from their heated argument, had agreed wholeheartedly to the plan.

Jasper had literally tossed the camera into her hands (she should’ve just let the damn thing drop to the floor) and wished her luck, using his unique influence to ensure she’d be a bit more agreeable to the idea of potentially ‘helping out’, before Alice had whisked him out the door and off on their vacation.

‘Support your husband’s hobby’, he’d said. ‘It makes him happy,’ he’d said. ‘It’s just one video, you just point and shoot,’ he said.

The second his influence wore off she started swearing. They were going to be on Rosalie’s shit list for a while now. Jasper and Alice. Traitors. The both of them. Leaving her to deal with this shit.

Bella shrugs again as she watches Emmett chuck handful after handful of dirt out of the pit and off to the side. Then, she pulls a plastic bag out of her blazer pocket. “Oh,” she grins, turning to make eye contact with the blonde, “he’ll come looking alright.”

In the tightly bound plastic are the keys to all of Edward’s cars. Spare ones included.

Rosalie feels the smile creep onto her face. “Have I ever told you how much I cherish you as a sister?”

Bella’s grin widens as Jacob laughs.

“And you’re not worried that this will make things worse?” Despite his joy in heavily inconveniencing Edward Cullen, there’s a bit of apprehension hidden behind Jacob’s brown eyes.

“He didn’t even say goodbye to me before he left,” Rosalie can hear how thoroughly pissed Bella still is, even despite her even facial expression and the three weeks that have passed since the initial argument. “If he wants to play petty, we can play petty.”

Emmett’s laugh echoes through the area and before they realize it he is shoulder-deep in the hole.

“You guys do know this isn’t going to work though, right?” Despite the pleasure she will undoubtedly get from watching this punishment-like prank fail, she feels the need to make sure that they know this.

They have to know this, right?

“What are you talking about?” Emmett pokes his head up out of the hole, a mildly hurt look on his face. “You don’t think we can pull this off?”

“I know you can’t. He’s going to trace our scents to this exact spot.”

“No,” Jacob stubbornly shakes his head, “he’s going to trace my scent. Mine masks yours.”

Rosalie blinks at him twice. “Yes. Exactly. He’s going to trace your scent and find Bella.”

“But he won’t know where Bella is because he can’t follow her scent. And since he can’t read her mind it’s not like he can just listen in to zero in on her location.” More dirt gets tossed dangerously close to her and she finds herself glaring at the back of her husband’s head as he works.

Rosalie steps back. “But he’s going to know Jacob had something to do with it. It doesn’t matter who ‘hides’ her. He’s going to still follow the trail and find her.”

“We’ll take a long route home. Back track a bunch. Muddle up the trail.” Jacob’s answers are spoken with the confidence of someone who has undying faith in their own idiocy. It’s confidence he has no business possessing, and it’s incomparably annoying.

“Bella, you have two brain cells to rub together. You know he’s going to be able to track you down.”

“Alice said a storm is blowing through tomorrow night,” the girl supplied. “I’m hoping it washes away everyone’s scent.”

Rosalie grimaces. “You know if you hate that outfit that much you don’t have to wear it while you get buried underground, during a rainstorm, for several days.” She pictures how ungodly Bella is going to look after she’s unearthed and has to suppress a shudder. Her eyes then wander to Emmett’s dirty mop of hair and her frown deepens.

He’s not going to be touching her again until he’s scrubbed clean, head to toe.

“And let it collect dust? That would be rude.”

Jacob laughs again, and when Bella tries to get down from his hold, he nearly shouts. “Not yet! The only place your toes are touching is the bottom of that hole.

“I thought you said your scent masked ours?” Rosalie deadpanned.

“We still can’t be too careful.”

“This is your dumbest idea to date.”

“Just keep the camera on my good side, alright?” Jacob grins again and Rosalie simply turns the camera, cutting him entirely out of the frame. “Hey!”

“So, let’s say the trail gets muddled up. Edward can’t track her down. What do you think he’ll do next?”

Bella shrugs, as if uncaring how long it may take for her to be found, and Emmett turns toward her, pointing a finger at the camera. “Nothing! He has to find her! We already left the list of instructions on the front door. He has to find Bella within two weeks or he loses the challenge. And if he does Bella leaves her spot, hides the keys in a new spot, and comes home. Edward loses and has to eat a food of Bella’s choosing.”

“Yogurt,” Bella nods with a grimace, already aware of which food disgusts her husband the most.

“And when has Edward ever, since you started this shit, played by the rules for your little games?”

Emmett and Jacob share a concerned look, as if they hadn’t considered Edward would not be willing to play along, and Rosalie nearly bursts with a mixture of frustration and laughter.

She zooms in on their looks of apprehension. “You’re right,” she laughs, “This is fun.”

“Seriously,” Emmett throws his hands in the air dramatically, dirt flying toward the sky, decidedly not enjoying his wife’s teasing. “We’re trying to hide a body.”

“You know he can just get new keys.”

“Just ignore her,” Jacob nods to Emmett, gesturing for him to continue. “It’s a good idea. It will be gold.”

“And what gold are you expecting to get out of this?”

“His reactions are going to be fire,” Emmett has a grin in his voice as he hops out of the hole.

“And I take if you two will be recording his journey to find his buried wife?”

“You bet.” Jacob lowers Bella slowly into the hole, Emmett holding his hand over his brow, saluting as she’s lowered onto her feet.

