#i thought ten years would be the worst one. that was nothing compared to this.

[ybcpatrick]

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[louebel]

Hi! Can I request fluff Law x fem!reader where reader is feels sick but tries to ignore it/do things on her own (she’s not used to ask for help) but as a doctor law easily can tell by the signs and it happens during their sea journey on the polar tang? Hope I’m not asking too much love ya 🥺

Feel free to add angst or anything else to your writing ^•^

this is super old and the only request i'll ever do (atm) since i had a wip— ANON SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER <\3 reader is gn since i used the second person and no description.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 6,124 wc. a bit angsty, ends with fluff, emotional reader for the sickness, law is bad at emotions. this turned longer than expected, i hope it's decent xdd hit me up if there's any mistakes lol. supposed to be called windows of the soul,, divider by @ benkeibear my lord and saviour. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: sickness overtook your body and worsened your already pitiful situation. law has been ignoring you and you have no idea why... but with how you felt, there was no way you could confront him at the moment.

scrub, scrub, scrub... 

"... phew ..." 

scrub... poof! 

"Oh! — damnit — aargh..." 

Cleaning today has been a nightmare. Never been so tedious. 

Like, it was already uninteresting compared to all the other things you could do, but today it was ten times worse. You could bear it, seeking to make dusting shelves fun by humming some random tune to yourself. It was okay, something you had to do every once in a while. You could do it. 

If only you weren't sick. 

"Achoo! Achoo! — urgh... Achooo..! Damn." 

You began feeling like this some days ago, or so you told yourself as you delicately hunched down to the floor, hoping to grasp the yellow sponge soaked in foam and water without experiencing excruciating pain. However, your hopes soon shattered as your back screamed in agony and your legs trembled with soreness, almost giving up on you. 

Just the flu, you insisted, it would go away. A couple of sneezes mean nothing. You would feel better and all would go back to the ordinary. 

... Oh, how wrong you were! And how stupid for not getting a day off. 

You were capable, though! You counted on your immune system (it sounded heroic the first time you thought of that). One night is all you needed. 

Or not. 

"Ow, ow..." 

You should've told your captain. Sure, it would cost your courage, pride, and dignity, but at least you'd be cured. You'd rather die than tell him you got sick because of the one herb he instructed everybody to avoid. 

What's worse is that he's been rather distant, and he's unquestionably avoiding you. The way he shoots daggers — no, whole machetes in your direction every time you do anything, smart or not, is so clear even the crew can see it. And the worst part? You do not know why. 

It had been like this for a while now, and you detested this whole plight with passion. Everything was okay between the two of you, you were sure of it! What did you do that spurred such a reaction? From one so dear to you? 

Those sweet memories... 

From new findings you excitedly presented him, to revealing himself, his past and adventures to you after almost a year of sailing. You knew everything about him. He knew everything about you. 

So why? Why stop so abruptly? You didn't mind when he digressed about his newfound coins. When he murmured under his breath while he pored over medical books or mulled about a particular topic. When he stressed over labor and called for a brief break, where you or the crew would attend to him by delivering him a meal or helping when he wasn’t looking. He's so stubborn.

"Uurgh..." 

From captain, to Law, to captain again. Not to mention how he deftly stopped you from hanging out with him. You thought he needed space at first. Maybe he was tired and had to rest for the next few days. That’s alright. However, your thoughts deteriorated as the days passed. But well, right now it's better if he doesn't see you at all. Nor the crew‌ — oh, the damn crew. Those two.

The "two" being the pair of nitwits that constantly stand by law's side and grin at you. Seriously... 

You do not understand what Penguin and Shachi find so amusing about your situation with him. It's a tragedy, not a comedy. You love them both, truly, the minute you stepped into the polar tang they were the first ones to get you to open up and all, but goodness, you wish you could beat them for sitting there, cackling and clapping their hands while confiding some mysterious comments to each other when la — the captain, showed up in the area and walked past you with an unreadable gaze. He'd constantly salute you and the others with a bow of his head or more, depending on his mood. 

Now? If he saw one inch of your form? 

Sigh. His face always went red. 

Why can't those two just tell you? Even Ikkaku seemed to know something you didn't. She was more subtle about it, though. Jean Bart wasn't slick either. You could see him smile from a mile away. Hakugan and Clione? Shachi and Penguin 2.0, except they hid behind Jean Bart. The rest pitied you instead, sometimes patting your back — sometimes shaking their head almost in disbelief. Oh, and Bepo gave you suspicious smiles! Every time he tried to say something to you, those two animal hat-wearing goblins silenced him. Did they just want you to suffer? 

And if they did want that then their curses were working because even after grabbing the sponge (almost losing your temper as it slipped through your gloved palm twice) and straightening back to an erect pose, your head was still banging with fervor, muscles barely reacting. 

If only you could snuggle with the fluffy, warm mink right now. A bitter sigh rushed past your lips at the thought. 

Those two were just so mean. But Law was much meaner — the captain, the captain... Yes, the captain. That... That dummy. 

You groaned and shook your head while forcing your wobbly arms to scrub the table, exhausted mentally with this never-ending train of thoughts and these fanciful fists leaving invisible bruises all over your poor body. Not to point out those hands pinching your brain like dough... 

Just — you... Goodness, what was it he suddenly despised so much? The submarine felt like home. It was home, especially when he joined you. Now when he does, he — the aura he emanates is intimidating, yet everyone is either unaware of it or not affected by it. 

What made him so resentful? You can barely say anything when he strides into the place, too panicked to learn how he would perceive you or talk to you if you go on. It's like you're back on step one, isolated, too scared to be yourself with your family. Because of one man who's supposed to be the head of it. 

Being you felt like a sin when close to him, as if he preferred the private variant of who you are, and shunned your curious and spirited self. You could understand since he’s rather closed off and well, in a certain aspect you are too, but — did he not like you at all? Was it all an act to not offend you? He didn't seem to dislike your vivid reactions initially, or your foolish gestures when nearing a fresh island. You were often silent, smiling and listening to others converse, but when around your companions, you easily liked to open up since it was the only time you could do so. And they were more than just that. You entrusted all the members of the heart pirates. They meant everything to you. Even him, who stopped including you. 

Ugh... 

You wished it could all go back to normal. 

This disease enjoyed fumbling with your previously scrambled sentiments. Law did mention it brought a high fever and emotional susceptibility. You didn't consider it'd be this severe. 

"... Okay, I'm done." 

You certainly weren't, with your bed unmade and furniture still dusty; floor imploring for a good wash. However, with the croaky voice you had paired with your runny nose, you doubted you could do more. Even if you did, it'd be better not to. 

You peered down at the bucket full of water that probably smelled better than you at the moment, ignoring the small puddle beside it made by your poor handling sponges skills. Grimacing, you decided to leave it where it was in case carrying it back turns out to be a challenge. Hopefully, Ikkaku can provide you help later. 

Looking around, your droopy eyelids dimmed your perspective and further provoked you as both exasperation and exhaustion mixed and boiled in your gut, room so messy it mirrored your current state. You didn't know what was irritating you more: the light of the lamp or the disarray you resided in. 

Howling dejectedly, you turned and plodded to your bed, opening your arms, ready to throw yourself on the mattress. The more you sleep, the sooner you'll get better. Yeah, you're so brilliant. You closed your eyes and — 

knock knock. 

— reopened them a second after, remaining immobile for an extra few before glowering at your door, contemplating whether to go open it or linger to determine if they'd leave. Hmm. 

You waited. 

... knock knock. 

Fantastic.

You gritted your teeth, drawing a profound breath to settle your nerves, haywire thanks to the hellish illness. They didn’t deserve to withstand your rage, but who knows, maybe by seeing your shape, they'll show sympathy and tell you. That could work. 

Okay. 

You sluggishly trudged to the door, not bothering to adjust your unbuttoned pajamas and faking a cheerful facade. You hoped your face didn't look too awful, but you couldn't care less right now. 

Gripping and twisting the knob, you pushed it open, greeting them with the feeblest voice you've ever had, your sore nose making it unthinkable to inhale air. You rubbed the back of your head while doing so, eyelids closed to evade any light. 

"Yo, Penguin, Shachi, how can I—" the words automatically came out of your coarse and blazing throat, opening your eyes a bit to look at... them... 

Then you saw a tattoo. And more tattoos. No white, poofy boiler suits in sight. 

By barely seeing light before, you tried giving yourself mercy, but now you were only slaughtering yourself to make sure the person in front of you was, well. Him. 

Your jaw fell while your brows lifted in consternation, but shortly returned down thanks to your declining headache. Your pupils then scaled the mountain of mass before you and arrived at the peak. Another pair of eyes. 

Cool, gray eyes. The ones that just a week ago welcomed you with compassion and comfort. Now they drive you to wither away from this world. Even if you look up to them. (Hehe, get it? man, you're so silly, wow.) 

"—help … Captain. Uh, hello." and there goes your comfort zone. 

You tried swallowing down air but got pounds of mucus down your stomach instead, curved posture closing up even more in his presence, ashamed to be seen in such a weak state, instantly regretting not managing your appearance as his gaze scrutinized you from top to bottom, probably displeased with how you presented yourself.. 

You looked everywhere but at him. He only looked at you. 

Envy spurted from the plant’s toxins. How could he focus on one thing and have so much confidence to stare at someone without breaking eye contact at all? If you do the same for longer than two seconds, it feels like whoever looked at you has seen your entire personality, life, darkest secrets that you didn't really have, closest people to you — everything in poor words. The windows of your soul, perpetually agape.

How does he keep them closed? Why can't you seal them at all? Why?— 

"—so care to explain the meaning of this?" 

"Huh?" 

You stupidly stared at him, blinking and glancing at his shoulders, then back at him to break whatever spell he put on you, not able to concentrate at all. 

Barely could you see the annoyed expression on his face. You hoped he wasn't dealing with excessive stress. Making him feel worse was not your intention. 

"I said, care to explain what this is? You look... terrible—" you cringed at that, "—and you haven't come out of your room since this morning. Do you have any idea what time it is?" His scrutinizing tone made you want to crawl under your blankets and stay there forever, but his patronizing gaze didn't let you. 

You could merely fidget with your fingers and glance back at the floor to relieve your worries, which mixed with pain, fatigue, and dirtiness. You called for sleep so badly. 

"I'm—I'm sorry, Captain. I, uh, I didn't—" sniff, "—mean to skip my duties. Sorry." 

His brow creased in suspicion at your raspy voice and poor shape. 

"Is that so? Look at me while you say it." if his words weren't menacing enough, his tone was too. He knew you couldn't do that. Especially now. 

"Uh..." you unconvincingly whispered, continuing to play with your fists, until rubbing your nape once more, shuddering at how chilled your hands were compared to it. 

Your actions were, again, spotted by him, and if one more thing occurred, then he'll be correct. 

"Well? I'm waiting." 

"..." 

Sighing exasperated, you raised your head to look into his pupils once again.�� 

Unbeknownst to you, he already confirmed another of his impressions while taking a further view of your sullen visage. 

"I, uhm, overslept, Captain. That — that happens sometimes, yeah? Sorry about that. I'll—I'll..." stopping for a moment, you squinted your eyes and scrunched your nose while the man before you attentively fixated his stare on your frame and— 

"Achooo!" —covered half of your face whilst he recoiled back at the loud sneeze you let out, not expecting it at all. He blinked, then you sneezed again, and again. Streak of three. 

If your voice and glossy eyes already told everything to the doctor, the continuous sneezes only reinforced his thesis. 

You exhaled haplessly as he sternly said your name. 

"You're sick." his firm and coherent words could not be fooled. Your fate was sealed. 

"...Yeah." at this point, you didn't care. He was gonna scold you, nothing you could do about it. You could only hope he'll do that after you're cured because right now, you could barely stand still without shivering. You were sure if he wanted to do something he would have already, so he definitely will have a talk with you after you're healthy. 

"Why?" you've been proven wrong so many times this morning — afternoon. Evening? That you don't know what's gonna happen next. 

You stared at him numbly, almost done with everything. 

"What do you mean 'why'? I don't, I don't know. Probably our... Ugh, our last stop, isn't that obvious—" 

"Not that. Why didn't you say anything? To the others? To me?" 

If it wasn't for your head beating incessantly and the aching of your tendons ruining everything, you would think this was a dream. 

You kept gawking at him like a goldfish. His timbre wasn't as stern as it regularly was. It was a bit, just a tad bit lower. Like, barely. His eyes were softer, and if you met the man yesterday, you wouldn't be capable of identifying his mood. It's because you knew him for so long that you could distinguish it. 

"I..." you mumbled talks under your breath, awfully feeble to maintain the discussion, barring your eyes and hitching away when Law planted his freezing hand on your forehead. You fussed in protest, although it didn't last long. 

"You're cold... Off." 

"My hands are perfectly fine. You're burning," he interrupted you, stating the obvious. But you were far too deep to listen, fatigued. 

"Yeah... M'sorry." you nodded while deliberately looking down in shame, almost dropping to the ground out of fatigue. Everything seems hazy, the pressure in your skull fading, while the breaths you took were meager. 

Something skimmed over your shoulder and nape — ah, his fingertips — palm carefully tilting your head back up. Your mouth hung open, and you attempted to focus on your captain's facial features and the iconic hat to not fall asleep. 

"It's fine." But his gentle approach and mellow maneuvers set you in a soothing trance, where you couldn't do anything other than auscultate him. 

It’d be an exceptional moment to speak up about these last days, his odd actions. 

"It... It is? You, ah... You're not..." but you struggled to do so, chest too heavy to speak. He narrowed his eyes, striving to make out what you were saying, but it was all incomprehensible to him. 

"I'm not?" he urged you to proceed, getting closer — he felt warm. Wasn't he cold some seconds ago? Ah, he’s draping his coat over your shoulders, so, so cozy, — and holding you as if you were glass. Why was he holding you? It felt nice, undoubtedly nice. Oh, you were going to fall, you think. 

“Hey—hey. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.” 

Cradling you in his arms, Law cursed and crouched down, snaking an arm under your knees and sweeping you up, a short "there" slipping from his tongue, keeping you close to his breast. Naturally, you snuggled close to the source of heat, losing consciousness, unaware of your surroundings, his distress, and jogging to the infirmary. 

“Hey. Keep your eyes open. No, no, open—yes, yes, like that. Good job. A bit more, then you can go to sleep, alright?" 

While nodding lazily when he said your name again, you curled up for more warmth, and he mellowly followed your movement, hefting you up and pressing his lips upon your forehead, his frown deepening at how high the temperature was. He needed to administer medicine quickly. 

"Law …'m sorry if I smell." 

He scoffed. Thinking of such idiotic things was exactly like you, sputtering them out so bluntly. Rolling his eyes was natural at this point. 

"That's my last concern. We'll think of your scent and hygiene later. Don't speak. Shh." 

So stupid, so stupid. He should've confronted you ever since you left the island. He should've. It's been a recurring pattern these days. He couldn't see you because of his work but spoke with the others at breakfast, lunch, dinner... They all grew concerned about your distance. Uni shared that it began right after the departing... He knew something wasn't right with you, he could feel it.

Back in that inhabited location, he quickly took note of your drooping posture and fatigued breathing. He wanted to ask about it, but the following days, you acted normal, and Law thought you were queasy because of the heat.

Then he got busy checking on the crew's documents, medicine supply, the damn broken scope Hakugan sadly reported, bounties, news — and something else. He managed to give a check-up to everyone but you. It was mandatory after leaving an island.

With you evading him and him doing the same, this happened. Great. He could only hope it wasn't contagious.

... Wait.

He gritted his teeth in sour realization — Not once has he seen you in the halls or dining hall. No one mentioned you, either. Have you eaten anything at all? Oh, you imbecile.

He palmed your skin through your suit, easing your laments and whimpers, walking through the hallways of the Polar Tang and reaching the infirmary. Kicking the door open while lulling you a bit, shushing and fluttering his eyelids at your sick and quaking form. 

"There we go. Shh, I know, I know, it's awful." 

Uplifting the blankets, he quickly covered you and began searching for his equipment, rustling and metal clicks tangling with your whines. 

"U- uuh... W- where..?" 

"I'll be there in a second. I'm here." 

As he said that, he quickly came back to you, already stirring medicine in a cup. He had to give to you before you blacked out or fell asleep. Sliding a hand under your back, he carefully pushed you up, gaining a groan from you; you sounded so tired. Tipping your head forward, he brought the rim of the cup to your lips. You were delirious, could barely see or feel, but managed to follow his direct instruction to "open". The first glass was tasteless, fresh... water. 

The second tasted awful. 

"E—eugh..." 

"A couple more sips and we're done. Come on, you're doing good." 

Once you drank it all, with a small praise from Law, he gently laid you back down, about to check your vitals. He knew you were in no condition to do as he instructed, it would be all him. Idiot, idiot... 

Just looking at you made him guilty. He never saw you this awful. However, what truly pushed him were your next phrases. 

“Do you feel better now..?” 

Low and dry, they all were. He halted his movements, his hands in the bag, shifting his attention to you. 

Your question puzzled him. 

Feel better? Him? He was fine. Perhaps you thought the disease was contagious? No; you would've phrased that diversely. His forehead creased, slightly tilted to the side. 

"What?" 

“I … I missed you." 

