#i wrote this because i've been sick all day and needed something to do

[bubbledtee]

𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐰!𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Warnings: mentions of violence typical to the Wild West.

Summary: Headcanons of early 90s!james as an outlaw in the Wild West.

A/N: this made me so happy to write guys I'm def gonna make this like a series probably ^-^ (also this is for @31-4am 🤭🤭 here you go lana)

He’ll act big and tough whenever necessary, but deep down that man is just a big teddy bear who’s just done a few unspeakable things.

He keeps to himself quite a bit, though he does have a big voice when needed.

He keeps to himself quite a bit, though he does have a big voice when needed.

(For scaring away both animals and men who lay hands on their women and children)

At 6’ 4”, he’s taller than just about everyone he’s ever surrounded by, so he’s hardly bothered when riding through town, following up on leads.

Because of his sheer size and strength, he’s often written off as a big dumb brute.

Which, most of the time, is not an assumption that is all that wrong.

“Goddamnit, where the hell is my hat? I swear, I just had it!”

“It’s on your damn head, dumbass.”

However, he does have his moments of intelligence.

For example, he knows exactly how to, despite his huge appearance, be so quiet and invisible that people in saloons will talk about things like trains and coach routes that are carrying bonds right next to him and not even second guess that he might be listening in. He just always is leaned over, head down with his hat covering half of his face while he sips his beer, somehow being both the largest and smallest person in the room at the same time.

He’s also extremely smart when it comes to animals. Wildlife, livestock, dogs, horses, pretty much all animals, he seems to have unlimited knowledge.

At around 15 when he learned to read after he was picked up by the gang he’s in, one of the first books he really read through was a book on natural history and that really sparked his interest in not just hunting, but the appreciation of the wildlife as well.

And every horse he’s ever had was always treated almost perfectly by him. 

They were always fat, happy, and loved.

If any of them were ever stolen (which a few have been in the past.), he’s felt like he needed to go find them.

And he did find them every time.

And every time that he’s had to put down his own horse, it would leave him broken for months, even if he didn’t show it.

It’s his heart of gold that makes him so soft for animals, and sometimes he curses himself for it.

Finally, James’s gunslinging skills are practically flawless, too.

Most people think he’d be too big and clumsy to be able to quickdraw well, so whenever he’s challenged to a duel, both his opponent and bystanders are ready to see him shot straight through the chest.

Though, it never happens.

He’ll always be way too quick for his opponent, and thus he wins every duel he’s apart of.

He doesn’t duel as much as he’s gotten older, though. It was more of a reckless, adrenaline-filling thing he did in his late teens and early twenties, but he realizes just how much he has to provide now that he’s older and higher in the gang, so he’ll only duel if absolutely necessary.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 7 - Five Of Wands

summary : you've been avoiding viktor, but as your next homework session comes around, he cannot help but be curious. oh and more tyler

content warnings : crude language (not much okay), reader is having thoughtsss

word count : 5,6k

author's note : FIRST OF ALL i was sick and on my periods writing this okay so this is much more of a transitionary chapter than anything for the shitstorm to come, SECOND OF ALL i KNOW it's another 5 of wands chapter i'm sorry i forgot that i had already used this card before THUS i will probably change the card in chapter 4 because i couldn't see any other card working for this one. but i still hope you all will like it <3 (i don't know how many times i wrote "sighed" in this chapter so BEAR WITH ME)

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world

masterlist : here

taglist : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch

Friday arrived for another study session between you and Viktor. The week had flown by, with one particularity: your stubborn avoidance of Viktor, and his stubborn search for you.

During classes, you always managed to find a seat as far away from his as possible. You avoided him in the corridors, ignored him when you crossed his path, and when you were in the library and you noticed him, you packed up your things as quickly as possible to leave.

Since the power cut, you'd been even more keen to avoid Viktor. Although you'd done it before, you'd simply decided you didn't want to interact with him. The last few weeks had been far too full of his presence, and you needed to get away from him both physically and mentally.

The trip to the museum, the lunch with him and Jayce, the hour of detention... Your days were far more filled with him than you would have preferred.

It had been a sudden, almost instinctive choice to get as far away from him as possible. 

There was something in the air of the evening of the blackout, and even today, a kind of disturbing truth was taking up more and more space in your mind: Viktor wanted to be your friend.

In your eyes, there was always a huge worry about making friends. Your circle was small, and most of your friendships were involuntary, and you were fine with it. You didn't need many friends, you simply kept the ones you trusted. But were you ready to place your trust in Viktor ?

Alas, Friday was here, and Viktor was inevitable.

You had arrived a little early at the library, dropping off your things and anticipating by picking up the tomes you would need during this session. The library was already busier than it had been the previous week, with your class mimicking you and Viktor as they set to work on their history topic to avoid working on it at the last minute.

You despised the very idea of doing this assignment, as it brought you too close to your years living in Zaun, to more nightmares every night to more Viktor. You wanted to get rid of this homework, and you knew full well that to do that you'd have to actually deal with it. 

But while he was away, you took the opportunity to take out a sheet of paper and dipped the tip of your quill in one of the pretty inks Eris had given you. You wanted to write to her. You hadn't received any correspondence from her for some time now, and you suspected that she too had other things to worry that were more important than taking the time to sit down and write a letter.

Dear Eris, you began.

The weeks are endless here, and I almost miss the times when the only thing we had to do all day was figure out what to do to avoid dying of boredom till night came. I've welcomed my new flatmate, Sky Young. She's nice, I could have had worse, I doubt I could have had better. Speaking of better.

You raised your feather above the paper for a moment, hesitating over the next part of your sentence. Viktor would be inevitable in this very letter, and the idea frustrated you. No matter what happened, his name was on your mind, always at the corner of your lips, ready to rub against your teeth and sound out like a finger pressing on a trigger before shooting.

Were you going to tell her about your concerns? Were you going to feign disinterest, pretend it was just some guy Jayce had introduced you to?

I'm getting a bit more used to tarot. You write as your sign of progress. This morning I drew the five of wands. From what I gather though, it doesn't look very positive. I should expect it, five guys hitting each other with sticks seems an unlikely interpretation of a general hug.

According to the little booklet, the five of sticks represented: Incendiary events. Protests. Angry people. Drama. Exciting conflicts.

You'd raised your eyebrows as your eyes roamed the rest of the descriptions: New ideas are born of passionate debate. Energy is scattered but if forces work together, powerful results occur. There's a need for unity. You're bothered by people who don't act as you'd hoped. Free yourself by surrendering to the present moment.

Well, that looks promising, you thought. The card was obviously pushing you towards Viktor, and that was bothering you.

You were clinging to what you had, to the past, to the only thing you knew: survival. Viktor was turning your finely constructed ecosystem upside down, as if he were treading on a sandcastle you'd spent hours building on a windy beach.

But something inside you was beginning to creep in, an idea that seemed dangerous, and which a few weeks ago would have seemed quite simply impossible to think of. 

What if you tried?

What if you tried not to be so uptight about working with him? What if, for once, you accepted the possibility that this wasn't a competition for your life?

The idea was bitter, weighing you down with anxiety. You went back to writing your letter.

I think I know what the card is leading me to, you confessed, but it is deeply unpleasant. What more can I say... I don't think this letter is going to be very long. I don't have much to tell you, and if I do, I'd rather say it to your face than on a sheet of the Glorious Academy of Piltover. You added useless curls in your writing for the title of the Academy to emphasize the ridicule of its prestigious status. You knew Eris would laugh. Did you get any new exotic payments? Here I'm drowning in copies and bolts, but your inks and herbs keep me company.

You smile for a moment, but the thought of mentioning Viktor keeps running through your mind. You looked around for a moment, as if he would miraculously appear and snatch the letter out of your hand to read it. But nothing, just the serene calm of the library, only the sound of flipped pages as students tried finding some information were keeping you compagny.

You were right about the Emperor. Of course you were. You confessed. A new pupil has arrived and, to top it all, he's beaten me in the league table. I suppose you can imagine how I felt about the situation. Every day is a tooth-and-nail battle with him. To crown it all, we've both been assigned to a collaborative project. Isn't that great? Anyway. I miss you a lot. I can't wait to hear from you. Say hi to Ekko for me.

Ekko was a childhood friend who you spent a lot of time with. It was undoubtedly through his demonstrations of repairs and your afternoons spent working on tinkering projects that your interest in science and engineering was born. 

You dipped your quill in your inkwell one last time.

P.S: The name of the Emperor is-

"How long have you been here?"

You almost spilled the inkwell on the table as your eyes rose to Viktor, standing in front of you with his satchel slung over one shoulder.

You sighed. He could at least have made his presence known by clearing his throat, not by standing still and watching you like a cat under his amber eyes. You took your letter, writing his cursed name, followed by yours before blowing on the paper to hasten the drying of the ink.

"Long enough for either of us to fall asleep in Devid's classes," you huffed as you finally folded the sheet in half and tucked it into your notebook to send it later.

He wore a small smirk, gracefully relieving himself of his satchel by pulling it off his shoulder and letting it fall gently to the floor. He sat down opposite you, taking out his things.

"Was Demacian never one of your fortes for you to sleep during his classes?" he asked about Devid, your language teacher. "I thought you'd understand with your wide panel of knowledge."

"I do, understand." You corrected him as you picked up a tome to begin your work session. "I'm fluent, I don't need more of what's being said in these classes."

"Why ?" he asked, placing his inkwell and notebook on the table. "Ever travelled there ?"

"I never travelled outside of here and Zaun," you informed him.

He sighed, looking down at his notes. "Then you don't speak Demacian."

You frowned, raising your head. He met your gaze, waiting for your next remark.

"Why ?" you questioned. "Has his royal highness, all full of Runeterrian knowledge, been on a sweet trip to the Great City?"

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes drifting over the small pile of tome to grab one.

"Any idiot knows that learning a language in classes and putting it to practice in the actual region where said language is spoken is a completely different thing."

You remained silent, trying to contain and prevent yourself from giving him the pleasure of answering. You went back to your notes, pressing the binding of your notebook to the table as you jotted down a few more bits of information you managed to find in the new tome you'd selected.

A full minute passed, after which Viktor couldn't help breaking the silence.

"Why are you ignoring me?"

You sighed, was he a puppy in need of constant attention?

"I'm not ignoring you." You confirmed, not looking up from your notes.

"Fine." He said, searching for a way to continue the conversation, to find the keyword to unlock you. "Why are you avoiding me?"

This time he'd hit the nail on the head. Obviously he hadn't been blind to your dodges, but how could he? He was observant, always making the perfect deductions, and was smart enough to get on your nerves.

"Can we focus and work?" you tried to extricate yourself from the situation.

He sank back in his chair, staring at you for a moment. "Not until you answer my questions."

This time you won his gaze. "Too bad there's no candle for you to bargain information with."

"I can find other ways," he remarked, "Miss."

You tensed at the nickname, your lips pressing together as you leaned on the desk, resting your elbows on it.

"Oh yeah?" you replied almost amused, "I hope these ways will be as promising as you and Jayce's attempt at cooking on a heater."

He smiled, approaching you in turn. "You seem to have forgotten that I seem to know more about you than you know about me."

"And then I thought I was supposed to be the obsessed one," you brows knit as a curious little smile tried to stretch your lips. "You're not stalking me, are you ?"

Your eyes crinkled, scanning his continuously. The days were receding further and further into the night, and the sky outside was gradually turning from cyan to indigo. Under the subdued lights of the library, Viktor's eyes stood out, ever more piercingly under his long brown lashes.

"From what I have heard," he continued as you both leant on your elbows against the table as if playing chess, "Madam Selene is truly open when it comes to questions asked by her students."

He had just put your king in danger, your lips parting in surprise for a moment before closing again, jaw clenched.

"Surely she won't mind exchanging on the pride that her legal daughter is to her?"

You inhaled heavily, chewing your cheek as his insufferable sneer spread to the corners of his lips again, raising his mole slightly.

You picked up your quill again, avoiding his gaze and letting yours return to your notebook. You dipped it in with a half-open, hesitant mouth as you considered what you were going to say, both to him and on paper.

"I'm avoiding you because I can't get to be friends with my only rival."

He seemed amused by your sentence, as if you were just a child trying to impress an adult by saying something serious and threatening with the latest big word you had learned. He rested his chin on his palm, watching you write, and for an instant you thought of the paper he'd never passed you back during detention. What was he about to say ?

"Isn't there an old saying about being close to your opponents ?"

"Isn't there this old thing called ‘free will’ that allows me to do whatever I want ?"

He shrugged. "Your free will hasn't decided to make you leave this room so far."

You regained his eyes this time, the latter looking through you, trying to peek through the cracks in your facade for a chance to see the lights that resided there.

"Are you challenging my free will? Because I can give it some physical attributes in the scientifically accurate name of 'clenched fists'."

"I'll pass." He sneered. "I'm sure Tyler has had enough lessons on this concept."

Silence fell again, you scanning the lines of another novel where too little information about Zaun was catalogued, while Viktor had not touched his pen. You could feel him in your peripheral vision, watching you, following you relentlessly.

"Am I truly your rival?" He finally asked.

"What else would you be?"

Viktor pouted, straightening slightly. "Being your rival implies having the same goal and fighting for it. I am uncertain if that definition applies to us in this case."

Admittedly, he didn't seem to have the same devotion to his academic results as you did, which frustrated you deeply. But what about the second option he cited?

"In the Academy, we all have the same goal." You replied, watching him for a moment before returning to your notes.

There was another pause on the table, and you thought that perhaps this time he would start working. But he didn't.

"I want a truce."

You looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"...Okay," you finally say, picking up another book, "good for you."

"I mean it, miss." He insisted. "I think you've had it wrong on me-" But you cut him off.

“What are you implying ?” You asked, annoyed at beating around the bush when you seemed to be the only one working right now.

"I'm not implying," Viktor nuanced, "I am saying."

"Saying ?" you shook your head, waiting for the next part.

"Yes. You know, that thing that one can do with the possession of a mouth and vocal cords ? You've become an expert at it just through this conversation,” he remarked as he straightened up and grabbed his pencil, twirling it between his fingers, "as it is the most we have spoken together in a week."

"Well then, conversation doesn't seem to be such a dying art anymore now does it ?" you remarked.

Viktor smiled. "You seem to like quoting me." 

You stared at him, raising your eyebrows and sighing. "I'm going to use unparalleled verbal condescension: shush." Your eyes returned to the tome you were working on. "This is a library, not a café."

"You've never spat in mine, by the way, reassure me?"

"After wasting my spit talking to you, I doubt I'd waste any more in your coffee."

He didn't say a word, but you knew he was smiling. Facing you, painfully fiddling with his pen as if this whole thing was some meagre task he could afford to procrastinate on.

You hated this attitude, the simple fact that he didn't seem to work to achieve his goals, that it was innate when you had struggled to rise so high for so long.

"I mean it," he said, straightening up, putting aside his teasing tone for a moment, "for the truce."

You looked up at him, his expression unfamiliar to you. There was something gentle in his piercing gaze, as if he saw something in you that was worth seeing. You sighed, thinking for a moment.

Would this childish quarrel last until the end of the year? Would you still consider him an enemy when you could have made a new friend? Friendships didn't come your way every day, and you were well aware of that. But were you ready to put aside your stubbornness after the various humiliations he had put you through?

“What would a truce even mean?” you finally asked, somehow intent on hearing more.

His lips stretched slightly as his eyes widened. He shrugged.

“I don't know,” he admitted, ”I never thought I'd go this far with you, on this topic.”

Your shoulders slumped.

“Then think of something to say next time after we finish working on this.” You returned to your page, rereading your notes. “I'll take the subjects of Boundary Markets, Cultivairs, and Hope House Orphanage. One location for each level. You should pick three too.”

“Hope House Orphanage?” He repeated, mind finally concentrating on the exposé. “That's the only good thing that can be talked about in such a level.”

You turned a few pages of your notes, running through the lines of your research. 

“There's always Old Hungry,” you remarked, voice lower.

The Old Hungry was a gigantic mechanized clock tower that grew from the very depth of Zaun and built itself up till levels that could reach some of Piltover's buildings. It was too imposing to avoid, and too full of history to be left aside in the presentation.

“Old Hungry ? This old scrap doesn't even give time anymo-”

“It's the Heart of Zaun.” You cut. “It's unavoidable to talk about it anyway.”

“Why don't you take it if you're so adamant about it being on our work?”

You remembered its size, the dark wingspan and the wind blowing through the dusty gears of the Old Hungry. 

“I'd rather you be the one to take it.” you confirmed.

“Why ?”

“Because. Don't you want to take it ?”

“Do you want to get rid of it ?”

You exchanged a look with him, urging him not to be picky.

“Why are you being so mysterious about all of this?” he questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

“You seem to have forgotten that you seem to know more about me than I know about you.” you repeated, annoyed.

“Shall I ask Selene?” he said ironically.

“I fear asking her this would be a limit placed both in her knowledge about this as well as your questions for her.” 

He gazed at you for a moment, clearly frustrated by the secrets, the things left unsaid. You stood up, returning the tomes you'd already read to their shelves. Viktor stood up, following you.

“Acting tough will not make it hurt any less.” He said as you climbed the steps of the ladder and he reached its base. “You know this, yes?”

You suppressed a sigh as you placed one of the tomes on the shelf, arranging it perfectly in line.

“I don't need any of your life lessons,” you remarked, placing the extra tomes. “Can you move the ladder to the left?”

“You know the magic word,” he almost crooned.

You scoffed, not intending to give it to him so easily. You leaned to the side, watching, tiptoeing to reach one of the too few tomes on Zaun in the entire library.

Viktor seemed amazed at how stubborn you could prove to be, especially about him.

“Don't tell me your leitmotif resides in what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?” he questioned as you leaned dangerously toward the books.

“My leitmotif,” you pointed out as you almost reached the binding of the tome you were after, “resides in what doesn't kill you disappoints me-”

You'd reached the book, but your sentence was cut off at the end by your sharp gasp of breath. You'd just lost your balance, your feet slipping off the ladder step as you felt the air rush beneath you and expected to slam heavily into the ground.

The sound of something falling to the floor echoed, the sensation of hands on your back and waist catching you off the ground. Your heart pounding with the shock of sudden fear, you realized what had just happened in the blink of an eye: Viktor had caught you in your fall.

You could feel his thin fingers, warm and tentative, resting on the vest of your uniform around your waist. He held you there, firmly, and you felt your back brush against his chest, his breath landing on the nape of your neck and raising the hairs on it.

You released yourself from his grip and turned to face him, suddenly backing away, heart still pounding, but unable to differentiate whether this was due to the suddenness of the fall, or something else.

He seemed just as surprised as you were, lips parted. He didn't seem to be about to make a condescending remark, a joke about your lack of balance that could be matched by his, nothing.

You leaned back against the shelf, trying to calm yourself as your muscles relaxed from the apprehension of your fall.

There was a moment of quiet, a moment when, for once, neither of you knew what to say to the other. Your eyes fell to the ground, where Viktor's cane had fallen. You swallowed on a dry throat, inhaling to try and grain back your thoughts.

You knelt down to pick it up, straightening up to hand it back to him. He studied you for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours. He brought his hand tentatively up to the handle of his cane, stretched out towards him.

“Did you mean it?” you asked in a low voice as his hand reached the pommel, his thin, long fingers a minute ago resting on your waist wrapping elegantly and slowly around his cane.

“The truce?” he questioned, his voice almost reaching the whisper, as if he feared any higher volume would burst the delicacy of this bubble you were both in.

You let go of the cane, leaning back against the bookcase again, like a prop, like your crutch.

“The other night,” you began, eyes lowered to your feet on the floor, ”you said that it seemed impossible to me that you wanted to learn more about me, out of genuine curiosity. And now, you said you wanted a truce.” You raised your head, straightening to look at him. “Did you mean it, all of this?”

You felt very small, as if you were walking and, in the middle of the nettles, had found a patch of grass where you could put your feet without stinging yourself.

He seemed touched, but this emotion seemed to give way to confusion.

“Why wouldn't I mean it ?

Why would you mean it? you wondered. You'd had enough examples of how trust was doomed to fail you. You pulled yourself upright, drawing your armour back over you, closing your heart before it went beyond the confines of your chest.

“Oh sorry.” you resumed sarcastically. “I forgot how through your many gallantries in our discussions you have evidently shown to be the most agreeable young man in the world.”

He smiled, his cheerful attitude back in place in the blink of an eye. “I cannot deny that exchanging with someone like you bring out the more playful part of me.”

“Someone like me?” you stressed, almost offended.

“Yes.” he confirmed. “Your morals are like a legend - rumoured to exist, but no proof to back it up.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you started walking back to your table. “My expectations for you were low when asking this, but somehow you still failed to meet them...”

But your sentence had died on its end, as not far from your table, an unfortunately familiar, tall figure with blond curls stood.

Fuck. Tyler.

Seeing you reappear from between the shelves, he noticed you both, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he strode towards you.

“Ah,” he smiled as he approached you, ”my tormentors.”

You sighed, standing by your table as he reached the height of your chair. “You again.”

“What?” He chuckled, feigning offense as he rested his hand on his chest. “Aren't you pleased to see me?” He arched an eyebrow. “I'm sure you've got another one of these filthy Zaunite, barbaric lessons to give me.”

“You wish you were worth the effort.” You huffed, moving closer to your chair, but he came between you and it. 

You glared at him, who seemed satisfied with your reaction. He turned to Viktor.

“Your dog's got quite the bite, Moravec.” His eyes settled on you again, watching you up and down until they returned to yours. “Where did you get one of those?”

You breathed heavily, the annoyance of his remarks demeaning you to a supposedly docile and pliable being making your blood boil.

“Turns out she has a mouth and proper aligned thoughts that you could not fathom reaching, Tyler.” Pointed Viktor, coming to sit in his respective place.

The blond watched you, not letting go of your eyes for a moment as he took a step back and took his place in your chair. “How noisy insects are this time of year.”

And he was proud, of his insolence, of his overflowing egotism, which he displayed like the most expensive and chic jacket he owned in his priceless wardrobe.

“Tyler,” you began, inhaling as you tried to calm yourself, “‘piss off.’”

“Such a soft language.” He sneered, lounging in your chair as if he'd ordered its manufacture himself. Who knows, maybe all the academy's furniture rested on his family's finances. “Do they all speak like that in Zaun?”

“Why ? Wanna go visit ?” You inquired, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wonder what'll get taken first, your pretty blonde locks, or your tongue.”

You played on his unfamiliarity with the city, his prejudices ingrained in his mind, unfolding a terrain of fictitious threats that could be very useful to you.

It had its effect. For a slight moment, you noticed the concern in his eyes, a very silent ‘... is that true?’ that didn't cross the boundary between his mind and lips.

“My patron came to me.” He confessed, looking away as if ignoring you. “Seems like your detention ran a bit short, didn't it?”

You heard Viktor chuckle, but didn't even turn around. “It's just like you said, Miss.” he remarked, leaning forward on the table. “Looks like he is obsessed with us."

“You're not worth a thought.” Tyler spat, obviously insulted by Viktor's remark. He turned to you, grabbing one of your pencils to play with like it was his. “Didn't know you had your own patron, though.”

“Let me guess.” You sighed, placing your weight on one of your hips as you stood. “Your little clever mind aligned two dots and thought that Zaun and Patron together was an impossible combination of words here in the Academy.”

He was amused, but obviously annoyed. You must have touched a reality in his reasoning that he didn't like you to know.

“This one was a second thought.” He admitted all the same. “The first was,” he leaned in slightly, “how the hell does a girl as irascible as you can manage to pull any social strings to get yourself a patron?”

You giggled, he was trying to push your buttons. Perhaps he was simply a masochist, you considered, perhaps he had a pronounced desire for humiliation. Or perhaps he was just profoundly stupid.

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you when I met you.” You offered him a smile that possessed no warmth. “But I guess walking around with a golden spoon in your mouth and shitting in silk sheets during your childhood up until now must have its advantages. Right, Hoskel ?"

Tyler frowned, hemming his lower lip in anger. His eyes shifted from yours to Viktor's. “She truly is-”

But you cut him off, placing both hands on the table and leaning towards him. “She is in front of you. And she,” your voice darkened, ”can add some new marks on your face to match the blue of your eyes.”

Tyler tensed, the seriousness in your stare convincing him for a moment that your threats weren't empty words, but promises that would come true if necessary.