“Right. So when Edward fishes the information out of one of your minds, then he’ll know where she is and come and get her?”

“No, because Bella will just—”

“Shield your minds?” The two men are silent.

Rosalie laughs as the two men shoot each other looks, as if realizing maybe this plan won’t work the way they’re hoping.

“In my defense,” Bella pipes up from her hole, “I told Jake this yesterday and he definitely brushed that detail aside. Either way,” she reaches up and smacks at Emmett’s foot, “fill her up. Whether this prank is internet-worthy or not means little to me at this point. I need to piss off my husband.”

Rosalie laughs louder and keeps the camera trained on her own husband’s look of defeat.

Collaboration to make a relationship work better? Sure, she can do that.

Quality time is a love language, after all.

[toonstarterz]

BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #137

Once upon a time, there was a girl. An unpopular girl. That nobody knew, nobody cared. She strived to be popular. To have dozens of friends and live the life of a socially fulfilled high school girl. After much time and effort, she had finally succeeded in her goal. She got friends. She got popular. She became normal.

But it wasn’t everything she hoped it would be.

And so Golden Week came around. She made plans with her new friends. And the popular girl can’t help but wonder...

“Is this really what I want?”

Chapter 137: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Prepare for Golden Week 

Okada: “Is my forehead that big?”

Katou: I wonder if Kuroki-san is doing anything after this...?

Tomoko: “Man, I’m tired.” 

Komiyama: [ Exactly what it says. ]

Y'all know the drill by now. Tomoko expects the least, ends up getting the most.

Katou is honestly a very difficult character to get right in this kind of manga. For a series as excruciatingly real as this, a beautiful, popular girl like Katou could easily come off as “unrealistic” or an “otaku’s fantasy” with the way she reaches out to Tomoko. But Nico Tanigawa manages to keep Katou within the realm of believability, and I think it’s because she treats everyone with motherly kindness. It’s her natural instinct, so it doesn’t seem forced in the slightest.

Yeah, buzz off, Kiyota! You’ve already exceeded this manga’s male quota for the next ten chapters.

It sure is swell that Tomoko’s friendship with Yuri has grown enough that even people outside of the loop can see how joined-at-the-hip they’ve become.

I’m getting flashbacks of the KBBQ dinner right now. Someone invites Tomoko, she invites Yuri, Yuri gives a double negative response, etc. What gal pals.

Again, more KBBQ flashbacks, only with a twist. At the party, Yuri took the affected role, stating that her decision to go would be based on whether Tomoko would. But now, the roles have switched with Yuri suggesting that Tomoko wouldn’t go if she wasn’t there with her. I don’t like where this is going...

Mako is totally the type to keep track of how she divides the time between her friends, always balancing a bail with a hangout. Such are the difficulties of being the “nucleus” friend.

For better or worse, Yuri‘s been taking Mako’s “rejections” in stride lately. Better, because that means she’s no longer unhealthily dependent on her best friend. Worse, because that could means she projected her attachment issues onto Tomoko and Yoshida. Have her insecurities been dissolved, or have they just been spread wider across their little quartet?

Mako and Yoshida talking when the others aren’t around is total friendship-baiting and I’m behind it 100%.

The ultimate tug-of-war between a mom who knows their daughter’s faults and a daughter who’s too stubborn to heed her mother’s concerns. 

Sorry, Yuri dear, but at that, I’mma callin’ shenanigans. 

It should be fairly obvious by now that Yuri is becoming dangerously co-dependent on her relationship with Tomoko. It’s not so much that Tomoko needs Yuri with her, but that Yuri needs to feel that she’s invaluable to Tomoko so that she herself can be validated. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy that can only get worse since Tomoko and Yuri are going in opposite directions, with the former becoming more self-assured, and the latter becoming more reliant. 

Katou rolling her sleeves up inexplicably raises her “mom” appeal three-fold.

For those who don’t know, this the same joke that happened when Tomoko peeked at Ucchi during the sports festival. Only eating rice is suggestive of just having done something exhausting, usually perverted in nature. Oh, that Nemo.

Still, it’s telling that Nemo actually made that joke and got shot down by Tomoko right in front of the others. Their bantering is usually kept just between them, but doing it within earshot could lead to some pretty tense situations if the others jump in.

That’s quite the unique face Yuri’s making. Not exactly anger or resentment, but there’s something negative about her expression. My best guess is exasperation, but low-key, as only Yuri could. And I hate to say it, but it’s pretty hypocritical of Yuri to get all bent out of shape about Katou’s smothering, when she herself came just to “support” Tomoko.

This might seem innocuous at first, it really speaks to Yuri’s non-indulgent behavior when receiving attention from others, as is very common of introverts. Just like how Tomoko chose something moderate when Okada treated her.

The whole exchange here is incredibly awkward, but it comes off more sincerely than it is cringeworthy. The kind of awkward that makes you facepalm is the result of knowing that the whole thing could’ve been avoided, or at least done better. Okada’s apology and Yuri’s dismissive forgiveness really couldn’t be handled differently, so while there’s this unspoken barrier between them, we can get behind it because you can tell Okada and Yuri are doing their best to clear the air.

Food porn.

Is it embarrassing? Yes. Is Tomoko going to do anything about it? Nah, she’s going to milk Katou’s motherliness for all she’s worth.

And let’s be real-Can you really blame her?

This whole “normie” business didn’t make a whole lotta sense to me when I first read it, but by comparing it to another label used in the West, I was able to make a connection.