And as clear drops cascaded down your cheeks, his limbs froze, a bittersweet ache striking his chest. 

"I—I thought I did something wrong … I��m sorry … Should've told you. 'M sorry ... really...” 

Shit. 

“No, no, don’t be. It’s alright, don't—don't speak. You did nothing. Shh...” 

And if you stayed conscious for some more seconds, you could've seen those severe pupils mitigate. The windows of his soul open up; the "stern" gaze he preserved for you withering in an instant at your vulnerability. 

All he wanted to do was clear that up. When, now..? 

“I—I’m the one that should’ve apologized, damn it…” 

"Aargh..." 

Warm. 

"Mmh..." 

It was very warm. Pleasant. 

"Hn..." 

The boilersuit felt different. Heavier, and not … poofy. Hm. 

The pillow was so nice, though... 

You sought a better position under the comforting and amiable regime of your blanket, squinting your glistening eyes as if sand had struck them; eyebrows knitting in distaste and discomfort, choler cramming up your insides — but not for long, extremely achy and sleepy to lament. 

Shouldn't it be easier to relax now that you are tired? Shifting left and right left your muscles throbbing. The peace you could achieve in your dreams was all you begged for. But no, you just had to rise two more times in the span of minutes or hours. 

When you woke up the third time, someone surprised you. He was perching on a chair near the infirmary's bed, head, presumably about to doze off. An encyclopedia of vegetation and exotic environs sat in his palms and dotted jeans, the cover made of green-coloured leather, firm to the touch. 

He looked peaceful. 

"... Law?" 

Your lashes fluttered at the fierce shudder that rocked his frame, the textbook about to fall, his eyes snapping open and rapidly darting up to you. 

"Oh. You woke up. Good. Good evening." 

You were mad at him. You were mad at him. 

His lips were indubitably moving. Whatever he was saying, you were not listening. Something about being out for hours, but you were too out of it to pay attention. 

And looking down at your body, your eyeballs almost popped out of your sockets at the sight of... Not your boilersuit. 

"I'm in my pajamas?" 

"And — hm? Oh. I changed you." Pause. "With my devil fruit, of course. Obviously. You were way too hot in it." 

"..." 

"..." 

Pause number two. 

"I'm hot?" You bluntly said,

"Not in that way." And he quickly retorted, bashful. You immediately got gloomy.

"Oh..." You and Bepo were alike. He couldn’t help but sweatdrop.

"No, no, no, don't — you look fine. That's not what I meant." 

A hoarse chuckle ripped from your sensible larynx, a noise that he hadn't heard in a while. His back loosened at your jovial note, the pressure applied on the envelope of the manual lessening. 

There was a superb illustration of the flora you accidentally whiffed. 

"You inhaled it, didn't you?" 

... Silence followed. Then a sigh.

"A simple allergy with a sore throat and emotional instability in the first phase caused by the pollen, weakened muscles and headache in the second, and heightened senses, nausea, and worsening of the body in the last one. You felt them all." 

Quick and precise, each symptom he mentioned appeared throughout the weeks you boarded on the Polar Tang. He hit the mark. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you nodded sheepishly, feeling hot in your cheeks. 

"Y—Yeah." 

"I thought I mentioned dodging those peculiar red flowers. I don't expect you to recall the name, but to avoid it. Thankfully, you only inhaled its pollen, or else you would've been in this bed the moment we departed." 

"O—oh... That bad?" 

"No, not really. The symptoms would've developed quicker, but nothing dangerous. Perhaps you would have slept over two days, as all cases do when encountering this allergy," He narrows his eyes at you, shutting the book and crossing his long legs, his foot jouncing. "Not at all fatal, only worrying when the patient in question mentions nothing about the symptoms and overworks themselves.” 

“Hey—” 

“You're fine." 

A small huff left your lips, nodding lazily. Nothing was uttered after from both sides. Occasional groans from yours. Only then he spoke. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"..." The answer was simple. He immediately found the illness yet couldn't pinpoint the cause of this? It was almost ironic. Your quietude wasn't taken well. 

"Well?" 

"... You ignored me. You made it clear." 

And he was faking ignorance. That glance, his attitude. You knew him too well, but had no energy to call him out. 

"I—I didn't." 

"Don't play coy, Law. Did I do something? Even the others know. Penguin and Shachi told me. I—" 

You paused when he raised his hand, glancing at it in confusion, then back at him, twice or more. He sighed and dropped it back on his thigh again, using his other one to rub his temple in distress. 

"You did nothing. I don't know what... Shachi and Penguin said," You tilted your head at his peculiar manner of quoting them. "But I've got nothing against you." 

He stopped rubbing and lifted his head to check on you again and you were unsure of what to say. His brows wrinkled the tender skin of his forehead, severity, and minor unease painting every fiber of his appearance. 

You just... didn't know. 

"Really? Then why those weird stares? Why leave the room the moment I come in? I mean." you flailed your hands around, looking everywhere as if you could find an explanation. "You never behaved this way, Law, not with anyone. I... It was fine before, right? Let me ask again, did I do something wrong?" 

"Of course not!" 

At his hasty exclamation, you blinked, uncertain why he became as rigid as stone. Palms back on the blanket, you awaited an elaboration of his thoughts, observing his adumbral face to detect any key to figure out what caused him to alter his ways with you. However, his hat, which you've always appreciated for its fluffiness, turned out to be an issue. Those eyes you've grown so fond of refused to meet yours. 

You just couldn't get it. The surrounding air grew an intoxicating no romance book would mention, one that did the contrary of setting your heart aflame, that poor muscle of yours. 

If he explained, it would've been easier. 

"Okay, 'of course not' ... Sure—" 

"We are not having this conversation. You need rest." 

He briskly cut you off, and your heart felt constricted. The words felt bitter upon both of your tongues, so bitter and revolting, they made his jaw clench and your eyes water. You weren't having it. Absolutely not. 

"I feel better now, thank you, and I say we're having this right here." You pushed, ignoring how he clenched his tattooed fist.

"No—" 

"Yes, Law! I don't know what I did, but if it bothers you, shouldn’t you tell me? There are things we can all miss." 

The pang in your brain was still active, and you had no patience nor strength to argue. Either he spoke up or you'd go straight to sleep. 

"I... You did nothing that bothers me." 

His speech was almost a whisper, a low rumble, and were you in your regular state, you'd feel sad to see him like this. Law had no trouble speaking up— perhaps with apologies, or admitting to be wrong when in the midst of a conversation. Maybe something genuinely bothered him. But he'd tell you, wouldn't he? He had to.

But you weren't the only one who had to consider the consequences. He also had to do his part. 

"... And?" you encouraged him, to gain something, something that would lead you both to that damned thing you were both chasing, that ounce of understanding. 

“And—and what?" alas, it served another wave of blistering dissatisfaction down upon the membranes of your boiling stomach. 

He couldn't be serious. 

"... Whatever. I'm going to sleep." 

"What?" 

You detested how you were feeling, a volcano of passions, the pounding in your skull, and the heat, and the ludicrous, nagging insecurity, all these wretched, gristly sensations shoved in your mouth and scraping your gullet, such a relucting and squalid dish, contaminating your palate and inflaming the gums of your teeth. 

But all Law could see was how your eyes moistened and reddened, the crinkles at the corners of your mouth, the contracted tissues above your nose. 

You couldn't feel how his heart plummeted, either. Again, he caused you to cry. 

"Hey... I—" 

"No, Law, no! I said leave! You ignored me for almost two weeks and now—now you're just..!" 

Perhaps you were being a bit too "dramatic" for something you could solve with a modest exchange, something that, compared to all the obstacles you and Law went through, was a sheer grain of dust in your shoes. Yet you erupted for the frustration, the plant's effects and that nameless thing you'll bring in your grave, for if he knew, he'd probably pity you. 

Maybe, just maybe, he should've kept ignoring you. If solely to dim that warmth. The glow in your eyes that only sparked with him. 

"I don't mind if you need time. I don't mind if you're busy or whatever, that's obviously fine! But can't you tell me? Is it that hard? Instead of treating me like a stranger? Just—just, just leave..." 

Your snotty voice seemed ridiculous, resounding through the infirmary alongside your sobs and sniffles. Vision tarnished by your tears, staring at the ceiling with resignation. It alarmed Law, whose emotions were already scattered; unnerved, anxious. 

He couldn't take seeing you like this. He couldn't. 

"That’s not it! I... I just — I..!" His broken explanations fell as your cries didn't stop; spasms traveling through your frazzled nerves. He swore under his breath, getting up and coming to you, standing close but so, so distant. His fingers jerked, impatient to wipe your tears, to calm you down, to assure you everything was alright, and this was all on him. 

"What..?" you meekly whimpered, gazing at him as he appeared in your sight. 

"I, I..!" if only he could express himself. You'd figure out. If only he could, without buckling and tearing apart at the weight of his own feelings. 

"... You what, Law?" 

It was tough to see with all those tears coating your scleras, but... His lips quivered. His jaw tensed. 

His hands craved yours. 

"I like—I like you!" 

... You wondered if illusions were part of the symptoms. Your eyelids were all but relaxed. Popeyed. 

"There. I said it. I mean it. Seriously. I—I think I love you." 

You could feel his frantic grip, slightly pulling the blankets in his direction, tense as him. You've never seen Law so … jittery with you. Perhaps when he slowly spoke of his past, or when his plan failed. 

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I... I was confused. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't... No, okay. I, I love you, but you don't have to reciprocate, really. ‌I just wanted to clarify that I wasn't—" 

This was different, however. Not the same vulnerability, nor agitation. That teetering edge coating his sayings, not at all close to those instances. 

"... Law." 

"—ignoring you, I mean, I was, but I just couldn't face you, you know? I didn't know how to act—" 

That glow, those feelings. The twinkle in his eyes Bepo mentioned when you spoke of something that fascinated you, that rare grin on his lips, and that sweetness, the swelling in his chest, and the red, and the breath of fresh air, and the intoxicating romance books loved to talk about... 

Those tints blooming in his cheeks. The faint relaxation of his defined brows. How he covered his pretty, vulnerable self. 

He's no different from you. Oh, oho ho, no, he wasn’t. Only now did you realize. 

"Law." 

"—but I missed you so much, I missed your presence, being with you, I—" 

Your heartbeats matched. 

"Law!" 

You understand now. The definitive yell induced him to quit his blabbering, and eventually, he found your gaze. Those windows were not locked at all. Not marginally, not halfway. They were fully open. You could see him. 

"It's... the same." 

It was all you could utter. His jaw loosened, and you could recognize his wide, stormy irises. 

"Huh? Wh — what?" 

"I feel the same way, Law. I—I love you too." 

Yours were open, too. They always were- yet he never acknowledged what dwelled inside. Two fools you both were. 

"... Oh..." and a breathless whisper was all he could offer. 

The silence dissipated. A delightful warmth occupied your rib cage. The pressure was gone. 

All is back to normal. 

"If... If you weren't sick. I'd kiss you." He mumbled, and his lips looked more luscious than ever. He shouldn't have said that. Now it was even harder. 

"P—pfft... Of course, of course. Can you come closer, at least?" you pouted, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. “Pretty please?”

"... Fine. It's — not contagious, anyway," he huffed, his cheeks a light pink, and he sat on the margin of the infirmary's bed, hustling just a tad bit closer... 

Closer... 

"Closer?" 

"Alright." 

His ears grew pink at your giggles. Your fingers graced each other, "DEATH" entwined with you. His hands were lukewarm. Long, slim, calloused in some places, but also tender to the contact. His metacarpals were partially discernible, defining the shadows. He took care of his nails, ensuring they were cut short, although they appeared slightly, just somewhat lengthier than usual. Not considerably, however; they were still short. 

How you missed holding it. 

"Sorry, by the way. About everything." Squeezing his hand, you attempted to show him what it meant to you. He squeezed it back, brushing the top of your hand with his thumb, a pensive and solemn look on his face. 

"No- I should apologize for not saying anything sooner. I neglected and avoided you. I … I don’t know what to do. You know I’m not the type for relationships.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement, but weren't as worried as Law. You'll wait. Nothing would change. 

“Mmm. I can wait for you, Law.” Saying it seemed to take him off guard, as if he hadn't thought about it. Or, rather, didn't expect you to propose it. In his head, it seemed silly because it's him. If you were to ask in his place, he'd also wait. 

He felt lighter. 

“… Truly?” 

“Yeah. We can figure it out together. Like we always did. I’ve loved you for years." He inhaled deeply, your words buttery and sweet. "I’m fine with waiting longer.” 

Thinking you wouldn't accept, if he asked, was stupid of him too. Of course you would. Of course. With another squeeze, he nodded, and turned his head away from you a bit. 

His eyes glistened. 

“I’d like that. Thank you.” 

You smiled, too, saying nothing in return. 

He can take all the time he needs. 

After some days, everything went back to the typical routine. The first thing you did was knock Shachi and Penguin's heads, (supported by Ikkaku) and since Hakugan and Clione were on duty, you couldn't do the same for them. 

You puffed your cheeks and enjoyed chewing the well-earned treat you snagged from the kitchen, reorganizing boxes since this morning. 

"Tired?" 

Peeking at the door, a smile adorned your mouth at the sight of your captain leaning on it. 

"Mm, there were a lot of them." 

"You could've asked for help. You know I don't want any of you to strain yourselves with tasks." 

"I had it. Don't worry. Although..." another bite. "I miss it." 

"Hm?" he crooned, tipping his head forward. "Miss what?" 

You gazed into his eyes, "Miss getting pampered by you when I was sick." lovingly observing how they enlarged a bit before returning to the stoic stare he always wore, swaying his head to dismiss your remarks. The chambré tint on his cheeks was as clear as day, like his light smile. Not that you'd tell him, he'd immediately disregard it. 

"... Meet me at my office once you're done." 

As he turned his back to you, his boots making clicky rumors with each step, your smirk amplified... After all, who could wait to get coddled by none other than their favorite captain?

[thoughtless-muse]

chapter summary: daryl dixon was everything you despised in a man: rude, unkempt, derisive, scornful and unarticulated. yet, daryl dixon was also everything you craved in a man: mysterious, rugged, self-sufficient, masculine, aloof, and much older than yourself. it was the worst sort of enigma to place yourself in, especially during the throes of a damn apocalypse – and yet here you were, fighting tooth and nail to try and get closer to the man who hadn’t even bothered to tell you his name himself.

word count: 3.6k

c/w: language, suggestive themes/thoughts, a bit dialogue heavy, younger!fem!reader, first meetings, older/younger, undisclosed age-gap, subtle bickering, instant attraction, brief allusions to death/loss, super minor angst (maybe?), pre-season one at the quarry camp

prologue: start of doomsday

being raised by a brother ten years your senior gave you ample time and experience to grow accustomed to being dubbed with various nicknames.

goob, goober, snot, shrimp, brat, princess – you’d heard all of those and many, many more. you had long since learned to let them bounce off of you, to simply roll with the flow and ignore them.

but when he’d given you a nickname, why, you simply couldn’t let it roll off your back; couldn’t stop yourself from replaying the exact moment he’d first called you it, couldn’t refrain from stewing over the way it had rolled – all gravelly, husky and derisive – off his tongue.

“well, ain’t’chu jus’ a doll, girly?”

doll.

he had called you a fucking doll.

and girly. as if you were some sort of child.

it was such a puerile thing to get hooked up on, something so trivial and immature – especially when compared to the more pressing concerns that you should be worrying about; such as the dead slobbering for your flesh and the dwindling food supplies within the camp.

maybe it was because when you had approached him you were just a hairs-width from a mental breakdown, the world nothing more than a mere crumble around you, and his rudeness acted as the straw that broke the camel’s back.

or maybe it was because you were simply trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake, and the moment he’d laid sight on you he decided he would harbor a personal vendetta against you, for no real reason other than he could – or wanted to.

you didn’t even know his name. and it had become painfully obvious that he’d taken great lengths to make sure no one in the camp did; when you’d approached shane about him moments after that fateful incident, shane had spared no more than a glance in the direction the man had stalked off in and shrugged.

“no idea who he is, really. he kinda just showed up.” was all shane had said, as if what had just transpired was trifling at best – and, deep down inside, you knew it was; a man copping an attitude with you was the least of shane’s worries, and it was petulant for you to expect him to place it above everything else that was already piled onto his platter, that it was stupid to expect him to do something about it as if he were a parent getting onto a child.

but you just couldn’t help it.

you hadn’t been able to help it for days.

those words rang through your head every time you saw him, sauntering around the camp with a scowl, lugging around that clunky crossbow like it was some sort of deterrent, like no one would be brave enough to approach him while he had it within his reach – it just flat-out irritated you.

you were only trying to be nice.

“I don’ need no damn help. I can find a tent jus’ fine!”

“prick.” you muttered under your breath, only realizing that you’d audibly expressed your distaste at the memory when a cool, damp hand gripped your bicep.

“you okay, (y/n)?” andrea asked softly, stroking her thumb over your skin soothingly. you shot the older woman a small smile, shirking off the irritation that had built under your skin from the mere thought of that man.