He let out a nervous laugh, nodding as if you'd just given him a most satisfying demonstration. He was probably thinking, right then and there, that he was safe. That on the floor of the Academy, you wouldn't repeat the violent acts that had earned you an hour's detention.

“You, are a tough one, my friend.” he laughed. “You still have the essence of your hometown so far, you as well as he.” He turned to Viktor. “Paint stripes on a toad, it'll never make it a tiger.

Your blood ran hot, the sentence like an iron that had just burned your skin raw. You gripped his tie, pulling so hard that Tyler nearly stumbled and strangled on it as you pulled him towards your face, your face twisted with hatred. 

His eyes were filled with a new fear as you rumbled, your voice low. “Say that again, and I'll fucking kill you.”

His chest bulged and sagged rapidly as his shoulders were up to his ears in fear, stressing as your knuckles turned white under the tight grip you had on his tie.

He swallowed, staying that way until, in the blink of an eye, his gaze landed on your lips. 

The simple act brought you back to the reality of your proximity, of your two faces so close together that anyone could have considered this something intimate. You let go of his tie as if it carried an infection, as if it had suddenly become so hot that you had to let go of it at all costs. You frowned, stepping back, watching Tyler as he breathed just as heavily.

The great doors of the library opened, and the tiny silhouette of Heimerdinger poked his pink nose into the room. This was enough for you to put aside the previous event, same for Viktor and Tyler who both turned to the professor in surprise.

You eyes widened, straightening up as he strode contentedly towards the center of the room. What was Heimerdinger doing here?

It was unusual to find teachers in the library, and obviously all the students around you seemed just as confused about the situation. He trotted on, making his way to the very center of the room under the curious gazes of students.

“Young folks,” he called, “I have an announcement to make. Please gather around me, so that I don't have to see you all one by one in the immensity of this room."

The students exchanged surprised glances, approaching him. You looked at Viktor, who was frowning. He stood up, you approached Heimerdinger. When a small arc had formed around the professor, he cleared his throat.

“ I would have liked to have waited until our next class to tell you,” he admitted, “but with the news just in and the weekend coming up, I thought it wiser to tell you as soon as possible.”

Everyone was hanging on his every word.

“You see, we've been communicating for some time, the Academy members and myself, with The Great Demacia University.”

Murmurs began to rise in the tiny group of students, whispers about the white region running through the air.

“And we have concluded, after many very promising exchanges, that a few classes from the Piltover Academy will have the privilege of traveling to Demacia as part of a school trip.”

Surprise filled the room. A school trip? 

"The Academy and I,” continued Heimerdinger as he walked hands behind his back, the two elements of his sentence simply inseparable, ”consider it a real cultural benefit to be able to organize such a program to link our two schools. The trip will therefore take place in a month and a half's time.”

Some of the students laughed, the joy of the news filling them. The idea of a school trip puzzled you. You'd never left Piltover or Zaun. You'd always clung on to those two towns, and upsetting that perspective was something you hadn't quite figured out yet. But it would undoubtedly be a good way of discovering new horizons, of not having to confine yourself to the same landscape of two cities you didn't like for different reasons. 

However, your thoughts paused for a moment, as you sensed that Heimerdinger hadn't finished with his announcement. 

“Yes, I know.” He chirped. “The excitement of a new journey is not a small thing in young souls. However, an event such as this deserves an organizational rearrangement.”

And that's where things got complicated.

“First of all, your duet presentations that were due in two weeks' time have now been determined by myself into an overall assignment for your year.”

The majority of students rejoiced, but your heart fell into your stomach. An assignment, spread out over the whole year, that you were to do with none other than Viktor as your sole partner in this work?

You exchanged a glance with him, the latter seeming no more affected than that, neither hot nor cold.

“And...” The professor resumed. “The planning of this event alone will eat up a good two weeks of this year. Consequently,” silence fell, everyone waiting for the end of his sentence, "the exams in each subject for this semester have been brought closer together, and will therefore take place in two weeks’ time.”

Your lips parted, as if the apocalypse had just been added to your diary. 

Two weeks. You had two weeks to study everything. Two weeks to get to know everything. 

Two weeks to overtake Viktor and regain your place at the top of the ranking.

✦﹒ previous chapter

✦﹒ next chapter

[rpgchoices]

More on Davrin's past, arc and journal (part 2)

Part one where I wrote down all the banter about Davrin's Dalish past is here!

I wanted to put all codex (I could find) in order, divided by topic! (Also I wanted to say I will post more Davrin stuff on my personal blog @lucrezianoin haha to not fill this one with just Davrin!)

This is divided in:

Davrin's past and his feelings of guilt for the Dalish clan

Weisshaupt being the only home he has

Meeting Assan and the griffons (and naming Assan)

The Warden vs Nature choice for the griffons

Other (stuff on the Gloom Howler etc.)

Davrin's past and Dalish clan

Just a bit more here on Davrin's guilt for leaving his clan and we do get the confirmation that Davrin has not seen Eldrin since his kids days, and contacted him thanks to a chat with Rook.

Also interesting that the way Davrin was treated by Eldrin is very similar to the way Davrin treats Assan at the start. In the quest we also find out Eldrin was quite harsh (making him eat Halla food as a way to learn, which led to hours of hallucinations and sickness, and kicking his butt when he felt Davrin was wrong).

We don't really get that deep into it, but I like that while Davrin firmly believes in "Throw yourself at it, if you don't learn you get hurt" for himself, he squanders that idea pretty easily when it comes to Assan, even going so far as to start wonder if there is a "non fighting" future for Assan.

I will put this codex later on but I also wanted to show it here for Davrin's past, in "The Nature of Griffons" Davrin says: "Talking to Rook about Assan's insticts got me thinking. Can you change something you're born with? Or are we blank slates who can make our own way? Was I born a monster hunter, destined to do this job, or did I have a choice?" which makes me scream because I need to know what happened in his clan.

From the banter and his personal quests we know that Davrin hunted everything, and then started going to Eldrin's during the summers and he learnt to hurt darkness (monsters) and things that threatened the forest. Did he have a drive to hunt that Eldrin needed to re-direct, where were his parents? Were they the ones sending him to Eldrin? And why is it that a talk of nature vs nurture and his Dalish clan makes him think only of Eldrin and not his parents? (We realistically can imagine Davrin's mother is alive, given that during the gym scene Taash insults her and Davrin says "She can take it" when Taash apologize).

Weisshaupt (and the fall of Weisshaupt)

Davrin often talks about Weissaupt with affection and jokingly but the code really expresses that Weissaupt was his only home.

When Davrin leaves to follow Rook we find out that he knows the First Warden would not take him back. He describes the fortress in detail (loved the "libraries of books I'll never read, getting bruised and battered while sparring etc." as some nostalgic positive thing - miserable and exhilarating). And of course "It's the only home I got", which is telling knowing how he feels about his clan never taking him back if he asked.

And then the heartbreaking entry for Weisshaupt fall.

There are a few other entries:

Which also has a bit about Assan: "I have been thinking of Assan as an assignment: something I need to protect until he finishes his training. But we're in this together now, and it's time to lick our wounds and move on. I'm all he's got, and in some ways, he's all I've got."

How Davrin got to work with Griffons and meeting Assan

My favorite entries are about how Davrin got his assignement and how sweet he was on Assan (unknowingly!!) since the start!

We find out it was the First Warden (from Weisshaupt) that sent him to the assignment. I am still unsure how it works for a Warden who is a Monster Hunter, but we know from the entries that Davrin lived at Weisshaupt and considered it his home, so I supposed he was just sent here and there? Like a specialized Warden? He also mentions he was sent as a bodyguard, basically, and he seems both fascinated and a bit skeptical (they poop a lot haha, and he admires Lancit's patience).

And then he meets Assan. "There's one griffon, this little guy." From Endril's words we know Davrin used to be small and scrawny as a kid, so I wonder if he saw himself in Assan. "He's a little slow on the uptake, but he's fast in the air." And so Davrin suggests the name Assan for him. And my favorite part "If I do nothing else in this life, at least I can say I got to name a griffon".

We also have these late entries about the nature of griffons and Davrin's realization that they are not "made" for fighting by nature, but taught so. "Can griffons do anything else? Would they want to? I wonder". Also he is such a dad, writing about Assan's first taste of an apple.

About Assan and the halla, Davrin writes "the instincts of a dog herding sheep", and I personally think it is about learning. There is a moment in the dialogue at the start of Davrin's recruital where we find out that griffons learn better in groups, they clearly are very social animals. I fully believe Assan fed the Halla simply because he saw Davrin doing that, he learnt from watching, he sees Davrin taking care of Halla so he learns that is the thing to do and how it is done.

Then we have some notes on Griffon's extinctions, and a note about Assan's love for gingerwort truffles (which Davrin tried and did not like.. we also find out Davrin hates broccoli... please Davrin... I love broccoli...)

Warden Griffons vs Arlathan Griffons

These are the two different notes:

Interesting the "Warden" choice starts with "Deciding where the griffons should go wasn't easy" which is not present in the Arlathan choice. I do not think there is a right/wrong choice, but after reading this I will always lean more towards Arlathan.

"it's time they got a chance to explore nature instead. The griffons are going to love Arlathan"

Other codex

Interesting that he says he does feel sympathy for Isseya.

[irisintheafterglow]

Hey there!

Saw your requests were open (if it isnt,just ignore this)

But i just love your satoru x reader and co parenting megumi????and i would KILL to see like, something bad happening to reader (like a mission going wrong,she passing out or getting sick or all) and boys just panicking cause satoru loves reader,and megumi sees her as his mother???

Sorry,im a sucker for hurt/comfort trope

Lots of love!!! you're amazing!

aww this is so cute, thank you for the request anon <3 wrote it as sick fic instead of injury since i,,,, have written like 3 things with that trope recently so let's do a fluffy sick fic instead lol. hope you like it :))

cw/tags: established relationship (pet names babe, baby, sweetheart), gn!reader, some explicit language, mention of eating

"the kid thinks you're gonna die," your boyfriend says as he enters your room, setting a grocery bag on your desk and digging around for the bottle of orange juice. "you're starting to worry me too, honestly."

"i'm not gonna die, babe; i think it's just the flu," you groan, propping yourself on an elbow and attempting to sit up. you're unsuccessful, the throbbing in your head and the chills in your arms too overwhelming. you fall back against the pillow with a less-than-ceremonial thump. satoru crouches in front of you, eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled in concern. he pulls down his blindfold and you're met with the bright blue eyes you loved so much.

"yep. looks like you're dying soon," he declares with a curt nod and you scoff, a chuckle turning into an aggressive fit of coughing. satoru is lightning-quick, grabbing a new bottle of water and snapping off the cap before holding it up to your lips. "here, drink." you push his hands away, wordlessly insisting that you can drink on your own while still hacking relentlessly. "nuh-uh, just let me help you." with a frown, you let him tilt the bottle toward you and take a few careful sips. "you are frustratingly stubborn," he sighs.

"i have to be if i need to deal with you all the time," you joke hoarsely, sips of water becoming gulps.

"yeah, but you love me for it," he finishes and you agree with a shrug. "easy, there," he warns as you keep downing the water. "don't want you choking again."

"i'm fine, satoru."

"you've been working yourself too much, you know."

"hypocrite," you counter and he frowns, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. you were right, even though he didn't want to admit it. satoru was always the first one to say that someone was working too hard, just to take the burden for himself. it was a red flag, you said a few weeks ago over convenience store sushi; you also noted his 'concerningly inflated ego, lack of spatial awareness, and general disinterest in things that could be momentarily unpleasant.' you'd finished it, though, with a long-winded comment about how his red flags, in all their scarlet glory, made satoru himself. maybe it was just his melodrama, but he'd cut off his hand if it meant you were able to joke like that again.

"i'm serious. i think your body's shutting down because-"

"because i've been away too long, i know. i don't need a lecture right now, satoru." you swallow the last of the water and settle back onto your pillow, grumbling when you feel the side of your bed sink with your boyfriend's weight. "baby, you're gonna get sick, too."

"that means i get to take a day or two off," he points out, fitting his face into the divot between your shoulder and neck. despite your complaints, he throws off the comforter and replaces the blankets with his arms. "don't grrrr me, babe. you need to burn off your fever and i run warmer than any of these sheets."

"aren't i sweaty and stinky and yucky? how can you be touching me when i'm all gross?"

"you mean, how can i love on you right now when you're just being a human?"

"mhmm. you don't find it gross?"

"of course not, sweetheart," he reassures you with a kiss to your shoulder. "i'd be a real dickhead if i only loved you when you were feeling 100%."

"yeah, you're only half a dickhead for other reasons," you murmur into the pillowcase and he laughs, the sound reverberating against your back. before your eyes settle shut, you catch the door of your room opening and vaguely make out a messy head of black hair peeking around the corner. "megs?"

"oi, adults only," the other occupant of the bed threatens, pulling you closer and attempting to flip you to your other side to face him. you unbuckle satoru from around you, though, and manage to sit up. megumi pads carefully into the room, like you'd crumble into sand if his steps were too loud. "come in, i guess," your boyfriend says dramatically with a wave of his hand.

"satoru, i swear-"

"sorry, baby. shutting up." satoru flops back onto your bed and you reach out to megumi, who stares at your hand for a moment before rushing into your arms. "hey, megs. since you're here, you mind grabbing me a soda from the breakroom?"

"i thought you were shutting up, satoru," you remind him, voice poisonously sweet. he echoes your reminder in a mockingly high-pitched voice. "i'm gonna kick you out of my room if you don't stop, mister."

"you wouldn't dare," he gasps.

"oh, i would."

"yeah," he concedes. "you definitely would, but i love you for it." with satoru temporarily placated, you return your attention to the small child in your arms.

"you doing okay, megs?" he nods, eyes shut against your chest and holding you tight. "i'm not gonna die, buddy. i promise." you rub your hand up and down his back, combing your fingers through his hair when you're abruptly swung backward onto the bed. "jeez, satoru, what are you-"

"get the kid, it's nap time," he mumbles with finality, resecuring his body around yours and motioning for megumi to climb in. he does, and you drift off sandwiched between your boys, feeling a little lighter for the first time in days.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[arminsumi]

it's the hair.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: lol this is just a dum fluff drabble i wrote instead of studying

SUMMARY — your childhood friend and classmate satoru positively kills you with his new haircut. but he misunderstands your reactions and behaviors, thinking he did something wrong.

WARNINGS — lowercase used, not proofread, misunderstandings between u n gojo, angst if you squint ??

WORDCOUNT ≈ 1.3k

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

you've been eyeing out gojo all day. he's not sure what to make of your expression — it's something mixed between comical worry and genuine distress.

"what? what is it?" he keeps asking you each time you give him the side eye look-over. "do i have something on my face?"

"no. it's nothing." you reply curtly.

he squints skeptically at you.

from class to class, he ponders alongside suguru. did he say something? were you mad at him? was it because he stole your soda from the vending machine yesterday? but he always does that, so why would you be mad now? maybe you were just not feeling well? did you not sleep well?

and suguru's ears flooded with all these theories.

"did i say something to y/n? she's acting strange today."

his best friend stifles a smirk. "dunno, did you?"

"i think she's mad at me. was it because i stole her soda? but y'know it's not my fault we like the same soda! and i promised to buy one for her next time!"

suguru now lowers his head into his arms, resting on the desk, trying so hard to keep his laughter in.

"maybe it's the weather — probably the flu — yeah, definitely the flu. i'll go get something for y/n at the store, d'you need anything, suguru? what! what are you laughing at!"

"nothing, nothing. i don't need anything from the store, thanks — unless maybe something spicy that catches your eye. 'better run quick, store's gonna close soon."

satoru furrows his brows in confusion, and eventually his entire expression becomes serious, like an old philosopher in deep thought about the universe. but it's not the abyssal void beyond the stratosphere that's in his thoughts, no, it's you — you're pervading his entire mind as he walks across the roads of tokyo, to the station, and boards the train.

holding onto the handles as it shudders and sways, shoulders taught as they always are when he's in thought. were you really sick? what if he did something bad? maybe it was nothing at all, and he was just overthinking it. maybe it didn't even involve him. did it have to do with suguru? or perhaps you were upset about something in the past, something irrational and long-forgotten, like the fact that he didn't attend your 7th birthday party. it's not like he had a choice, his parents barely allowed him to visit your side because they didn't want their prodigy son hanging out with...

he texts you.

satoru — are u home yet

he stares and waits for you to come online, then watches as those three dots move up and down and you start typing.

you — no why

satoru — where are u

you — bridge

satoru — what are u doing

you — lol so many questions

you — the sunset looks rlly good today i'm taking pics

satoru — wtf without me??

you — lol sorry didn't think u wanted to waste ur time watching the sunset

satoru — see u there

he's just boarding off the train, coming through its doors, when he texts you that. thank the benefit of his long legs for speeding to the store in time before it closes. he picks up your favorite.

when you see him come into view, you're waiting with your arms draped around the railing of the bridge.

"trying out for the track team?" you laugh, as he practically runs up to you. "did you run this whole way?"

he's catching his breath, clutching a plastic bag of goodies.

"are you sick?" he asks.

"what? no?"

"i thought you might have the flu." he's asking with genuine concern, it's bizarre. he usually doesn't talk like this unless he knows he's in trouble with you, or if something's really wrong.

"i'm fine." you blink, "i've just been watching the sunset. you missed the best part."

"i didn't know you enjoyed sunsets."

"why didn't you invite me!" he groans, coming over to assume an oddly attractive position by the railing. he slacks against the metal, leaning his weight on it. he lets the plastic bag with yours and suguru's favorites in it thud to the ground.

the cityscape is so pretty, and yet he's still prettier, you think.

"i don't care for them." he admits, "but of course i'll enjoy a sunset if you're watching it with me."

you look at him. he's not even facing the sunset. was something on his mind? you can hardly theorize, because you're giving him that peculiar look again.

he catches you looking at him, "what!"

"what?"

"did i do something wrong?" his breath is stable now, "are you mad at me?"

"no? why d'you think I'm mad at you?" you ask confusedly.

"because you keep lookin' at me like that!"

"like what?" you feel your cheeks warm up.

"like something about me is offensive to your eyes."

you break out laughing. "no! i'm not — it's not — you misunderstand me, like always..."

"what the hell?" he whines, "is it nothing serious? i've been worried. you've been looking at me weird since sunday and — oh... OH MY GOD."

you giggle, chin pressing on the railing. "did you just realize something?"

"is it the haircut!"

"it's the haircut."

"why do you not like it!" he fumes, that familiar satoru playfulness coming back now as he was put at ease knowing he didn't upset you. "you know it cost a lot, 'n i styled it and everything."

"i didn't say i didn't like it! it's the opposite."

"so you like it? then why do you look at me like you're having an internal crisis?"

you groan, "because you're giving me a crisis! you know i'm weak for undercuts!"

he shuts up. his heart races a bit. oh, so he misunderstood you not a little bit but entirely. oops. now why didn't he realize that his haircut would have this effect on you? when he subconsciously went to get an undercut because you mentioned you liked them in passing one school afternoon.

"oh."

"you're so dumb, satoru."

"well sorry!" he rolls his eyes.

now there's silence. he stops leaning his back against the railing and turns to face the final stages of the sunset. the streetlights come on, one is gleaming not too far from you two. it casts a dreamy light on his hair.

it really is a good cut, and it's styled in such a way that... well it gets your daydreams going, let's just say that. and here gojo was worried when he came out of the salon, thinking it was too short now. truthfully, it was a bit short compared to his other haircuts, but he wore it well. of course he did.

"so you like it?"

"i love it."

"well if you love it, then show it love." he teases.

"what on earth d'you mean?" you laugh shortly.

"fluff my hair." he says.

"no way, lice-boy."

"hey!" he pinches your cheek in retaliation, and your reaction endears him as much as it always has since you two were kids. "that was one time, i haven't ever had lice again."

he pouts. you look over. he is pouting. pouting. he's a nineteen year old boy pouting about not getting his hair fluffed by his childhood friend who he maybe sorta kinda has a crush on.

and then he encourages you. he leans his head on your shoulder. his hair tickles your cheek.

"damn. you're like an attention-starved cat." you joke.

he places your hand on his head himself. the brief warmth and glimpse at the size difference between his hand and your hand made him giddy.

you ruffle his hair lightly, and then he wears a satisfied smile. now early night has settled. it's quiet at the bridge except for the distant city sounds and lull of the highway.

"i was really worried that i did something wrong." he admits.

"i'm sorry."

he sighs, snuggling your shoulder. there's a nice silence between you and him.

then he breaks it.

"hey, i didn't say stop fluffing." his deep voice reverbs in your chest. he's playful and lively, but you can tell he's also tired from running all the way here.

"you're a menace." you tell him.

"but you like me, right?" it's more of an insecure question. he wants to hear you say it back, not as a playful joke.

"of course i do."

"good, good."

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

[beesspacedotorg]

The Sky is Blue, the Grass is Green

Summary: You love your girlfriend more than anything else in the world. It's not hard, she's perfect for you. You'd give her everything she could ever want and more still.

Warning: SEX LESBIAN SEX WITH GIRLS AND LESBIANS. I will say that reader has a vagina as does lino. hits is because I wrote this while half asleep after not sleeping for 16 hours with a sore throat and forgot to write gender neutral reader. outside of the fact that the reader has one of those body type is not specified because :|. uh. spanking (sorry, I'm me) and mommy kink (me) and girls being in love with each other

notes: happy pride month. I've been listening to a lot of music by sapphics recently and it made me gay. Also I saw some loser say that Chappell Roan is the first queer person to publicly yearn for women and that is phenomenally untrue. Internet person who I've never met, this was written to spite you. Sorry for not making this more inclusive to women of all body types or to all lesbians regardless of gender. mayhaps I will write something for you soon. EXTRA NOTE: Moon Chaeyoung is not a kpop idol (to my knowledge) she is Cindy Moon aka Silk aka a Spider-Man. Chaeyoung is her Korean name. sorry for the slander, Cindy, I love you more than anything but I needed a name.

You’re going to make her your wife one day. You know this with the certainty that you know everything else. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you are going to marry Lee Minho. You’re staring at her, watching her make breakfast (that isn’t actually breakfast because you’re eating it at 2pm) in an old school shirt of yours and you can feel your love for her swell through your heart to be pumped through the rest of your body. You think that loving her is the most effective drug on the planet, that people wouldn’t need anything stronger than an ibuprofen because just spending a minute alone with her is enough to give you a high unlike any other. She turns around to plate the food and catches you staring, she always does, and it makes her ears blush crimson.

“Yah,” she says it softly, “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Why would I need a picture when I have the real thing right in front of me?” Her ears turn a new, deeper shade of red and she avoids your gaze.

“You’re a charmer, you know that?”

“I have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of me and you want me to be normal about it?” You roll your eyes playfully, and reach for your cup to take a sip of your juice.

“No, you don’t,” she says, suddenly.

“‘No, I don’t’ what?”

“You don’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of you,” she hands you your plate - with no eggs because you can’t stand them, and no pork because it makes you sick, and french toast the way your dad used to make on lazy Sunday mornings - made with love and care just like everything else she does.

“You don’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of you,” she repeats, sitting down next to you with her breakfast that’s completely different from yours, “I do.”

-

“Minnie Mouse?” You just came from work, calling through the house to see if she’s home, too. You can tell from the aggravated sigh that comes from the living room that she is, indeed, home.

“You could literally call me anything else,” she’s wrestling Dori on her lap, the tabby always staunchly opposed to having his nails clipped.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You sit down beside her and take the clippers, letting her soothe and calm Dori while you make yourself his least favorite for the night. You’ll live. He’ll come begging for attention when Minho’s too busy being great at everything to give it to him.

“The fun is not having your girlfriend break your toes in your sleep.” You laugh at her and bring her Doongie, holding him instead because he doesn’t care about the whole process even a little bit and you want to pet his soft head.

“Did you know there’s nothing they can do for broken toes?”

“Really? Doongie, please stop wiggling so much.”

“Yeah, they kind of just say ‘good luck’ and kick you out before charging you one million dollars for breathing hospital air.”

“American healthcare really is something. How’d you learn that by the way?”

“My friend had an experience once. Also, it was mentioned in a video game.” She laughs, kissing Doongie’s forehead, then yours.

“Did you learn anything else in that video game?”

“I have incredibly poor hand-eye coordination.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“What- what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Will you get a towel to wrap Soongie in, please?”