Back in the day, the word “nerd” was a derogatory term, used to insult people who were into comics, video games, anime, etc. But by the turn of the last decade or so, this idea of a nerd became antiquated when people realized that the things that nerds were once ridiculed for were actually entertaining in their own right. The standard of being a nerd dropped to the point where mildly enjoying pop culture was enough to make you a nerd. And thus, when everyone became a nerd, nobody was. And the nerd became an identity that only the most hardcore of nerds could adopt.

I never realized until now just how much social stock Tomoko has put into having a boyfriend. You’d think that after her perceptions of the “normies” evolved, she’d understand that having a boyfriend or having a romantic relationship, in general, isn’t as valuable as society makes it out to be.

Now the whole “hanging out at the cafe” thing being normie...maybe.

Quickly researches the reputation of Aoyama Academy.

Oh. So like, Stanford or Princeton. Dream on, Tomoko.

Dat tiny smile on Yuri is too precious.

One thing that I’ve always wanted to see more of is Tomoko’s sense of humor at work. She doesn’t do it often, but the few times when she casually jokes around are met with positive reception, most notably with Yuri. While the readers are more used to Tomoko’s raunchy, crude humor, Tomoko can also play up the “I’m an idiot”-type humor. And it works especially with Yuri and Nemo, who can tell when she’s half-bullshitting them. 

A rare moment of genuine playfulness between Tomoko and Nemo.

Of course, because Tomoko actually is an idiot at times, it can be hard to tell when she being actually stupid, or being fake-stupid for the laughs.

Mama Katou doesn’t know this yet, so naturally, she has to protect her daughter from the mean bullies. Her dialogue here could easily come off as confrontational if it were spoken by anyone else, but as we’ve seen before, Katou is more of the “quiet rage” kind of girl.

Yeah, I saw the video of Cristiano Ronaldo defending the Japanese boy from the audience. Referential humor tends to be hit-or-miss, depending on whether the joke is sustainable without it. In this case, it’s the kind that can be lost in a few years time. So despite being a piece of common entertainment knowledge in Japan, once in while for the series is just enough to keep it fresh. 

I must admit, I used to think that Katou was a replacement character for Imae after she left. But now that we’ve had time to get to know her, I see that that’s not really the case at all.

Sure, Katou is caring and sweet like Imae, but what sets Katou apart from her besides her “mommy-ness” is her naivety. Katou has all the tenderness and effort of a guardian, but she lacks the sensibility...somewhat. But that bit of cluelessness is essential to rounding out her character, enough so that even this stylish riajuu can play the outcast in times like this.

Damn, girl. It’s one thing to view Tomoko as a good person. It’s another thing to see her as some societal paragon. Now I’m kind of hoping she doesn’t get corrupted by the Tomoko virus.  

Even though this is being played for laughs, it does key into an actual strength of Tomoko’s that none of the others have. That being, her extreme candidness. Tomoko, frankly, sucks at pretending to be someone she isn’t, but is incredibly impressionable when she's her unrestrained self. Yes, there’s a time and place for that kind of thing, but sometimes, an incestual eroge is exactly what you need to get your point across.

Precious Lil’ Bean and Jealous Lil’ Bean. Take your pick. 

Yeah, yeah, Nemo getting in Tomoko’s face is nothing new. However, what is new is how Nemo dishes it out and how Tomoko takes it. Nemo usually glowers over the girl as if to assert dominance, but she’ll occasionally crouch down, like a cheetah ready to pounce. Tomoko always cowers a bit during Nemo’s provocations, shrinking down with caution. But here, Tomoko doesn’t waver. She stays upright, even looking down at Nemo for once despite being obviously flustered. Stand your ground, Tomoko. Stand. Your. Ground.

Low-key bitching followed by buddy-buddy invitation equals the politics of friendships.

Sweetie, the girl can’t even bother to use your own name. What do you think?

Normally, I’m not fond of this kind of storytelling where the author tacks on additional, never-before-seen events to a previously seen memory just to add plot tension. The only reason I let this slide is because, as is soon revealed, this memory is more for Yuri’s characterization than for story direction. Plus, it’s interesting to compare how close they are now as opposed to back then. You win this time, Nico Tanigawa.

Taking the easy route even in college, eh, Tomoko? I expect nothing less from you.

Taking the easy route even in college, eh, Yuri? I also expect nothing less from you.

Lazy Sisters Unite!

Promised, my ass.

You’re killing me, Yuri, making me call shenanigans on you twice in one chapter. But yes, twisting your friend’s words into a promise just to suit your needs, and then playing the victim card when said friend doesn’t keep their “promise” is a serious friendship offense. As much as we will all want to Yuri have beautiful, lovely friendships with these girls, it suddenly makes a whole lot of sense why Yuri didn’t have these friendships in the first place. My emotional spectrum is out of whack right now, unable to determine whether Yuri’s behavior is a regression in character or a reconstruction of one.

Bless Mako and her patience.

Oh god, Nemo’s Yandere Stare is spreading.

Hmm, the extra text on Yuri’s date is ripe for some overanalyzing. My first instinct is to say that writing more of a description is indicative of Tomoko actually caring more about spending time with Yuri than she does with Nemo and Katou. But then again, it could just very well be that Tomoko didn’t want to be redundant and write the same thing over three times. 

Whatever the reason, at least she managed to write out Yuri’s last name. I might have died if she just drew a face with pigtails. 

