#i went to get new glasses the other day but it was a failure because i forgot everything. forgot my prescription most notably

[coquelicoq]

i fucking love prereading. getting documents about what's going to be discussed in a meeting and reading them and then going to the meeting and having context for all the things that are happening. if i could do this in all areas of life i would. send me a list of the words i'm going to need the definition of in order to understand what you will be talking about. give me a rundown of what topics might come up during this social encounter. provide detailed documentation of what to expect in a new setting. i will read the fuck out of that shit.

[awfuckitssunshine]

Why is everyone forgetting the Glass Legend had to have been a Master to become a Champion??

Contextually, there was the propaganda of levelling up no one BUT Evbo had been able to

So Glass had to have been a Master, had to have been BORN a Master

So why was he the easiest for Evbo to defeat? Why was he significantly worse at parkour than everyone else? Why was he only a Champion for 2 hours?

(listen to my bullshit below)

"That guy went before me? Be was only champion for 2 hours before I beat him" - Crystal Legend (paraphrased)

Crystal specifically says he beat Glass 2 hours after Glass became a Champion, this means that both had to have been masters at the same time

Now, could it be a thing of they both challenged the champion the same day but Glass got there earlier? Maybe. Maybe that's the most likely option

But I'm not here to give up at the most likely option

My theory is that Glass and Crystal were friends. Maybe even best friends.

We've seen that the Master caste system is less about surviving and more about reputation so, in this hypothetical world where you're only as cool as you show yourself to be in front of others, allies must be scare and friends even scarer

So, hypothetically, Glass and Crystal are best friends who train together, practice together, show up every day to get better and better at parkour in general and their specialties; each other being the only person who has seen them fail

However, since most Masters were shown to have wide levels of confidence and egoism, Crystal thought he was better than Glass Maybe even better than the champion

But why would Crystal risk his fabulous life to potentially die because of a parkour champion who ranked just under God

He wouldn't

Until Glass defeated the Champion.

Now, despite all the class induced self-absorbent nature, Crystal wouldn't want to just... defeat his best friend, right?

Maybe

But, if Crystal thinks he's better than Glass at Parkour, then someone else could be better, and that someone else wouldn't care what happens to Glass

And everyone except the noobs knows the Champions controls what happens

So, maybe, Crystal thought that if he defeated Glass as the better parkour master, then he could prevent Glass from dying and also being defeated by someone else

Two hours later, Crystal challenges Glass

And is getting his ass kicked

Because while Crystal was better at technical parkour, Glass was better with his specialty and continuously made more and more difficult parkour using glass that Crystal did not have much of

Crystal starts losing, starts running out of blocks, out of ideas, out of time.

And Glass knows this...

Glass was suppose to win.

....but he didn't.

He chose not to.

Glass was raised in an environment where its yourself first, its your reputation first, but he was fighting his best friend... the only person who has ever seen him fail, the only person who didn't leave him, didn't mock him for all these failures

Glass didn't want his best friend to die. He didn't want to be so selfish of a title he'd have to fight for--kill for--because he was so selfish to let his friend lose.

So Glass purposely fails. Over and over again until, finally, he slipped off.

Glass had lost.

Crystal was the new champion. And he felt so guilty for it "but why would crystal be so mean?"

Because, as Ice explained, the people Evbo were battling were only remnants of the real Legends, who all died long ago

Of course Glass, who was only champion for 2 hours, would be significantly worse at parkour in his remnant state He failed on purpose to protect his friend

Of course Crystal, who survived, would be cruel to Glass; Masters were shaped to be cruel, and this grief might've been corrupted to something akin to sarcasm, hatred, just... unable to remember anything but his victory over a failure of a champion

Because legends are word of mouth stories; they don't capture everything that was said and done.

And why would you be honest you've only gotten your title because someone took pity on you.

In conclusion; the inherit oppressive nature of the Masters class and reputation caused a rift between two best friends, and now their remnants are lost to this friendship because their legends were written with only half the truth.

[mynameisjag]

Quick Prompt: Wanting What Someone Else Has.

Scott finds out about the new Logan, Wade doesn't care about Scott's problems. Logan isn't even aware.

Wade stared at Scott.

Scott stared at Wade.

At least the mercenary assumed he was, kind of hard to tell, you know…with the glasses…

He’d give him a point for managing to get the drop on him though, showed up late enough not to be any help, early enough were they hadn’t left the mark's disgustingly beige mansion.

It looked better with the splashes of red everywhere.

Even the boring ass, uncomfortable lounges that they were sitting on, looked better with the splatter.

Cyclops was sitting on the less messy one, so maybe he didn’t agree or he just choose that one because then they could just sit and stare at each other face to face.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Better question, how are you alive? This better not be some multiverse MCU bullshit.”

Logan was probably eating his fill in the kitchen, the owners pervert party was catered and why leave and get underwhelming fast food when there was free rich fucks food that was going to go to waste anyway.

Lo had talked about his…hunting trips…sometimes, always on the move, always going from target to target, that at one point it was just sensible to eat what was there, rest, take what was need and move on. Considering how most of the fucks he went after were people of high importance, government jobs or just rich assholes, their was always alcohol, fancy foods, and wallets that no one noticed was gone till it was too late.

So this current hit was just another day for the feral.

Scott’s Logan was more man then his, could easily be mistaken for just another human without powers.

Wade’s though, his had lost himself to the calling of his inner animal and became it as he hunted those that had hurt his family. Body changing to its new needs, becoming the human predator he needed to be.

Logan hated it, hated what his body became, his behavior, his instincts, everything that changed, he hated it all. He spent so long trying to fit the profile others had tried to shove him into that losing himself to what was himself was a failure in his eyes. A shameful failure.

It wasn’t true of course and they were working on that, both supporting each other because they both were so fucked up but at least they were fucked up together.

Wade talked to the air and the millions of eyes that watched them, Logan would snarl and make more animal sounds then use his voice at times.

The merc highly doubted the X-men, at least this version, were going to be able to handle his Wolverine.

“There’s no dog for you to collar here, laser pointer, so why don’t you make your way back to whoever else has found the well of life in that mansion and fuck off.”

Seemed like he might have hit a nerve as that frown somehow got deeper, “I’m here for my friend.”

“You’re a good couple of states away from your Wolverine’s grave, can get you an Uber there if your that directionally challenged.”

“We know he is here, with you-“

“-Nope! Again, you have eye issues not hearing, your-hear that strain on that-your Logan is dead.” Deadpool reached forward to grab a drink he had set on the end table earlier before getting interrupted, “speaking of dead, you still haven’t answered how you’re still kicking around.”

“Your life isn’t the only one that involves time travels.”

“Oh, good, just the normal X-men bullshit then, should we be expecting the other Logan then?”

“No…he is still…gone…his body, or what we can find of it, is now resting back at the mansion…not all of us are back.”

“Oooh, I probably should have put that puzzle back together before jumping…everyone is still on the fence on whether or not old Wolves would have gotten a kick out of me playing Ninja Warrior with his tibias?”

“And what does that mean?”

“Ignore it and my little chats with the “gremlins” as Honey Bunny puts it, now, I’m going to guess you thought if you couldn’t have one, you figured you could take mine? Did Daddy Professor not drill in manners in all of that training, it’s rude to take other people’s stuff.”

“He isn’t your ‘stuff’, you don’t know how to handle him.”

At that precise moment, Logan ran past in the background, on all fours and a chunk of meat in his mouth, the merc was glad that Cyclops couldn’t follow his line of sight because of the mask. Cause all the red head had to do was slightly turn his head and he would see the man he was searching for bounding upstairs like an overly excited puppy with a new toy.

Either the man found fresh grade A steak or he had decided that some one smelled delicious and took a chuck. 50 50 chance on either option really and at least the blood was everywhere here instead of back in the apartment.

Al was less likely to complain when she didn’t slip and slide through puddles of blood.

“Handle him? Scottie too Hottie!”, at this point he lifts his mask enough to sip at the drink in his hand, grimacing at the flavor, how did they make fruit soda taste bad, “ugh, high society tastes are awful,” he wiggles the can at the other man, “want it?”

“No.”

“Don’t blame you, I can how ever blame you for thinking that for some shit reason that Lobunny, wait fuck that’s a Pokémon, Lo Bun Bun, is unable to think for himself and that I somehow can stop him from going wherever he wants to go.”

“He hasn’t came home, yet, if he was able to go-“

“That place isn’t his home, you are not his X-men, he is not a replacement, well, he is an anchor being replacement but not a ‘pick up where the last Logan left off’ replacement. So what ever regrets or amends you wanted to have, they should be aimed at the grave and not the man you wished was the one you lost,” Deadpool threw the can over the others head, before flipping over the couch he was on, landing on his feet and giving double finger guns at the X-man before the can could hit the wall, “well, good chat, but we gotta go!”

Scott was standing up now, face serious and ready to counter argue when flashing lights from outside reflected in the windows, sirens coming closer, “is that the police?”

“Yeah!,” now the mercenary was opening a window, hanging halfway out of it as he made grabby hands at something above him, “hope you got a ride,” blue colored gloves grabbed his red ones and he was yanked out and upward, “tootles!”

Scott took a deep breath, calming himself down before turning and heading toward his own escape.

He’ll try another day.

[av1xtg]

It's so funny to me that it's so obvious when I get a new hyperfixation because everything everywhere for example tis blog suddenly turns to what ever hyperfixation I have. . .

NOW I WANNA TALK ABOUT HUSK AND MY HEADCANONS FOR HIM BECAUSE THAT SILLY GRUMPY OLD-MAN CAT IS TAKING OVER MY BRAIN (contains a bit of huskerdust and bad grammar because english is not my first language but I have no respect for it so /j)

So I fully headcanon that husk has the most un organised and dirty room for some reason, like he never even bothered decorating it.

He hates baths and oils and stuff like that because it's really hard to take off from his wings and fur.

He refused to wash his hands with water and he cleaned his hands like cats do before eating food or serving drinks so charlie forced him to at least use wet wipes (idk how to write tht but hope you understand it)

He loves old fashioned love songs, usually mumbles some lyrics he still remebers while working and the others like to hear his singing.

The fluffies fluff ever, he doesn't really use any products (only dry shampoo from time to time) AND STILL HIS FUR IS EXTREMLY FLUFFY.

He got extremly bad body dismorfia when he arrived at hell.

The others tease him alot whenever he does any cat sounds.

Instead of a glass of water on his nightstand he had a bottle of whiskey or any other alcohol.

If he's in the mood (and charlie asks nicely + a day off) he might do some magic tricks to entretain the other guests.

Whenever he speaks spanish he always calls evryone pendejo (as a mexican that is also my favorite curse word I gotta add that). Like him and vaggie are fighting and she desn't know he speaks apanish so she starts insuting him in spanish and he goes "CALLATE LA PINCHE BOCA PENDEJA TUERTA" (traduction: SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING ONE EYED WOMAN) and she shuts up because she didn't expect that. (Now they speak in spanish together sometimes)

One time Sr. Pentious gave him catnipp because angeldust dared him to and husk went WILD. Like everyone was laughing nd half th hotel was filled with cat scratchs while husk followed Sr.Pentious who was escaping with the catnip in hand from him kind of wild.

He wants hugs and he won't admitt it.

Used to be a bit to proud as an overlord which is also half the reason why he lost to alastor.

Fucker cries a lot and won't admitt it because he already stablished to everyone that "I don' give a shit about anything and fuck y'all" and now he just can't.

He falls asleep a lot during work because he is drunk.

He owns a phone but uses it like a grandma, he puts on the glasses to read and everything

He once had a very bad night and got EXTREMELY DRUNK and ended up doing a karaoke with charlie and Sr Pentious.

Alastor would ocationaly take him to the Overlords meetings as his "body guard" and he would get extrembly embarrased because everyone recognised him and he knew they all thought of him as a failure for being an Overord who lost his own soul to Alastor and was now forced to obey him.

Thanks to loser,baby I think Husk may be a pet names man (affectionatelly both romantic and just with friends)

Husk reminds me a bit of "No surprises" by radiohead (i don't really know how to explain it but yeah)

I think his relationship with angel (romantically speaking) would be really gentle like, cuddles, hugs, little kisses, cause he wants to show that romantic relationships don't always need to have sex included (angel appretiates that)

I feel like they told each other their felling for the other but bth came to the conclution that maybe they are not in the best mental state to get into a relationship at the moment so they asked charlie and vaggie to help a bit.

I have more but this is getting a bit long so I'll make a part two!!!!!!!

(Have some photos of the silly 70 yr old grumpy cat-man)

[scarthefangirl]

Kiss me you moron!

Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Description: When you are injured during a mission Miguel waits in your room for you to wake up. After you do, there are some confessions made.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, language

Story type: drabble

A/N: Bruh I wrote this in one night don't judge, and also I'm working on my requests I promise

Masterlist | REQUESTS OPEN

The mission was simple. Some guy had disrupted this dimension and caused a bridge to collapse and some other havoc. You, Jess, Pavitr, and Hobie had been assigned to apprehend the man while Gwen, Peter B, and Miles helped get people to safety.

You were on a roll, until you weren't.

It all happened so fast, you didn't have a chance to move out of the way. Everyone was so engulfed with saving the people from the threat, even you. No one noticed the car flying towards you at full speed, the driver passed out with his foot on the gas.

At least, not until it was too late.

So there you laid, in the headquarters infirmary, still knocked out. You had a bandage on the right side of your forehead because of a stitched wound. There were stitches in your right arm as well where there had been shards of glass stuck in your arm. You had broken two ribs, and a fractured hip bone that luckily didn't need surgery because of your quickened healing process.

Meanwhile, your team stood outside Miguel's office with bated breath.

"How do we tell him?" Miles asked quietly, eyes filled with anxiety.

"What's the big deal?" Jess questions. Unlike her, the others new his infatuation with you. He always spared her from his glares and scowls, when he would scream at them for failures he never yelled directly at you, and he tried to send you out on as few missions as you'd allow. When you persisted to go, he'd always be extra persistent to the group about watching out for each other.

"Miguel is in love with her!" Pav whisper shouted. Jess just rolled her eyes, although it made a few things click.

"We're going to be professional and tell him that Y/N was involved in an accident and we'll explain it to him," Peter said, trying to be practical. But everyone's eyes widened and they shook their heads violently.

"No no no. Ask any spider person here if that is a good idea. Its not," Gwen said which surprised Jessica because Gwen is normally reasonable. The adult looked around at the teens fearful eyes, except Hobie of course who couldn't wait to see how things played out.

"Why is it a bad idea?" Jessica asked, mainly to humor the bunch.

"He'd freak. He'd probably kill us. No, he would. He will blame us and," Pavitr shivered, unable to finish his sentence. He loved you and everyone knew it. And you loved him, but they didn't know that. Although it could be assumed, and many did, you were better at hiding it then Miguel.

Jessica forced the group inside and they approached Miguel. He turned to them with a frown, one often plastered on his face. "How was the mission?" He asked dryly. His red eyes scowered the faces in his office but didn't see the one he was waiting for.

"We completed it, but there was a complication." Jessica informed him, causing his chest to tighten. If you weren't there, and there was a complication.... He raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. "Y/N was, hurt."

Rage.

They all saw it as clear as day. Anger crawled up his throat and spread across his face. His stomach felt nauseous and he couldn't catch his breath.

"How?" He growled. His hands shook. He hated that feeling. Feeling helpless and.... Scared. It only made him angrier.

"Well we were all just doing our jobs and a car came out of nowhere and hit her." Peter B. said.

"It full on slammed her, you could hear it!" Hobie gawked.

"Not helping Hobie." Miles warned but Hobie just said, "Good." The fury radiated off of Miguel and causes the whole team to cower back. He'd never been this angry.

But instead of screaming at them he just sprinted to the infirmary.

~

Your eyes fluttered open and you went to rub them but felt sharp pain everywhere. You blinked a few times to clear your vision and looked down at your wounded body.

"The heck?" You muttered under your breath. You couldn't remember what happened. You just remembered being on the mission. Suddenly you heard heavy breathing to your side and you looked over to see Miguel staring at you. You nearly jumped out of your skin, resulting in a groan from the pain. He hopped out of his seat and crouched by your head. He tucked some stray hair behind your ear but you gave him a confused look.

"Three questions," You began, "Number one: What happened? Number two: Why are you here? And most importantly, number three, why the fuck are you doing scaring the shit out of me like that?"

"Sorry for scaring you. You got hit by a car and fractured your hip bone, and had to get stitches in a few places because of glass. But the nurses said you'll be better in a few days because of your enhanced healing capabilities." Miguel said it blankly, but you sensed the tenderness behind it.

"That's kinda badass," You grinned. "I mean imagine telling our- shit, I mean, my future kids that I got whammed by a car. Wait- what kind of car?" You quickly tried to recover from saying 'our kids', hoping he didn't notice. He did, however, and completely lost focus, gaping at you. You felt your cheeks inflamed with scarlet humiliation.