“Hey, wait. Hey! You can’t just say weird things and walk away!”

(“Can you really tell that I have poor hand-eye coordination?” You ask her this while she’s splayed out under you, two of your fingers knuckle deep in her sweet cunt while a thumb circles her clit.

“What?” She’s out of breath and her chest is heaving in a way that makes her tits look even hotter than normal. You almost lose your train of thought.

“Earlier. You said you can tell that I have poor hand-eye coordination.”

“Jesus- you stopped fucking me to ask me that?” One of her hands that was cradling your wrist goes up to her eyes to rub at them. “You’re something else.”

“Well! I just remembered it! Maybe I’m not doing a good job-”

“Stupid girl,” she’s got you on your back now, seemingly not caring about the orgasm she was approaching before you got distracted. “When have I ever not told you when I didn’t like something?”

“Uh. Never?”

“Exactly, so why do you think I’d start now? With this?” She gestures between the two of you and you look, stupidly, like you will see something other than your naked, sweaty body and her equally naked, equally sweaty, incredibly sexy body.

“That’s… that’s a great question.”

“I was just teasing, jagi. That’s all.” She kisses the side of your mouth and you can feel the way her lashes flutter along your cheek in a perfect butterfly kiss. Everything about her makes you fall deeper in love the longer you know her, even her stupidly long and perfect eyelashes.

“So, about my hand-eye coordination.” She drops her head to your shoulder with another curse and your hand comes up to play with her hair.

“It’s still bad, believe me. I don’t notice it when we have sex, though. You’re perfectly good with your hands, jagi.”

“The best?” She smiles, kisses you on the mouth this time.

“The best.”)

-

She’s got you in between her legs in the tub, her strong thighs thrown over yours so you can’t move while she aims the jet of the shower head directly on your clit. It’s almost too much, it always is, an unyielding wall of pressure that sends shocks of pleasure through your body in a way that makes you squirmy beyond belief. The first time you did this to yourself, you ended up with bruises on your back, the first time you did this with her, you almost elbowed her in the face. As it stands, she’s got her arms wrapped around you as best she can as you whine underneath her.

“I can’t, I can’t. ‘S too much, please.”

“Jagi,” she coos it right into your ear, “you haven’t even came yet. You keep tapping out before it gets good. Don’t you wanna come, baby?” You nod and she tilts her head out of the way so you don’t nail her in the jaw.

“I want to, but it’s so much.” She coos as you again as your legs scramble uselessly for purchase underneath hers. The tile is too slippery for you to do so, and Minho’s thighs are no joke. She’s danced for years and her gym routine is nothing to scoff at. You could spend hours writing sonnets about her legs if you weren’t so distracted.

“You can though, can’t you, kitty cat?” Your hand pats frantically at her arm until she gets the message to hold it in one of her own. “You can be good for me, right? You’ll come the way I want you to?”

The sound you let out in response to that is more of a cry than anything else, she shushes you and kisses your cheek sweetly like she isn’t the one overloading your nerves with sensation, like the isn’t the one unleashing as much water pressure as possible on the most sensitive part of your body. She shifts her grip just slightly, adjusts the angle and that has you lurching forward so fast you almost knock her over.

“Silly girl, don’t run.” She pulls you right back to her chest, boobs pressed against your back as she fixes the spray directly at the angle that had you reeling. “I always forget how squirmy you get when we do this.” She giggles, like she’s watching a silly cartoon.

“Mommy,” you can’t think enough to say anything intelligent, high, pitchy moans coming out in place of words. You want to answer her, to tell her you weren’t trying to run, that you will be a good girl for her. She’s trained you better than this, but you can’t say much else beyond her title, beyond her name. You hope she knows what you’re trying to tell her anyway.

“Oh, jagi.” Her voice is soft and sweet, but the way she’s pinning you is not. Neither is the way she’s forcing you to take what she gives you. “Mommy’s here, kitty cat. Mommy’s got you.”

“Mommy. Mommy.” You’re repeating it, over and over, too dumb to say anything else as you feel the overwhelming input you’ve been receiving crest higher and higher. She hums after each mention of her name like she understands what you’re saying. Hums like you’re one of the cats meowing at her for attention. You suppose she’s not too far off.

You cum with a near silent scream, breath halting in your chest in a way that used to concern Minho when it first happened. She doesn’t keep the water pressure going for too long after that, dropping the showerhead to replace the stream with her fingers to help you ride it out. She only loosens her grip when you slump back against her, loose limbed and dazed, muscles still twitching from how tightly they were tensed. She kisses the side of your face and very politely keeps her hands above your waistline while you calm down.

“You feel better?” She’s holding the shower head again, and giggles when you close your legs, simply holding it to the side so it doesn’t spray water all over the floor.

“Mhm. Thank you, mommy.”

“I’m glad. Let’s finish showering, yeah? Mommy will clean you up.”

 (You’re leaning heavily against her as she guides you to sit on the bed, grabbing your respective lotions and hair care products and turning to take care of you first. You whine at her.

“Let me do yours!” She raises an eyebrow.

“Keep your eyes open for more than thirty seconds and maybe I will.” You lift your hands and manually pry your eyelids apart. She bats at them until you stop.

“Ew, it’s so gross when you do that. Freak.”

“I miss five minutes ago when you were telling me I’m the love of your life.”

“Five minutes ago you weren’t being a little shit head.”

“False. I’m always a shit head.” She hums and grabs your chin, wiggling your head a little until you look at her.

“No, sometimes, you’re my sweet little girl.”

“Oh.” There’s absolutely no hiding the way you react to her when she talks to you like that and your hands fly to her hips as she lets go and leans back out of your personal space to grab the stuff to start your post-shower routine.

“Let me eat you out.” It’s sudden, and comes out of you in a rush.

“What?” She nearly drops the bottle of leave-in, ears turning red.

“Please? Please. I’ll get on my knees right now.” She scoffs.

“You’re falling asleep as we speak”

“No, I’m wide awake right now. Please let me, please.” She hums.

“Let me finish what I’m doing and if you’re still speaking in full sentences and not going crazy with sleep induced hysteria, I’ll let you.”

“Yippee!”

“If you fall asleep you can have what you want in the morning.”

“You’re the best, ever.”

“I’m aware.”

By the time she’s done taking care of the both of you, you are definitely not well enough to be doing anything. That doesn’t stop you from trying though, and you fall asleep with your head pillowed on one of Minho’s thighs. She has to readjust you so you don’t suffocate in her cunt. What a way to go.)

-

Minho is having a bad day today. It isn’t often she has those, generally unflappable to most things, but she’d gotten into a fight with one of her work friends and came home in a huff.

“I just don’t understand why she won’t listen to me!” She’s slamming things open and closed around the kitchen while you sit on the counter. She works around you as she always does and doesn’t slam anything if it’s less than two feet away from you.

“I know, she’s a bitch. You should report her to HR or something.”

“I should!”

“I’ll help you draft the email. I’m very good at sounding bitchy in a nice way.”

“You are!” She’s aggressively chopping vegetables next to you and you rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Be careful of your fingers, lovie.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Of course you are,” you’re unusually agreeable because it will do nothing but harm to work your girlfriend up when she’s already upset. Besides, of the two of you, you’re more clumsy, so it’s not like you have any legs to stand on. 

“Do you want solutions to what’s going on, or do you want me to keep calling your coworkers mean names?” It’s nice to ask people what kind of support they want, you learned. Minho is a coin toss, sometimes she wants an immediate solution, sometimes she wants to complain. You always do your best to meet her where she is.

“The second one, please.” She’s sauteeing something in the wok, and it smells delicious. You peer over her shoulder.

“Pause. Is that pancit?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

“Yes, yes,” you touch your pointer finger to the tip of an iron-hot ear as she speaks, “please call Moon Chaeyoung a cunt again, it’s funny.”

And so you do, going into detail about all the ways Moon Chaeyoung is inferior at her job compared to your girlfriend until she asks you for genuine help.

(“Is there anything else you need?” She’s laying with her head in your lap as you make tiny braids in her hair. Her eyes are closing and she hums as she thinks about it. You’ve already given her all the advice that you can, her only course of action now is to do it.

“Well. I can think of some things.” She turns her head to the side and shoves her face into your crotch like an animal. You swat her shoulder lightly.

“You’re a horn dog. Insatiable.” She turns her eyes to you, squinting them so her cat-like gaze shifts from playful to predatory.

“Which one of us woke the other up this morning because they couldn’t stop shoving their hands in their pants?” She sits up, leaning over you.

“I was dreaming!” You’re giggling, slipping under her arm and moving away.

“You kept going after I woke you up!” She stands up, throwing her arms in the air indignantly. You cross your arms in response.

“I was horny!” 

“That’s exactly my point.” She has her head in her hands so the words come out muffled. She grumbles something and lunges after you. You squeal and head towards your room.

“Yah! Get back here you little shit!” She lets out a huff as you throw a cat toy at her.

“I thought I was the love of your life!”

“That was before you decided to run from me- don’t you dare close that damn door-” The bedroom door clicks shut and the sound of your giggles is uncontrollable. You hear her walk away before the lock jiggles and her head pops through.

“Guess who?” You laugh again, heading towards the bed to throw more things at her, it does nothing to stop her. It’s not long before she has you pinned underneath her.

“Hi,” you smile at her, leaning up for a kiss.

“All that and all you want to say to me is ‘hi’?”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes and flips you over as you yelp in surprise. You’re about to start questioning her when a sharp sting lights up your ass.

“Ah- Minho! Hey!”

“Stop squirming. I’m not done yet.” There’s another smack over your pants before she pulls them down and her palm is connecting with skin.

“This isn’t fair! I didn’t even do anything!” You’re protesting while laying limply across her lap. She laughs at you.

“‘This isn’t fair’ she whines. Why is your pussy so wet then, hmm?” She spreads your legs a bit and lands a smack there too, snickering when your legs close reflexively on her hand. “Be a good girl, jagi. Take what you’re given.”)

-

It’s sunny when you ask her. The air is hot and humid and she’s wearing this dress that’s making your brain melt out of your ears. You’re having a picnic, because you can, and she’s talking about this show that she’s watching with Jisung.

“And then- and you’ll never fucking believe this- he goes ‘I could never court her’ and she overhears. If that happened to me I would literally explode.” You hum, shoving a heart shaped sandwich in her mouth while you look at her side profile. She’s beautiful, sharp nose and a round face. You want to live the rest of your life with her.

You’ve talked about it before, on hazy mornings when the rest of the world is just waking. In the middle of the night when the only sound is the hoot of owls and the buzz of crickets. At lunch, at dinner, at breakfast. In the shower, over the phone, through text messaging when you’re at work. You both are listed on the cat's vet information, something she changed a year into dating that she was nervous about telling you.

  “I don’t want you to feel pressured,” she’d said, “or like they’re your responsibility. I can take you off if you want, but I thought that if I was out of town or if something happened, you should be able to take care of them.” She’d been nervous, ears red with shame instead of the cute way they flush when you flirt with her. 

“Thank you, jagi.” You don’t often call her that, preferring to torture her with bad puns using the syllables of her name, so her breath catches in her throat.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

She knows every order that you get from fast food restaurants, she hounded your parents for their chicken noodle soup recipe when you got sick one time. She learned how to make your grandma’s spaghetti sauce and let’s you call her mommy in bed because it makes you feel safe.

She’s everything to you and then some, so when you tap her shoulder and hold out the ring you bought, it’s as natural as breathing. A fact of life, an inevitability. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you are going to marry Lee Minho.

“He keeps friendzoning her. It's absolutely despicable, like, are you blind or something-” She turns her gaze to you and her eyes go wide. “You’re joking.” Her eyes are welling with tears, something that you hardly ever see.

“I’m as serious as a heart attack, baby. Will you be my wife? I promise if you say yes I’ll start helping you make the bed in the morning instead of laying on it and making your job harder.” She hugs you, knocking you back onto the blanket you’re sitting on. The movement tips over your cup of lemonade and you damn near lose the ring.

“Of course I will. And you most certainly will not help. But that’s okay, I love you even if you create weird bumps in my sheets and mess up my hard work not five seconds after it’s done.” She kisses your face all over, resembling more like an overexcited puppy than the cats she favors, and you grab her hand to slip the ring on it.

“I love you, Minho. I really do.”

“I can’t believe I get to marry the most beautiful girl in the world,” she says, looking down at her hand.

“You don’t,” you start, kissing her cheekbone. “You don’t get to marry the most beautiful girl in the world. I do.”

(“You know,” she starts as you’re packing up, “I was going to propose to you soon.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Absolutely I am not.” She fishes around the pocket of her dress before pulling out a ring.

“This is so funny. Can I still have it?”

“Of course, it’s yours,” she slips it onto your finger, face heating up to match her ears, “everything I have is yours. Everything and then some.”)

[hauntedwitch04]

Just a Mirror

Sam Winchester x plus size!Reader

Words: about 6.3k words

Warning: saddy sadness, and some allusion to sexy time, eating disorder, hating on your own person, please be careful if you sensible about this themes

REQUEST: Hi :) I saw that your requests are open, and I was wondering if you could do a Sam Winchester x plus sized reader; an angsty fluffy friends to lovers that has some smut and reader hating herself in the mirror and possibly problems with eating

Author’s note: Hi love! Thank you @desicroft02 so much for your request. I felt really inspired by your idea love and I hope you like how it came out, if you don't find yourself with what i wrote, feel free to say it to me and I'll write to you a new one !

p.s.I got very caught up in the topic, since it is something I feel very close to. I was never the skinny girl, but with the years I've grown used to feel different to others girls, and even if sometimes I really hate what I see in the mirror, I kinda arrived to the point that I see both the flaws and the strenghts of my body and I love both, but some of my closest friend and this kinda of disorder and I tried to help them the way aI could so this one is for them too.

In case you need someone to talk to, I am always here, don't be afraid to seek help because often having someone close by to remind you that the volume of that evil voice we hear inside can be lowered or eliminated is important.

Requests are open I Ask

My masterlist

Join the Taglist

Buy me a coffee - Patreon submission

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Why?

This is the only question that floats in your mind, while, with thick tears in your eyes, you try to read the enormous book about whatever monster you are hunting with your friends in this little city, forgotten by God.

You and your childhood best friends are hunting some monster that you still haven't been able to figure out what it is, despite the fact that you are reading yet another list of monstrous animals in the story, while Dean and Sam are still out at the bar where you had decided to spend the evening, and from which you had decided to escape as quickly as possible, without giving any kind of explanation to the two hunters, holding back tears and trying not to meet their confused gaze

You and the boys have been friends since you were six and they were seven and eleven. You met on a rainy October day when you were still living at Bobby's house, after your father had died in a hunting accident after leaving you with him, and being his friend and seeing him almost as a brother he couldn't help but welcome you and raise you as if you were his own daughter.

Dean and Sam had just been left in the rain on the narrow dirt road by their father when you looked out and saw these two cold, sad, and at the same time angry children. You could see the resentment they felt for the man who looked less and less like a father and more and more like an army general, ready to train soldiers and not raise children. Immediately you went to Bobby and told him of the presence of those two unknown children who were in your driveway. He had immediately run to get them and brought them inside the house, worried that they would get sick from standing in the rain, and wondering why their father had left them there, without saying anything.

"He said he didn't have time to explain and that he had to get there as fast as he could, but that he would call you this evening." Said the older of the two once they were seated on the couch in what must once have been a beautiful dining room, and was now more like an ever-growing mountain of books. It is to your adoptive father that you owe all the culture and ability to read texts on the supernatural that most hunters would not even know how to open.

As he spoke you could see the blond child trying to hold back the sadness within himself and show himself as a big boy, almost pretending to understand why his father abandoned them like that without saying a word; in contrast, the one who was supposed to be the smaller of the two, with unruly brown hair, looked more like a beaten puppy, as he wetly moved his feet lazily on the floor, listening to what his brother had to say, but not hiding his sadness and anger at his daddy's decision.

"Baby, couldn't you get Sammy a glass of water for him while Dean and I go make a call for a minute?" Bobby then asked you suddenly, and you realized that you were lost in thought as you watched and studied those boys. You nodded quickly, trying not to let it show that you had spent all that time staring at them, as you heard Bobby's voice and that of the blond boy, apparently named Dean, drift away, only to hear the front door open and close.

After a few minutes you returned to the living room with a glass in your hand, and walked over to the brown-eyed boy, who was now looking at you and smiling shyly. You handed him the glass with a beaming smile, and he could do nothing but blush a little and retract his body a little, letting shyness take possession of him as he took the glass.

"Thank you." He told you in a faint voice.

"You're welcome." You replied as you sat next to him on the sofa.

"My name is Sam." He said, only to freeze and blush again as he held out a hand for you to shake, just as grown-ups do. You told him your name, and he commented that it was a very nice name, and that he liked it a lot, before going back to being silent and staring into the sad void.

You not being able to see what you considered a new friend feel so bad, you shamelessly asked him why his father had left him there and if that was why he was sad. He turned to look at you, and unknown how, he burst into tears, while with his hands he covered his face, not wanting to be seen as weak with someone he had just met, but you didn't give a damn.

Immediately you hugged him and listened to him talk about how his father was behaving with them, how his brother was struggling more and more to hide that he was tired of his parent's behavior, and how he was lonely and sad, constantly changing towns and seeing nothing but his family. That poor seven-year-old seemed to be thirty years old because of the problems he was telling you about, and as much as you were even younger because you were only six, you felt like you could understand him, because for a while that had also been your life before your father passed away.

You remained thus cuddled on the couch and fell asleep, lulled by the warmth of the fire slightly away from you and the new friendly presence that had entered your lives that afternoon, so much so that when Bobby and Dean returned after trying for a varied amount of time to contact John, and finally once succeeding in being insulted and put down by him, they both smiled at the sight of those two small and defenseless children embracing each other, as if to protect each other from the world. But no one knew that night before you fell asleep you had promised to protect each other forever, no matter how, when or why you would always be there for each other.

That was how you got to know the Winchester brothers, and the hatred for their father also began.

You awaken from your thoughts when you hear the motel door open and close, realizing that another time had gone into the whirlwind of memories and you were lost in remembering again when life was easy. You hear someone coming toward you with heavy footsteps, so you wipe away the tears you didn't know were there on your cheeks, which like small streams had almost made a furrow along your skin by now.

You sense right away who it is, but you don't have the strength to turn around so you continue to cry silently as you feel two arms wrapped around you, and Dean's warm body resting on your back as he leans down so that he can put his head in the crook of your neck and hold you better. Ever since the two of you met it was immediately like big brother and little sister between the two of you, and even now despite the fact that it has been a long time since you were children and in your spare time you enjoyed stealing cherries from the neighbor's tree, there is still that complicity and understanding between the two of you that once existed.

He knows exactly why you escaped so suddenly from the dive bar you were both in a few hours ago. Sam had seen a beautiful girl, the classic cover model of some magazine, slim and with all her shape in the right place, taking a drink at the bar, looking seductively at him as she put the drink straw between her lips. Sam's hormones had not let him repeat twice that clear call to fuck directly in the bar's bathroom, a bathroom from which you were coming out as he was sticking his tongue down the throat of that fake and at the same time perfect babe, who in his arms looked so small and yet in the right place, toned against his strong muscles, as opposed to how you would have looked with your shapely body. You couldn't stand there and watch the boy you love for so long now make out with someone else, so without explanation you left and went back to the motel where you took two bedrooms for the case. Usually you take two rooms only when Dean wanted to find someone to take to bed, unlike Sam who kept his sex life much more private than his brother, but since he and Cas had come out a few months ago you had not taken the second room, having practically grown up together and thus having no problem sharing space. That night, however, when you had arrived in the small town Sam had insisted on taking a second room, and stubbornly had not told his older brother why when he had asked him, and somehow your heart was preparing for what would happen, but in fact nothing would totally prepare you for what you would see in that bar and how your heart would break.

Dean squeezes you tightly, as if he is afraid you will disappear at any moment, and that heartfelt squeeze only makes you break the weak dam you had built when you saw him come in, and you burst into endless weeping.

"I know baby, I know." That's all the blond man can manage to say to you, as he gets you up and carries you toward the bed, so you can lie down and take off your shoes, before coming close to you and holding you in his arms, until exhausted, you fall asleep safe in Dean's strong hold, while he whispers soothing words to you.

The next morning you wake up with the sun gently caressing your face from over Dean's shoulder. You smile for a second, imagining what it would be like to wake up in the other Winchester's arms, and soon after your heart, as if pierced by an arrow, bleeds at the memory of what happened last night. You get up, shifting your friend's arms, and go to the bathroom to wash and freshen up, when you hear the door to your room open, and a male voice, known even too well, shout to your still sleeping friend.

"Dean, wake up!" Sam yells, and you behind the door hold a hand over your heart, just imagining her beauty after her usual morning run to stay in shape. Her long dark hair tied back in a light bun, her forehead sweaty and muscles still tense from exertion.

"I'm awake, you asshole." Dean replies, as you hear him get up and go get some coffee. "You could have deigned to make less noise last damn night, you know there were people here who wanted to sleep."

You hear Sam snort at his brother's words, then respond to him in an aggressive, cold tone.

"Well then there are people who wouldn't want to see you run off to fuck wherever we go, hold hands all the time or make love wherever you are. And you know something else too Dean, I thought you were a better person. Why her? Come on you've had a lot of girls, and it wouldn't cost you anything to find a thousand more, why did you have to choose her!?" Says the younger brother, before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

You close your eyes and try to control your breathing as you feel yourself lacking oxygen. You feel tears coming to your eyes, but you try with all your strength to push them back down. You take a few minutes to control your emotions as all you want to do is fall to the floor on your knees and scream until you can't hear yourself anymore, but you stay strong and open the door to see Dean immediately in front of you, looking pained and guilty, seeing your state.

"You didn't tell him." You say in a calm, quiet voice, not asking, but stating that your best friend had not told about his new relationship with our angel friend.

"I never found the right time." Dean tries to say, then looks down. "I never had the courage, every time I seemed to miss the words."

"Sam would never judge you, and you know that." You say as you feel a pang inside your heart, remembering the words the man you love had used a few minutes earlier. You feel your clothes sticking to your body like glue, too tight, so tight that you feel as if they have pre torn. You feel how the floor gives way under your feet, you feel how a billion eyes are on you ready to judge you, you feel something inside you break, but you can't let anyone but yourself see how mere words have hurt you, so you grit your teeth and continue to look at Dean stoically, as you feel a single and only tear escape down your face.

"I know, but I'm afraid in the same way, I don't want it to end like last time." Dean confesses, still looking at the floor, but crying clearly, as his words take you back to when you were nothing more than kids and he had come crying to you one night, confessing that he had fallen in love with a boy he had met during his last case, and that his father after finding out had beaten him so badly that his scars remained, and had forced him to watch pornographic movies, reminding him how "a real man acts." No one had ever seen you as angry as Dean, and Bobby when he heard you scream and came to watch that night as you swore to heaven that you would kill John Winchester. Dean had never told Sam about that episode, not wanting to worry him since he had just run away to study at Stanford, and asked you to do the same. It has been so long since that night, yet the memory of that pain and that man still frightens the wonderful person in front of you.

"But I swear I will. He has no right to think such things about you! I-I will tell him-" He begins to say, as he tries to wipe away the tears running copiously down his face. You, moved in turn and knowing that like you he too was remembering that fateful evening, take his face in your hands and bring his eyes to gaze fixedly into yours.

"No, you won't do it now, you will do it when you feel like it." You comment chuckling as you caress his face. He looks at you unconvinced and you see his inner battle inside whether to accept your proposal or to be as always too good and allow the world to kick him in the balls.

"Please be selfish for once. And if I serve as your cover, so be it, not that I would have had any chance with him anyway." You continue, smiling at him as you feel your heart slowly shatter. You see Dean ready to retort, but you have already disappeared back into the bathroom, crying silently. Once the bathroom door is closed, you stop to look at yourself in the mirror and realize how disgusted you feel about your body.

There is not a single thing about you that you like: your thighs, your arms, your stomach, your chest.

The more you look at yourself, the more you want to break that all-too-truthful mirror, which tells an unfiltered reality, a sad truth that for so long you had tried to ignore, but which now that Sam had spit it in your face you could no longer pretend not to see. So you decide at this very moment that everything was going to change, you don't know how, but it was going to happen.