“yeah, yeah. I’m good, andrea. thanks.” you returned your focus to the bin of dirty laundry you had abandoned in favor of recounting sore memories and began to scrub near-viciously. this happened a lot, too, when you thought about him. the thoughts would pop up unprompted, and then everything else would fade away into mere white noise – you were sure it was incredibly frustrating for those who shared your assigned tasks each day.

andrea hummed softly and uncurled her fingers from your bicep to return her hand to her own basin once more. silence fell over the group of women washing clothes at the lakeside, nothing but the cries of forest birds, rippling water and churning splashes against the walls of multiple basins acting as a melody to the activity.

that was, until amy spoke up, her voice airy and strained by amusement that she tried to desperately to conceal. “so, uh, who’s a prick?”

you whipped your head over to glare at amy as muted giggles arose around you, and she vehemently avoided your eyes lest the smile teasing at her lips grew into a full on grin. heat flared over your cheeks and you blew out a puff of hot air, equal parts embarrassed and irritated that you were caught angrily musing over that man red-handed. again.

“no one.” you stated simply, voice weak even to your own ears; and with the way amy’s shoulders began to tremble with contained laughter, you knew she had picked up the lack of conviction within your tone as well.

she just knew you too well.

you had met the harrison sisters the morning after the bombing of atlanta. they had been among the group of people that shane had led to the quarry. amy was sociable, nice, and outgoing, fluttering around the camp and offering bottled water and protein bars to everyone around her. close in age, you’d clicked with her almost instantly, drawn in by her bubbly personality and likeness to yourself; the two of you had been nearly inseparable since, and you even considered her to be a best friend despite the fact that you’d met her only a little over a week ago – falling in with andrea seemed all but inevitable, and you couldn’t say you hated that.

andrea was more reserved than amy was, but no less kind. you weren’t sure if it was a facet of her personality or simply because she had seen the bond forming between amy and yourself, but andrea had, at some point, taken you beneath her wing and treated you as if you were an extension of her own family – it was comforting, but in some ways, it made your heart ache.

because you’d had that once before; had it in the form of broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes, and a voice of reason that could talk down even the most insane of serial killers.

you’d had it in the form of rick, ten years your senior and your best friend, tied to you by more than just shared blood.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, smiling through the sudden onslaught of ache within your chest. “I wasn’t talking about anyone.”

“okay.” amy responded simply, dragging out the ‘y’ in way that conveyed exactly how much she believed you in that instant. you chuckled lowly and shook your head, willing the pain in your chest to ebb away quickly, before it swelled to something too big to contain; a knot was forming in your throat, one that had become far too familiar within the past couple weeks, and swallowing it down was growing harder and harder.

amy’s attempt at prodding fell to silence again, one that the others seemed content in, completely ignorant to the turmoil roiling within you. the silence acted as a catalyst rather than a balm, an overwhelming force that prompted the small cut in your chest into a growing chasm, and in a desperate attempt to strike conversation and sow it back up, you said, “I was talking about that guy with the crossbow.”

laughter erupted around you – the first painful stitch. amy nudged you with her elbow with a light guffaw – the second stitch, a little less painful than the first.

“yeah, I kinda figured as much.” andrea acknowledged with a laugh. “you’ve been in knots over him ever since he first showed up.” the third stitch, nearly painless.

“I have not!” you rebuked, even though a small part of you knew it was true. the man had simply waltzed into camp one day, a string of squirrels thrown over one shoulder and his crossbow slung over the other, a scowl on his face and body covered in filth and grime. sweat glistened across his brow and over the skin of his exposed biceps, and when he spoke, it was with a southern drawl that had drawn you in nearly instantly.

he was attractive as hell, at least he was to you – you became instantly overwhelmed by the desire to talk to him, to know him, to get closer in some way; but perhaps you should have observed him a bit more before practically cornering him and offering your help. maybe then you would have been able to foresee his reaction, and you wouldn’t be in this torn-up state in the first place.

“he is a bit of a prick, though.” amy conceded. “I think the only reason shane allows him to stay is because he can hunt.”

that chasm had been successfully sewn up by now, but the flesh around it was still achy and sore, sensitive to any prod and poke. you’d have to tread carefully to avoid reopening it, at least for now.

“I’m sure he’s got other skills.” you weren’t sure why you were defending the man after just insulting him and stewing over him, but for some reason, it irked you for him to be likened to as a one-trick pony. maybe it was simply the cursed attraction you had to him.

“and I’m more than certain you’d love to figure out just what those other skills are.” jacqui, who had been stationed furthest from you, piped up for the first time. your mouth popped open, your eyes widened, and heat flared to your face while the others erupted into laughter. amy’s laugh was the most notable, loud and boisterous, and despite the slight mortification you felt at jacqui’s suggestive (but true) statement, you found yourself laughing along.

you wondered just how obvious you must have been about your attraction to the man for even jacqui to have noticed; you didn’t talk much with her, but when you’re sequestered into a camp fending for your lives against the walking dead, you supposed it was only natural to pick up on things about the people around you.

had the man noticed it, too?

after all, you had, without a doubt, noticed things about him; things that no one would notice unless they had their eyes on him a little too much.

you noticed the small things that made him attractive; the subtle age lines around his eyes and lips, the creases along his forehead, the bags beneath his bottom lids, the semi-permanent frown fixed upon his face.

you noticed the things about him that stirred your gut, that pooled heat between your legs and brought about carnal arousal within you; the broad width of his shoulders, the way those shirts with the cut-off sleeves framed and accentuated his biceps and torso, those small glimpses that his pants sometimes gave you of his package, the way he sauntered around, glaring at everyone, cold and unapproachable – like a dark, gloomy castle just waiting to be turned into someone’s conquest.

most of all, you noticed the clear difference in age between the two of you – fuck… it had to be at least ten years, right? if you were lucky, it may even be larger than that.

your gut twisted with the familiar sensation of arousal and your sex throbbed between your legs, prompting you to close your thighs together in an attempt to stop it. or maybe get some friction, you weren’t sure.

this was becoming a big, big problem.

“(y/n)! aunt (y/n)!”

a shrill, childish voice called out to you from the gravel road yards from the lake, effectively dousing the low-burning embers in your belly. you whipped your head back and cupped a hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun. you smiled widely at the approaching form of carl, your one and only nephew, and discarded the wet shirt in your hand in favor of turning your entire body to face the boy.

“hey, carl! what’s up?” you questioned the exuberant child when he halted just feet away from you, panting heavily and dowsed in sweat. you reckoned he must have run all the way here from the camp. what an energetic youth.

“there’s something going down in camp. shane’s fighting with this weird guy! he has a gun!”

your heart tripped over itself and you quickly rose to your feet, shooting a hand out to grip carl by the shoulder and draw him closer. a threat of this magnitude hadn’t shown face in the camp yet, and despite the fact that it wasn’t within your jurisdiction to handle matters such as these, you couldn’t push down the instinct to do so.

“amy, could you finish up my part, please?” you asked kindly, sending the young blonde a pleading look from over your shoulder. she nodded and reached over to pull your basin closer to her, throwing a cheery “you owe me!” at your back and prompting a chuckle from your throat. uneasy murmurs had broken about amongst the women at the lake, though amy seemed unbothered by the same circumstances, focused completely on her task where as the others had slowed to a distracted crawl.

“yeah, I do, thanks. okay carl, take me to camp.” you ordered the boy, who nodded and shrugged your hand from his shoulder before dashing forward, kicking up dust from beneath his heels.

you swallowed down the command for carl to slow down that swelled in your throat and instead picked up your pace; if it was true that shane was currently grappling with someone, you couldn’t waste any time on chastising carl or slowing the pace. you had to get to camp to de-escalate the situation if it called for it.

by the time carl had broken through the foliage around the camp, your ears picked up the unmistakable rumble of shane’s voice; it held that same stern yet soft tone that he used when talking to criminal suspects – you’d been there when he’d done it before.

“… just hand me the gun and tell me your name, and we can get this all sorted.”

“I ain’t handin’ya my gun, pretty boy.” this voice was different; rugged and hoarse and dry, as if the owner of it had just chain-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. “alls I’m lookin’ fer is my brother. I don’ have any other business with ya.”

shane sighed heavily just as you broke through the green shrubbery surrounding the east side of the camp. his hands were glued to his hips, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in annoyance at the man a few feet in front of him. when carl had first mentioned a gun, you worried that the man may have been pointing it at the ex-officer, or others; but it was instead holstered at the man’s hip, untouched and non-threatening.

“look, man, I get that. I don’t think you’re gonna hurt anybody; but we’ve got women and children here, and you’re a stranger with a gun. I can’t take any chances. I’m sure you understand.” shane coaxed further, removing a hand from his hip and extending an open palm to the man. the man glared down at shane’s hand but made no further movement; he didn’t reach for his gun, nor did he shift his feet at all, hell, you couldn’t even tell if the man was breathing at this point. but it was obvious this man wasn’t a threat – but if shane continued to pester him this way, he very well could become one; and with carl right next to you, that was a chance you couldn’t take.

shane huffed loudly and you saw his fingers twitch, as if he were barely holding back from striking at the man. you swallowed down your trepidation and pushed carl back, clearing your throat subtly before marching right up next to shane to confront the man.

“what’s your brother’s name? maybe we can help you find him; if he’s here.”

two pairs of eyes simultaneously snapped to you – one pair dark and narrowed in a harsh glare and the other quickly lighting up with barely-concealed interest. the stranger, a man with a buzz cut and wiry face, smiled widely at you, the tip of a pink tongue slipping just barely from between his lips as his eyes trailed your body. you pushed away the shiver that threatened to crawl up your spine and held the man’s gaze confidently until he was done with his blatant show of lewd conduct.

when his eyes met yours once more, there was a coy, feline smirk upon his lips, and his croaky voice had dropped a few octaves when he responded, “daryl. his name is daryl.”

for a moment, you sat silent, gnawing on your inner cheek and wracking your brain for just who ‘daryl’ could be. you didn’t know the names of every person in camp, but that list of unknowns was short – only three people. your heart constricted. could it be?

“so, your brother’s name is daryl. what’s yours?” shane piped up, voice edged with aggravation, as he rocked back on his heels and slipped his thumbs through his belt loops. the stranger’s eyes never left your body as he opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that echoed back didn’t belong to him.

“merle? what’d’ya think yer doin’ here?”

you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know who the shambling footsteps behind you belonged to. your stomach twisted in on itself when a warm hand pushed you aside by the thick of your bicep, not too roughly but enough to have you stumbling slightly, the contact brief but enough to leave tingles in its wake. you glanced at the man between yourself and shane, taking note of the grimace on his face as he stared down the stranger.

the stranger, merle, took no heed to the glares that were fixed upon him. he smiled widely and threw his arms out as if expecting a hug.

“baby brother! isn’t it obvious? I’m here lookin’ fer ya.”

“you know him?” shane inquired, jerking his head in merle’s direction, eyes locked on the man between the two of you.

the man – daryl, as you now knew – shuffled on his feet and cast his eyes to the side, giving shane a brief once over. after that, daryl returned his eyes to merle and nodded.

“yeah. tha’s my brother.”

shane ran a shaky hand through his hair and chuckled hotly, muttering something underneath his breath. trepidation fluttered in your gut. you’d known shane long enough to know exactly what those mannerisms of his meant, and it didn’t spell anything good. you had a bad feeling shane was about to say something either highly stupid or highly impulsive; more than likely something that was both of those things at the same time.

“y’know, I don’t really have a problem with you, daryl. I never have. but this” – shane gestured to merle, who was still standing with his arms extended and that wide smile on his face – “is a bit dangerous. when you came here, you didn’t tell us jack about you; we didn’t know who you were, where you came from, or who you knew. and I didn’t bother to ask.”

daryl hadn’t moved a single inch since shane began speaking, eyes still fixed on merle, but the discomfort was plain as day on his face, and you felt irritation begin to bubble hot beneath your skin. granted, daryl was a haughty, antisocial prick, but why was shane acting like he did something wrong?

“I mean, this is just–”

“what’s your point, shane?” you cut the man off, a bit rudely, turning a sharp-eyed glare to him past daryl’s chest. shane’s eyes widened fractionally as if he hadn’t expected you to interject yourself, yet again, into a matter that he was handling on his own.

“my point is that daryl put us all in danger.” shane pressed, lowly, with a hand wave towards merle and dark eyes glaring daggers into yours. “we don’t know him, and we don’t know his brother. for all we know, merle could have stormed into camp, gun blazing-”

“but he didn’t.” you rebuked impatiently. you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head subtly to the side. “and that’s a risk that comes with everyone in the camp. we don’t know anyone here, other than each other. and even so, you haven’t seen me in three years. I may as well be a stranger, too.”

“that’s different. you’re like a little sister to me.” shane rebutted, prompting an eye roll and hip jut from you. you wouldn’t consider shane a brother even if he’d spent every moment of your youth with you. you swallowed down that statement in favor of keeping yourself on track with the real issue at hand.

“my point still stands. nothing bad happened, so why don’t you just cool your jets and back off a bit?”

shane’s lips thinned into a line, dark eyes darting between you, daryl and merle a couple times before he heaved a great sigh.

“okay, fine, you’re right. nothing happened. but I’d still like to have a conversation with both of you, if that’s alright.” shane conceded, directing his final statement at the two brothers still locked in a stare down. daryl only gave the tiniest of nods to display that he’d even acknowledged shane’s statement, and, satisfied with the knowledge that tensions had been quelled, you turned on your heel to head back to the lake and check on the progress of the laundry.

unbeknownst to you, the event that had just transpired would turn out to be the catalyst to a soon-to-come tension between shane and yourself, as well as the act that had garnered you a modicum of respect and interest from the rude, attractive man that you were sure would never even notice you; and that little problem that you thought was becoming much too big was only going to grow larger, and very quickly.

chapter one

a/n: tbh I struggled a bit with this one. it is just a prologue, a means of setting up the deeper story, but I still wanted it to come out as good as possible, and I feel I didn’t quite articulate that. but before this finalized version, I went through at least three drafts before finding this one to be somewhat adequate. if you guys enjoyed this one nonetheless, please show it some love! if you’re looking forward to more updates, consider following or being added to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates 8

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

The bond sings as you and Astarion take it a step further.

(Pure smut baby, this is more rough but I promise a soft one before this ends ❤️)

“With pleasure.” Astarion’s voice is laced with hot desire. Soaked in the guarantee of your total demise and resurrection. Ensnaring you in the promise of carnal devotion. Ever the faithful, your moan lets out the prayer your body has for him. Pleading for him to have you seeing the stars.

Astarion’s hand shoots up from your interlocked grasp and snatches a fistfull of your (h/c) hair and yanks. Your head whips farther back as your face hovers just below his horizontally. His blood red eyes are blown and wild. A man starved and now offered a ten course meal. His tongue glides over his lips and over his fangs absentmindedly. A moment later his plush lips crash onto yours in a searing kiss. It’s full of want, of desire so powerful and raw it takes the breath out of you. Shivers run a course up through your body. You moan wantonly into his kiss as his tongue delves into your mouth. His other hand comes up to squeeze your hip and massage into your flesh. Nails leaving crescent shapes into what exposed skin there is. His touch rivals that of heavenly intervention. He touches you as if already an expert of your body. One being melting into another perfectly made for them. You bring your hand up and twirl it into his silver locks. He growls at your touch and the hand that was on your hip paws at your hand. Seizing it, he throws it back down onto the gray stone desk.

“You can touch when I say you can touch.” His voice is guttural, raw and blistered with the heat rising in his cold body. The time for soft touches and gentle caresses had since long passed. Passed the moment he couldn't take you in that tavern room. He would normally be one for pacing. For the mewls of delight in the soft and slow. To stretch out the time so long one would forget where one would start and he began. Whisper sweet nothings and tease every last drop out. But this was different from any of those times in his 200 years. For those it was them full of lust and star crossed love. He was merely completing a task. Or on rare occasions he got to enjoy it to a degree. But this. This was.. different. This was a drug he hadn’t known he missed out on all his life. A drug that warped his mind in the most delicious of ways. Creating a crave stronger than that he faced of human blood during his time with Cazador. You invaded his mind and senses and left him only wanting more. It was in your scent, the sweet smell of lily and lavender. In your touch, one that stroked flames he thought were long since extinguished in his undead life. Worst of all was your eyes. They were a chasm, an endless abyss he fell farther into with every glance. He wanted, no needed, to claim every inch of your perfect body. To fill every pore with him and leave you marked. His fangs piercing every delicious section of you he could get his hands on. If not only for others to know that you belonged to him. Though his mission was for you to never want others. For them to never compare to what he can give you.

He unfurls his hands from where they are and uses them on your hips to pivot you towards him. Your hands twitch at your sides, desperate to hold onto him. To wrap yourself around him and not let go. To have every inch of skin touch his so you may never know what it is like to be without him. You lean into the desk, dizzy with arousal to keep yourself up entirely on your own. He closes the gap between you two and slots himself in between your legs. His fingers graze under your shirt and trails upwards in light scratches. They dance around your bra before going to unlatch it in the back. With it undone he balls your shirt up in his hands. He makes a notion with his chin to have you raise your arms. You comply immediately, arms shooting up. Swiftly, you find yourself shirtless with him throwing the clothing somewhere aside in the room. Bringing your hands back down and at your side feels as if it’s killing you slowly. He notices your distress and only gives a breathy chuckle. His lips find the edge of yours in a quick kiss. He then strings kisses down to your jaw and then to your neck. There, he places a flat tongue on your pulse point and licks. Arousal douses between your legs, your neck craning away for more access to him. Like a dog with a bell, you offer yourself to him. For one of his addicting bites. He takes the invitation but only gives small love bites. No fangs involved. He can hear your pout as you realize he isn’t giving you what you want. He gives a lovers mark to your neck as his hands once again massage into your sides.