This has always been one Tomoko’s key developments, realizing that being a normie or popular doesn’t give you a pass in life. Everyone has their own shit to deal with no matter how (un)popular you are, and now that Tomoko has gotten a taste of that, the next step for Tomoko’s personal journey could be one of self-actualization: 

Stay where you are and possibly lose your roots, or go back to where you came from and potentially lose what you gained?

Exact-a-mundo. A lot of people have criticized this manga for turning Tomoko into a normie and betraying who she was. But in my opinion, Tomoko is not a normie. Such a self-deprecating label is more defined by one’s personality rather than their social network. Tomoko knows a lot of normies, but until she stylizes up her hair, disregards her hobbies and pulls a Nemo, she’ll always be our lovable mojyo.

On a final note, it’s easy to see Tomoko as the dense protagonist of harem manga right now, and yet, these punchlines regarding her “pursuits” seem to be much more effective if you look at Tomoko’s “harem” as just platonic and devoid of romantic subtext (whether or not it’s actually doing that is another story). Perhaps it’s because while Tomoko is oblivious to everyone’s jealousy, she actually has a great deal of agency that is not often seen in harem protags. The girls are so responsive to Tomoko’s actions, and thus, the emotional core of the Tomoko’s harem actually carries some well-earned weight. 

Can we have more manga with a strong, platonic harem, please?

[paragonrobits]

Lady Adaar and her stabby elf friend Mahaenon have a talk about how weird it is that Solas actually goes by the elven word for Pride.

Also on Ao3 and FFnet!

Haven was a nice enough place to call home. Perhaps not for long, as had mused the inner circle of the fledgling Inquisition's agents; the eight of them, forming the very core of the reborn organization's most powerful and skilled agents, all clustering around the Herald of Andraste. When you were a qunari surrounded by, mostly, humans and ones that might have a ax to grind against anyone with horns and metallic-colored skin, you were grateful for company that was going to protect you from them.

Particularly when you were an apostate. The word meant little but, somehow, Herah Adaar suspected, the so-called authorities of the Chantry would find some way to accuse her of horrible crimes because she was qunari and a mage at the same time.

She quite liked the situation here. She enjoyed the company; the Trevelyan twins were good-natured company, much more down to earth than human nobility could honestly be expected to be, and they were from the Free Marches, same as her. Her husband was along for the ride - if 'husband' was really the same for a long-term breeding pair arranged by them, just for the sake of expanding their families, but they got along well enough and considered the other a great friend - and Kaaras was always a sucker for the notion of protecting the weak, and the small. The dwarven Cadash cousins were reckless rouges, but good ones; she liked them, and she trusted them with her life... if not her sovereigns. And the elves...

Dammit she was pretty sure she was mostly in love there. At least, she didn't want to see them or their clan hurt worse than they already had been.

Guess I'm a sucker for being a hero, too, Adaar thought, as she peacefully drank in the bar Sister Leliana had set up in Haven.

Sitting beside her, and somehow managing to make simple posture do the job of daring the world to try something just because he was Dalish surrounded by humans, Mahanon slugged his drink back, and if the extremely strong rum did more than make his throat tickle, there wasn't the slightest sign of it. A few dwarves - possibly ex-Carta, the Inquisition had been courting their ranks and a lot of them thought that honorary clan status granted by some very tricky political maneuvering through the Inquisition with Orzammar was worth the risk - muttered in astonishment, as did the humans in the tavern and even a couple of the Vashoth that were trickling into the ranks.

Adaar contemplated trying to best him in a drinking contest. She thought better of it; she was big for a qunari, the horned giants of Par Vollen, and elves were small and frailer than humans. He was nearly half her size, but he could just drink and drink without the slightest hint of inebriation. She wondered where he was putting it all. Thinking of how Sera could eat so much without gaining an ounce, Herah supposed that elves had to have a truly wicked metabolism.

Adaar glanced around hopefully. "Damn. Doesn't look like the others are coming around."

Mahanon shook his head, his facial tattoos so pale that they nearly shone against his dark skin. The tree design of Mythal and her chosen role wasn't too different from the vibrant vitaar war paint she wore, even now. "Nah. Doesn't look like it." He shrugged mildly. "Still. I suppose I wasn't really expecting them to."

"Where'd they get of too, then?"

He gave her a vaguely smug, knowing look. "And how do you know that I know, eh?"

Adaar chuckled. "Because you know where everyone is, all the time. Come on." She laid a heavy hand on the table; not her good hand either. She did her best to keep the hand that had been... marked, hidden from view. It still tingled, almost hurt now, and the flashes of green and raw magical energy tended to upset people. And the Mark was on her good hand. It was a bother.

He noticed her doing that, and his face fell as he saw her grunt with the effort of not showing the pain.

Mahanon liked messing with people, and he had a body count higher than the entire Valo-Kas company ('shems that deserved it', he reassured them with a wild grin, and since there were so many humans that deserved swords in the face, his new friends had nodded... including the Trevelyans, who had something of an inside view of the nastiness of human evil), but he didn't like seeing anyone get hurt, either. The two were probably connected; see a shem making someone miserable, kill the shem, end of hurting. He did not have a particularly fraught internal view.

So for once, he dropped the games and came straight out about it. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Should have told you the others couldn't show." He spoke at length, then. "The Cadash cousins are off some kind of reunion with the golem that helped stop the last Blight."

"Wait. The golem that was with the Hero of Ferelden!?"

"Yep. Same one!"