So weeks go by, Sam still won't talk to you, and slowly you continue to sink into the stupid realization that he doesn't because only he, like you, can really see your body, and that he hates you for it, so now convinced that you have to change your body to be loved, you begin to eat less and less and more rarely, and what little you put in your mouth to make Dean happy, who sees you getting sadder and more tired, is rejected from your stomach just moments later when no one is looking at you. This situation hurts your body and your heart, but you do it so that you can look at yourself in the mirror without wanting to punch him, but things seem to get worse and worse. You look at yourself and you never fit, before you saw a body you didn't like, now beyond that you see a person you don't like.

Dean is getting more and more worried about you, seeing you getting paler and paler and thinner, but every time he tries to talk to you, you put on a smile and pretend that everything is going well and that the only reason your shirts now look huge on you is that you are working out more, but he knows that you never liked sports and that is why he knows you are lying to him. He tried to talk to Sam about what was going on, but all his brother managed to say by pouting was that if he needed relationship advice to go somewhere else and that he didn't want anything to do with the two of you.

Dean was on the verge of smashing the plate he was holding in his face and yelling at him to open his eyes and see that you love him more than Dean does right now and that he is fucking in love with their favorite angel, but then he had seen Castiel's face and knew he couldn't let him down after he asked him to keep a low profile and let as few people as possible know about their relationship.

Dean had never felt so lousy as deciding between the love of his life and a friend in need, but he knew that if you found out what he had done you would insult him, so he played it cool and moved on, as if nothing had happened, while he continued to try to take care of you, with little success.

It's been almost a month since Sam had said those horrible things, and you're not getting worse and worse, but in order not to show it in front of your friends, you keep doing the same things as before, trying to have the same cheerfulness.

You are now hunting a werewolf in a remote town in a state you don't even remember. Your body is weak, you haven't eaten anything Dean has brought you in the last three days taken at the various fast food restaurants and bars he had found along the way, and what little you had put in your mouth had gone down the drain shortly thereafter, hating yourself just for having the idea that you could eat something. You feel your eyelids as heavy as shutters, the muscles in your body are nonexistent, and what few are left ache from the mere effort of standing and walking, while your head throbs incessantly.

In this you are scouting around where the last victims had been killed, to see if you can find any more information, but so far you have not had much success, so you decided to split up.

You are barely holding the flashlight in your hand, too heavy for you, when you feel a sudden dizziness that forces you to lean against the wall. You stay a few minutes trying to catch your breath, eyes closed, breathing in the cool night air around you, when you hear a noise coming from a short distance away from you, like a dog growling. With difficulty you open your eyes and see before you a sight that is frightening to say the least: the werewolf you were looking for is looking at you ravenously, while a dark laughter rumbles from his belly to his mouth. Quickly you try to pick up the phone to call Dean or Sam, but unfortunately your mind is so clouded that you can't even do simple things like this and the phone slips out of your hands to the monster's feet.

"The Winchesters' little friend!" He says, seeing who you were trying to contact. "I've heard a lot about you, among the monsters you are known as their true weakness: so small and helpless, you wouldn't even survive my bite, I'll do you a favor and eat your miserable heart." He continues as he gets closer, and you do whatever comes to your chin at this moment, as you feel death coming slowly but comfortingly too, like an old friend you haven't seen in a long time. You scream Sam and Dean's name as loud as you can, hoping that at least one of them can hear you, your lungs aching from how much breath you had to use and your throat burning from the effort as you feel your strength failing.

You lean back against the wall again, this time with your back, and let yourself slide down to the floor, as your vision goes completely black and your ears become plugged as when you go too deep underwater, and the world seems more and more distant. You have one last flicker of life before you pass out completely in that dark alley, at the mercy of that monster, and you hear Sam's voice call out your name for a moment.

Your heart loses a beat, and then completely dark.

You awaken with a jump and a gasp as you sit up on the bed on which someone has carried you. Your head immediately begins to spin like a spinning top, and your vision fails again as you feel a warm hand settle on your shoulder and bring you back to lie down.

"Relax, you're safe now. It's okay." Says in a low, soft tone a rough voice, leading back to Sam. You, shocked to know he is there next to you, open your eyes with difficulty and find yourself lying on the bed in your room, in the bunker, as you see him kneeling beside your bed. His face shows the weariness he feels, but in his eyes shines a strange hope as he looks at you mixed with sadness. You place your gaze on the rest of the room and see your favorite chair, where you usually sit to read your books or do your research when you are tired of sitting in the library, covered with blankets and pillows, making you realize that your favorite giant has been sleeping there for what seems to be even more than a couple of days, otherwise everything looks the same, unchanged, and strangely everything now seems to make more sense with the presence of Sam and some of his things in the room. Immediately you slap yourself in the face at that thought, reminding yourself that he hates you, and that the reason he is here is because Dean will have had better things to do than watch you sleep.

You're about to tell him that he can leave, and leave you alone, knowing that he doesn't even want to be in the same room with you, as he has shown recently, and that in case his brother asks you, you won't tell him, but he beats you to the punch and starts talking.

"First of all I want to say I'm sorry, you don't even know how much, and I certainly understand if you never forgave me in your life, because I wouldn't forgive myself." Sam says, as you see tears forming in his eyes. You try to stop him, confused as to why he was making that speech, but he stops you in turn and begs you to let him finish.

"We found you just in time, by "luck," if you can call it that, that asshole had decided to torture you a bit before eating your heart, and we got there before he could do it, but when Cas touched you to treat you he said he didn't know if you would survive anyway because your body was too weak since you hadn't eaten for too many days. Dean insulted me and even beat me up a bit before explaining the matter from his point of view." You can't help but widen your eyes, and Sam chuckles seeing your expression, as two tears run down his face, and he darkens a little again before continuing, without looking you in the eye.

"Yes, he also told me about Cas, and also about that affair with our father to make me understand why you decided to cover for him."

You close your eyes for a moment, expecting a series of insults, but you only feel his lips rest on your hand, so you open them again and see him leaning over the bed, as you feel his tears coming hot to contact your cold hand.

"Thank you." The boy confesses in a whisper. "Thank you for everything you did for Dean, thank you for always taking care of him when I couldn't or was too blind and stupid to, I don't deserve to have you in my life."

You can't find the words, and so you do the only thing you can think of this moment, and you take his hand and squeeze it, while barely smiling at him.

"We will always have helped each other, you remember. Then Dean will be your brother, but it's like he's my brother too." You say as you pull his face up and force him to look into your eyes. You see him cry even harder, a few sobs escaping his lips, as he squeezes your hand even tighter.

"I'm sorry, I promised I would always protect you, and instead I was so stupid and jealous that I didn't realize what I was doing." He tells you again, only to stop for a moment and look at you this time with a resolve he lacked until a few seconds ago. "Why did you stop eating? How come you covered your mirror in the bathroom? Dean found the remains of the one from before in the garage, thought you didn't like it and got a new one, so he changed it for you."

Immediately you remember, one night in a rage after looking at yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, you had started punching it until it had become nothing but stardust under your bleeding fingers, and the next day when you had returned from your walk with the dog, you had found a new one, with a note from Dean who had said that seeing that you had taken it off, thinking that you didn't like it anymore, he had bought a new one, so realizing that you couldn't escape that vicious cycle and knowing that if it happened one more time it would arouse even more suspicion, you had simply covered it up, and hoped that no one would ever learn of that dirty secret, and instead, here it all was for all to see.

You look at Sam in those damned puppy-dog eyes of his, and burst into desperate weeping. He, seeing you in this state, instinctively picks you up and holds you in his arms.

"I disgust myself Sam." You finally manage to utter those damn words, and immediately you feel as if your soul lightens as you feel his arms grip your body even tighter as if you could disappear at any moment, and at the same time he does it with an innate delicacy, as if it were a precious crystal figurine that can be broken under his gaze. "I'm disgusted by my body, I'm disgusted by every single thing about me, and you're disgusted by it too, don't lie to me. I thought if I lost weight things would get better, but they don't, I feel worse and worse." You continue, while somehow trying to get away from him.

"In what sense would you disgust me? When would I have ever said such a thing?" He asks confusedly as he looks at you, tears have dried on his face. His eyes range and seem to want to imprint your every little detail in his memory. His gaze makes you blush as you try to find the words to tell him how his words have done nothing but unleash a storm that had long been locked up somewhere inside you and was just waiting to be released. So you take a deep breath and tell him everything, while he looks at you attentively and astonished, his arms still around his body, as if he needs reminding that you are there beside him, and that you are not just a product of his mind.

You tell him everything, every little thing you had felt hearing his words while you were locked in that damn bathroom, your feelings and emotions in the month to follow, along with all the thoughts and all the actions you had put in place in the hope that he would no longer hate you, and that maybe you would hate yourself less, too. He starts crying again, and hides his face in the crook of your neck.

You stay a few minutes clasped to each other, in silence, after you have poured your heart out in front of him, ready to suffer the consequences, when he takes your face in his hands and stares at you steadily with those chocolate-colored eyes of his, and for a moment you feel your breath short.

"Don't ever think of such a thing again. Never. You are perfect exactly as you are, there is nothing I would change about you, there is nothing I don't love about you." At his words you stand still, as if petrified, afraid that a single movement of yours could mean the breaking of this beautiful illusion. "Yes, I am tired of holding all this in, I love you, I love you so much that I am sick just thinking about not having you near me for a second, I love you so much that I would have been ready to kill my brother for stealing the girl I love all my life, I love you so much that I would be ready to climb the highest mountain in the world and scream it to everyone!" He continues as he stands up on the bed, and begins to move his arms quickly, just enough to make you laugh. At the sound of your laughter he turns to look at you, and smiles even more, to return next to you on his knees and cup your face in his hands. "I love every little, tiny thing about you madly. I'm crazy, crazy in love, and I was a fool because I was so convinced that getting away from you would be better for you, that I didn't realize that you were suffering because of me, and I'm sorry. On the one hand I would like to let you go and make you happy, but on the other hand I am an extremely selfish being and I only want you for myself." He continues as he rests his forehead on yours, whispering the last words. "I love you, and I'm sorry."

You look at him, and not even realizing what you are doing, you take his face in your hands and bring his lips to yours. The kiss you exchange arises as sweet and gentle, like two flames dancing in an elegant dance side by side, testing each other's reaction, in the same way your lips move over each other, slowly tasting that new sensation. You feel her soft lips caressing yours, until neither of you has a single breath left.

"I love you too if you hadn't realized it idiot." You comment making him laugh. "I love you, and for so long I would have preferred not to because it made me sick, yet I could do nothing but love you. The only reason that kept me alive was my love for you, even though it was also my poison." You continue by looking into his eyes, and you see the pain in his.

"If you forgive me, I will do everything to correct what I have done." He looks at you, with a penitent and pleading gaze, as he takes your hands in his, before you release one and place it on his right cheek, and he instinctively leans into your hands, seeking that simple contact.

"I've already forgiven you moron." She laughingly comments, before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him again, but this time the air in the room is different. The atmosphere becomes more erotic and intriguing. You feel his hands carefully explore your body, running his hands down your sides from your breasts to your butt, where he rests his large, warm hands, before slipping them under your T-shirt and caressing the skin of your back, making you shiver. You feel his hand rise higher and higher to the level of your bra and undo the hook that held it, but then he stops. Parting your lips he looks into your eyes for a second.

"If you don't feel up to it it's perfectly fine honey, we can stop here-"Sam says unsure, but you stop him.

"Afraid it's too much for you Winchester?" You ask as you raise your eyebrows, and see him smile, before resting his lips on yours, then creating a trail of kisses from your mouth to the chest exposed by the shirt you are wearing, down your neck.

"God, how I've missed you." He comments between kisses, but then stops again and looks at you seriously. "Anyway, I wasn't kidding myself, if you don't feel comfortable we can stop here."

You look at him, in his eyes only the pure affection and love you feel for him, and then put an end to all his doubts.

"I want to do it Sam." You say in a whisper as you take the bottom of his shirt with your hands and slowly slip it off, thus also dropping the bra he had unfastened a few minutes ago. "I want to do it with you Sam."

He looks at you and doesn't let you tell him twice, and he resumes his attack on your neck, leaving obvious signs of his passage, and then moves on to your breasts.

"God, you're perfect." He whispers before teasing one of your nipples. You moan softly at that sensation, feeling his teeth clench, his lips kiss and his tongue lick every single inch of your body, worshipping you like a goddess, a queen, tasting every inch of your skin.

This wonderful moment is interrupted, however, by the unannounced entrance of Dean, who, seeing the scene of his brother splayed across your body as he kisses your breasts, and with one hand explores the rest of your body, while you clutch his long hair in your hands, moaning his name shamelessly, lets out a small scream, before closing the door again.

"Damn you guys could warn." Comments the older brother, as Sam with speed grabs a blanket to cover you.

"Should we announce? You're the one who entered the room unannounced!" Sam replies in turn, making an expression that makes you laugh. "You can still come in now jerk."

"Bitch." Dean retorts, to open the bedroom door again and have a stupid grin plastered on his face. "So, I see Sam hasn't exactly figured out how to talk and resolve a situation, usually the mouth should be free to talk, not busy sucking-"

"You try to say one more Winchester word and I'll tell everyone about Christmas with Cindy McWood." You threaten him, and see him whiten, before his smile returns to its former self.

"Well what can I say in that case guys, good conversation and be sure to use protection, I'm not ready to be an uncle." He says closing the door behind him, then opening it again. "Not that I wouldn't make a great uncle, but I would say I'm too young and then-"

"Out!" You and Sam scream in unison, and the only thing Dean does is give you the finger before walking away. The two of you stand still for a moment weighing what just happened and burst out laughing, before Sam's lips find yours again.

"Where were we?" He asks you next, and you can't help but smile and moan at feeling his lips on you again.

It's shaping up to be a very interesting night, long but interesting, and you know that in the end maybe by tomorrow morning you can slowly look at yourself in the mirror, seeing the reflection of the man you love behind you supporting you.

TAGLIST

@supernatural-lvr @itzdarling @newtdumbledoorstarksoot @evansstan-akya

[vilevenom]

This bad boy is dedicated to @em-doods, because her adorable sketches of Hickory and John Dory meandering through the woods 100% are the reason I wrote this. (She also helped push me through a rather rough patch I had while writing the first bit, so a super extra special thank you there!!)

If given the chance I will write Hickory and John Dory getting together in every conceivable fashion. In this fic, they go camping.

Enjoy!!

"I've never been campin'."

"What?!" John stared wide eyed at Hickory, who looked somewhat bashful at his admittance.

"Well, I mean…I've been campin', but not, y'know, camping," Hickory unhelpfully tried to clarify while John Dory continued to stare at him in disbelief. He sighed, scratching at his cheek as he tried to think of a way to better explain himself. "Dickory an' I would need to camp out once in a blue moon, y'know, when we were out on a hunt. But it was never the kinda campin' where you get to roast marshtatoes or go swimmin'. It was just basic survival."

"Well, I can't let that stand," John said, smacking the table they were sat at with gusto, making Hickory jump. "No way. Camping, proper camping, is one of the best experiences in the world! I don't think I can let you go another second without experiencing the wonders of camping."

And that was how Hickory found himself staring out Rhonda's front window as John drove her into wilderness unlike any he'd seen before. The troll kingdoms were beautiful and unique in their own ways, but this place was truly something else. Rhonda ducked under gnarled branches and crawled through twisting vines, with John confidently at her helm, a broad smile on his face as he described to Hickory where he was taking them. The Neverglade trail, apparently, had all of the best camping spots, and he knew just the one that Hickory would enjoy.

Hickory felt like he was going to be sick, though he plastered a pleasant smile onto his face and nodded along every time John glanced at him while he excitedly spoke about where they were headed. It wasn't that Hickory didn't want to go camping with John. Oh, no. It was the exact opposite, really. He'd been looking forward to this trip since John had declared they were going a few days prior. It was the fact that it was just the two of them. Alone. Together. It made Hickory's heart jump into his throat and his palms sweat.

Thinking back on it, Hickory came to realize that he and John Dory had only really known each other for a handful of months. They'd met when Hickory had gone to Pop Village with the intention of visiting Poppy and Branch, only to find the royal couple surrounded by a group of trolls quickly revealed to be their siblings. Swiftly, Hickory had been introduced to all of Branch's brothers, and Poppy's sister, all while beginning to feel a touch overwhelmed by the new mix of personalities. Not quite sure what to say or how to act, Hickory began to flounder, when one of Branch's brothers had tugged him aside with an easy smile.

"We're a lot, huh?"

"I mean, I dunno if I'd say that, exactly," Hickory had started to demure, only to grunt in surprise as John Dory slapped a hand to his back with a guffaw.

"You don't need to be shy, man. We all know we're a lot. Big personalities," John had reassured, sliding his hand up to rest on Hickory's shoulder. "I know you're here to visit with Branch, but how about we get out of here? I happen to know that everyone else will be buggering off here pretty soon, so you'll have a chance for some one on one time with him and Poppy, but probably not for a couple hours. You can show me around town? I assume you've been here before. I've been here for a whopping three days, so I have no idea where anything is."

Hickory hadn't even realized his shoulders had been tense until they began to relax as John spoke to him. He let a slight smile curl his lips and gave a little nod. "Yeah. I can do that," he easily agreed, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops as they began to walk away from the cluster of trolls.

They'd spent the next couple of hours getting to know each other, and, quite frankly, Hickory couldn't help but to be charmed. John Dory was brash and confident in a way that made him laugh, but was also, somehow surprisingly, incredibly kindhearted.

As they were walking through town, a couple of young trollings had dashed in front of them, only for one to trip and fall directly in front of John Dory. Hickory had fully expected John to, perhaps, help the trolling up and for them to continue on their way, but instead he'd crouched down to the child's level to make sure they were okay. When it was revealed that the trolling had a scrape on their knee, John dug into his hair, pulled out a band-aid, and applied it to the injury without batting an eye. Hickory then watched in amusement as John scooped the kid up into his arms and spun around while theatrically wondering where the trolling's friend could have gone. They, of course, had been right behind John, giggling manically as the teal troll continued to spin and pretend he couldn't see them. Finally, he placed the injured child down, and the two all but begged John to go play with them.

"Sorry, I can't. See this guy behind me," John thrust his thumb over his shoulder towards Hickory, who gave them a little wave "He's my tour guide. And I can't just let him go on touring by himself."

The children whined at him while Hickory chuckled at their antics, but John ultimately encouraged them to continue on with their game, which they reluctantly did when it became obvious that John was just this side of too stubborn for them to persuade.

"That was mighty kind of you," Hickory hummed as they began to walk through the village again.

"Hm? Was it? I dunno," John said with a self depreciating little laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, "Just seemed natural to me. But, that probably comes from being the oldest of five. Lots of bumps and scrapes to take care of when they come running to you for comfort."

Hickory decided to side-step the comment about John's brothers going to him, rather than their parents. He was sure there was a story there, but it sounded like one for another time. "So…Yer the oldest brother, huh?"

John snorted, shoving Hickory playfully with an sheepish grin. "Yes. What's it to ya?"

"Not much. Just didn't much figure Branch havin' a silver fox for a siblin'."

"Silver-?! I am NOT that old. Do you see any grey hair here?!" John huffed, puffing out his chest and pulled his goggles up to show off his very teal roots, earning a laugh from Hickory. "If you must know, Branch is about fourteen years younger than me. The rest are all in between."

"Ah, can't remember with yer ancient brain? Ya need help rememberin', old man? I can always go find one of yer brothers, if ya need assistance."

"That is just uncalled for," John sniffed, looking affronted. Hickory worried for a moment that he'd taken a step too far in his teasing, when John snorted and deflated a bit. "I am getting old, aren't I?"

Hickory clicked his tongue, quickly realizing he had hit a nerve, but not the one he'd thought. "John, if I may, an' if my math is right, yer only thirty-eight. That ain't that old," Hickory reassured, offering a warm smile to the teal troll, "Yer only a few years older than I am, an' I certainly ain't old."

"Oh, yeah? And how old is the whipper snapper?" John joked, obviously lightened a bit by Hickory's reassurance.

"Thirty-two."

"Ah, you're between Clay and Floyd," John hummed, though the comment was obviously directed more towards himself.

Their conversation ebbed and flowed easily as they continued to walk through the village, Hickory occasionally pointing out landmarks or buildings he knew, while John Dory made comments here and there about how different the village was from the tree he's grown up in. He also made a point to let Hickory know that he'd obviously need to get another tour through town, what with his poor old memory not being quite what it used to be. Hickory was fairly certain he'd never had such entertaining conversation with another troll.

Eventually, they wandered back to Branch's bunker, where John bid Hickory adieu with a rather ridiculous and dramatic bow before going on his way, while Hickory descended into the bunker to have his intended visit with Branch and Poppy.

Their catching up truthfully didn't get very far before the topic of the royal couple's recent adventure and estranged siblings came up, and Hickory mindlessly blurted out, "So…what's yer brother like?"

"…which one?" Branch said with a snort, arching an eyebrow at the ex-bounty hunter.

"John Dory."

Branch seemed to think for a moment, while Poppy gave Hickory an awkward smile. "He's an obnoxious, self-centered know-it-all."

Hickory blinked, quite taken aback by Branch's opinion of his brother. "Really? I never woulda guessed that by the way he was actin' today…"

"Well, to be honest, he may be my brother, but I don't really know him that well. We haven't seen each other in twenty years, but that's the impression I've gotten of him so far," Branch said with a quiet sigh. "He'll be staying in Pop Village for a while, since Floyd is recovering. Maybe if I give him some time, my opinion will change? But, that's what I've got for now."

Hickory hummed thoughtfully, and decided he would give it some time, as well. He bounced back and forth between Lonesome Flats and Pop Village over the next few months, and never once did John Dory give Hickory the impression of being self-centered, nor did he ever become obnoxious. In fact, he continued to prove the exact opposite. Nearly every time Hickory visited, John was with Branch, Floyd, or both, supporting his younger brothers in whatever they might need. And whenever Hickory made himself known, John offered to make himself scarce so Hickory could visit with Branch unimpeded. Eventually, however, Hickory had to reveal that he'd been intending to visit John the entire time, and that had been something of an awkward chat in and of itself. The sheer surprise that had shown on John's face when Hickory admitted that he wanted to spend more time with John had certainly made his heart twist in an unexpected way.

In the end, the longer Hickory spent with John Dory, the more he seemed to develop a rather inconvenient crush on the teal troll. Especially when he did things as sweet and thoughtful as remembering Hickory had casually mentioned once that he had a soft spot for a particular cupcake made by one particular stand in the market, but he was never early enough to get one. John had presented one to Hickory with a proud little grin on his face the next time the country troll visited. Or the way he obviously thought about Hickory even when they weren't together, as on one occasion when he'd trotted up to Hickory and presented him with a rather fancy looking silver belt buckle emblazoned with intricate little flower patterns. He'd said he'd picked it up in his travels and was going to toss it away, but perhaps Hickory would like it, instead?

Now, most trolls would probably consider such actions to be relatively basic indications of friendship. However, Hickory had had so few friends, or trolls who cared for him (and not a character he and his brother created) that he couldn't help but feel special when John gave him his undivided attention. And he had a sneaking suspicion that John Dory was much the same.

He mentioned the incidents to Poppy and Branch the next time he sat down with them to chat, the former of whom cooed happily at the revelation, while the later gagged quietly.

"I…I think he's got my heart all a flutter. What do I do?" Hickory asked, head in his hands where he sat at Branch's kitchen table. He felt like a little kid, telling his friends about a crush he had on some troll well out of his league. He felt especially foolish that said friend was his crushes younger brother, who was watching him with a wrinkled nose.

"Why are you asking me? At this point, I'm pretty convinced that you know JD better than I do," Branch said with a slight grimace.

"Oh, that's so cute," Poppy gushed, waving her hands at Hickory as he glanced up at her with a long suffering sigh. "Don't give me that look. It is! I've seen you two walking around town together."

"We certainly get along like a house on fire, but I don't know what to do. I haven't done this in a while. Least, not properly," Hickory sighed, slumping onto the table they were sat around.

"I don't know, man. Talk to him about camping? That seems to be one of his favorite things," Branch offered with a shrug. "Maybe that'll help lead the conversation into something?"