“So needy for me.” He murmurs into your skin.

“I- I just” is all you can manage out before his hands begin to knead your aching breasts. His thumb coming up on each nipple and rubbing over them just lightly enough to send shockwaves down your spine. He takes your earlobe between his teeth and tugs playfully. His words sultry sweet in your ear as he rests cheek to cheek with you.

“If you want something, ask.” He tempts you.

“I want to touch you.” You respond with no hesitation.

“Ah ah ah, what’s the magic word?” He taunts you. He travels downwards, bending in order to take your nipple in his mouth. He suckles onto your sensitive nub while his other hand works on pinching and massaging your other nipple.

“P-please!” You beg. He had barely touched you and you already felt needy. Overstimulated just from his words and touches alone. You craved more and more would still not be enough.

“And?” He continues. His hands leave their ministrations on your breast and float to your pants. He works the buttons of them as he waits your next words.

“Please sir!” Oh. Well he had been looking for a ‘thank you’ but that did so very much more for him. His erection grows painful and he ruts into you without thought. The power he held over you in this moment was intoxicating. The sir only expediting that.

“Such a good girl for me, go ahead.” He praises you. Your arms scramble for his neck and loop around. He lifts himself up to meet you in a fiery kiss. Tongues dancing as you weave your fingers in his hair once more. You press him as close as you can, desperate for more of him. He breaks the kiss and gives you a devilish smile. One that promises so much absolute sin. Kisses rain down your chest to your stomach as he finally frees your pants and tugs them down. He gives a wide open mouth kiss to the front of your panties. You balance back on both arms as you watch him. He gives kisses and nips along the outer edges, marking your inner thighs. He takes the fabric of your underwear in his teeth and drags them down. His eyes boring into yours all the while, cocky as always. Your legs shake as your head falls back in bliss. You let out a shaky sigh as he helps you shimmy out of your pants completely. More nips and kisses follow before his hand rests flat against your sternum. You lift your head to look at him quizzically. He only presses further and you fall back onto the table. Your hands rest next to your head as he positions your hips to the edge of the table. He kneels before you ready to worship your body. He lifts your legs up and over his shoulders. The flat of his tongue swipes slowly bottom to top of your molten center. A surprised moan tumbles from your lips. Licks follow suit as he maps you out with his tongue. His tongue must be cursed or blessed with the way it moves with such skill. Lapping up your wetness in a way that rivals any succubus. His tongue finds your clit and his lips give you a kiss. From there he gently sucks, creating delicious waves of heat straight from your clit. You wish to claw into something. To hold on to dear life as Astarion makes a meal out of you. One hand squeezes onto your hip as the other comes up to where he kisses you. His fingers go into a v as he spreads you before him. He leaves your clit with a wet pop before watching himself spread you.

Everything about you was so incessantly perfect he wonders if it’ll drive him mad. The way you shudder and gasp at his every touch. Or how dripping wet you get for him before he has even entered you. He had said it once in jest, but he truly does believe the Gods may have made you just to ruin him. You were temptation incarnate, and he was but a weak man before you. He delves a finger into your plush walls and sensually curls his finger back and forth. Your whines only pick up in volume as he strokes inside you. Soon enough he builds a pace and he adds another finger to the mix. His tongue laps at the juices you give to him. There has never been such a delicious nectar to him. His own source of ambrosia. A well of liquid delicacy for him to take as he pleases. Your breath comes in hot spurts as you drive up the hill of ecstasy.

“Ah-Astarion! I’m gonna-“ your voice shakes as your body builds in momentum. Astarions fingers curl exactly where you need them to. He gives you one final slurp as your toes curl. Your back bends up as you slap a hand over your mouth. Your scream of ecstasy muffles behind your fingers. You feel nearly shame from cumming so easily. Astarion sees you gagging back your noises and in a flash is on top of you. His finger lace around your wrists on either side as he glares daggers into you. You can barely swallow under his piercing gaze.

“Don’t you ever hide those delectable noises from me, I want to hear exactly how good I make you feel.” He warns you. You can only nod weakly in return. Your breath trying to fill your lungs once again. You notice the way his loose white shirt tickles against your exposed chest.

“I think. I think it’s quite rude that you aren’t also undressed.” You try to puff out, giving him an exhausted smile. He gives you one in return and draws back to his full height before you. You watch as he practically rips the shirt off of himself as his pants follow suit. You lean back on your elbows to look over him in all his glory. His body is but a work of art. All toned chest without a single blemish. His cock stands tall against his abdomen, bobbing in anticipation. You salivate at just the sight of him. He can’t help but grin at the hungry look in your eyes, eating up the sight before you. On shaky legs you wiggle off the table and move in front of him. He watches you as you begin to sink to your knees in front of him. He grasps onto your shoulders before you can get down.

“There’ll be another time for that. I want you now.” For all his confidence you can sense the stronghold desire has on him in his voice. The way his adam's apple bobs up and down. How his eyes drink all of you in, never settling for just one spot. His pupils blown wide. You trace the pad of your finger under his chin and look up at him.

“So there’ll be another time? Quite self assured.” You tease. His hand comes up and grabs your throat, his thumb under your chin as his hands grip the back of your neck.

“So cheeky, with all that confidence let’s see how well you take me.” He throws back at you. Before you even blink he thrusts you to turn around. His arms come in large swipes across the table and scatters everything in sight. Trinkets, books and goblets go crashing to the floor as he pushes your front down onto the table. Your arms scramble for purchase on the slate as you look back at Astarion. He is the vision of wild abandon. Of carnal lust. He thrusts two fingers into your mouth with the order to suck. You do as you're told and wrap your tongue around the intruding fingers. A wet pop erupts from your mouth as he takes his wet fingers and slickens his length with it. You watch as he works himself to spread your saliva lubricant. You can’t help the hearty moan you let out watching his perfect cock be stroked by him.

“Enjoying the show?” He teases as he quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Very very much so.” You reply he gives that same wild grin.

“Very very much so..?” He questions, slowing the pace of his hand. You swallow hard.

“Very very much so sir.” You fix your statement. He groans as he tightens his grip on himself.

“You learn fast, lover.” He praises you once again as he lines himself up with your entrance. You wiggle yourself back onto him, grazing against his tip. His other hand comes to rest on the small of your back to keep you in place. He teases his tip against you, circling you but not entering. You groan in frustration.

“Astarion!” You whine. You try fruitlessly to move your hips in any way that could give you that much needed friction. He only tuts in disapproval. You have no other option but to squirm to get glimpses of his cock to brush against you.

“Beg.” The simple word falls from his mouth with all the confidence in the world. You whirl your head back at him.

“What?!” You ask astonished. His bravado doesn’t falter a second.

“Beg for my cock. Beg for me to give you what you obviously, desperately, want.” His voice is like honey, liquid gold spun into words. He teases you along with rubbing his tip into your opening. Just barely the head of him pushing into your aching hole and back out again. Over and over he gives you a glimmer of himself, just enough to have you feel as if you’re in a frenzy.

“Please Astarion! Please fuck me!” At your words he rams himself inside of you in a single hard thrust. A scream of ecstasy bounds out of you, taking all your air with it. Your nails dig into the desk clawing at nothing. Astarion grips your hips to ground himself and begins to pound into you. His hips meet yours in powerful spurts as he hits into you in a way that makes the world melt. He fills you in a way that stretches you perfectly. All your mind can think of is him. Of his cock. Of the way he makes you feel like no other person had before. With every slam of his cock you feel as if you may have died and went to heaven. A glorious warmth filling every part of you in a way that makes you forget you even have a body. You moan out his name as if it’s the only word you can even remember how to say. A prayer on your lips, Astarion all you know. Your babbling and whines only fill Astarion and spur him on. Every stutter of his name increasing his ecstasy. He hopes to brand the name on your tongue. To sear it into your mind. So then everytime you ever feel ecstasy it’s with the thought of him.

“Who is it that makes you feel so good darling?” Astarion asks between thrusts, grunts falling from his gritted teeth. You can barely get the answer out between groans.

“You! You Astarion!” Your words jumble as his lifts one of your legs and lays it up and onto the table. The change of position only allows him in deeper, filling more of your quaking center. You feel so amazingly full, engulfed in Astarion. He brings one arm up to your shaking shoulder and finds purchase there. His grip has your front half bending back onto yourself. Astarion leans forward and gives you a searing kiss as he thrusts into you. Once he breaks the kiss he pulls back and out of you.

“Astarion!” You scream in frustration. You flip over and very nearly run to off the table to grab him. Before you can get off the table he wraps each arm over each of your thighs and slides you down. His cock once again slotting between your folds. You feel the throbbing of him sending shocks against your center. You throw your hands up and press the heel of your palms into your eyes. You may just go mad if he keeps up this teasing.

“No no darling. I want to see that pretty face when I make you come. And I want your eyes on me when I fill you with my seed.” He growls. You push your hands up and away from your face. Your eyes trained on him as he lines himself up once again.

“Yes sir.” You barely get out as your voice shakes. He gives you an appreciative squeeze on your thighs. His cock finds its way inside you once again. This time his thrusts are sloppy. Astarion knows his time is close, anymore of this and he may cease to exist. The scent of sex and sweat filling his nostrils. He needed to take you now. Your voice is scratchy and raw as moans tumble out of you. His hands move up, one encircling your waist while the other cradles your head.

“Who makes you feel so good? Who makes you cum?” Astarion grunts between hard slaps of his hips into yours.

“Y-you. You Astarion.” You reply. His hips begin to falter, his climax reaching.

“Who do you belong to?” Astarion snarls.

“You! You Astarion!” You all but scream. That’s all Astarion needs as his climax begins to hit him.

“Mine!” He growls into your skin. Something animalistic takes over him. An ancient strong feeling of claiming. Without thought his teeth meet the flesh of your neck as he bites down. Your vision blurs as your shared ecstasy hits you as well. His bite throwing you over the edge. Your vision blurs and all you can see is the twinkles of his silver hair and the granite ceiling. Your peak filling you completely. Astarion claims you with his cum and coats your insides with him. The bond singing in all its glory in his head. A golden knot intertwines between your minds and tightens. A feeling of one, of shared presence washes over you both. Belonging. Togetherness. It cements into you both and glues you together. Astarion realizes it’s the bond clicking it’s final lock into place. By the look on your blissful face, he can tell you felt something to. What had he done?

Part 7 here

Part 9 here

[olympeline]

And now for a post about the characters who are giving me the most trouble in my National Animals AU. All of the below come with the tag of “umm, maybe?? I don’t know. Please help me decide.”

Japan: ??? → white tiger → ???

I only have one idea for Kiku and it’s that he would have been a tiger during his imperial years. A white one to match his red and white flag. After WW2 ended, he would change (back?) into something else. Japan in its empire days would need a powerful and aggressive apex predator, but what would Kiku be after giving that up? I have no idea. Japan’s national animal is the green pheasant but would a brightly coloured, flashy bird suit the introverted Kiku? Hmm…

China: ??? → giant panda

Remember when I said France was the problem country of this AU? Remember the days my sweet, Summer child self thought Francis was the worst it could get? I was wrong. Oh, dear God, how wrong was I. 🫠 Francis is nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the shrieking hall of nightmares that Yao is. Take that ??? → and multiply it by like, ten, for a start. China is such an ancient country with a rich, complicated history to rival any other. Plus because of my veto on mythical animals I can’t give him a lung dragon like I really want to. He ends up as a panda but I don’t have a clue when that would happen or what his older forms would be. I’m so far out of my depth I’m not even going to try. I’ll leave it to my bros in the Chinese side of the Hetalia fandom and go with whatever they think Yao would be.

Portugal: ???

Google tells me Portugal has the Iberian wolf as their national animal. Which works fine but ehhh, I’m on the fence about another Western European country getting a wolf. We already have Feli, Lovi, and their Grandpa Rome as an Italian wolf pack. Portugal was so influential in starting the Age of Discovery that I’m almost tempted to make him an otter or an albatross or something. Then there’s the Iberian lynx: a roaming hunter that’s also a strong swimmer. Portugal and England have the longest military alliance in the world that’s still going to this day. So some lynx/lion big cat solidarity? Damn, Portugal, calm down! Too many good choices you have.

[redditreceipts]

Can I pick your brain for a minute?

I’m a trans man, been on hormones for a year and a half, but I’ve identified as trans for ten years. I began my transition when I was an adult just to make sure I was really sure with my identity. This thought came naturally to me, I’m an empiricist so I don’t see my own thoughts as ironclad facts about how I feel. I’ve always been this way.

I’ve been in the trans community for awhile, 2014 to now, and I’ve had a few ups but many, many downs with interacting with other trans people. And sure, a few negative interactions may weigh more on you than positive, but over the years I feel that other trans people are just. Insane. I’ve struggled with mental health, every human has their moments, but I’ve always held onto this empiricist frame of thought. There was a long time where I was stuck, deep in what 2014 tumblr would call “tucute-ism,” where I felt pressured to validate other people no matter how strange it was. At the time I was thinking “they’ll probably just grow out of it” but as I aged…they did not. Over time I began to feel more and more alienated from the community, but by far, my worst interactions I had with other trans people were trans women and non-binary people of both the female and male sex. Even when I was in that phase I did not use neopronouns, nounpronouns, or hell, emojipronouns. Overtime as a younger generation discovered their ‘transness’ I witnessed that wow, those same “you’re fucking crazy” barriers of the mid to late 2010s were gone completely and in its wake was a bunch of children combining letters into “words” I knew I’d never understand how to use. It’s all just a form of counterculture to me. But people defended this by comparing it to the 60s where trans people would identify as “genderfucks” or “feminine water lilies” and that we went back to the 60’s was “cool” and “awesome.”

But that period of time in the trans movement was the most ineffectual and self harming era of the trans community, soon followed stonewall and the following riots which set the LGBT community at large back for a few decades. Which ultimately killed millions as a result of the rise of the AIDS crisis. So now I wonder if through our own fuck-up and counterculture existence screaming “down with the USA” we’ve made the present rhyme with history and that down the road, possibly with the reelection of Trump (or later, Vance, as a successor), that we have solidly and utterly fucked ourselves.

So I wonder that if, by the end of this re-run of nonsense, where we’re stuck in a more perilous position where the insane ones are forced to step in line, if the gender-critical movement or “TERFism” would fade out of existence, or at least, temporarily. Because ultimately I see the world in cycles and every group of people goes crazy sometime or another, minority groups are no exception.

So essentially, do you think the gender-critical movement is reactionary in some way shape or form? That it only exists out of the actions of a few-many trans people? I see social movements as a tug o’ war, where at some point a group of people drop the rope and the other side falls backwards. If there is nothing propelling your criticisms of the trans community, what’s the end result? And hopefully not, but if by next year anti-trans violence ramps up (as it has been in regard to anti-trans laws) what do you think many gender critical people may feel?

Hello :)

First of all, the fear you have had in your ask (which you sent before the election) apparently became true and now, Trump is the new president of the United States. My condolences :(

I don't think that gender critical feminism is reactionary. I personally think that the identity focused movements of the past decade or two have not improved the material conditions of the marginalised people they were intended to help, and I think that they are a cheap way for neoliberalism to act as though it is a progressive ideology when the entire identity politics thing is just a way to sound progressive without actually doing anything for these groups (like free education, healthcare, etc.).

I also don't think that radical feminism and its stance on trans rights stems from a few trans people who are using neo-pronouns or behaving ridiculously (even though that's what makes a lot of people interested in our opinions). I am obviously kinda annoyed by neopronoun users, but it's nothing compared to the eradication of women's rights and our disappearance from the public conscience as a sex class.

Also, for me, the end result would be to abolish gender and to abolish patriarchy, and in the best case, capitalism with it (yeah I know but I'm allowed to dream).

And I don't know what every gender critical person feels if anti-trans violence ramps up, but I personally see anti-trans violence as violence against individuals who are perceived to be gender non-conforming or homosexual (in the case of non-passing trans people), and violence against individuals who are perceived to be women (in the case of passing trans women). I am obviously against homophobia (duh), and also against violence against gender non-conforming individuals. That's why I am gender critical, I hate gender and I hate violence against people who seem not to conform to gender norms. The only way to fight this is, in my opinion, to recognise that we can look however we want and do whatever we want regardless of our biological sex. Violence against gnc people is one of the many reasons as to why I hold the position I do; gender is bullshit and so it violence against those who don't adhere to it.

And for you saying that it is counterproductive to say stuff like "down with the USA", I have to say that I'm not too familiar with US politics and how this kind of behaviour might influence public perception. So I guess that it's bad optics, but look at how Israeli settlers are behaving (literally killing people and perpetuating a genocide), and they are still receiving aid from the government of the US. So idk whether the US government makes their decisions based on violent slogans or whether they support you if you are aligned with their foreign policy interests. But I'm sure that you can judge this better, as I don't know a lot about US culture.

