#i tried multiple times to go though with the purchase but it freezed at the bank account authentication

[drakonovisny]

steam why are you like this

[stanchonkyman]

Can you do a fix where stan is jealous or a “treat you better” inspired one??

☆Treat You Better☆

♡Stanley Pines x Reader♡

I'll see what I can do!

TW: Abuse Mention!!

-•☆~~~~☆•-

You had been with your husband for 3 years now. He was such a sweetie. At least, that was how you saw him. Although, everything seemed to change once you both had gotten married. He wasn't as sweet anymore. He wasn't kind or gentle with you. He started pushing the idea of kids, even though you told him multiple times that you weren't ready. He just didnt seem to care about you or your feeling anymore. You felt... trapped.

So, one day you headed into work at the Mystery Shack. You weren't exactly in your prime at that moment. You had a forming bruise over your eye, heavier on your cheek. You had tried to cover it desperately with no luck unfortunately. As much as you hated to admit it, your husband wasn't who you thought he was. Last night was only showing the increasingly worsening situation. You had decided to raise your voice at your husband after he raised his to you. Bad idea.. he hit you sqaure in the face. It was not a good feeling.

You were terrified that people would mention it. That was the last thing you wanted. All you wanted was for everything yo go back to normal. So, you slid yourself into your space behind the counter, ready to ring up customers for their purchases. It was only a few moments before your boss appeared in the doorway with a group of tourists. You flashed your famous worker smile with a light wave. Some tourists gained worried faces while others waved back.

Stan turned to face your counter with his big shot grin. But once his eyes met your face, his smile faded. He walked to the counter while tourists explored the gift shop behind him. Stan had grown a soft spot for you over the years, and he didnt always ignore it. He laid his arm over the counter, looking over your face. You looked to the side quietly, not wanting to give any attention to the injury. "I'm sorry, I tried to cover it.." You mumbled. Stan shook his head. "No, no. I don't care. What happened?" He questioned. You bit your lip as the panic began to rise.

"I.. got hit with a baseball." You said, lying. "I was walking to work and some kids were playing. It was a hard hit.. but that's okay." You gave him a hopeful smile. Stan huffed slightly and stood up straight. "I see. Kids can be careless. Why don't you come with me for a moment?" He asked you. You gave a little nod as you moved out from behind the counter. His hand curled around your forearm as he pulled you towards the door.

He stepped outside and pulled you away from the Mystery Shack. You looked back toward your work place with a new feeling rising in your stomach. You just prayed that nothing bad would happen. You hoped to god that Stan wasn't upset with you. Stan then came to a stop and you looked over to him slightly. "Take a seat." Stan said, sitting down on a log in front of an empty firepit. You nodded and shyly sat beside him on the log.

Stan didn't even hesitate as he spoke. "So, who hit ya, kid?" He questioned, motioning to your face. "I-I told you.. I got hit with a baseball.." You mumbled quietly. He shook his head. "(Y/N), I know what a punch looks like when I see them. That is no ball bruise." Stan told you. "Besides. You've changed. You've seemed a lot more quiet and sad lately. What happened to you?" Stan asked. You froze, tears beginning to blur your vision. You merely looked down at your lap, trying hard to stop the tears. Stan reached over and pulled you closer by him. "So, I was correct." He rubbed your arm in a comforting way.

"Who did it, kid?" He asked you again. Warm tears began to roll down your cheeks, you tried your best to keep quiet about it. "You know I just want to protect ya', kid." He told you in a low voice. You took a deep breath and turned to.him, burying your face against him in light sobs. Stan looked at you, hesitant, then he carefully wrapped his arms around you. "You know I care about ya'. It hurts me to see you hurting." He told you, rubbing small circles on your back.

It took you a few moments to collect yourself.

"M-My husband.. he did it.."

You could feel Stan freeze. He stopped rubbing your back. He lifted his head and looked at you with near disbelief. "Your husband?" He questioned. You gave a small nod. "Yes.. my husband.. He just.. hasn't been the same since we got married." You mumbled. "I really messed this one up." Your voice cracked and you nearly broke down in tears again. Stan shook his head. "No. No. Tr his isnt your fault. Not your fault at all." He told you, standing up and taking your hands in his. "Come with me." He lifted you up and guided you down a path.

You held onto his hand as if it was the only thing protecting you in the moment. He guided you out to the lake, standing on the dock with you. "Now, I want you to take off your ring." He told you, letting go of your hand. You looked at him, then down at your hand as you began to shake slightly. "I-I don't know..." you mumbled. "Trust me, (Y/N). If he's hit you.. he could easily do it again. This ain't good for you or your safety." He told you. "But.. where am I going to go..?" You question softly. "You'll stay with me. I'll help you get back up on your feet." He said. "I could treat you far better than that dick."

You looked at him quietly. He gave you a reassuring smile with a nod and a thumbs up. You looked out on the lake then took off your ring. You took a deep breath, then chucked it out as far as you could. It fell into the lake. Never to be seen again. You felt where it used to be on your finger. It felt so empty now.. but you didn't feel quite as empty as your finger. You turned to face Stan again. "Good job, kiddo. Amazing start." He grinned. You smiled back, then heading forward and wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Thank you so much, Stan.."

Stan smiled toward you, wrapping his arms around you in return.

"Anytime, kid."

☆2 Months Later☆

You had been living in the Mystery Shack with everyone for 2 months now. Your 'husband' had been blowing up your phone and trying to put you up as a missing person. Although, Stan had already confirmed that you werent missing, and you explained your situation to the officers. So, you were living a lot better. You had become so much happier and so much more comfortable. You were finishing up ringing up the last customers of the day when Stan appeared in the doorway. You looked at him as you finished ringing up the customer.

"Hey toots." He greeted, walking to your counter. You chuckled and gave a bright smile. "Hey Stan. How was business with the tours?" You asked, sliding out from behind the counter. "It was pretty good. Another day." Stan smiled toward you. "I'm happy to hear that!" You returned the smile as there was a harsh knock on the door. Both of your heads whipped in the direction of the door as it opened. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the familiar face of your husband.

"Well. Hiding behind your boss, I see." Your husband snarled at you. "You're really trying to divorce me without even looking me in the eye?" He asked you. Stan grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him. "Hey. You're not allowed here. Get out before I take you out myself." Stan barked at him. "You're really going to try and stop me from seeing my partner?" He snarled. "They ain't your partner anymore, pal! Scram!" Stan shouted at him. "I just want them back." He barked back at him. "I said, they ain't yours!" Before you could process, Stan punched your husband straight in the face. He stumbled back, his cheek bleeding slightly from Stan's brass knuckles.

"Get outta here before you end up in prison." Stan snarled. Your husband snarled and left, holding his cheek. Stan looked back at you. Your eyes were wide and you were visibly shaking. "Hey- Hey. Its okay-" Stan moved forward and took you into his arms carefully. You laid your head against his chest softly. "Are you alright?" He asked. You nodded. "I'm fine, are you..?" You ask. He nods. "Everythings fine. Dont worry about it." He said, pulling you back into the house part of the shack.

Throughout the next few months, Stan and you would stick together. You truly cared for one another. Stan helped your officiate the divorce with your now ex husband. And about two years later, you were ready to start new. Stan was right there with you for the ride. He would always support you no matter what. Maybe that's why you loved him so much. You both were already so close and barely did a thing without the other. So, yes. The both of you ended up together. He loved you. You loved him. And the both of you were happy to spend the rest of your lives together

[iamverysmall-andihavenomoney]

“It’s going to be okay.”

I just did a couple of my comfort characters for this one. Send in requests if you want to see specific characters, I’d love to write for y’all’s comfort characters too 🤍

Haikyū!! Masterlist

Pairing(s): Suna Rintarō x Gender Neutral! Reader, Miya Atsumu x Gender Neutral! Reader, Tsukishima Kei x Gender Neutral! Reader, Bokuto Kōtarō x Gender Neutral! Reader, Oikawa Tōru x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Fluff/Comfort, Reader is stressed out because of jobs/midterms/college in general, reader cries

Suna Rintarō:

It had been a rough week.

It felt like everything was going wrong. Day in and day out.

It felt like the universe was hell bent on making you break, this past week.

You worked as a barista, while you got yourself through college. 

Not an easy job, despite what some people liked to believe.

And with each day came a new promise.

Monday? A trip to the ER with second and third degree burns on your arms, when an angry customer had taken out their anger on you.

Tuesday? Your boss had yelled at you - humiliated you in front of the rest of your coworkers.

Wednesday? You ended up not realizing that yo were decorated in chocolate syrup, when you slumped on your bed, having to wash the sheets and most of you laundry, after.

Thursday? You’d tripped while at work and gotten to go home early, with your face burning in embarrassment at the snickers of other college students.

Friday? A pop quiz that you were 50% sure you failed.

Now it was Saturday, your studying? Done. Your assignments? Completed.

But you still felt the stress of the past week weighing on you.

So when you started tearing up, Suna couldn’t say he was surprised. He wished he could have made this past week easier for you.

Midterms were coming up, as well, just adding to the stress you were already feeling.

So, your boyfriend just does what comes natural to him, when it comes to you.

Rintarō doesn’t waste a moment when he returns from practice, spotting you slumped over on the couch, glaring at the floor while you tried not to let any tears fall from your eyes. With your choice comfort movie playing on the screen, he knew he had to do something.

   Even if you had been pushing him away out of frustration, for the duration of this entire week.

   Rintarō walks over to you and gently scoops you up in his arms, before sitting on the couch with you in his lap. Well-manicured nails begin to softly and affectionately run over your scalp, bringing a comfort to you that you could no longer deny you needed. Desperately.

   He tugs you gently so you’re comfortable in his lap before he brings a calloused hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone softly. He can’t help his sweet, soft smile as he sees the first tears trickle down your cheeks. He normally hated to see you cry, but he knew that you needed to get this out.

   Sometimes, people just needed to scream and cry to get pent up emotion out. So when you started sobbing, completely collapsing against your boyfriend’s chest, he pulls you as close to him as you can possibly get, rocking you as he cradles your body against his own. 

   “There’s my baby, let it out...” His tone is soft as his hand holds your head against his chest. “Let it all out. It’s going to be okay. I’m here and I’ve got you.” 

   He doesn’t quite know how long it is until your sobs quiet down, the crying wearing you out, but it doesn’t matter to him. He snatches the remote up to restart the movie that you’d failed to get through, earlier, before tossing that same remote across the couch so he could readjust your bodies.

   Leaning his shoulders and head against the pillow and armrest, he reclines himself, allowing you to get comfortable on top of him. As you rest on him, he brings a hand to your cheek once again, wiping away any remnants of the tears that had previously decorated your cheeks.

   “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise.” 

Miya Atsumu: 

Being stressed around your boyfriend?

Unheard of.

Atsumu is a perceptive little shit who picks up on the smallest changes in your mood.

And he will do everything in his power to reassure you, or cheer you up, whatever you need.

So, it’s not built up stress that gets you.

No, it’s the phone call you get in the middle of the night, while you’re resting in Atsumu’s arms.

You and Atsumu put your phones on do not disturb/bedtime mode every night.

Very few people are set up so that your phone will ring, when they call.

So, you end up waking up pretty quickly at the sound of a familiar ringtone, Atsumu sleepily sitting up beside you as you sit up to take the call.

Your best friend.

Who had just been admitted to the hospital after a car crash.

They were most likely going to make it, but they were still undergoing surgery and you knew that anything could happen.

You were her emergency contact so they called you from the ambulance.

Not too long after, you found out that the other person was undergoing surgery and probably wouldn’t make it.

The realization that that could have been your best friend made you feel like you couldn’t breath.

Atsumu had been watching your frantic pacing for the past ten minutes, watching you work yourself up more and more. You were shaking, though you hadn’t turned to him yet, like you always did, when you needed comfort. And he was too scared to make it worse.

   Until he heard how your breath caught in your throat, once again, nearly sounding like you were about to start hyperventilating. Standing, the tall volleyball player comes to stop in front of you, gently grasping your wrists in his hands to make you look at him. He doesn’t say anything as you let out a shaky breath and crumble against him, just falling into his open arms.

   Cradling you against him with his large palm at the back of your head, he lets you get out the emotions that were pent up, soft sobs being let out against his shoulder. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he whispers soft words of encouragement. “They’re going to be okay, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay, I promise. And have I ever broken my promises to you?”

   With a shake of your head, your sobs quiet and all that’s left escaping you are quiet sniffles. If anyone was able to calm you, it’d be your Tsumu. There wasn’t a bad day you could remember that he hadn’t made things better. Your boyfriend always knew what to say... When it came to you, at least.

   It wasn’t ten minutes later when a doctor came out to let you know that the surgery had been a success and that your friend was okay.

   They’d be asleep for a few hours, allowing you to go home and change from your pajamas, if you would like. You didn’t catch that bit with the immediate relief that flooded through you.

   You both did end up going home to shower and change, wanting to get you both and your friend some food on your way back. As soon as you were in the comfort of your own home, Atsumu took your face in his hands, cradling your cheeks and gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

   “As long as I’m around, I am going to make sure that everything works out in the end. I don’t like seeing you cry and I don’t like seeing you stressed out. You’re my significant other and I’m going to take care of you.” He reassures you earnestly. “It’s all going to be okay, I promise.”

   And as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, you know that it is, in fact, all going to be okay. You had Atsumu and he had you.

Tsukishima Kei:

Mid-terms aren’t shit.

Not only are the tests long, and hard, and stressful,

But both you and Kei had them.

And both you and Kei had attitudes - especially when it came to either of you getting stressed out.

So, you both decided to stay and study on your own for the most part, until exams were over.

It was only a week, after all, how much harm could a single week do to the two of your mental states?

A lot, apparently.

It was Kei who caved first, surprisingly, needing to see you.

It was actually pretty unsurprising, boy is whipped for you.

Grabbing his keys, he tugs on the hoodie you’d gotten him for his birthday, along with grabbing you matching one that you’d left at his place.

Then he leaves, his usual preference to wear pants rather than sweatpants, when he left his home, being overpowered by his craving to see you.

And he knew you needed to see him too.

But if anyone was more stubborn than he was about things, it was you and he knew you weren’t going to cave anytime soon.

What he didn’t expect when he entered your home was to find you crying into your hands, in a pile of your own notes, with your computer in front of you.

He furrowed his brows - you had overwhelmed yourself...

Because he hadn’t been here to prevent you from it.

Kei sighs as he listens to the clanking of keys together, his attempts to unlock the door to your apartment failing multiple times, before finally ending in success. At least he knew no one would ever break into your apartment. They wouldn’t be able to get in.

Look at him, he’d been over here a dozen times and it still took him about three minutes to manage your locks open. You must know how much he loved you with the fact he still put up with it. He enters the home, near silently, placing the strawberry shortcakes and milkshakes down on the counter, his keys being hung beside yours. Walking past your kitchen, he freezes in the doorway, hearing your quieted sobs before he sees you.

He had never, not even in his years of playing volleyball, moved as quickly as he did in that moment. He moved to kneel in front of where you were seated on the couch, taking your laptop and shutting it.

Kei knew you hadn’t opened your eyes, or moved your hands from shielding your face to see him, but you knew it was him with the way you slid off of the spot on the couch to kneel on the floor, your face finding familiar purchase in his neck.

“I’m not around for a few days and you manage to overwork yourself like this. God damn it, Y/N, don’t do this again.” His words, no matter if they should have sounded angry, just came out worried.

You knew that the only person he was mad at was himself for even suggesting the idea of you both spending time studying individually.

“I’m right here, okay? I’m not going to be going anywhere,” placing a large hand on the back of your head, he gently kisses the crown of your head. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

“It’s all going to be okay,” his soothing voice calms you quite a bit, making your body slump against his in relaxation. “There’s my shortcake. Just relax, alright. We’ll study more later. In the meantime, we’re going to watch a movie and eat the sweets I brought. I don’t want you to think about those god damn exams.” Your nod in confirmation is all he needs to get you both comfortable on the couch so he can take care of his partner... Like he should have been going this entire time.

Bokuto Kōtarō:

Kōtarō, despite people thinking he’s not the smartest, is a very intelligent person.

Especially when it comes to emotional intelligence.

Which is why he figured out about your family issues, within a month.

Poor boy wished he could do something, though other than the constant sleepovers in high school, there wasn’t much else he could do. It broke his heart.

But that changed, when you both graduated high school together.

He didn’t allow you to stay any longer in that house. You’d dealt with the constant yelling and the lack of care for your feelings, long enough.

Though, that didn’t mean you’d escaped it when you went to reunions or to visit them on holidays.

They always managed to drag you into going.

And they always managed to drag you into their bullshit.

Kōtarō hadn’t been able to go to this year’s reunion - a practice game held him up.

His presence usually encouraged your family member to back the fuck off and not drag you into things.

But, this time...

He was just glad he’d gotten there when he did.

Pulling up in the driveway of the designated home of this particular family reunion, he could hear the yelling, as soon as he stepped out of his car. The volleyball player tensed up as he quickly walked towards the home, throwing the door open without care.

    Kōtarō wished you wouldn’t put yourself through this. You didn’t deserve it. He enters the living room, most of the arguing falling silent at his presence, already knowing that he wouldn’t hesitate to get on them for their bullshit. Walking over to you, where you sat, slumped at the dinner table, your head in your hands, he frowns.

   He wasn’t surprised when he found tears in your eyes as he gently picked your head up to look at him. A frown befalls him, once again and he guides you to stand, pulling you into his embrace, his hand holding your head against him, practically cradling you.

   He holds you for a few long moments to let you calm down, before he turns towards your family, letting you go so he can take your hand. “We’re leaving. They’re tired.”

   No one argues. They’d seen how angry Kōtarō got when it came to you and they didn’t want to face the wrath of the angry volleyball player.

   Without another word from you both, or spoken to you both, Kōtarō escorts you out of the house. As soon as you’re out, you can hear the yelling ensue, once again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispers as he pulls you into him, once again. “It’s going to be okay.” He whispers to you, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

   “I promise. We’ll go home and take a long bath... We can make some cookies and relax. We can even watch some Disney movies and make a pillow fort. How’s that sound, my sweet owl?” Kōtarō cooes as he begins to walk you to the car, smiling at you as he noticed how relaxed you seemed to be out, away from them and with your fiancé.

   No matter if he could help your family’s constant fighting, he’d always be here to whisper soft reassurances to you and make sure that everything was okay.

Oikawa Tōru:

Dating Tōru isn’t easy.

Living over 18,000 kilometers from one another was no easy feat.

Somedays are easier than others.

And this wasn’t one of those ‘easier’ days.

No, not at all.

Instead, today is one of those days that you tug on Tōru’s old volleyball jacket and bury your nose in the collar, hopping it’ll smell somewhat like him.

One of those days that you watch his dazzling face appear on the screen of your television and pretend he’s here with you.

It’s one of those days that you shoot him an ‘I miss you’ text and he’s unable to reply.

You both make it work because you love one another and want to watch the other succeed and do what they love.

But sometimes, it would be so much easier if you both lived on the same continent.

What you didn’t realize was that he hadn’t been to reply to you, because he was caught up getting his stuff off of the plane and into a car.

He was exhausted, but excited to see you.

He wasn’t expecting to come home and find you asleep on your couch, wrapped up in his jacket with dried tears on your cheeks.

Tōru dropped his bags at the door - he could worry about them later, right now he needed to get to you. With his signature grin, he walks through the kitchen, “Cutie,” he cooes through the apartment, before halting as he enters your living room, head tilting like a confused puppy’s would as he spotted you.

   His brows furrow and a frown crosses his lips, walking over to you and dropping to his knees in front of your sleeping form on the couch. He brings his hand up to gently stroke your cold cheek. “Y/N...” He cooes as he caresses your face, waiting for you to stir. Once you begin to open your eyes, a smile returns to his face, seeing your excitement overpower the sleepiness in your features.

   “You’re here...” You whisper, pushing yourself forward to hug your fiancé, no matter how unconventional this position was for you both. “I missed you,” you mumble into the soft cloth of his shirt, inhaling deeply. Peppermint. He always smelled like peppermint and it was a scent you had immensely missed.

   “I missed you too, cutie... But it’s okay. I’m here, now.” Tōru reassures, shifting so that he can scoop you up into his arms while you curl up into him.

   Not hesitating to want to fall asleep with you in his arms, once again, he brings you to the bedroom, dropping you onto the bed and pulling out comfier clothes for the both of you. Unpacking could wait later. Explanations of the vacation he was taking could wait. You being comfortable and in his arms was all he wanted.

   He undresses you, putting one of his shirts on you, before he undresses, as well, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, before he pulls back the covers and slides under them with you.

   Long, toned arms come to wrap themselves securely around you, pulling you into a tanned chest. “I missed you so much... But I’m here now, alright?” He whispers to you, kissing your head with a tenderness that only you got to see from the Argentinian volleyball player.

    “Go to sleep, we’ll talk when you wake up.”

    It was safe to say you fell asleep peacefully in his arms, finding peace in the fact that you’d soon be happily waking up in his arms.

General Taglist:

@thathoneybee3 @bratkugo

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Manga Review - Fragtime (Complete Series)

I recall reading the first few chapters of Fragtime on Manga Cross and not being very impressed. I did not care for it much, as, other than the time stopping element, it was mostly generic and had a few too many unsavory elements. I was content to let it rest and be forgotten along with a hundred other girl-meets-girl school Yuri romances until Tear Studio and the people behind the excellent Kase-san and Morning Glories OVA announced an anime adaptation of the work, a full five years after it ended. Inevitably an English adaptation of Sato’s original manga was announced, and so here I am, somewhat reluctantly reading and reviewing the two-volume series. It may sound like I am pessimistic or already had my mind made up, but that is not true. I went into Fragtime with as open a mind as possible, and I am happy to say that I did find several favorable aspects that appealed to me. Sadly, the manga mostly lived up to my poor initial impressions from all those years ago.