And Hickory had, which did indeed lead to this whole escapade in the first place. Perhaps it would allow him the opportunity to talk to the teal troll about his feelings. If he could work up the courage to do so, that is. Especially with the discouraging little voice in the back of his head that kept telling him that if the conversation went south, he was either going to be left in the wilderness on his own, or have a very awkward trip back to Pop Village.

"How much further are we gonna haveta go to get to this mysterious campin' spot a' yers?" Hickory asked, arching an eyebrow as John turned Rhonda down yet another trail.

"Oh, not too much further, I don't think," John hummed with a smile, shooting Hickory a wink that made the ex-bounty hunter need to immediately step away to try and hide the blush that bloomed across his cheeks.

They drove in relative silence for a few more minutes, before John finally pulled Rhonda over, and Hickory managed to calm himself down enough that his cheeks were no longer enflamed.

"Here we are!" John declared, as he spun the drivers seat around to grin widely at Hickory, who offered a slightly mollified one of his own. "Now, grab your gear, we've got a bit of a hike."

"Wait, this isn't where we're campin'?" Hickory asked, watching John pull an overstuffed backpack with a sleeping roll tied to it from atop his loft bed.

"What? No, of course not. You can't get a full and proper camping experience if we're staying in Rhonda. That's, like…'glamping', or whatever. No, if you want a proper camping trip, we gotta hike a bit further in and set up tents!" John exclaimed excitedly, pulling the straps of his bag over his shoulders.

"If ya say so," Hickory said with an awkward chuckle, grabbing his much smaller bag and sleeping roll from where he'd stashed them and following John out of Rhonda.

"Now, you be a good girl," John cooed at Rhonda as Hickory stepped up behind him, "There are lots of berry bushes here, so there's loads to eat. You make sure you're back here in a couple of days, okay?" Hickory watched in amusement as John half wrapped himself around the armadillo bus's face in the closest approximation of a hug as he could get as she churred at him happily.

"Y'sure it's okay t' just leave her here?" Hickory asked as they began to walk away, the ex-bounty hunter shooting Rhonda furtive glances the further away from her they got.

"Oh, yeah. She's a good girl. Even if she's not there when we get back, she usually comes when I call, or we'll just need to wait a day or two when we get back," John reassured, as Hickory watched the energetic bus dart off into some bushes.

"…right."

And so on they went, Hickory diligently following along behind John, until he inevitably got distracted by the massive trees and flora they were hiking past. To the rather unfortunate point where John disappeared beyond a bend before Hickory had even realized he'd been left behind.

"Hey, John, have ya ever-" he'd begun as he turned from staring at a large, drooping orange flower, only to find himself completely alone. "…John?" Hickory tentatively took a few steps forward, glancing this way and that to see if he could spot the teal troll, without luck. "Sugar," he grumbled to himself, unsure if he should proceed forward, or wait to see if John would notice his absence and turn back around to find him.

Just as he turned to sit himself beneath the flower he'd gotten distracted by, a rustling in the bush startled him into pulling a knife from his pocket and brandishing it with a snarl on his face. John had warned him, at one point on their drive here, that wild critters of all shapes and sizes roamed the Neverglades, and that he should be wary of being snuck up on, lest he be eaten. John had said it like it was a joke, but Hickory had noticed the scars John's fur hadn't quite fully grown over. He had no doubt there were plenty of critters who would like nothing more than to get a taste of troll out here, and he was not eager to give them said taste.

So, he stood his ground and waited, until finally John Dory came stumbling out of the brush, leg half tangled in a bramble.

"There you are!" John laughed, shaking the bramble off his leg as Hickory quickly tucked his knife back away, "I turned around to point out some funky looking moss and you were gone."

"Sorry 'bout that. Got caught up admirin' this here flower," Hickory admitted abashedly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder.

"No worries, man! Just gotta make sure I keep a better eye on you," John chuckled, reaching out and unexpectedly taking Hickory's hand. The country troll felt his cheeks heat up, but luckily John had turned to start tugging him along down the trail, and so missed it entirely. "Don't want you getting lost on me!"

"No, no. Don't wanna get lost," Hickory muttered mostly to himself, his gaze stuck pretty strictly on their clasped hands now, rather than the gorgeous scenery they were walking past. Occasionally John would point something out to Hickory, which would pull the country trolls gaze up for a short period of time, before inevitably trailing back down to their hands.

John didn't let go until they reached a rocky path that lead up what most creatures would probably consider a small foot hill, but was nearly the equivalent of a mountain to the two trolls. The path wound up along the side of the hill, and was only just wide enough for them to walk up one at a time. Hickory did his best to hide his disappointment as John let him go and began to trek up the hillside.

"C'mon! If we're where I think we are, there's a great spot at the top of the hill where we can stop and have lunch," John said, glancing back at Hickory with a bright grin.

"Alright, I'mma comin'," Hickory chuckled, shifting the pack on his shoulders and following along after John.

The two managed to make it about halfway up the hill when they came across a slightly wider spot on the trail, overlooking a rather picturesque little area of the Neverglades.

"Too bad there's not more of a plateau here," John lamented as Hickory stopped next to him, "This would be a great spot to stop for lunch."

"Yeah. S'real pretty," Hickory hummed, turning to look out at the view.

"Wish I'd brought my camera," John added with a despondent sigh, "But I left it in Rhonda."

"Well, ain't that just lucky for you, then," Hickory said with a smile, reaching over his shoulder into his pack, "Because I just so happen to have brought one along." He pulled a little instant camera out of his bag and handed it to John, who snatched it eagerly.

"Awesome! Say cheese," John said with a grin, holding the camera out in front of the two and snapping a photo. Hickory blinked at the flash that went off, trying to get rid of the little flare in his vision.

"Some warnin' woulda been nice," he groused quietly, rubbing at his eyes.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't have gotten such a great candid shot," John hummed, pulling the photo free of the camera and waving it slightly. He snorted once the image developed, holding it out to Hickory. "See? Perfect moment."

Hickory wrinkled his nose at the photo, which showed a happily grinning John and Hickory looking like he was, perhaps, about to sneeze. "Yeah. Real flatterin'," he muttered, reaching for the photo.

"Hey now, nuh-uh," John said quickly, pulling the photo back to hold against his chest, before quickly stuffing it into his hair, "This one's mine."

"Aw, come on, now," Hickory grumped, reaching for John's hair, "We can take a better one. You don't need t' keep that."

"No," John quickly took a step back, while shoving the camera into his hair as well, "I like it. It's mine, and you can't have it."

"Don't be childish, John," Hickory sighed, reaching for the teal trolls hair again as John quickly took another step back and snorted.

"Have you met me? I'm the least childish troll out there."

"Mhmm, you keep tellin' yerself that," Hickory chuckled, taking another step after John, only for both of them to freeze at a rather ominous cracking sound that emanated around them. "What was-" Hickory barely managed to get the words out, before he felt his foot beginning to sink as the path beneath him began to give way, and the sound of tumbling rocks hit his ears.

"Hickory!"

The ex-bounty hunter gasped as his footing slipped, quickly scrambling for John's reaching hands. The teal troll had his hair wrapped around some roots that were sticking out of the side of the hill, anchoring him as he grabbed for Hickory as he began to fall.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," John chanted as Hickory managed to grab hold of him, using his hair to pull them both away from the crumbling section of path. Once they were both on a more stable spot, Hickory opened his eyes, which he hadn't even realized he'd clenched shut, to find himself practically nose to nose with John Dory, both of them panting like they'd just run a mile.

"You okay?" John quietly asked after a beat, grip still tight on Hickory as he stared up at him.

"Bit shaken up, but I think I'll be right as rain here right quick," Hickory murmured back, glad that the adrenaline of his near death experience and lack of breath were more than enough excuse for how dark his cheeks must be from their proximity. If he just moved his head ever so slightly, he could kiss John Dory right then and there.

"Good," John's voice shattered Hickory's momentary daydream, a short pat on his shoulder telling Hickory to move away. Which he did, taking a quick step back to give John space. "I think we're close to the top now. I'd definitely say we earned our lunch."

Hickory let out a little laugh, hoping it didn't come off as nervous or anxious. "Well, you certainly did," he said, following after John, "All I did was nearly fall down the hill."

"Yeah, but you didn't," John said, glancing briefly back at Hickory, "Doesn't that also deserve celebration?"

Hickory smiled to himself as he followed after John, mentally telling his heart to shut up as it did a little summersault in his chest at John's words.

They reached the summit of the hill rather quickly after that, not stopping until they knew they were on completely stable ground, neither wanting to risk a repeat incident.

"Here we go," John sighed as they reached the top, swinging his bag off his back, "This looks like a great spot to stop for a bit."

Hickory let out a little whistle as he also set his bag on the ground, turning in a small circle to take in the views. "It's a mighty nice spot, that's for certain," he hummed, only turning back to John when he heard the tell-tale click of his camera. He snorted a quiet laugh, arching an eyebrow at John as he pulled the photo from the camera and began to wave it in the air. "Whatcha got there?"

"Memories," John stated, a little smile curling his lips as the photo developed.

Hickory felt his heart skip a beat at the look on John's face, before he cleared his throat and stepped over to take a look at the snap shot. It was a bit of an odd angle, obviously taken hastily while Hickory had his back turned, but it was a nice photo all the same. The rolling hills and vast trails stretching out into the distance could be easily seen just past Hickory's shoulder.

"S'not a bad shot," the ex-bounty hunter hummed, reaching for the photo, only to find it disappearing into John's hair to join the previous one.

"Sure is," John said with a cheeky grin, before turning to start pulling a blanket and some food from his bag.

"Cheeky," Hickory laughed, joining John on the blanket once he had it all rolled out.

They ate in relative silence for a bit, simply enjoying each others company and the view, until the camera came back out of John's hair.

"I regret givin' that thing to ya," Hickory snorted after John snapped a photo of him while he was about to take a bite of his sandwich.

"You can't blame me for wanting to document your first camping trip," John said, sticking his tongue out at Hickory, who simply rolled his eyes and continued to eat, "It's a big deal, y'know. You're trying to start fresh, try new things, be a different troll from who you once were. Taking these baby steps, even just going on a camping trip for fun, it's a lot. You said it's something you've never done before, right? You should have something to remember it by."

Hickory stared at John for a long moment, a slow smile working its way across his face. "Why, that's real sweet of you, Johnny." His smile widened into a cheshire grin as as he watched John's cheeks darken at his comment.

"Shut up," John grunted, a smile betraying his grumpy tone as he flicked a small rock at Hickory, who easily dodged it with a laugh.

They finished up their meal while chatting amicably about the trail thus far, with John animatedly regaling Hickory with stories about the first time he came up this way, long before he'd had Rhonda. He admitted it was part of the reason he'd wanted to bring Hickory to this particular spot, as it held a certain amount of nostalgia for him, since it'd been one of the first spots he'd stopped while exploring the trails.

"Ya certainly do got a lot of good memories out here, dontcha?" Hickory hummed as they packed up their bags, a soft little smile on his face as he listened to John hum to himself while retying his bag shut.

"Sure do," John chirped, before pulling the camera from his hair again and walking over to Hickory.

"Aw, what now?" Hickory snorted, somewhat wary of the camera, now that he knew John was going to take every opportunity he could to snap unflattering photos of him.

"Nothing. Come here," John said, turning Hickory so his back was to the view. He opened his mouth to protest as John stole his cowboy hat and set it aside, only to snap it closed as John wrapped an arm around his shoulder and tugged him down into his shoulder. "There. Plenty of warning this time," John chuckled, cheek practically pressed to Hickory's, "Say 'cheese'!" He held the camera up and the flash went off. Hickory blinked to get ride of the afterimage, rubbing at his eye in mild irritation as John pulled the photo from the camera. "Nice," the teal troll hummed, a warm smile curling his lips. After a moment he offered it to Hickory. "You can have this one, if you want."

Hickory took the photo with mild suspicion, knowing full well the caliber of photo John had been taking thus far, only to be pleasantly surprised by what he saw. John was grinning widely in the photo, his arm blocking the lower left corner of the frame, while Hickory looked a little dazed, with a slightly crooked smile on his own face, and his cheek squished against John's. In the background over John's shoulder the spectacular view from the top of the hill could be seen, with the sunlight speckled across the trees at just the right angle.

Hickory was pulled from his admiration of the photo by John chuckling practically in his ear, just over his shoulder, pack already strapped to his back and bouncing on his toes. "You struck speechless by my excellent photography skills?"

"Somethin' like that," Hickory said with a quiet laugh, carefully tucking the photo into the inside pocket of his vest before scooping his hat up from where John had set it and slinging his pack over his shoulder. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The trek down from the hilltop was far less perilous than the trip up had been. To Hickory's great disappointment, John did not take his hand again once they'd reached the bottom, and in what felt like no time at all, John lead them to what he declared would be their camp site. It was a rather sizeable clearing, with bushes and tall grass most of the way around it, with only two trails leading away from it, aside from the one they'd come down to reach it. John explained that one lead to a little lake they could go swimming in, while the other lead further into the Neverglades.

"Alright," John declared, dropping his pack onto the ground with a thump, "Did you bring a tent?"

Hickory flushed, setting his own bag down more gingerly. "'Fraid not. Not gonna lie, I thought we'd be stayin' with Rhonda," the country troll admitted, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "But, it wouldn't be the first time I've slept under the stars, so I'll be just fine."

John scoffed, rolling his eyes as he began to unpack his bag, tossing tent pegs and ropes onto the ground in front of him. "Don't be ridiculous. My tent is plenty big enough for two. Besides, you never know what critter might come across camp in the middle of the night. A tent gives us at least a bit of cover."

"Ah," Hickory's brain froze for a moment, the idea of being tucked up close to John in a tent sending a little shiver down his spine. "Uh, yeah," he cleared his throat, ducking his head so the brim of his hat would hopefully hide the blush that was yet again creeping across his cheeks, "Yeah, that'd be right as rain."

"Good," John grunted, pulling folded up tent poles from his bag, "Well, since that's settled, how about you start setting up a spot for the fire while I put up the tent?"

"Sure thing," Hickory said with a quick nod, turning to wander around the camp site to pick up some stones to mark a space for a small fire pit. He paused and glanced up when he heard the soft, tell-tale sound of a pile of fabric hitting the ground, fully expecting John to have tossed the tent from his bag, ready to offer his help once again, only to bite his tongue at the realization that it was his jacket that John had tossed aside. The teal troll was busy setting up the tent poles, a little frown of concentration on his face while he worked, completely unaware of Hickory staring at him from across the clearing. "Sugar," Hickory breathed, jerking into motion quickly as John glanced at him from where he was working.

"Hey, how about, after this, we go for a swim."

"A swim?" Hickory echoed, tucking a rock into the small collection in his arm while turning to arch an eyebrow at John, only to nearly drop them all at being presented with John leaning against one of the erected tent poles, a little smirk on his face and sweat beading on his brow.

"Yeah! It's kinda humid today, and setting up this tent is making me sweaty. I think a pre-dinner swim would be nice, don't you?" John said with a little laugh, shoving himself off the pole to start gathering the fabric of the tent up from the ground. "Work up a bit of an appetite before we eat."

Hickory swallowed thickly as John tossed the fabric over the tent frame he'd set up, his brain taking a moment to catch up to what was being said to him. "Oh! Yeah! Yeah, that'd be a right fine idea," he agreed, shaking his head quickly to try and get his mind off of the sweaty, half naked troll across from him. "C'mon, Hickory. Get yer act together," he grumbled to himself, walking to a spot he thought would be good for the fire and dropping his collection of rocks.

"I think you might be too close to the tents."

"Sugar, honey an' iced tea!" Hickory exclaimed, whipping his head in John Dory's direction, who grinned sheepishly at him.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to catch you off guard. What's got your head in the clouds, anyway?" John asked, propping his hands on his hips and tilting his head at Hickory, reminding the country troll of a particularly adorable cuddle pup.

"Ah, y'know, just , uh, doin' a mental checklist. Tryin' to remember if I brought my swim gear," Hickory offered with an awkward little laugh. "Sorry. What were ya sayin'?"

"Even if you forgot yours, you can always borrow mine. I don't mind swimming in my regular shorts," John offered with an easy smile, "And I was just saying that I think where you're setting up the fire might be too close to the tents."

Hickory looked between where John had most of the tent set up, barring the tent pegs being hammered into the ground, and the pile of rocks he'd dropped on the ground to find that he was, indeed, just a bit too close. One good breeze in the wrong direction could carry embers onto the fabric. "Oh. Beggin' yer pardon," the country troll apologized quickly, bending to pick the rocks back up, "I really was too lost in my own head just then, wasn't I?"

"Hey, happens to the best of us," John laughed, shrugging a bit. "Just move it a bit over there," he gestured vaguely away from the tent, "And it should be fine. I think I saw a decently sized stick over there, too. We can move it into the clearing to sit on later, by the fire."

Hickory nodded, dropping his rocks where John had gestured. "This whole campin' for fun thing is turnin' out to be a lot like campin' for survival," he noted, arching an amused eyebrow at John who snorted and trotted back over to the tent.

"Set up is always a pain. Same with take down. But all of the in between is great," John shot Hickory a charming smile, completely unaware of how it made the ex-bunty hunters heart flutter, before crouching down to hammer in the tent pegs. "Just you wait!"

"Sounds like a plan," Hickory muttered, though he very much doubted he was heard over the sound of the hammer. Which was probably for the best, as he had to shake himself out of staring after the teal troll once again.

In relative short order, Hickory set up his little circle of rocks while John finished up with the tent pegs. He then shoved his way through the brush surrounding the clearing to see about gathering up some wood for the fire they would be building when they got back from swimming. He deposited his selection of twigs, sticks and bark next to his rock circle once he figured he had enough for the night, just as John finished tying off a large tarp above where he'd finished setting up the tent.

"Y'all set?" Hickory asked, trotting up to John as the teal troll wiped his brow with the back of his hand, dislodging his goggles so they sat askew on his head.

"I think so. We're looking pretty good!" John chirped, grinning up at Hickory.

"I'd say so," Hickory agreed easily with a quiet little laugh, reaching out to fix John's crooked goggles. John looked startled by the gesture, Hickory barely catching a glimpse of a dark flush creeping over John's cheeks before the teal troll turned away from him once his hands dropped away. He took a quick step back, watching as John swiftly moved across the campsite to dig into his bag. Intrigued by the reaction, Hickory made a mental note about it for later.

"Did you bring your trunks?" John's voice snapped Hickory back to reality.

"Pretty sure," Hickory hummed, shuffling over to his bag to dig into it and pull out his swim shorts.

"Great! Then get changed, and we'll head down to the water," John said, staring at Hickory expectantly.

Hickory stared right back, slowly arching an eyebrow at the teal troll. "You gonna stare at me the whole time I'm changin', or just for the first little bit?" He snorted quietly as John's face lit up as he turned on his heel to face away from Hickory. The ex-bounty hunter shook his head with a quiet laugh, setting his hat aside and quickly changing into his swim trunks. He then dug into his bag and pulled out the beach towel he'd packed, draping it over his shoulders as he cleared his throat. "All set. You gonna change, too?"

"Nah," John hummed, glancing at Hickory over his shoulder, though he did pull off his goggles and glove to toss them into the tent. "I'm just gonna go as is. These shorts are already sweaty and dirty, may as well sorta wash 'em by swimming with them on."

"All right," Hickory chuckled, stepping up next to John, "Lead the way, then."

And so John did, after grabbing his own towel from his belongings. The path down to the lake was relatively short and straight forward, but John seemed to take pride in leading Hickory around, so he diligently followed along with an indulgent smile on his face. The lake itself was relatively small, as John had already mentioned, but that didn't make it any less picturesque than the rest of the Neverglades had been thus far. The shores were soft slopes of jutting rock and densely packed dirt, surrounded by drooping trees with their branches and leaves barely grazing the water, causing little ripples every time the wind blew. Early evening sunlight was dappled across the surface of the lake, making it sparkle.

"My," Hickory breathed, almost feeling like he shouldn't be there. Like he was intruding on sacred ground.

"It's real pretty, isn't it?" John hummed quietly next to him, "Almost makes you not want to swim."

Hickory opened his mouth to agree with the sentiment, only to jump slightly as John let out a whoop of a shout while tossing his towel aside, before running towards the water. Hickory couldn't contain his laughter as John jumped from the shore as he reached the waters edge, canon balling into the lake with a large splash.

"Well, that's one way to do it, I s'pose," Hickory chuckled to himself, tossing his towel next to John's. He let out a shout of his own once John surfaced further out into the lake, running and tossing himself into the water with gusto. He surfaced to the sound of John's laughter, followed shortly by a splash of water to the face. "Hey now," he laughed, returning the splash blindly, figuring he'd hit his target based on the sound of John sputtering. He wiped water from his face and grinned at finding John coughing and blinking water from his eyes. "That's what ya get for tryin' a sneak attack," Hickory stated, self satisfied smirk on his face.

"I'll show you sneak attack," John grumbled to himself, before launching himself through the water at Hickory with a yell. Hickory let out a startled shout in response, flailing rather uselessly in the water before John tackled him around the chest and dragged him under the surface.

The two tussled in the water like that for some time, with John using any means necessary to try and catch Hickory off guard as they swam back and forth across the lake, waging war with sweeping splashes. Hickory finally called it quits when John tried to use a handful of slimy lake weeds to retaliate against Hickory for managing to dunk him underwater.

"All right, I'm think I'm done," the country troll sighed, pulling an especially long piece of weed from his hair and tossing it aside.

"Aww, but we haven't even been out here that long," John practically pouted, earning a fond smile form Hickory.

"Never said we had to go back. Just that I think the war is over," Hickory hummed, kicking his feet off the bottom of the lake to float on his back. He watched John continue to pout for a minute out of the corner of his eye, before the teal troll began to swim towards the shore. "Where are ya goin'?" he called, turning to tread water with a small frown on his face.

"If you're done," John called back, walking up onto the shore, running fingers through his water logged locks, "I'm gonna work on my canon balls."

Hickory was quite certain that John had no idea the kind of sight he made as he trotted along the lakeside, looking for a good spot to use as a pseudo-diving board. He kept absently running his fingers though his hair, which supplied a steady supply of water droplets that cascaded down over his torso, which Hickory had to fight with every fiber of his being not to watch as they made their way down to the ground. The country troll had never been so happy to be submerged in water as he was just then, letting himself sink so his nose was barely above the surface as he watched John Dory pause at a particularly large rock and nod to himself. The teal troll climbed up onto it and shot Hickory a winning grin once he was at the top, waving enthusiastically, before letting out a bellow and tossing himself into the water. He was completely, stupidly endearing and Hickory knew that if he didn't say something by the end of this trip, he might just go insane.

John continued his cycle of climbing out of the water and jumping enthusiastically back in for some time, Hickory not even noticing that the sun had began to set with how enraptured he was with watching. That was, until the teal troll finally scooped his towel up from the ground instead of running off to his chosen diving rock.

"Hey, it's getting late," John called out to him, gesturing that he should swim to shore, "We should probably go get started on the fire and make some dinner."

"Oh! Right. Dinner," Hickory muttered to himself, before he began to swim back to shore, shivering as he climbed out of the water and a cool breeze swept across the lake.

"C'mon. We'll get a nice big fire going, and get you toasty warm," John said with an easy smile, handing Hickory his towel.

Hickory bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something stupid like 'Or you could warm me up', and instead murmured a quiet thanks as he took his towel and rubbed at his sopping hair.

"I brought some classic camping food," John hummed as he began to lead the way back up to their campsite, Hickory hot on his heels, "Hotdogs to roast over the fire, and marshtatoes for later!"

"Sounds swell," Hickory said with a little nod, draping his towel over his shoulders as they reached the campsite. "By the by, where did ya say that stick was? The one we could use as a bench near the fire?"

"Right! We should move that first," John said as he snapped his fingers, and pointed towards a patch of grass near the tent.

Moving the stick was only a small struggle when they discovered it was actually much larger than they had anticipated, as part of it was buried in the dirt. Luckily, what Hickory lacked in tenting supplies, he made up for in random assorted other items that John, apparently, neglected to bring along. Such as a hatchet. He made rather quick work of hacking into the stick and cutting off the portion John had indicated would make good seating, and if he happened to flex a bit more than he normally would because he caught John watching out of the corner of his eye, well, who could blame him?

The two of them managed to drag the end of the stick over to the little circle of rocks without much trouble after that, and Hickory promptly dropped himself onto it once it was settled where John thought would be the best spot.