I'm also happy that you have recognised what type of people help you and I believe that you should take care of yourself and whom you spend your energy on. I hope that you are happy with where you are now and I wish you all the best :)

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

Over the Years

Prompts: 'life changes' and 'growth'

Rating: K/General

Setting: begins in their childhood and ends in the ten year time skip.

Synopsis: Momo notices Toshiro's growth across the years.

AN: a collection of short and sweet moment for this month’s @yearoftheotpevent challenge. I thought to do a more metaphorical fic for this one, but I decided go with something literal in the end. Hope you enjoy it!

______________________

“What? Is there something on my face?”

Momo can only blink. It had to be because she hasn’t seen him in months, otherwise she would have definitely noticed during her lasy visit.

Toshiro folds his arms. “Seriously, bed-wetter, what is it?”

The dreaded nickname snaps her out of her stupor. “Don’t call me that!”

“Then stop starring!”

“I wasn’t.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just…have you gotten taller?”

It had been almost six months since she last saw him, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’ll have grown since then. However, this growth spurt is noticeable compared to others. He’d grown several inches, and now his forehead is in line with her nose. He barely has to tilt his head to meet her gaze. Something about that makes her heart clench in pride, but also nostalgia for times where he was much shorter.

Toshiro rolls his eyes. “So what if I have? Everyone grows taller.”

“Well, yes, but, um…” Momo presses a hand against her lips, trying to stifle the giggles that threaten to bubble up.

He glares and grumbles. “What?!”

“Nothing!” she says around a chuckle. “Please, ignore me! I have to see Ayumi-chan then I’ll –”

“What’s so funny?”

“Honestly, Shiro-chan, it’s nothing!”

“Don’t call me that, bed-wetter Momo!”

He might have gotten taller, but he’s still the same grumpy brat she knows.

_________________________________

She finds Toshiro lying in the grass under a tree, hands behind his head and head tilted back. He might be napping, or, judging by the fact his zanpakuto is at his side, he could be meditating.  notices again weeks before her graduation.

Seeing him like this, with the usual furrow in his brow less prominent and his eyes closed, he almost looks like a different person. It’s different from when she would wake before him and see him still asleep on the many sleepovers she had with him. He’s still a child, older now with some of the roundness in his cheeks and eyes disappearing, but it’s more than that.

He’s using that stealth he once used to jump out and scare her to show his impressive footwork in zanjutsu, and the concentration he once reserved for competing in spinning top tournaments into studying every textbook after classes well before exams.

He’s changed, and she’s barely been there to see it’s full progression. Perhaps that was a downside to choosing to become a Shinigami, she didn’t get to see what had made him change. Why did she want to know such things? He hadn’t changed for the worst, if anything he’s matured.

Momo shakes her head; why is she thinking like this?

The bell sounds off in the distance. It hadn’t stirred Toshiro from his nap or meditation. It wouldn’t do for him to miss any of his classes.

She kneels by his side. “Shiro-chan…” she tries. “Shiro-chan, it’s time to wake up.”

His brow twitches, but he otherwise remains still.

“Shiro-chan, come on,” she says, a bit louder. She gives his shoulder a gentle shake for good measure. “If you don’t wake up, you’ll miss your classes.”

His eyes snap open and he flings himself up. She barely avoided being hit by him, leaning away and almost falling on to her backside. He stares at the ground and takes in deep breaths through his parted lips.

Had she startled him that badly? “S-Shiro-chan?”

He blinks, and after exhaling, looks at her. “Hinamori…”

Momo raises her hands in apology. “I’m sorry, did I frighten you?”

He says nothing, and judging by the lingering haziness in his eyes, he’s still not fully awake.

“I was looking for you, and I found you here. Were you asleep or…” At the second bell alarm, she gasps and scrambles to stand up. “Actually, that’s not important! We’re about to miss our classes if we don’t hurry up!”

That seems to snap Toshiro out of his daze. He’s quick to grab his zanpakuto and rise. Despite

They rush back toward the Academy. “Before, were you taking a nap or meditating?”

To her bewilderment, he considers his answer. “I was medidating.” Then, several steps later, “Why were you looking for me?”

Momo shrugs and grins. “Just wanted to see how you were doing. I’ve been hearing rumors around that the instructors are deeming you a child prodigy.”

“Who said that?!”

“I don’t know, I just overheard some classmates talking about it.”

“Since when do you pay attention to gossip? Besides, it’s not true and it’s not a big deal if it was.”

“But Hitsugaya-kun, it’s an amazing feat!”

Hearing his surname makes him falter, and a faint pink colours his cheeks. She chuckles. “Still not used to it, are you?” she teases.

“S-Shut up!”

"I can go back to calling you 'Shiro-chan' if you'd prefer."

"Absolutely not!" He turns his fast walk into a run, going ahead of her. She laughs as she catches up to him.

When she glances down to avoid a rock in her way, she notices his shoulder is only a couple inches lower than hers.

___________________________________

Ever since he started wearing the haori, Momo can’t tell if he’d grown again or if he’s just standing taller than before.

She wouldn’t be surprised if it’s only the latter. The haori has given him a greater presence, and it’s a piece of his uniform he must wear with the responsibility and respect the role of captain asks of him. She can see it having an effect on him, of wanting other to know he takes his new role seriously and

“Oi, you day dreaming back there?”

Momo almost drops her paperwork and stumble in her step, but is quick to recover and come to a stop. It’s only then she realises she’d been staring at his back while he walked ahead. What had they been talking about again?

“Ah, sorry Hitsugaya-kun, I lost focus.”

“It’s ‘Captain Hitsugaya’ now, Hinamori.” He fully turns to her. “It’s unlike you though. What’s on your mind?”

She tries to not show how much the question startles her. Where once he’d kick the dirt and say something vague to gauge if she was upset, now he just asks her. He’s become more direct in recent years.

Remembering the child he once and seeing how he’s grown to who he is right now makes her smile. She closes the gap between them with a smile.

“It’s nothing. I think I’m just trying to get used to seeing you dressed in a haori.”

___________________________________

Their eyes are almost level. It’s an odd realisation to have after he’s made his apology. Perhaps it’s the catharsis, the relief of having finally spoken to him again after months of absence and knowing neither of them hated or feared the each other.

She wipes away the last tear form her eye on her sleeve. He’d stopped crying long ago, but his eyes are still rimmed red and glassy. She’s only seen him cry three times, and it’s never been like this. She takes his hand.

“How about some tea?” Momo offers.

He only nods and lets her led him to the Fifth Division kitchens.

___________________________________

Around them is the ruins of the palace and their injured comrades being healed. Yhwach had been defeated, and the relief hangs palpable in the air around her. It should be a time of hurried decisions and coordinating how to transport everyone back down to the Soul Society.

But Momo can’t look away from Toshiro, and it seems he can’t look away from her either.

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been standing here, she in confusion and he as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t and was awaiting her judgement.

It’s the only time where he stands on the same level as her and she has to crane her neck to look him in the eye. She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

Toshiro stares down at her as if she’d grown a third eye. “What’s so funny?”

Hearing him speak a slightly deeper voice only adds to the strangeness of the situation. Perhaps she should be in awe or confused by his change in appearance and power. Maybe her immense relief is getting the better of her and it’s making her almost manic.

She calms herself enough to speak between chortles. “I’ve never seen you so tall! How did you get to be like this?”

His eyes widen and his mouth fall agape, making a strangled sound. It does nothing to stop her laughter, and she has to cover her mouth and half turn away.

He comes out his stupor and makes an irritated noise. “Enough of this! I’ll explain later! We have to focus on our duties!”

It would’ve been a sobering reminder had it not been for how he stomps away from her, arms swinging at his sides and shoulders high enough to hide the redness in his cheeks.

____________________________

Of all things, she only notices he’s grown taller when they both duck under a low hanging branch. Once he could easily walk underneath it and she would have to bow her head slightly to avoid her hair getting caught on the leaves.

She stares at him the whole time, even as she straightens and they continue towards his Granny’s house, only a short distance ahead. Eventually, with a deepened frown, he asks, “What is it?”

Behind him, the orange and red autumn leaves are a stark contrast to his white hair and blue-green eyes. It’s a moment she wishes she could capture, whether it be on her denreishinkai or in her sketchbook.

At her lack of a response, his brows furrow deeper and he comes to a stop. “All right, what is it? Is there something on my face?”

They’re at eye level now. She hasn’t grown an inch in the last four years, but he keeps getting taller. One day, she may really have to start tilting her head back to meet his gaze.

The wind chime on Granny’s veranda reminds her of why they’re here, and she’s quick to start walking again. “No.”

“Then why were you staring?” he asks  

“You’ve grown taller,” she tries to say casually. “I only just noticed.”

He rolls his eyes with a scoff and a hint of a smirk. “Is that all?”

“Hey, this is the first we’ve seen each other since the reconstruction efforts began." Despite her indignation, she smiles. "Of course I’m going to notice changes in you after so long.”

[chaosprompts]

IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA STARTER SENTENCES PT. 3 - trigger warning for : sexual themes, violence, and alcohol mentions.

i ended up having to do it all by myself !!

listen ... listen. it looks terrible, like really really bad.

what have i done ??

oh oh hottie alert at two o'clock.

the name's ___, i have a bleached asshole.

knock knock dickface.

if you don't get out of the way right now i'm gonna bring out the big guns.

oh hit me with your best shot you stupid bitch.

not everyone has the gift.

i don't remember that night.

i don't remember most evenings.

for the love of god please do not ask me about his dick.

i'm gonna take off my bra, blast my nips !!

he literally has the worst life imaginable.

my life has been in a bit of a tail spin.

i am trying to get my life back on track.

i spent the money on these sweet ass kettle drums !!

you gotta make it sexy !! hips and nips.

i accept payment with the following things: coins, cash, checks, food, vape pens, pens in general, and scissors.

ooo don't get caught.

what do you want from me ??

i'm gonna get a little bit rough with you.

i ain't going to no hospital !!

hey turkey's gobble gobble.

so what's the plan we just gonna bum rush this guy from behind or what ??

are you seeing this ??

hey !! hey !! gimmie some eyes !! cool your jets !!

i got all numbers.

give me the hotdog, baby !!

keep this up man. keep this up and see what happens.

i will strike you down !!

well, can i bare my soul to you for a second ??

now you say another word and i swear to god i will dice you into a million little pieces.

you haven't thought of the smell !!

god bless cream pies, and god bless america.

i command you to stop.

well the last few years i've been settling for fives, y'know ?? and i've been giving you the tens, okay ?? but i realized i could be a ten guy too.

i'm gonna go slam ass.

by any chance do you have homosexual tendencies ??

you ?? i don't know who the hell you are.

begone vile man !! begone from me !!

i am un-tethered and my rage knows no bounds !!

did you bomb and fail and bomb just like i knew you would ??

that's all that happened and nothing else happened.

oh oopie daisy !! looks like i broke it.

i didn't know it was gonna come off like that.

i've got one of those hella sweet lives.

don't do that.

the point is you'll be dealing with me today.

are those fake hands ??

have you been drinking paint ??

he totally could have done it.

oh my god you're bleeding !!

oh my god what am i looking at here ??

oh go to hell !! you go right to hell !!

you dumb idiot !!

you're not the alpha here you crusty ass fool !!

i will destroy you !!

begone from me you soy boy beta cuck.

i beg you to stop.

you can't believe what happened !!

can i get your house key ??

get away from me.

there's a lot of money in rollerskating.

you're talking about thumbing through vending machines for loose change. you think that's comparable to my thing ??

twenty-five cents is not gonna get us shit man !!

[sissytobitch10seconds]

New and Old

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: Diego has found something rather suspicious in a place that he wasn't supposed to be. Too bad he doesn't have enough common sense to know not to react to it. Warnings: The t-slur used in a joking way, implied drug use, accidental misgendering, and general Hargreeves miscommunication Word Count: 3,307 Ship(s): Viktor Hargreeves & The Hargreeves Siblings

Archive link!

A/N: Just wanted to say before anyone reads this that Klaus does use the t-slur in reference to Viktor because I thought it would be in character for him and he's a trans person, so it's not derogatory. If this makes you uncomfortable, maybe give the fic a miss! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

“Vanya? Are you in here?”

Diego was getting frustrated. He had been looking for his favorite hoodie for the better part of four hours and had yet to get even an inkling of where it was. He knew that there were other options for clothes that he could wear, but his brain had decided that if he was going to brave the cold New York spring, then he was going to do it in the hoodie that Grace had given him for his birthday or not at all.

He had searched all over his room, in the laundry room, and in the renovated living space where they all spent their time but hadn’t found anything yet. Those were the only places that he would have left it on his own, he was certain of that. After they had returned back to their time from the sixties, their father was still dead but they had fixed both apocalypses. They had inherited the house and immediately moved back in together so that they could figure everything out. It was better for Luther and Five, so that they could have someone to teach them how to adjust to their lives without the Academy. It was good for Diego to have a support system as well, but he mostly just liked knocking down the old walls of their place so that they could turn it into something livable instead of an amalgamation of training rooms and empty storage spaces. Only about a fifth of the mansion was livable without one of them stumbling into a memory that they didn’t want to recall without a therapist present.

Which meant that unless it suddenly learned how to grow legs and walked away on its own, it had been stolen by one of his more mischievous siblings. Despite what the others thought, Vanya was the worst about stealing clothing that did not belong to her. She was the smallest out of them all by far, despite the fact that Five was still short even though he was occupying a thirty-year-old body like the rest of them were. She fit in all of their clothing even if anything that stretched across Luther’s shoulders dwarfed her tiny frame like it was trying to swallow her whole. Everyone assumed that Klaus would be the one to take their clothing, but now that he was putting on some weight due to his healthy diet and the absence of drugs, he only really fit in Allison’s clothing.

As soon as he had finished searching through the rooms that it could be in for the fourth time, he had begun to search for the actual sister in question. Grace hadn’t seen his sweatshirt or Vanya, so it was nice to see her again but not entirely helpful. The next step was to ask his siblings where their missing sister might be, but had gotten nothing once more.

So he was beginning to search for a human being instead of a sweater. Arguably, it should have been easier for him to find something that was at least ten times larger and also moving compared to how difficult it was to find his jacket, but he had come up empty in every room that he poked his head into. It was honestly beginning to worry him that his sister had disappeared earlier that morning and was no nowhere to be found.

The last place that he was checking was the bedrooms. He had already searched his top to bottom and had poked around the others when he was asking them if they had seen Vanya. That meant that the aforementioned woman’s bedroom was the only place that she could be, he was sure of it. He opened up the door and then looked in, only to find nothing.

His mouth tilted down into a frown as he stepped in properly. His brain was beginning to eat itself because he hadn’t been able to find the item that he needed to continue his routine. He knew that he had to work on his control issues, his therapist had said as much, but this was one thing that he couldn’t go without today. Too much had been let go of and changed the day before.

He figured that it would be easier to ask forgiveness from his sister for snooping through her things then it would be to wait until she returned from wherever she must have gone to. It wasn’t like they were all kids anymore and he was looking for a way to get her in trouble. She was an adult and she was allowed to leave whenever she wanted to, though they had all agreed that they would leave a sticky note on the fridge with their whereabouts for Five’s sanity alone.

Vanya had gotten a new room the first out of all of them when they moved back in because her room had been cannibalized by Klaus’ shortly after the Academy had begun to fall apart. The room that she had now was far roomier than the last one had been, with enough room for a comfortable chair and a desk that was fit for an adult. He also had his music stand and wo massive bookshelves full of everything that someone studying music would need to study. She had also decorated the space with her own little bits of flare, blue color and pictures of flowers that she had taken herself splattered throughout the room.

Diego closed the door behind him and then knelt down so that he could look under the bed for any sign of his missing clothing. He again didn’t find anything, but he did notice that there was a suspicious bag that he recognized all too well laying in the corner.

He reached out and then tugged it forward before he noticed that it was in an ornate brown box. He removed both items from under the bed and got a better, proper look at them both. The box was made of a cherry colored wood, put together so that the seams felt smooth against each other. The latch was shaped like a flower and turned towards the left so that the top half could lift off when it was to be opened. The top of the box had an ornate carving of a fox running through a forest, the depth of which was actually really impressive.

It only took him a second to flip the lid open so that he could see what was actually inside. There was a growing pit in the center of Diego’s stomach the longer that he saw with the knowledge of the edge of what he had seen. It only grew wide, like it was trying to swallow him, when he actually confirmed his suspicions. 

The inside of the lid had a classy black velvet lining that was wearing in the center and had collected an aggressive amount of dust in the corners and alone the seams. In the center of it lay a bag with the orange biohazard mark of a sharps disposal container, along with a set of needles that had not been used. There wasn’t anything else in there despite the nature of other such boxes that Diego had found in his life.

Despite that, the anger that burned through his system was enough to make his mind go into a hazy white confusion. He rose to his feet and stormed through the house in search of Klaus or any of his other siblings. When he found them, they were gathered in the dining room while playing a game of what looked to be solitaire. He slammed the box down onto the table loud enough that they all jumped and the cards went flying.

“Diego, what the Hell?” Luther snapped as he began to lean down so that he could pick up the mess. It was likely his knee hitting the underside of the too-small table that had caused the mess in the first place. They really needed to work on getting some furniture that was more suited to someone of his monstrous side.

“Yeah, Gogo, who spit in your porridge?” Klaus asked. He had dark eyeliner smeared around his lids and he was wearing a chipper yellow sundress that Allison had worn the week before.