"Huh? Oh um, I- I don't know. No pregunté, lo siento." [I didn't ask, sorry] He seemed to be in a trance of some sort, taken off guard.

"Well, that's okay. I just hope it was a cool car. I would rather be able to say 'I got hit by a brand new Corvette' than having to say 'Yeah I got ran over by a Kia soul.' You know?" You ranted awkwardly, truing to lighten the mood.

"Mhm." Was all he hummed in response, still staring off in a daze. You wished you could hide under the sheets until he left. He sat back down in the chair a few feet from the bed and watched you. You felt your stomach churning under his gaze.

"Miguel?" You asked.

"¿Sí?" [Yes?] He looked you in the eyes and you looked into his.

"You didn't answer question number 2." You stated. You wanted to turn your whole body but could only move your head without pain.

There was complete silence for what felt like eternity. You picked at the itchy white sheet over your legs and stared at your fumbling hands. Maybe you had overstepped, but you were sick of you and Miguel tip toeing around the subject of your feelings. He obviously liked you, at least, you hoped he did.

"When they told me you were hurt... I've never been so terrified in my life." He admitted, meeting your eyes once more. You were challenged to match his at first, but you forced yourself to stare back at his red eyes.

Miguel O'Hara terrified. For you no less.

You didn't know what to say. Thank you? I'm fine? You don't have to be here? Nothing seemed right. Before you knew it, words were slipping out of your mouth.

"I'm in love with you." You said then dropped your jaw, turning your red face forward and refusing to look at him. Did you really just say what he thinks you said? Did I really just say what I think I said?

Maybe it was because of his silence. Maybe it was because you wee hoping to admit your love somewhere more romantic. Maybe it was because he hadn't said anything to lead to this response. But you were mortified. You felt tears brimming in your eyes, the cause being a mixture of pain and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, that just sorta slipped." You glance at him for a moment then quickly look forward again. He's so beautiful.

"Its okay." He immediately regretted saying that. It's okay? What does that even mean? Both of you thought in unison. He wanted to tell you he was in love with you too but while he was trying to think of how to say it, the others came in.

"Hey!! Great to see you awake Y/N, we were just coming to check on you." Jess said, then glanced at the looks on you and Miguel's faces and felt out of place. "Are we- interrupting?"

"No," You managed, not sparing Miguel a glance. Gwen gave you a side hug on your good side and the rest of the team stood at the end of the bed. Miguel shifted uncomfortably in his seat and let a scowl rest on his face. You swear he'd scowl no matter how happy he was,, only now he wasn't happy. He wasn't displeased with you, but with himself.

"We're so glad you're gonna be okay," Miles smiled sweetly.

"Thank you," You wanted desperately to get your mind of Miguel. 'I probably look like shit." You chuckled uneasily.

"You look fine." Miguel musters. You can't help the butterflies that erupt at his statement, much to your dismay.

"So, one question." You chose to ignore Miguel, scared to cry. Everyone looks at you, encouraging you to continue. "What kind of car was it?"

"A Honda civic." Hobie stifled a laugh.

"Damn, I was hoping for something cool." You rolled your eyes. Everyone chuckled but there was a looming tension in the room and they didn't need spider sense to feel it.

"Right well, we should head out. We'll check on you later Y/N," Peter smiled and patted your good leg.

"Sorry you got hurt, we'll be more careful next time!" Miles called on his way out, but you assumed it was more to please Miguel than you. The door shut and without missing a beat Miguel immediately stated,

"I'm in love with you too." You beamed after he said this, look over at him.

"I know this isn't the best time, but come kiss me you moron!" You laughed. He quickly obliged, walking to you and leaning over the bed to press a soft kiss on your lips. The corner of your mouth was cut but you couldn't care less, happy to finally kiss him. He deepened the kiss slightly, but you couldn't do much because if your injuries.

"MY EYES!!! I NEED TO BLEACH MY EYES!!!" Hobie screamed after having walked in on the scene. You laughed into the kiss and pulled away, breathless.

You watched Miguel's face, tracing every detail into memory. You weren't exactly sure where this left you guy's relationship, but you felt an ache in your chest from how happy you were.

You noticed the glimpse of sadness in Miguel eyes and ask him if he's alright. He just holds your hand, looking at your slightly swollen (but still beautiful) face. "For a second I thought I'd lost you, when they came in without you," he paused briefly before whispering, "I can't lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere. A few broken bones and some cuts aren't going to be enough to keep me away from you."

~

Tags: // @liliummz // @themarvelprince // @misselsbells06 // @american-sataness // @cr0ssoverf4n4tic // @depressednoob // @cerene-ciderr // @leighanne03 // @inluvwithfictionalwomen // @singhfae // @mythixmagic // @itsyourboymicheal // @Ravensinthedaylight //

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[flightlessangelwings]

My Favorite Bartender

bartender!Peter Parker x gn!reader

Word count- 4.3k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), no powers au, bartender Peter, lounge band performer reader (I left it vague so you can imagine singer or plays an instrument), mutual pining, flirting, fluff, romance, drinking, praise, bar isn't described so you can imagine any type, background reader x Flash but I just used him in name only cause I needed an ex, no use of y/n

Notes- Starting my Year of AUs with an idea I've had in my head for over a year! It took me a while to come up with more than just vibes for this but I'm happy with how this turned out! Inspired by the gif below. Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up of date on when I post new things!

~

A smooth melody floated through the air as Peter shook the mixer in his hands. The clinking of the ice added to the music as if they were meant to be played together, and Peter smiled at the patron as he put on a little show. The woman who sat at the bar gave him a flirtatious grin in return as she watched him pour her drink into a glass. 

“One Manhattan for the lady,” he said smoothly. 

“Thank you, handsome,” she winked and gave Peter an extra tip… and her number on a napkin before she walked away, glancing over her shoulder one last time before she rejoined her friends. 

Peter smirked before he tactfully slid the napkin out of sight, never to touch it again.

He never expected his life would turn out this way. Peter Parker had always worked hard and excelled in school. He found his way with the help of a scholarship to a top college to study more of the science that he loved so much. And from there, he got into a grad school where he perfected his craft and applied for research grants. However, life came crashing down around him when he didn’t get it and all over work opportunities fell one by one like dominoes. It was a hard time for Peter, and it took him some time to climb out of his hole again.

Following his Aunt May’s advice, Peter learned a new craft to earn some money while he figured his life out. And that was how he ended up bartending… for the last few years. The money was decent, and after some disasters with spilling drinks and shattering glasses, Peter became quite skilled at it. He and May exchanged stories about their work often too, and her words always provided comfort for him.

“You’re not a failure just because you didn’t end up where you thought you would, Peter,” May told him on several occasions, “I love you and I’m proud of you.”

“I love you too, May,” Peter would reply meekly. 

But what really kept Peter tethered to the bar was you. You had started about a year after Peter did, and he was captivated with you from the moment he first saw you. Swallowing his nerves, he mustered up the courage to say hello and introduce himself. When you gave him your name and said you were there to audition for the house band, Peter’s heart fluttered in his chest.

“Here,” he slid a glass of sparkling water your way, “On the house,” he winked as he hoped he hid how flustered he actually felt.

“Thanks,” you raised your glass in a cheer and drank before you went and nailed your audition. 

Peter loved to watch you perform several nights a week. And he felt lucky that he got a prime seat for the show. At times, he almost forgot about the customers who were waiting for drinks when you were on stage. And as you swayed to the music that filled the room, Peter would sometimes drop his glass as he [aid more attention to you than what was in his hands. 

Over the months, the two of you even started to become friends, talking occasionally whenever you came to the bar for some water or whenever you both saw each other in the break room.

However close you seemed to Peter, though, you were just out of reach. He remembered the day a man came to watch you, seated right up front the entire time you were on stage with the band. Peter’s instincts told him who he was, but his heart still dropped when you introduced him as your boyfriend. 

“Peter, this is Flash,” you introduced him as you hung on his arm.

It took everything within him to not let the heartbreak show on his face, and Peter extended his hand with a taut smile, “Pleasure,” his words held no genuine emotion.

“That’s a strong grip, Pete,” Flash responded, shaking his hand, “Good thing you’re here to watch over my baby at work,” he continued, telling Peter about how much you’ve spoken about him.

As Flash rambled on, Peter’s eyes drifted to meet yours where he noticed your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He wondered why that was, but he also decided to interrupt your boyfriend with, “How about a drink for the happy couple? On the house,” he raised his mixer and a glass with his trademark smile on his face.

You breathed in relief, “I’d love one.”

Watching as Peter spun a glass in his hand and poured from a liquor bottle from the other, you were captivated. You loved to watch him mix drinks as he put on almost as much of a show as you did when you performed. Peter lifted the liquor bottle up, allowing the liquid to frame his shoulders like a rainbow before he lowered it back down. A perfect pour. Peter then covered the mixing bottle and shook it diligently, smirking at you while he did so. The look on his face made your heart flutter- something Flash hadn’t been able to accomplish in a very long time.

The truth was you were enamored with Peter. From the moment you met on your audition day, you felt a spark unlike anything you had ever felt before. His kind way, his handsome smile, the way his hands nimbly worked the glasses along the bar, it all made your skin tingle and your face warm. You couldn’t say anything, though. You were still with Flash, more out of comfort and convenience than true love at this point. So, you just enjoyed the time you spent with Peter at work, burying your feelings deep down every day. 

As Peter poured the two glasses and slid them towards the two of you, you couldn’t help but grin widely at him. Next to you, Flash was oblivious as his eyes never left the drinks.

“My compliments to the chef,” he raised his glass towards Peter, who gave him a weak smile in return, “Thanks, man.”

“Thanks, Peter,” you agreed as you took a sip, “It’s delicious.” It was just the drink you needed at the moment, and you wondered how Peter knew. 

“Later,” Flash guided you away from the bar to mingle.

Looking over your shoulder one last time, you and Peter locked eyes and your heart fluttered in your chest. Peter kept the fake smile on his face until you were out of sight, and he felt his entire self slump down in disappointment. His heart ached in his chest as Flash put his hands all over you, treating you more like a possession than a person. But, he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything, and he didn’t want to complicate anything by telling you how he really felt. So, Peter took a deep breath and donned the mask once more as he was flagged down by a fresh wave of patrons at the bar.

*

Even though Peter couldn’t call you his, he could still enjoy the time he spent with you. And he found that the bar always felt brighter whenever you were there. Whenever your eyes met his, he couldn’t help but smile, and there were times where the flutter in his chest almost felt like a heart attack. Peter would take any time with you he could get, and he truly valued the growing friendship between the two of you. 

Every night before you took the stage with the rest of the band, you always stopped by the bar and got a sparkling water from Peter. “My favorite bartender,” you would always say as you tripped your glass towards the identical one he held.

“It’s bad luck to drink alone,” Peter would quip with a mischievous smirk as he poured himself his own glass. He cheered it with your own and together the two of you would drink in unison. From the first night he did that, it became a tradition for the two of you, and something you both secretly looked forward to.

One night, the bar was unusually slow, and there weren’t many customers inside. The band took a break from performing, not wanting to waste the energy, and you went right to the bar. “How about something a little stronger than sparkling water, tonight?” you couldn’t help the subtly flirtatious tone in your voice.

“You sure about that?” Peter replied with his own coy tease in his tone.

“I’m positive,” you shimmied your shoulders.

“Alright, you asked for it,” Peter smirked back as he mixed something new for you. It was a beautiful color, and another perfect pour. Peter was just glad he didn’t drop a glass every time he glanced in your direction as you watched him intensely.

“To a slow night,” you raised your glass to him.

“To a slow night,” Peter agreed as he clinked the glass he poured himself with yours and you both drank.

As the hours passed, you and Peter continued to talk and drink at the bar until the last customer left. The manager decided to close early since it was so quiet, and the two of you stumbled towards the back to gather your things. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter as you lost your footing for a moment, but Peter was right there to catch you.

“You alright?” he asked in a soft voice.

Looking into his eyes, you felt time stop for a moment. Everything else faded away, and all you could think about was Peter. His arms wrapped around you, his soft eyes looked deep into yours, and his lips looked so… kissable. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in closer. Your eyes started to flutter shut as your lips ghosted over his. Feeling his breath against your skin was like a jolt of electricity to your entire system.

Peter breathed your name as he made no attempt to stop you, as much as he knew he should. It was the moment he had wanted for so long, and it was right in front of him. The alcohol buzzed in his system, clouding his judgment slightly, though he knew neither of you had enough to be fully drunk. You knew what you were doing, your inhibitions were just down at the moment.

Just before your lips were about to touch, though, something snapped in you and you gasped as you jumped back. “I…” you cleared your throat, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that,” you stammered as you closed in on yourself.

“It’s ok,” Peter rested his hands on your shoulders, “Hey, look at me,” he waited for you to meet his gaze before he continued, “You’re ok. We’re ok.” Conflicting emotions ran through his head- Peter wanted to kiss you more than anything, but he also didn’t want you to regret kissing him. So, he pushed his own wants aside and looked after you instead, like he always did.

Somehow, you knew what Peter meant with just those words, “We’re ok,” you echoed.

Peter proved it the next night when you both came back to work. He poured you a sparkling water and one for himself, cheering you as if nothing happened the night before. You wanted to apologize again, but something in you said that he knew. And everything fell back into your usual routine again.

*

But everything changed the night Peter found you in the back, alone and crying as the bar was closing down.

Immediately, he went on alert and was ready to help you no matter what. He gasped softly as he rushed over to you and sat next to you, “Hey, hey,” he cooed softly, “What’s going on? Are you alright?” Peter hated seeing you like this.

You looked up from where you held your face in your hands, and the sad look in your eyes made Peter’s chest tighten. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t be crying at work…”

“Hey,” Peter pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “I won’t judge,” he tried to make you smile.

It worked, and you gave him the brief hint of a laugh before your face dropped again, “It’s over with Flash,” you confessed, “He…” you choked back a sob, “I caught him with someone else yesterday.”

Anger flashed across Peter’s face as he tightened his grip on you and murmured your name, “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. You deserve better than this… Than him…

A few more tears fell from your eyes, but you stubbornly tried to hold more back, “I shouldn’t even be that upset,” you almost sounded bitter, “Considering I almost kissed you the other day,” your voice was so hushed you weren’t sure if Peter even heard you. 

“Hey you did nothing wrong,” Peter cupped your face, “Nothing happened, and it was my fault anyway…” 

You looked into his eyes and the world stopped around you. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. All you cared about was him, and the warmth of his hands. Truthfully, you hadn’t felt the same about Flash in a long time, but you stayed with him more out of comfort than anything. At the same time, though, being cheated on definitely hurt you to your core.

“Pete…” you breathed as the whirlwind of emotions made your head spin. Before you could stop yourself, you felt your body leaning more toward him as your eyes glanced down at his lips.

Peter whispered your name as he brushed your cheek with his thumb. Everything in him told him to push you away, that you were too vulnerable right now. But, he wanted this more than anything. He wanted you. He wanted to kiss your problems away and make you feel safe. He wanted to make sure you were never hurt again, since he would never do anything to hurt you. And as Peter felt your breath against his skin, he found that he was about to give into his selfishness for once in his life.

But, before your lips connected, the door slammed open and Flash, your now ex, bellowed your name. “What the fuck are you doing?” he screamed at you as he stomped over, “We didn’t even officially break up and here you are about to fuck your coworker?!”

“You cheated,” Peter interjected before you could reply, “I’d say that’s pretty broken up to me,” he stood strong as he placed his body between yours and your ex. 

Flash puffed up his chest and balled his hands into fists as he approached Peter, “You think you’re tough now, nerd?” he scoffed, “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t want to fight you,” Peter replied, holding strong, “But I’m not gonna let you do anything to…” he trailed off as he felt your presence behind him. Peter could feel you start to say something, perhaps try to talk him out of putting himself in harm’s way for you, but Peter didn’t care about his own safety. He only cared about yours. 

“How cute,” Flash sneered as he shoved Peter back, making you both stumble.

Not wanting things to escalate further, you called for security, who rushed in and quickly escorted Flash out. Peter stayed in front of you, blocking the view of your ex, who was cursing and hollering as he was dragged out. You knew you heard some insults thrown at you in between the obscenities, and you couldn’t help but wince.

“Hey,” Peter turned to you once the room was clear, “You alright?” he asked as he placed his hands on your shoulders.

“I uhh,” you stuttered, unsure of what to even say. Taking a deep breath, you relaxed your tense muscles, “I think so,” you finally replied in a soft voice as your eyes dropped to the ground.

“Listen,” he tried to keep his own tone even for your sake, “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight? He can’t find you there and I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Your gaze snapped back up to meet Peter’s and the breath in your chest felt like it was pushed out of you. “Are… Are you sure?” you struggled to find your voice again, “I won’t want to put you out or anything…”

“You aren’t,” Peter cut you off before you could finish the thought, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation.