"Gonna need to go for another swim, after that," the ex-bounty hunter joked, kicking his feet out in front of himself as John crouched next to the rocks and began to set up the bits of bark Hickory had gathered.

"If there are enough glow flies in the area we can go for a night swim, if you want," John muttered, half distracted as he struck a match and lit the kindling he'd set up. Gently, he blew into the small pile of bark and twigs until the flames began to grow, a proud little smile on his face as he slowly fed twigs into it until it was large enough that he could put a couple of the larger sticks on. Once it seemed like he thought the fire wouldn't need to be babied further he stood with a pop of his knees and a crack of his back, a low groan leaving him as Hickory winced in sympathy.

"That sounded like it hurt," Hickory commented idly as John dropped onto the stick next to him with a grunt.

"Don't get old," John joked, laughing as Hickory shoved him lightly.

"I'll remind ya, since yer memory's apparently goin', that I'm only a few years younger than ya. Yer knees ain't the only ones that make noise when ya stand up," Hickory said as he rolled his eyes. "Anyhow, d'ya really reckon we could go swimmin' at night? Y'don't think that'd be dangerous, with all the critters roamin' around?"

John shrugged, watching the flames as their fire slowly grew. "I mean, I don't see why not. Like I said, there just needs to be enough glow flies so we can see. The stars out here are pretty bright, but it's better if there are glow flies. They're a really good, obvious, first alert system if something is close by."

"Cause they'll fly away," Hickory hummed with a nod, "Smart."

"Yeah. It's something my dad taught me, a long time ago," John sighed wistfully, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees, his gaze distant. Hickory took that as his queue to go and fetch the hotdogs from John's bag, as well as grabbing a couple of sticks from their little stash to spear the hotdogs with.

"Here," Hickory gently nudged John in the shoulder with his own, offering the teal troll one of the sharpened sticks as John visibly blinked himself back into reality.

"Oh! Thanks," John chuckled, gingerly taking the stick from Hickory, "Sorry. Sort of zoned out there. Didn't mean to get so lost in thought."

"It's alright," Hickory said with a small shrug, cutting open the package of hotdogs to spear one on the end of his stick, "Happens to the best of us. Mind if I ask what ya were thinkin' 'about?"

"Just family junk," John offered with a little shrug of his shoulders, taking a hotdog of his own and stabbing it a bit more violently than strictly necessary.

"I assume 'bout yer dad?"

John clicked his tongue, a wry little smile turning the corner of his lips. "Yeah. A bit. More about my brothers, though, I guess. I never did this with any of them," he gestured vaguely at their campsite. "I got to go camping once with my dad, and he taught me loads. But none of my brothers got to. And then things just sort of got crazy out of hand, and I never got to take any of them." He paused, sitting up and shooting Hickory an apologetic smile. "Sorry. This is supposed to be a fun trip, you don't need me babbling about family drama."

"I don't mind," Hickory reassured, gently resting his free hand on John's elbow, "Don't got much family, myself, aside from my older brother, an' that's a whole can a' worms on it's own…But, I don't mind hearin' 'bout other folks family. If ya need someone with a willin' ear, I'm always here."

John turned his head to look at Hickory, his gaze almost searching as his brow furrowed slightly. "That means a lot," he murmured, shifting so he could take the hand on his elbow into his own, entwining their fingers together. "I really…I really like talking to you, Hickory. I know we haven't known each other that long, but you mean a lot to me."

"You mean a lot to me, too, Johnny."

John seemed to think for a moment, watching Hickory intently, before he leaned down to prop his stick between two of the rocks around their fire. He then took Hickory's and did the same with it, before turning sideways on their make-shift bench and taking Hickory's hands in his own. He visibly swallowed, thumbs brushing the backs of Hickory's hands, which sent little shivers up the country's trolls spine.

"You okay, John?" Hickory asked, leaning forward slightly with a concerned frown.

"Can I kiss you?"

It was said so quietly Hickory thought, perhaps, he was hearing things. "Pardon?"

John flushed, his ears drooping slightly as he gave Hickory's hands a little squeeze. "Can I kiss you?" he repeated a little louder, gaze fixed on their hands. "I might've been reading you wrong, but I think…I think you want to kiss me, too? It's okay, if you don't. I won't be offended, and we can pretend this never happened, I just…" He lifted his gaze, letting out a little breath, "I really want to kiss you."

"John Dory," Hickory stated, tugging John's hands closer so the teal troll was forced to lean further towards him, "If ya don't kiss me right this instant, I will be madder than a wet hen."

"Can't have that," John chuckled, before tilting his head and pressing his lips to Hickory's.

It was like pop rocks were poured down Hickory's spine, little tingles igniting what felt like every nerve ending as John shifted closer on their little bench so he could kiss the country troll more deeply. Their hands parted from each other, only to slide into hair and cling to shoulders, earning little shivers and soft sighs each time their lips parted for a moment for air.

"C'mon," John breathed after a time that Hickory's mind could hardly fathom, though the world was distinctly darker than it was before he got lost in John's lips. John stood, a hand outstretched towards Hickory in offering.

Hickory took it without hesitation, letting John lead him to their tent, anticipation twisting in his gut, their dinner and plans of swimming long forgotten.

~

When Hickory woke the next morning, it was to a tent distinctly devoid of John Dory. Groggily, he rubbed at his face as he sat up and looked around, finding what he assumed was John's silhouette on the outside of the tent, puttering around their campsite. He grunted as he shoved away the blankets he'd gotten tangled up in during the night and somehow managed to locate his pants and belt, tugging them on quickly before he stumbled into the morning light.

"Good morning!" John's voice was chipper and loud, making Hickory cringe slightly as he finger combed his hair.

"Mornin'," the country troll drawled, squinting against the sun until he found his hat and tugged it on, letting out a contented little sigh. He turned to find John Dory hovering over the fire, poking at what appeared to be eggs cooking on top of a flat stone. "Yer up mighty early."

"Habit," John said with a shrug, "Once the sun is up, I'm up."

"Disgusting," Hickory snorted, earning a light laugh from John.

"Yeah, well, can't be helped," John hummed, grabbed a large leaf and scooping one of the eggs from the stone onto it with a knife. "Forgot to bring plates, so you're going to have to deal with eating off a leaf with your fingers."

Hickory took the leaf happily, trotting over to their stick bench and sitting down. "I think I can live with that."

"Good, 'cause there wasn't much in terms of other options," John snorted, taking up his own leaf and egg before knocking the flat rock off the fire and walking over to the stick to sit as well.

They ate their breakfast quietly, John staring off into the fire, while Hickory let his eyes drift shut, smiling slightly to himself as he let the early morning sounds of the forest wash over him. He felt peaceful and calm, a warm little ember in his chest growing steadily at the knowledge that the troll his heart chose to beat wildly for was sat next to him and felt the same. Or, so he assumed.

"Hickory," John's quiet but serious tone shattered the tranquility of the forest, and drew Hickory from his revere. He blinked and turned his gaze towards John, who was still staring intently into the fire.

"What is it?"

"About last night…"

Hickory frowned, his posture stiffening at the words John spoke. He had to force his fingers to not tremble around the leaf he held. "What about it?"

"It doesn't-…Look, I know I dragged you all the way out here, and I'm your only way home, so just in case," John rambled, speaking without taking a breath, "It doesn't have to mean anything. We don't…If you felt obligated, I'm sorry. We can pretend nothing happened and go home right now, if you want."

Hickory stared John down, absentmindedly crushing the leaf in his hands. "Ya think I'd feel obligated to sleep with ya, just because we're out in the woods?"

"I mean," John flushed, looking up at Hickory, anxiety clear as day on his face, "…maybe?"

"I would sooner stab any troll that tried somethin' that I didn't want, then go willingly off to their tent," Hickory practically growled, before taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, listening as John shifted and squirmed on the stick next to him. "I ain't mad," he said after a beat, letting out another breath.

"You sound like it."

"Only 'cause you implied I was easy."

"Sorry."

Hickory opened his eyes, taking one last deep breath in, before turning his gaze to John once again, arching an eyebrow at finding the teal troll practically curled in on himself in his seat. "This been buggin' ya for a while?"

"I couldn't sleep," John admitted, and upon closer inspection Hickory could see the bags under John's eyes.

Hickory sighed quietly, letting his irritation slowly seep out of him. He reached out, his heart twisting as John flinched slightly at the movement. "I ain't gonna hurt you," he reassured, gently taking one of John's hands in his own, "I'd never hurt ya. John…I was so happy, last night, when ya said ya wanted to kiss me. I've been wantin' to do that for quite a while. Just didn't quite know how to go about sayin' anythin'. I like you, John Dory. A whole lot."

John's posture loosened as Hickory spoke, his hunched position straightening as he unconsciously leaned in towards the country troll. "Really?" he breathed, and Hickory could almost describe his expression as being starstruck.

"I don't have a tendency to say things I don't mean."

Hickory let a crooked little smile settle on his face as John slowly shifted closer to him, turning slightly so he could wrap both of his hands around Hickory's. "I'm so sorry. For thinking I'd taken advantage of you. For implying you would do anything you didn't feel comfortable with. I just thought that, if you didn't want it, or felt bad for me or something-"

Hickory cut him off with a snort of a laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Why on this green earth do you think I would feel bad for ya?"

John blinked, tilting his head slightly. "Uh…'cause I'm a washed up ex-boyband member with a laundry list of family trauma issues and no friends?"

"Who's also mighty handsome, talented, a skilled survivalist, and who seems to be completely blind to the admirers that watch 'im every time he goes to the market?"

"…You think I'm handsome?"

"Not the take away ya should be focusing on here, Johnny," Hickory snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry. Go on."

Hickory chuckled, cupping John's cheek in his free hand. "You think pretty little of yerself, an' that's a real shame. I wish ya could see yerself the way I do."

"And how's that?"

"Like a shootin' star in the night sky. So beautiful an' bright, but burnin' out so fast most folks can't appreciate ya for yer true magnificence," Hickory hummed, enjoying the way John's cheeks darkened, just before he gently tugged the teal troll into a kiss.

They parted with a quiet gasp between the two of them, John looking a bit dazed.

"So…you're my boyfriend now, right?" John asked bluntly after a beat, earning a surprised burst of laughter from Hickory.

"You bet yer bottom dollar, playboy."

[cntrlnoah]

Apple Fritters and A-listers

Summary: On a rainy day, famous actor Rafe Cameron finds shelter in a little coffee shop.

Pairing: famous actor!Rafe x small café owner!fem!Reader

Warning: rainstorms, food, thunder, nickname (sweetheart), flirting

A/N: wrote this on my period since I needed fluffy Rafe.

As the droplets of rain cascade down by the thousands, Rafe rushes into the doors of the closest shop to protect himself from the rain. The little umbrella held in his hands had little to no effect protecting him from the loud thunder and million drops of water.

As he dries himself off in the store and the umbrella in the umbrella caddie, he realized that he waltzed into a little coffee shop and is greeted by the owner.

“Hello! Welcome in” they said with a smile bright enough to subdue the rain. Smitten by her smile and guilty for taking shelter in her shop for the rain he decides to buy something as a thank you.

"Hi, one small coffee and uhh..." he thinks as he looks at the treats, "umm... what pastry do you recommend?" he asked with a shy chuckle.

"umm...the apple fritter is really popular and the chocolate chip cookie is really nice especially for the weather outside," she says as she looks over to the rain pouring down the window.

"I'll take your word on it. Can I get one of each please?" he says as he takes out his card.

"Alright that will be $8.50. Tap your card when you're ready," she says with a smile. As Rafe taps his card, she realizes it was a black AMEX but, doesn't say a word. After the transition went through she pours him a cup of coffee in a mug and grab the pastries he ordered. As she puts his order together, faint lofi music plays as he patiently waits for his order. She puts his order on a tray and serves it to him.

"Thank you," Rafe says as looking up at her as he takes a slow sip of his coffee. "Delicious" he says as he finish his sip. She then returns to behind the counter sits down and continues to read her book.

Rafe can't help it, the silence is killing him as he wants to talk to her as it would make time past by and distract him. Usually he would rather not as his busy schedule as an actor required a lot from him everyday and he'd want time to slow down so he could enjoy his life. His manager was probably worried sick about him in the pouring rain as he never made it to where he needed to be on time, but Rafe could care less he loved the slow pace and silence of this little hole in the wall coffee shop that he would usually ignore on his way to work. He managed to muster up the courage to talk to you and make causal conversation.

"So...are you the owner of this cafe?" he asked sheepishly not knowing why he got so shy over someone.

"I am. So what do you do for a living?" you asked curiously trying to make casual conversation.

"I'm an actor" he said. You looked up from your book with stars in your eyes. "Really?" you said with stars in your eyes. He nodded and took a bite out of his apple fritter.

"Wow this is very good" he complimented the apple fritter you made this morning. "Thank you, I make them fresh every morning along with all the other pastries" you said proudly. His eyes widen at that as he could tell that you make them with love and passion.

"So about the actor thing..." you decided to be a bit noisy because who wouldn't be if this handsome stranger said that he was an actor. "Are you famous?" you asked innocently "If its not to much to ask..."

Rafe laughed at this statement as the way you asked was so innocently not knowing who he is. It was refreshing compared to people around him either wanting his autograph or kissing up to him to get what they want from him. He was an a-lister after all, he got used to it at after sometime but it always put a smile on his face when someone treated him like a regular human being and not some hotshot celebrity.

"You could say that..." he answered nonchalantly sipping his coffee. "I've been to events here and there and stared in some movies, the usually actor things" he said admiring her quietly as he kept eye contact.

"I'm guessing you're very successful" you said. "How'd you know?" Rafe questioned how you could know without knowing who he was when he walked in. "I saw your black AMEX when you were paying..." you admitted. He chuckled, of course he should have known.

"Well if you didn't see on my card, my name is Rafe, Rafe Cameron" he said with a chuckle as he final introduced himself to you. "Nice to meet you Rafe" you said with a smile. You wanted to ask him for a polaroid with him just for the memory but you didn't want to seem impolite or rude doing so, so you held off from asking. Rafe saw that you wanted to ask something but stayed quiet and this was his cue to ask you what was wrong.

"I know you probably get asked this a lot... but if it's okay with you, could we possibly take a polaroid together? I kinda wanted to remember this moment as I don't really get customer like famous actors or singers." you asked sheepishly and shyly. As you grabbed your Polaroid camera from the back, Rafe waited patiently in the front of the store.

As you came back to the front you asked, "Is it possible that we take two? One selfie and one just of you? Is it possible if you sign the one just of you if its not to much to ask?" you asked shyly. Rafe nodded smiling at your shy confession. You first take the selfie polariod with him and he smiles at how close you are and then you take a polaroid of just him for him to sign. You grab a sharpie from the pen holder near the register for him to sign. He signs the polaroid with a special message...

'to the cute owner, the best apple fritters. much love. - Rafe Cameron ❤️'

You blushed at the message as it was very personal but you were going to put it up on the bulletin board in the coffee shop. As he was signing you noticed that the rain had stopped and the sky cleared.

"Hey, look the rain cleared. I guess you could go to where you were originally heading" you said seeming a bit sad as you two were starting to get along and talk. As you picked up his now empty tray to clean up, he spoke up. "Unfortunately...but I think you'll see me again sweetheart" he said with a sweet smile. "I'd hate to see you go, but please do visit again" you said to him as you put the polaroid on the cafe's bulletin board.

As he grabs his umbrella from the stand and departs, he can't wait for the next him he gets to walk through the doors of your cafe and have a cup of coffee served by you with apple fritter served right next to it and you can't wait for the next time he graces his presence in the store for his usual cup of coffee and apple fritter as he relaxes in this save haven you've created for him away from his busy celebrity life. He knows he's found a place where he can just be Rafe Cameron, normal citizen and not Rafe Cameron, a-list actor and flirting with you was the cherry on top that would lead to a love confession out of him.

[wildechildwrites]

Relax

Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Depression, self-esteem issues, mind control (not in a bad way but it's in there)

No use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Summary: You haven't left your bed in days, too depressed to get anything done. Shinsou stops by your apartment to check on you and helps in his own way.

A/N: Wrote this because I've been too depressed to get out of bed, forgive any mistakes or ooc I didn't even really want to post it in the first place.

AO3 Link: Relax

You think you’ve hit a record for continuous hours spent in bed, and probably permanently fucked your kidneys because you don’t even have the energy to get up to use the bathroom. The floor of your room is disgusting, and dishes are piled up in the kitchen. You know you smell, and that there’s so much work for you to do, deadlines you’ve barely managed to avoid by calling in sick to the hero agency you do secretarial work at, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

There’s a knock on your door, but you just ignore it, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You don’t want to see anyone, and you’re not expecting to anyway. 

Whoever is at your door doesn’t stop, knocking harder and more insistently. You even hear your door knob jiggle, which spurs your anxiety on enough to get you to drag yourself out of bed. Your legs feel slightly wobbly, the inactivity of the last few days catching up to you as blood flows through your limbs. Catching your own reflection in the mirror makes you wince, but it’s a lost cause you’d rather not address. Whoever is knocking hasn’t stopped, and you yank open your front door irritably. If it’s some stupid solicitor–

Your jaw drops at the sight of one of the heroes from your agency, Shinso Hitoshi, standing outside your door. He’s dressed for patrol in all black, wrapped in his scarf, his voice modulator hanging loosely around his neck. His hair is wild as always, purple locks sticking in all directions, and he scans your form quickly, as if checking you for visible injuries. You remember how disheveled you look and your face heats up. 

“What are you doing here?” your voice is hoarse from disuse and your most recent crying jag, and you immediately wince at the way you sound, but Shinsou’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve come to check on you. I heard you were ill.” His tone is blandly neutral, as though it’s something that he does all the time, like you’re not just some stupid underling he’s contractually obligated to tolerate. His violet eyes narrow. “You’re not sick though.” 

You shrug self-consciously. You don’t understand why he’s here. You’re friendly at work, going out of your way to make conversation with the normally reserved hero, but you’ve never spent any real time together. You’re not sure what made him decide a house visit was in order. He definitely has more important things to do than checking up on you, and now you’re just wasting his time. You wrap your arms around yourself.

 “I just needed a day off.” You step backwards, going to shut the door. “Thanks for checking on me.” Shinsou’s foot shoots out, wedging the door open. There’s a beat as you two stare at each other, your mouth open in surprise.

“You’re not doing well,” Shinsou says, a frown on his face. He pushes your door open, and before you can protest, pro-hero MindJack has crowded into your disgusting apartment. You’re pretty sure it’s only because his poker face is so good that he doesn’t grimace at the mess, just stares at you, a crease in between his eyebrows. Humiliation burns in your chest. Now he knows you’re a gross waste of space, and he’ll probably tell everyone at work that you can’t even manage to keep your apartment clean. 

“Oh, little one,” he sighs. You pray for a black hole to spontaneously appear and swallow you up, but don’t get any such mercy. “You need tea,” he says firmly. “Tea, and then you’re going to tell me what’s making you depressed.”

Shinsou heads towards your kitchen with a strange amount of confidence for someone who’s never been in your apartment before, ignoring the dirty dishes piled in the sink in favor of the kettle.

Part of you knows you should protest, but you can't bring yourself to care, scraping the bottom of the well and coming up empty. You shove the pile of clothes strewn on your couch to the floor and sink into the cushions, your eyes on the hero in your kitchen. Maybe you’re just having a really weird dream.

All of your mugs are dirty, so Shinsou washes your favorite, plucking it out of the stack. You wonder if it's a part of his quirk to pick up on things like that. He even remembers how you take your tea, cradling the mug gently in both hands and plopping down beside you, sinking into your couch, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. Your fingers brush against his own, thin and unnaturally warm from the heat of the drink as he hands it to you. You're reminded of the last time you saw him. 

You've got two full trays of coffee balanced precariously in both hands, fighting a losing battle against flimsy cardboard and gravity. Your face is furrowed in concentration, your eyes fixed on your full hands when someone plucks the trays out of your grasp with nimble fingers. Your head shoots up, and you're about to protest when you see a pair of familiar purple eyes on yours. They’re beautiful up close, blue flecks making them seem almost periwinkle in the fluorescent office lights. Bashfulness hits you like a tsunami, and you try to tamp it down.

“Seems you've got your hands full,” Shinsou comments dryly. You smile and shrug, flustered by his proximity. 

“All in a day's work.” You bite your lip, feeling awkward. “I um, I got you one too, even though I wasn't sure if you'd be in today. You drink it black right? Dark roast?” Deftly, you pluck his out of one of the trays, then hold your other hand out expectantly. “Trade you?”

Shinsou stares at you intently, his expression unreadable. An odd shiver runs down your spine, like cold water dripping through your veins, and there’s a beat of silence before he finally responds, like he had to reboot. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly. He hands you one of the trays and accepts the warm cup from your hands, fingers brushing against yours. Despite your protests, Shinsou insists on helping you with your errand, trailing behind you to the meeting room you’re headed to. 

You pass out the drinks quickly, ignoring the odd stares that come with having a purple haired shadow lingering behind you, obediently holding the tray as though it’s the most important part of his day. 

Shinsou doesn’t speak until you're both out in the hallway. 

“You didn't get yourself anything.” There's a slight crease in between his eyes. It's adorable, the singular sign of concern in his placid expression. You’d like to reach out and smooth it out with your thumb. 

“They ran out of the tea I like,” you say, trying and failing to not sound like you’re pouting. Shinsou hums in acknowledgement. He’s suddenly distracted, his mind obviously elsewhere as he shoots you a vague goodbye before abruptly turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. You smile to yourself. Sometimes the heroes were so odd.

After your lunch break, a cup of tea appears on your desk. You don’t see Shinsou again, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for the rest of the day.  

You’ve sat in silence for at least twenty minutes, unsure of what to say. You wish Shinsou would just leave, but you’re not brave enough to say so. You just want to be left alone. The idea of talking about your pathetic problems with someone who has real responsibilities is mortifying. Shinsou seems content to remain unnervingly quiet beside you, relaxing on your secondhand couch.

“I’m not even sad, really. I’m just bad at being a person,” you finally say. “I fuck up everything and I'm going nowhere.” Your head thunks back against the couch cushions. Shinsou is staring at you, and you wish you could just disappear, but the floodgates have been opened, everything that’s been weighing you down spilling out.

 “It’s so exhausting to even just be alive. I feel so overwhelmed and stressed constantly about the most miniscule things. I wish someone would tell me what to do because I seem to be incapable of making decisions, even with little things like what to eat and how to organize my closet. Every choice I make is the wrong one.”  You sniffle, desperately fighting back the threat of tears. 

There’s a quick change in the placid expression on Shinsou’s face, a ripple in the still waters of a pond. 

“I could help.” His voice is hesitant but his gaze is sharp, lilac eyes pinning you down. You run a hand through your greasy hair absentmindedly, confused.

 “How?”

He stares at you with a deadpan expression until you realize what he’s implying. Duh. 

“I could… make some decisions for you. Help you be productive.”

You've never seen a mind altering quirk in action. Your curiosity sparks, and you push yourself to sit up.

“Can you just tell me to… not? Be depressed?” you ask.

Shinsou tilts his head, a small frown on his face. “It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. But I might be able to make you feel better. At least temporarily.”

The silence while you mull over his offer is tense. You don't want him to use his powers superfluously. You're not sure if his quirk has limitations, but you don't want to exhaust it for a stupid reason like this. 

“I can't ask you to do that.” You say.

“You're not asking,” he replies firmly. “I'm offering because I want to help. It'll–” he hesitates, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I've heard that it's not bad, the sensation of it.”

You stare at him, absentmindedly chewing on your lip. Nothing can make you feel worse than you do right now, you reason. Maybe you can get him to make you clean. Or fill out bills. 

“How do we start?”

Shinsou looks surprised, then pleased, his eyes warm. He shifts closer to you, and you catch the scent of cologne, light and clean. Your heart gives an odd stutter.

“Are you going to be good for me?” His voice is barely a whisper. Heat rises to your face at the question, warmth kindling low in your stomach. You ignore your own reaction, focusing on his question.

“Yes Shinsou,” you reply. His mouth curves up, his demeanor changing instantly, slipping on intensity like a glove. A long arm drapes across the back of your sofa, boxing you in, closing the gap between you. He's bigger than you realized, so close like this, wiry muscle covering his slim form. His eyes are dark and deeper than you've ever seen them, like a twilight sky. You can't look away, a rabbit caught in the hypnotic gaze of a snake.