Fragtime follows timid high school student Moritani Misuzu, who can stop time for three minutes a day. While using her power, she attempts to look up the skirt of one of her classmates, Haruka Murakami. To her horror, Moritani discovered that Haruka is the one person immune to her ability. The two form an unlikely friendship and spend those few minutes when all others freeze together. As Moritani’s feelings for Haruka grow, her powers begin to fade, throwing their time together in jeopardy.

At first, this story appears to have some promise, along with some obvious issues. The supernatural aspect of Moritani’s powers and its connection to her emotions and relationship with Haruka provide excellent possibilities and avenues to explore the series’ romance and characters. Sadly, Sato delivers an unwieldy story with unlikeable and inconsistent subjects, a poorly paced narrative, and far too many sleazy moments to excuse. This last point is the most prominent of all and will be a turn off for many readers, myself very much included.

Moritani begins the story by “upskirting” one of her classmates. It is later revealed that she reveled in exploring the time-frozen school to pry into people’s most intimate moments, many of which frankly do not happen in schools nearly as much as the story would like to believe. Following this event are multiple scenes with characters flashing each other their panties, or else stripping to whatever the opposite of readers’ delight is. These moments are not sexy, and while a few of them appear to have been attempts at comedy, they will elicit few laughs. These factors create an overwhelming blanket of immature perversion that stifles any enjoyment in the audience and characters.

Another egregious element is a plotline where Haruka is continually sexually abused by her teacher, something used by her to manipulate Moritani, then joked about, and never resolved despite being referenced a good half-dozen times throughout the manga. More than anything, this speaks to Fragtime’s inability to treat its characters with any respect or focus on a plot arc and complete it satisfactorily. For indeed, even if one undergoes the arduous task of shrugging off the uncomfortable fanservice, there is not much noteworthy content left underneath.

Fragtime’s highschool Yuri romance plot is pretty unextraordinary. Even though it did attempt to include a few interesting plot points, like when Haruka and Moritani begin dating partway through the series, it is not awful, but too often, these plots are picked up and then never resolved properly, such as Moritani struggle to avoid the ping-pong club, and her discomfort after finding out about Haruka’s boyfriend. Yet, there were some positives along the way, sweet moments between characters or satisfying actions taken by them. It is just hard to find one uninterrupted by an unwelcome twist or panty flash. The one unconditional plus I will give is that I really liked the ending. There is a fantastic scene of role-reversal where the usually quiet Moritani confesses all the mischief to her and Haruka committed to the class and reveals the truth of their relationship and her feelings for Haruka. Afterward, a stunned Haruka is forced into a crisis of character and her true self is seemingly revealed. It is appropriately dramatic and delivers a fulfilling ending for the characters. Sadly, these revelations and character arcs are not supported by the rest of the story.

A manga like Fragtime lives or dies by its characters. Readers will sympathize with likable characters met with appropriate challenges and growth, or else they will laugh with endearing figures who try their best despite their flaws. Sadly, Fragtime’s Haruka is neither. Haruka is instantly dislikable, manipulating Moritani upon their first meeting, and does little to improve. She often jumps between ignoring Moritani and controlling her, demanding that she only use her powers at her command. These traits are never addressed, and the whole time readers are expected to accept that she is an unreachable beauty, and we should love her alongside Moritani. She is hopelessly inconsistent, apparently changing personalities and acquiring new traits at the drop of a hat so that Sato can shoehorn a new element of drama into the convoluted romance. The ultimate motivation behind her character, how she tries to please everyone and do what they want her to, is contrary to half her actions, and everything we have learned about her up to that point, making the reveal in the penultimate chapter, which is well-executed, feel forced.

Even through all the misery, convolution, and smut, there were, thankfully, some great moments sprinkled throughout Fragtime, mostly from Moritani. I loved seeing Moritani in the moments when she struggled with jealousy and accidentally stopped time, or else was uncertain about how Haruka would react when she confessed something to her. It was really human and relatable, and if only she were not going around looking up girls’ skirts, she would have been an excellent character. It also helps that her journey is also much more believable than Haruka’s, as Sato mostly keeps her story and development moving at a steady pace.

Moritani is much more consistent than Haruka. She starts the series as a timid and quiet girl, using her ability to run from confrontation or frankly, any form of human interaction. Once she meets Haruka and the solace of those frozen minutes is taken from her, she is understandably confused and traumatized. She even has a few moments of growth through the series, taking more confidence in herself as she plants a pair of panties (yup this again) on Haruka’s cheating boyfriend’s head. It is almost enough to sell her eventual ending and deliver a complete character.

Finally, we come to the art, which is good though not extraordinary. Characters have distinct designs and are consistent. Backgrounds and details are well managed, and nothing ever caught my eye as warped or out of place. However, there is not much that jumps out either for its quality. Sato uses very basic paneling, which is easy to read by also just slightly dull. The time-stopping elements were crying out for some sweeping panels of objects frozen mid-movement, but we never got any such content. In fact, there is no noticeable change in the art during those movements when time is stopped, other than Misuzu and Haruka acting like a pervert and exhibitionist respectively. If the writing did not specify when time was stopped or started, readers would have no idea.

Fragtime has an interesting concept but neither the grace nor charm to pull it off completely. The story is meandering and clumsily tries and fails to incorporate heavy topics and complex characterization into a generic Yuri school romance. The characters, particularly Haruka, are mostly unlikeable and wildly inconsistent, and readers have to force themselves to cheer for them or event finish this two-volume series. Most of all, Fragtime leaves an unpleasant and unsettling feeling with all its sleazy fanservice and perverted set pieces, clearly attempting to cater to specific audiences while utterly misunderstanding how teenage girls, or frankly, sane human beings, act. Any silver linings in its more relatable moments and competent presentation are whisked away by a mixture of contempt and disgust. Sadly, I do not recommend this manga, although I do appreciate that Seven Seas published the whole series in one omnibus volume so that it takes up less space on my bottom shelf.

Ratings: Story – 3 Characters – 4 Art – 6 LGBTQ – 2 Sexual Content – 7 Final – 3

Review copy provided by Seven Seas Entertainment

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[coffeebeannate]

nile + jacket

Five Sentence Prompts

Four times Nile got someone else’s jacket-and one time it was her own.

5: Joe

“You’ll freeze.” He tells her, even though it’s not that cold out, it’s wet. Everything is wet and the rain is one of those ‘probably won’t stop for the next thousand years’ types that seems to create a curtain of water before their vision. She tries to protest, even as he’s holding the long black trench-coat style jacket out, “What about you?” Only getting a headshake in return, “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got another one.” She has doubts, but takes it anyway. it’s warmer than she expected, and wraps around her like a blanket, slightly too large. “I bought it a size bigger.” He explains.

(She found out later he did that deliberately, so he and Nicky could share if it was necessary)

4: Nicky

She woke up suddenly, overly warm and confused, blinking consciousness back when she could see properly in the dark, quelling her breathing and taking note of her surroundings. She hadn’t fallen asleep with a blanket on, but now she’s covered by a heavy parka, something yellow and fleece lined. The mountain region is chilly, and she can see the jacket is overtop of her own sleeping bag and blanket.

“Nile?”

Nicky, of course, a pin dropping four miles away would wake that man on a mission. “Sorry..I didn’t..isn’t this yours?” Indicating the jacket overtop her, “Won’t you be cold too?”

Andy’s nearest Nile, curled up in her own sleeping bag and furs. Nicky only chuckles, ‘You were shivering in your sleep, and besides-” He motions to the arm around him in the dark, something Nile can barely see between darkness and blankets ‘I’ve a space heater”

Well, that much was true.

3: Andy

“Put it on.”

“It looks ridiculous.”

Andy chucks the thing at her head. It is hideous. Something patched up and half-fur half-polyester. Nile legitimately does not know what it is supposed to be.

‘I..what is it?”

“A jacket.’ Andy says, because sure, she can believe that all she desires, it just looks like a mess of fabric to Nile.

Still, Nile puts the thing on. She has no idea why she’s meant to be wearing this table-cloth monstrosity, but it does feel nice enough, makes the walk a bit more comfortable. Even though it isn’t cold really, and there’s still no reason for Nile to be wearing it.

Later, she’s surprised by Nicky’s expression when she comes to dinner after her watch. “I know, it’s weird looking” She grumbles, sitting. “Don’t know why Andy was so insistent on my having it.”

Nicky just grins, and Nile is further confused, “What?”

“She made that.”

Nile blinks, picking up a plate, brow knitting as she thinks it through. Andy is nowhere in sight now. 

“..Oh.”

The jacket becomes one of Nile’s most precious possessions, after that.

2: Mother

When Nile was growing up, Chicago’s weather was either ‘fine’ or ‘actually weather is a concept unbeknownst to this area,  I’m going to do whatever I please’

Nile got a new coat every year. Something that could suffice in multiple elements, her mother watching fondly as she unpacked the newest version every Christmas morning, and when her brother was born, he was incorporated into this sensible tradition.

She’d had so many over the years. One was pink, one was white, one year she begged for a bright blue one with a celestial print that she was sad to grow out of.  One had been long and purple, another was elegant and black.

She missed that, sometimes. Did her brother still get the yearly jacket? Did her mother sometimes browse the malls, the online catalogues and feel that ache in her chest?

Maybe she’d send her mother one. A token. “I’m still here, I just can’t tell you.”

Maybe.

1: Nile

It was a gorgeous jacket.

She saw it in a store by accident. Bright red, nearly the darkness of blood, sharp and radiant. It had a sharp push down collar and a large belt with a bright gold and black buckle, and stopped just short of the knee. Thick, but not bulky.

It was terrifyingly expensive, but the others talked her into it. She loved how it felt, loved how it hugged and clenched. It also had pockets. Not just the outer pockets, but hidden inner pockets.

The weather was turning, the leaves going from soft to crunchy, and standing there, the jacket billows around the sides.

She has no idea how long she stands out there, hands in her pockets, shrouded in her new purchase, when she’s approached.

“I want to send her something. I cannot carry on this way. Times are different. I can make it work.”

Andy makes a noise, one Nile can’t discern, surprised but not startled by the hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s see what we can do, to make that happen.”

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Nightmares

A/N: Takes place after 2x01, after Ichabbie return from purgatory. Be forewarned: it’s sangsty (soft and angsty)! 

Abbie ran, as hard and as fast as she ever had before. Breath hitching, legs pumping, feet barely finding purchase on the ground before propelling her on, she willed herself to keep moving, to put as much distance between them as possible. She clung to the shadows, avoiding the light she didn't understand, the way it came from nowhere but lit up just enough of Purgatory to make Moloch's pursuit of her more dangerous than any foe she’d escaped from before. Branches struck at her as she flew through the woods, slicing her arms and her cheek, leaving lashes worth taking if it meant her escape. "Lieutenant.... Lieutenant?" Crane's voice came to her on the wind, and she ached to follow it, but this place breathed treachery, and she knew better than to succumb now. She'd lasted this long here only by keeping her wits—what little she had left—about her, and allowing Moloch or one of his minions to trap her using Crane as a disguise seemed the easiest way to go. Still, him calling her name felt like cool water in the desert: refreshing, life-saving, necessary. And a veritable mirage. No, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let them take her down now. And most especially not by using Crane’s likeness as bait.

“Lieutenant.”

Breathing burned her lungs, but she drove herself forward, away from his approaching voice. She knew he couldn’t be right behind her. He’s not here, she screamed to herself when everything in her demanded she stop and look at him, let down the walls of fear and self-preservation for just a moment while she made sure he was real, that he’d returned for her and would help her fight this demon that’d hunted her since childhood. She could use a boon right now, and having Crane here would certainly lift her spirits—and her chance of survival.

“Lieutenant!”

The urgency in his voice increased, and she screamed when his hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her back, causing her to trip. Her hands and knees landed hard on the ground, and her instincts and sheriff’s training had her rolling onto her back to see her attacker, to face him with even a chance to fight back. But no one was there and she suddenly felt woozy, the inky blackness and the unnatural light swirling together, creating a maelstrom of dizzying effects and causing sparks to flash in her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tumult as a whirring sound filled her ears, building up until it was nearly unbearable.

And then it suddenly stopped.

For a second, Abbie wondered if she’d gone deaf, but then Crane’s voice came again, soft and tender and full of fear.

“Lieutenant?”

She slowly eased her eyes open, afraid of what she might see, where she might be, as she tried to slow her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, she commanded herself.

The low lighting inside Corbin’s cabin came from the fireplace before her and the small lamp beside her, both of them chasing shadows into the corners of the room. The couch beneath her felt tangible, the heat from the hearth flushed warmly against her skin, and the man standing next to her appeared solid and real. And definitely concerned.

“Are you alright?” Crane asked quietly, worry written on his face as he sat down next to her, angling himself towards her, placing a steaming cup of warmth on the coffee table before them.

Abbie sat forward, gripping the edge of the couch cushion with both hands. She didn’t answer him, couldn’t. Wasn’t even sure how. Was she alright? After a dream like that? Not out of Purgatory for more than two hours and already haunted and tortured by her time there? The sound of Crane-but-not-Crane chasing her? She’d already had to kill him once. The trauma of that…of the way that monster had hugged her, held her, knew exactly the right words to say to make her believe him. How he’d fulfilled his promise to her. How gentle and caring and concerned he’d seemed. And nearly at the cost of her life.

As both her strength and her weakness, Crane was a danger to her. And their enemies knew it.

Her stomach roiled with sickness, and she gripped the couch harder, trying to anchor herself to reality. To face the man next to her who only wanted to help her but couldn’t possibly understand what beheading him-but-not-him had felt like.

“I…”

She tried to assure him, but the words wouldn’t come, and she continued staring at the fire before her, trying to gather her thoughts, to eradicate the fear coursing through her body from the frantic nightmare.

Crane leaned forward a bit, trying to see her, and though she didn’t turn away, she wasn’t ready for his keen eyes to read what she knew must be present on her face. He seemed to sense her reticence and pulled back to sit up straight, returning to his military posture as his fingers absently drummed against his knees.

“Ah, I made you a cup of tea. I thought it might soothe you after…” He trailed off, unsure how to continue, even as he picked up the steaming cup and handed it to her.

Abbie accepted it, though the thought of drinking it made her stomach ill again. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye to find him surreptitiously watching her, his expression soft and apprehensive.

“Thank you,” she said, holding up the cup for a moment, wanting, without conversation, to let him know she was okay.

“You’re most welcome, Abigail.”

His voice, smooth like honey and gentle in that way he had when they were alone, washed over her, but it was his use of her name that had her freeze with the cup at her lips.

Abigail? she thought, her heart burning in her chest. He’d called her Lieutenant, Miss Mills, Abbie, even using her full name of Grace Abigail Mills once or twice. But Abigail? He’d never…

Blood pounding, the fear in her rising, she moved the cup away from her mouth without taking a sip, slow and easy, trying not to startle.

A disconcerted look stole over his face. “Is something wrong?”

Abbie swallowed hard. “No. It’s just too hot to drink,” she explained, her eyes darting around, looking for anything out of place.

There. Her jacket lay on the seat of the chair in a crumpled pile, not at all how she took care of such an expensive item, gifted to her by Corbin a few Christmases ago. She always hung it up when she took it off. And there, the door, always locked whether they were here or not, wasn’t bolted, a security measure she knew they wouldn’t have foregone after their return from Purgatory.

Abbie felt on edge, the hairs on her arms standing up as her brain scrambled to reason away her worries, her bone-deep fears that this moment, this place, wasn’t real.

Crane’s expression changed to frustration. “You really should drink up,” he scolded, and Abbie’s heartrate kicked up instantly, ice flooding her veins at his tone.

He’d never…  This isn’t real. Dear God, this isn’t real.

Her insides melted in defeat, even as adrenaline flooded her system. She tried to give him a small smile, though it came out more like a grimace, and moved away from him on the couch under the guise of getting more comfortable.

Crane—faux Crane, she reminded herself—leaned towards her as she retreated. “Abigail,” he sneered, his tone a warning she more than heeded.

Without thought, she jerked her hand in his direction, flinging the hot cup of tea into his face. Not-Crane roared in agony, and as Abbie grabbed the knife at her hip—a knife? she wondered. She’d never carried a knife. But it didn’t matter; she’d use it.—his mouth opened wide and snarled at her, a repeat of her last encounter with Not-Crane, and his appearance became distorted, jaw distended, eyes black, face red.

Abbie stabbed the butcher-sized utility knife into his chest multiple times, and the creature bellowed wildly, anguished and distressed. With her last stab, she left the knife burrowed deep in its chest, and as it grabbed at its wounds, she ran for the door. The screams behind her, still in Crane’s rich, full voice, followed her, and she felt sure she had time to escape before Not-Crane or some other demon could catch her.

She was wrong.

Her hand grabbed the doorknob, and she felt tension and dread swirling around her—she only needed a few more seconds to get outside, find the shadows, and run. Again.—when hands clapped on her shoulders, pulling her back.

“Nooo!” she screamed.

“Lieutenant!”

His voice came again, insistent and worried and sounding so real she could cry. And God, did she want to. To just break down and give in and let go and be done. Done with all of it. But it just wasn’t in her. She didn’t know how to give up.

“Let me go!” she hollered, flailing at the hands grabbing at her.

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant, wake up!”

Crane’s hands, firm but gentle, held her shoulders as she came awake, his tall, wide frame filling her vision. She flung his hands away, instinctively shoving him back from her, and scrambled to the opposite end of the couch, as far away from him as possible.

His face went through a whole range of emotions within a few seconds: shock, worry, fear, hurt, confusion, uncertainty. And Abbie had to make herself not care.

How many times could this happen? How many times would she feel safe, let down her guard, have a moment to take a breath, believe she’d returned relatively safely to the world of the living, to Corbin’s cabin, only to have to kill a Not-Crane? It didn’t matter that it only happened now in her mind’s eye, not when she woke up in her dreams only to realize she was still trapped in her nightmare. She felt both kills in her soul, hated watching Crane’s handsome face morph into a monster, feared she might hurt the real him if she didn’t figure out a way to determine reality from dreams. Even now…was he real? Or was she still locked in that realm, tortured and haunted? Had he really returned for her, found her? Had they opened the portal and come back, or had that been a cruel demon’s trick of her mind, as well?

Crane flipped the edges of his coat away from him in that wonderfully distracting way he had and slowly eased himself down onto the other end of the couch, eyes full of concern never leaving her. “Lieutenant…?” he began. “I most graciously apologize for any offense; I merely meant to awaken you from your nightmare. Are you alright?”

“This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real,” she murmured the mantra to herself quietly, keeping her eyes open, mind aware, heart aching with the realization she was going to have to live this scenario over and over and over again, facing and killing Not-Crane each and every time.

“Lieutenant, please.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly undid her, and her heart spiraled into her stomach, the roiling sensation returning yet again.

Then she saw the steaming mug on the coffee table, the fire blazing in the fireplace, the cabin scene set up again. Did they think her mad already, that she’d fall for this once more?

“You’re not real!” she stated emphatically, eyes boring into the man she longed to cling to. She tucked herself further into the couch corner, even as she kept her legs free to sprint away when necessary.

Confusion clouded his face for a moment before realization dawned. “Your nightmare was of Purgatory, wasn’t it? Lieutenant, I can assure you with full authority you’re very much here, this realm is real, and I’m the genuine article.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said without guile. She held his gaze for a few moments, waiting for his face to transform into the demonic now that she’d confronted him outright, but he merely stared back at her, sympathy and pain etched on his face.

She couldn’t watch his emotional countenance, couldn’t bear to see the face that used to grace the sweetest of her dreams on a monster hell-bent on destroying her for one more second. Her eyes drifted around the room, the firelight flickering shadows into the corners, and she looked at the chair. Her jacket was missing this time. No, not missing…it hung on the coat stand by the door, just where she would’ve left it. She glanced at the door. Locked.

“Abbie…look at me. Please,” he pleaded tenderly, desperately.

They’d fixed their mistakes: the use of her name, the small details that meant nothing to them and meant all the world to her. Damn, they learn fast, she thought, wondering what other horrors awaited her.

“Don’t,” she warned, staring into the fire, at the mug on the table, at the floor. Anywhere but at the Not-Crane pulling her heartstrings with his desperation and fear. “Come on, Abbie…think!” she scolded herself quietly.

“Lieutenant, you’re here, in Master Corbin’s cabin. Miss Jenny took her leave less than an hour ago, and I left you here on the couch to rest whilst I made you dinner. I heard your distress—”

“Wait…you went to make dinner?” she wondered with sarcastic disbelief.

His head swooped a little to the left in that disconcerted way he had before meeting her ironic laughter. “I realize I’m no chef, but we have frozen pizza, and with your ordeal in Purgatory, I thought it best for you to rest.”

“No doubt. Please continue your charade,” she conceded with a flourish of one hand, seemingly amused.

“Lieutenant, I implore you, hear what I’m saying. I heard your distress and came to ensure your safety.”

“And the tea?” she queried, eyeing the mug cooling on the table between them.

“I’ve learned you enjoy your peppermint tea in the evenings to relax, and I thought perhaps you—”

“Stop it!” she cut him off loudly, all trace of irony gone. “You’re not real, none of this is.” She swept her arm around, indicating the room, the cabin, him. “And I’m sick of this game. Sick of it!”