"The self-aware talking golem? The one that's kind of a jerk?"

"Yep, that one. Seems that this... Shale... is an ancestor of theirs. An old-time Cadash warrior, back when she was a dwarf." Mahanon proposed a theory. "My guess would be that... uh, might be trying to figure out how to make other golems self-aware too."

"Huh. That would be interesting. Imagine all the stuff they've have to talk about."

"I figure it'd mostly be dead boring. Golems mostly just toil and smash darkspawn. Might get repetitive." Mahanon changed the subject. "Now, the humans... honestly I'm not totally sure what they're doing. Not specifics. Way I understand it, Josie thought they'd make dab hands at talking with a delegation of Templars that used to serve at the Ostwick Circle. Something like that. Diplomatic garbage." He refrained from saying shem bullshit but you could, as it wear, hear what he wasn't saying. He had too much grudge with humans to just let go of it - too much pain, too much bad blood, too much suffering and things just getting worse and worse by human hands for thousands of years - but he liked the Trevelyans to be cruel.

"What about your sister?" Adaar asked. "I think I saw her earlier today."

"...Oh yeah. I bet you did." Mahanon growled. "Bet my clan-sister is off chatting with Solas," He gave a dismissive snort.

Adaar rumbled. "And Kaaras is off teaching Sera how to do proper stitching. He's found himself a good one to mother." She took a long drink. Something about Mahanon's tone was bothering her. "Solas... huh. You don't like him?"

"Mm. Complicated, Vashoth." Mahanon stared into his drink, like he was trying to see some kind of portent. "I want to like him. He makes it real easy to like him.. unless you get him talking shit about the Dalish." He sneered, but genteelly. "If I wanted to hear someone be a snob about my people, I'd waste my time with... well, honestly, anyone except you and the others. But its worse, coming from an elf."

Adaar nodded gloomily. "Like when a 'real' qunari says anything about Vashoth like me."

"Yeah. You get it." Mahanon shook his head.

"Listen," Adaar said. "I like Solas, but sometimes it's like listening to my grouchy grandpa complaining about the good old days. It's kind of depressing."

Mahanon grinned. He looked thoughtful. "Thought your family was too young generation to have grandparents."

"Okay, fine, fair enough, but there's an old dwarf that hangs out at the farm and complains to mama and papa and all my dozen littler siblings about how much he liked it when he still lived in Orzammar. He's like a grandpa. I guess." Adaar raised a hand. "One of these days I want to introduce Varric to him. Just for the snark."

"Please let me be there, I want to hear all the sarcasm." Mahanon chuckled. "...Solas. Solas. Even the name is weird. Who takes a name like that when you're trying not to creep out the shems?"

Adaar gave him a look. "Come again?"

"Solas." Mahanon grunted. "Come on, friend. I know you've been trying to learn my people's languages. His name doesn't sound weird to you?"

"No? Should it?"

"Huh. Must not have seen it, I suppose. Look." Mahanon gestured vaguely, a sign that he wasn't as together as he liked to pretend. "Solas, it... ah, it translates somewhat into a few words in the common tongue. Hard to convey it. Arrogance, overwhelming ambition... ah." He snapped his fingers, happy at working it out. "Pride is a good analogue. Solas basically means pride."

"Wait. Our elvish apostate - besides your sister, I mean - is literally named pride?"

"Yup." Mahanon gulped down another mugful of rum. "That doesn't seem strange to you?"

"I dunno. It's only a name." Adaar waved a hand with the slightly fussy, extremely precise movements of a mage still knew to the particulars of being a Knight-Enchanter. "Look at my folks. Named ourselves Adaar. I know Bull probably translated it to you as 'weapon', but it specifically refers to those giant things the followers of the Qun use. Big, loud, make a lot of fire? Those things." She grunted. "Doesn't mean much, does it now?"

"You're named after big things that shoot fire," Mahanon said slowly, giving her a wry grin. Adaar sniffed, aware that she was so big, even among the Qunari, that sitting down Mahanon did not even come up completely to her elbow. Standing upright, he wouldn't be much higher than her gut. "You're big. And you like the magic that makes things burny and explodey."

"I'm the exception that proves the rule?"

He laughed at that. "I'm just saying that, if that is his real name, that's very unusual for him to claim so." Mahanon looked thoughtful. "Granted. Shems don't speak my language well too often - Josie does her best, bless her - so he'd be justified in figuring no one would notice. But he still uses it around elves. Dalish and otherwise. You'd think if he was trying to be harmless, what with being an apostate surrounded by grumpy ex-templars with big shiny swords, he'd be trying to present himself less ominously."

Adaar sighed. "In my experience, a lot of humans refuse to take elves seriously at all. Sorry. They're little shitheads that way."

Mahanon nodded sagely. "I find that a couple swords in the face usually sets them straight. I mean. Typically they're dead but it gets the point across." he wiggled a finger. "So, if my sister wants to get her hands all over him, good for her. I like seeing her not get all gloomy and vengeful against the shems for once. But I'm just real suspicious of anyone that goes around calling themselves pride incarnate. It's weird."

Adaar took a drink. A Vashoth who cheerfully followed the religion of Andraste, even if her overall opinion of the Chantry was 'watch it burn with a big smile', she was hardly one to criticize being unusual by local standards. "I don't think anyone here is really normal. This Inquisition thing is weird."

"On that, my big horny friend, we are agreed."

"Please don't call me that in mixed company. It gives the wrong impression."