“Do you now what this is, Klaus?” Diego questioned. He could feel the anger and heat of betrayal burning in his gut. It was threading through his veins and fueling who he was as a person. He wouldn’t be alive without that drive, that anger, and he was grateful for it.

Klaus fidgeted where he sat, obviously understanding that he was in trouble about something. He shifted so that he was kneeling on his chair, his hands threaded together as he used his elbows to lean low over the table. He turned his head to the left and then the right as he looked at the box before he finally answered, “No?”

“Diego, honestly, what is going on?” Allison asked. “Use your words like a big boy, not a child,” she accused when he opened his mouth to start yelling.”

He let out a huff, his nose flaring with anger. He realized then that she was right, for once. What he was doing wasn’t going to help anyone, it was reactionary and exactly the kind of thing that had driven Eudora away. She was giving him another chance the same way that his siblings were and he needed to show them that he was worth it. He took a deep breath and then let all of the anger melt out of him through is feet so that his mind returned to him. “I was looking through Vanya’s room because she’s always stealing my shit,” he began.

“As she does,” Klaus nodded as he collapsed back into his seat.

“She’s never taken anything of mine,” Allison glanced between the two of them. “I can barely even get her to let me paint her nails, let alone for us to share clothes.”

Klaus gave a half shrug that was more like he was rolling his shoulders and Ben flickered into the background, blue and half corporal. “Maybe the two of you just have really different styles, Allie.”

“Her style has been changing quite a bit lately,” Ben said in the moment that he had where his siblings had the ability to see and hear him. Klaus, despite having brought Ben to that plain with his powers, jumped at hearing his brother outside of his own head.

“I guess that’s true,” Allison murmured. “She’s been changing a lot recently, hasn’t she?”

“Well, can you really blame her? I think that we’ve all been changing quite a bit,” Luther reasoned. He had been going to therapy the same way that the rest of them were and he was discovering things about himself. They had a stack of jigsaw puzzles and more baked goods than any one person could reasonably eat in the kitchen to prove that. “She’s been doing more things out of the house and she actually brought someone home the other day.”

Despite yelling at Diego earlier for doing the exact thing, Klaus slammed his hands down onto the table as he got up into his kneeling position again, “She did what?” 

There was a pop and the entire room flooded with the smell of ozone. Five stepped out from the doorway and then walked over to the coffee pot next to the microwave in the kitchen part of the room that they were in. None of them ever sat in the formal dining room, even if they had to remind their mother about that every evening for dinner. It held too many bad memories of times that they had been forced to sit and listen to old men speaking about things they didn’t understand.

“You’re too loud for the morning,” Five told him, his tone bored but still somehow conveying just how upset he was.

“Five, it’s one in the afternoon,” Allison scoffed.

It spoke to his progress that the only thing that he did was glare at her as he sunk down into the open chair. Diego was glad that the entire family was there if he was going to have to bring up something potentially dangerous that their sister had done. It likely wasn’t a good idea of Vanya to be taking any kind of illicit substances when they didn’t know how they would react with the sedative that was still in her system or her powers.

Five drained the mug of coffee that he had been clutching in his hands and then cringed. “This tastes like shit. What are we talking about?” he asked.

“The coffee tastes like shit because I brewed it when I got up this morning and it’s one in the afternoon,” Luther deadpanned, echoing what Allison had just said. Five just rolled his eyes and waited for someone to answer his question.

“I found this in Vanya’s room,” he explained as he opened the lid to show them what was inside.

“Why were you in Vanya’s room?” Five asked as he leaned forward to see what was inside the box. Allison was the only one of the siblings that was bold enough to reach inside so that she could remove the biohazard bag from inside and look it over.

“I was in there because I wanted to see if she had stolen my sweatshirt, she’s been stealing a lot of clothing for the rest of us recently and my brain is telling m-me that I can’t go outside unless I’m wearing it,” he explained. He could feel his cheeks and ears heating up as he admitted that, but he reminded himself that his siblings weren’t going to bully him about his mental illness anymore.

Klaus took the biohazard bag from Allison and then waved his hand behind him haphazardly, likely to try and get rid of the annoying ghost that was yelling something at him. “These are definitely sharps, but if she’s doing anything weird at least she’s using something clean.”

It was hard for all of them to remember the time that Klaus was so out of his mind on whatever he could get his hands on that he was barely their brother. He had changed quite a lot and they were very grateful for it, but it scared them to think that he could relapse back into that person. Allison took the deck of cards from Luther and began to shuffle them so that she had something to do with her hands. “This would explain a couple of things.”

“What do you mean by that?” Five asked, accusatorily.

“Well, she cut all of her hair off. Do you remember a single time in our entire lives that Vanya had short hair? She always kept it long,” Allison answered with a small shrug. “Drug usage can really damage your hair, so maybe she cut it so that we wouldn’t be able to tell because there would be no hair to use.”

“I thought that she was just trying something new out,” Luther frowned.

The front door of the house opened and shut before they could continue. They all went silent and glanced back and forth at each other as Diego took the bag back from Klaus to put it in the box. He had just shut it and then locked the front when Vanya appeared in the doorway.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” she asked, the smile slowly slipping off her face. It made Diego feel insanely more guilty that he was expecting it would, letting her get upset when she hadn’t even really done anything to warrant their scrutiny of her.

“Welcome home,” Allison smiled as she tried another small broach in the conversation.

Vanya stepped further into the kitchen after she dropped her bag down near the door. She scowled when she saw what Diego was holding and almost ripped it away from him. “Where did you get this? Why do you have it?”

“I think that we should be the ones asking the questions, Vanny,” Klaus replied. “Like why are you doing drugs in the house without telling me?” When no one joked or laughed, he flopped back into his chair with a dramatic roll of his eyes. 

The aforementioned violinist looked down at the box and then up at all of them before she let out a giggle. It devolved into a set of belly-aching laughter that had her clutching at her side as she gasped for breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s really not all that funny.”

“Then why are you laughing?” Five asked, his anxious fingers drumming on the ceramic mug in his hand so hard that Diego was honestly worried about the poor thing shattering.

“It’s just, I kind of thought that you guys would notice. I mean, how did you get a single mission done when you’re this unobservant?” she asked, her mouth split into a wide smile.

“To be fair, I noticed,” Ben said as he flickered into life behind Klaus. The other man was scowling like he had just been bullied into something, which he usually was when he manifested their brother for longer than a couple of seconds.

“What are we missing here?” Allison asked, glancing between her brothers before she turned back to Vanya.

Vanya sent a sharp glare towards Ben and then took a deep brath before she began, “These are sharps, you’re right. But I don’t use them for non-prescription drugs. I’ve been taking Testosterone for almost half a year now. I’m really surprised that none of you picked up on the fact that I’ve lost all the fat in my face, my voice is way deeper, and I’ve been bringing home one night stands.”

“How is that… oh,” Luther dipped his head into his hands.

Diego glanced at his brother and then back to the violinist, “Why are you taking testosterone?”

“Diego, really?” Ben said, her voice low and sad. Diego felt a spike of pain before Klaus gasped at the other end of the table and distracted them all.

“You’re a tranny!” he shouted with an accusatory finger point. Everyone else at the table exploded with reasons about why he couldn’t say that and shouting at him for even uttering the word in the first place. “What? I can say that because I am too,” he defended as he held his tattooed palms up in a defensive position.

“Just because you’re non-binary doesn’t mean that you can say slurs at him-them?” Allison turned back towards the aforementioned violinist with a question on her brow.

“Ah, right. I guess I have to do introductions now,��� the superhero groaned. “My name is Viktor Hargreeves, I use he/him pronouns and I don’t mind being called slurs by my sib.”

“Fuck yeah!” Klas cheered as he pumped his fists into the air.

Five got up to get another cup of the coffee he didn’t like. When he returned to the table, he muttered, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

“Me neither. I got top surgery a month ago and was bedridden for several days,” he snickered. “I guess I thought that Mom would have mentioned something.”

Luther cupped his head in both of his hands, signaling the way that the rest of the siblings felt about the whole situation. None of them were upset about the fact that Viktor was trans, they were all overjoyed underneath the overwhelming rush of confusion. “We really have to start paying more attention,” Diego swore as he flopped down into his chair.

“Yeah, you do,” Viktor snickered. It was only when he walked out of the room that Diego realized that he was, in fact, wearing the sweatshirt that he had been looking for.

[onlyjaeyun]

tbh I mayhaps started writing again. Currently I have 30k of a Sunghoon fic(idk how long it's gonna be but lets just say it just hit the climax), 12k of a Heeseung fic, 6k of a Sunoo fic, and finished a 7k Yuma fic and 11k Jo fic. Like I can't just focus on one thing at one time, I get writers block and start a whole new fic. I also have a bunch of other ideas, I have at least one plot for each and every member of &Team and Enhypen, some have multiple, to give a little taste of some I have ideas for but I haven't started yet kitsune Taki, guardian angel which turns into fallen angel Euijoo, enemies to lovers Jay, and a the Little Mermaid fic with Jake(since tell me Jake is not Prince Eric coded). And it's so sexy to see you using some of the ideas I've sent you for Strictly Business, before long we'll all be sending you Strictly Business thoughts and headcannons.

Of course Sunoo and Niki may have been in it sparsely, but they are still family, and ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten. Allow me to leave you with a few last, last for now I'll probably think of more later, Poison future thoughts:

Everyone always takes vacation together once a year, all 14 of them and their 15 kids, they all rent a private jet, thanks to sugar daddy Jay and his extremely extremely well paying job. They all enjoy an amazing two week vacation together each summer, all the kids and adults alike. It's a tradition that started back when only Hee and y/n had a child and the only married ones were Hee and Hoon, the rest were just dating. It however, has turned into a long standing tradition; they all set aside two weeks each year and just enjoy being together, no responsibilities or anything, except for their children until they get old enough to handle themselves. It is on these vacations that their children grow closer, the ones that aren't in the same grade.

Each birthday within the group is celebrated with everyone, a minimum of at least 30 people, since Jay's sister will come when he asks her too, will come to each party; even if none of the kids friends come, they have a full party regardless. Sunghoon plans each and every party, wanting nothing but the best for all their kids, he even offers to help Sunoo and Niki plan their kids birthdays. He's also prepared for everything, like once his daughter wanted a Princess Elsa birthday party, but the princess he booked got the flu the day before and had to cancel, so instead of that Elsa, they had a 6 foot tall Elsa that looked oddly like Hoon singing Let It Go off-key, but his daughter had the time of her life at least.

Hoon's daughter is an absolutely princess and he's dreaded the day she comes home telling him she has a crush, like he knows how he reacted to his little sister having a crush, his daughter having a crush would be even worse. And worst it is, she comes home saying she's in love with one of the Sim boys and Hoon's heart just about stops, he loves Jake and all, they are besties, but she had to fall for his son. Hoon however encourages it, and little does he know that crush a 15 year old girl had on the 14 year old son of Jake, will turn into him walking her down the aisle with tears in his eyes to marry that son only ten years in the future.

Jungwon's daughters are all princesses as well, but not as bad Hoon's, he however dreads the love talks even more, I mean how can he not when he has to deal with 3 times compared to Hoon's 1. When his middle daughter comes home with hearts in her eyes, he'd terrified of what to say and of course their mom isn't around, so he has to deal with it. He's even more terrified when the name out of the girl's mouth is the name of Jay Park's son. What starts as a simple crush turns into Jay's son attending family dinner, taking Jungwon's daughter to prom, and before long asking Jungwon for his daughter's hand in marriage with tears in eyes. Jungwon might be a protective father, but deep within his heart, he knows there is no one that would love his daughter as much as Jay's son does, and he happily gives her away, crying tears of happiness at the wedding, that quickly turn to tears of sadness as it hits him he has to do this two more times.

All their children remain friends even once meeting adulthood, their friendship reminiscent of the friendship between their parents. Jake, Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon's sons are carbon copies of them, forming their own little group, the six of them being just as bad as their dads were. Meanwhile Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Heeseung's 5 daughters form a somewhat similar group, all the cousins being best friends.

bestie you're a MACHINEEEEE and im afraid very much needed for this fandom so pls do reconsider coming back on here and blessing people with your talent 😭😭😭💞 and pls its so sexy of YOU for the ideas to strictky business you've sent me like its an honor for me to use those and i hope you know how much i appreciate your input 🥺💞

and please every time i think im over poison you send me headcanons like these and i get all emotional bc i lit teared up thinking about the boys creating mini mes and having them gang uo as well like i just 🥺 i'd marry your brain if i could and since i cant pls accept my kisses 💔🩷💞💗

[liesmyth]

i also don't know if this is an unpopular opinion, but: I felt like the "mundane" scenes in ntn were actually some of the most interesting and thematically relevant parts of the whole. the way the sections about the new rho refugees are paired with john telling his story as a series of "necessary evils" was especially compelling to me -- it feels like all of the consequences of his/the empire's power are finally being revealed, and one of the worst consequences is that kids are still being traumatized by war and displacement in the same ways they were on pre-apocalypse earth. i feel like that's why new rho had to feel so "familiar" and "modern-day" compared to the fantasy vibes of the nine houses. like, until ntn we had no clear picture of what the rest of the empire looks like, or even what war(s) the cohort is involved in. but then when you find out, it hits you that for the average subject of the empire, there's no "heroic" interpretation of anything necros and cavs train to do -- they're nothing but parts of the machine that's constantly destroying people's lives. and this pov is presented as just as important as that of the main characters! idk, it's a jarring shift and the pacing is pretty off-putting, but it worked for me (thematically and emotionally). another thought: when harrow and mercy were off killing planets, there was no indication that humans lived on any of them, iirc, but in ntn it's revealed that lyctors have forced large numbers of people off of their home planets. so were john & co. lying to the new lyctors about that, or is it just considered normal/justified in-universe and not worth mentioning? in any case, harrow seemed really disconnected from what killing a planet means (in htn), and i feel like that could end up being a big deal when we get back to her perspective. especially given that she's finally interacting with alecto

I love this ask, thank you. I think a lot about this post about John and Kevin, two kids playing with dolls ten thousand years and a galaxy apart. Humanity is fundamentally the same; there's love and there's bad everywhere. Both John (duh) and BoE ("necromancy is a disease you released" don't get that).

On John's revenge: the thing is, the Cohort isn't killing people. Like, they definitely don't mind killing people, but it's not their primary mission by far. John could literally kill millions in a heartbeat if his objective was extermination. He could have sent the Lyctors to wipe out entire planets generations earlier. Instead, he's using the Cohort and the resources of the Houses to drive the population of the occupied planets from place to place, over and over. He's dooming the descendants of those who left earth "on dollar store support" to a perpetual hell as climate refugees. Like Augustine says, it's purely symbolic retribution.

(IMO, this quest has an end point and we would have been in the home stretch no matter what; this is more of a verge into theoryland, but I think he does have a plan and a time limit, and he's playing capricious deity biding his time. After that, it's reboot, and maybe (?) actually letting go. Something something forgiveness not so hard nor anger long. This time will be the time we get it right.)

On Harrow & co killing planet: I think HtN actually lays the difference out pretty cleary! They were killing all planets on the path of Varun (so he couldn't kill them first and absorb them). When a Lyctor kills a planet, it's immediate. The Cohort does it to make it easier for necromancers to use thanergy; we don't know the specifics but I'm pretty sure it's fucked up (since John, of all people, says that the way Lyctors do it is "kinder"). Anyway, dead planets can no longer support native lifeforms, but iirc the process takes a long time to complete. Ianthe says that New Rho was "settled" 700 years earlier; what I'm assuming happened is that all planets in a given corner of space are "flipped" within a very short timeframe, remain viable for life for a few generations, and then probably become inhospitable for native lifeform all around the same time and everyone needs to be evacuated. I THINK they can be resettled after, but like, the entire biosphere is fucked.

[angrenwen]

"

I can ask myself things and know the answer instantly; this made my schooling from the age of nine comparatively easy—at least to start. I just thought I was smart at first; I mumbled a math question under my breath during a quiz and instantly knew how to solve it. I thought it was a fluke.

That feeling lasted about ten minutes. Fourth grade math is easy, those numbers never lie, never change; they have rules, and they are bound to those rules (Please do not ask me about college math). Numbers don’t usually conjure the full scope of this power.

Social Studies was where the problems started. Even a fourth grade level of inquiry led to things I couldn’t possibly know. I saw—and yes, I see the answers to my questions as if I had been there to witness—the full scope of events as we studied them. Battlefields. Invasions. It was too much at nine to see the unbridled truth—even the most non-invasive questions designed for nine year olds conjured the worst of humanity’s hubris—and events of unexpected kindness. I was home for a week after that lesson and delirious screaming from a nine year old having a full blown melt down got me a visit to the doctor. I asked her “What is wrong with me?”

The truth is that nothing is ‘wrong’ with me. I knew it so clearly it drowned out whatever she was saying in response. She wanted me to get an MRI. I asked what that was and got the full extremely technical answer. It was dizzying.

If there is one limit to this power, it’s that it doesn’t hold back just because I don’t understand. I had to form a foundation of knowledge of my own so that I could understand the answers I received; I had to force this Gift to a nine year old’s level. It meant a lot of clarifying questions. It didn’t take long to connect these visions to spoken questions and that I had to actually speak or someone else had to ask.