*

“Home sweet home,” Peter gestured to the small apartment with an awkward grin on his face, “It’s not much but… It’s home,” he shuffled in, closing the door behind you both and locking it tightly, “What’s mine is yours. Help yourself to anything.”

You stood in the doorway taking in the space. Peter lived in a little studio apartment. It was older, but you could tell he put a lot of care into the space. The tiny kitchen had snacks all over the counter. On the other end, there was a small desk against the window next to a little tv and refurbished couch. The bed was in the far corner next to the door to the tiny bathroom.

“Aunt May must have dropped off some things,” Peter rushed to the kitchen counters and shuffled the snacks into drawers clumsily as he chuckled, “I actually try to keep the place neat, if you could believe that.”

For the first time that night, a smile lit up your face, “It’s fine, Peter,” you stepped further into the studio and sat down on the small couch, “It’s a nice place.”

“Hey,” he crossed the room and sat down next to you, taking your hand in his, “It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything.”

Your eyes landed on where his warm hand held yours, and once more you felt the breath knocked out of you. It felt as if a jolt of electricity ran up from where your hands were connected to your heart, making it skip a beat. Meeting his gaze again, you spoke in a more confident tone, “Thank you.”

Peter smiled back at you, “You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” his tone was soft as he squeezed your hand in his.

“Peter…” you breathed as you felt yourself leaning toward him as if gravity was pulling you closer, “Call me that again? Please.”

He exhaled sharply, the smile still lighting up his face as he leaned in too, “Sweetheart…” Peter cupped your face tenderly like he did before back at the club. As he felt your breath against his face once again, Peter murmured, “Can I kiss you… sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whispered before your lips were pressed against his. 

The kiss was soft and sweet, yet it sent a jolt through both of you. Months of buildup led to this moment as you both melted into the other. Heat quickly rose in the room as you started to cling to Peter, running your hands all over his body. Peter groaned into you as he did the same and soon the kiss turned more deep, more passionate, more desperate.

You broke away from Peter, breathing heavily as you looked into his eyes. You saw the same look on his face that you knew you had on yours- the same neediness was apparent on his face. As your eyes wandered across his body, glancing down between his legs for the briefest moment, Peter murmured your name.

Meeting his gaze again, you knew the question on the tip of his tongue, “Yes,” you breathed as you jumped on him.

This time, you parted your lips for Peter immediately, and you moaned into him as you tasted him on your tongue. Passions rose as the two of you clumsily pushed yourself off the couch and made your way over to his bed, never breaking apart for long.

Something crashed as you bumped into it, but you didn’t care. And neither did Peter, who completely ignored it. Nothing else mattered to him in that moment other than you. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you, and his wandering hands started to tug at your clothes while he shuffled your bodies over to his bed.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you felt his desperation, and you mirrored his actions by clawing at his shirt. The two of you only broke away from the kiss to remove clothing, not wanting to miss a second of the other. A trail of clothes led the way to Peter’s bed, and once your legs hit the corner, he grabbed you and flopped you both down.

Laughter erupted as you landed side by side on his small bed. Peter paused for a moment to cup your face, cradling it tenderly in his hand for a moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed before he kissed you again, maneuvering you so that he straddled you.

“Peter…”

“Do you need me to stop?” he asked, freezing in place.

“Never,” you smiled as you grabbed him and yanked him down, crashing your lips into his once more.

Peter’s laughter was muffled in your lips, but he also couldn’t help but buck his hips against yours. His cock, already hardening, rocked along your body, causing you both to gasp into the other.

“Do you trust me?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yes… Please, Peter,” you begged in between kisses as you rocked yourself against his body to match his rhythm.

“I can’t say no to you, sweetheart,” he smirked as he dripped his hand between your legs, “Fuck,” he breathed as he cradled your body, carefully pushing a finger into you slowly.

The moan you let out went right to Peter’s core, and he groaned as he pumped his finger in and out a few times before adding a second, “Sweetheart,” he sighed, “You’re so beautiful like this,” he stammered as he sped up his thrusts with his fingers, “I’ve thought about this for so long,” he couldn’t help but confess.

Your eyes blinked open, “Me too,” you felt the heat build under your skin and your nerves burst into flames at your own confession.

“Well let’s make it worth it then,” Peter’s signature smirk lit up his face again as he pulled his fingers out and positioned himself at your entrance.

“I know you will,” you replied breathlessly, “Don’t make me wait another second, Peter. I need you too bad.”

All he could do was moan in reply as he pushed himself into you. Gasps and moans filled the room as Peter filled you, connecting your bodies together for the first time. The bed creaked as he started a slow and steady rhythm, rocking in and out of you to the tune of your cries of pleasure.

Brown locks of hair fell in front of Peter’s face as he fought to keep himself hovering over you, not wanting to miss a single expression on your face. But every time he thrust fully into you, Peter lost himself in how good you felt. He breathed your name as his hips stammered, “You feel so good, sweetheart,” he groaned.

“You’re amazing, Peter,” you breathed, “Fuck…”

Emotions ran high between the two of you as skin slapped against skin. Peter picked up his pace and lost control of himself. Incoherent praises flowed from his lips as he felt himself engulfed by you over and over again. Fuck, you looked perfect underneath him like this, and Peter hoped that he could see this sight over and over again.

“Peter… Right there!” you cried out when he changed his angle slightly, “Fuck Peter you’re gonna make me cum…”

“Let me see it, sweetheart,” he cooed as he intentionally hit that spot inside you over and over again, feeling your inner muscles squeeze his cock every time he did so. 

It only took a few more thrusts for you to fall apart underneath Peter, crying out his name and clinging to him tightly as you did so. Your eyes snapped shut as your mouth hung open, letting the screams and moans spill without inhibition. Your body trembled as the emotions caught up to you, and as you rode out your climax, tears started to fall from the corners of your eyes.

Peter groaned your name as he watched the display in front of him, and the emotions became too much for him too. He came without warning, his own orgasm hitting him like a freight train as he moaned your name and spilled himself deep inside you. Peter thrusted a few more times until he had nothing else to give, and when he couldn’t hold himself up any longer, he flopped down on top of you with an exhausted huff. 

Once more, giggles erupted between you and Peter as you felt the warmth and weight of his body overtop of yours. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked in a soft tone as he cradled your face.

“Never better,” you replied.

Peter smiled at you as he slowly closed the gap between your faces, placing a soft yet heartfelt kiss on your lips as he pulled out of you. He swallowed the moan you let out, and he kept your body close to his as he made yourselves comfortable on his bed. Peter cradles you safe and secure in his arms, savoring the feeling of your warmth. It felt like a dream, but if it was, Peter didn’t want to wake up from it. And he certainly never wanted to let you go ever again.

“Just rest tonight,” Peter murmured to you, kissing the side of your head, “We’ll get your stuff from Flash’s tomorrow. I won’t leave your side, I promise.”

You just hummed contently, comfortable in his arms.

“You need anything? A snack? A drink?” he asked.

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, and with a smirk you replied, “How about I make you a drink this time?” your tone dropped.

Peter’s own grin beamed back at you, “I would love to see that.” 

[mojo-bro-tho]

Blood Sugar… Ch.4

~So a lot happened and then a lot didn’t happen. This chapter was originally half the length of this and included an entire second half and now it’s two. Hopefully I’ll have the second half finished sooner now that this is out of the way. Also! If you were hoping for a taste of Emmrich spice then… you’re welcome! Needed something interesting to be here because most of this chapter is character work and I just have to keep myself honest.~

Tags: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

Word count: 7.1k

Content warnings for this chapter: References to drug deals, solo spice (idk what does and doesn’t get flagged anymore)

AO3 link here!

Previous!

Atonal Arpeggio

Contrary to popular belief, Rook wasn’t actually the type to be spontaneous. Plans were made and plans were usually kept, it just so happened that she was an incredible improviser and that’s what most people usually focused on. Crows in reality were creatures of schedules. Never ending, sometimes changing at the last minute, schedules. An alarm goes off, send a text, make a call, change of plans, payment failure, send a text, new client, appointment change, alarm goes off, send a text.

So, Rook’s personal life was no different. Since her job was the focal point of it even outside of ‘office hours’. She kept two notebooks, each dated and with meticulous accounts of two separate budgets. There was a flashdrive in her house that had the same information that she updated every week. Eating, sleeping, appearance, workouts, everything was subject to change at the whim of her one true god, the calendar. The wicked mistress she was. But Rook hardly complained, there was some comfort in it actually.

There weren’t many things that separated Rook’s life from ‘Rook’s’ life. There was a whole room in her apartment dedicated to it. A spare room turned into a wardrobe for the lives of around twenty different Rooks. Curated, crafted, and remade over and over again for the pleasure of others. It was rewarding to her. Preferred, even.

Because on days where she didn’t work, when the sun could sear into her skin through a gap in the curtains or the shouts of her downstairs neighbors would stir her from her slumber, the routine had more room to breathe. Rook rolled over in her bed, silk pillowcase smoothing against her cheek. Her gaze rose to the picture frame that sat on her nightstand and attempted to burn a hole through the glass. There was no second alarm to force her out of bed. Nothing to really stop her from dwelling on it.

Two women stood side by side. One was Rook, or whoever she was before Rook. The other was slightly taller but the picture didn’t reflect that. They shared the same skin tone, same eye color, hair color, and had similar noses. But Rook had a slightly wider jaw and the other woman had a bit of a slimmer face. In the photo, Rook was wearing an overly glittery dress with a horrendously off-colored illusion mesh neckline. Her hair was slicked back into a bun so shiny it almost looked like it was made of plastic. With a perfected smile best suited for a competition. But the other woman, she was real. She was generally disheveled, lovingly so. With fussed over strands of hair from running out of a cab to make it in time for Rook’s final Youth showcase makeup uneven because did it in the aforementioned cab ride. She always preferred plain clothes, nothing too ornate, but they looked perfect on her anyways. And she had the most beautiful, crooked smile in the entire world.

Every night, Rook sat the picture upright and made sure it was facing her direction just before drifting off to sleep. Then the next morning, she would stare into the woman’s eyes until her chest hurt or until the next alarm went off, whichever came first. Once that was over she’d flip the picture back down again. Whoever said time heals all wounds was a liar. Varric was a liar. But then again, time probably did heal what it could, Rook just refused to let it go any further than tolerance. Just get up.

Rook wretched the comforter away with a burrowing ache in her heart and changed into her version of ‘comfortable’ and brought up the top of her hair into a claw clip just to keep it out of her eyes. Time to get started with the exhausting process of existing. Food and meds came first, terrible coffee from the terrible coffee pot came next. Afterwards, she cleaned. Every room. Didn’t take long enough. Without much else to do, her thoughts turned to her messenger bag. After emptying it of its plastic wrapper collection, she collected her study materials from inside and set up a station for herself on the floor in front of her coffee table. Read ahead, take notes, write down questions, seemed as good of a way to pass time as any.

A bunch of words on a bunch of pages greeted her. None of which were nearly as interesting or easy to digest without Lichdom there but that would have to do. She wondered why he even bothered using a book for their lesson to begin with, he hadn’t exactly been reading from it. Was he using it as a guideline to keep himself on track? That made sense, and it conjured the idea of him racing through his thoughts when left without a syllabus.

King Verald’s rule was an impressively short lived one. Hundreds of years worth of failing power grabs followed in its wake. Torrid affairs leading to assassination attempts, coups, uprisings formed by commoners. If this could be changed to have a modern setting, Rook thought it might make a semi-successful Antivan Soap Opera. While reading about the several tidal waves of mortal error, she came across a familiar term. The Banner Wars. In the book, it’s discussed as if it were some sort of amalgamous series of events. Which didn’t really make much sense to Rook as history had a nasty habit of being linear. However, she did realize in the midst of that confusion that it wasn’t The Banner’s War. It was Banner Wars, plural.

So, she kept reading. The deeper she went, the more odd it all seemed. The wars seemed to span across the entirety of Nevarra’s disarray and then another couple hundred after the start of the first Pentaghast Dynasty. It was also noted that many historians argue that the Wars continued once again into the second Pentaghast Dynasty, but those weren’t going to be covered in this edition of the book. Rook ended up having to sacrifice a page of her journal to draw up a pseudo timeline for how it’s listed just to try and wrap her mind around how the events were meant to correlate.

But the lied there lied the problem, not all the ‘little wars’ lined up in a literal sense. There would be small gaps of peace, a new fight would spark, which then tore at the old wounds of the last one was over, or ones predating the previous ones. That meant that one war would simply pause to let another or a few take its place before starting back up again. It was a real snake eating its own tail situation, but if the snake tied itself into multiple knots in the process sometimes for a totally unrelated reason.

A knock resounded on her front door, one heavy and low to the ground as if done with a shoe instead of a hand. Rook checked her watch… Creators, it was already past 6pm. Well, there went her plans to go to the studio later. She pushed herself up off the floor, legs and spine aching and in need of a stretch. Which she provided as she made her way towards her door. A look through the peephole done while on her tip-toes made her unlock and pull it open without delay.

“Bels!” Rook exclaimed, finding the woman well endowed with armfuls of oddities. She shifted her body that gave her neighbor permission to enter. Her arms and the bags suspended from them gave a multitude of rattles that made Rook surprised that she didn’t hear her clatter out of her own apartment.

“Hey Rook-” Bellara’s words were cut off by the teetering tip of box in her left arm nearly spilling out of her hold. Rook hurriedly caught the cardboard and commandeered it, then removed the small stack of textbooks from Bellara’s other arm to alleviate more of the burden. “Oh, thank you!” She sighed in relief.

“Don’t mention it.” Rook laughed, leading her neighbor into the living room after double checking the door was locked again.

Back when their friendship first started, this place carried a litany of questions for Bellara, most of which in regards to its more… minimalistic appearance. But now it was familiar, just Rook’s apartment. At least the parts Bellara was allowed in. She took her usual spot on Rook’s modest leather couch before spreading out her projects around her side and the floor in no particular order. It was a lot. Rook was always amazed by the sheer amount of work Bellara was able to take on constantly.

Of course, Rook had theories for why her friend was like this. Bits and pieces of information gathered over their time of knowing each other but never allowed to form a coherent sentence. Again, they were friends, but they’d only known each other since Rook moved to Nevarra where they happened to wind up next door to one another. And Rook figured that no matter how close they were, she couldn’t just randomly go up to her and ask; ‘Hey Bellara, do you think you fill your life endlessly with classes, odd jobs, and volunteer work because you need any excuse can get to not confront the reality of your brother’s condition?’ Because that would to any sane person come off as insensitive. Rook never asked in that way.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Nothing too crazy this time! I have to send out a couple of emails but that’ll take like five minutes tops!” Bellara replied, retrieving her laptop from one of the fabric hideaways.

“Alright…” Silence. “What are the bags for then?”

“Oh, right. I do have a couple papers I need to finish but they aren’t actually due until next week. There’s those decorations Neve asked me to help out with if I had time for that place she volunteers at. And then in this bag I’ve got some of the parts for that one thing I was telling you about last week and I was wanting to see if I could borrow your tiny screwdriver again but I didn’t want to lose it like last time so I brought the stuff with me, I might need to rearrange the design though so I’ll look over the schematic before that-” Bellara pointed to each project, including the box and books Rook took before that she now cautiously set by the couch. Her expression was somehow a mix of resolute and unadulterated panic. A thought occurred to Rook, leading her to interrupt with a question.

“When was the last time I got your re-up?” The plainness at which she asked drew up a puppy-like expression from the half folded up woman on her couch.

“Like… a month ago. Month and a half.” She admitted sheepishly.

“Bels, you should have told me.” Rook sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

“But I don’t like telling you to do this for me. It’s one thing if it just happens, you know? It’s illegal and it’s bad. I can’t just ask for-”

“It’s Adderall, Bellara. It’s not your fault your insurance won’t cover it and it’s not like I’m buying you an eight ball or something.” Rook argued bluntly. “Let me get some real clothes on. You stay here, write your emails while I get food and meet up with my guy.”

Not wanting to hear the repetitive disagreement they’d have over this, Rook turned fast on her heels to head back to her room. Bellara did not follow, she learned fast that both of Rook’s rooms were off limits to everyone, though it wasn’t as if a whole lot of people over to have that be an issue. Only a handful of people knew her address, and even less had actually been inside long enough to warrant a bit of exploring. In fact, Bellara was the only person that visited frequently. Harding was second and likely would be first if not for Bellara’s advantage of lacking distance.

Behind the closed door of her bedroom, Rook quickly got to work. Something simple. She had to look like this was spontaneous but had effort thrown into it. Even put on a black, lace bra that would be visible through her near transparent white shirt. Just to have it peek her jacket left unzipped. No eyeliner, keep it dewy and natural. As she sat at her vanity, spraying on a layer of her perfume, she leaned into her watch.