Crane extended his hand towards her, his finger pointing up as it did when he sensed something amiss. “Abbie—”

“No! No more!” She knew she was losing her cool and her temper and likely her mind, but running through the woods and killing the Non-Cranes hadn’t worked so far. Maybe direct confrontation would save her some of the trouble.

“Look,” he entreated, stretching his arm out, fist facing towards her. “Fist bump.”

She laughed at him, the pain and terror and anguish bubbling up anew. “You think that’s gonna work this time?”

“What will? Tell me what I can do to assure you you’re here,” he implored, scooting closer to her.

She held her hand up in warning, all laughter leaving her face. “Stay there.”

“Abbie…”

He sounded so heartbroken, so sad, she almost let down her guard. Almost. But she’d been here before, right here, and he’d become a monster she’d had to kill.

“I made you a promise: I’d come back for you. And I did, do you remember? Granted, there was a…another me, but you beheaded him. Quite admirably, I might add…as disconcerting as that may be.” She remained silent, her expression blank and uncaring as she stared at him, unmoving, and he continued. “Miss Jenny was waiting for us on this side and brought us here a few hours ago.”

Abbie remembered the events but couldn’t be sure they’d been real, not after the repetitive dreams she was having. Couldn’t it all have been a dream? Nightmare, she corrected herself.  

His expression changed from pleading to resolute. He needed to make her believe his words—she saw it written on his face.

That damn finger came up again. So much like Crane. So familiar and irritating and wonderful. But no….

“Just after we met, you told me about your sister, how you elected to keep your encounter in the woods a secret, even if it meant alienating yourself from Miss Jenny. You’d never spoken of it to anyone, not a priest, a therapist, or Master Corbin. But you shared it with me.”

She shook her head, disbelieving. He’d have to give her more than that, more than words he’d whispered to her in Purgatory or something anyone could’ve found out by now. Something Henry or Moloch or Katrina or Andy or anything else that watched them couldn’t know.

“Abbie, please…what can I do?”

She concentrated on him, studying his every move and gesture, watching the pain in his eyes, expecting it to turn to deceit, trying to find a flaw that would reveal the creature’s true nature. So far, this was the best Crane they’d put forth, and she longed to accept his words, ached to ease up the fight for even a few minutes of respite. But not yet. She needed more assurances, to be absolutely sure before letting down her guard.

She swallowed hard, keeping her expression blank. “Where'd you find the password to Paul Revere's cipher, explaining the Horseman's weakness?”

He gave her a hopeful look, not quite smiling but some of the pain eased away from his striking features. “In the Horseman's skull, on the back of his teeth,” he answered quickly, proudly. “What was it?” “Cicero.”

Abbie eyed him curiously, feeling giant cracks snake up the façade of strength she’d erected as he answered her questions correctly. No one in Purgatory could know these things. Despite the fear that this could all be a sham, she felt the tension in her muscles begin to ease. “The first morning after you awakened, what’d I bring you for breakfast?” One side of his mouth quirked up. "Donut holes. Now my favorite," he added with an easy, conspiratorial smile. She wanted to believe him. And more than that…she started to. "Most hated item when I bought you modern clothes?" "Skinny jeans," he groaned with disdain, and she couldn’t keep the wall up any longer. She let the tears pierce her eyes, stinging like nettles after what seemed like years of holding them back. They blurred her vision, and she blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. "Crane...it's really you?" Her voice broke on the last word, and she saw him slowly move towards her. "Yes, Lieutenant, you're here. This is all real."

He reached for her then, slowly, and she inched her hand up to meet his, tentative and fearful as their fingers grasped at one another. His touch, warm and comforting and familiar, sent a shiver up her spine and gooseflesh racing down her arms. "'I'm real," he assured her, nearly whispering. He eased towards her as she clutched at his hand, and he enveloped hers in his much larger one. His eyes never left her face, and he saw the moment she let her guard down, the second belief flooded her eyes. Her face broke in agony as a single tear slipped down one cheek. He feared startling her, scaring her into retreating again, but she launched herself at him and he was only too happy to catch her in his arms.

The dam broke, and Abbie didn’t try to stop it this time. Crane had actually found a way to break her out of Purgatory. He’d come back for her like he’d promised, they’d escaped, and she’d reunited with Jenny, returned to the cabin, and fallen asleep. The dreams tortured her, but here with Crane—the real one—here in his arms, she could finally, freely release some of her anguish.

One of his hands cupped her head, and her heart constricted in her chest at his gentle touch, at the tenderness with which he held her. So familiar and comforting and safe. The other wrapped protectively around her back as she clung to the front of his shirt with both hands, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry, Abbie. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his heart shattering at the effects his actions had caused her to suffer. Even safe now, she still suffered.

Her head shook against his chest. “I made my choice.”

Her whispered voice hitched, and he closed his eyes at her words, at the strength and bravery she possessed, even in the face of horrors he couldn’t possibly understand. He didn’t agree with her statement—he could have, should have fought harder against the choice she and Katrina had made to leave her in Purgatory—but a discussion over his failings could come later. Right now she needed him, not his apologies.

She trembled in his arms, and he inched closer, wrapping her tightly against him.

“Alright,” he breathed on a whisper, dropping a kiss into her hair. “You’re alright now. I’ve got you. No matter what, I’ve got you…”

Abbie stayed curled up against him until her tears dried up, her desperate gasps for air slowly transforming into small hiccupped breaths, the raging squall within her finally calming into a gentle storm. She came to herself, feeling washed up and spent and more exhausted than she could ever remember. Not to mention a little embarrassed to have fallen apart in Crane’s arms. She noticed he hadn’t removed himself though, even now that she’d calmed. And she couldn’t make herself retreat either. The safety of his embrace felt entirely too soothing, deliciously warm, and altogether like home after repeatedly fighting a monster wearing his face. His hand ran light circles across her back, a consoling massage like she hadn’t felt in ages, his touch gentle and unassuming, requiring nothing of her but to simply enjoy and be comforted by it. She could hear his heartbeat, feel it beneath where her head lay against his chest, a steady rhythm lulling her into contentment. And making her realize how easy it would be to stay like this forever.

After a while, she forced herself to move, pulling herself up to a seated position, though neither of them broke their connection, Crane’s hands never leaving her as she resettled into his side. His arm stayed around her, his other hand holding onto her arm, absentmindedly caressing her wrist and hand.

With her free hand, she wiped her cheeks clean of tears, closing her eyes against the burn that followed her spent tears.

Ichabod hesitated to break the silence, simply wanting peace for her, even if it came at the end of a breakdown. At least she’d let out some of her torment. Still, he couldn’t resist being attentive, needing to know if he could help her in any way, though he loathed the risk of her leaving his arms. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?” He kept his voice quiet, soft, hardly above a whisper.

He felt her shake her head, then her voice came, shaky and wrung out. “I just wanna stay right here.”

Her words constricted his chest as his heart bloomed, and he nuzzled against her, gently tightening his arm around her. “I want that too.”

His voice came so softly Abbie wondered if she’d really heard him or only imagined it because it’s what she’d want him to say. Regardless, his warmth surrounded her, his presence a comfort she sorely needed, craved if she were honest with herself. He, her other Witness, was the only one who understood the forces they fought, the trauma and aftermath of their battles, the courage, strength, and determination it took to face the next relentless horror standing on tired feet and bearing an emotional exhaustion that never went away. Tonight, all of it seemed too much to handle alone.

Minutes passed, and Abbie counted them by his heartbeats, by his fingers tracing fire trails along her skin, by his breaths feathering into her hair. And by the questions he chose not to ask, no matter how badly she sensed he wanted to. She needed to purge them though, the nightmares she faced once, twice, and likely would again in the future. How would she know she was really awake, that he was really him? They’d have to figure out a code.

“I was back there again,” she began without preamble a few minutes later. “They were chasing me, and no matter how fast I ran, I could hear them closing in on me.” She paused, feeling the fear again, the pounding of her feet and her pulse, the desire to give in to his voice, only to escape and have to fight her way out all over again.  

“You don’t have to,” he assured her quietly, his tone imbued with sympathy and compassion, his words telling her he would listen to her nightmare or her silence—the choice was hers.

She continued, wanting to purge the terror. “I tried to stay in the dark, but the light there…it was strange…like it was searching for me; it wouldn’t let me stay hidden from the demons. And…” She hesitated, knowing he’d feel wracked with guilt at what came next. “You were calling me, chasing after me, too.” Her voice went softer, both at the memory and at how difficult she found it to recap the visions. “I knew it wasn’t real so I kept running, but you caught up to me, grabbed my shoulder, and I tripped. When I landed, I woke up here. At least I thought it was here. You were shaking me awake from that nightmare. The fire was going, you’d turned the lamp on, brought me tea.” She pointed listlessly as she detailed the ways the nightmare mimicked reality. “I thought I’d really woken up, but…the name thing again. You called me ‘Abigail,’ and I knew it wasn’t you. You got angry when I wouldn’t drink the tea and…like before, you…changed, became evil. I had to…” She swallowed hard against the thought, wanting to push the words back into her stomach instead of retching them up, but her body refused. “…I stabbed you. Over and over again. I had to. And then here you were again, shaking me awake in front of the fire, brewing a cup of tea, asking me to trust you again.”

His chest ached as she detailed the dreams, how the demons still plagued her, even in sleep, how frightened she sounded—and had been when she’d awakened.

“Oh, Abbie,” he breathed in a devastated tone, sorrow stealing over his face.  “I’m so sorry. I can’t express my regret at leaving you behind or the pain it’s caused you. I’d trade places with you a thousand times over if I could relive that moment and let you return here instead.”

“Crane,” she stopped him softly. “I decided to stay. I chose to stay and face him. I…couldn’t have known how difficult it’d turn out to be, but I chose.”

“But you didn’t choose this: the nightmares, the…demonic versions of me plaguing you.” He realized he sounded angry, and justifiably so at the methods of the enemy, but she didn’t need his rage right now.

He took a calming breath, focusing on the woman curled into his side and how she trusted him even now after her ordeal. By rights she should be casting him away, needing distance from him, breaking down in front of someone else or, worse yet, while alone. That she’d become vulnerable in his arms only emphasized the strength of mind and character she possessed.

The thought nearly stole his breath, and he dared to press another kiss onto the crown of her head.

“No, but it’s what I’ve been dealt.” She sighed heavily. “And so I’ll deal.”

“I’m here. We can deal with it together, if you’ll grant it.”

She turned her head to peer up at him, her big brown eyes soft and damp as tears flooded them but didn’t fall, the tip of her nose pink, her lips full and slightly swollen from crying, her expression vulnerable and somehow hopeful. He stared at her a few beats too long, and his heart started pounding harder in his chest as the room suddenly became warmer.

He couldn’t feel this way. Not now. Not ever, he reminded himself.

“Together?” he breathed, trying to stay focused on their conversation and not how soft she felt, how easily she fit into his side, how tenderly she stared at him, how kissable her lips seemed. How he never wanted to let her go.

She nodded her head once resolutely. “Together,” she promised. Then she nuzzled back into his side, her head upon his heart.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Marshmallow World - Anders Harris x Reader (The Land of Steady Habits)

Holiday Fic Time! 🎅🎄

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

GIF CREDIT: X

Author’s Note: I mean this is technically a Christmas movie anyway, right?  😉

Technically we don’t actually mention Christmas at all in this fic, but I mean... it is Festive Season related.

Honestly, this song is another google search for “songs involving Christmas candy” and like... yeah, this! Basically because my prompt from @sagitariusrising​ was ‘Do you really need all that candy?” (To which the answer is always yes, by the way.)

Thank you for requesting 💜💙

Disclaimer: TLoSH zip to do with me / not my gifs / not my lyrics 

Premise: It’s time for the winter markets and annual light switch on in your little town, and you clearly are a homing beacon for sweet things...

Words: 2635

Warnings: sexual innuendo / sexual connotations / it’s clearly a Christmas market and stuff I just tried to take the Christmas element out of it.

_____

It's a marshmallow world in the winter, When the snow comes to cover the ground. It's the time for play, it's a whipped cream day, I wait for it all year round!

Those are marshmallow clouds being friendly, In the arms of the evergreen trees; And the sun is red like a pumpkin's head, It's shining so your nose won't freeze!

The world is your snowball, see how it grows, That's how it goes, whenever it snows. The world is your snowball just for a song, Get out and roll it along!

It's a yum-yummy world made for sweethearts Take a walk with your favorite girl It's a sugar date, what if spring is late In winter it's a marshmallow world The world is your snowball, see how it grows, That's how it goes, whenever it snows. The world is your snowball just for a song, Get out and roll it along!

---

Today was the big annual light switch on in town, and for once there were no cars on the roads. Although that mostly had to do with the fact that instead of the main streets being open, they were covered market stalls and were bustling with people. It was known to be traditionally busy, and you’d stayed the night at Anders’ place - as he was closer - in order to get here early. Not that you did much sleeping. And you still had to set off before the sun came up because it wasn’t just your town that turned up here, and he wasn’t within walking distance of town. You had a nice secret weapon in Preston’s little apartment, which was situated centrally, near the main shopping street, and had spaces out the back. Not many in his block had cars, and he had enquired with his neighbours to secure one for the two of you. So you’d turned up to his place this morning and walked the rest of the way. Despite the lack of sleep - and you would certainly blame your boyfriend for that - you were all in very high spirits. It was chilly, but you were bundled up, and there was something about the cold today… Due to the excitement surrounding the market it just hit a little different. You expected more snow; it had already fallen pretty steadily all week and the weather seemed to suggest it would stay that way. Anders laced his fingers with yours, pulling you closer and drawing your hand into the pocket of his coat. You couldn’t help smiling, even though you weren’t looking at him, and you nudged into his arm playfully, causing him to chuckle.

Preston, who was walking in front of you, turned with a look of feigned disgust: “You two aren’t about to embarrass me again are you!?” “Oh my god, we haven’t even had breakfast and he’s started.” Anders muttered, before rolling his eyes, “No! Could you walk any slower?!” Preston scoffed, “I’m admiring the ambience. Taking in the silence before it gets too busy... Where do you wanna go for breakfast anyway? Geez, we coulda had some at mine. Woulda been cheaper.” “As if you’re paying!” You couldn’t help laughing at their bickering, some things never changed, and for that you were extremely grateful, “First off, it’s tradition-! And I’ll pay, let’s just get out of the cold for a minute…” You’d all been doing this for years - the market was a tradition in town after all - and it was never less exciting than previous iterations. For the past few years, however, you’d had the addition of your boyfriend and his son. There were a few stalls that had become staples, but there were a lot of independent ones that just kept being added to, and you always loved looking at these. A lot of your gifts had started to become more local and to your friends around the world these had become like gold dust. Each year you received multiple texts asking what it was going to be this time, and you always teased them all about it. Now you were with Anders this became even funnier - because stall hopping became a long string of gasps, before he shook his head at you, smiling, ‘Alright, who is this one perfect for!?’  Preston usually hung around with you both for about an hour or so before he graciously took his leave to wander alone. Sometimes you thought he was merely humouring you… sometimes you felt he actually wanted to hang out with you both. So whilst at breakfast you discussed what you were most looking forward to seeing, and what route you were going to take. With the market spread out over most of town you could start and finish the circuit virtually anywhere; and you liked doing different variations of your walk each year - and then revisited stalls where you’d need a little more time to think. 

*** 

Sometimes you thought Anders humoured you just as much as Preston did, because he didn’t ever do a lot of shopping here. Although you got the distinct feeling that he came down on another evening to do that - because occasionally you talked about things you liked and you ended up being gifted them. Sometimes you were surprised you hadn’t caught each other in the act, as this was something you did too. But you knew Anders would tell you otherwise; you thought that in reality he just enjoyed your company here and getting in the holiday spirit. After all, of the two of you, who was the one decorating their house to the nines? You always cackled when driving up, because you could literally see his house from blocks away; such a vibrant mass of colour down an otherwise dull street. No-one else made the effort that he did. 

This year Anders had hauled you over to help him put them all up (well, Preston was supposed to help too, but he spent most of it sitting around with a beer directing you) and you were in fits of laughter for the whole day. So once the whole damn thing was finally lit up at night, you almost felt sick from how much you were laughing. His son was laughing too, but you felt for different reasons. Anders didn’t really care, he was just happy that you were both joyful, and that things were looking festive. You’d helped him decorate the rest of the house too, and tried to reign him in to being at least a little tasteful about it. “Inside or outside, not both.” “Aw, c’mon Y/N, you gotta do it properly!” “Good god, what are you planning!?” Still, in the end you thought he’d managed it. In fact one of the main reasons that Anders’ house was a little more decorated than yours was the amount of time you were spending here. You’d invited him over for a date and he’d peered around, then looked at you with a frown that said you were insane. “You call this decorating!? This is so SAD!” You were almost tempted to agree with him… As predicted, Preston eventually moved further and further away from the two of you. However, this year you didn’t just let him go, and you and Anders looked to each other with identical smirks. “OI!” Preston stopped, shoulders moving in a cringe before he twisted back to you, “...Yeah?” “Not cool enough for you or something-!?” You had always prided yourself on being the cool one, so that tease was well landed when he practically grimaced. “If you wanna leave just say something!” Anders was a little louder about it and Preston turned red. “Oh my god - guys! What did I say!” He shuffled back over, trying to calm you both down. “Just ask to go!” “C’mon I’m not 12-! I’m not even 17! I have to ask!?” You peered around him, spying a few of his friends kicking around just up the street. That’s probably where he was heading. Anders folded his arms tilting his head, “You’re still my kid.” Preston took a deep breath and sighed, “I know…” That caused your partner to smile gently, “Go on, go enjoy yourself. Just don’t be a stranger okay?” “Okay…” Preston was a little bashful, but gave Anders a hug anyway, “See ya later, dad.” Anders blinked a couple of times but returned the hug gratefully, and you caught that smile of his you knew he’d likely be wearing all day. Preston offered you a hug too, which you gratefully accepted, “Go enjoy yourself with your friends!” “Yeah!” He laughed, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do-!” You gave him a look that might suggest you didn’t know what he was talking about, before Preston gave you a wink and waved you both off. You turned to Anders’ smile and couldn’t help beaming yourself: “If you could see that look on your face.” He laughed and as he looked to you, holding his hand out for yours again, that smile widened and Anders’ blue eyes glittered; “Oh… I know!” *** If there was one theme in all your purchasing this year, it could only have been candy. The food stalls were out of this world and you’d strategically come to them all at lunchtime. Unfortunately you were both eating and buying, and your sweet tooth had taken over. You were glad this was still going to be a good walk-! But the festive candy was just too cute to pass up - and it would be rude for you not to try some, especially when offered. Anders had resisted a little at first, but now was in full swing with you. And every time one of you commented that you were stuffed and probably couldn’t eat another bite, you came across yet another stall. At this point - unsurprisingly - you were on a sugar rush and Anders was groaning and trailing you. You hadn’t made him carry anything, at least he could be grateful for that - but he was pretty sure he knew exactly what you’d be eating over the festive period. “Do you really need all that candy?” At least he said it with a laugh. You turned to him eyes wide, “Uh, yeaaah--!” He looked amused and bit his lip like he was goading you into something but, standing and staring at you laden with bags full of nothing but candy, Anders couldn’t help it: “Oh my god, seriously, are you a child?” You knew exactly what he was saying but, instead of agreeing, you folded your arms and gave him exactly what he wanted: “Says YOU!” “Me?!” Anders placed a hand to his chest, and was smiling even though he was trying to look shocked, “Whatever could you mean-!?!” “It’s the Holiday season Anders! Everyone is entitled to act like a child!” He chuckled, walking towards you, “Exactly, so why are you complaining!?” “I’m not complaining - you’re complaining!” “Mmm…” He tipped his head gently with a squint, “I can complain about your candy consumption if you can complain about my decorating.” You gasped, “Always with the decorating!” “You started it!” The two of you kept staring each other down for a minute, until you realised that you were standing in the middle of the street arguing like children. Upon which you fell into peals of laughter. Eventually you both managed to calm down, and Anders wiped his eyes, taking deep breaths of cold air to stop his voice from wavering with laughter too much. “So, uh, kiss and make up?” You giggled, thinking you might have just graduated from children to teenagers: “I think…” You took a step forward to be nearly toe to toe with him, “that would be wise!” He wound his arms around you as you leaned up into him, your lips to his as you closed your eyes. Suddenly you were glad of all that candy, because it made him taste even sweeter. An amalgamation of sugars and chocolate coated his own familiar taste and you couldn’t help but groan into the kiss. You were surprised Anders didn’t snort at you just for that; but he squeezed you to him a little tighter.  You pulled back, eyes closed for a moment just to savour him, opening them again and breathing; “I think there’s sugar still on your lips, should I kiss it off?” Anders smirked as you clung on to his coat, “What, didn’t get enough of a sugar fix?” “From you?” You leant back up into him, smiling, “Hell no!” *** As the evening began to roll in, with renewed excitement in the air, the crowds were drawn further downtown to watch the lighting of the tree and the strings of lights running the length of main street and beyond. You of course had immediately spotted someone roasting marshmallows, and Anders only rolled his eyes. ‘Of course!’ Still at least they tasted good and were of the right consistency, as you pulled him through the crowds to get a good view. “Only you would be able to find another place selling sugary treats!” “I must be honed in!” You grinned. “A sugar radar. Sounds about right-!” You looked back to him with a smile, “I like sweet things. That’s why I’m with you. The radar didn’t lie-!” He couldn’t help turn a shade of pink at that, “Okay, you’ve definitely had too much!” Anders remained beside you and cuddled your body into his as you stood watching the MC do his best to warm up the crowd - for the most part everyone was in good spirits and it worked charmingly. In fact you didn’t think one person didn’t join in with yelling the count down. You’d both spotted Preston - still with his friends - and had waved over, but left him to hang with them. There was a gasp through the crowd and then a cheer as all the lights went on. You couldn’t help but also light up, feeling like a child again. There was just too much wonder and joy about this time of year not to. It always made you excited. Anders smirked, leaning into you, “Bet that’s not the only thing that gets turned on tonight…” You knew that he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist bantering back to his cheekiness: “Well, you can turn me on later.” There was a growl to his voice that proved his point: “Oh… I think I will.” You walked slowly through the streets admiring all the different collections in vibrant colours; there had been some new strings added and the town had clearly got very creative. You thought suddenly about making the trip into NYC to see all the lights there… although somehow you felt this could be better. Especially with the context. When the chill in the air began to settle in, you decided it was about time to call it a night. Finding Preston just to say goodnight and hug goodbye. Although you weren’t exactly hurrying back, despite your joking. And eventually white flakes began to fill the air. Anders paused and blinked before continuing the walk a little slower, watching it begin to stick to the ground. “Oh, what would you know, it’s snowing.” He commented, but realised you weren’t beside him anymore. You had stopped a little way down the street behind him, looking up in wonder at the sky as the flakes began to drift. He walked back to you, slipping his arms around your waist and rested his head on top of yours to watch them fall. “Snow always looks so pretty. And so soft when it’s settled...” “Not as pretty as you.” He mumbled, but smiled himself. “Okay, Mr. Smooth.” You chuckled, “I suppose you want to get me home?” He smirked, “Think that one is your prerogative. But I can certainly warm you up-” “Uh huh!” “-In the car on the way back.” You scoffed, taking his hand back in yours, although neither of you moved, “Maybe we can watch for a few more minutes…” “Then I’ll have to warm you up even more.” You could hear that smirk in his voice as you pushed your head back into his chest, and couldn’t help but smirk yourself. “I mean I really hope you do. First you gotta turn me on... like a Christmas light.” Anders scoffed, “Oh what, like that’s hard?” You bit back your immediate reaction, ‘what’s hard?’, but couldn’t help but snort; “Oh no, I’ve seen you with your own. I think you got this.” “Oh yeah.” He pulled away from you slightly to place a kiss to your neck that made you shiver, “I’m practically a pro.”