"Well. Now I feel obligated to do so in really mixed company, for maximum effect. You've gone and challenged me, falon!"

[mamacleo]

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER: You can't beat it. Or can you?

TW, CW: Frank discussion of mental illness, language

SPOILER ALERT: Triumph.

ADVISO: Long (yeh, surprise)

Everyone reading this who knows me knows about my struggles with mental illness especially borderline personality disorder (BPD). This missive is written because, after an entire adulthood of being its servant and its victim, at last I have a strategy. As of today.

I want to use this opportunity, then, to inform anyone who might not understand BPD. This is going to be an actual article, and I will repost this on Blogger, Medium, and Tumblr.

What I'll do is give a bit of info about BPD for anyone who might not understand it, describe how last night and this morning are typical in ways anyone can understand, and then relate my solution. I do this knowing that this solution is specifically for me. It may not work for anyone else. But you can try it and see if it works.

Let me talk about BPD. It doesn't exist among adults who did not experience trauma in their childhood. Childhood physical trauma can lead to PTSD in adults, and that's one thing, but BPD only comes out of emotional trauma, and bad trauma at that. Kids who were gaslighted, lied to, and subjected to wild, irrational mood swings are the most susceptible. BPD is, if you would like it put simply, those extremes of emotion you might feel from time to time ratcheted up to 11 and happening virtually every day. BPD is emotion magnified and amplified.

Offense becomes anger, anger becomes rage, rage becomes fury. A lot of rage junkies are BPD. It's not just fear of abandonment, it's terror. Shifts in emotion can produce panic, mania, and horror. Love becomes obsession. There's virtually no way to regulate it. Once it kicks in, rational thinking stops. Things that should make sense to most people don't make sense to the sufferer. Logical thinking becomes impossible. People can explain things to you reasonably and thoroughly, but your mind can't accept them. Every worry can turn into a soul-crushing depression. Every fear can turn into screaming paranoia.

No, you can't control it. (Though as you read on, you'll see that this girl now has a strategy.) For my entire life, I have been searching for a key to unlock this straitjacket. When it kicks in, it's virtually impossible to stop. It has to build to a crescendo, a sort of anti-orgasm made of nuclear-fueled insecurity, before something makes it break. Then you return to normal and all you can do is try to cope with the fallout.

BPD people know what's going on. Maybe not in the moment. We can't always see what's happening, which frightens and confuses us more. Like the comedian John Mulaney said, "We don't want us to do this either." We know what happened once it's over, though, but not all the horror, regret, shame, and remorse can change what happened, and it won't stop it from happening again. Sometimes we even see ourselves starting down that road once it starts, but recognizing it doesn't help. Quickly it takes over our thinking, both rational and emotional, and whatever perception we had that we thought could rescue us vanishes. Then it's down the rabbit hole, where nothing makes sense and nothing stops the descent.

I have said and done terrible things during episodes. I have said and done them knowing *at the time* that they were terrible, yet I was powerless to stop them. That is what people do not understand, but perhaps these words will express to the unknowing the misery of this disorder. When I was in rehab for drinking, our facilitator used the phrase, "Somebody else is driving the bus." That is almost exactly it. Most of the time, Cleo is driving the bus, but when an episode kicks in, Cleo becomes an observer in her own head. Somebody else is driving the bus.

It happens in an instant. No warning. One instant it's not there. The next, it is. Nothing you can do will prevent it.

That driver is like a separate entity living inside you. Full disclosure: I also suffer from dissociative identity disorder, which manifests mildly for me, but dissociation is far from unknown among BPD sufferers. In fact, most people dissociate at one time or another. Ever state into space without thinking, then snap out of it? Not know how you got from point A to point B in your car, though you were driving the whole time? Ever "zone out"? That's dissociation.

But dissociative identity disorder, that's a different thing. It's what used to be called "multiple personality disorder," and the full range of the disorder is only recently becoming known. It was thought, classically, to be rapid switching from one identity to another, but it is far more complex. There are shadow areas where multiple identities operate simultaneously, grades of consciousness, grades of awareness... When I use the phrase, "someone else is driving the bus," it can be anything from one identity seizing total awareness to the core identity (Cleo, "me") watching in horror while my body and all its behavior are being "driven" by some other consciousness.

That happens more often than people know. I have had entire conversations with people, watching in panic as things I would have never dreamed of saying in my right mind flew out of my mouth. I couldn't stop them. Screaming internally accomplishes nothing. Pleading internally for it to be over has no effect. I have lost jobs because of it. And worse. Nothing I can do stops it.

Until today. Triumph approacheth.

Some of you have heard me say that I can see through a brick wall in time. I am not normally a fast thinker. The obvious sometimes eludes me. Sometimes it takes forever for me to see a pattern. I'm just kind of slow that way. But understand, that BPD/DID combo, like I said, is almost its own entity. I do not embellish or exaggerate when I say it fights for survival. The fight to stay integrated every day...well, sometimes it's a battle royals. Thing is, though, that entity is almost entirely composed of parts of my subconscious. It knows all the tricks it needs to survive.

That means that this thing I finally cottoned onto today.. The pattern has been there for me to see for a long, long time. Today, for whatever reason, it finally became apparent. If spirituality bothers you, I apologize, but the other night, a 3-day BPD rampage ended with, again, me aghast at my behavior. But this time, there was something--the expression on my wife's face when it hit its peak--that I could clutch onto. I prayed. I prayed to the Goddesses to help me through, as I have before, but this time with leverage. I prayed to the Goddesses to teach me how to use that lever.