“Hey C.T.” A little bell responded. “Text E. Need Ad Revenue. Heading to LA now, meet soon?”

“Would you like to send?”

”Yes.”

The watch chimed again. Rook added a swatch of gloss to her lips before standing to find her permanent marker decorated hightops. By the time they were laced up and Rook was pulling a Lyri-Yum from the bowl by her bed, the watch buzzed against her wrist. Quick response, he must miss her.

“C.T. Read message from E.” She instructed.

“Anything for you, Birdie. Meet near Gallery.” The voice recited, lacking the tone Elek would usually use on her.

She quickly zipped the jacket to keep her clothing choice out of sight from Bellara. Not like she’d make a comment about it, but it was best to not let Bellara’s imagination wander too far or else it would start to eclipse the truth too much. Rook left her room to retrieve her messenger bag off the floor, her study materials still strewn across the coffee table. No point in putting them away now. Her keys were however plucked from the surface and given a small rattle.

“I’ll be back in a bit. Do you mind waiting around for like twenty minutes before we get started?” Rook asked the woman with her legs criss-crossed on the couch, her laptop bouncing slightly on one side thanks to her antsy left side.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all! Wait, are you getting that one pizza place again?” Bellara asked.

“Duh, you know I don’t cheap out on my date nights.” Rook responded, sticking a playful tongue out at her before setting the already unwrapped sucker against it. “Be back in a few! That screw driver is in my kit under the sink, by the way.”

The messenger bag was slung over shoulder as she reached her door. With it closed, she locked it tight. The sounds of Bellara typing silenced and Rook made her way through the exterior path to the stairs. The two women knew each other well enough by this point for Rook to feel comfortable with leaving Bellara alone in her apartment. Partially because Bellara learned quickly to not encroach too much on Rook’s ‘private’ matters. Obviously, there were questions and Rook answered them with as much honesty as she could. Friends don’t lie to each other so Rook always answered the questions she couldn’t be truthful about with a simple ‘next question’. Her neighbor’s top theories for what Rook hid behind closed doors was close enough to the truth to satisfy them both. Aka, Bellara was convinced Rook was involved in the porn industry.

There was another delicate balancing act to this routine. Both women provided something the other was quietly needing, earnest care. Bellara lacked someone to keep tabs on, making sure they were safe and happy, while her brother was temporarily out of reach. Cooking Dalish dishes for the two to share on some weekends after Rook had a tiring day, food that Rook tried not to admit that she missed from times in her youth. And for Rook, it took this sort of form. Paying for medication that Bellara needed from a reputable source that liked her enough to give her a discount and introducing Bellara to the best Antivan food one could find in Nevarra. That and someone willing to keep her company and keep her on task when said tasks piled up too heavily. Rook even helped when she could. Which was all done as a result of missing someone permanently out of reach.

Rook heard the sound of her Beetle’s doors unlocking while she hopped off the final two steps that opened up into the cramped parking lot. There was a comfortable hum of mixed, muffled sounds around the complex and the cool air was soothing against her heavy eyelids. Back inside her apartment, Bellara uploaded a file onto an email meant for her current favorite teacher. Alongside it came the promise of finishing the extra credit assignment by Sunday.

…

Darkness clung to the sky in a thick shroud. The house quieted with Manfred long tucked away into bed some time ago. Emmrich however, was not tired in the slightest. He was dressed as he normally would to sleep, wrapped in a forest green cotton set, and he had laid in bed for nearly an hour without even a fluttering of bliss to lull his eyes closed. An honest attempt had been made but that was all that could be really said about it.

The nerves had been easier to manage during the last two weekdays, when he had actual work to do. But yesterday was a nightmare. Like today, once Manfred was in bed it was as if his mind could find any excuse in the world to stay active. Which inevitably led him to the same spot he was now, in his study with his laptop open and table lamp illuminating some of what was relinquished to Vorgoth. Stacks of typed notes, copies of photographed sites and remains, pages of citations, maps, diagrams. In reality, only some of her materials fit neatly on the desk so the rest rested in one of his desk drawers.

What he was currently forcing his attention on was the crux of Miss Ingellvar’s research. The Hand of Glory. A photograph of the hand stared back at Emmrich, the formerly white silk reflecting slightly from a glare of white. Its aged yellow sheen gave an almost skin-like tone that most others might find squeamish given the nature of the item in question. It was a marvelous artifact… Yet it’s caused such a stir over this last decade.

The glow of his laptop was thankfully dampened by his glasses, eyes following back and forth between emails and the papers beside it. Inevitably, this made him re-read the top most recent ones regarding the last entries for extra credit. Mr. Zimmerman, Miss Ablinger, Miss Lutare, Mr. Barkhausen, Mis Verulus. None of them needed to do the work this early in the year but he usually offered the opportunity for a small assignment every month.

Emmrich wished it was just the tasks that kept his mind occupied. In reality, they were the balms he had chosen to try and to ease the ache sinking past his bones. Threads of white hair fell hung in front of his eyes and he brushed them back with a hand running over his forehead. He wished he could be ignorant to what had left him feeling ill, but he wasn’t naive.

Off ahead and to his right, sat atop the small sofa he kept inside his study was his still opened satchel. Resting inside one of the front slips meant for pens was a plastic wrapped blue circle. Emmrich debated throwing it away once he got in the car to drive back to The Belfry, it wasn’t as though he’d have any use for it. Instead, he slipped it into his bag to escape the inquisitive eyes of his son, who reasonably could not find something he was less interested in. The debate started up again the next morning when he opened the satchel before class.

Again, and again, again. Now it was… nearly midnight, about to factually be Monday and yet the candy still taunted him. The moonlight stretching through the window made it practically glow or radiate in a near hypnotizing hue. Rook had been on his mind multiple times these past few days, and for shamefully less than appropriate reasons. He had been able to hold himself together while in her presence, chalking it up to how his adrenaline seemed to kick up and brush him past it all in the heat of the moment.

But in the quiet, when left to grips of shadowy edges while the coolness of the air clutched at his limbs, memories of their short time together swirled low in his abdomen. Rook was a curious creature, if there ever was one. Every second with her was filled to the brim with some sort of indulgence. And the speed at which those indulgences changed felt like a slap to the face. Perhaps that was the real reason he had managed to keep himself sane throughout the entire session. It was dizzying, disorienting. Elbows dug into polished mahogany, bare arms and hand raised to create a spot for his mouth to rest against. This was foolish or rather he was foolish.

It was impossible to not replay certain things in his head. He ought to know, he had tried persistently. Their first initial meeting in The Lighthouse, the tension it had wound up inside him, he had been able to look past that for the most part. Being alluring, being so… desirable, that was her job. From her perspective it was the entire purpose of their introductions, and that was his fault for not being clear. But everything else after that? None of that was without the pretense for his intentions.

If he allowed himself to linger on the discomfort, he could still sense the staunch presence of her boot against the low bend in his vertebrae. And had it been necessary for her to roll her hips against him while bent over like that? Certainly not. The sheer amount of pluck it took for her to settle into his lap, specifically to run the swell of her behind against his length, was baffling. Had it even been intentional? Muscle memory? The thought of warm skin against his palm while pale purple eyes looked up at him so tenderly, it made his chest feel like it was full of cotton.

It also made him feel terrible. It was an act, she just was trying to get him to play along, to make it look incredibly real. So real that it made him feel like a complete lecher. It was only worse while inside Blackthorn. Her gaze didn’t linger away from him for too long. Glancing up his legs, across his shoulder, at his hands, unaware that he had caught her staring multiple times. Why? Another coincidence, surely.

Actions were quick, made in the heat of the moment. But Rook had been careful with her word choice. The mouth that girl had would send a Chantry Sister into hysterics, and set Emmrich’s veins on fire. Teasing was not in the contract. It was clear she did it purely out of amusement. A dangerous choice if they had been in different circumstances, but that might have been the exact reason she did it. Knowing there was little he could do about it. If that was true, Miss Rook was far more devious than he had originally figured her for.

Most words like that, salacious whisperings, they tasted like salt and musk. Not Rook’s. Hers were so sweet that they were practically inedible. Making his teeth and cock ache. That all too familiar strain flared below, just like yesterday. That infernal candy in his bag matched the only shade he had seen of her tongue-

Maker, preserve him. Emmrich hadn’t felt his body move. The side of his left ring finger was caught between his teeth while his right hand slid up and down his thigh. Palm grazing against the stiffened shaft beneath his clothes. This felt utterly depraved, he had only known the young woman for a handful of hours. Not like that would have stopped him in younger years. Some of his more spontaneous affairs lasted longer in the bed than out of it.

But he had made it a point to resist the last few days. Emmrich was not the sort to feel any sort of real shame over his desires, but this felt like a line he ought to draw. So he tried. Tried to think of something else, anyone else, and for the most part it would work. There were moments where aspects of her slipped in that forced Emmrich to slow down to bring his focus back. It was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Was it really his fault though? Again, her job was to be desirable in the most literal sense. She’s a professional in getting people to want her badly enough that they’d be willing to pay just for a taste. Could anyone really blame him for acting this way in private? But all of this over a candy was ridiculous! The shine of it was still taunting him. He could rip the wrapping off now, force tolerance over the flavor just to try and simulate what that vexing tongue tasted like. He wanted to but his legs planted firmly to the floor.

A string of curses ricocheted throughout his skull as his thumb swirled against a spot of wetness forming against his pants. There was no use stopping it. This was an inevitable outcome. A sharp breath through his nose attempted to cut through the heaviness in his chest while his posture readjusted. His weakened hand slipped and hid itself past his waistband and took hold of his cock, still hidden from view. Emmrich couldn’t bring himself to look, it would be too much to look at it, no matter how awkward of an angle or discomfort this position gave for having little room to move.

He had to get it out of his system now, is what he told himself. Once, just once, to make the fixation stop. Then he could be free. Two dry pumps to test just how desperately his blood was screaming for her. Fingers graze up the underside until they meet the already weeping head.

Rook would probably find this pathetic, or perhaps she’d like it because of that fact. If he was going to do this, Emmrich planned on going all the way. Leaning back in chair, the hand that had been making friends with his teeth sought the comfort of his armrest.

Thin fingers smear the droplets around the heated tip of flesh. A shuddering pull down rubbed once again at the dry remainder of his skin. His grip was wrenched away with a ferocity that may have seemed odd for anyone not acquainted with his proclivities. In the lamp light, the pads of his middle fingers glistened and in between the gaps of them spread apart he could focus on the dot of blue in the distance. Held there like an optical illusion, as though it was being pinned between the joints.

With parted lips, the fingers slipped into his mouth and took in a flavor he was well accustomed to but Emmrich imagined it differently. The more watery consistency helped. A pool of saliva gathered in response, some of it coating his fingers as his tongue glided between the gap where he had imagined the sucker to be. They inched away from his bottom lip and his chin tilted past palm to release the excess spit into his cupped palm. No more dwelling on it, make it end. A brief reprieve from the armrest allowed a thumb to hook back into his waistband. Raising just high enough to return his right hand to the throbbing beneath green obscurity. A fervent grip onto his seat engaged the muscles running up his forearm. There was a quiet hiss to snip the silence, followed by the soaked exchange of skin meeting skin.

The image of the woman in The Lighthouse formed first. Someone who wasn’t quite Rook or at least wasn’t yet. Exceedingly beautiful in a tight black dress and noisy heels. Heels that pressed into his chest and allowed him a chance to glance up her skirt, a chance he hadn’t taken. The feeling of her stockings against his hand forced him to wonder how it may feel if he could have slid himself between her thighs. She may have enjoyed his desperation to have any semblance of touch. Could have leaned into it, told him to rut into his own hand while she simply watched. Not too unlike what was currently happening.

The friction of cloth made the back of his hand burning hot. Emmrich held himself steady with the armrest to attempt and dissuade any bucking from his hips. He gripped himself a little firmer, focusing his attention closer to the head. Up and down, small movements that drew up his eagerness and increased that static sensations in his brain with a slight twist of his wrist to accent each stroke. He could have given himself away to her in that moment, he should have, what a waste of an opportunity. Just to feel something. And maybe she would have rewarded him with a dip into her nylons.

But suddenly, there was Blackthorn. A more clear rendition of the woman, more understood and more vibrant. All that teasing, all those bold words. What was it she told him? ‘I’m good at sucking, I’d rather not spit, I can stay quiet for you’? The memory elicited a needy groan from Emmrich’s chest. Yes, all that was probably true. He imagined she had a lot of practice, a well versed tongue so to speak. Not a lot of people could truly appreciate the allure of an experienced woman. He wondered if she was as popular as the organizer made her seem, she may not even have a gag reflex.

Another squeeze, a longer drag as he imagined pushing her head down until she took every inch of him. He’d hold her there with fingers laced in her hair and keep her still until she really started to feel the weight of him like a nervous lump in her throat she couldn’t swallow. The loudest noise would be her earrings twinkling against one another as he took an agonizingly slow pace with using her mouth.

If he could hold himself back, that is. Emmrich’s movements became less hesitant and far more covetous. A line of wetness ran down the side of his thigh. Thumping sounds of slickened skin slightly muffled under cloth, and his hips shifted to try and meet the demands of his desire. The room smelled too much like him. Books, frankincense, aftershave, and vetiver. It only spurred him on to speed up, as he’d rather prefer to sink his senses into her. So sugary and intoxicating.

If he hadn’t already been so worked up, the next thought would have made him stop. Almost nothing would at this point. He saw her after the teasing. That fleeting look on the stone stairs, her expression whenever she chanced a glance at him while listening to him teach her, all her reassurances. Relaxed, content, and sweet. Emmrich felt it brand into every neural pathway that controlled his pleasure. A pulse rang through him and a heavy constriction in his testicles forced his neck to crane to the side. A hand slammed against his mouth just before his climax ruptured throughout his nerves.

An undeniable wail tried to escape from him. Shoulders shuddering and legs tensing far more violently than any release he’d had in some time. For a few seconds he continued to stroke himself, draining every drop he’d have to give. Like he’d have any real use for his own spill. All of which either soaked into the front of his pants or dripped down until it did the same on the underside.

It had been a crescendo, it always was. A bright flash of heat and pressure and ear ringing ecstasy. But it doesn’t last long with only himself there to meet it. The cool air needled into his feverish skin, the stickiness of his right hand all too obvious. And the edges of Rook’s visage were still there with a simple smile. His eyelids pryed themselves open to try and run from what he saw there. The bony clutches of regret.

Why had that been what did it? There was some level of excuse he could give for the other two workings of his imagination. They were rooted in a farce that she played into. But that hadn’t been what drove him into his release. Emmrich felt dirty and perverse for it. His throat clenched with a tightening pain as reality settled back into his muscles.

That was a mistake. A tremendously exciting and delicious climax in the moment but very much a mistake all the same. How had he let himself get this far? Emmrich felt as though he only had himself to blame. No matter the taunting, it was his own actions that he’d have to control. He had to. This wasn’t a matter he could complicate any further.

The man took a deep breath through the nose in an attempt to calm himself. In for four counts and out again for another four. He had to try and be more careful. Be professional. He could do that. If not for Rook’s dignity in regards to an act she’d never be aware of, then at least for self preservation. The toiling guilt and disgust swelled like an infected organ secretly lodged between his small and large intestines.

The strands of hair fell in front of his eyes some time ago, and this time he had no energy to brush them back. He’d need another shower anyways. And a change of clothes.

He couldn’t do this again, and the knowledge that he’d be seeing her again in less than twenty-four hours gnawed at him as he struggled to get his footing.

…

Monday, confusing. Lichdom wasn’t acting right. If she even had jurisdiction to say what was ‘normal’ for him. There had been some level of… excitement over the next session once the weekend passed. Aside from her studying before her project date with Bellara, she hadn’t gotten the chance to do much more work on A Deconstruction of Present. Which was disappointing because she was just starting to get into it but her weekend had been just as busy as she’d expected.

A double booking on Saturday but only one paid for lip service. Damas had called in a favor though so she was up late. Then on Sunday she had a longer session with a new client that Viago had labeled as Sten. Rook knew just enough random Qunlat to recognize it as some sort of military rank, which was very fitting from what she had seen of him. He told her he was a politician from Par Vollen and that more than cleared up how forthright he had decided to be with his information.

The Crows didn’t have any agencies up there but that was mostly because there wasn’t a need for it. Rook’s line of work wasn’t seen with the same sort of taboo it was in Thedas. But according to Sten, they had been recommended to him by an ‘old friend’ and from there it was the organizer who recommended Rook based on ‘certain factors’. Of course, Rook was not privy to that exact information as it wasn’t necessary to her task. A past client was likely Sten’s old friend, or perhaps someone with clipped wings. In any case, him being called Sten was apt. He was a no nonsense type, no complex requests or frills. She thought this would have been a good assignment for one of the newer people since he required so little. That would be the case if not for the damn near merciless stamina he had. Usually when clients paid for longer sessions, there was some sort of drawn out foreplay or talking involved. Not Sten though. Ten minutes to explain everything, another five to get undressed, and the next three hours and forty-five minutes was manual labor.