---

Thank you for requestingggg--!! Thank you for reading! 💕😘

[offbrandmercyplates]

An OBMP Holiday Fanfic Special

Me: I should do a thing, get back in the writing spirit and all that.

Time of Year: *Is a holiday*

Me: I think I know what I’m going to do today.

So, yep! It’s a OBMP fanfic holiday special! WHOOOP! This thing actually went through a few different versions before I finally settled on one. There were some weird versions, which reminds me: what would happen if you tried to bake cookies without proper ingredients? One of the versions involved trying to make chocolate chip cookies with powdered milk, egg protein, and no baking soda. I have no idea what would happen if you actually tried that. I can only assume the worst. Also, there was a salt rock. And an elaborate traipsing through the halls and down the stairs. Not the best setup.

Anyway, this one should be much better! Please enjoy!

…

Messy Gyftmas!

Emmibee’s cozy cocoon of warmth and hazy sleep was viciously torn open by a muffled buzzing sound. She quickly scrambled to shut off the old alarm clock she had buried in clothes and towels on her side table. She flopped back onto the bed. Just a few more seconds… a few more seconds…

…Kind of weird that Dr. Gaster hadn’t come into her bedroom to see what the alarm was about.

…Dr. Gaster?

Emmi snapped upright. That’s right; Dr. Gaster was taking his once-a-week night off and actually sleeping! (It was very, very slow progress in getting him to sleep more properly, but progress all the same.) She quickly threw off the covers and slipped on the fuzzy pink socks she had managed to find at the Snowdin Shop recently. She tiptoed out of her bed room and past Gaster’s room.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard a gravelly snore that made her freeze. She turned towards the couch and spotted the skeleton doctor sprawled across the couch, glasses askew and a bunch of papers over his torso and lap. It seemed that he had fallen asleep while working instead of sleeping in his room like they agreed.

She shook her head. That stubborn old man…

Well, he was actually asleep, so that was good enough for today.

Emmi stepped into the kitchen and reached into the fridge. She had been meaning to ask why exactly Dr. Gaster kept so many bags of Popato Chisps in the fridge, of all places, but they hid Emmi’s personal purchases more than adequately, so it didn’t matter right now.

She retrieved the frozen waffles, bagels, and the two different kinds of spreads, and set them on the countertop. Two waffles were popped into the toaster, a few bagels were cut in half put in the oven to warm, and the two spreads— plain and strawberry flavored cream cheese— were opened and set out to soften a bit.

Emmi grinned and clapped her hands together quietly. A nice, warm, sort of-nutritious breakfast would hopefully give the doctor a reason to have more regular sleep schedule.

She pulled a large plate out of the cupboard and began to tastefully arrange the food (ha, puns). It was a shame she couldn’t find any maple syrup to put on the waffles, but maybe Gaster would appreciate being able to hold them in his hands and bite them like cookies. Once the plate was arranged to her taste (somebody stop her; she’s having a pun-derful morning!), she picked it up and began to carry it over to the coffee table by the couch.

At least, that’s what she intended to do, before a crunchy *thump* sounded from outside the house, followed by a strange, almost annoyed-sounding lowing. Emmi set the plate down and peeked out the window.

The snow wasn’t glittering with the warm, orange lights of the buildings in town, which meant that by all standards, it was still nighttime. Still, Emmi’s eyes quickly adjusted to see a strange, four-legged creature stumbling around in front of the house. Perhaps a fellow monster needed help?

She stuffed her snow boots on over her socks and grabbed her heavy coat. She opened the door to the house and stepped into the cold.

It was snowing, as it did every night in Snowdin. Emmi realized that the monster wasn’t stumbling; rather, it seemed to be bucking like a horse, a donkey, or a deer. The crunchy *thump* from earlier was likely caused by them tripping and smacking into a snowbank outside the house. They lowed again, more loudly, and shook their antlers. The movements were accompanied by tinkling bells, rustling paper, and other sounds.

A Gyftrot, Emmi realized with a quiet gasp. She had not yet met this particular monster, but the distressed noises it made were probably because of the decorations adorning it.“Hello?” Emmi called. Gyftrot snapped their attention to her, and she flinched.

Even when playing Undertale in her old life, Gyftrot was a funny looking creature. In person, though, they were almost terrifying. Their big, gaping eyes seemed both sunken and laser focused, and their sideways mouth steamed in angry sounding puffs and clicking teeth. They towered over her, their antlers almost doubling their height. They growled and backed away, dragging their hooves in the snow.

“W-wait!” She called. “I promise I’m not a child! I’m a perfectly grown-up adult!”

Gyftrot paused, then tilted their head in a way that seemed to say, “Oh, are you, now?”

“I am!” Emmi insisted. “Look, I’m not wearing a striped shirt.” She opened her coat enough to show off her pastel-colored nightgown, then closed it quickly. She was not built for cold weather.

Gyftrot rolled their eyes and huffed out another cloud of steam. “Okay, fine,” they seemed to be saying. “Now what?”

“You look like you could use some help. Would it be okay if I undecorated you? I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Gyftrot squinted at her for a good few seconds before folding their legs and resting in the snow, their antlers more at Emmi’s level.

“Thank you,” Emmi bowed politely and approached them. The tinkling bell sounds came from some thin plastic balls smacking together, looped over the prongs of Gyftrot’s antlers. The rustling paper was, in actuality, several strands of threadbare garland strands, wrapped around their neck and, again, their antlers. Following these were some of the strangest items Emmi could imagine: multiple stockings, tiny walking canes, boxes of raisins, a few car fresheners, and for some reason, a small, very confused dog. Emmi could have sworn the dog gave her a knowing wink before bounding into the forrest.

She looked over her handiwork and nodded. “Everything looks good.”

Gyftrot rose back to their hooves, and Emmi gave them some space. “Thank you, Miss,” they said in a deep voice. “I was asleep on the edge of the forest for the night, and when I awoke, I was covered in all manner of trinkets and nonsense. No doubt the work of some young punks. Oh, and pardon me for thinking you one of those children. You have a youthful demeanor about you, and you are very short.”

“Hey!” Emmi laughed with mock indignation. Gyftrot snorted a few times, a mischievous gleam in their eyes. Then their gaze dropped, and they went quiet. “Something wrong?” Emmi asked.

“It’s a bit silly, but… after all of that, I’m a bit hungry.”

Emmi thought for a second. “Well, I was making some breakfast for a friend when I heard you out here… Would you like me to bring you some?”

Gyftrot’s ears flattened a bit. “Well, I’d hate to take the meal you made for your friend…”

“No worries! I can make more. Wait right here; I’ll bring you a plate.” Before they could protest, Emmi sped-walked into the house, grabbed the plate of food, and brought it outside. “Here we are! Waffles and bagels. Do you like cream cheese—?”

As soon as Gyftrot spotted the plate, their eyes grew as big as saucers and they stuck their snout into the food. They were an enthusiastic and sloppy eater, but Emmi was too distracted by watching the way their jaws worked to notice the bits of cream cheese and crumbs spilling onto the front of her coat.

They grinned at her when they finished; a grin that, without context, would have seemed almost sinister. Emmi knew it was a smile of satisfaction. “Thank you again, Miss. Perhaps we’ll meet again, at a better time of the day. Good night.” Gyftrot trotted out of sight.

Emmi watched them go. Her socks were starting to become soaked through her boots, but the warmth in her SOUL distracted her from the cold.

The snow began to glitter orange in certain spots around her. “Emmibee?” She looked up to see a tired Gaster standing in the still open doorway of the house. Oops. “Why is the door open at this hour? You hate being cold.”

He stepped into the snow, not bothered by the weather, and stood over Emmi, looking her up and down with an analytical curiosity. She turned to face him, grinning just a little deliriously. Maybe she should have gone to bed earlier instead of reading all night…

“…What are you wearing?” Dr. Gaster asked.

She looked down at herself, seeing the crumbs and cream cheese smears from Gyftrot’s early breakfast, as well as a few of the decorations she had removed from Gyftrot’s person. Somehow, the garland had wrapped around her shoulders, a tiny walking cane hung around each of her ears like strange headphones, and a few stockings hung from the buttons on her coat. She blinked for a moment. Then, she smiled up at her housemate. “I’m the messiest Gyftmas tree. Hohoho, heeheehee.”

Gaster squinted at her, his bone brow furrowed as he tried to comprehend what she just said. “…You’re a very strange woman,” he finally stated.

“Actually, if you recall, I said I’m—”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. You are the messiest Gyftmas tree.”

“You have to say ‘hohoho, heeheehee’ after that part.”

“No.”

“Phooey.”

“Will you explain why you’re outside at this hour now?”

“After we go inside. I’ll make more breakfast.”

In the time it took Emmibee to remake Gaster’s breakfast plate and tell her story, she was barely standing on her feet. Before she could fall over, Gaster guided her to his spot on the couch, removed her coat, boots, and decorations, and tossed his lab coat over her sleeping form, since it was the closest thing to a blanket within arm’s reach.

He found himself glancing at her repeatedly and he ate the breakfast she made. Her curly brown hair was frizzy and tangled from the snowy winds, and her round little face was pink from the warmth of the house. It filled him with… nondescript contentment. It definitely didn’t make him feel nice. Most certainly not. Definitely not.

…So what other word could he use to explain these feelings?

…

A strange and messy Gyftmas, but satisfying all the same, I hope.

Gyftrot showing was one of the first things that came to mind for this story. Who could be more perfect for a holiday special? And, one of my favorite parts: it shows off Emmi’s integrity. Even a scary looking fellow like Gyftrot deserves a good breakfast and not being covered in weird decorations. (Seriously, though; look at Gyftrot’s battle sprite and tell me that wouldn’t be a little spooky in real life.)

There were some little tidbits in some of the earlier drafts that didn’t make it into the final story, like Emmibee spending her evenings in bed reading by candlelight, the exact spots that don’t squeak on the stairs, and little things like that. Now that I think about it, I don’t know if flashlights would be prevalent in the Underground, or if they’re a more limited resource. It can’t be that easy to find fresh batteries in the dump heap, but maybe the Underground is able to make batteries with the materials it has. For some reason, my mind was in a kind of archaic rut, so I think I imagined the Underground having more limited resources than it probably does; hence the earlier draft with the powdered milk cookies.

Gaster: What is this feeling? It couldn’t be… the warm fuzzies!? No! I’m too sophisticated and cool to have the warm fuzzies!

It has been said before, by many different sources, and it shall be said again: Emmibee is a smol.

Also, the “messiest Gyftmas tree” is a reference to the song “The Happiest Christmas Tree.” It’s… interesting.