I homeschooled after that. I was right, nothing was medically wrong with me which put my parents at ease. I asked myself how I got this way. In a world of superheroes, special powers were nothing new. Chemical spills, radiation exposure, magical contracts or training, genetic mutation, aliens—we’ve heard it all. I was the ultimate result of an experiment done in secret in the States during the Cold War—my grandmother was an unwitting test subject, but she showed no signs that the substance in her morning coffee was affecting her, eventually resigned her position as a secretary to the scientist who ran the experiment, got married and moved with her family to Canada. My existence was a delayed response to that experiment.

 I knew enough about any government at that point to know I should keep this hidden. I pretended to study hard. It was important to me to understand the things I knew, not to simply regurgitate the answers when asked. Fortunately, the school system is fine with simply producing the answers whether you homeschool or not. I graduated early.

The scope of it was what surprised me. I get perfect answers on everything small or large. “Does this document have any grammatical errors?” Yes, eleven of them. They are on pages 1, 4, 5, and 9. “Can I learn magic?” Yes, here are four ways, most of them involve talking to something beyond my comprehension. The one that doesn’t involves striking up a conversation with a blind old man who lives in southern Kansas named Dennis and convincing him to teach me. “Who is the magician Dennis from Kansas?” The answer was Dennis’ life story from the time he figured out he had magic to finding, learning from, and then killing his teacher who blinded him with his last breath. I decided not to go to Kansas. It’s a bit far from Canada anyway.

No one was about to take a nine year old seriously but I wanted to help. I wrote an anonymous letter to the Hero Association Office in Kansas with details about a murdered magician and how to find and bind his killer and bring him to justice. I asked myself dozens of questions on how to achieve this, who would need to be there to get it done the fastest, how to contain a mad mage. I compiled a plan, typed it out, put it in an envelope and sent it off. I didn’t use my real name. I didn’t even put my home address; I used the library across town.

Dennis put up a good fight but the magician who took him down had his ultimate weakness thanks to me. It wasn’t much of a fight. It was a slam dunk trial too. The magical superheroes were talking about it for months, but I knew what would happen if I came forward like they wanted me to—I had asked myself what would. The answers were all some variation of being too young to withstand the consequences. That was the first time I witnessed my own theoretical death.

I had a choice to make when I was nineteen. Psychic superheroes aren’t allowed to play the lottery. I could ‘win’ the lottery in secret, keep to myself, disappear into the mountains. I should have done that, but I wanted to help. If I went at least partially public with my powers, I could help people. There were renowned psychics consulted about things all the time. The ones contracted to the Hero Association got benefits and protection from villains looking to abuse them. I could see any roadblocks in the way. I could eliminate the downsides before they start. I only needed to know how to ask.

It was a mistake from minute one. When I explained to the recruiter about what I could do, they were skeptical. I hadn’t done very well on the physical aptitude test. Most psychics had blind spots or issues with reliability or method. They brought out their flash cards, they asked their board approved questions. Luckily, the application form requests a list of your powers, so they knew I was applying as a psychic and didn’t need to ask me what my powers were. Questions with large answers sometimes hurt. My mother once angrily gestured to a news broadcast “What is wrong with the world?” That vast answer knocked me out for four days.

 I guessed everything right—ten years in the dark should have taught me patience but I was tired of hiding. I wanted to help. I could help. I wanted to be seen rather than be the one who just sees.

I was. No one had been this accurate before. I was told I was going to do my probation with the Hero Association Alpha Squad—the International Branch by the end of the interview. The Alpha Squad sent their leader—their powerhouse, their center—to meet me and see if he agreed. He’d be arriving in under an hour.

The Paladin. Internationally beloved, first to answer every call he heard. Invincible, flight at supersonic speeds, superstrength. Active for three years now. Everyone knew the Paladin, the Heaven-sent Hero. I almost didn’t have to ask but I did anyway—I was excited. “What sort of person is the Paladin?”

He was not a person, not with…everything. Bloodshed. Bodies. Coverups. The joy he found in killing. A massacre in a nation too far away for anyone to care disguised as a natural disaster. The Hero Association stepped in with ‘humanitarian aid’ and now had unfettered access to the region and its resources. It was the same lesson as the very first I had learned. I was nine years old again seeing a bloody history celebrated and oversimplified in a child’s textbook. After a decade of misspeaking and painful mistakes, I was used to the shock. I could keep my composure—I could! I did. I excused myself from the hall. To freshen up I said. They understood—a personal appearance from the Paladin was a lot to dump on a nineteen year old. I had an hour to figure this out.

“Why is the Paladin coming to meet me?” He wants to know how much I could know—a perfect score on a psychic aptitude test could be problematic for him. It occurred to me then without prompting that there were no telepaths on the Alpha Squad and likely never would be. They probably saw too much.

“How do I defeat the Paladin as I am?” I asked. A costly battle. Half the city crushed between his strength and mine. I’m not a physical fighter—I was too busy studying with my Gift. At best, I have the answers I gained from “How do I teach myself magic? How I do I master magic the fastest? How can I increase my magical power?” I hadn’t intended to use them—I didn’t register them. The Hero Association had no idea. Half the city was far too high a price just to take him down.

“Is there a spell that can defeat the Paladin?” An Invitation for Atonement. A terrible spell that invites the souls of the wrongly slain to seek justice from their killer. If the killer can’t appease their rage, they will take payment in flesh. The Paladin didn’t have enough to sate all of them.

“How do I cast the Invitation for Atonement in under half an hour?”

I returned to the hall, much, much paler than when I had left, hunching forward a bit and airing out my black dress shirt. That earned me a few knowing looks, but I had a mission. The balcony doors were open, inviting. There would only be one chance. I kept my shoulders loose and my hands unclenched and at my sides.

He landed more softly than I expected. I barely felt it under my feet. I smiled when he did. It was obviously nervous on my end. It was effortless on his—he’d done this before, many times. Warm green eyes subtly flick up-down as he looked at me.

“So, Soothsayer,” he starts. “When they called me on my personal line, I was surprised. A hundred percent accuracy is a…rare gift. Can’t wait to see more of it.” He smiled, but I can see how it looked pinched. He’s a good actor, I’ll give him that. I could see him calculating the risk in his head.

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t get so nervous that I couldn’t speak. I needed to be able to speak. I had a plan. This was the crucial step. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t look at his dark hair without seeing the blood dripping from it; it was irrelevant that I knew what those green eyes looked like in the light of a house fire.

“H-hello, Nathan Elliot Madigan-Hill,” I said. His eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to say something. A wasted effort. “I invite you to atone.”

The spell I had carved into my own chest in the bathroom finished activating when it received a name. I saw the Paladin blur as he surged toward me faster than my eyes could see. If he was capable of going supersonic from a perfect standstill, I’d be dead, but even he needed to build momentum. That alone saved my life because the dead were faster. They poured out of the sigil on my chest as a swarm. He flew right into their embrace losing momentum like a bullet fired into water. Five thousand, nine hundred seventy four pairs of hands held him steady before he could get withing five feet of me and pushed back until the entire hall was filled. It was awful but the dead weren’t after me or anyone else.

I already knew what thousands of ghosts tearing the Paladin apart would be like—I couldn’t see past the dead or hear past them, but it was still something else entirely to be there in person. The panel of recruiters were too busy trying to flee to notice me pressed against the back wall. I couldn’t leave and I couldn’t heal my injuries, or the spell would stop. If I wandered out of range, the ghosts would vanish, and I’d have an angry super powered mass murderer gunning for me. I had to sit and wait.

Even thousands of ghosts had trouble with invulnerable skin but not so much that it stopped them. I would have felt bad if I didn’t know. If I hadn’t seen. I dared to think that the swirling storm of ghosts was still too kind a death for him—they spilled out of the windows and into the streets turning downtown Edmonton into a march of the damned. The powers that he thought set him apart from regular humans worked against him, prolonging the inevitable.

When it was done, I picked myself up off the floor and left the way he came in. There were police cars downstairs at this point. Sooner or later, they’d realize it was quiet. If there weren’t any heroes here yet or on their way, there would be.

“How do I get out of here without being caught?”

It only took them six hours to declare me public enemy number one on the news. The Hero Association made an official release that I’d killed the Paladin. Alpha Squad was in my city in under a day turning it upside down looking for me, but I was long gone. The person who killed the Heaven-sent Hero could only be the deadliest supervillain of our time, they said.

I don’t know if I can ever overturn that. I don’t know if I should. I haven’t asked how, and I don’t plan to. What I have asked recently is about the Hero Association. Their heroes. Their secrets. I never wanted to pry unnecessarily. I have always tried to respect people’s privacy, but the actual worst villain of our time sat on a golden throne with the sun eternally shining down on his head and people either didn’t know or let it happen. Neither is acceptable.

If there is one hope, it’s that the Alpha Squad has a powerful and learned sorceress on their team. I asked about her. She might yet recognize the spell I used. She might yet figure out why the Paladin died. She might just ask the right questions. Someone has to."

You have one super power: The ability to know without fail what the truth is to any asked question. You planned to help the world as a super hero. It took you six hours for the government to declare you public enemy number one and the most deadly super villain alive.

[amandamgsblog]

Chapter 1 - College and First Impressions

"I'm tired. I want to go out of here".

Amanda's POV

7:30 in the morning and I'm woken up by a loud knock on the door:

— Amanda, wake up! Half past seven! Have you forgotten that today is your first day at college?

— I'm comiiiing! - I wake up and stretch out on the bed. - I shiver when she knocks on the door, it's like she's going to burst in…

Hi, how are you? Yes, you're the one behind the screen. I'm Amanda, I'm eighteen and today, unfortunately, I'm starting college. I graduated from school two months ago, but in an attempt to “not waste my time doing nothing”, as my mother always says, she forced me to choose a course in a short time.

I chose Languages and Literature because I love Portuguese, especially grammar, and English too. I've always liked literature. I hope it works out, because I discarded all the other courses because I thought they didn't suit me at all. ~cof Exact Sciences and Biology cof ~

I go into the kitchen, kiss my mother on the cheek and get the food from the fridge. Me, my mother and my sister, who is ten years older than me, live in an apartment. My parents split up soon after I was born, but they lived together in the same house until I was ten. Then they each moved into their own apartment. Oh, and there are my pets!

Shakira (yes, because of the singer) and Lola are my cockatiels, and Tião is our parrot. I've always loved animals, but I have a passion for birds. I don't know what I'd do without mine…

— Excited? - My mother, Melissa, asks.

— No… - I look back at my plate. — Mom, I don't even know if it's going to work out. Isn't it better if I wait a year?

— We've already talked… - She's serious. - I didn't raise you practically alone so you wouldn't have a job.

She's always been overprotective when it comes to me… She had a complication during my pregnancy and I had to be rushed out when she was at the fifth month of pregnancy. I was born prematurely, weighing just over 21.1 oz, and because of the lack of oxygen at birth, I have some problems with my speech and walking. But compared to what I was born with, I'm a thousand times better.

I roll my eyes and speak with fear:

— You know how insecure I am… What if the bullying comes back?

When I was a little kid, about four years old, there were jokes like “gee, don't you run?” or “what about that strange thing on your leg?”, which was my boot that helped me walk, or the worst: “You speak too quietly.”

I remembered at that moment the laughter I received. With the lack of oxygen at birth, my brain stopped working and affected the entire left side of my body, where the damage was most severe, and the right side too, to a much lesser degree. But I'm glad I can move. My left vocal cord hardly moves at all, so all the work is left to the right. The result: my voice is much lower and hoarser than that of the average person, even though I've had various treatments over the years. But it could be worse, right?

My arm and leg muscles have also been affected: I have much less strength than “normal” people and have difficulty walking on my left side. Then, when I played or ran, the children would talk… But we were children, so I didn't even know what was happening. Everything got worse when I changed schools in sixth grade. I fell for a boy, he found out and started making fun of me. It was my fault, too, because I couldn't deal with my feelings when I found out that he hated me, in actually and that he was dating several girls. I begged him to date me and he threatened to record it and put it on the internet. Both he and I were idiots…

From the eighth grade to the senior year of high school, I liked other boys afterwards, but for a short time and with little intensity. Nothing happened either, so I completely forgot about those boys. I remembered all this and started to cry. I hope I don't fall in love for a long time yet…

I took the cockatiels on my lap and gave them a piece of my bread.

Starving… It's like there's no food.

— Daughter, don't let anyone get to you like this. You're going to start college! - She smiles. - People are much more mature.

— In theory, mom.

I finished my breakfast and put the plate in the kitchen. I was going to walk down the corridor as usual, but…

SPARROWS!!!

The morning screams.

My parrot is Tião, or “green ball”, as I sometimes call it. Ever since the cockatiels arrived ten years ago, he's had a habit of shouting “sparrow” when it sees them. That's because my mother and I call them “sparrow”, because of the way they run around the house when they come out of their cage and because they're small.

He always gives a few shrieks during the day which, to be honest, I still haven't got used to. Even after fourteen years.

— You pay me, Tião! I won't give you any more of my bread either. - I huffed and went to my room to get ready. I hope it was VERY worth getting out of bed today…

A few hours later…

I've just arrived at the college I'm going to study at. My God, it's GIANT in here!!! I'M GOING TO GET LOST HERE!

Huum… Geography, no. History, Pedagogy, Languages and Literature!

I found it. Building 6… There's no map here?! Oh, the signs. This is building 1, just go straight ahead and you'll find 6… Easy… I found my name on the list. I walked down a corridor and found my classroom.

Room 115. You can do it, just go in.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. My jaw hit the floor. I've never seen a classroom this big! There must be sixty people in here! I've got an hour and a half to go, there's no one in the room yet and all this stress and lunchtime digestion is making me sleepy…

SNOOZE TIME!!!

I ran to the table in front of me and fell asleep.

Ross' POV

8:00 and my alarm goes off. Droga (Crap).

What's up? My name is Ross. And, yes, people here can't pronounce it properly, haha… My story is a bit complicated to understand, but here we go:

My parents, Stormie and Mark, are American and lived in rural Colorado. At the age of thirty, they had already been married for five years and wanted to move to a different place: Brazil.

Belo Horizonte, the capital of Minas Gerais state, to be specific.

They learned a language they didn't know, Portuguese, perfectly, and learned about the culture of the country and of the state. The whole neighborhood is in love with them.

They always spent holidays and birthdays in Littleton, my hometown. On one of these trips there, they stayed for just two days at my maternal grandparents' house, because my mother started to go into labor. So everyone stayed at my grandparents' for a month until I grew up a bit and we went back to Brazil.

Throughout my childhood, I followed my parents on trips. Not that I minded, it's really nice… During my teens, I stopped going as much because school wouldn't let me. Now I'm going to college and that's another reason why I have to wake up today…

— Morning. - I smiled at my family, who were having breakfast together, as usual.

— Hi, son. - My parents reply. — Excited about college today?

— Yes, dad. It's going to be great… I've always liked Literature, and then I'll be able to study texts from here and from United States at the same time and in a much deeper way. Who knows, maybe I'll be a teacher in the future?

— You will, hun. We're so proud of you. - My mother hugs me. We finish ourbreakfast and I go to get ready. I arrive at the college and I'm startled by the size.

I'm going to be lost here… Great, Ross, you can't even look up for a map!

I wander around the main courtyard, which is huge, until I meet some friends from school, Pedro and Artur.

They show me where my building is and they invite me to the cafeteria. We talk about these two months: the vacations, who in the class is dating and who is single, the courses, how the teachers at school are doing.

— Guys, even with forty-five minutes to go, I'd better go. It was good to catch up with you…

— It was great too, brother! Let's not lose touch. - Pedro says.

— Yeah! And this week there's a freshman party in the nightclubs around the college, they say lots of hot girls are going to these parties… Who knows, maybe our Rossy Bossy will get a one night stand? - Artie squeezes my cheeks tightly and says the nickname my mother gave me when I was little. — I can find you someone from Accounting and Pedro, someone from Business Administration.

— Won't you change…? And take your hand off my cheeks, Artie! I still can't believe you think girls are your sex toys and not people with feelings!

I'm impressed by the level of the conversation. Even though I was the youngest among them, a few months apart, I always acted like an older brother.

— Chatoooo… (You boriinnng...)- They both hum.

— At least I want to lose something so important to me together with someone I love deeply, knowing that she feels the same way about me, and when we look each other straight in the eye, I'll see a little bit of Heaven…

Okay, I've thought too much.

— HAHAHAHA! - That's great! — What heavy drugs are you on, bro?! I want some!

— None! It's just my opinion!

— He… He must… - Pedro was laughing too much. — He's been watching too much Romeo & Juliet.

— Oh, fuck off! See you later. And it's the 1968 version, yes! - I say goodbye to the two clowns with my wonderful middle finger.

I walk a bit and go to my building, which is a two-storey colonial-style building divided into two parts, with the office in the center and each part with several classrooms.

— Okay, building 6… On this side are rooms 104 to 109… - I say, pointing to my left. - So that must be 115.

I find the room and knock on the door.

As no one came, I opened it. I go in and see just one person. A bunch of hair, actually. She had her head on the table. She, because of her flowery dress and long hair. Between waking the poor thing up or not, I speak with embarrassment:

— Excuse me… Is this the… Languages classroom? - Nothing. I speak louder: — Miss, is this the Languages classroom?