“Relax,” he orders, his voice silky smooth but impossibly firm. The words have an immediate effect, melting into you, tugging at your brainstem. A shiver runs down your spine, and you feel the tension in your body unfurl, like you’re slipping into a warm bath.

There’s a part of you that’s panicking, a jerk of animal instinct that fights against the downy sensation that’s settling into your mind. You try to quiet the protest. You want to be good for Shinsou, want him to think that you're good. He sees the conflict in your expression and leans impossibly closer, a gentle hand reaching up to tip your chin towards him. Your eyes drop down to his mouth, and his breath catches.

“You’re doing so well,” he says quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I’d never hurt you.” He cocks his head, voice slipping back into a more authoritarian tone. “Now, go take a shower and brush your teeth.” 

The words have an instant effect on you, pulling an invisible string. You jerk to your feet, unsteadily beelining towards the bathroom, his little marionette doll. Shinsou rises as well, heading towards your bedroom. 

The first time you meet Shinsou is in one of the many break rooms of the agency you work at. He strolls in, and you have to make a concentrated effort from keeping your jaw from dropping. He's tall and handsome, his surprisingly delicate features thrown off by the dark circles under his eyes. The coffee you're pouring overflows onto your hand in your distraction, and you curse quietly under your breath, spinning around to grab some paper towel to clean your mess. 

“Careful, the coffee's hot,” a dry voice speaks from behind you. It's low in an unexpected way, appealing despite his lack of inflection. You let out a scoff at his comment. You go over a mental list of the heroes at your agency, trying to pinpoint who he is.

“You're MindJack, right?” you finally ask, turning back to face him, your curiosity getting the best of you. He looks surprised. 

“You know who I am?” 

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve seen what you can do, read your file and stuff.” You're desperately trying to come off as nonchalant, throwing your shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug. Hopefully he doesn’t think you’re a stalker or anything. You clear your throat. “You’ve got a pretty interesting quirk.” 

“Interesting is a kind way to put it, I believe.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it. You read the sudden tension in his shoulders, the way his lips thin. “Most people think it’s a villainous quirk to have.” 

You roll your eyes. Morons. 

“People are just shitty about it because they’d probably be evil if they had your power,” You say, trying to sound matter of fact. “If anything, it just proves you’re a better hero, you resisted the pull because you’ve got strong morals.”

 You smile at him, and he returns it, a quick crescent moon flash of teeth that has you ducking your head.

“I guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

Shinsou found your stash of clean sheets and is making your bed when you walk into your bedroom after your shower, squeaky clean and wrapped in a towel. He turns to you, and you see his cheeks go pink, his eyes trailing down your form before shooting back up to your face with a guilty expression. Shame rushes through you, disturbing the detached serenity you feel. You should've told him you needed to change, instead of barging in practically naked. He's being so nice, and you’re ruining things like always. You can feel the corners of your mouth turning down, anxiety fighting against the artificial calm Shinsou has coached your mind into.

He clicks his tongue, matching your frown with one of his own. “I’m sorry, I lost focus. You’re alright, relax for me.”

It’s an odd sensation, a roller coaster drop and then you’re back to tranquility. He smiles at you with that half crescent flash of teeth. Your knees feel weak. 

“I’ll go start the dishes while you put on some fresh clothes and start some laundry. Sounds good?”

The sun's dipping low in the sky, the shadows growing long as you and Shinsou fold the mounds of laundry you've finished. Time feels strange, chores that normally take hours slipping by in moments, the sound of Shinsou's voice filling the silence and echoing in your head. He tells you about becoming a hero, about training and about work. You like the way his voice sounds, the lack of inflection giving way to little tells, peaks and valleys in his speech pattern that you’ve never picked up on before.

He's propped himself against your bed, making quick work of the pile of socks he’s folding, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he concentrates. You're struck with the soft domesticity of it all, the compassion of Shinsou taking so much time to help try to pull you out of the hole you’ve found yourself in. Gratitude overwhelms you, your chest tight with it. 

You don't realize there are tears running down your cheeks until Shinsou looks up at you, and lets out a soft gasp, abandoning the pile of socks.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. “Did I push you too much today? Did we do anything you didn’t want?” He’s so close to you, hands hovering hesitant around your face, desperate to comfort but afraid to close the gap. You shoot him a watery smile, wiping your eyes before you pull him into a tight hug. He freezes at the contact, a heartbeat of surprise before melting against you, long arms wrapping around your body.

“You're just so nice,” you say, voice muffled against his chest. You feel his lips brush against the top of your head softly. You don't feel better, necessarily, the empty hole in your chest still present, but you feel less heavy. Your apartment looks great, and your to do list is down to an almost manageable level. He’s done so much more for you than you can express, so you just hug him tighter, burying your face into his neck. 

You want to stay like this forever, huddled on your bedroom floor, cradled in each other’s arms. The warmth of the moment is shattered by the ring of his phone. 

Being a hero is a ceaseless calling. He answers, and you try to convince yourself that the curt note in his voice is disappointment at the interruption. You pull back and pretend not to eavesdrop, schooling your face into a neutral expression for when he hangs up, regret coloring his features.

“I have to go,” he says, and you muster a smile.

“I’ll walk you out.” 

MindJack stands in your doorway for the second time tonight, lingering in the warmth of your apartment. You’re back to feeling stressed, hyper aware of the vulnerability he’s seen today. You hope he doesn’t say anything to anyone. You hope he still likes you after all of this. His next sentence catches you completely off guard, your own self doubt totally off base. 

“I'll stop by to pick you up for work tomorrow morning,” he says, his voice almost casual. There's a soft pink to his cheeks, and you feel an answering heat rise to your own. “Unless you’re planning on calling in sick again.” 

“You really don’t have to do that.” You feel like you’ve put him out enough tonight already.

“I’d like to.” Those purple eyes have you pinned again, and you feel yourself nodding without thinking. Before you can blink, he leans into your space, wrapping a long arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and pressing his lips to yours in a fierce kiss. His mouth is warm and soft. He nips at your bottom lip and you quietly gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, his tongue sweeping against yours. You reach your hands up, weaving your fingers through his hair, and he lets out an appreciative groan when you tug him closer. His phone buzzes again and he pulls away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says breathlessly. You don’t know how to tell him what a difference he’s made for you. You’ve got so much you’d like to say to him, but you know he has to go. He’s stayed longer than he should already.

“Thank you,” you say simply. You hope he understands the true weight of your appreciation. You gaze tenderly at each other for a moment before he reaches a hand out, fingers ghosting against your cheek, then slips out of your apartment.

[ronearoundblindly]

Ari- Baby is sick for the first time

Ari Levinson x best friend!reader (now fiancé)

New Parent Panic, a Bedrock and Blueprints tale

Warnings for protective!Ari, Ari not communicating, you doing the same, and then everyone gets their shit together and it's fluff. WC 2k *Off in the distance an ol' timey man pops up: "An argument, you say? You wrote an argument?? How different from your usual!!" Ha-ha. Yeah. We get it. Ro's the same hoe as last year... **I am not a mother. I know what would reasonably be categorized as zilch about babies. I have, however, seen this overwhelmed and guilty behavior from several of my peeps as they raise their youngins, so that's good enough for me. You're doing fine. I promise.

Sure, there was the rather severe diaper rash incident, and the time when nursing her turned your nipples into raw portals for a newly-discovered circle of hell, but nothing could have prepared you for this day.

Rachel was...meh this morning when Ari left for work. A little whiny, not sleeping well, but she's an infant; that's not new. Overall, she's actually been a very straight-forward baby.

And then you don't know what happened.

You napped very hard until noon (after only a moderately successful feeding) and by then Rach had a fever.

You called the nurses' hotline. You gave her the dose of baby meds. You're trying to keep her hydrated, at least, if she can't be happy right now. You just have to stay vigilant and wait it out.

But that's not easy.

She's crying and won't sleep, she'll barely eat, and you don't have a separate car. You only want to call Ari if it's to say "we need to take her to a doctor." You're not there yet.

So you do the shittiest feeling thing you can think of, the most painful thing, and you wait.

You don't sleep. You barely eat. You take Rachel's temperature like you are monitoring the possible meltdown of a nuclear reactor. One wiggle of a degree in the wrong direction, and that Bat Signal is going on.

I can do this, you tell yourself. I've wanted to be a mom for a long time, so I can do this.

Except you don't sleep and barely eat.

Ari arrives home precisely when he said he would, the exact number of minutes (after work shuts down for the day) that it takes to drive to the house, predictable, dependable, and utterly useless when he opens the door and asks "why is she crying?"

"Because she hates me," you blubber, holding her to your chest, arms cramped from cradling her for so many hours at this point.

"She need meds?"

Of course, I gave her the fucking meds.

"Hungry?"

No, asshole, I purposefully starved your fucking child for my own amusement.

"Calm down," Ari snips back. "I'm just trying to help."

Well then fucking help me!

By now, you likely look as if you're in a war zone: disheveled, manic, and possibly--definitely--hostile.

"Okay, okay, let me just take a piss and then I'll hold her."

"Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. Whatever you need." You turn your back to him before grumbling, "not like I haven't had to hold it all afternoon..."

Ari's still-booted feet land heavily beside you again. "Then I'll take her now," he grits through clenched teeth, "and you can use the bathroom."

"No. I already have her."

"Fine. I'll be right back."

"Take your time."

The way you lace the words with a sickly sweet melody has Ari spinning on a heel and staring at you through his long eyelashes, a tick in his jaw stopping him from saying something he might regret.

"Kid," he finally sighs, "just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

He runs a hand over his beard while he waits for your answer. A few seconds later, his hip juts out, arms akimbo, and he bites his bottom lip expectantly.

You just walk off toward your phone on the kitchen counter and call the nurse hotline back.

"I swear, woman," he mutters as you leave, but you're glad he can't hear you sniffle back a sob.

It should be reassuring that the nurse has no new advice for what to do. You're doing everything correctly. You're doing all you can. Don't worry. Keep checking her temp and giving her whatever fluids she'll take. That's all for now.

It doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't feel like all a mother can do.

Ari? Ari waltzes up to the fridge and cracks himself open a beer.

You don't even have words, only flaming hot vibes that will melt his face like a Spielberg movie--you have got to stop watching movie marathons during late-night breast-feeding--if you stare hard enough at his casual blue gaze.

"So," he begins, "you figure out what I gotta do?"

What had been steady whimpering from Rachel has amplified into wails that bring tears to both hers and your eyes.

They just fall down your cheeks, and you wipe them from your chin before they can fall onto your screaming child.

Ari's judging frown makes your stomach turn while he steps closer, bends at the knees, and takes his little girl in hand.

Less than a minute later, Rachel stops, and you just cannot fucking handle it. The only quiet moment you've had in six and a half hours he gets to enjoy moments after coming home.

That's not fair. Cure fucking cancer already, Levinson, and save us the goddamn grief!

The tears and the tired are choking you.

Ari tells you to go freshen up in the bathroom, but that is the most horribly wrong way to say anything to you, ever, in a moment like this.

You stomp out the front door, rip open the sliding back door of the SUV, and crawl onto the cab floor. Once the latch clicks behind you, face buried in the blanket kept on Rachel's car seat, you scream.

You whimper and you cry and you get your fucking time to be angry at all your feelings today because it's bullshit.

You didn't take your own temperature. You didn't get rest and drink plenty of fluids. You didn't take any medicine. All you keep going over in your mind is whether or not you were sick first. Did you have something you gave to your daughter? Is this your fault?

So the tears and the choking continue for...as long as they take.

You don't know how much time has passed before the car door is yanked open again. Thank the stars you are facing away. You can't look at Ari right now.

"Is she okay?" you ask with a watery voice.

His big, warm hand rubs across your back, making you sink further into the upholstery.

"Took a few ounces of a bottle and went down in her bunk."

Ari likes to call Rachel a part of his 'squad,' so he talks to your infant daughter like they're going on 'missions' to the store or getting a bottle from the 'mess.' Your bedroom has thus become the 'barracks.'

Sometimes, he holds her sitting up against his chest and uses her feet to 'march' the pair of them across the house.

Left. Left. Left right left.

And almost always, there's a giggle, too.

"Up you go, kid," Ari huffs, maneuvering you into his arms.

"No," you whine, so tired you can't tell what it is you don't want.

He just keeps saying, "I know. I know," until he's carried you inside.

Instead of taking you to the couch or the bed, Ari sits you both down in the front hall, balancing you on his lap while he loosens his boot laces and finally kicks the sturdy shoes off, placing them on the mat a couple feet away.

He presses his lips to your temple, rough beard gently scrubbing over your eyelid and cheek.

"How many times I gotta tell ya to call me?" he whispers. He doesn't expect to have this same argument again, not like this, but his point still stands. "You know, you're warm, too."

If it's another question, you don't answer that either. You change the subject.

"Did you take her temp?"

He nods, and the number he tells you is the same as it was thirty minutes ago, or rather, thirty minutes before he came home.

Ari squeezes you tighter. "You want to get into bed, and I'll bring your some juice and meds, huh? Meet you in there?"

"I'm a bad mom," you breathe.

"What?" He pulls away, smacking his head on the wall behind him. "What are you talking about?"

How are there more tears left in your body? You should be nothing but a shriveled husk at this rate.

"Bullshit," he practically seethes. "Don't you ever say that again."

"I shouldn't have--"

"Stop."

"--you were--"

"Stop it," he blurts, firm and serious.

"But I'm the one who wanted this, Ari!" Your most powerful voice only comes out as high whisper. "Me. I wanted kids. This whole time. I bitched about how Joanna's done, and I thought I could just--" you swing an arm out dramatically "--and I suck at it. Rach even likes you better!"

"No, kid. She was exhausted. I only got here at the right time."

"It's 'cause your comfy and you smell good--"

"--not sure about that--"

"--and she loves you," you bemoan.

Ari snorts out a laugh.

"She loves you, too. You're her mom." He tucks you in closer, soothing you with petting hands wherever he can reach. "I love you. So much. So, so much."

He finds your hand and the sapphire ring he put on it, spinning it gently on your finger. He hasn't gotten to make good on his promise. Planning a wedding, even a small one, with a newborn is almost impossible, but that seems to be part of the problem.

Anything to do with you or you two feels selfish when there's three. Guilt grips you when you stop to daydream about your big day because it's not about Rachel. She's the most important thing. She will trump you forever as the single most--

"Can I tell you a secret?" Ari's timbre rattles close to your ear. "You're my favorite."

You slump into his chest until your forehead braces his throat.

"Almost not fair, really," he drawls. "You've got a decade of brownie points, and she's managed to make me buy more pads for her than I've had to for y--"

You pinch at his side harshly, biting back a smile, the salt from dried tears on your lips flooding your mouth.

"Oh! And you can control your bladder for a whole day, which is downright impressive wh--hey now--" Ari scuttles on the floor to evade your attack on his ribs. "I'm just...being...honest," he chuckles.

"You're a jerk is what you are, old man."

He easily grabs both your arms and pins them together in front of him.

"Yeah, but I'm your jerk. Your old man, kid. I'm yours, okay? You are not alone here. You don't have to know how to do everything by yourself." He lowers his voice as well as his face to yours. "And you mean just as much to me as that little girl in there. You hear me?"

There's a different lump of emotion lodged deep in your chest. You only nod because you can't speak.

He makes your foreheads meet.

"Please be okay. I could never do this without you. Any of it..."

That's when you realize what bothers you so much: Ari should need you to raise Rachel, but you never truly acknowledged you might need him to raise her, too.

This enormous weight of clutching every thread of life in your own two hands isn't real. You can share. You are meant to share your life with Ari. Ari is meant to share his life with you. Rachel shares life with you both, as she is meant to share with everyone around her. It's a lesson she has the opportunity to learn a lot younger than you, apparently.

He gets you to drink a whole bottle of water. He brings you some food and medicine while he handles some laundry and cleans out the day's bottles. He leads you with both hands to the bathroom, finally, and then gets you settled in bed.

As you fall asleep, you watch Ari take Rach's temperature again.

He lets out a silent cheer and holds his hand over her.

"High five?" he whispers. "No? It's fine. We'll work on that."

The last thing you see is Ari playfully lifting her from the basinet, sneaking out to the living room to enjoy a movie marathon, just for a little bit, snuggling together while he winds down for the night.

All that matters is she's safe and happy.

That, and of course, waking up in Ari's arms, listening to his slow breathing and Rachel's faster, baby huffs. You can handle anything because you made it through today and you have them.

[Ari's POV for this day]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @rogersbarber @yenzys-lucky-charm

[rotisserory]

Aventurine Is BPD Coded- Some Thoughts

Ahhh welcome back everybody to another installment of 'Rory writes a ridiculously long essay nobody asked for to shine light on characters who exhibit symptoms of borderline personality disorder so that we can learn to recognize symptoms portrayed in media that aren't just 'crazy manipulative abusive ex' and start to treat the disorder with a shred of compassion' !!

A good chunk of you follow me because of my essay I wrote on Reo Mikage from Blue Lock, my beautiful borderline princess, and I am PLEASED to announce that my essay is now the first result when you search 'Reo Mikage BPD' on Google, AND he has since been added to the BPD character database !! Saving the world one baddie at a time, no need to thank me B)

Today, I want to write something out that I've been dying to share. I think Aventurine can be read as a BPD coded character, and I think he would be able to cop a diagnosis should he go see a therapist (which we all know he CLEARLY has not done). I've been puttering around posting this because I've been spending so long on a full, all encompassing analysis of this sick blonde man, but I want to take a quick break and kick my feet over BPD Aventurine, so I invite you to come kick your feet with me!

Some context before I start:

1.) Borderline representation is extremely important to me. I've got the BPD / CPTSD combo meal, so I'm having TWICE the fun !! But seriously though, it's not easy being viewed as crazy and 'bad' all the time. Trauma disorders are rough enough as it is just to live with / overcome, but it's worse when there are books, forums, blogs, shows, ect. dedicated to hating you and talking about how evil you are. So, I get really excited when I spy BPD-coded characters (especially if they're likable people and not just ghoulish irredeemable villains or manic pixie dream girl characters). Fans, characters, and even Aventurine himself refer to him as 'crazy' 'insane' 'unstable' which only further rang my BPD bells because he's not crazy; he's just traumatized!

2.) I’m not a psych, so I obviously can’t diagnose real people, and don’t use any of this to diagnose yourself (I don't need the scandal!) I do, however, have a masters degree in English and structured the basis of my education and published my thesis on mental health, cluster B personality disorders specifically, so I read and research a LOT. I’m confident enough in my knowledge to diagnose anime characters (lol).

3.) If you're somebody who has a weird hangup about borderlines, feel free to either not read this, or do read it and soak up some useful information! Regardless, I know Aventurine fans can have some really wild takes (/neg) , so believe what you want at the end of the day! This is just my interpretation of what's festering in that sad brain of his. You can disagree all you want to, but what we're not going to do is spread hateful stereotypes or perpetuate negative stigmas about BPD! That's cornball behavior and I will call you out for it ^-^

CW for discussion of death, suicide, self injury, and identity disturbances

Anyways, if you ask me, Aventurine has a case of Beautiful Princess Disorder, and I'd like to explain why <3 So, buckle up! This will be another long one.

First, let me define BPD: it's a personality disorder characterized by a long-standing pattern of instability in mood, interpersonal relationships, and self-image. Though it's coined as a 'personality disorder', I urge you to look at it as a trauma disorder. People most often develop it when they are repeatedly traumatized during their formative years. It actually overlaps a TON with complex post traumatic stress disorder, which is why a lot of us baddies end up with both! (On that note, you could definitely view Aventurine as CPTSD-coded as well! I'm a stinky kinnie so I'll just say he's both <3) I won't preach too much on why it's so necessary to treat borderline as a traumatic stress disorder (since hopefully I'll be focusing my own personal academic research on that and I could yap for HOURS about it lol).

But when we look at BPD properly, it's evident that the basis of this disorder is that these people didn't have the opportunity to learn and foster proper emotional reactions. Because of the recurring traumatic events, sections of borderline's brains are underdeveloped as a result. They have a smaller amygdala and they have reduced volume in the prefrontal cortex, as well as other differences in brain development. I've heard it described as 'you were forced to learn some behaviors that helped you survive at one point in your life (for example, maybe fervent efforts to avoid abandonment, unstable emotional reactions, self harming tendencies, lying, mirroring, etc.,) but now you need to unlearn them, because they’re no longer helping you.'  They're trauma responses.

Aventurine shows us a perfect example of the kind of shit that would make someone develop BPD: dude grew up in extreme poverty, was constantly told he was special and he was supposed to bring good luck, watched his entire family and race die in front of him when he was literally still just a kid, was kidnapped and sold into slavery, was forced to murder roughly 34 people while everybody watched him like it was a game, probably went through several other fucked up things while he was enslaved, and then killed his slave owner and was promptly sentenced to death for it. That's...a whole lot of ridiculous trauma that would severely impact somebody's ability to mentally grow and develop correctly. The bulk of his childhood/adolescence was spent with no safety, no security, overwhelming guilt, constant fight or flight reactions, learning how to take on other personas to avoid violence or mistreatment – you get the point. He did not have a normal life and it is absolutely probable that he would develop a trauma disorder from the shit he's been through.

So then, what behaviors/signs does somebody need to exhibit to receive a Borderline diagnosis? The 9 diagnostic criteria for BPD are as follows:

1. Fear of abandonment

2. Unstable or changing relationships

3. Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

4. Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors

5. Suicidal behavior or self-injury

6. Varied or random mood swings

7. Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

8. Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

9. Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

As with my last post, I'm going to organize this based on the 5 immediate traits I think Aventurine exhibits most (you only need 5 out of 9 to receive a diagnosis, so let me cut to the chase and stop wasting your time w my yapping).

Fear of Abandonment:

Aventurine has a habit of wanting relationships and then pushing them away once they get too close. He also clearly has trauma associated with losing people prematurely.

First of all, let's look at Aventurine's tendency to view relationships as transactional. With the expectation that a friendship, partnership – whatever –  is mutually beneficial, that generally implies both parties will leave satisfied once the 'transaction' is complete. That’s his parting line in the game, actually! “Satisfied with our transaction, I trust?” 

That being said, he's already prepared for people to leave when they're done getting what they want from him. In one trailer (and the game) he refers to himself as "another cog in the machine known as the strategic investment department" and then says, "Your humble servant aventurine at your disposal [...] I can also play the role of ‘friend’ – if needed; Go ahead, use me as you wish, even stab me in the back if you see fit."

This is a very strange thing to say upon first meeting someone LMAO. He's speaking of himself like he's an object, rather than a person. Before the other party even says anything, he's basically saying 'hey btw if you end up disappointing me in some way, i'm already prepared for it!' Establishing relationships with the assumption that the other person will betray you/abandon you/hurt you in some way? Borderline behavior. God forbid somebody does try to break down one of these walls, we'll see Aventurine's second habit to avoid abandonment: pushing people away.

Something people don't necessarily consider is that ‘efforts to avoid abandonment’ doesn't always mean the person is on their knees begging you to not to leave them. It can manifest as someone being very flighty and purposefully cutting ties randomly/pushing people away from them so that nobody is able to abandon them. If you leave first, they can’t leave you, right? This is a very common behavior for borderlines to avoid the pain that comes with being abandoned.

The most notable moment of this, in my opinion, is when Aventurine tries to gaslight himself into thinking that Ratio really did stab him in the back during their ploy against Sunday. As we know, their fighting, bickering, and Ratio's 'betrayal' were all part of Aventurine's plan. When they leave Sunday's office, Ratio immediately asks if he's okay and if he needs help, and Aventurine is very dismissive/a little rude in his response. Ratio is confused because Aventurine is talking as if he wasn't the one who MADE this plan and TOLD Ratio what to do:

Aventurine is basically saying, "Hey babe this is not in the script we talked about! Let's stay on track, remember? You hate me, you betrayed me, and now you're leaving me!" And Ratio is like "Yeah okay but are you good? Because you don't seem good,” but Aventurine's heels are so far in the dirt at this point that he is NOT budging at all. When he's in the Trauma Maze, Future Aventurine grills him on this moment:

I get why this part confused some people; why would Aventurine think this when the plan was his idea in the first place? Because, he subconsciously doesn't want to get too attached to the idea that Ratio might ACTUALLY care about him or want to help him. He's forcing himself to think "no, that's not what he was doing, he was planning on actually ratting me out all along, he was only asking about my wellbeing to get in my head."