Here's what happened. Last night my wife said something that might have been mildly annoying to a normal person, but which triggered the cascade of emotions I have come to recognize as the beginning of an episode. I left the room so I could calm down and try to organize my thoughts. With some success, I came back to bed, but it didn't subside. When I awoke, the episode was still there waiting for me. Then came the usual cascade of what I call, and what my wife has come to dread hearing, "dumb shit." The volume wouldn't go down. The cat knocked my phone out of my hand. Taking off my headphones accidentally flipped my glasses off my face. The episode started building up to detonation.

After calming it down some, I talked with Callie about it. I told her she needed to know what was happening so she could cope with it. Then I noticed something was bothering her and asked if it was me. She said no, but said she didn't want to tell me because it would make matters worse. Then: the spark.

No, I said, tell me. If it has nothing to do with me, maybe this will give me a problem to solve that can take my mind off the episode.

As she told me, the pattern I have been waiting all my life to see finally unfolded before me. Years and years of similar moments came to me. How often, when I am in an episode, one of my kids, or a friend, or a loved one, will reach out to me for help or advice, and I make that problem my own. I focus all my analytical intensity on it. I dissect it. I sort it out. I take it apart, then reassemble it in a way that makes sense. At the end, a resolution.

And the episode is gone.

So for the first time, just today, came the conscious choice to fix someone else's problem in the hopes it would resolve mine. I've done it before, subconsciously, but today I made the choice, and it worked.

IT. WORKED.

Now, at long last, I have a strategy. I have to know I am in an episode. It has to be an actual issue. No brain teasers, nothing without consequence. It must be real, vital, and complex, and it must be someone for whom I care. But it can be done.

This year will complete my 59th and begin my 60th. I have been borderline since my early adolescence, maybe before. That is how long I have been searching for a resolution. It took until now to find it. Years of therapy, years of shadow work, years of medication. And it took me this long.

Triumph at last, and a euphoria not unlike gender euphoria. It's bittersweet, though. I think of all the hearts that wouldn't have hurt without it. All the damage done. The friendships lost. The loneliness. The guilt. The helplessness.

At least my remaining years have promise that none before did. Some people never get this far. My egg donor didn't. She never approached this. Until her last breath, she thought all her moods were justified. What I have is rare and precious. I am sorry my wife ever had to endure a moment of it, but she now knows she has my eternal gratitude for leading me here--and she has the promise that the future will be brighter, kinder, and calmer.

I'll take that. Eight days a week. Twenty-five hours a day.

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Handle With Care

“What’s on your mind babe?” 

Richie’s voice burst through Eddie’s thoughts but he didn’t feel like replying yet, so he let the boy think he was still lost in thought. His chin rested on his shaky palm as his eyes welled up. He didn’t think it would bother him as much as it did but his stomach was twisting and turning in pain from the rush of awful anxiety that he had felt when he stared at the name tag on that shitty red vest. He blinked and tried to calm himself down. 

“Eds? You in there?” Richie poked his forehead and Eddie decided to pull himself out. 

“Yeah?” He asked, pretending to be a little out of it....at least he thought he was pretending. Richie cocked his head to the side and gave him a kind smile. 

“What was on your mind?” He repeated his earlier question and Eddie took a deep breath before plastering a fake smile on his face. 

“You. You run circles through it so often, I should give you a medal.” Eddie stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, genuinely meaning those words but his anxiety was still killing him. So he copied his usual actions when he teased Richie to the best of his abilities. Richie hummed and sipped at the pop he’d settled for because they lost the ability to get shakes. 

Eddie took in a strangled breath as he went through the events once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“C’mon, Eds! This is our big date! Not every couple makes it to six months! Let’s celebrate while we can-!” 

“That sure is romantic, Rich-”

“I’m sorry did I over hear that you’re on a date?’ came the waitress from the other side of the bar, her name tag pinned straight through her dusty red vest and into her striped shirt. Eddie stopped their friendly bickering and Richie decided to take the moment for himself. 

“Yes! The big six months so-” 

“Well, I’m sorry but we have the right to refuse service and your relationship interferes with our beliefs here at ‘Micky’s diner’  so you’ll have to leave.” Her smile went askew as she wanted to turn it to a scowl but wanted to keep up their good image. 

The boys froze for a while and Eddie became aware that Richie was putting up some sort of fight for them but all he could focus on was the fact that he felt like crying in frustration. His body heated up with anxiety and grabbed Richie’s hand, he thought he whispered something about making a scene but he couldn’t really recall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ok, come on Eds, I can’t be running that fast.” Richie tapped the top of Eddie’s head and he swatted him away with a small smile. 

“Look, if this is about earlier-” 

“No, I told you...I don’t care about that.” Eddie sighed and Richie pursed his lips. He raised his eye brow and deflated in his seat. 

“Eds, It’s fine if it does it was a really shitty thing-”

“It’s fine Rich. I said that twenty times.” Eddie rolled his eyes and sucked on his straw. Richie leaned forward and started to nuzzle into the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie sighed and pulled himself to the left so he his chin would fall. “Can we not do that here.” 

Richie sat up and looked around the small restaurant they were sat at. They were sitting on the same side of the corner booth. It was literally near deserted. He scowled and slid himself out of the booth, standing just under the hanging emerald green light. Eddie scrunched up his nose. 