Okay, I think that covers all the extra bits. With Ms. Emmibee’s permission, I’ll be posting this to my fanfiction and AO3 accounts at a later date. I hope everyone had a happy holiday! Let’s hope next year’s just a little bit better. Until then!

~~~

THE WARM FUZZIES!!

Apologies for posting this so late, but I truly truly appreciate and adore this fic. Gyftrot is one of the most interesting monsters, I think, and Emmi’s interaction with it is SO pure????? This is wonderful and I love it and THANK YOU!!!!

Please post it to FF and AO3 at your leisure!! 

[trillian-anders]

chambers - ix

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 4243

Description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

The wind was howling, it rattled the shutters, the windows creaking and groaning in protest. Bucky had tried the caulk the windowsill shut but it hadn’t worked. The two young men were huddled around the small stove, door open and slowly giving off heat to warm them.

“Here we go.” Bucky rubbed his dry hands together, breath coming out in little puffs in front of his face. He sat heavily down next to you, draping an arm around your shoulder as the gas for the stove finally kicked on, the heat pouring out steadily. You were wrapped in two blankets, one thrown over Bucky’s lap. You wore a winter coat, a hat, glove covered hands twisted tightly in the hand knit blanket that your mom, Sarah, had made you that last winter before she was gone. 

“You can go home Buck.” You whispered, curling into him further. “Heat’s never off at your house.” Bucky scoffed, his own head covered with a thick wool hat, scarf pulled up around his rosy cheeks.

“And leave you here to freeze?” Bucky glared at you playfully, “I told you we could both go, but you’re too proud for that. I’m not going if you’re not.” You sighed heavily, Bucky’s arm pulling your shoulder in tightly, your cheek buried against his chest. 

“You think my Ma is making beef stew tonight?” Bucky asked quietly. Your stomach growled at the thought, eyes dropping in exhaustion. You’d just gotten over another cold. How would pneumonia help you?

“Maybe…” You shifted against his chest, “Maybe we should go see.” Bucky grinned, laying a fat wet kiss to your cheek before helping you from the ground and turning to stove off, shutting the door with his foot.

“Let’s go.” 

…

“Let’s go.” You said. The exit ramp of the Quinjet lowered, the wind howling against the sides of the ship. A hand met your shoulder and you turned.

Bucky looked haunted here. A few seconds ago when you were in the shared apartment he looked so much less hollow. Less scarred. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Leave all of your new friends. Betray Tony. You had to. This was Bucky. And you trusted Bucky. More than anything. And if what he said was true then there were five more guys just like him waiting behind this reinforced door they were about to walk up to. 

“Til the end of the line Buck.” He choked, not looking at you for a moment, his hand gripping your shoulder tightly. He shook his head,

“I’m not worth all this Steve.” But you’re worth everything to me.

Everything.

…

“I’m gonna go back.” Your breath caught in your throat. It felt thick in this room. Unbreathable. Bucky looked at you sadly from across the small dining table in your apartment. The funeral was yesterday. 

“When you take the stones?” His voice was unwavering. Not betraying the emotion his eyes were giving you. Your heart was breaking.

“Yeah,” You breathed, “I… I don’t belong here, I can have this second chance…” the words felt empty. How could you do this?

What about my second chance? Bucky should say. I don’t get a second chance. He should be screaming. Please scream at me. Please.

“You’re goin’ back for Peg?” He asked you very calmly. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. You felt yourself nod. Beg me to stay. Please beg me to stay. 

“I love her Buck.” But I love you too. Please. Do something. Anything. Bucky nodded, standing and stepping away from the table, turning his back to you for a moment.

“Sam should get the shield.” He said. Shoulders tense, he didn’t turn back to you. “If you’re gonna do this, Sam deserves it.” You felt yourself nod, wringing your hands together. It was silent for a beat. Then a beat more. “So this is the end of the line?”

��

A fist meets your face, your head snapping back, neck cracking from impact. You stumble, fists coming up, swinging back. Making contact. 

“Captain America.” The thug spat blood. “You’re much smaller in person.” The guy was a giant. Had to be on the higher end of 6’7 and pushing 400 lbs. all muscle. Slow. And dumb. Evaluate Rogers. Take him down.

You moved quickly, shield spinning to ricochet off the wall to hit him from behind making him stumble forward, your leg kicking him in the chest and stunning his lungs, fist coming to crack against his jaw and the man fell to the floor unconscious as you caught the shield. 

Footsteps from above and a voice over the coms, “What about that new agent? What’s her name?” Natasha. Fucking Natasha. 

“How am I supposed to know?” You grunted as you rolled the man over to grab a key card from his pocket.

“Sarah!” She yelled in triumph, “She seems very vanilla.” You didn’t know what that meant but,

“Sarah was my Mother’s name so… no thanks.” You swiped the key card for the room you were in, the mechanical door hissing and opening. This base. You remember it from other memories. The thought coming to you as Steve takes you room to room. Silently dispatching whoever is in his way. A thumb drive. It’s always some stupid little thumb drive that could totally dismantle an organization. 

But this was Hydra.

And this little thumb drive was a piece of a greater puzzle, and you didn’t have the picture on the box to guide you. This base. Why was it so familiar?

Something was striking you as you forced Steve’s eyes to take one last look around the room. 

There!

Right there!

A black and white photo from a newspaper. One you’ve seen before. A man and two others. Holding guns in military uniform. The man’s face in the middle circled in red.

Zemo.

You groan. Head pounding. Eyes glued shut. There was a rhythmic beeping. A heart monitor. You could feel little electrodes stuck to your face and chest. The blanket over you was yours though, not the scratchy one you knew was used in the medical ward of the compound. Your eyes slowly opened, trying to shake the exhaustion out of them, your eyes focused in the dim room on your ceiling. 

This was your room still. 

You felt sluggish, eyes rolling shut before opening slowly. You turned your head to see Wanda dozing off in the chair beside you, a second chair empty to her left. 

Your heart monitor was on her right, along with a machine that was tracking your brain activity. One you’d seen used before during your many tests Bruce liked to run. The blinds were open, the early morning light shining through.

A glass of water was on your night stand, two little white pills beside it. Your hands found purchase beneath you and your arms shook as you pushed yourself up against the headboard. Wanda snoozed on, cheek pressed against her fist. 

You shakily grabbed the water, taking a sip before taking the two pills and chugging the glass, the thirst you were feeling not even close to being quenched. You sat back heavily, fingers still wrapped around the glass as you thought back to what caused you to be in this position right now.

Zemo.

Fucking Zemo. 

You know you can’t trust him. He wants what? To rebuild Hydra? A greater tomorrow? Sure. For certain people a greater tomorrow. The ones so struck by their fear and ignorance that they’d strike down anyone different than them just to have control. 

He’d get rid of your medical bills. 

Your parents would be financially stable again. You’d be financially stable for the first time in your life. You could move on. You could travel. You’d always wanted to travel.

These people, Wanda. Sam. Bucky.

Bucky.

Would they really care about you after all this was over? It’s been almost two weeks since you’d come to the compound. These were superficial friendships to be sure. Coworker friendships. Once you’d left you’d be forgotten. Right now they were taking care of you. But was it only because of Steve? Your hand lay over the scar on your chest.

Your heart was breaking. 

Steve’s emotions were fully infused with your own. You loved these people. These people who you barely knew but you knew entirely. These people you’ve fought beside and haven’t. You didn’t know where Steve began and you ended anymore. 

The memories the year before you came here were once in a blue moon. Something would strike you and then you would tumble into a memory. Something Steve would show you. Since being here they were daily and sometimes multiple times a day. Who were you anymore?

You look at your hands and you could swear for a moment they weren’t even yours. 

Zemo wants your blood for obvious reasons. Even the watered down generic super serum that you’d been getting the effects from ran you at half capacity for Steve’s abilities. If Zemo got his hands on it surely he’d be able to isolate the serum and enhance it. 

He didn’t want old Winter Soldiers. He wanted new ones. Ones he’d formed himself. One maybe he could become himself.

“Y/N.” Wanda’s voice was soft, sleepy. Her hands came to take the glass from you. “How are you feeling? You’ve been out for a little over a day.” Your voice was raspy, throat still dry.

“I’m okay.” You shifted in bed, looking at her, unsure, “Where’s Bucky?” You remember him being the last thing you saw before you’d entered your seizure. His arms catching you before you hit the ground, cushioning your head in his palm. His mouth forming your name, but your ears not hearing it. 

The empty chair, Wanda looked at it for a second before replying, “He’s taking a shower, he’ll be back in a minute. Are you hungry?” You were ravenous. 

“Yeah, I could eat.” She came back with a spread a moment later. Breakfast plate stolen with what looked like Sam’s cooking. He must have been up making breakfast already. 

“What happened during your seizure?” She asked. You swallowed the fork full of eggs before replying,

“I had four memories.” Four of them. So cold. Freezing temperatures in each one. But you know that couldn’t have been entirely true. Steve told Bucky he was leaving in autumn. But it felt like you were sitting in an ice box. Something wasn’t right there. 

“Hmm.” She picked at her fingernails, “What do you think of Zemo?” Her voice was soft, like she already knew, she had to. But she was asking anyway. 

“I can’t.” You shook your head, “No matter how quickly he could make my problems disappear...” Your fingers rolled a piece of fuzz between them, fork lay discarded on the plate. “I feel like it would make an even greater mess of things.” Wanda nodded, shifting back in her seat. 

“Do you think--” The door clicked open, Bucky shuffling in quietly and catching your eye almost immediately, his blue orbs widening. 

“You’re awake!” A soft smile. It warms your heart. He looked to Wanda, handing her a cup of coffee he’d prepared for her before sitting down in the chair beside her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, how are you feeling?” Your heart skipped a beat. A shadow in the corner of your eye and there was Steve, but he wasn’t looking at you. Forlorn eyes stared at Bucky. Your breath hitched, 

“I’m okay, thanks.” Your heart began to race as you felt Steve’s eyes move to you. A chill ran down your spine. A fucking ghost he was. Bucky sipped his coffee, the strong black brew permeating it’s scent through the room. Bucky kind of always smelled like black coffee now that you thought about it. “How are you?” 

“I’m good.” He cleared his throat, “Listen, I don’t know how you feel about Zemo and--”

“I’m not gonna do it Buck.” Your voice tense. His face serious suddenly. He nodded. 

“Okay.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Okay.” Wanda placed her coffee mug on the end table. 

“But I think we should pretend like you are going to.” She said. “If Zemo thinks you’re going to give in we could lead him into a trap.” Fingers circling the rim of the coffee mug. 

“I think that’s a good idea.” You agreed. “We should talk to Sam and--”

“We aren’t using you as bait.” Bucky scoffed, turning to Wanda, “We aren’t using her as bait.” You and Wanda share a look. 

“We’ll see what Sam says.” You nod to Wanda. She takes a long drink of her coffee, 

“I’ll give you two a minute.” You watched her back as she left the room, shutting the door silently. 

“Buck-”

“Y/N-” 

You talked over each other, then silence. Both of you staring at one another. “You’re not going to be used as bait.” He started, “It’s not-- You’re not--”

“Bucky.” You lay a hand over his, the hand beneath you rough and calloused. More so than you remembered, but knuckles still split, some still healing. “Whatever it takes… Zemo is a threat. You know better than anyone that he’ll do whatever he thinks is necessary to get what he wants.” His blue eyes not leaving yours, it was intense and made you nervous, “He’ll come for me whether we do this or not.”

“So let him come for you, you’re at the fucking Avengers compound for christ sake.” He stood from the chair, stepping back to pace. “There’s a whole army worth of people here to keep him out.” He ran his metal fingers through his cropped hair, exasperatedly. 

“Buck… I can do this. I may not fully be like Steve, but I’m half capacity at least. I can--”

“You don’t know how to use it, you’ll get hurt, you can barely defend yourself.” 

“So show me!” You yelled, “I know all of his moves,” You tap your temple, “They’re all up here, I just need the practice.” Bucky shook his head, hands coming to his hips. 

“It’s not safe,” He spoke evenly, “You’re not Captain America, Y/N.”

“No.” You sat back heavily against the pillows behind you, “I’m not, but this guy is bigger than me and you. This is about possibly saving the world and I get it, we don’t trade lives, but I can hold my own against a couple thugs,” His eyes met yours once more, a softness there, “Let me try.” He stepped closer to the bed,

“It’s not worth you getting hurt.” He said softly, fingers brushing yours. Your heart skipped. 

“Show me how to not get hurt and I won’t.” You intertwined your fingers, both of you looking at your joined hands. Your heart fluttering in your chest, butterflies in your stomach, “Please… Jaime.” 

He snatched his hand from yours quickly, taking a step back, eyes rapidly searching yours. Your heart dropped, “I’m sorry... Bucky.” You tried to grab his arm again but he stepped out of reach, a pang in your chest and your eyes began to water. “Bucky, please.”

“Don’t.” His voice tense, shaky, “Just don’t.” And he left. 

Fuck. Fuck. 

Bucky stomped down the hallway, turmoil bubbling in his chest as he reached his room, slamming the door shut. The hinges screamed in protest. His fingers an imprint on the side of the door. He gripped the short hair on his head and pulled, letting out a clenched teeth scream in aggravation, sitting on the end of his bed and resting his elbows on his knees. 

Jaime. 

Steve had called him that once, and only once… and that means you’ve seen… He shakes his head. Fuck. His breathing is heavy, heart aching in his chest as he remembers how Steve left. 

Steve left him. 

Even though they could try. It was different now, times were different now. But Steve left. Steve left him. He made a choice and he chose to leave him. He couldn’t fault Peggy. He couldn’t be angry with her for getting to keep Steve. Getting to love him. But the jealousy was there. And this feeling brewing in his chest at the sight of you, left him empty and wanting. 

And confused.

So confused. 

You were this soft enigma in his life. This worried presence. He didn’t know how to act around you half the time, the other half it was just like taking care of Steve all over again. But it wasn’t. It was you. You knew things about him no one else did and it was easy to forget until something like that spilled from your tongue. 

Jaime. 

He could almost feel Steve’s lips against his again. In that tent. Right after he’d been rescued. The desperation. The love. A chill goes down his spine. He could feel eyes on him, but when he looks around he sees nothing. It’s just him, alone in his room. The empty walls and bland neutrals he didn’t care to dress up. A pile of clothes on the chair of his desk he had yet to put away and a laptop haphazardly placed on the coffee table next to a pile of notebooks. 

Memories.

Confirming kills. 

Planning on things to bring up in therapy next week. Planning on things to avoid. And in that pile of notebooks is a new one, a red cover. You. Everything he knew about you. Every detail of your life. Every hospital visit, every heart failure. The names of the hearts before Steve’s. The people your body rejected. Your family. Your parents who lived in a two story house in New Jersey. They have two dogs. Your grandparents live with them. Your Mom works at a doctor’s office in the city. Your Dad is a barber. You don’t have any siblings. 

It’s why your parents had banked so much on you and you avoided them when you failed. 

Bucky remembers the jab he’d taken when he first met you. “So what are you going to do with your life now? Now that you have this second chance?” He regret it as soon as it left his dumb mouth. He’d really lost his touch with women. He’d watched you curl in on yourself, the disappointment and failure you’d felt amplified by the knowledge that he knew you weren’t important. 

Not at the time anyway. 

You were so important now. Bucky’s heart panged with the thought. It was the third time he’d seen you in a situation he couldn’t help you in. The first seizure in the coffee shop, the second when he’d walked into your apartment and saw your destroyed legs, and now with a seizure that seemed to never want to end. Bruce had been worried about brain damage. Luckily you were fine. 

But you weren’t fine. 

Bucky flipped through the red notebook. A picture of you smiling back at him. An article from a newspaper, tubes connected to you as they announced that after fifteen years you’d finally gotten a new heart. A little fluff piece in the local paper he’d kept after they were informed about Steve’s donation. The first time he’d actually seen you aside from the funeral. 

He felt all choked up. He needed to talk to Sam before you did. He had to come up with some other plan. There had to be a way to get to Zemo first. Without using you as bait and without waiting for Zemo to come to them. There had to be some sort of Plan C. 

...

“He passed the polygraph.” Sharon stated, “He excelled on the obstacle course and in hand to hand he held his own.” Arms crossed as they watched him, sitting on the other side of the two way mirror. Sam stepped into view beside her, mimicking her stance. 

“What do you think?” Sam asked her.

“He might be a valuable asset.” She said optimistically.

“Bucky’s not a fan of him.” 

“Bucky isn’t a fan of anyone,” Sharon scoffed. Sam shrugged, nodding. 

“Have him start in the morning, take him down to the barracks.” She placed papers in a folder in front of her, shuffling and organizing them as Sam continued, “Let Eric Josten know he’s welcome on the team on a trial basis.” 

Eric, your Eric, sat on the other side of that glass. A grey Avengers t-shirt stretched tightly across his chest, the polygraph machine still laying in the off position in front of him. 

“Bucky really isn’t going to be happy.” Sam said to himself, exiting the interrogation hall and pressing a button to call the elevator. As he waited he contemplated how he was going to break the news to Bucky. Tomorrow was typically their day with the cadets so he had to do it tonight, but when tonight? Maybe after Bucky has eaten two full pizzas he might be sleepy and more compliant than with an empty stomach? Or maybe a text as Bucky’s about to fall asleep so maybe he wouldn’t see it until the morning even though technically he’d told him the night before?

“Sam.” Wanda entered the elevator beside him, “I need to talk to you about Y/N.” Sam hit the close door button, the elevator began to make it’s ascent. 

“Is she awake?” He asked, turning towards her. 

Wanda nodded and continued, “She’s not going to turn herself over to Zemo, we’ve already discussed, we think it might be possible to--” The elevator stopped, doors opening revealing Bucky on the other side. His eyes widened at the sight of Wanda, stepping in and immediately beginning, 

“Wanda we aren’t using her as bait.” She huffed annoyed, 

“We would all be right there, it’s not as if she’s defenseless--”

“She is defenseless, and there’s no telling what Zemo has up his sleeve,”

“We would all be a couple of yards away as he revealed his location, I would be RIGHT THERE-”

“Absolutely not, there’s only a definite amount of bases he could be at-”

“If he even is at a Hyrda base, you have no idea where he could be.” 

“That’s why we would gather some intel before-”

“And how long will that take?” Sam stepped between the two Avengers as the elevator stopped again. 

“Chill out, both of you.” Sam stated in his Captain voice, “We’ll discuss this as a team in our meeting tomorrow, for now let’s just make sure Y/N is making a good recovery,” The trio stepped from the elevator into the main common room, “And by the way Eric will begin training tomorrow,” Bucky’s face contorted into rage as Sam took a step back into the elevator and quickly hit close door, muffling his shouted reply as the elevator climbed once again, taking him away from his current problem and into a future one. 

How were they going to do this?

How could you ever look at him again? 

Your cheeks had flushed with embarrassment almost immediately. The little pet name, it had slipped from your mouth before you could even think about it. The tenderness in which he held your hand, for a minute you just forgot who you were. You forgot who you weren’t. Because that’s what this is right?

Stupid fucking Steve and his stupid fucking emotions ruining your life. 

Hot tears ran down your cheeks in the moments after you were left alone in your room. How could you be so stupid? These feelings that were bubbling in your chest weren’t yours. They just weren’t. This love and affection you felt for him was one sided, it was just because of Steve. Stupid, stupid Steve and this stupid haunted heart that wouldn’t just stop.

Why you? Why these memories? Why was this fucking guy now after you? For some diluted super serum? You sunk back heavily into the sheets, tear tracks dried on your face, still hot in embarrassment. Alone. 

Until you weren’t.

A gentle knock and your door opened. The soft smile, dimpled cheek, bright eyed Eric entered your room, “Hey.” He said quietly, taking note of your red eyes he came to your side quickly, taking your hand in his. They were softer than Bucky’s, his knuckles weren’t split. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, wiping your cheeks with your free hand until he gently cupped your face. 

“It’s nothing.” Your voice still watery. 

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” He was kneeling by your bed, face so close to yours. Sweet plush lips. You are vulnerable. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. That maybe it was a mistake, but you needed it. You needed it so badly.  You pressed your lips to his. 

He seemed shocked at first, before his hand drifted from your cheek to the nape of your neck, meeting your lips over and over in a series of small kisses that brought those butterflies back into your stomach. His tongue brushed your bottom lip and you couldn’t help but deepen the kiss. Trying to fill that hollowness in your chest. This ache that you know will never go away because it’s the hole that Steve had left for Bucky. 

It’s the emptiness you felt when Bucky ran away from you, that rejection you were now using Eric to soothe. 

He rested his forehead against yours, breath still mingling. “I really liked that.” He whispered, his eyes still half lidded looking at your lips.

“Me too.” And you kinda did. 

.

.

.

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[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #398

“freedom is just man’s invention, & a soldier is just a slave”

What do you do the most when you’re online? Watch/listen to YouTube. Do you have a bobblehead? No. Have you ever spent your birthday alone? No, that sure would suck. Were you afraid of heights as a child? Actually no, but NOW I kinda am. Have you ever had a lead role in a play? No. Would you ever take a solo road trip? No, that sounds super depressing and lonely. Do the mountains fascinate you? Of course! So much history built into a magnificent, awe-inspiring piece of nature. Have you ever been insulted or called names by a significant other? Wow, no. I wouldn't tolerate that for a second. What’s your favorite movie battle scene? The fight between Simba and Scar is very powerful imo. Have you ever been to a same-sex wedding? No, but not because I'm opposed. I'd love to go to one and be the photographer. What’s your favorite Marvel movie? Probably one of the Spider-Man films. I don't remember which it is, and I don't want to spoil it by explaining what I do recall. Did you have a Walkman when you were a kid? No. What’s the most difficult experience you and a significant other have gone through together? Being long-distance when we really wanted each other's physical comfort. Have you ever attempted to pick a lock? Did you succeed? Yes, because Ashley locked her keys in the car. I don't remember if it worked, actually. Have you done the Bratz doll challenge for YouTube? No. I've seen a couple people do it, though, and it's both cool and creepy. Does the hospital in your town have a good reputation? NOOOOOOOOOOOO. What is your favorite nickname that you’ve had? "Bee" from Megan. Have you ever gotten a professional massage? No. I would be SO uncomfortable. If you had braces, do you wear your retainers still? No. :/ Well, the one you put in, anyone. I have a metal one behind the front row of my bottom teeth. If you had braces, have your teeth moved since you got them off? Yes. Do you know anyone personally who’s lost a child? I know way too many people who have suffered miscarriages. Do you take your medications regularly? Yes. What’s one luxury item you wish you could afford? An actually nice house. What’s your favorite thing to do in a swimming pool? Just kinda casually swim around. Have you ever been abused by a cop? No. What is one thing that you took to show-and-tell as a kid? My Snorlax plushy. Do you remember losing your first tooth? No. In the summer would you rather have the windows down or the A/C on in the car? I strongly prefer A/C. Have you ever been addicted to a game? What game? I had a long-time addiction to World of Warcraft for a couple years or so. I still play it now, but I'm not addicted to it anymore. As a matter of fact I get bored of it easily now. Which was better: the original The Lion King or the sequel? The original, but I love both very much. Do any of your grandparents have a tattoo? I don't know if any did. Do you believe that your pets feel love towards you? Roman, 120%. It is so obvious. Venus, no, as reptiles are literally incapable of experiencing that emotion. I do, however, know she trusts me. Are you proud of your body? FUCK no. Have you ever been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance? No. How do YOU believe the world & universe started? I don't know. I feel like MAYBE there is some sort of ultimate intelligence that formed the universe (maybe prompted the Big Bang, though I've always been dubious of that occurring naturally), but I don't think of this topic frequently at all. Does it really matter, after all? We're here, so just focus on that and live in the now. Have you ever stuck gum under a desk/chair? NO, that shit grosses me the hell out. When shopping at a grocery store, do you return your cart or just leave it? Return your fucking cart, please. It is NOT that difficult. What is one thing you’d never want your parents to find out? Certain places I've, uh, "done" things. When you were little, did you like Dr. Suess books? Yep. I seriously loved Green Eggs and Ham. What would you consider unforgivable? Rape is #1. Would you rather give your food to a homeless shelter or money to charity? Food to a homeless shelter, but I'd love to do both. What was your least favorite year of your life so far? 2016 was a fucking NIGHTMARE. Have you spent money on a game online? On one occasion, I asked if Mom would reactivate my WoW account, and when two expansions came out, I asked if she could buy them. I HATED asking. Thankfully, now, I'm rich enough in the game to pay for the "token" currency, which renews your subscription for a month, so I essentially play for free now. Have you been called a bad influence? Yes. Have any self-done piercings? Noooo. I only trust professionals. Ever pierced someone else? Again, no. Leave it to professionals, as well as someone without tremors. If you had a child with down’s syndrome, would you keep him/her? IF I wanted kids, of course I would. It really, REALLY bothers me when DS is the reason behind abortion. Mind you, I am pro-choice, but come on... Don't treat down's syndrome children as a curse. If someone tried to murder your child, do you think it would be wrong to expose them publicly and talk about it on social media? Of fucking course I would. I'd damn that person to hell myself. Is there a toxic person that you miss? I sometimes miss Colleen. Are you still contemplating going back to someone you shouldn’t? With Jason, yes. If he actually wanted me back (that will never happen, but anyway), I fear I'd say yes and probably would, realistically. When was the last time you had a new crush? When I realized I was bisexual. Do you want Jesus to come back soon? Back when I was a Christian, I was terrified of Judgment Day. I don't believe in it now. What is something you can’t wear because of your body type? I COULD wear whatever the hell I wanted, but I refuse to wear crop tops or strapless tops (or strapless bras). Oh, and thongs. No thanks. If you have curves, do you like them? I'm not curvy naturally, I'm just fat. Have you ever worn matching pajamas with someone? No, but that'd be cute. Has anyone ever mistaken you for being anorexic? No way. What fast food place do you avoid at all costs? Arby's, to name one. Are you afraid of deep sea creatures? Yes, especially giant squid. Have you ever agreed to purchase something on Ebay and got scammed somehow? Ugh, I got Ico THREE TIMES and they were ALL broken; they'd freeze in the first few minutes. Has anybody ever given you a promise ring? No. What is your favorite kind of cake? Red velvet. Honestly, have you ever eaten raw cookie dough? Yeah, multiple times. Were you outdoors or indoors more as a kid? I'd say it was a split down the middle. Have you ever had a relationship that began via text? Jason, Tyler, Juan, and Sara all began over text. Girt asked me out over Facebook Messenger. Do you think sloths are cute or ugly? They're cuties! What eyeshadow suits you best? I only wear black eyeshadow. Do you watch the show Wizards of Waverly Place? I did as a kid and really liked it. Have you ever been to the rainforest? No. I don't think I could handle the humidity, though I'd love to see all the beautiful wonders. Are you a member of any clubs? No. Would you shave your head with a friend who had cancer? If it was someone I was very close to and they were extremely self-conscious about it, I'd probably be willing to get very short hair, but I don't think I could handle no hair at all. How did you meet your pet? Roman was one of the kittens of Ashley's mother-in-law's cats. She has way too many cats and needed to get rid of the kittens, and I'd been wanting one like mad. I found Venus via the online reptile-selling hub called Morph Market, and I became VERY interested in the many, many ball python morphs, and when I saw her, I immediately knew that was my baby. Did/Do you have any PEZ dispensers? I did as a kiddo. What are some of the phrases in your personal ‘bingo’ card? "Mood," "can't relate," "hi, how are ya," "jinkies," "yikes," "oof," shit like that. Have you ever been through a trap door? No. Do/did you have to wear a uniform to your high school? No, only middle school. How many video games do you own? A whole lot. Have you ever visited a sex shop? No. Have you ever ridden a bicycle through a busy city? No, I'd be very scared to. Do you use Instagram? How often do you post there? I have two for my varying photography subjects. I post very rarely on both. Have you ever had a scary encounter with a wild animal? I have not.

[snusbandxknifewife]

An idea I had for a fic where Jude introduces Cardan to some technology in the mortal world. I hope you all enjoy!

~~~~~~~~

It began on one of Jude’s routine trips to the mortal world, as she was walking through the hall from the living room to the half bath in Vivi’s apartment. Behind her, the tv blared and Oak loudly sang along to the opening theme song. Vivi and Heather were out for dinner, like they usually were when Jude came for her weekly cartoon dates with her little brother, because apparently there’s only so much Teen Titans that Vivi can take.

She’d never paid much attention to the walls in the hallway, never studied all the photos in their wooden frames, all painted by Heather with different designs. She’d never looked at the pictures of Heather and Vivi, at the new school photo of Oak or the collection of Polaroids from his last field trip to the zoo.

She’d never put any thought to how she didn’t have a single photo of herself.

Over the next few weeks, no matter how hard she tried to shake the thought from her head, it wouldn’t leave. She had no pictures from her life before Faerie, no snapshots of her human family or what she looked like growing up, she had nothing to remind herself what she used to look like.

She tried to tell herself it’s foolish to mourn over something like that, that she threw Mr. Hiss into a fire long ago and she would’ve likely done the same to any photos, but she just can’t seem to stop trying to picture her mother’s facial features and her father’s smile. She knows it would be so much easier if she just had a single photographic reminder.

So that’s how she finds herself in a shopping mall, pulling her confused husband towards a photo booth by the escalator.

“My love, wherever are you taking me in such a rapid manner?” He sounds bemused, but he doesn’t try to pull away from her.

She’d brought him with her to the mortal world multiple times. Oak once requested his presence for a Teen Titans date, another time Jude had needed tampons and Cardan had been absolutely fascinated by the concept of a convenience store, and on more than one occasion he’d demanded they return to the land of Ulta. Still, in all his time visiting the mortal world, he’d never been inside a mall.

Jude doesn’t answer as they reach the booth, electing instead to pull back the ratty black curtain and shove him unceremoniously inside.

He’s almost comically too large for the tiny photo booth, his fae body far too long and graceful to fit comfortably on the bench. Still, he sees the look in her eyes and decides not to fight her, pulling in his feet as best he can and doing his best not to laugh as she tries to fit in with him.

“Just humor me, ok?” She’s short as she pulls a wrinkled five dollar bill out of her wallet, inserting it into the money slot and cursing when the bill spits back out. An impressive string of language and one flattened bill later, she’s tapping away at a glowing screen.