— AHHH! WHERE?! WHAT? - She screams in fright. I tried not to laugh, because her hair was messy and covered her face. — Ouch… Are you looking for the Languages room? It's here.

She brushes her hair out of her face, but then reaches into her bag for something. When she lifts her head, I see what she looks like: pale skin, big dark eyes, hidden behind lilac glasses, and long dark brown hair, with light highlights and waves at the end of it. She was wearing a light pink blouse with flowers and matching pants. Finally, a pair of dark pink sandals.

She's beautiful… Stop it, Ross, you don't even know the girl!

You're right, head…

Then I realized that I was staring at the young woman, smiling shyly, and that I hadn't entered the room yet. I felt my cheeks burn. I hope she hasn't noticed.

— Hi, my name is Ross… What's yours? - I get her attention.

— Wow… - She says quietly and turns red. And I thought I was pretty red. — I mean, my name isn't “wow”, it's Amanda, haha…

— Can I sit next to you? - I ask and she, now Amanda, nods and smiles a little. — I'm sorry I've only asked you questions so far, but are you shy?

She laughs at my question and nods.

— I'm very shy. I don't know how I'm talking to you, really. I should have run.

— What if we talked a bit to get to know each other? And I'm sorry if I disturbed your sleep.

— That's fine. No need to apologize… I was just about to wake up. - We smiled a little. — I-I'm not very interesting, no. I'm eighteen, I'm from Belo Horizonte, I'm the youngest in the family, I study, I have pet birds, that's all…

— Well, I'm eighteen, I'm American, but I live here, I'm an only child, I also only study, I don't have any animals…

She widens her eyes.

— American without an accent? Wow. Oh, sorry…

— It's all right. Yeah, people are even fascinated when I say I'm American, they think I'm an alien. My whole family is from there, actually. My parents moved here when they were young, built a life here too, and on a trip there, I was born. But I was raised here and whenever I can, I go to Colorado to visit my grandparents, uncles, cousins, some childhood friends…

— Again: Wow. But… Sorry, what's your name again? Sorry, I'm still sleepy, haha.

— Ross. No problem. - I wink at her and smile.

— Ross, you speak Portuguese very well! It's great that your family is from there! You must have given them a hard time on the trip, haha…

I saw the girl I'd just met go from shy to excited and I felt good. She just needed a little push.

—Nah. They say to this day that I was a gift in the right place at the right time. I love my trips to Littleton. I always have a great time, even for a few days. The only thing that bothers me a bit is that some relatives turn up their noses when my father, mother or I talk about here…

I feel her touch my hand, comforting me, and I even look again to see if it's true.

— Don't mind them. Belo Horizonte is a great place. It's no wonder your parents chose to live here. - She smiles at me.

— Another thing that other people find strange is that I mix Portuguese and English on a daily basis. But I think it's cool. Of course, my parents taught me both languages. For example, I only speak English with my uncles, grandparents, etc. With my friends here, only Portuguese. Then, with my parents, either one hour we're in English and then in Portuguese, or half the sentence is in each language. It's like a SAP key.

— That’s so good, actually! It’s so hard to find someone who could speaks English to me. But someone who speaks both languages and that's foreigner, is way better!

— That’s really impressive, Amanda! I’d love to speak to you sometimes...ugh...in English...or in Portuguese too! I didn't mean I won’t talk to you in any way, it would be stupid…

WHAT AM I TALKING?! STOP TALKING, YOU IDIOT!

— Relax, blondie! It’s okay. - She holds my hand, seeing my nervousness and smiles. I don't think that's going to help very much. Even my ears have turned red.

— But even so, anyone I meet thinks I'm from Mars… I guess that's part of living in another country.

— I don't think you're strange, you're cute… I-I mean, it's good to speak both languages. In fact, if you were an alien, you'd be cute… F-Forget it!

I turn towards the door and see the teachers, but I can't help but smile and laugh a bit when I look at my side. I laughed because as well as being beautiful, my new acquaintance was cute too! After a while, more people arrived. There was an explanation of what the subject would be, I met more people from the class and continued talking to Amanda. We said goodbye after three classes and one thought stayed in my head:

I'm not going to give up on getting to know more about her any time soon.

[fff777]

let's see what this shcrodinger's panda is about (wayv in chengdu) :P

Sichengcam!!! He's being a chipper host :P

Winwin: Where are we going, Hendery? Hendery: Ten! Ten: ...uh...the forest

I learned recently that Chengdu is considered the hometown of all pandas :3 So that's why Chengdu is panda city :P

Winwin: We're going to see the pandas eat bamboo and sleep Ten: What do you want to do when you see the pandas? Winwin: Take photos of them eating bamboo and sleeping

Hendery: Do they know martial arts?

Meanwhile Kun cam is much quieter lol

Ten was playing Pokemon on Nintendo Switch

Sicheng said Flareon was Fly Tiger and Arcanine was Bella XD Ten just deepsighing and Sicheng's made up names lmfao. Keep up that energy dude XD

Dejun trying to bring a party mood to the Xiaokunyang van to very limited success

Yangyang: Look at this panda Kun: ...what...?

Kun at Yangyang: We're here to see pandas sand you're singing Kangaroo? Yangyang: ...I'm tripping panda...

胖噠 transliteration of panda lol

Dejun getting matcha ice cream :3

Kun: Do you think pandas can speak Sichuanese?

I too have heard of the famous panda named Huahua. Here's an article about her.

Winwin called Yangyang a fox

Yangyang: We're here to see a national treasure. I should dress more appropriately.

Hendery called Yangyang dad and he immediately rented the scooter for him

Kun: 哪個寶寶要坐? Not wrong, in his eyes, all of them are baobaos.

But Yangyang gave up because it was too difficult to rent the scooter. And Hendery was like "So I just called you dad for nothing? Give it back to me."

Dejun feelin comfortable with Sichuanese ^^;;

Hendery: What if I drop my phone

Makes sense that they have to walk a long way to see the actual pandas. It would probably be annoying to them to live too close to urban human dwelling.

Ten had to smell the poop ^^;;

Finally spotted a panda!!!! But they ran away super fast lol.

Kun got a picture of the panda's back. Cryptid status.

There was such a big crowd waiting and the guys were like SURELY THERE'S A PANDA THERE but once again, crickets XD The editing for this is great

Dejun lifting Hendery to get a better look

Hendery comparing their plight to the bandwagon effect (sheep effect) as quoted by Kun-ge

Ah so this is Schrodinger's panda. Because they exist but not here lol.

I do appreciate that there is a lot of space for the pandas to hide that is away from the eyes of the visitors

Winwin just spent this whole video with his arm around Yangyang

Lol Yangyang had thought that the worst case scenario was that the pandas would just be asleep except he hadn't thought of a situation where he wouldn't even see the pandas lol

Winwin was speaking with a few passersby to get intel on where the pandas were. This is Winwin after he heard from someone that there was apparently a training session for the pandas.

Hendery at Dejun: I'll give you $300 (RMB) if you piggyback me up this hill Dejun: $300? Who do you think I am?! Hendery: $500! Dejun: Don't even think about it unless you have a car Expensive boy

Pandas Winwin is here!!!!!

I think their staff/camera person is Korean so that's why they're still conversing in Korean

LMAO at 13:43 I distinctly heard a Cantonese person asking whether they'd walked the wrong way.

They found them! But I can't see lol.

Look at the people in front who have panda headbands

It's a little one <3

Kun-cam

The sound a human makes when they see something cute :3

A panda centre staff calling out a visitor for taking too many photos that they're going to delete anyway ^^;; and Kun going SKSKSKSKSK

Winwin heavy on the erhua once again

So they ended up heeding the staff's advice and kept walking ahead where they could see more pandas instead of taking all of their photos at the first location lol. Kun and Winwin kept laughing on the way there XD

More pandas

Hendery reading the names of the pandas :3

There's a 17 year old panda at the centre

Kun cam of a big panda munching

At first I was like there's no way Winwin is that much taller than everyone else. And then Hendery was like "Dong Sicheng, don't climb that high!"

Sicheng was talking about how big the panda was but his body language was literally a kid who got caught by his parents while Hendery hyukhyukhyuked X'D

Hendery continuing to barter for a piggyback right from Dejun, offering $700 this time

WayV: *Points at birds* Winwin: The animals we've seen the clearest

Dejun was confused by the red pandas because he was like...how are they related lol.

Making clicking noises to try to get the red panda's attention

Hendery: What do you think the red panda is thinking about? Yangyang: Today...is so boring...Monday Hendery: Time to go to work again

Here, Winwin is saying that the red panda is well-behaved :3 Probably because it is eating out of its bowls instead of playing

Ten thought Winwin wanted to see flowers, but he wanted to see Huahua the panda whose shift apparently didn't begin until 4 PM

Group photo in the mirror

Kun cam of a panda that might or might not be Huahua

Home time

Ten prefers the red pandas to the giant pandas :3 When they were watching the red panda eat, they were commenting on how he looked like Louis, so maybe it was the catlike characteristics that captured Ten's heart :3

Yangyang took Hendery's cool photos, and Kun took Hendery's meme photos lol

Hendery ordering Winwin to pose so that Hendery can take his photo lol

Some cutesy photos for Kun

Winwin: Why do the bamboo trees start to curve as they grow taller? Hendery: You'll understand when you grow to 3m

I had to look up the poem that Winwin was reciting when they looked at the fish in the pond. I think it's by Zhuangzi? Here it is: 北冥有鱼，其名为鲲。鲲之大，不知其几千里也。化而为鸟，其名为鹏。鹏之背，不知其几千里也。怒而飞，其翼若垂天之云。是鸟也，海运则将徙于南冥。南冥者，天池也。 I feel like Winwin references old poetry and idioms the most, which I love!

The guys unexpectedly getting their hearts captured by the red pandas :3

Aw the guys watching the video of the panda one last time :3

[flameontheotherside]

I can't anymore...

Maybe it's postpartum depression. Idk...Rick and I talked about our relationship. It doesn't seem like we are engaged anymore. For 1) We are both on disability and if we get married, because he's on SSI he loses his benefits. 2) It feels like I'm pushing for something just for the sake of having it because I lost my chance with Erik.

It feels pointless. Our relationship to us feels like we are just together because we don't want to be alone. Rick wanted me from the day we met, almost a year after Erik's death. At that time I didn't want a serious relationship, drinking an partying was more important to me as means of escaping my grief, and I didn't really like Rick. He was a different person and so was I.

I gave him a chance ten years later

...Or I gave myself a chance. My relationships since Erik's death were never based on love. I took a logical stand point in relationships; for security, because at the time we matched and got along, and because I saw it as the only way to forget and move on from Erik. It wasn't just Erik's death that screwed me. It was every relationship I had before. Men either didn't reciprocate, or I was rejected or cheated on in a fucked up way. From being dumped on my birthday to David being the worst. Basically a predator who saw me as high school bait, and disappeared after he visited me from Texas.

Erik's death was just basically the nail on my emotional coffin. I thought I loved Matt but I didn't. With him it was trauma bonding. But then he hurt me pretty bad too in the same ways most men did. He would act like he didn't know me around certain people and used me to get back to Texas only to ditch me several times in the middle of nowhere. Before Matt died he admitted to being an asshole and I agreed that he was but I've not forgiven him. I don't know if I care enough to. My only faults with Matt was that I constantly compared him with Erik and caring too much about him allowing him to use me in the end.

So I gave Rick a shot after being fucked over so much only to realize after 3 years our relationship has suffered mostly because of the fucked up things that happened to me. I haven't talked about it. It goes beyond Erik although he's still part of it but a big chunk is the overall emotional abuse I suffered while looking for Erik. Long distance relationships still can hurt and they did more than the ones I had locally because in those long distance relationships, on a subconscious level I thought I had found Erik at one point or another with the time ticking all the way to spring of 2009 with the constant gut feeling that something was going to happen if I didn't find him. Sure enough that spring a psychic confirmed by saying that there was nothing I could have done. Those words often said when you find out someone killed the selves. I cried so much that day.

There's no logical reason to be engaged.

We have a kid. It doesn't mean we have to get married but we're remaining together. We remain dating on technicality. My heart isn't anywhere anymore. It left so long ago that I just can't give anymore. I've been sucked completely dry. Rick loves me but I can't love him the same way he loves me. He doesn't seem to care but I told him that it's unfair to him. He still doesn't care. Idk what Rick sees in me or what he expects.

I don't regret having a kid with him. There's no doubt he's a good father. I always knew he'd be. I wouldn't have it any other way besides the sort of obvious. I can't force myself to have what I missed out on. Maybe I'm meant to be this way; alone while everyone else is married to their person and living the lives I'll never have because mine is dead.

[kieran-kennedy]

Kieran finished the last of his salad, silently agreeing that the new start up guys were indeed the worst. Maybe he was getting old, too. Maybe, over the years, his patience had worn thin. Kieran thought back to college-era Selene. She’d been brilliant then, and it always amazed Kieran how much smarter she was compared to him. She was bold and confident when it came to what she knew. He hoped that even if the start up guys were difficult to deal with, that she still dealt with them the way she would have in college. Swiftly and brutally, in true Selene fashion.

But maybe she’d grown out of that. Maybe she’d been mentored out of it by her father, or one of the other suits at the company.

"Did all that help? When you first started?"

Kieran pondered the question, tried not to come to a devastating realization as the server placed their entrees before them.

No, it didn’t help because Kieran didn’t really ever stand up for himself. There was no use when his father controlled so much. Interactions like that always ended with arguments that resulted in Kieran pretending not to be hurt. Subtle insults from his father, comments from beneath the man’s breath about how nothing was ever done correctly unless he did it himself.

How could he tell Selene that he’d become a coward in the last ten years?

“Enjoy your meal,” the server said, smiling politely at the pair, before leaving with their emptied salad plates.

That was a nice break to pull him away from whatever devastation had been going on in his head.

“Sort of,” he finally told Selene, reaching for another sip of the margarita. “Something I had to learn along the way.”

There was a desperate attempt at levity.

“Especially with the mug thing. I’d usually just toss my dirty mug in the sink. I was hated for it for years.”

Kieran smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. There had been eons between the two, so he didn't feel the need to worry about Selene catching on.

He reached for one of the fries on his plate. He took a bite.

When was the last time they’d done this? Shared a meal across from one another?

"The fries are good."

Selene can hear the clink of ice; hear it shift and slide around in the glass, hear the hum of patrons in the surrounding table, but it's all nothing. It's all background noise.

What she's really doing is staring at Kieran. Waiting for his answer; listening.

She feels the wash of alcohol hit her tongue. She drinks. Continues to stare at Kieran over the rim of her glass.

His eyes were still the exact shade of blue as she'd held in her mind. Preserved desperately like some precious museum catalogue.

'Don’t let anyone walk all over you.'

A laugh nearly punches its way out of her chest; bitterly tired, desperate. Selene swallows it like she does reposado, but she can't stop the pulse of self-loathing radiating throughout her body.

That was all she did, actually. Let her father dictate her life. Let him dictate what she did at work, the hours she kept, the way she presented herself. She let her father dictate who she fucking married.

How had he never thought that a fucking political engagement like this would hurt his daughter? Four years at college, the disappointment heavy in his texts, his tone, the anger, asking why the hell she was getting so close to the Kennedy boy. Asking if she was dumb. He was downright furious, whenever she spoke of Kieran with admiration.

Did he ever stop to think if the irony of this marriage would choke her?

All Selene did was prostrate herself in front of a man who would never even notice he was stepping on her heart. Or maybe Cesar did, and he just didn't care.

He probably doesn't care.

She wonders if Kieran would think her weak; the way the sun still rose and set around her father. How confident Selene used to be. The way she'd used to boast about getting away from that man.

The rest of her salad disappears, but Selene barely remembers eating it.

Kieran also says: trust your gut.

Don't forget to rinse your mugs and put them in the dishwasher.

There's a snort at that, a small smile that wobbles in earnest amusement, but the sound echoes inside her chest a bit hollowly.

She wanted a hug.

Selene realizes in that moment, the one thing she truly wants right now is a hug from him, the fold of his arms around her, the feel of his muscles. Warm and firm. That would make her feel more real.

It's the one thing she has absolutely no right to ask.

(There, at the darkest corner of her mind, is a thought so distressing she has to slam it back back immediately; what if she'd already hugged Kieran for the last time, and she didn't even know it?)

"I will be sure to implement all of that advice." She looks at Kieran, warmth there in her eyes, desperate, desperate, desperate to seep out. "Especially the uh ... standing up for yourself bit."

"I don't know if I'm becoming a curmudgeon in my old age, but these new start-up guys are all shockingly rude." A smile around her glass. "Half of them are twitter influencers. They love to walk into a meeting with the most undeserved ego and some half-baked understanding of how finance works."

Selene liked those meetings, actually; it was a pleasure to look back and remember how she'd picked their bones from her teeth at the end.

"Did all that help? When you first started?"

Selene can't help it. It's burning up inside her chest, even as their server walks toward them, arm poised high, confident, tray laden with fine china and dishes curling with steam. She can't help the desire to bridge the gap between college and now; map out the Kieran who fell between the recent graduate and the man now sitting across from her.

She feels overwhelming affection towards them all; even the Kieran she didn't know. Though. How could she never not know her Kieran?