Needless to say, the warmth Lichdom provided was a welcomed levity that she had been hoping for. So she was grinning to herself until he approached her and then… next to nothing. Lackluster wasn’t quite the right word for it, but Rook equated him to a snuffed candle. She tried to light him up again and got little more than a spark. The most reaction she had gotten out of him the whole session was when she showed him her notes from Thursday and the receipt placement in the book that she used as a marker. His eyes went as wide as saucers, mouth agape. That gave Rook a chuckle and for whatever reason that caused Emmrich to straighten his spine.

First he asked her why she did it, because she felt like doing it. He said she didn’t have to, she knew that but she did it anyway. Funny how that works, isn’t it? His brows knitted together. Then he asked if homework costs extra. That was a spark. No, it wouldn’t cost extra so long as he didn’t ask or expect her to do it. Emmrich regarded her with something unexpected, apprehension. Nothing cold or unpleasant necessarily. He flashed her a polite smile, light as air and warm. But there was a crispness there, cutting in his posture. Like the cooling graze of the autumnal breeze outside of Blackthorn. And it remained that way for the rest of the session.

Wednesday, suspicious. No spark, nothing at all. He was certainly more relaxed than he had been previously but that only seemed to make him more curt in his demeanor. So, Rook tested a few things. On the way inside the library, she stood a little closer to him and let her arm whisper against his knuckles. Emmrich was quick to move his hand away and needlessly checked the time. At the table, she let her messenger bag tip slightly over the edge of the table so a few things would spill out. Just a journal, a few Lyri-Yums, a scrunchy, and a forgotten mechanical pencil. Ever the gentleman, Emmrich was on one knee without a thought and helped her gather the items. She thanked him and apologized for her clumsiness but still got little reaction from her ‘accidentally’ bumping into him a few times. However, he was oddly hesitant to pick up her suckers. A last stitch effort came in the form of leaning over the table to briefly try and read some of the last bits of their first book. The perfect opportunity to peek just a little bit down her shirt and still nothing! They just… finished and moved on to start A City of The Dead.

Now, it was Friday. And Rook was starting to get a little annoyed. Or maybe offended was a better way to describe it? Either way, she had been so up in arms over it that she actually finished the book they had just started in between work. Even had the notes and questions ready to go! That was the only thing to get him back on Monday but she suspected that that had more to do with surprise than anything else. Creators, she’d had more luck with getting Heiner to play and that was less than thrilling. Ah yes, the clearly single nerdy type sees an ‘artsy’ alternative girl who shows even a glimmer of interest in him and he’s borderline twirling his hair over it. That made sense, that was expected and she figured out basically all his tells by the time she returned A Deconstruction of Present.

In the back of her mind she was well aware of the fact that she was being less than fair. Whatever that waltz had been, it was being locked up tight and Rook was clearly being denied entry. Couldn’t even hear the music if she pressed her ear against the door. Perhaps she had set her expectations too high or somehow misjudged him. Rook was usually good at pinning people down but Lichdom was whisked away and she was unable to learn his steps. He had made her excited. Emmrich was fun. But Rook knew if she told any of the other Crows about this issue she was having, they’d think she’d taken too many hits to the face.

‘What was so wrong with having an easy client?’ ‘Sounds like a nice break to me.’ ‘At least you didn’t have my last client, you wouldn’t believe what he wanted to put in me!’ Yeah, sure, they all had a point but still. One of the many reasons was so popular at the agency had to do with her enthusiasm towards the clientele. Rook was a very specific type of voracious learner. After their first proper session in Blackthorn, she had been itching to get back in his domain. The material was interesting enough but Lichdom? He was the real study. And to say she was starting to feel let down was an understatement.

4:18pm on a Friday afternoon, Rook sat on the stone steps again. A few possibilities had come to mind as to what could have caused Emmrich to feel the need to build a wall between them. All of those possibilities led her to the same choice of alleviation. Sincerity. She could do that. No games, no teasing. She would take this session seriously and see where it got her.

Rook’s mouth felt empty without her candy there to reassure her. The bitter taste of the second cup of bad coffee still hanging at the back of her throat. Afternoon sunlight weighed on her from over her closed eyes, head resting on raised knees as she took in the sound pouring in from her headphones. The pressure on her right temple leaned against her kneecap kept her awake

Time was nearing, she’d stop once this song was over. A 3/4 composition dominated by a full line of violins and cellos, pulsed with snares, and enunciated by brass. Waltz wasn’t exactly her speciality but this one could be livelier with the right partner. It flushed with an intensity that begged for a firm hand between the shoulder blades and an elongated neck. The fingers hidden under the curve of her thigh attempted to map the pattern she’d have come up with while the other delicately tapped at the step to keep the time.

Her cheek was warmed by the sunlight. Just enough to give her some peace between the tiredness crawling under her eyes and the melancholy in her legs. The music was loud, just the way she liked it. So it wasn’t sound that made her head perk up but rather the sudden lack of red light penetrating her left eyelid. A sudden darkness that loomed over her as an unknown just before her gaze could process it.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

new sea glass gardens fan here! ✋🏻 happy to see such so much ask activity but i cant really go thru them all.

SO

what is one thing thats not in the fic but related to the universe that you would like ur readers to know?

Welcome!!

It’s that we won’t get to season 1 but if we did yuuji would be violently jealous of yuuta, who is living his best life and is obviously gods perfect man who has somehow locked down fushiguro megumi as his boy.

Probably just how badly it went when megumi was a kid.

There’s been a lot of asks about what happened when the zenin had shared custody. Most of what happened is never making it into sea glass gardens, because I don’t think it would ever come out in yuuta’s pov. I do have one shots from Megumi’s perspective and Gojo’s perspective that I’ve half written that may go up one day, but for right now, it’s a lot of backstory that you won’t ever get from sea glass itself.

If you don’t want to pick through a million asks, here’s a loose outline of what happened:

Gojo found Megumi and decided to adopt him. He then immediately decided he was in over his head and that he would be dragging Nanami and Shoko in with him. It takes a village and he’ll conscript one of his own.

Nanami and Shoko asked him “where the fuck did you get children” and he Did Not Answer That Question

During this time, Gojo, Nanami, and Shoko were sort of falling apart. They were all grieving. Everyone was completely overworked. Nanami had one foot out the door and wasn’t even hiding it. He was isolating himself and blatantly about to leave them all and not leave a number to reach him at. Shoko was abusing alcohol and cigarettes. Gojo was constantly in missions. They were all on the brink of losing each other for good when gojo brought megumi and tsumiki home.

Then he told the Zenin that he has discovered the magic of teenaged fatherhood with Zenin Toji’s kid and would be keeping him, xoxoxo. Hugs and kisses, peace and love, would not be giving this funky little dude back.

The Zenin replied “fuck you, thats our blood, give him back” and Gojo replied “fuck you, I called dibs.” Which the Zenin Did Not Like.

But the thing is that none of the Zenin knew that Megumi had the Ten Shadows yet, and the Zenin knew that if they went to war with Gojo, they’d lose. And they did not want to fucking admit that one member of the Gojo clan could kick all their asses at once, especially over the son of the Zenin clan’s biggest failure, especially when that guy just fucked them all over by killing the star plasma vessel. To save face, they decided to let Gojo keep him and called it a peace offering between their clans… then turned around and spread rumors about how Gojo just liked little kids and that’s why he wanted Zenin Toji’s son.

There’s a roughly nine months period after that where everyone was genuinely happy. Like, it was far from perfect, but they were finally healing a little? They were finally a real group again. They were all simply enchanted with Megumi and Tsumiki. They were happy. They felt like they could really, really be a family one day.

Then the Zenin found out Megumi had the ten shadows.

Cue the most aggressive custody battle of all time. The Zenin wanted full and unconditional custody of Megumi. They wanted Gojo to never have contact with him again. They did not want Tsumiki. Megumi would be theirs and he was never to be allowed contact with his sister or anyone from their group again.

At this point, the higher ups were mostly content to let them duke it out privately. They thought Gojo would lose, is the thing. He was committing the ultimate taboo by taking the ten shadows from the Zenin. They figured he’d eventually cave after he burned up all his good will and he’d be easier to control after this.

Instead it got to the point where Gojo said “actually, fuck this,” and just fucking. Quit. So did Nanami and Shoko. They formed a union and took the kids with them. The Zenin had decided that taking Megumi was an act of war they would answer in kind. It was either kill the entire Zenin clan or fuck off with their family and they chose the latter.

Megumi and Tsumiki think they were just on vacation but actually the custody dispute had escalated to the point of physical violence and the Teen Parenting Trio were hiding out with them to keep them safe.

This made the higher ups freak out, because all of a sudden, they had lost their only working special grade curse user and their only healer. They put pressure on Yaga to fix it.

Yaga was the one who brokered the custody agreement.

He convinced Gojo that what was best for Megumi and for everyone was to negotiate with the Zenin. The Zenin would have partial custody, and Gojo would have him the rest of the time. Megumi would get training in his technique from the people with the best knowledge of it, the Zenin would get time with the Ten Shadows, and they’d avoid war. Yaga thought it was the best deal they’d get.

This is when it all goes to shit.

The Zenin start abusing Megumi. They wouldn’t call it abuse if you asked them, but it was. They forced him to train constantly. No one would call him by his actual name no matter how much he begged. The bit where Megumi was forcibly bathed in sgg? It was an everyday thing when he was a kid. Every single aspect of his life was controlled when he was on the compound, down to what he wore and how his hair was styled. He was getting beaten pretty badly on the daily. The Zenin consider learning how to manage pain a part of training, and Megumi was not exempt from that. He was their heir. He was meant to withstand the most intense training without complaint.

Zenin Naoya was made one of his primary trainers, and he did purposefully abuse Megumi. Everyone else was obsessed with Megumi, only cared about the idea of him, and discarded anything that didnt fit their image about who they wanted him to be. But Naoya hated him. He saw Megumi as usurping his place in the clan. He liked hurting him. He beat him as often as he could.

Megumi starts acting out at home because of how bad things are with the Zenin. He gets in more and more fights at school and shuts down constantly. He's hurting and it's making him struggle, hard.

Eventually, Megumi goes to Gojo and begs him to stop making him go back to the Zenin Compound.

Gojo doesn't save him.

When they come back and make the custody deal, the higher ups basically go after the Teen Parenting Trio with everything they've got. The thing is that they almost lost some of their most valuable members of their society. They realized that they needed new ways to control them. So they introduced Shoko to harder drugs and got her addicted. They worked Gojo constantly. They isolated Nanami. When Megumi goes to Gojo, Gojo's at the absolute end of his rope, fully exhausted, and cannot take a single thing more.

He's also biased out of his mind as to what he thinks is going on. See, he thinks Megumi is being treated how Gojo was treated when he was a kid, which is like a little prince. The issue he's worried about is Megumi being pampered and put on a pedestal to the point it becomes dehumanizing. He's working double time to make sure that the rest of the time, Megumi gets to be a kid the way he didn't get to be growing up. But he never in a million years thought that the Zenin would ever lay a hand on the Ten Shadows, because the Gojo never in a million years would have laid a hand on their Six Eyes.

The other thing is that he sort of just. Thought he knew what was going on? Megumi had been pissed he had to be separated from his sister from the start. He had started to fight incessantly at school (because he was being abused and lashing out), and the Zenin were explaining away his bruises by saying he was starting fights with the other children. It fully fit with his behavior, in their mind. They blamed Maki more than once for his bruises, ironically enough. They said she was jealous of his technique.

Megumi was itty bitty and so fucking hurt, and he sort of stumbles through asking for help, and a lot is lost in communication. Gojo thinks he's just sick of going back there because his family's fucking weird and treats him like he's magic Jesus and he wants to be with his sister full time again. He also thinks that the only options are keeping this going or killing all the Zenin, because that's what Yaga told him. As much as he fucking hates it, he'd rather Megumi put up with spending two days a month with some fucking weirdos over murdering an entire clan or giving up custody entirely. So he basically cuts Megumi off and tells him that they have to make this work if he wants to stay with his sister the rest of the time.

Megumi now thinks that his family knows about the abuse and that they'll take away his sister if he doesn't just shut up and take it.

Megumi gets more hopeless and desperate, but he doesn't ask for help again. He thinks they already know. And he's not going to beg someone to help who never will. The abuse gets worse.

The Zenin start pushing their luck. They don't want partial custody--they want full custody. They start refusing to turn Megumi over to them unless Gojo personally comes to retrieve him, because Gojo's the only one who can actually make them turn him over. Megumi thinks his family is just fucking abandoning to his abusers and becomes more despondent in his situation. It doesn't help that the Zenin are telling him that he's staying later than he has to because his family didn't care enough to come get him.

Nanami gets increasingly frustrated with the situation because he keeps showing up to pick up Megumi at the very first second he can, and the Zenin keep turning him away at the door, and he keeps having to call Gojo in only for them to suddenly cooperate without complaint. He feels useless and angry.

Gojo feels frustrated because he's got every single second of the day scheduled with missions, and he's having to leave them to knock on the door of the Zenin compound and walk Megumi to Nanami's car. During all of this, Shoko has been escalating her drug use due to the higher ups pressure, and it's starting to show, but she refuses to get clean because she can just heal any damage the drugs do to her. Their previously happy family dynamic starts breaking.

Eventually, the situation at the Zenin compound hits its breaking point. If you're interested in what makes the situation hit a new extreme, the post is here, but I'll refrain from saying it here in case anyone wants to wait and see if I'll post the one shots and have it be revealed in-universe.

Naoya almost kills Megumi that time around, and they're all so emboldened by the liberties they've been taking with the custody agreement that they don't even try to hide it this time. They don't think Gojo actually loves Megumi, is the thing. They think Megumi is just a pawn to him, and that he won't care if they hurt him.

Nanami is the one that finds Megumi like that, and it fucking destroys him. He is never able to forget what Megumi looked like then. He carried him to the car, held him the entire time that Ijichi gunned it back to the school, rushed him to Shoko for treatment, and has never been able to forget what it felt like to hold him and not know if he'd survive the drive. He has never been able to forget it.

Anyway, he went back to kick Naoya's fucking ass.

Gojo showed up halfway through their throw down, drag out fight, so furious the ground shook with it. That's the part that Maki remembers of what happened. He told them that it was over, that they'd never be allowed near Megumi again, and he kept his word.

Yaga tried to talk them out of it. It's not that he wanted Megumi to be hurt. He just genuinely thought they didn't have any other options. He didn't think they could actually take the Ten Shadows from the Zenin. He thought the best they could do would be to try to force them into a binding vow not to hurt him. He told them they had to give Megumi back to the Zenin.

The Teen Parenting Trio cut him out of raising the kids completely after that. It broke their trust in him. They no longer thought he'd actually protect them.

Nanami broke down. He couldn't do it anymore. It was Haibara all over again. He told Gojo he was done, that he couldn't do it anymore. He wanted equal custody of the kids. They could work out a schedule. But he couldn't do this anymore.

Gojo realized that Megumi thought that he knew the entire time, and swore up and down that he'd never compromise on his or Tsumiki's wellbeing again. Their family was never the same, and it sort of haunts Gojo as to what they could have been. He always wonders if they could have had something closer if he had just refused to let the Zenin near his kid.

These events are in greater detail in the asks, but that's the general backstory underlying the events right now.

[duckies27]

My boys lost the poll and therefore you will get hurt/comfort to mourn

Spoilers for Season 2!!

Trigger warning for PTSD attacks, death, guilt, mentions of jail time, and overall issues with recovery

It was early in the morning and Normal still hadn't stopped shaking. Taylor and him had been married for only a few months, he still didn't know how nasty these attacks could get. He was just so broken, so violently broken. No way for him to know, no way they can talk this through. Taylor was finally clean, he was finally free from all three monitors and the officers. Why drag him back down?

His eyes looked over to his sleeping husband. Taylor resting with his tail switching and horns resting against the pillow. He seemed so peaceful. So happy. Normal pushed himself off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Looking in his reflection he just saw an empty man. The only scars he was proud of were the top surgery ones. Others were just painful reminders.

Every failed attack, every bad heal, every mistake. The failure of a man, who's own father isn't proud of him unless he saves the damn world. He ruffles his hair, messy curls falling around his cheeks. "I...I look like my father, I should get a hair cut." He mumbled, going through the normal routine. Make sure all the scars were still closed, all the new nicks and scratches from his clumsy behavior weren't anything serious enough to warrant a healing spell. As he moved his hand to check his horribly scarred cheek from the flame walls that almost took him down, his eyes glanced at his wedding ring. Instead of diamond, it was made of obsidian. Taylor insisted, have a piece of hell with him. Be together always. He turned from the mirror, rubbing the stone softly. His mind went to Taylor's vows, their wedding day.