“Jude, darling, are you alright?” The laughter is gone from his voice, replaced by concern as he watches his wife furiously tap, her frantic anger not quite covering the tears welling up in her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong, my wife.”

Her finger freezes and she bites at her bottom lip to keep it from quivering, not daring to look towards Cardan for fear of losing her self control.

She takes a deep breath, focusing on calming her racing heart, and says, “I want a picture with my husband, because I do not have one with any of my family.”

He brings a hand up to her face, thumb brushing against her cheekbone as he delicately turns her towards him. Her eyes remain lowered, focusing intently on the logo of the black band shirt he favors most on their visits to the mortal world.

“Jude, my sweet villain,” his teasing lacks all the bite from when they were still schoolchildren, “you should’ve just told me. I would’ve already arranged for us to sit for a portrait.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I want a picture, a photograph.”

His brows furrow in confusion and she finally looks up to him, her eyes pleading.

“Then we shall sit for a photograph.” He concedes, not having the faintest idea what a photograph is. He looks around them, lip curling at their dark, cramped surroundings. “Though I’m confused as to why that would lead us to this little black alcove.”

She turns back towards the glowing screen and presses it a few more times before leaning back. He absentmindedly wraps an arm around her, his fingers playing with the hem of her peach blouse.

“Look right here and smile.” She points straight ahead, at a little glass plate with some strange object embedded behind it. “Don’t blink when it flashes.”

A little voice calls out from a small black circle that Jude has once explained was called a speaker. It counts down from five and Cardan obediently smiles, keeping his eyes open even when a bright white flash threatens to blind him.

Then his jaw drops open as the screen displays a portrait of them, the most lifelike he’s ever seen.

You can read the logo of his shirt, see the lace detailing of Jude’s blouse and the individual strands of her hair. Every color is accurate to life, down to the gold ring around his irises and the faint blush on his wife’s beautiful cheeks as she offers the most dazzling smile he’s ever seen.

He’s so busy being in awe of the photograph that he doesn’t hear the little voice counting down again, doesn’t pose or smile or prepare himself at all. He’s shocked when a second flash illuminates the booth, capturing another photo of them.

This one pops up on the screen, showing his dumb astonishment in perfect detail. He finds himself flushing in embarrassment at how stupid he looks, at how openly awed he is by what Jude must see as simple technology, but he stops when he sees Jude in the photo.

She’s not looking forward like in the last one. In this picture, she’s looking at him.

If her smile in the first photo was dazzling, then this one was sensational: the most gorgeous she’d ever looked, in his humble opinion. The easy tilt to her lips, the adoration in her eyes that he’s never really seen himself, the way she watches him with love written in every line of her face. Is this truly how she looks at him when he isn’t watching?

His Jude, his queen and his spy and his warrior, has never looked so lovely as she has in that photo, that photo where she looks relaxed.

He turns to her as the speaker counts down a third time, finding her still watching him with that look. His heart absolutely melts, every beat screaming out her name as a grin pulls at his cheeks.

When she sees his smile, she actually giggles—she giggles. A little tear of joy rolls down her cheek and the booth flashes white and another picture has been taken.

He doesn’t get to look at this one, because he’s too busy pulling his wife in for a kiss. His fingers card through her hair and her hands grab fistfuls of his shirtfront as the speaker counts down a fourth time.

By the time the flash goes off, Jude is all but on his lap.

When the booth is dark again, she pulls back, her eyes glittering in the faint glow of the touchscreen. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the sound of something falling.

Jude turns and grabs a long strip of shining paper, folding it down the middle and tearing it in half before handing him one side.

He grabs it, holding it in his hands as softly as possible as he looks down at the four photos of them, little versions of the ones that had been displayed on the screen. Each is more realistic than any portrait he’d ever laid eyes on, each shows a Jude that seems genuinely happy.

“Thank you,” she whispers with tears once again in her eyes as she looks down at her strip, “for humoring me.”

“Jude—“

“I know it seems silly to an immortal, once you’re grown, you all don’t change with time,” she continues like she didn’t hear him at all. “But for humans, change is constant. To have a snapshot of a memory, a moment frozen in time, gives us something to look back on years later. It gives us a way to remind ourselves what we were like then.”

She looks back up at him, clutching the photos to her heart with a quivering smile, a smile brighter even than the horrid flash of the booth. Jude—his Jude—grinning from ear to ear over something as simple as a piece of paper. If they had been anywhere else, he’d have been willing to offer the world to capture that smile.

But he doesn’t have to, he’s already got it in his hands.

He looks once more at the pictures, at the one of them staring lovingly at one another and the one of them kissing with passion that his younger self would’ve thought impossible.

“Tell me how we can get more of these.” He breathes, not trusting himself to speak to loudly.

“We can buy a Polaroid, they print photos right from the camera,” she offers. “We could take that into Faerie.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead before insisting that she lead him to where they may purchase such a device.