“What are you doing?” Eddie frowned and Richie rolled his eyes as he slid into the bench across from him. 

“Sitting somewhere where I won’t bother you.” Richie shrugged and Eddie crossed his arms, slapping his back against the booth with a sigh. 

“That’s a low blow, Richie. Y’know you don’t bother me. It’s just-” 

“Everything I do, I get it.” Richie interrupted with an annoyed smirk. Eddie balled his fists and looked out the small window next to them.  

“Can you just not do that right now?” Eddie scowled out the window and Richie snorted smugly as he slid closer to the wall to rest his arm on the window ledge.

“And I don’t bother you?” He challenged Eddie once again, who looked as if he might turn red. 

“Stop fucking trying to.” Eddie growled as their waitress came over, clad in her green uniform, her apron tied around her waist, the tray rested on the knot of it. She set down a plate of fries with a grin before leaving. The boys looked at each other bitterly, not wanting to have to accidentally make hand contact. 

Richie caved first, shooting his hand out and snatching a few to keep him busy. Eddie cleared his throat and took a few of his own, setting them on his napkin. He played with the frayed corner of it to satisfy his need to fidget. “You know I don’t like pda, that’s all it is.” 

Richie looked up at his voice and rolled his eyes, Eddie wanted to throw his fricking fries at him. “You were mad before that.” 

“I was not.” Eddie scowled again. 

“Yeah you were.You pretended like you didn’t hear me in favor of staring into nothing, I was just gonna let it go-”

“Oh you were gonna let it go? And not use to spite me later like you are right now? Sure I believe you.” Eddie nodded with a deep set frown. Richie let out a loud scoff and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he’d said that. 

“Can this just be done now?” Richie sighed, placing his clasped hands on the table and Eddie looked horridly offended. 

“Sure, it’s as good as done.” Eddie scoffed and sipped his drink once again. 

“You don’t have to be so bitchy about it.” Richie pushed his glasses up his nose and Eddie’s jaw hung open as soon as he’d said that. Richie’s face flicker to guilty in seconds flat. 

“I want you to take me home.” Eddie looked down at the table, voice clearly offended. Richie opened and closed his mouth a few times, not sure what to say. 

“Hey, Eds. Look I’m sorry. We were gonna drive on that deserted road, listening to music and I haven’t even given you your gift yet.” Richie’s voice was mildly panicked and he could get worse any minute. 

Eddie shrugged, swiping his thumb over the corner of his salted mouth. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so mad.” Richie huffed and leaned back. Eddie looked up, eyes glossy. It made Richie stiffen up. 

“Look, I wasn’t mad...It’s just God, this is really getting to me, Rich. People treat us like shit, we can’t even go to that diner anymore and you fucking loved it there!” Eddie shouted and than collected himself in embarrassment. “And I don’t want that for us, y’know?” He was starting to sound sniffly, he wiped his sleeve over his face. 

“Neither do I Eddie but people are gonna be shit sometimes, You can’t take it personally and let it ruin things for you, you can’t let it ruin relationships either.” Richie slammed his fist on the table before calming down a little and tapping his fingers before sliding his hand back into his lap. 

“It’s just so hard.” Eddie whimpered and tried to suck it up but he just kept thinking about that flicker of sadness on Richie’s face when they were kicked out. 

“You know what Eds? I’m not having you feeling like this on our anniversary, ok? No ones miserable when they’re with Richie Tozier.” Richie grinned and got up to pay their bill. Eddie sniffled, wiping his sleeves under his eyes and clearing his throat from the mucus build up. 

Richie darted back over to him and held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. Eddie gave him a small smile and took it, eyes red and puffy with streaks of tears down his cheeks. 

They trailed out of the small place and to Richie’s car. He opened the door for him and eased Eddie inside before hopping into his own seat. He started it, backed up and headed for their favorite little road that was always empty. Richie felt a tug in his chest every time Eddie sniffled or hiccuped. 

As he turned down the barely lit road, he flicked his radio on and started to slow the speed until they were parked on the side of the road. The car light flickered on and Richie took a deep breath. “I’m gonna give you your present now, if that’s ok?” 

Eddie nodded, still trying to calm his breathing. Richie grinned and leaned over to open his glove box and pulled out a small mix tape. He waved it around before giving it to Eddie. Written in sharpie across the label was ‘Eddie’s Rockin playlist.’ He smiled and shoved it into Richie’s player. 

Richie chuckled and scooted closer to him on the bench and threw his arm around him, kissing his temple. 

As the tape faded into the second song, Richie took a deep breath and Eddie quirked his brow. “You didn’t think that was all you were getting did you?” 

Eddie gaped his mouth as Richie pulled out a small rectangular box. He opened it to find what looked to be a charm bracelet. He pulled it out, inspecting the charms. 

An inhaler, a pair of glasses, a small circle that read ‘What’s a nice kid like me, doing in a place like this?’, a record, a book, a Handle with care logo, a baseball, a blue bird, a Gameboy, and a yellow flower. 

“The Losers and I went nuts at this little thrift place while you were deemed to sick to hang out last week.” Richie chuckled and Eddie recalled that awful week. 

“We picked these out for you, can you believe they had an inhaler? It was too good to pass up and you can buy more and fill it up-”

Eddie shut him up by gently crashing their lips together for a doozy of a kiss, pulling back and putting their foreheads together. “I love it and I love you.” 

Richie snapped his mouth closed, they’d yet to say that to each other and it made his stomach flutter. “I love you too Eds.”