"I promise to love you through the good and the bad. Through the heavens and the hells. When we got married in space, I didn't really mean it. I mean it now. I want to be your husband, I want to be yours. And I want you to be mine."

He weakly sighed, tears pricking at his eyes. "He has to be lying, right? At least a little, no way he would take all of this-" he motioned down to himself, almost to an invisible camera. "I'm more than just a little broken, I'm a whole bag of shattered glass waiting to burst out!" He sat down and hugged himself tightly. Single tears turned into rushing waterfalls. He couldn't stop crying, everything quickly came back, all of it rushing back. Lark's angry cries after he let out that thing, code purple, Sparrow's eyes as he said he wasn't proud, Willy, Hermie's death, the battle in hell, both times falling unconscious, the last battle, years alone and struggling. Even therapy could only do so much.

Taylor shifted awake to an empty bed. A cold, empty bed. He sat up, his tail swishing. "Norm?"

No response. He sighed, getting up. Maybe he left, maybe he was in his office. Grabbing his cane, he carefully fumbled to his feet. Lately his hip had been worse, maybe because he was up and about more. It was hard to explain how strange things had become as of late. Normal and him dated for 2 years, and then he suddenly proposed. Cut a few weeks later and they were wed! Yet they were so separate. Normal was quiet the majority of the time, he kept to himself. He normally smiled most after work, but it would fade after a few hours. It has taken him this long to just get Normal to actually sleep in the same bed as him. It was as if he was afraid.

Who could blame him? After his high school crush was shot, then brought back, then disintegrated right in front of his eyes. The rest of his high school career was miserable. He hated everything, he hated the people, he hated the world. Before the reunion, he literally didn't talk to anyone. He shut off, he shut down. Then again, so did Taylor. Jailed in 3 separate dimensions isn't easy. Thankfully Nick pulled some strings and got him working instead of on house arrest, saved his life.

After a moment of thought, he carefully started moving out of the bedroom to take a quick check around the apartment. The only light on was the bathroom, and he could hear heavy sobbing on the other side. "Normal?"

The sobbing stopped for nearly a moment, almost hoping he would leave, before resuming. Once you start, it's hard to stop. Taylor carefully sat on the other side of the door. "You don't have to talk to me but I'm here. I married you for a reason, I love the good and the bad." He set his cane down, twiddling his thumbs. "The really bad. Even if I don't know it all, I know you're worth it." He gently knocked his horns on the door, a weak smile on his face. "You're real fun to cuddle, much better than a body pillow."

Soft footsteps were followed by the door swinging open. Taylor would've fallen if Normal wasn't there to catch him. The half elf was sobbing, uncontrollably so. He dropped to the ground quickly and wrapped tightly around Taylor. His face was shoved into Taylor's shoulder and just kept sobbing.

"I-i-i-i'm so b-b-b-broken, Taylor, W-w-why am I so broken?!" He squeezed the demon under him, completely lost in his pain and fear. Taylor carefully shifted so they were hugging chest to chest. They sat for a while, just letting Normal get everything out. His hands gently ran through the blonde curls of the shaking elf.

"I mean...you did almost died...I almost died." He gently cupped Normal's cheeks. "In that flame ring, pitted against each other...when I got out and I watched you go down so many times..." He sighed, kissing his forehead. "I hated it. I hated all of it. We spent 6 months fighting and hiding and putting our all into attacking and hurting. But you...you were made for love." Taylor felt tears pricking at his eyes. "And someone tore it away from you. Your father, Willy, even me...I don't know. All I know is that you didn't deserve any of it." To hide how hard he was about to start crying himself, he pulled back and held his hands nice and tight. "I want to make you feel safe again and loved and like you deserve love. Even with the scars and the burns that never fully healed. Even with the stupid mascot suit and all the issues, I want to love you and take care of you!"

All Normal could do was weakly sputter in response. At this point, his glasses were fogged up and he could barely see. He couldn't see the warm smile on Taylor's face. Warm, demonic hands reached up and gently cupped his cheeks before little horn nubs pressed against his forehead. He melted, especially on his burnt side. Anyone else who touched the scar got shouts of frustration or a guiding bolt to the hand, but Taylor always got a melty kitty. The few tears that were left were gently wiped away as the pair shared a short kiss. More of a peck that Normal quickly pulled back from.

"...too much?" Taylor quietly asked, ready to pull his hands away.

Normal shook his head, quickly wiping his eyes. "I-i-i'm tired...and thirsty. Plus, I have work in the morning..."

Taylor pouted. "No you don't, you're taking care of your disabled husband!"

That seemed to catch Norm's attention, his hand shooting to Taylor's hip. He felt around the bone, then the joint, then around the general area. His hands started to glow with magical properties, but Taylor stopped him.

"Hey now, you know that doesn't work. I just have a doctor's appointment in hell and I hate going alone." He smiled warmly. "Plus gets you out of state testing~"

For the first time since the wedding, Normal smiled his smile. The dopy one he always had after doing Teenie routines or after a spell fired how he wanted. Before everything with his father. It was crooked now thanks to his burn scars, but he looked just as happy that he used to.

"Fine, fine. I'll call out." He carefully stood up, hands out to help Taylor back to his feet. The demon was shtakey, but he managed it with his cane. "...it's worse than I thought." They slowly shuffled to the bedroom, getting water for both of them in the process.

Taylor was first down, setting his cane down. Head first into the pillow with a pained groan. Normal followed, gently sitting while chugging down a water bottle. He set it down before resting a hand on his husband's back.

"Come cuddle meeeeee" Taylor giggled, reaching to grab at Normal's hands.

With a soft giggle, Normal fully laid down and wrapped around Taylor for the first time in their married life. He finally was fully there, fully safe.

He may not be all better, but he sure as hell feels less broken with Taylor by his side.

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: I may be losing Internet Access soon

If it isn't one thing, it's another.

I am getting an error on reboot that wants me to scan the laptop. The computer complete freezes at the hardrive immanent failure message. I've no clue how to get it fixed or even checked as all the places I know that used to do it died long ago. I can reboot and go the skip scan route, but it doesn't make immanent failure of my hard drive disappear just because I'm not looking at it.

Klaus laptop's been a bit buggy the last couple of weeks, so I've been quietly backing up a few things just in case.

I was given an ancient chromebook when Aidan laptop died, but I haven't been able to boot it up in a couple of months. I can try tinkering a little in case it's sometthing obvious, but it was super limitted and can't handle even a fraction of what I do in a night.

Most of the money I was gifted at the turning of the year is spent on glasses. (Medicare buys frames, but not things like bifocals, scratch resistance and ultra lights, which I need. They literally do not make my perscription without ultra-lights and bifocals are essential at this point.) I will not rehash the December emergancy eye saga, but I needed the glasses and they are already ordered and half paid for. The rest is earmarked for things like the car tax, insurance auto-withdraw, bills. i have a little wiggle room but not much.

I have been promised housing tax money for next month. It will take most of what is coming. I would have to spend all of that and then some for a replacement lap top that could do the job. I really need something in Aidan laptop's class or better. Poor Klaus from the same company, but is smaller with less memory and older than aidan was. He's been limping along since Tavy broke Aiden.

I don't see a solution other than continueing on until complete failure unless someone can suggest a solution to hard drive failure. I likely won't even be able to borrow Squirrel's computer as I did more than half a decade ago when… Was it Charles lap top or Rupert laptop that failed? Squirrel used to work nights, so I could use their computer in a limitted way in their absense. They now work a lot less, days only. I'd only have little bits and pieces of time when they were out.

If I disapear nearly completely, this will be why.

News aggregation will likely come to a hault or near hault depending on available time as it did during the last outage. Tumblr has a bunch of preprogrammed things, and likely I can do some of that in a more limitted fashion as happened last time. It may literally take a few days after I get knocked off for me to have enough access to tell you I'm mostly gone.

I'm sorry in advance.

You've all been superheroes supporting and literally rescuing me through all the emergancies of the last few years as more and more appliances die and i keep getting suprise body blows like the housing threat that happened this Autumn.

You all mean so much to me and it really does matter a lot how many of you play with my silly polls and find my news stuff useful.

If I do lose most of my internet access, I will miss you.

I'll see if I can msnage some sort of bill juggling to make it work somehow.

If you have a line on a free or cheap decent second hand lap top, let me know.

Update about two hours after I wrote this (I was going to post later, but oh well): Functionality is markedly declining very rapidly. I'm going to have to try to bill juggle. Again. Fuck. The last time this happened things went downhill fast once the box hit this point.

[ilikemyteawithmilk]

I tried writing a fanfiction after a while :3

Also I know Al is Ace. Since Asexuality is a spectrum I took some research into that matter and used one interpretation in here. He is more Demi romantic asexual though. hope thats okay

Alastor didn't know what consequences this ritual would hold.

Looking back at it when he first arrived in Hell, he would do in again in a Heartbeat.

Looking back at his Deal now, with all the constraints, with how he has to fiddle around his Masters orders, he does regret not having thought about a backdoor clause.

But than again, he was just a child when he killed the rabbit, and used it's blood to draw the circle in the snow. Just a child when his father shoved his mother to the floor, and punched him a black eye when he dared walk towards her. Just a child, that wished his father would simply die.

Funny, it was so cold outside, and this rabbits blood was so warm.

It wasn't that difficult to draw a summoning circle on the Ground. This Book that the old lady gave him had all the instructions. In his defense he couldn't understand everything thats written in there as he rarely looked presentable and unbrused enough to go to school, and therefor still had trouble reading. But even experienced readers would have trouble with the cursive in this Book. The Lady clearly wrote this in a hurry. Despite her poor calligraphy he liked her. She had a shop a couple streets away and claimed to be a Witch. Though the others called her a Lunatic, it didn't went unnoticed to him that she often seemed to look younger than the day before.

Once the circle was complete, and the Spell was spoken, young Alastor expected to have Lucifer, the Devil himself appear in front of him and offer to kill his Dad in exchange of his Soul. But faith rarely acts as one expects does it?

No, the entity he made a feal with was less powerful than Lucifer. But far, far more sinister, and a tad more cruel. But Al didn't mind at all. Because instead of Killing his father, his new Friend as The Entity introduced themselves, they offered Alastor some 'ways' to deal with this Drunk himself. And put his new found powers to use. _____________________________________________

A decate later young Alastor just exited a Radio Station where he applied for an Internship. He was humming a song that just played inside, wearing a big smile on his face. He has behaved his best, displayed all his charisma and manners. He was sure to hear from them soon. 'Ah, what a delightful day' he thought. The wind was a refreshing chill against the warm summer heat. He did enjoy the interview, his mother always said he had a way with people. And he did could never get enough of his own coice, so reaching, and influencing, people as a Radio host was a given.

While walking through this ever growing town in the best suit he could afford, he slowly strolled from the mansions, to the apartments, and finally to the slums he and his mother called their home. Never would he admit that he spent a big part of his live in poverty, never behaved or dressed like that either. What would that even bring. He still looked down at the beggars, at the prostitutes, at the drunks. His mother and him never would have lived with theese people If his wretched failure of a father would have been able to hold a job for a week or more, or if he didn't spent all their money on cheap booze.

Al came home and locked the door, quickly getting out of his tailored suit as to not ruin it with dish soap, or stain it with what he plans on doing later that night.

"I'm Home" he announces, Opening the door to his Mother's room and walking to her bed. A quick glance to the empty Glass of water and the half empty Bowl of Soup indicate that she ate. This time. "Good." He whisperes, scared of waking her, but still testing if she's not to far gone into her dreamworld. He quietly refills her Glass and stealthily exits the Room, quiet as a Mouse.

Opening the Pantry, he let's out a deep sigh. Bread, some moldy Carrots, and not enough rice to feed the both of them. But that's okay, he planned on going hunting anyways. And most of the time he does return with something.. more than edible.

_____________________________________

"Have you added enough sage dear?"

"yes Grandma, " you sigh. "And enough Cow blood, and not to much " wait how much wolfsbane was to much?" you laugh as a display of horror grows in her face "A joke a joke Im joking" you laugh while stirring the Pot. Potion Making was never your strong suite, but you where no amateur. Witchcraft was a Family business, and you were an excellent apprentice.

"Yeah keep on laughing, but when our Client comes back and wears a pitchfork with his blue warts and Lizard eyes I will grill a Sandwich on the sltar they burn you on"

Now the both of you were laughing. Witches haven't been caught in centuries, and the small coven of you and your two Grandma's isn't big enough, or suspicious enough to get caught. just two Old ladies who raise their Granddaughter together. Well, in theory Marlene was not your grandmother, but as long as Grandma loved her you will too. "Grandma, Pitchforks? really? " "They used those to hunt us back in the day! didn't forget the time one of those idiotic Farmers threw one of those at me." she winked. "That man became a nice and warm Furcoat for xou when you were a baby you know? "

Another laugh escaped you while pouring the potion into a small vial. Autumn's with your Gramdma are always the best part of the Year. A nice escape from your modern life with your Mom, and a welcome to get back to your Roots.

"Why would that man need a potion of strength anyways?" you wondered. "He's scared someone might kill him. And eat his remains for dinner" A sinister smile on her lips. "Wouldn't he than rather need a protection Talisman? or a Rune on his front door to sanction his House?" your Granny's smile grew. "Sold, sold and sold. Oh those cowards have always been my favorite clients. Poor Soul lives alone with his Dog. When he comes in to pick up his order I'll offer him a talisman for the dog too. Cute thing. a German Shepherd. From it's fur we could brew some fine Lycantrophy antidote" "Grandma, you know as good as I tha- really? I thought Australian Shepherds had better Fur for those?" She giggled and gave you a small slap with the Broom "just testing you my little raven of the night! Don't want you to loose all your wits while beeing away from me"

Again, both of you giggle. While you do your work for a while, filling two more Viols with the Potion and stealthily cleaning the counter where you spilled two drops, you wonder, and ask "Hey Grandma, Why is that man so scared?"

"ouuuuhuiii" She barely can contain her grin and walks other to you, using the Broom as a cane. "haven't you heard it yet? " you raise an Eyebrow, mentally going through all the things she told you since picking you up on the Trainstation merely 4 Hours ago. "We. have. a. Serial Killer in New Orleans" joyfully like a teen cousin who just told you about her crush of the week. "Marlene and I have restricted each other in scrying about who it is, but we are fairly sure they must be young and charming, the way the crimes are comited, oh" She takes a bite out of the air and moans as if eating the most delicious strawberry parfait she has ever tasted, then giggles misheviously. "It's mostly the same old scheme. Once or twice a month, a scream appears, than several more. Theese screams go on for a couple Minutes, but never enough for anyone to trace where exactly they come from. just the direction of the forest." This time, grandma interrupts to actually eat a Cookie, after chewing it painfully long, tasteing the suspense she's creating, she continues. "When police searchey the forest, they always find drops of fresh blood on several places, up to 300 feet apart. They usually never find the Victim, or their remains. Though last time they did find a Pinky finger and a piece of liver." You wrinkle your face. Ew. But the fact that the killer left traces last time means that they grew less cautious. That amused you. Most serial Killers where narcissists after all, and it wasn't unusual for them to make mistakes when they though no one could ever catch them. This brought a smile to your face, and your Grandma took it the wrong way. "Should I peek a look into the crystal ball and see if they're available for courting? "

Before you could correct your Grandma, the bell rang as Marlene opened the door and entered the shop. "Ah ah ah, no peeking my Spiderleg, we won't spoil our game will we? " The thin Woman Dropped her Bag and took off her flat Black hat. First she gave your Grandma a small peck on the cheek before coming up to you. "Come here little dove of doom. How have you been? how was the train ride? how is your stomach doing after the long time apart from my good cooking?" You embrace Marlene in a tight hug and answere her Questions with a smile on your Lips. Marlene's cooking was the best you ever had. You're not a hundred percent convinced she wasn't casting spells on it to increase the flavor though. Than she spoke the words you were afraid to hear since last year, and your stummic dropped to your feet.

"Are you ready for the Ritual tonight?"

Are you? You should be. You have been prepared for this. You have weighed the consequences, You could live as a Normal Human like your Mother choose. Or you Choose Magic.