He’s going to fill an entire hall with just photographs of her.

~~~~~~~

@jurdanhell @cardan-greenbriar-tcp this is what my brain provided post-final, I hope you like it!

[nya-sfar220page]

Photographer's Eye.

Nyallah Abrahams

Nathan Ely

FAR 220

Photographer's Eye.

Reading this document was a little confusing at first, so I had to read it a couple times. Actually, to be completely honest, I barely understood it. But I tried my best when it came to writing this essay. The photographer's eye basically breaks down the history of photography versus the history of painting and then it goes into what I consider the process of photography, the photo itself, the detail, the frame, time and vantage point. I'll explain those a bit more later on, but for now let's talk about the beginning.

The beginning: the history of photography and how it came to be

The invention of photography was very different from the invention of painting. Photography was something that was quickly taken whereas painting was something that was made and constructed. Painting was expensive and difficult and photography was cheap and easy, and it could record anything.

The difference between the two is that the process for photography is relatively shorter than the process of painting, especially back then. But as photography became more popular, it became art's number one enemy. and because of this, photographers had to try extra hard to get their medium to be accepted and across to those who weren't photographers.

because of photography, there was the first time in history that even those who were less fortunate and couldn't afford paintings, could have access to photos and be able to see how their ancestors looked like. which was a huge thing because in the past, only if you had money to get paintings of your important family members done would you be able to see what they looked like.

The essay also briefly mentioned how photography was learnt. It varied in two ways, there would be those who were already skilled and understood his tools that were needed for the production of photography. and there were those who learnt from photographs. Which I think still kind of stands now. There are a lot of photographers that learn photography from studying photographs and there are others who learn by having prior knowledge from other skills they've acquired.

The Thing Itself:

The next part of the essay I would like to talk about is the part titled “ The Thing Itself”. This part in the beginning is basically speaking about the art of photography itself and what it takes to do it. There's a part I'd like to quote: “ He learned that the world itself is an artist of incomparable inventiveness, and that to recognize its best works and moments, to anticipate them, to clarify them and make them permanent, requires intelligence both acute and supple.” I interpreted this as saying that you need to anticipate a good shot, work with timing and know what is good from what is bad when it comes to your work. The last part especially. You need to know what is good versus what is bad in your work, that is the only way you can become a good photographer. Well, one of the few only ways in my opinion.

There's also a part in the essay that I kind of disagree with slightly. It is said that “But he also learned that the factuality of his pictures, no matter how convincing and unarguable, was a different thing than the reality itself.” but I don't believe that. I believe that a photograph is a moment of reality that you're able to capture and freeze permanently (if that makes sense, I'm not the greatest with words) with any type of photography. I don't think that its different from reality at all.

The next part is titled “ The Detail” and this part goes into the detail of the photograph being taken and whether or not it is capable of showing a narrative or not. In my opinion i think that photography can be narrative to an extent, a photo can only tell so much about its contents. Before today's class, I thought that photos could not tell stories at all. But I was mistaken. There were two things that were said that I really liked and they were these two quotes “The function of these pictures was not to make the story clear, it was to make it real.” and "If your pictures aren't good enough you're not close enough."

The first quote “The function of these pictures was not to make the story clear, it was to make it real.” really sat with me and i'm not sure why. But I think it's because you can witness anything happen but by taking a photo, it freezes what happened in time and makes it real.

The second quote: "If your pictures aren't good enough you're not close enough." stuck out to me because it's something my high school photography teacher said to us when we were working on our macro course. Getting close to your subject is super important when you want to get the best detail or the most detail.

The next section was “The Frame” , which speaks about the framing style and the environment of your photograph. There was a quote that i wanted to comment on and it was the following : “If he had purchased an eight by ten inch plate (or worse, prepared it), had carried it as part of his back-bending load, and had processed it, he was not likely to settle for a picture half that size. A sense of simple economy was enough to make the photographer try to fill the picture to its edges.” this made me think about film photography now versus years earlier, it's the same! You always want to try to fill your roll before trying to get it developed. Especially nowadays when film can cost you $15 a roll (looking at you Portra 400). Film isn't cheap!

He also speaks on how framing works with your images and how balance works for the image. He says the photographer looks at the world as though it were a scroll painting. Meaning that there are an infinite amount of ways to frame the world.

In the second to last section, “Time” is mentioned. Before reading it I thought that it would be talking about the amount of time it took to set up and get your shot. But instead it spoke about the time within a photograph and how it only exists in the time that it was made. But that moment will also exist throughout the time that the photograph is available.

It also speaks about how slow lenses were and those images described a time segment of a few seconds to multiple seconds. Those images would often be distorted and blurred if the subject moved. These images were actually considered to be failures.

As time went on and better photographic materials became available, they were made more sensitive and lenses were faster, photography became more available to take pictures of rapidly moving objects and subjects.

“Vantage point” was the last section that was mentioned in the essay. I wasn't really sure what this was going to be about but I'm glad I went to class today and had it better explained to me. The vantage point is the point at which you take your images scene by scene. And how taking images from different vantage points can show or tell a different story image by image.

This essay was honestly quite insightful and I enjoyed learning from it and from the discussion we had in class.

[snowdice]

Things You’ll Never Do (Part 4 of the Series “Is There Anything Left of Patton?”)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil & Logan, Logan/Patton(?), Virgil & Patton (?)

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Patton(?)

Summary: Season change. Life changes. Patton doesn’t.

Notes: Zombie Apocalypse AU, Past major character death(?), Look it’s a zombie AU so you can probably guess why there’s a question mark after everything involving Patton. Angst. 

The fourth part of a series of one-shots called Is There Anything Left of Patton?

Previous parts:

“Something Left”

“Someone You’ll Never Meet”

Food You’ll Never Eat 

Logan glanced up as Virgil shifted on the couch next to him to pull the blanket he was wearing more securely around his shoulders. He was working on patching his hoody once more and seemed even more anxious without its normal weight around his shoulders than he had been in the past week. Logan tried to ignore him but couldn’t help but grit his teeth just a bit as he squirmed around a bit more, jostling Logan with the movement.

“It’s getting colder,” Virgil commented.

“It is,” Logan agreed, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Yeah…” The other man started to tap his foot and stopped sewing altogether in lieu of fiddling with the fabric in his hands.

Logan closed his eyes and took a breath. “We will be fine, Virgil,” he assured. He knew, of course, why Virgil’s anxiety rose as the temperature dropped. He hadn’t gone into detail, but Logan had pieced together from what he had said that his last winter had not gone well. There had been a reason why he’d been alone when Logan had found him last spring, and it was not anything like the reason Logan himself had been “alone.”

“I know,” Virgil replied.

Logan nodded and went back to his book.

“But what if…”

Logan snapped his book closed. “Virgil,” he said, and it was a good thing Patton was currently tied to the rocking chair out of reaching distance because the sharpness of his tone drew the man’s attention instantly. “As I have explained multiple times before, we have plenty of supplies for the winter.”

“But what if there’s a big snowstorm and the solar panels break, and we freeze?”

“We have stored battery power as well as gasoline for the backup generator. If all else fails, we have a fireplace and wood.”

“But then we wouldn’t be able to cool the food and we’d starve…”

“If it is cold enough that we could freeze to death, we can simply put the food in the freezers outside in the snow instead. Besides, all of the canning you insisted on doing this fall would easily get us through the winter twice over.”

“What if…?”

“Then we die Virgil,” he snapped. “What do you want from me?!” The other man slammed his jaw shut. Logan sighed. “I will go on one more hunting trip for the season if that will assuage your anxiety. You can make jerky out of whatever I bring back. However, you will need to find some activity to amuse yourself during the winter months other than overpreparing supplies else we will surely drive each other mad.”

“…Fine.”

“Very well. I will go tomorrow,” Logan said and then paused. “Do you want me to put Patton downstairs while I’m gone?” Recently Logan had simply… stopped putting Patton downstairs during the night and Virgil had yet to protest. It was likely not a rational decision, but he… didn’t like putting Patton downstairs. Logan knew logically that the distress he expressed when he realized he was being put in the cage was not true human suffering, but it still always left a bad taste in Logan’s mouth.

“Nah,” Virgil said glancing at the mentioned man still pulling at his leash. “It’s cool. Patton and I’ll just hang out.”

Logan tried not to show his relief on his face. “Very well.” Hopefully by the time he got back, Virgil will have calmed down some, or at very least, Logan would have more patience to deal with him.

  Virgil glanced through the inventory Logan had carefully written out and marked off the one can of peaches that he’d eaten for breakfast. There were still enough cans for four cans of those per week until next April, but the numbers only partially calmed his anxiety over the situation. He sighed and tried to forget it, walking into the living room and hoping to find something productive to do.

He paused in the doorframe. “Patton? What are you doing buddy?” Virgil asked. Patton was standing in the corner of the living room trapped between a potted plant and the wall like a video game character clipping. He stared at the plant blankly. “Pat,” Virgil said a little more sharply to attract his attention. He turned at the sound to start toward Virgil and promptly walked right into the potted plant, tumbling it and himself over. “Patton!” he exclaimed, rushing over to him.

He realized his mistake a moment too late. He must have moved in the wrong way or spoke with just a bit too high of a pitch because Patton suddenly went from his must-investigate-weird-object mode to attack mode. Virgil tried to hop out of range of the leash, but felt a hand grab his ankle with surprising strength considering how the zombie was usually easily pushed and pulled with the lightest of touches. Virgil’s leg was pulled out from under him and he fell. “No!” Virgil said as he was yanked backwards. He tried to find purchase on something, but all he could do was dig his fingers into the carpet. They often forgot with how docile Patton was 95% of the time, that Patton had all the strength of an adult man and perhaps a bit extra from the turning. “Patton please! I hate it when you do this!” Virgil groaned. He was pulled inexorably back by the hold on his ankles, his fingernails scrapping against the ground uselessly like a scene in an old horror movie.

Weight flopped down on top of him, a knee digging into his back. Cool breath brushed against the back of his neck and too cold fingers grabbed at one of his ears. A chill went up his spine.

Virgil flopped his forehead onto the floor in defeat. “You know,” he grumbled. “If you’re not going to eat me then WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS?” Patton’s fingers tried to find the source of the sound, but Virgil was luckily on his stomach and could easily press his mouth against the floor. That didn’t stop the fingers from scraping against his neck though. “I fucking hate you sometimes Patton,” Virgil hissed. Patton just patted at his cheeks. “Logan!” he called. “You didn’t possibly get back from your hunting trip and just not tell me, did you?!” There was no answer. Figured. Virgil pushed against Patton’s hold and was shoved firmly back down, fingers digging into his hair with renewed vigor.

Unfortunately, when Patton got like this, there wasn’t much you could do without help besides waiting and hoping. He had to lose interest in you before you could get away from him. The problem was that even if he did get bored, when you tried to wiggle away, there was every likelihood he’d just get more intrigued by you and the cycle would repeat again and again.

They went through the process a couple of times before Virgil was finally able to get away from the weird forced cuddling. He shoved back suddenly, and Patton toppled off him. Virgil scrambled away and out of the leash’s reach before he could get grabbed again. Patton rolled, confused at the sudden exodus of his pillow and got caught up in the leash. He promptly started fighting with it.

“Ugh,” Virgil said flopping on his back on the floor. After a few more moments, he stood up and surveyed the damage. The poor plant was likely unsalvageable, the pot it had been in now broken into three big pieces and a few smaller ones (he’s glad they didn’t roll onto that), and wet dirt was everywhere.

Virgil sighed. “We both have mud all over us now Patton.” He was careful to pitch his voice low. Patton barely even spared him a glance. Instead he just continued to claw at the leash.

Well, Virgil couldn’t just leave him there no matter how much he wanted to after that trauma. He edged carefully around the writhing mass on the floor and grabbed the edge of the leash, quickly untying it from the armchair he’d been attached to. Next came the game of untangling Patton from the leash while said zombie did everything he could to resist Virgil’s efforts.

Eventually, Virgil managed to get him untangled and gave a non-so-gentle tug on the handle. He stumbled forward, made a hissing noise, and tried to pull himself back the other way. Virgil dug in his heels and tugged, whistling a couple of times to get his attention.

It took probably 20 minutes to drag him upstairs to Logan’s bedroom. He tied him to the headboard of the bed. “Stay,” Virgil commanded, uselessly he knew. He dashed into his bedroom and quickly changed into a different outfit before returning.

Patton had sat on the floor while Virgil had been gone. “You got mud all over the rug,” he moaned. Well, that would be a problem for later. First… he ran down to the kitchen where the water supply was and wetted a washrag.

He did his best to wipe the mud off of Patton’s face and arms despite the way he fought back like Virgil was pouring acid onto his skin. “It’s just water, you asshole,” Virgil hissed, throwing down the rag once he’d gotten the worst of it off.

He turned toward the dresser and started rooting through the drawers a bit roughly, trying to find something in them that would be easy to wrestle Patton into. He dug through the clothing, growing more and more frustrated by the moment. He pulled out something that looked promising: a pair of sweats with some university logo on them, but as soon as he held them up, he could tell they were too small for Patton’s waist. He tossed them over his shoulder.

They made a clanking noise when they hit the floor. He paused, blinking over at the pants. There weren’t any buttons or metal on them to make that noise. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed when he reached over to pick them up that they had an unusual weight to them. He dug his hand into the pocket and pulled out an engagement ring.

Oh.

It was easy to forget sometimes that Patton wasn’t in fact some really stupid dog he had to deal with. He’d been a full person once who liked to cook and garden; in fact, the peaches he’d eaten this morning were grown and canned by his hand. He’d kept a closet full of stuffed animals despite being a fully-grown adult, and, by what Logan had said, had no shame about that fact. The truly horrendous 100-pound armchair they tied Patton to in the living room was picked out and somehow dragged into Logan’s home without his knowledge or consent by that man.

Patton had been someone who was loved so much that Logan couldn’t let him go even now, still looked at him with all of that love even now. He was a man who’d bought a ring and made plans for a future that would never come.

All of Virgil’s agitation at Patton drained from him in a moment.

“I…” Virgil said, drawing Patton’s attention to him, though he could never reach him from where he was tied up. “This is a really nice ring Pat. Nice and simple. He would have loved it.” He would have loved anything Patton gave to him. “Would you want him to have it, I wonder.” He looked over at the man, searching for an answer on his vacant face. “I think…” Virgil concluded. “I think that would be cruel, and I think that you didn’t like to do cruel things.” Virgil nodded to himself and carefully placed the ring back into the old sweats’ pocket, folded them up, and put them back where they had been in the drawer.

He much more calmly picked out a pair of pants and a shirt. “Okay Patton,” Virgil said and turned to him. “Let’s get you into something clean.”

Thanks for reading!

Ah and we finally have foreshadowing for the plot. Gee this AU moves slowly...

...

What plot you ask? Well.

Want to read more? The next part of this series is...

There are Things You Have Lost 

[halfway-happyyy]

Autumn Mornings

AN: A sweet lady requested this, and I happily obliged her. Lazy autumn mornings lead to hot autumn morning sex for you and Hop. Happy reading loves!

Word count: 2,183

“Ow, fuck!”

Your eyes fluttered open in the morning to the heart-stopping realization that someone was in your room. They were hunched down low by the window, cursing under their breath. It took you longer than it should have in your sleep-heavy state to realize that it was only Hopper closing the window that he had left open the evening previous. A drizzly seven AM October breeze had very rudely welcomed itself into your room, causing you to shiver violently against the down pillows beneath you. Hopper hobbled back to bed, grumbling under his breath as he did so. You grinned up at him in the low dawn light filtering in through the cracked curtains. “You really have no one to blame but yourself for this, my love.” 

He dropped back into bed, sighing heavily as he yanked the quilted covers up just beneath his bearded chin. “It gets so fucking hot in here at night that I feel I am left with no other choice but to crack the window a little.” He paused for a second before adding, “And I stubbed my goddamn toe on the way!” He had never sounded more like a curmudgeonly old man, but it really did make your heart ache in the best way.

“Are you alright?” You offered sleepily.

Hopper yawned and nodded his head in response. “Once I regain feeling again in that toe, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He glanced over at you and slid his hand up the length of the sheets, interlocking his fingers with yours. “You alright baby girl?”

“I’m fucking freezing, Hop. This is the kind of weather that seeps into your bones and holds on for dear life.” Another involuntary shiver wracked your frame as if to prove your point.

Hopper chuckled heartily and patted the space next to him. “You know they say the best way to warm up is to share body heat?”

“Mm that’s what they say, hey?”

Hopper nodded his head. “’Course there’s no way to know for sure unless we test the theory ourselves.”

He opened his arms wide and you sidled yourself into the enviable warmth of his chest, inhaling deeply the scent that simply was Hopper; cigarette smoke, the subtle tang of a couple of beers from the night before, and cologne. It wasn't long before you felt his cock stir against the small of your back- a usual occurrence when he spooned you. A few minutes passed when you thought he had given in to sleep; his breaths had become deep and measured. But then his large hands began to roam freely along your hips and abdomen as he rutted himself shamelessly against you. You reciprocated his invitation by grinding back against him, grinning at the throaty groan that had erupted from his mouth. “You want this cock baby girl?”

“Yes, please Chief…”

Within seconds he knelt above you and yanked the covers from your body without warning, watching in awe as the frigid air met the sensitive skin of your breasts. You could hear the breath hitch in his throat as he watched goosebumps bloom around your nipples, causing the pink buds to harden under his gaze. "If only you could see what I see hm?" He traced a feather-light fingertip down the outline of your breast to the top of your hipbone and marveled at the way you squirmed breathlessly under his touch. “I haven't even really touched you yet darling, and I know you're soaked for me.” His fingertips danced teasingly at the lace hem of your panties. He inched them down further to the crotch of your panties where he made the discovery that only confirmed what he already knew; you were soaked through. He rubbed you through the flimsy fabric with enough force to have you keening against him, anything for just a little more pressure. He slipped two thick fingers into your folds and bent over the length of your body to take a nipple into his mouth. He rolled his tongue in circles to the rhythm of his fingers inside of you, earning him multiple moans and an upper back full of fresh nail scratches. Every now and then he'd brush the calloused pad of his thumb over your clit causing you to grind shamelessly against his fingers and cry out into the still air before you. Hopper was unbelievably good at taking you so close to the edge you could taste it and then simply stopping; this morning was no different. He pulled his fingers from your wet warmth to wrap a hand around his cock, stroking lazily from shaft to tip. Your own fingers had immediately taken over for where Hop’s had been, and though they weren’t near as long or as thick, you knew how much he appreciated the sight of you getting yourself off for him. Hopper’s hand moved faster along the length of his shaft; you could see a shining bead of pre-come at the reddened head of his cock. You wanted nothing more in that moment to have a taste, the salty liquid much more palatable than the substance that would undoubtedly follow it. “Are you going to make yourself come baby?” The timbre of Hopper’s voice- already normally low, was only that much gruffer under the weight of lust and recent sleep. It made your head dizzy with desire. “Or are you going to ride my face like a good little girl?”

“Fuck Hop,” You pleaded breathlessly at the thought of grinding yourself against his face until you gave in to your orgasm.

“Use your words baby. What would you like? Because you know I’d be all too happy to continue watching you touch yourself.”

You pressed fervent circles into your clit, and as he spoke you could feel the familiar coil of pressure deep in your belly. You weren’t that far off. “I want to ride your face…”

Hopper wordlessly rolled onto his back and rested his head against two propped up pillows. You inched your way slowly up his body; stopping when you were mere inches away from his cock. You closed your eyes and took him into your mouth, reveling in the pleasure that just having him in your mouth brought him. You started slowly at first, swallowing more of him as you inched along. You pulled away and fell onto your haunches, taking him into your hand and stroking hard along his length. The combination of spit and the strength in which you were gripping him, had his eyes shut tight and his fists clenching the sheets beneath you. “That feel good Hop?”

“So fucking good baby…” You lowered your head down again, this time taking him in as far as the back of your throat could handle. “Jesus fuck,” A long, low growl ripped from the base of Hopper’s throat and you gasped around his cock as his fingers found purchase in your hair, holding you to him. You tried your best to take a deep breath, as breathing through your nose was imperative at this point. You began to bob against him, choking slightly as he continued to hit the back of your throat. This, above anything else, was the quickest way to get Hopper coming. He fucked your throat for the next few minutes, hoarse curses and the muffled sound of gagging, the only thing that could be heard between the pair of you. He was starting to get sloppy with his movements and so you tapped the side of his thigh twice, signaling your need to surface for air. Hopper reached a warm hand up to caress the apple of your cheek, smiling blearily up at you. “You take my cock so fucking good baby…”

“Now it’s my turn, Hop.” You shimmied your way up his body and straddled his face, one thigh on either side of him. This was one of your favourite positions; there was a certain power in the notion that you had complete control in this situation, and that the Chief of police’s face was (in this moment) your own personal throne. You gripped the oak headboard above you with a certain voracity only reserved for situations like this. Hopper held tightly to the rounded curves of your ass with one hand, the other stroked lackadaisically down the length of his cock. You set your own rhythm and he was more than happy to keep up with you, groaning periodically against you every time you ground onto him harder. “Fuck, that feels amazing…” You dropped your head to meet his gaze and noticed the way his blue orbs were almost blown over with lust. The wiry bristles of Hopper’s mustache tickled your inner thigh each time you bounced against his face, and that sensation alone was almost enough to get you off. Almost. What really stared to drive you crazy was the infrequent moans Hopper groaned against you from stroking his own cock. The vibrations from that noise alone hit your clit with a vengeance and had you screaming out strings of obscenities. Hopper did it again, and your back arched, hips stilling against his face. “Hop you’re gonna make me come so fucking hard…” It was a breathless warning and one that he was ready for because he certainly didn’t slow down, but simply delved his tongue deeper and rode out the waves of your orgasm with you. Hopper held you to him with both hands even after you had come down from your high, kitten-licking your pussy as you did so. Tremors wracked your body, and a needy whine escaped your lips as he continued to lick you ever so slowly.

When he was satisfied that you had come as hard as you could for him, he patted your ass twice. “I need to feel you baby girl.”

You nodded wordlessly and slid down to where he wanted you, hovering teasingly above him. “You want me here, Hop?”

“Yeah baby, I want you to take that cock again.”

You slowly lowered yourself into his length, gasping at the sensation of him stretching you completely. It was a feeling you don’t think you’d ever tire of; there was something comforting in knowing just how perfectly he fit inside of you. “Fuck, Hop…” You threw your head back and began to ride him at a steady pace, and he matched each thrust with his own, causing an almost electric-like spark to flare somewhere in the depths of your belly again. Whether he used his fingers, or his cock, your g-spot was like a magnet to him that he found almost instantaneously. You could feel yourself yearning again; release was not far off for either of you.

“Such a good girl fucking me the way you are,” He murmured breathlessly. “But I’d like to do some of that now, if you don’t mind.” Begrudgingly, you pulled yourself from him, crawling onto all fours and waiting patiently for him to join you. In seconds he was behind you, pushing himself with minimal effort into your all-encompassing heat, groaning loudly at the new sensations. He wasn’t exactly gentle with you now; you knew that he could tell you weren’t far off and that only helped to spur his own release along. He wound his fingers through your hair and gripped so hard it bordered painful, but then again, Hopper had always had a delicious way of combining pain and pleasure during times like these. He railed into you, each time hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves tucked away, causing you to be a trembling mess beneath him. “You’re going to come for me, again aren’t you?” Hopper’s hand snaked its way between your bodies and found your clit just in time. “Of course, you are… you can’t help it can you baby girl?”

You were beyond the point of forming coherent sentences, so you simply gritted your teeth and nodded your head in silent agreement. He raised a hand and before you knew what was happening, he let it down hard against your ass causing you to moan loudly. Hopper leaned forward and pressed a trail of hot kisses down the length of your spine and let loose another painful slap. That was all it took before you fell apart beneath him, his name a ragged scream lost to the noise around you. “Oh baby…” Hopper stilled his hips against your back and with one last thrust, came in long, powerful waves inside of you. He made no effort to move just yet, simply riding out the waves of a very intense orgasm as long as he possibly could. When he was finished, he pulled himself from you and rolled onto his back, eyes shut and breathing heavily.

You nestled contentedly into him and took his hand in yours. “Hey Hop?”

He cracked an eye open and leaned forward to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. “What is it kid?”

“Could you maybe crack the window a little? It’s hot in here.”

You didn’t think you’d ever tire of the roar of his laugh.

[malgal7777]

Hiking with Tracy 2021:  Put it on the board...YES!

I did it!!!!   Woo-Hoo!  I walked 100 miles - almost in the whole month of April.  Since the last weekend of April was a bit of a snow bust, I had to finish my 100 miles this past weekend 5/1-5/2!  And what a way to finish...

I was feeling defeated last week when I wasn’t able to complete the 100 miles up in Tahoe.  I ended up being 17 miles short!  Can you believe that?  17 miles!! And I have a friend, let’s just call him “Barry” who was going to give me the whole $1000 if I was able to do it.  So I really felt down knowing I had blown it.  Blown all that training and blown it for the Ride4Reason fundraiser.  But “Barry” said hey, finish it up this weekend and you’re still in the running.  So I went back to the drawing board to find another route that would push me over the finish line.  But it was Bob who suggested I hike San Francisco.  AND, if I hiked SF, he would be encouraged to join me.  Bob’s a city slicker.  If he goes too far from being able to purchase a newspaper out of a metal box, he gets hives.  So, we mapped out a 10-12 mile route (I had to go easy on the guy) starting from the Ferry Building and walking the circumference of the SF peninsula to Ocean Beach.  It was FAN-TAS-TIC!  WOW.  Just WOW. 

We started at Justin Herman Plaza and since it was May Day we were hoping to find a rally or march happening.  And in perfect SF fashion, we were not disappointed!  Sure enough a large rally was gearing up to head down Market.  I’m going to assume the march was for workers rights, but it was actually unclear to us what their message was.  Not a good sign for a march/rally!

This first stretch of The Embarcadero was a bit sad.  Covid and the lockdowns have definitely taken their toll.  I know it was early and a weekend, but a lot of these businesses are still shuttered and closed.  And there’s a couple of homeless encampments taking over the street car kiosks.  The homeless.  Sooner or later I have to go there.  I can spout my love for California all I want, but it’s California’s biggest shame.  It’s no longer a skeleton in the closet, it’s all out in the open for all to see.  And I have no answer for it.  It’s always been here, since I’ve been here.  And it definitely has gotten A LOT worse within the past 10 years.  And it’s not just one issue, it’s the perfect storm of multiple issues coming together:  not enough affordable housing;  not enough livable wages; mental instability; drug addiction; nomad living lifestyle - yes that’s a thing.  I don’t think California is doing nothing.  There’s just too many people.  And you can’t just throw them in jail or put them onto a bus to make someone else’s problem - like other regional areas have done, there has to be some compassion and humanity.  But these encampments are not humane.  They are breeding grounds for disease and despair.  What does that say about you as you walk on by?  Trying to ignore the garbage and filth these people are living amongst.  But I have no answer.  I don’t even know where to begin to help these people.  So for the time being, I’m going to continue to stick my head in the sand and hope that California will rise to the challenge and find some solution, sooner rather than later. 

The Embarcadero curves around and leads you to the touristy part of the city...Fisherman’s Wharf.  I personally hate this part of town.  It’s just too much:  too many people; too many lame chain restaurants;  too many cheesy chotchkie stores.  My parents on the other hand love it.  When they come to town all they want to do is come to Pier 39 and Alcatraz.  My dad would live on Alcatraz if he could.  One of these days I just may lock him in one of the cells.  Today though, things were different.  I loved seeing that Alcatraz tours are once again up & running.  AND not a lot of people yet...wink wink wink...for those of you who've tried to go but weren’t able to get a reservation.  It was early, so the area was just coming alive. The street vendors setting up their wares or street performers getting into character. Then there’s the abundance of colors of all the flashy stores and restaurants.  The sounds of the sea lions barking at the tourists watching them.  The marina with the famous “Rocket Boat!”  I was digging it.  Fisherman’s Wharf also has some great views of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge.  It wasn’t so horrible.  Bob showed me Scoma’s restaurant, a tiny seafood restaurant that’s been here for years and is supposed to be pretty darn good.  There’s even a chapel for the local fishermen.  Then of course there’s Musee Mecanique.  A museum of antique slot machines, animations, coin operated pianos and the like.  It’s pretty cool and I believe most of the games are still functioning, so you can play.  Unfortunately it is also closed because of the pandemic.  You can donate to help keep it open though.  Just go to https://museemecanique.com.  

Then we hit Aquatic Park. An interesting cove at the West end of Fisherman’s Wharf.  This is where crazy people swim in the freezing waters of the bay, most without wet suits.  On this cold, windy morning we found a group of children being taught how to acclimate their bodies to the water so they can grow up to be crazy people.  Horrible way to spend a Saturday if you ask me!  

We continued to go around Aquatic Park and up and around to Fort Mason. There’s a great trail that we’ve never taken that gives you an even better view of the GG bridge and Fort Mason below.  And once you get on the other side, you’re in local land of OZ!  Where the curtain is pulled back and the locals are enjoying the real SF.  Now for those tourists who spend their whole time at Fisherman’s Wharf and The Embarcadero, more power to you.  Just don’t say you’ve been to San Francisco.  Because you haven’t.  Once you get over the hump, one of my favorite scenes of SF...the buildings.  Squat, square homes of multiple pastel colors rolling like waves along the hills of San Francisco.  In other areas of the city, the hills are rolling with colorful victorians.  The colors are what I love best about San Francisco.  

It was here that I realized I was hiking with Cher.  We had to make yet another stop so Bob could make a wardrobe change.  It’s also kind of a production with him narrating what he’s doing.  I got to hear all about the ins and outs of why he rolls his flannel rather than fold.  Why he’ll wait to take off the thermal leggings.   Where to put his first UO sticker. Yada, Yada, Yada.  Good thing he’s pretty cute.  As he was changing, we noticed a statue of an older man in a suit but no plaque telling visitors who he is.  I thought he looked like Rodney Dangerfield.  But why would anyone put up a statue of Rodney Dangerfield in SF?  That would be the ultimate “no respect” though, a statue but no plaque.  Ends up it’s a guy named Phil Burton.  He was a US Congressman from California who is responsible for 87,000 acres of the SF Bay Area being designated as a National Park. I was basically ending my hike in a National Park thanks to this man.  He deserves a plaque god damnit!

So once you pass Fort Mason, you are now in the Marina district.  It’s where Cal Berkeley students go after they graduate. They mutate here on the hollowed grounds of Crissy Field.  Like yuppy gremlins. Working out or drinking Philz Coffee.  The homes along Crissy Field are gorgeous. Huge picture windows with a front row seat to the Golden Gate Bridge.  Each one is architecturally different and once again, the colors!  Beautiful. The only downside was the wind.  It was pretty darn windy along this stretch.  But Bob had his windbreaker and I had my knit cap.  I can endure the wind if I have my ears covered. 

It’s a long stretch from Crissy Field to the Presidio.  The old barracks of the Presidio on one side and the entrance of the Bay on the other.  The GG Bridge is the main attraction here.  It’s majestic. Great time to get over there.  Parking was plenty and not a bad way to have a picnic. There’s a climbing gym, a trampoline park and under the bridge is Fort Point.  I have been here before, took my parents.  I was able to slyly divert their attention from the bells and whistles of Fisherman’s Wharf with the chance to view history!  They are suckers for historical buildings.  And Fort Point is a National Historical Site.  It was built during the Civil War in 1861.  It’s been awhile so I don’t remember too many of the details, but definitely worth a visit.  

Now we began our assent to the Jewel of this hike...The Golden Gate Bridge.  It’s a National Icon and San Francisco’s mascot.  As you climb the hill and get closer to the bridge there are a bunch of tunnels and “hide outs” along the way.  Remnants of the military presence that once dominated San Francisco.  But the absolutely coolest thing about this hike was I had NO IDEA you can actually walk underneath the bridge itself...like right below the huge steel red frame!!  It’s literally a wind tunnel, so hold onto your hat!  But super duper cool!!  If you have any engineers or construction people in your circle, this would be a great spot to bring them.  

As you continue around the bend, you come to Baker’s Beach.  Not sure if it’s still a nude beach, but it used to be.  The unfortunate thing about nude beaches is the people who SHOULDN’T be nude are the first ones to get into their birthday suit. But that’s my problem, not theirs!  Some nice trails along this stretch, but nothing too exciting to report.

We soon came upon the neighborhood Sea Cliff.  Now this is where the really rich people live.  Like Robin Williams had a home here;  Nancy Pelosi I think lives here.  Mansions with a view of the Pacific.  Bob & I had to walk through right?  I am happy to report the other half live very well.  I stopped to smell the roses (literally) but I noticed that all the gardens actually smelled horrible.  The fertilizer was strong here.  Bob & I laughed that that was how they kept the riff-raff away, by surrounding their homes with a shit moat.  Worked for us!  We high tailed it out of there.  

Now we came to our last stretch...Land’s End.  A labyrinth of trails along the coastal edge.  We needed to stop for another wardrobe change.  This time his leggings were going back on.  Which meant he needed to get down to his underwear.  Let’s just say a whole group of people got a little more than they were expecting that day!

Finally we made it to Sutro Baths and the Cliff House!  Fantastic!  Unfortunately the Cliff House closed due to the pandemic and is not reopening.  I cannot imagine this space will be closed for long.  Fingers crossed.  We decided to head down to Ocean Beach and end our hike by having lunch at the Park Chalet.  We were both famished and Bob was getting cranky.  Needed to feed him STAT.  I have more to report here but Bob might get mad at me, so if you see him again, just ask him about our new friend Franklin!  

BTW, Sunday I did my final 4-5 miles back at my MacArthur Trail.  I brought Stella this time and she loved it.  It was as fabulous as ever!

I’m still going to hike y’all and write about it.  So check in to see where I go next.  I enjoyed writing my thoughts and feelings down.  Even if nobody reads it, it’s my journal to this wonderful life I’ve been blessed with.  Why not tell the world!

Thank You to all who have donated to the Ride4Reason fundraiser and have endured reading these ramblings.  But, That’s All Folks!  (for now).  xoxox

[haleruby]

Forget Me Not

Characters/Pairings: established Malia/Lydia/Reader (Quim), Malia, Lydia, Scott, Stiles, lots of snow, and I never say it but the literal yeti. 

Summary: Amnesia makes the mind go brrr, but in a bad way...brr (sad). [This not being a published imagine for my followers means I can mess with the summary and other info as much as I want. XD]

Word Count: 5.9k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes (hopefully and technically the gif maker’s...thank you @ gifmaker for the gif), so no need to reblog/like, etc.

Hope you enjoy and it gives you a boost for dealing with your aunt. :-)

I wrote this around October 11th 2019, so apologies about the style not being quite as fluid as my other writing. My other stuff is a bit more recent, if you maybe wanna read it. Most of my teen wolf phase was around here and then it re-sparked in 2020 towards the fall so I added a tiny bit to that one story I told you about with the warnings. 

Also, apologies for the ending, lol. >.>

- - - - -

She is cold... So cold. It feels like a slab of ice is being used for a bed; her back aches all the way down to the individual vertebrae that compose her spine. Pain is slowly causing her other senses to return, enlivening them in cruel way so feeling anything means to hurt to some degree. A whooshing sound makes it hard to think, it rips across her mind dashing the thoughts that slowly trickle in through the haze and the ache. What happened...? Whipping wind continues to bear down on wherever here is. There is hardness under her, so she is probably on the ground and outside based on the frigid temperature. Moving an arm to check the hypothesis causes pain to lance through her shoulder so sharply a feeling of vertigo sets in. The firm ground suddenly tilts slightly. The leverage is increased almost mockingly, it edges up bit by bit like she is about to be slid off a cold metal tray to join the next batch of suffering. A choked whimper leaves her at the odd sensation of slipping. Just before the final plummet, she snaps back into herself viciously. Jolting does nothing good for her body, but now her eyes snap open with a slight burn as if they were sealed shut previously with chilled glue...At least she thinks they are open. Blinking confirms that her eyelids still function, which is good because she is trying not to think about how her arms and legs are not, though she can still mostly feel them. Everything is white. A flurry of white is all she sees after staring long enough to detect movement in what was thought to be a static image. Snow from what may be an impending blizzard continues to beat down on the surroundings, coating them in freezing rain, smatterings of hail, and ice. Why isn't she buried yet...? How long has she been here? A large conglomerate of flurries landing on her cheek causes her to wince, because it will not melt for a time, but the question remains. The left side of her face is stinging brutally, while the rest of her exposed skin only feels like a wind chap is starting to set in. Frowning makes it seem like there is something frozen to her skin; the downward curl is not reaching the left corner of her lips as if they are stuck. Is there something on her face? Staring blankly at the sky is not helping any of this make sense. Turning her head a miniscule amount causes her to feel sick, so she stops, trying to breathe evenly although the slight shaking is making it difficult. Being still is not an option, but the jolts of pain makes her wish it was. Evergreen trees were glimpsed in her peripheral vision; they looked towering and dark, not all fit for a happy Christmas. Woods plus winter with injuries does not sound good. Why is she even here? Working up the will power to try and get up is not something she has even entertained, since moving a single appendage hurt way too much. The snow fall is becoming less like the interior of a cheap snow globe and more like sheets of rain are freezing and then coating the forest solidly. Her right arm is no longer visible. Maybe getting under a tree would provide some protective covering? Don't get up, just shuffle. She can do that. Her feet ache in a disconcerting way like they fell half asleep. Digging her heels into whatever frozen packed dirt or snow is under her takes a few minutes, but little divets were clumsily formed. Now, she just has to leverage it. Her left arm is tucked close after what happened when she moved it. Shakily drawing her legs up again allows her to try and push back slowly, more so scrambling a few inches than moving back with purpose. Sliding against snow should be easy. The rocks and sticks that litter the ground seem to dig into her when she attempts the awkward dragging motion that causes a pull of tension across her body.

It hurts. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she mumbles hoarsely. Anger at not knowing why, where, or what lead to this prompts the pain signals to be ignored, instead she attempts to continue the mutilated crab walk back. Powdery snow sticks to the black of her pants with less finding purchase on the plastic shell of the navy jacket. A bit of red is spotted in the snow, but checking for the source of bleeding is secondary to getting away from the flurries. A trail of blood spottily forms from where she started to where she has hauled herself to. She is practically panting, which causes the cold air to stab her lungs like multiple knifes each time a ragged breath is drawn in. Her movements become out of sync, bordering on frantic. Less than a few meters of progress has been made... A foot digging in is mistimed with the curl of her back and placement of her arm, so that the stretch wracks through her painfully. A gasp muffles the cry of pain. She ends up off balance, crashing to her side heavily. Snow forces her to reflexively turn her head slightly to the side, but she still feels it burning in a way only ice can against her cheek. Throbbing stemming from her left temple encapsulates her head in a vice and is likely what makes the white dance with undulating blots of black for a while until her vision slowly clears back up. She could just rest and then try again. Maybe she should just close her eyes... Lean back and try to conserve warmth until the effort to move again seems possible. A cat nap could work? She tried and is tired; it's deserved. A sudden shrill howl barely stirs her, but a primal part of her mind urges her to become slightly more alert. That kind of sound belongs to a predator. Laying semi-buried in the snow with the inability to move may as well be an open invitation for dinner to whatever can survive the harsh conditions of the forest; it is probably a wolf or something canine. The tree line is watched between too slow blinks for whatever just made that noise. Nothing happens... She didn't imagine it. The cold has penetrated her gloves, it has penetrated her to the very center of her being, but fingers weakly search for something of use. A large rock? A stick? A phone? A conveniently placed gun? There is nothing she can use for defense, so her right arm stops extending outwards from her side to come to rest with her useless left one. Guarding her vital organs may at least help a little... Another howl sounds, but this one sounds deeper and echoes across the space; it sounds low, haunting, and mournful. There is more than one... They could play tug-a-war with her.  She can barely make it to a tree for makeshift shelter, so climbing one to impede them locating her is also a 'no'. No weapon or means to deter the animal was magically found in the snow. The state she is in is yet another limitation, because she could not fend one off in perfect health either. ...What does she do?  A short yip sounds like an announcement that her time to wrack her weary mind for a solution has trickled away. The source of the sound is located immediately as a small wolf with large, rounded ears makes a bee line for her. She vaguely thought it would have white fur or maybe a light gray, but a tawny brown sticks out against the snowy surroundings and looks distinctly out of place; it should be in a rich pine forest with browns and greens. Mentally critiquing the animal is not what she should be doing. Fear laced adrenaline causes her to clench her right fist tightly as she attempts to shift upwards to appear less prone—less weak. Gathering snow in her palm is so she has something to throw, even if a snow ball is a poor choice against a predator. The animal skids to a stop a little ways away, raising its head towards the sky to scent the air. Is it smelling her blood and judging that she is easy prey?

Teeth grit at the thought, because she has no idea about wolves or whatever dog thing this is. Could noise scare it away or only incite it further? How do you deter a canine? Looking it in the eye may be taken as a challenge or as a warning, but she still stares into its' eyes sharply, trying to project an intimidating aura as she narrows her own. The little quakes racking her paired with the fact she is on her back does not make her cut an imposing figure. A slow step forward is taken as the small wolf lowers its body more to the ground; it must be savoring how easy a kill this will be. Her arm draws back in warning. Will the wolf call her bluff and edge closer? "Go away," she seethes, knowing that saying something to it is a lost cause, but it is eyeing her oddly for an animal, almost thoughtfully. Lunging for her throat or springing forward to pounce should have occurred by now. Why isn't it attacking? Ears fall back, almost dropping at the tone, rather than being pressed flat against the skull in anger. Another step forward is taken and then another, until the wolf is close enough that she thinks she can hit it...The snowball is poorly compacted and falls apart, but some of it lands on its fur, which causes the wolf to shake its head at the action, giving a disgruntled chuff at the coldness.  ...Did she expect that to go any better in her head? No. But it was her only real projectile. The wolf does something unexpected, it sits down like a dog and stares at her with those too human eyes. The forest in summer again comes to mind; a rich hazel that borders on brown like wood bark aside from the lightness around the iris is trained on her. She glares right back. Maybe its not a wolf, because it looks small and lean with a body that seems more agile than powerful. A long snout reminds her of a fox, and those ears that are still down are not really that wolf like either, too floppy... Maybe it's a special breed to this area or something else, not that it matters when it definitely has vicious claws, sharp teeth, and she can't get away. A decision must have been made as it creeps closer with tentative footfalls that barely displace the snow. Her arm is pinwheeled to kick up the remaining snow at her side at it in a last ditch effort for distance, but it keeps coming closer heedless of the weak icy barrage. The coolness likely does not seep through its thick fur. "Stop! Please, just go back!" She raises her voice sharply, distilling a hardness to her tone that causes the near hyperventilating quality of her breathing to abate for a moment as she tries to issue a command to a wild animal. Surprisingly, the wolf does halt its progress, but what it does next has her trying to get away as if the promise of being eaten was only a slight offense. Hazel just flashed a brilliant, glowing electric blue that seemed to pierce through her. Its an unnatural wolf thing. There may be worse things than death. Scrambling away using both hands and legs was a mistake, one that was made more than once as she groans. Her jaw locks like a steel trap as she continues, now on her stomach rather than side to crawl away. Tears feel momentarily warm against her frozen cheeks, before causing the burning to redouble from the wind. Everything hurts. She claws desperately at the snow, trying to get away, because there is no explanation for what she just saw or how odd the creature is in general. Her vision seems to be becoming the view used for wide screen movies; darkness creeps around the edges. She is struggling to make sense of things other than the need to move away, because that creature goes against the natural order.

Its too intelligent, it knows too much. Those eyes. It won't just kill her... Something grabs a fistful of her jacket, tugging backwards to prevent the flagging forward motion. It must have a mouthful of her jacket. She kicks out. Her legs feel like lead weights that she only has a minor degree of control over and no contact was made with a furry body, instead only the inevitable collision back with the hard ground occurs. The additional jolt is nothing compared to the rest of the pain that is maddening at this point, because the adrenaline rush is failing at dampening it. Her actions are catching up with her. An angry sob leaves her when she inelegantly falls face first in the snow. Her arms are shaking and she can't support herself anymore while also resisting the wolf. The grip on her jacket is suddenly replaced by a clamping sensation on her shoulder. There is no tearing or teeth burrowing. What feels like fingers squeeze her shoulder, until another hand is placed flatly on her back. What the Hell? What. The. Fuck. Being turned over slowly causes her to whimper; her eyes screw shut because nothing makes sense and she hates it all. Fighting has gotten her nowhere. Something warm settles on her cheek, and she should look to see what is going on, but she is too cold and tired to care. The whipping wind gains an additional sound, though she can't process what it is except that is softer and more pleasing to the ear. A voice? No, that isn't possible. The falling sensation comes again; this time she does not try and stay upright or grounded against it, allowing herself to go along with it. She gives up. . . . . . . "-the blizzard is only increasing; it took out the power lines. We can't go out in that." "You can't, but I can." A dull bang sounds like someone hit something wooden with their fist. "We can't!" This is half shouted in clear exasperation that may be hiding anger. "Losing anyone else isn't an option, ok? I want to know where he is too, but you can't see, smell, or even hear when it's this bad out, and we don't know what is out there that did that to her. You're not thinking it through, Scott." "He's a part of the pack." Listening to the argument unfolding any further is prevented when warm fingers graze her neck. She stops playing possum. Her eyes snap open to meet startled green ones that reminds her of emerald gemstones. A strawberry blonde girl is sitting on the burgundy upholstered couch she lays on, and may just be checking her pulse, but her right hand wraps tightly around her wrist just in case the action is not so innocent. Only a cursory glance is given to the surroundings, since she feels on edge. Where is she? A ski lodge... Thick wooden logs make up the walls, though it is hard to tell how large the space is when only candle light provides light. She does spot the underside of the A-line architectural support that is made of exposed beams. A few mounted deer heads leer at her with glassy black eyes. One wall boasts a large crackling stone fire place that has ancient crossed ski poles above it as a decoration; this is the main source of warmth and brightens the large 'U' of couches that could fit a dozen or more comfortably. This must be a lobby, not a home, based on the few informational areas and posters she saw. Was she out skiing? Returning her attention to the girl has her pausing, because she is being watched so closely, but there may be fear to that gaze too. Pale skin seems to lack much color, even though the fire is casting warmth on both of them and making the red to her hair more vibrant. Her grip is not that tight, and she was touched first, so why is she being looked at like that? Releasing the hold after moving those probing fingers away occurs; she did not mean to frighten her... "She's up! Thank God." The sudden announcement breaks the silent stare off. A guy with spiked brown hair dashes over to the couch alongside a taller guy with black hair that is somewhat obscured by a beanie. These were the two who were arguing. She simply observes them, unwilling to be the first one to speak, because she has no clue how she got here and would rather not be at a deficit by admitting that. Letting them do the informing is a smart move. "We set your arm back in place, but you may need surgery for the cuff," Stiles explains, coming to kneel beside the couch. Soft brown eyes sweep over her form that has less snow and blood caked on it; however, he is still worried about the injuries, especially when they only have a small first aid kit and makeshift sling on hand. "We bandaged what we could. Also, you will probably need a CT scan because your head has a crack in it like Humpty Dumpty. We will figure it all out, Quimmie." He seems pretty caring, so she nods stiltedly in agreement for him to continue speaking. The taller one, who must be Scott, draws closer, fiddling with a walkie talkie in his hand, before sighing. She waits for him to muster up the will to speak. "I know you're hurting, and I'm sorry, but where is Liam?" Once one question is asked it seems that it breaks the dam so a deluge of them come forward as his dark brown eyes narrow at the faint popping of static that comes from the device. There has not been a check-in in a while. "What happened to your team? Was it the ridge that you investigated or did it come after you on a trail? Were the hikers right, and it's just a crazed wolf or something else?" "You can't ask her all that at once." "Stiles, the temperature is dropping further and he is still out in it." "Yeah, and she just woke up, Scott. So back off." A hand finding her own diverts her focus from another brewing argument between the two. Fingers interlace with her own one at a time with a gentleness that confuses her after how hard everything else has been, so she doesn't immediately resist it. A pinky edges over the row of her digits until her hand is covered and then a hold is formed that she does not return. The question must be evident on her features, because a sad smile of understanding is given; it looks like the girl is trying not to crumble, which she accomplishes, but the underlying cracks are still there for all to see. What did she do to be looked at like that?   "Malia is right..." Stiles practically rounds on both of them, knocking his knees against the edge of the couch at the softly spoken statement. "No, Lyds," he disagrees immediately, before locking eyes with impassive (Y/E/C) that watch him, but do not really take him in or express much emotion. He thought it was from the pain and shock, not because... "What is my name?" "Stiles," she answers correctly, because it was spoken already.

"Scott said it earlier," Lydia points it out calmly.  Stiles runs a hand down his face, not wanting to test the theory that Malia suggested because of what it could mean, but he also knows he needs to. There is a reason the werecoyote is listening from behind the couch and not present with the rest. The earlier fear towards her cut her to the bone. Explaining it away as confusion or discombobulation did not convince Malia, who he tries to not glance directly at, even though he can see the glowing blue to her eyes, because this is upsetting to her. He balls his hands into fists; it can't be that. "What school do we all go to?" She says nothing, but wishes the couch cushions would absorb her into it. "What does our dad do for a living?" He asks it more sharply at the silence that seems to say more than any answer could. No, no, no. A hand is placed on the edge of the couch to keep balance as he sinks to his knees, rather than kneel; he meets her eyes squarely. "Come on, try and answer."   Her brows furrow at this, because she does not look particularly like him for them to be blood related. His features are mentally compared to what she intuitively knows to be her appearance. The skepticism is not voiced.  Being stared in outright disbelief by Stiles makes it clear that anything she could say about the situation would make it worse. "What is your name? Where are we from? What is the year? Who is she-" A hand gestures quickly to Lydia, though he quickly unfolds his fingers so he is not rudely pointing at her, but his palm shakes, "-to you? Malia, come over here and-" "Stiles." Lydia's voice holds a firm warning as she places a hand on his shoulder, pushing him slightly away from the couch edge before he looms closer. She scoots to be blocking his stare that practically tears into them with its desperate edge. He probably does not even realize he was raising his voice, almost shouting out each question so it warped into a demand. "Don't push her; it's not her fault." "She isn't saying anything!" Stiles counters. "It wouldn't be what you all want to hear..." That causes the pack to grow quiet for a moment as they each consider the matter of fact statement. "So, what? You were just going to go along with it?" Scott asks, confused. The realization that they have no idea what they are facing or how Liam is doing also weighs on him in addition to how this amnesia will affect the pack. Did they just lose two friends tonight? He sits down heavily on the coffee table, shooting Malia a sympathetic look to try and silently communicate she needs to dim down. "There are five of you and one of me, not great odds, so-" "We aren't going to hurt you." The vehement interjection causes her to reword the point, though green eyes practically blaze as they meet her own; any of that fear has burned away, replaced with conviction. "I don't know anything about anything," she admits softly, glancing at the red and black plaid blanket draped over her legs to cope with so many people staring at her. Her head still aches and this is tiring. "Waiting to see what you had to say was the logical thing to do. I don't know your intentions, but I wasn't going to lie to you. Thanks for helping me out of the snow..." "That was Malia," Scott supplies automatically. She has the feeling that none of the ones in the seating area is this Malia person, so a nod is given. Stiles rises from the stone floor, trying to figure out how to fix the situation. This is no broken bone that can be set or a cut that needs to be stitched up; her memories are not murky or mixed up, but are completely gone. "Can you please tell us what you do remember?" "Why?"

"So we can help you and our other friend." Scott answers honestly, before Stiles losses the bit of composure he just re-gained. He is in older, adopted brother mode and is obviously upset. "We can answer your questions too." "I didn't say I had any..." "You don't know anything, so you should. Unless being amnesiac is how you want to reinvent yourself before senior year." Stiles snipes, but backs off when his best friend gives him a warning look that does not compare to the one he will get from Lydia and Malia, if he keeps pressing it. He is mad at what happened not her...But she is not acting like his adopted sister, who has been with him for years, but someone else entirely. Fingers pull at the worn tassels of the blanket for a moment as she considers the alternatives, turning them over in her head given how tense things are and her own deficit. They did help her, so being difficult is not her goal. She can't shake that there is something not quite right about them, especially Scott, it makes her feel on guard like there is a potentially hidden deadliness. Why are they in an empty ski lodge? The owners should be present or at least the other customers. She is mostly laying down aside from a pillow that elevates her back, sitting upright would put them more on equal terms, but the pain that will come with moving is considered. "Okay, one quick question: why are you all here alone? This place does not seem to be in operation, so did you break in...?" Scott shares a look with Stiles. Telling the full truth would only work with someone acquainted with the supernatural and all of that must have been wiped away too. He runs his hands down his thighs to stall. "We got, er, permission to come up. There's an unsolved mystery that we are trying to crack. The resort is temporarily closed down, because of it and the blizzard..." He trails off, trying to balance the truth with the lies. "We are trying to help." "You do seem the helpful type," she observes dubiously, before crossing her right arm carefully with her sling encased left. The position helps her feel a bit more distant from their prying eyes; it feels like they are judging her, though that makes sense when she is expected to actually be someone, not a blank slate. She turns her attention to the fire. "I don't know a Liam. I don't know why we were on a team or what our objective was. All I remember is snow: white, cold, burning snow. I was on the ground trying to get up, but failed because everything ached. I actually felt like I was falling..." She presses her lips together, mulling over what else can be said. Those glowing, unnaturally blue eyes come to mind so vividly, it feels like she is staring at the creature again. They probably already think she is crazy enough without mentioning it. "There was a wolf, or maybe it wasn't a wolf, that kept coming towards me. I assumed it would maul me, but it didn't...I'm not sure how it was going to kill me, it seemed too patient and smart, not really like a typical animal. I freaked out and tried to crawl away when it got too close, which made all the pain a lot worse. I fainted. I'm assuming Malia scared it off or dealt with it, because I think I would remember it biting into me...Then I woke up here." Lydia wants to reach out to her, but prevents the urge with how previous attempts were received. She can tell that she is still struggling with the pain on top of everything else; however, the far off look in her eyes must mean something is not being voiced. They still have not shared her name...

"Okay, so everything before the snow is blank?" Stiles confirms, getting a curt nod in response that makes him want to throw something into the flames of the fireplace. This is not how the weekend's mission was meant to go. He is pacing in front of the hearth, chewing on the cap end of a pen as he thinks about where to go from here. She was also their only lead with Liam and the creature. How will his dad react? He's older--the older sibling, and feels responsible for her, and now she's a very familiar stranger..."You're sure that's it? So like an hour or so comprises your entire, new existence?" "Yes, Stiles." He ignores the slight irritation to her tone, because he is busy thinking. "Maybe we can jog her memory?" This is posed to the pack, like his sister is another murder case or mystery that he can add to his pin and red string laden board to puzzle out the connections and causes. He can solve this. "We should wait until my mom sees her and the doctors run legit tests. There may be rules on how to deal with head trauma patients," Scott disagrees gently. "Maybe the head trauma is not the cause...It could be something else?" "She is still healing and we don't know how bad everything is." Scott sees the way Stiles crosses his arm abruptly at the disagreement, annoyed. "I want to help her. We need to find Liam too." "The answer could lie with her if we just try and remind her who she is!" "That could make it worse." Lydia is unsure who she sides with between the two guys, but knows talking about the one in question like she is not present in the room is almost always a bad idea. Malia getting up from the wooden chair that was pulled from behind the receptionist's to rest behind the couch is mostly ignored. Supple leather comprises her winter boots that only make a faint clack against the wood floor. She moves purposefully, ignoring Lydia's questioning look as she rounds the couch and stands in front of it to peer down at its occupant. The lack of recognition causes her to feel a deep ache in her heart, while the early fear left a ragged wound behind. Taking a knee, she tilts her head slightly as she watches (Y/E/C) eyes look her over cautiously, rather than softly, because the one in front of her does not know her. "Uhm, thank you for saving me?" Malia ignores the tentative gratitude. "Malia, I-" Scott's concerned warning is stopped short when Stiles holds up a hand, silently asking for him to let whatever is about to happen unfold. He locks his jaw, knowing how affected his beta was when she arrived back at the lodge. She was practically incoherent in describing what happened, instead whimpering and growling when anyone got too close to the two and unwilling to let go of the one bundled up in her arms. She was more coyote than human... Scott slides to the very edge of the coffee table to intervene, if needed, as a precaution. She looks kind of angry...Hazel eyes are not nearly as searching as the green ones that were first on her, rather they seem to be invasively prying without hesitation. The shoulder length cut to her brown locks frames her face nicely, which makes her gaze that much harder to look away from. Being stared at like some sort of freak show is grating on her patience, so she eventually manages to glance away to look back at the fire, though her view is soon occupied by Malia shifting closer with a challenging look. A lightly tanned hand rests on the back of the couch, effectively caging her in. "If you have something to say, then please go ahead," she requests calmly. "How could you forget about me?"

"It wasn't a choice." "Then why aren't you remembering?" Malia almost snaps out the question. A scoff almost leaves her at the presumption, because this girl is really blaming her...Are they all placing the fault on her alone? Maybe the inkling that something is not right with some of them is because they are actually a threat; the lodge is becoming more inhospitable by the second.  "I can't. It's not like I'm repressing it," she replies sternly. "I don't know my own name, so it's definitely not personal. Get over yourself." "Quim. That is your name" Lydia offers, trying to mediate between the two, though she knows this is hard for Malia. It is hard for her too, but someone has to be on Quim's side as a source of support. "Oh, okay..." Fingers burrow deeply into the upholstery of the couch, nails threaten to extend and rip out the plush stuffing. Her coyote aspect howls in her mind. Malia grits her teeth against the hurt those words just stirred, trying to let anger mask it because she would have never thought this would happen to them. This is not how it should be. Relying on instinct, she surges forward, placing a hand firmly over Quim's heart to pin her in place as she joins their lips without asking for permission. She is her's, so she should not have to. The kiss is forceful, demanding and not at all how a kiss should be...It is also one sided. She is doing all the action, while her partner is frozen and unresponsive, though that stasis eventually breaks for Quim to turn her head away abruptly, before a hand is against her shoulder, pushing away. Trying to move away from Malia causes a sharp pull in her back that earns a wince. Fucking oww. "What the hell are you doing?!" "I was trying to jog your memory!" Malia counters. "You can't just kiss people!" "We've done way more than kiss, Quim!" That causes the indignation to leave her in a rush, making the anger feel unwieldy and too large for her to handle. She retracts her hand from Malia, re-crossing her arms as best she can to serve as a barrier between the two of them. Now, she is more confused. "What...?" "Maybe now isn't the time for this..." Scott attempts to reason with his beta. "Mal-" "My soulmate forgot me!" "Not on purpose." Lydia pipes up, earning a huff from the werecoyote, but at least she is listening to her. She links their hands to try and pull Malia away from the couch edge. "We need to be patient." "How are you handling this well? She forgot you too--both of us!" "Not. By. Choice." "I have two girlfriends...?" Stiles runs a hand down his face at the turn in conversation; this is not going to fix her memory, but of course that is what his sister takes away from the conversation. "Yes," he answers at the perplexed expression, rolling up his shirt sleeve to show his blank wrist. "Soul identifying marks. Ring any bells? No, well, you have two of them, so you have two soulmates, even though it is rare to have even one. Lucky you."  Oh... Green and hazel eyes no longer meet in a silent, tense stare off, settling back on the occupant of the couch. Quim falls silent under their attention, unsure what could be said when forgetting your literal fated other halves.