"I. I think I am." "Have you decided on a Demon yet?" "She should pic one of the Sins. I picked an Ars Goetia and look where that left me." Your Grandmother exclaimed, still swiping the floor on the exact same spot. "My powers are great, but I'm nearly 250 years old, and already look like I'm close to the Grave." "You and I both know your age and appearance isn't determined by the demon, but by our use of magic. Play nurse for some more children, get some vials of their blood and you will look like 170 in no time" Marlene said smoothly while putting a hand on your shoulder. "We don't have to-" "I am ready. And I have choosen. I just need to reread the Spell for tonight." You interrupt her. " to chant it correctly you know? I left My book about Demonology at home so Kalista could read it, to ease her nerves. May I use yours?" You quicky glimpse at your Grandmother while fiddling with your necklace. You have been so sure when you packed your Bags yesterday, when you entered the train, even when you took a seat and started to mentally go through simpel spells. Only when you saw the look of worry in yours Mom's eyes as the train departured did your confidence stutter, and your insecurities grew. "Pah, Kalista should have rather visited us aswell. Support her big sister with such a big step" Granny's swiping grew more aggressive. "She will come when, and only if she's ready spiderweb." Marlene baisicly floated over to your grandmother with how light her steps where. She took Granny's chin in her hand and slightly tilted it up. "not everyone wishes for the life we share, but that doesn't mean we won't enjoy it the best we can"

You did love Marlene for the way she made your Grandma loose her track of thought and her temper. How one bewitched the other without spells just with a look.

After a few moments of you puting the vials, two talismans and a parchment with the correct Rune in a small Box, you cleared your throat.

"The book?"

"Oh.What book?"

You sigh.

"The book about Demonology?"

silence

"The Book I need for Tonights ritual?"

silence.

"Your Book about Demonology wich I need to lend in Order to fullfill my Ritual and keep my powers even After my 6999 Day on earth?"

Both you and Marlene stare and Your Grandma.

"Spide-" "I gave it away."

This time, the silence came from you and Marlene

"Look, there was A boy, always covered in Bruises and.. I .. My contract stated that I was to be mishevious! and I thought a little chaos, a little...well he never did anything with it though!? stleast his Parents never contacted me, and just last week I saw him buying whisky in the"

"Buying Whisky?" Marlene shook her head, letting go off your Grandma to look her in the Eyes. "yes." "I thought you gave the book to a child. "well yes. About ten years ago. Maybe eleven."

Both you and Marlene were speechless. To be fair, none of you really kept the whole 'beeing a witch' thing this secret. Wearing long Robes, collecting herbes, openly cuddling black Cats.. but your Grandma always had to be extra. Going as far as to tell kids how she would have grilled Hansel and Gretel instead of baking them. But giving away a Spellbook to strangers, that was could have consequences. For all three ou you. "He clearly didn't do anything! I'm sure the book is just dusting Away in his Attic! I can Summon it ! I just need.. " she left the room. You could hear her rummaging through her storage, angry huffs and puffs when whatever she was searching for wasn't where she expected it to be. Meanwhile Marlene came over to you. Picking up her bag on the way there. "I brought you something Applepie. It might be a bit early, and a bit old fashioned, but tradition is tradition." She took out a black, simple pointy hat, with a ribbon in your favorite color. You thanked her and took her into a tight embrace. Marlene was a treasure you intended to keep in your life.

"Aha! found it!" Granny re-emerged with just the right tool. A piece of paper. "A spell to summon what one once lost. If you need it back no matter the cost. Just chant its Name, with hope in mind. And the Object you will find. My Book of Demonology" She spoke in singsang. It was odd that your Grandma didn't now the spell by heart. given how easy It was, and how often she lost her belongings. But after some moments and a fine Orange glow the Book appeared howering in front of her. "Ahaha! there you are! ihihihi!" She was practically glowing and smiling, it faded a little while she took it in her hands, but her expression was still happy. "oh, eell you do look a but worn out? And youre cold. Have you been kept outside? Dumb boy must have kept you in an outside shed rather then a nice dusty bookshelf in the attic huh?" She shifted her Fokus back to you and handed the book over. "here Pumpkinpie, the Book should contain all the information your copy had. Go on and learn a little, it's almost midnight already" she wore a Soft smile now. gazing into your Eyes. "We will start at 03:00 o'clock. Witching hour." You noded and made your way up to your room. Eagerly putting on the Hat and flipping through the pages to the demon of your Choice.

Back in the shop, Marlene and Your Grandma Shared a sigh, looking after their little girl practically running up the stairs. "Are you sure he didnt do anything with the book?" Marlene asked, having a sense of foreboding. Granny took Marlene's Hand in hers and squeezed a little. "Ah, don't worry dearest, I'm sure he wouldn't even notice.

But Alastor did notice. This was Bad. Very Bad

[shambless-life-blog]

I dont want to set the world on fire ~

I tried writing a fanfiction after a while :3

Also I know Al is Ace. Since Asexuality is a spectrum I took some research into that matter and used one interpretation in here. He is more Demi romantic asexual though. hope thats okay

Alastor didn't know what consequences this ritual would hold.

Looking back at it when he first arrived in Hell, he would do in again in a Heartbeat.

Looking back at his Deal now, with all the constraints, with how he has to fiddle around his Masters orders, he does regret not having thought about a backdoor clause.

But than again, he was just a child when he killed the rabbit, and used it's blood to draw the circle in the snow. Just a child when his father shoved his mother to the floor, and punched him a black eye when he dared walk towards her. Just a child, that wished his father would simply die.

Funny, it was so cold outside, and this rabbits blood was so warm.

It wasn't that difficult to draw a summoning circle on the Ground. This Book that the old lady gave him had all the instructions. In his defense he couldn't understand everything thats written in there as he rarely looked presentable and unbrused enough to go to school, and therefor still had trouble reading. But even experienced readers would have trouble with the cursive in this Book. The Lady clearly wrote this in a hurry. Despite her poor calligraphy he liked her. She had a shop a couple streets away and claimed to be a Witch. Though the others called her a Lunatic, it didn't went unnoticed to him that she often seemed to look younger than the day before.

Once the circle was complete, and the Spell was spoken, young Alastor expected to have Lucifer, the Devil himself appear in front of him and offer to kill his Dad in exchange of his Soul. But faith rarely acts as one expects does it?

No, the entity he made a feal with was less powerful than Lucifer. But far, far more sinister, and a tad more cruel. But Al didn't mind at all. Because instead of Killing his father, his new Friend as The Entity introduced themselves, they offered Alastor some 'ways' to deal with this Drunk himself. And put his new found powers to use. _____________________________________________

A decate later young Alastor just exited a Radio Station where he applied for an Internship. He was humming a song that just played inside, wearing a big smile on his face. He has behaved his best, displayed all his charisma and manners. He was sure to hear from them soon. 'Ah, what a delightful day' he thought. The wind was a refreshing chill against the warm summer heat. He did enjoy the interview, his mother always said he had a way with people. And he did could never get enough of his own coice, so reaching, and influencing, people as a Radio host was a given.

While walking through this ever growing town in the best suit he could afford, he slowly strolled from the mansions, to the apartments, and finally to the slums he and his mother called their home. Never would he admit that he spent a big part of his live in poverty, never behaved or dressed like that either. What would that even bring. He still looked down at the beggars, at the prostitutes, at the drunks. His mother and him never would have lived with theese people If his wretched failure of a father would have been able to hold a job for a week or more, or if he didn't spent all their money on cheap booze.

Al came home and locked the door, quickly getting out of his tailored suit as to not ruin it with dish soap, or stain it with what he plans on doing later that night.

"I'm Home" he announces, Opening the door to his Mother's room and walking to her bed. A quick glance to the empty Glass of water and the half empty Bowl of Soup indicate that she ate. This time. "Good." He whisperes, scared of waking her, but still testing if she's not to far gone into her dreamworld. He quietly refills her Glass and stealthily exits the Room, quiet as a Mouse.

Opening the Pantry, he let's out a deep sigh. Bread, some moldy Carrots, and not enough rice to feed the both of them. But that's okay, he planned on going hunting anyways. And most of the time he does return with something.. more than edible.

_____________________________________

"Have you added enough sage dear?"

"yes Grandma, " you sigh. "And enough Cow blood, and not to much " wait how much wolfsbane was to much?" you laugh as a display of horror grows in her face "A joke a joke Im joking" you laugh while stirring the Pot. Potion Making was never your strong suite, but you where no amateur. Witchcraft was a Family business, and you were an excellent apprentice.

"Yeah keep on laughing, but when our Client comes back and wears a pitchfork with his blue warts and Lizard eyes I will grill a Sandwich on the sltar they burn you on"

Now the both of you were laughing. Witches haven't been caught in centuries, and the small coven of you and your two Grandma's isn't big enough, or suspicious enough to get caught. just two Old ladies who raise their Granddaughter together. Well, in theory Marlene was not your grandmother, but as long as Grandma loved her you will too. "Grandma, Pitchforks? really? " "They used those to hunt us back in the day! didn't forget the time one of those idiotic Farmers threw one of those at me." she winked. "That man became a nice and warm Furcoat for xou when you were a baby you know? "

Another laugh escaped you while pouring the potion into a small vial. Autumn's with your Gramdma are always the best part of the Year. A nice escape from your modern life with your Mom, and a welcome to get back to your Roots.

"Why would that man need a potion of strength anyways?" you wondered. "He's scared someone might kill him. And eat his remains for dinner" A sinister smile on her lips. "Wouldn't he than rather need a protection Talisman? or a Rune on his front door to sanction his House?" your Granny's smile grew. "Sold, sold and sold. Oh those cowards have always been my favorite clients. Poor Soul lives alone with his Dog. When he comes in to pick up his order I'll offer him a talisman for the dog too. Cute thing. a German Shepherd. From it's fur we could brew some fine Lycantrophy antidote" "Grandma, you know as good as I tha- really? I thought Australian Shepherds had better Fur for those?" She giggled and gave you a small slap with the Broom "just testing you my little raven of the night! Don't want you to loose all your wits while beeing away from me"

Again, both of you giggle. While you do your work for a while, filling two more Viols with the Potion and stealthily cleaning the counter where you spilled two drops, you wonder, and ask "Hey Grandma, Why is that man so scared?"

"ouuuuhuiii" She barely can contain her grin and walks other to you, using the Broom as a cane. "haven't you heard it yet? " you raise an Eyebrow, mentally going through all the things she told you since picking you up on the Trainstation merely 4 Hours ago. "We. have. a. Serial Killer in New Orleans" joyfully like a teen cousin who just told you about her crush of the week. "Marlene and I have restricted each other in scrying about who it is, but we are fairly sure they must be young and charming, the way the crimes are comited, oh" She takes a bite out of the air and moans as if eating the most delicious strawberry parfait she has ever tasted, then giggles misheviously. "It's mostly the same old scheme. Once or twice a month, a scream appears, than several more. Theese screams go on for a couple Minutes, but never enough for anyone to trace where exactly they come from. just the direction of the forest." This time, grandma interrupts to actually eat a Cookie, after chewing it painfully long, tasteing the suspense she's creating, she continues. "When police searchey the forest, they always find drops of fresh blood on several places, up to 300 feet apart. They usually never find the Victim, or their remains. Though last time they did find a Pinky finger and a piece of liver." You wrinkle your face. Ew. But the fact that the killer left traces last time means that they grew less cautious. That amused you. Most serial Killers where narcissists after all, and it wasn't unusual for them to make mistakes when they though no one could ever catch them. This brought a smile to your face, and your Grandma took it the wrong way. "Should I peek a look into the crystal ball and see if they're available for courting? "

Before you could correct your Grandma, the bell rang as Marlene opened the door and entered the shop. "Ah ah ah, no peeking my Spiderleg, we won't spoil our game will we? " The thin Woman Dropped her Bag and took off her flat Black hat. First she gave your Grandma a small peck on the cheek before coming up to you. "Come here little dove of doom. How have you been? how was the train ride? how is your stomach doing after the long time apart from my good cooking?" You embrace Marlene in a tight hug and answere her Questions with a smile on your Lips. Marlene's cooking was the best you ever had. You're not a hundred percent convinced she wasn't casting spells on it to increase the flavor though. Than she spoke the words you were afraid to hear since last year, and your stummic dropped to your feet.

"Are you ready for the Ritual tonight?"

Are you? You should be. You have been prepared for this. You have weighed the consequences, You could live as a Normal Human like your Mother choose. Or you Choose Magic.

"I. I think I am." "Have you decided on a Demon yet?" "She should pic one of the Sins. I picked an Ars Goetia and look where that left me." Your Grandmother exclaimed, still swiping the floor on the exact same spot. "My powers are great, but I'm nearly 250 years old, and already look like I'm close to the Grave." "You and I both know your age and appearance isn't determined by the demon, but by our use of magic. Play nurse for some more children, get some vials of their blood and you will look like 170 in no time" Marlene said smoothly while putting a hand on your shoulder. "We don't have to-" "I am ready. And I have choosen. I just need to reread the Spell for tonight." You interrupt her. " to chant it correctly you know? I left My book about Demonology at home so Kalista could read it, to ease her nerves. May I use yours?" You quicky glimpse at your Grandmother while fiddling with your necklace. You have been so sure when you packed your Bags yesterday, when you entered the train, even when you took a seat and started to mentally go through simpel spells. Only when you saw the look of worry in yours Mom's eyes as the train departured did your confidence stutter, and your insecurities grew. "Pah, Kalista should have rather visited us aswell. Support her big sister with such a big step" Granny's swiping grew more aggressive. "She will come when, and only if she's ready spiderweb." Marlene baisicly floated over to your grandmother with how light her steps where. She took Granny's chin in her hand and slightly tilted it up. "not everyone wishes for the life we share, but that doesn't mean we won't enjoy it the best we can"

You did love Marlene for the way she made your Grandma loose her track of thought and her temper. How one bewitched the other without spells just with a look.

After a few moments of you puting the vials, two talismans and a parchment with the correct Rune in a small Box, you cleared your throat.

"The book?"

"Oh.What book?"

You sigh.

"The book about Demonology?"

silence

"The Book I need for Tonights ritual?"

silence.

"Your Book about Demonology wich I need to lend in Order to fullfill my Ritual and keep my powers even After my 6999 Day on earth?"

Both you and Marlene stare and Your Grandma.

"Spide-" "I gave it away."

This time, the silence came from you and Marlene

"Look, there was A boy, always covered in Bruises and.. I .. My contract stated that I was to be mishevious! and I thought a little chaos, a little...well he never did anything with it though!? stleast his Parents never contacted me, and just last week I saw him buying whisky in the"

"Buying Whisky?" Marlene shook her head, letting go off your Grandma to look her in the Eyes. "yes." "I thought you gave the book to a child. "well yes. About ten years ago. Maybe eleven."

Both you and Marlene were speechless. To be fair, none of you really kept the whole 'beeing a witch' thing this secret. Wearing long Robes, collecting herbes, openly cuddling black Cats.. but your Grandma always had to be extra. Going as far as to tell kids how she would have grilled Hansel and Gretel instead of baking them. But giving away a Spellbook to strangers, that was could have consequences. For all three ou you. "He clearly didn't do anything! I'm sure the book is just dusting Away in his Attic! I can Summon it ! I just need.. " she left the room. You could hear her rummaging through her storage, angry huffs and puffs when whatever she was searching for wasn't where she expected it to be. Meanwhile Marlene came over to you. Picking up her bag on the way there. "I brought you something Applepie. It might be a bit early, and a bit old fashioned, but tradition is tradition." She took out a black, simple pointy hat, with a ribbon in your favorite color. You thanked her and took her into a tight embrace. Marlene was a treasure you intended to keep in your life.

"Aha! found it!" Granny re-emerged with just the right tool. A piece of paper. "A spell to summon what one once lost. If you need it back no matter the cost. Just chant its Name, with hope in mind. And the Object you will find. My Book of Demonology" She spoke in singsang. It was odd that your Grandma didn't now the spell by heart. given how easy It was, and how often she lost her belongings. But after some moments and a fine Orange glow the Book appeared howering in front of her. "Ahaha! there you are! ihihihi!" She was practically glowing and smiling, it faded a little while she took it in her hands, but her expression was still happy. "oh, eell you do look a but worn out? And youre cold. Have you been kept outside? Dumb boy must have kept you in an outside shed rather then a nice dusty bookshelf in the attic huh?" She shifted her Fokus back to you and handed the book over. "here Pumpkinpie, the Book should contain all the information your copy had. Go on and learn a little, it's almost midnight already" she wore a Soft smile now. gazing into your Eyes. "We will start at 03:00 o'clock. Witching hour." You noded and made your way up to your room. Eagerly putting on the Hat and flipping through the pages to the demon of your Choice.

Back in the shop, Marlene and Your Grandma Shared a sigh, looking after their little girl practically running up the stairs. "Are you sure he didnt do anything with the book?" Marlene asked, having a sense of foreboding. Granny took Marlene's Hand in hers and squeezed a little. "Ah, don't worry dearest, I'm sure he wouldn't even notice.

But Alastor did notice. This was Bad. Very Bad

[vohunara]

   of course it's a festive day. how could it not be? it's a special day, today.

   if possible, he'd make it a festivity- but Kaveh might just die of embarassment at being congratulated, so he puts the idea and the work behind it aside.

   what he has done the previous days is, instead, keep an eye out for ingredients. a pack of flour. a dozen eggs, because they were running low, and he's going to employ four for his dirty deeds. vanilla extract. 

   all of it is disguised with a shrug and ain case you want to try something new, so you don't trip out of the door in a rush screaming about missing something that was ( hopefully ) regarded as a normal comment and indulgence towards him. Al Haitham isn't poor, in that regard.

   a quick, planned early end of his shirt finds him squirreling home the darkest cocoa powder he could find, and a bag of almonds and macadamia nuts, unnoticed and promptly hidden behind some colorful glasses where out of sight means out of mind, for his boyfriend.

   and now that he has, for once, risen even earlier than Kaveh... ah, the dances can begin.

   how hard can it be, to bake a cake for Kaveh's birthday? he has his grandmother's recipe book opened in front of him, and there's plenty of cakes here. he can follow the base recipe, and then add his. baking is a science- if he follows everything perfectly, he's sure the events will come along.

   after half an hour spent to try and make glaze out of scratch, he has to conclude that whoever said that baking was a science needs to return to the Akademia to have a supplementary course of studies.

   the base of it has come along nicely- but the glaze is too liquid. and bitter- but bitter is not a problem. there's a frown creasing over his flour-stained eyebrows as he figures out that it needs to be thicker, but adding more powdered sugar will ruin the bitterness of it. with a sigh, he throws the slosh in the trashbin, and adds less water to his next try along with a bit of coffee grounds- the consistence comes out better, but there are sweet and bitter clumps in it.

   this is defeating him. yet, he perseveres. a true scholar never gives up until the very last thesis has been handed over- in his case, a true boyfriend determined to bake a sweet treat for his significant other never gives up until everything has burned.

   however, he startles and turns abruptly when he hears a noise- and wouldn't you know his luck? the birthday man is right behind him, staring at the mess he made of the counter.

   this is a very deer-in-headlights moment. his shoulders sag after a brief second of shock, the dignity of someone absolutely powdered with flour almost from head to toe, and still in his pajama pants.

   ' don't touch anything, ' he warns, worn down by baking.' i can't smooth the glaze, so i have to remake it and figure out what went wrong. it was supposed to be your birthday cake, but with how i'm proceeding i do want to lead you to the nearest bakery and just have you pick one instead of getting poisoned. '

   there's a bit of frustration- but he has rarely baked. failure was to be expected. still- he raises a spoonful of glaze over Kaveh's mouth.

   ' tell me if it's edible. perhaps not all hope is lost. '

      Al Haitham thinks he's subtle, and perhaps that was true at some point in their lives when Kaveh's sights were clouded by multiple layers of doubt, hesitation and plain distrust of the man's every intention. Now, as time has passed and much changed between then, he rests easy, sure that he has an unmatched grasp on his partner's individuality, enough to know for certain that he is up to no good.

      His prying goes unanswered, dismissed or thwarted, as it usually does. Haitham's resolve is unbreakable when he's so clearly unwilling to let anyone into his affairs — Kaveh has learned to let go, abandon the need to uncover and understand, and, just as important, trust to take the what the other says at face value. And so he does, his days passing by without any more investigation.

      The answer comes in the morning, a day when he wakes up uncharacteristically alone. It's early and already so noisy with the clinking of cutlery echoing in the corridors, Kaveh groans, husky and with sleep weighing on the cadence of his voice, his complaint pointedly condemning the sound of metal scratching.

      ‘ By god, are you trying to implode the kitchen? ʼ Brows crease above crimson eyes, pinched at the middle and pulling all of Kaveh's features into a half-disgruntled, half-curious frown. He yawns right after, hands working on the buttons of his blouse until most of his frame is covered as he walks up to the mess left on the counters and table.

      He tries to reach for one of the empty packages, but stops immediately when instructed to, stunned both by the request and the explanation that follows it: 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆. Al-Haitham is baking and failing comically. Kaveh laughs, spontaneously and freely. ‘ You're supposed to sift the powders before adding them to the mixture. ʼ His mouth opens to sample the sugar glaze and confirm the mistake he's already picked up from seeing the contents in bowl: it's clumpy, with tiny sugar clusters melting on his tongue while he tastes. The bitter aftertaste is a surprise, though. His eyes widen for a second in response.

      ‘ Too sweet, it's overwhelming. ʼ Whether his words address the glaze or the Scribe himself, Kaveh makes no effort to clarify. Rather, he reaches to wipe flour off the man's lashes and nose, pulling back then to roll his own sleeves up and reach for a strainer inside the cabinet. ‘ There's no way you'll leave this kitchen without learning how to bake a cake, if it's the last thing I do. Go get more sugar. ʼ

[thessalian]

Thess vs Minor Frustrations

Today has thus far been a day of minor frustrations. Then again, I guess that's Saturdays for most people, for one reason or another. Mostly on the basis of Errands.

This is the bit that sucks such a huge amount of dead donkey dick about how so many jobs are structured. By this I mostly mean the "nine to five" thing. This leaves most people too tired to do much during the week after work ... and that's if the shops they want are even open. No wonder people went so hard on online shopping. But there is stuff you can't buy online, and some stuff that it's just not sensible to buy online, and that leaves the weekends. And, depending on where you live, that mostly means Saturday - at least for me if I want any kind of variety because most things in my area either shut early or don't open at all on a Sunday.

Summary: I went out for Stuff today, and did not much enjoy it.

I mean, it wasn't helped by the fact that I got woken up before I wanted to be by the postman knocking on my door. Not ringing my doorbell, no - I guess someone he was delivering to in one of the other flats let him in - but knocking on my door. So there I was, in my nightshirt and mussed hair and no glasses, wondering what the hell this man was delivering. Turns out it's my new router.

Which actually also annoys me, because my phone and internet provider is switching to this Digital Call thing - taking away the normal phone lines and having it all be digital and internet-based. Which apparently also means that in the event of your router malfunctioning or a power failure, you can't call anybody on your land line. Not even emergency services. Without an internet connection, you basically have no phone. I'm sure there are some advantages to this, but I can't think of any off the top of my head. I mean, beyond "potentially cheaper for them", given how few people actually use land lines anymore anyway. But still, I dislike this immensely. I keep thinking of elderly people who may not carry mobile phones and could run into significant problems if there's ever a time their internet shuts down and they can't call for help when they need it.

Anyway, I was up, so I had coffee and went out. And it was the usual. I really should stop going to Peckham on Saturdays because there's always, always, always at least one bunch of Evangelicals trying to foist pamphlets on me and shouting into a microphone about Jesus. I get that evangelising is part of the whole being-an-Evangelist thing, buuuuuuuut ... well. I have some issues - with prosletysing as well as with mobility (that latter meaning I have to struggle to get around these people who are stepping right into people's paths to shove a pamphlet into their face). Beyond that, though, each and every one of the three buses I had to take today (home to Peckham, Peckham to the big Sainsbury's, big Sainsbury's to home) was a minimum 20 minute wait. And while it wasn't raining, it was grey-foggy and just misty-damp all day. Like Silent Hill without the charm.

I'm crabby about some other shit too, but I'm not really into vagueblogging - there's just something I have to deal with and I'm not looking forward to it and I keep not getting around to it anyway because I keep having to spend spoons on stuff like going out to get pain meds and toothpaste and all that sort of thing. But I did get snacks. So it'll be hot bath, snacks, finishing up my third playthough of Veilguard, maaaaaybe starting a fourth depending on how I feel (I have a Crow in mind) ... and tomorrow will be some household chores and the triumphant return of my bestie to our D&D games! And I won't set up the new router until Monday because the new phone line doesn't start until midweek anyway and I'm not doing anything that may mess with my internet connection before said D&D session.

[boraluv]

Dear 2024,

You brought me to my knees in many ways, and I cried more tears than I had since 2020 or before. More than a few disappointing moments manifested. But, 방탄소년단 showed up in my life and helped me push open the doors of “what if … I make a change?” and truly have moved my life in a direction I thought was too far gone to pursue.

Thanks to BTS, I cried AND laughed. I got to experience baby ARMY while all members were enlisted and get to know their voices, colors and personalities through soooo many episodes of bts run and other interviews. My first Festa was the day after Jin came home and I couldn’t listen to The Astronaut for weeeks without breaking into tears. I went solo to my first cupsleeve event & just buzzed with all the feels for our 7 and Jin! Jimin’s album MUSE came out and I fell in love with WHO, and felt like the Maknae line really grew on me when I got to see them unfiltered in Are You Sure? in the summer/fall months. I went to Lolla to see Stray Kids (my first K-pop concert experience!) but the highlight truly was seeing Laufey (my dream girl forever). (She and Tae MUST collaborate next year.) My first and only ot7 photos from June will be forever cherished, and the greatest heartbreak is that my first time getting an update from Yoongi happened in August with just the most horrific scenario. He’s so close to my heart, and I just want to hug him tight still. I saw Jk’s film in theatres, met an army who is years younger than I but so fun to meet someone IRL and we’re insta friends now! October brought excitement for Jin’s comeback, and Hobi’s release. I was so anxious to miss him, but was able to see him walk out the doors, giggled at the chaos Jin invited, and literally just vibrated with excitement so much after his livestream I think I got 5 hours of sleep! Worth it. My two first biases, home and doing all the things and what they love and being adored. Their Christmas live went off at 2:30am my time and I still watched it from my bed, so thankful. They’re everything to me. And, a JK live? Truly a gift from the heavens to show us that we are leaving 2024 in the dust and welcoming in 2025 with singing!!!

God led me into 2024 by reminding me that He has made me to be brave, and that this lies rooted in fear and doubt that I believe about myself have no true grasp on me… so in light if that, I started learning Korean. And slowly, like a little snail, I’m learning on my way- with hopes to study in a classroom. In another country. In the coming year. 🥹

The future still feels very uncertain, but it always is- even when we think we know the next steps. I remind myself that there is so little I can truly control, but my soul and life is more precious than even pretty birds and stunning flowers. The future IS gonna be ok. I just have walk forward, on step, one day at a time. It’s ok to fail because it means I’ve TRIED, and I can learn from both failure and success. Sometimes failure IS success! I have friends who love me, family who will support me, and Jesus to guide me. He’s given me a love for the world and people and beauty, and I’m going to pursue caring about those things and telling stories in words, and hopefully other mediums as well, more & more.

I’m ending this year in my cozy living room, I’ll drink a glass of wine and eat orange slices under the table (no grapes in this house lol) and play my favorite BTS songs to usher out 2024 and welcome in 2025. Friends, whoever reads this, if anyone does, take heart. There is always another sunrise, there will always be something to bring joy again. You’ve got this, and I’ll hold your hand if you need that. Imagine me squeezing it tight- you are loved!!

Let’s run forward into the new year. 2025, and Bangtan, I’m ready for you! 가자!!!

Xoxo

[wholockiantabs]

I Don't Know

So...this is going to be a thing for me to come back to. If you follow me on this hellsite, feel free to ignore this, it's literally just gonna be me ranting for a hot minute.

I've been burnt out...and I want to say 'recently' but truthfully I've been burnt out for years. Like, at least 10, maybe 15. I am exhausted all the time and while some days are better...it's honestly because I can just mask better on those days. Maybe I get some kind of serotonin from something, but most days I'm just...here.

So I'm gonna write this dumb thing at 1:30pm at the library because if I don't get my emotions out in some way, I'm gonna cry at work. And truthfully, this isn't even gonna focus on the stuff happening in the world right now because most of my inner turmoil is from the stuff going on in my personal life.

So I saw a thing once where a mother was describing how your life is basically just juggling balls of responsibility and some are plastic and some are glass. The ones that are plastic you can let drop because it won't be the end of the world if you don't do it, but you can't drop the glass ones. It's a pretty good way to visualize how you need to prioritize things, because if you spend too long trying to keep the plastic balls in the air too, you'll eventually burn out and everything will drop. I like this, and it makes sense.

So here's how I picture my brain:

Imagine you have a computer with 1TB of storage for responsibilities. You cannot load any more memory into that thing if you tried, and doing so will short circuit the whole thing and cause a complete system failure. And I have 1.5TB worth of storage that I need to use. I've already cut down on the less important stuff, and I'm left at 1.5TB. I have to figure out what to prioritize, because I literally can't cut out anything else. So I cut out things that I don't "need" right this minute: Basic healthcare necessities, taking care of myself in any real meaningful way, dropping potential hobbies because I literally don't have the bandwidth to learn anything more, not reading/writing/watching anything new because I cannot emotionally process anything else at this moment in time. And even after all of that...I'm running 1TB of responsibilities all day, every day, with no rest.

My computer will crash, I know it will, but I literally have no other choice.

I take care of my mum who has memory issues, and I need to remember everything. All the time. Every day. What medicine does she take? How much? How often? What interacts with what? Putting in refill requests and making sure to remember to pick it up. Getting in prior auths when I need to. Remembering when doctor's appointments are coming up. Remembering which one it is, what location we're going to, what time it's at, and what we have to tell them. Remembering her vitals so I can tell when they're off since they run low. Making sure it's either on my one WFH day or I take PTO that day if I need to.

And that's just doctor's stuff. Then I have the daily things that everyone needs to remember. When did I last clean the kitchen/living room/bathroom/bedroom? Do I need to take out the trash? Or run the dish washer? Did I make sure to pay the bills that come out of this paycheck? Did I take my medicine today? Do I need puppy pads? Dog food? Dog treats? When was the last time I went shopping? Do I need soap, shampoo, toothpaste?

I don't get a mental break. That's just a tiny snippet of what I deal with every day. It's non-stop thinking, and my ADHD is not helping. Because I can remember things, but when my mum asks me to do seven other things, or to remember four other things for later...I literally just can't. And even when I tell her it's too much and to stop...she forgets. And it's medical, she can't help it, I get that. But christ almightly I am so fucking tired. I am so, so exhausted mentally.

I also get the fun bonus of having to deal with shit I shouldn't. Did you know I once accidentally left my medicine out in the living room (in a bottle marked with my name) but because it looks similar to what my mum takes, she just thought it was hers and never checked. After taking it for like a week, when I realized it was mine...I got yelled at...for having the audacity to leave my medicine out in the living room where I live. Like...how am I supposed to live when I'm constantly worried about doing something wrong and getting yelled at? Whether it's true or not, I feel as though I'm never allowed to make mistakes. That I "should have known better" when in reality, I probably just forgot about it like any other normal human being.

And then we're trying to buy and house and holy FUCK I hate it. I hate it so much. I want to scream and cry and punch something hard until I can't move anymore. It's nothing but stress, and since it's my income and my fucked up credit that we're using...everything is basically all on me. The paperwork, the calling, the emails, the forms, the looking around at different options...I'm so tired of it. I hate it. I hate it so goddamn fucking much.

I also just realized I didn't talk about my job at all, and while it's a nice job that pays me decently, that also takes up brain space because it's accounting and administration. I NEED to remember shit and keep things in line or I WILL be the one hearing about it.

Maybe I'll just show this to my therapist or something, I don't know, but I'm so tired. I wake up at 6am for work at 8am, and then I'm done at 4pm and get home around 5:30pm. Then I have to run errands if needed, and then I'm home. But even then...I just want to not talk for awhile. And I love my mum, and I get that she loves to talk with people and doesn't get that as much...but I don't. I just want to be unbothered for like 1 solid hour after work. But no. I don't get that, or it happens rarely. And some days are worse where she'll drop things and I'll need to help clean up or put things back together, and I just...I literally can't express how fucking tired I am.

And I don't have anyone to help me. Not in any meaningful way. Unless we paid someone to remember all the fucking shit I have to remember each and every day...I can't see this getting any better. I don't think I can "mental health" my way out of severe burnout when it seems like my life is just not condusive to this. (Like, this is one of the many reasons I don't want kids, I cannot take care of another person without hurting myself in the process. I am just not equipped for it)

And it sucks when people at work say things like "Oh, you're so mature and strong!" "You're wonderful to taking care of your mum like that!" "You're so responsible!" Meanwhile I'm out here drowning and I want to scream that I'm not doing well and that I just want to walk into the woods and just cease to exist. Everyone always asks how my mum is doing, but no one ever asks me how I'm doing, or if they do I don't think they want me trauma-dumping on them at 9am, so I just say "I'm okay." Because what else can I do?

I'm just numb. I wake up, go to work, come home, and I maybe scroll Tumblr or Facebook for an hour or two before I go to sleep. Video games don't seem fun to me, even when I try to start playing them, it just...feels like nothing. I haven't written anything in months because I just don't have the mental energy, and I've lost any joy I used to get from it. Sleep is literally the only time I get to myself, where I only have to worry about me. Honestly, we have a puppy that I love, but when my mum passes and he does, I don't want another animal for a long while. I'm exhausted taking care of anything that isn't myself. I don't even remember what it felt like to just wake up and be content. Not even happy really, just...anything that isn't anger, sadness, or just being numb.

And any time I get a basic question, my answer is "I don't know" because I literally am too exhausted. I have decision fatigue and I literally just don't know anymore. I don't care.