However, I think it's evident that Aventurine wants relationships/attention just as much as everybody else does, he just won't let himself have it. To further this idea, I think the lyrics to White Night (the Penacony trailer theme song) are worth looking at (these specifically):

I don't wanna be alone tonightOh, lead me with your altered signThere's no one else left for me to loseHeadin' to the other side, other side

I don't wanna be alone tonightI'll bring you to my best disguise'Cause you don't need, don't need to know the truthLet me rave forever in your life

The song is obviously about Aventurine when you look at the lyrics, but these lines in particular just further my point that this man does NOT like the fact that he's alone. He wants relationships, he wants closeness, but he rejects it at the same time out of fear that he might lose somebody prematurely again and doesn't want to experience being abandoned or being rejected for his personality (his real one or his fake one), which leads me to...

Unstable Self-Image; Struggles With Identity or Sense of Self:

The shift from Kakavasha to Aventurine screwed this guy up REAL bad. A MASSIVE part of Aventurine's character, in my opinion, is his struggle with his identity/sense of self. I mean, he literally had to kill off who he used to be in order to live how he's living now, and he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Jade sums it up pretty well when Aventurine is sat before her on trial: 

Aventurine joining the IPC comes with the price of...well, becoming 'Aventurine'. Since I'm clocking him with a BPD diagnosis, the identity disturbance would have probably happened before this moment, and I think it did. I'll bet it started festering after that first massive traumatic event where he watched his family die and tried to rationalize how that was possible with his 'good luck' (since that was really the only consistent idea he had about himself), and it probably only got worse when he became fixated on the fact that whoever tf he is, he's only worth 60 copper coins (did the math – that's about $3). That's gotta cause some massive identity issues. He's coined as this ‘good luck charm’, this ‘blessed child’, a ‘beacon of hope for the Avgins’, and somehow, he ended up in the absolute worst situation possible while simultaneously dooming all of the Avgins (obviously not his fault, but he thinks it's his fault).

When Jade tells him to pick a new identity, ironically he picks one that is everything he probably grew to hate after his childhood/adolescence.

Associating with the wealthy? The rich were the people who paid to brand him and enslave him. The IPC? Promised to help the Avgins but disappeared when the Katicans invaded, then came back and kidnapped him to sell him as a slave. Now he's both wealthy and a part of the IPC, and you have to wonder how he truly feels about it. We'll look into that more later. Regardless, he's not really 'free' now, even if he isn't technically owned by a master anymore. He's chained to the IPC because this is life now; this is his identity. Where else would he even go? What else would he do? (Die, perhaps?) It's not like he can go home, or go live a peaceful life out on the countryside somewhere. He made 'Aventurine' his entire life and his entire personality. On that note, I really like this quote from his third character story:

“The aventurine, that symbol of power and of the future, is about to be officially handed to him — Yet it would have no more allure or value in his eyes as soon he obtains it, even though he had sought it by putting his life on the line.

He returns to his office in a daze. The aventurine stone emits a peculiar glow on his desk, seemingly congratulating and mocking him at the same time."Was luck truly on your side when you wrestled with fate?"”

Did he really luck out with this one? Comparatively, of course, this is better than his life as a slave, but he essentially just traded his rusted chains for golden ones. Becoming Aventurine might wind up bringing him a lot more pain than it was worth. 

Also, the outfit he chose? Covered in gold, fur, and jewels, all materials that somebody who knows nothing about being rich would assume rich people wear in excess. It's evident in his tacky taste (sorry honey I love you so much but the hat is just crazy work you look like a pimp) that he doesn't know anything about how to dress himself. And I bully him for being tacky but it makes sense! He dresses exactly how you'd think an out-of-touch billionaire would dress. Back to his sense of identity: it's very important to establish that Aventurine feels guilty about taking on this persona! That's all 'Aventurine' is: a persona. If he were to die tomorrow, the IPC would dust off that stone and give it to another bozo who would end up being the next 'Aventurine'.

While he didn't initially develop this personality subconsciously and it was a 'choice' to start playing this role (not that he had a plethora of alternative options), the perpetuation is damaging him mentally. He does a good job of keeping up the act, obviously. This theme that his entire personality is just one big act is overarching through the entire Penacony quest, but there's one moment in particular I really liked: when Sparkle is being a jerk and he has this offhand comment about how he's so frivolous, vain, and flashy, and how he'd hate to live anywhere where it rained since his outfit is too expensive to get wet.

Then, we have this interaction in the maze: Future Aventurine brings up the memory of him and his big sister playing dead, floating in bloody water to avoid being killed by the Katicans when they attacked. He mentions that it was his father's shirt, the last one his father left behind before dying, and that it was ruined. Aventurine says it wasn't ruined, and he's always kept it. (I wonder if that's the shirt he wore during his time enslaved?) Future Aventurine grills him and asks ‘why keep it? This new person that you are would never wear something so dirty and old. 'Aventurine' wouldn't want that old rag, it's not worth any money. 'Aventurine' would never splash around in murky water like that; he wouldn't need to.’ Nobody is hunting him, now he's the hunter. Future Aventurine makes the snide comment that he bets Aventurine wouldn't even dare to go outside in the rain, let alone do any of the things Kakavasha had to do, since he's so much more elite now. Aventurine, clearly hurt by the implication, says that even after all this time, he's never changed.

Of course, he hasn't. Deep down, no matter how much he tries to trick himself and everybody around him, he's still the same scared, traumatized boy he always has been. His future self chastises him for having an inferiority complex and mentions that with every gamble he makes, he has his left hand shaking in fear behind his back.

But the constant pull to push Kakavasha down and keep up this act that 'Aventurine' is the real him obviously perpetuated the identity disturbance in him and made it a hundred times worse, to the point where (as Future Aventurine points out) the hole he's dug is basically impossible to climb out of.

Because of this, I interpret Aventurine to constantly be struggling with his identity, not knowing who really exists under all the masks he wears, not knowing if he or anybody around him will ever figure it out. I imagine he feels very empty and unfulfilled, since as I mentioned in the abandonment section, he doesn't want to be alone. But the higher he climbs on the social ladder, the further he can separate himself from other people. This is a classic issue borderlines face. We masquerade as something we think the people around us will like, someone WE might like, but it always ends up leaving us feeling more empty than before.

(This is just an added bonus to chew on, but I got stuck on this line when I played through Penacony:)

Do you think once he became Aventurine and got the money and the resources, he researched toys that normal kids play with? Fancy ones like building blocks, stuff that he would have never been exposed to as a kid? Obviously baby Kakavasha would not know wtf building toys looked like, and I'm sure teenage Kakavasha didn't have the opportunity to browse toy catalogs. But, he recognizes the toy even though he says he's never played with them before. Maybe he considered buying it but decided against it, since it doesn't fit his new persona. Kakavasha doesn't exist anymore, so there's no reason to nurture that part of him. Anyways, just wanted to hurt y'all a bit more. Speaking of hurting ourselves:

Impulsive or Self-Damaging Behaviors + Suicidal Behavior or Self Injury:

I'm combining these two because my points kept blending together, so bear with me lol.

Aventurine is known for being incredibly reckless and putting himself in the path of danger over and over again. When discussing how he tricked Sunday with the Cornerstones, Future Aventurine asks:

I want to exaggerate how crazy it is (i can say that i'm also a bpd baddie) that he smashed his Cornerstone. I don't think a Stoneheart has ever done that before. Their stone is what makes them a Stoneheart. Ratio mentions that without it, Aventurine would be back to being nobody. Remember: that's what makes him Aventurine. You know, the persona that required him to kill off his former identity? Their Cornerstones are more important than the Stonehearts’ lives, as stated multiple times. But that's just it: Aventurine doesn't GAF about his life. He doesn't mind putting his life on the line to pull off his plan because he has that deep-rooted desire to punish himself for everything he thinks was his fault. He gets called out for gambling with his life multiple times during Penacony, and while most of the time it's reduced to him just being crazy (cough, bpd) or just having a severe gambling problem. Extremely hot take, but I think he gambles literally as another way to hurt himself. I mean, look at what he says when you ask about his hobbies:

"There's no denying it, my fascination is with the game of chance... be it the exhilarating rush of triumph or the extensive emptiness that follows, both are worth savoring, time and time again."

Being impulsive and risky, betting his life over and over –  it makes him feel alive. He knows the end result will hurt, that he'll have to face that 'extensive emptiness' and the extreme guilt he feels regarding his continued good luck, but he does it anyway.

Speaking of betting, his bets are always 'all or nothing', seemingly every time. Future Aventurine calls him out on always risking everything with every gamble, asking:

"Do you truly believe the greater the risk, the greater the reward?"

Or...do you just not care what happens to you? He doesn't need to risk a lot; he's never lost. He could bet the lowest amount and still win every time, and make a lot of money depending on what everybody else bet. In fact, that would actually be a better strategy in gambling (poker/black jack specifically), because it would insinuate that he's not very confident with his hand and prompt the other players to bet higher, assuming that they'll beat him.

I imagine he gets a shred of dopamine betting everything he has knowing that he'll probably win, but hey, who knows? Then after winning and multiplying everything he has, I imagine that 'extensive emptiness' that he refers to is the feeling of 'oh good, more money. More status. More success. A reminder that no matter what I do, I'm stuck here in this role forever.'

For some reason, he also thinks that taking risks makes him appear more confident and secure. He makes a show of always keeping up the big bets and he boasts about how successful he is, while clutching his hand behind his back thinking 'oh god, is this it? will I finally lose this time?' He brings this up when he's speaking with himself and he says, 'How could a weak person take such daring risks?"

Oh, the delicious irony.

That raises the question, though: if he wants to die so badly, why hasn't he yet? It's not like he had an easy life. He fought very hard to stay alive, so why does he act so recklessly now?

I think at his core, he's scared. Dying is scary. His family is there in the afterlife; would they be disappointed in the person he’s become? At the same time, being alive is exhausting. The constant emotional pain this guy probably deals with every day? It's gotta be heavy.

His behaviors around suicide remind of a classic passively suicidal person with BPD: maybe they don't necessarily want to die, but they're tired. They don't have an active plan, but If something is going to kill them, they're not going to move out of the way.

So, carrying out his Penacony plan makes sense. Of course he’s not completely sure what will happen when Acheron kills him, but because he doesn’t have anything to live for, he’s fine gambling with his life. He makes a show of finally throwing out every last chip, too, no longer clutching them under the table in fear. He was fine with smashing the Aventurine stone because it's not like he was planning on using it after his final show; the little bit of power it had left in it was more than enough.

That being said, we do have to address this little number:

Aventurine attempted several times in Penacony, he admits it flat out. The writers even went sofar as to bold this line specifically! I think this does also go hand-in-hand with him being passively suicidal, since he's pretty sure he'll live when he attempts in the dream, but he's gonna try it SEVERAL times just to be sure. Mentally healthy people wouldn't try it... once, Aventurine!

As if we needed more evidence that Aventurine constantly puts himself in danger, you know I HAVE to mention...the light cone:

n case you haven't read the description for this light cone, let me share it with you:

"You don't believe me?"He (Aventurine) provocatively looks at the man (Ratio) before him, then draws out a revolver, empties its cylinder, and leaves a single shot in the chamber.

"Seems like I'll need to get you up to speed on how I do things if our cooperation were to remain amicable."He pushes the gun into his opponent's hand, spins the cylinder, and points the barrel to his own chest.

He pulls the trigger repeatedly, and the smile on his face remains the same after three empty clicks."Life is a grand gamble, and I'll always be the final victor."

Now what the HELL is this? Mind you, this is the first time Ratio has met this man!!! Imagine you meet your new mission partner for the first time and he puts a revolver in your hand and fires it thrice, then leaves. WHO does that? (...a baddie, perhaps!)

I don't think it's a secret to anybody who has spent a reasonable amount of time around Aventurine that there's something off about him, and that there's a really deep sadness running through him. There's some instances where other characters mention his passive desire to die – A few quick examples I can think of:

The instance in Story IV with Opal:

"Maybe luck won't be on your side this time, and the bill for all your past good fortune will come due [...] But isn't that what you've been longing for?"

Opal implies Aventurine wants to fail on Penacony, which, as we've discussed, is an accurate assumption. Jade says something similar after Aventurine's stunt: when Topaz says the light in his stone went out, Jade replies by saying "he got what he wanted."

Also, I’d like to point out that Ratio must have been anticipating that Aventurine would do something rash, since he wrote that note (doctor's advice) long before he started grilling him after the meeting with Sunday.

It's also worth noting the nod to T.S Eliot's "The Waste Land" (a very long poem about life and death). You get the achievement Sibyl, What Do You Want? after playing through the past of Kakavasha's life, and once you defeat boss Aventurine, you get the achievement She Replied, I Want to Die. I don't think that one needs an explanation, but boy does it hurt! (There's other, smaller nods to him being suicidal, like the Waiting for Godot achievement – Google the story if you're unfamiliar. Not as relevant, but I must mention it bc it makes my english major brain go brrrrr)

Also, overspending/gambling/being loose with money is a very common vice for borderlines to indulge in and harm themselves with. It's also implied that he drinks a decent amount. I counted 6 bottles of SoulGlad in his hotel room just from the angles I could see, and he's shown to be passed out at the bar when Ratio goes to get him before they go on their little date-I mean, mission. Aventurine says 'he must have drank too much', and whether or not that was true is irrelevant since it was a believable enough claim that Ratio bought it.

Borderlines are (usually) self-destructive in some capacity, and while some very annoying people assume it's for attention, it's so much more common for it to be because our inner emotions are just so out of whack. Sometimes, matching the inner pain with outer pain is a way to cope. They might also do it to try and combat-

Constant Feelings of Worthlessness or Sadness:

Probably the most nagging, prevalent feeling Aventurine deals with is the constant feeling of worthlessness. One thing about this man? He hates himself. Like, really hates himself. Take a look at the missions during his maze in Penacony. This one is one of my favorites:

It doesn't get much more on-the-nose than him calling himself a selfish, useless loser. He gets stuck on that word, in particular. Loser.

Aventurine, at his core, views himself as a massive loser. Is that ironic because of how much he wins? Not really. Money and materials are just part of the Aventurine persona. He's 'rich' in stuff, but he's not rich in what he actually wants. I think it's obvious that if he had the option to quadruple his wealth or see his sister again just one more time, we all know what he'd be picking.

The only thing he wants is connection – connection with his mother, his father, his sister, anybody at this point – but he can't have it. His family has been dead for a long while, and as I discussed before, his fear of abandonment and his luck scare him away from forming any other relationships. 

This luck, this destiny to be blessed, leads him to reflect on his life a lot and wonder what the hell the point is. He treats himself like some sort of walking curse, because he's convinced that his luck is bound to hurt other people. Every time he wins, somebody else loses. The luck that keeps him safe destroys everybody else around him. As Future Aventurine puts it:

His luck is "built on the pain of someone" else. This perpetuates the constant feeling of guilt, which in turn, makes him feel worthless. Why is it him that's spared every time?

Then, right before you start his boss fight, Aventurine says,

"The architect's flawed stone, of no value at all."

Some people speculate he's talking to the MC when he says this, but I can't help but assume that he's referring to himself. Even if it was directed at the MC, so much of what Aventurine says in his bluffs and boasts are just digs at himself. He's sort of an expert at hating himself, and what do people who hate themselves do if not project? Especially when you consider the fact that aventurine is actually a really cheap, undesired stone. It's like $3 a caret and mostly only used to rip people off and pose as jade. I really don't think it's a coincidence that his character is based around a stone that is, essentially, worthless.

The way that Aventurine is also prone to giving people ridiculous amounts of money/gifts can be read as a frantic effort to keep relationships going and prevent people from leaving him (relating to my points on both his feelings of worthless and his fear of abandonment). He has a skewed view on relationships, since the only value that's ever been associated with him is monetary value and that of his 'luck', which in every context is spoken of as an asset to benefit people he cares about. His sister told him that his luck was 'the most precious wealth' of the Avgins and Jade sees him as an investment that can bring her more wealth because of his luck, but he views it as a massive burden that ends up wrecking everybody around him. So how does he prove to other people that someone as worthless as him should be allowed a seat at the table? Deep down, he thinks that he's still worth 60 red copper pieces, and he's desperate to show other people that he's worth more than that now – even though he doesn't believe it at his core. With all the money he wins now, he can throw it at people and say 'look, look how much money I'm worth now, you want me around because I can buy you anything you want, that's a useful quality in a friend!'

(I did use the 'seat at the table line' as a nod to what his slave master said to him when they were discussing his worth: "Don't forget your place, slave. You're not qualified to be at the table." Which is, painfully, what Aventurine says when you open up chests! He scoffs and says that "it's hardly enough for a seat at the table." :’) )

There is also, of course, Aventurine's overarching struggle with finding purpose in his life. We see a lot of his existentialism during his trauma maze, but at the end of his trauma maze, Future Aventurine finally stops ripping Aventurine a new one and is vulnerable for a second, saying he doesn't understand what he's ever done wrong to have suffered as much as he has.

Then, when he's in the Nihility and he's speaking to Acheron, making the decision on whether or not he even wants to keep going, he asks her:

As I said, he has this conversation with himself in the maze as well, but here he's actually being vulnerable and speaking to somebody else about it: what's the point in being alive if we're just born to suffer? If nothing else, this solidifies the emotional struggle that Aventurine is constantly having. I also think it furthers the idea that he has this nagging sort of emptiness inside of him which is another BPD trait: the feeling that you're empty at your core, and you're constantly trying to fill it with things (friends, money, substances, whatever) but nothing ever works. You worry if anything will ever make you feel 'whole' again, and pair with the the identity disturbance? You're left with a constant feeling of despair.

Other Points:

These are a few other random thoughts I have, inspired by in-game moments but I'm taking them for my own evil fiendish BPD narrative. Take them with a grain of salt.

I think the stigma he gets around 'being crazy' is really BPD-coded. Separate from the ridiculous discrimination he gets for being an Avgin where people assume he's a liar and wolf in sheep's clothing (which can this man catch a SINGLE break jfc), he also has this reputation of being crazy, insane, manipulative, cunning, and someone you want to avoid, which is more rooted in his reckless gambling habit and status with the IPC. Living with this reputation of being insane and unstable for...lowkey no reason at all? Very BPD coded. I think Aventurine leans into that stigma to keep people a certain distance away, but it also just ends up making him hate himself even more.

Also, his entire mantra is "all or nothing", which always rang my BPD bells as well. There's not a lot of gray area with him, which is a key trait in borderlines as we often display very black-and-white thought patterns.

In Conclusion:

I think Aventurine is a borderline princess <3

No but actually though, Aventurine is extremely smart, witty, funny, generous, and very kind-hearted, and he also happens to have a lot of BPD symptoms :^) I don't think it does any harm to view him as BPD-coded; in fact, I think it's great to associate positive, fan-favorite characters like this with BPD because it helps to humanize us. Borderlines are not violent, crazy maniacs, they're people who have been severely traumatized and developed some unhealthy habits because of it. They deserve love, respect, understanding, and communication, just as everybody else does.

If you actually made it this far, thank you for reading! I hope I was able to shed some light on Aventurine and his Symptoms. And, as I do in all of my BPD posts, here’s your reminder to kiss the borderline baddies in your life and tell them they’re important to you :^) Living with BPD is exhausting and I know I speak for all of us when I say that. We try so hard every day to stay positive and regulated, and though rewarding, it's exhausting and very hard work. Nothing makes us smile more than some recognition that we're trying our best !!

Till next time xoxo (and shout out to @roxirinart for helping me edit this monstrosity mwahhh mwah)

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

TAKE CARE OF YOU [7]

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 2,800

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: this one is on the shorter side, but I didn't want to leave y'all with nothing (ironically I wrote this while on a plane to my conference/vacation). The Las Vegas trip will all be one large chapter (someone asked if I was gonna split that into parts, but I won't). Part 8 will just be viva las vegas the entire time, baby.]

07: BEING VULNERABLE SUCKS ASS

"i don't have an explanation as to how you pull me in, you just do. you've always had a gravity that i've never been able to overcome." -JmStorm

The cost of a mani-pedi never seemed worth it to you in the past. You saved your money for other more necessary things like bills and groceries. Sitting in the padded chair with your feet resting in the heated water of the foot bath, you realized how much you had been missing out on. 

“I can’t believe that bitch showed up where you work.” Nima scoffed. She sat in the chair beside you with her feet in her own bath. You had used Joel’s money to pay for her to get a mani-pedi as well and that made you happier than the treatment itself. Over the years, Nima would pay for meals and drinks and times the two of you went out and she always did it nonchalantly and in a way that never felt like charity. It felt good to be able to buy her something for once. “How did she even find you?”

You shrugged, “No idea. Sugar baby grapevine?”

“Bitches do be talking.” Nima hummed. You chuckled and leaned back in your seat. This spa offered mimosas and you held your empty flute. Nima picked up her phone to shoot off a message before turning to look at you. “So? Viva las Vegas, baby. You excited?”

“Yeah,” You nodded once then tilted your head with a slight wince, “Well, I mean, I’m kind of nervous too. This is my first time going away with him. He’s stuck with me for a full 72 hours.” Once you started talking you found all your bottled worries spilling out. “What if he thinks I’m annoying and gets tired of me? I’m too scared to ask him if we’re staying in the same room or a different room because I don’t know what I want the answer to be. If he says no then I’ll be disappointed and worry that he is getting sick of me, but if he says yes then I’ll panic⏤ Is he not the man I thought he was and he’s expecting something from me? Or what if it is innocent and he got me a second bed, but then he hears me snore and thinks it’s gross?” You paused to catch your breath and realized Nima was just blankly staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

Nima shook her head. “Nothing.” She looked past you and raised a hand to catch the attention of an employee. “Hi! Yes, we need more alcohol please. As soon as possible.” You groaned and hung your head. Nima let out a low whistle. “Is that what your brain sounds like all the time? Jesus, babe.”

“I know I’m overthinking.” You admitted. A woman came by with a champagne bottle and you thanked her after she filled your glass⏤ turning down the juice she offered with it. You took a long sip. “I like him.” Nima’s eyes widened. “Yeah, yeah, you were right, okay? I… I like him. A lot.” A hand drifted up to hold the sunflower charm on your new necklace between your fingers. Tomorrow morning you’d be boarding a private jet with Joel and you’d be spending the weekend with a guy you were seriously crushing on. “I know it’s so stupid to start falling for a guy who is literally paying me to hang around him…”

Nima sighed, “Oh, babe.”

“This is the first time I’ve felt like this since… since Nathan.” You said. At the mention of you ex-boyfriend’s name, Nima’s eyebrows furrowed in pain. You didn’t often mention him, hardly said his name, and it was in part because just the thought of him hurt. Whether he meant to or not, Nathan made you feel like you had not been enough. Joel made you feel worthy. You hadn’t even realized that the hole Nathan left in your heart had been so deep until Joel began to fill it with care. “Maybe I shouldn’t go…”

Nima reached out and grasped your wrist. “No. You have to.”

“You told me liking him was a bad idea.”

“I know, but…” Nima shrugged. “You seem happier these days. Relaxed. I can’t tell you if this is going to end well or not, I have no idea, but… even if this is just some kind of emotional rebound, I think it’s good for you.” You gave her a small smile and Nima squeezed your wrist. “Nathan was a tool. You deserve to be happy. Even if happy comes in the form of a cowboy sugar daddy.”

You chuckled at her phrasing. Joel did make you happy. The negative, anxiety riddled part of your brain screamed that being a sugar baby was hardly the same thing as being loved. However, for the first time in your life you were choosing to ignore the logistics of the scenario and just focus on how you felt. 

“I keep telling myself to just be like you.” You admitted and Nima’s eyes widened. You chuckled and shrugged. “You’re never scared, Nima, and I feel… I feel like I’m always scared. You just explore love, guns a’blazing, and I wish⏤ I wish I could do that.”

Nima turned so fast in her seat that water sloshed out of the foot bath. She frowned, “Are you kidding me?? Of course, I’m scared! Loving someone, opening up yourself to be loved, is the scariest thing anyone could ever do.” Her lips pressed together and she reached out so both her hands held tight to yours. “So, don’t stress yourself out over it. How you feel is totally normal. Being vulnerable sucks ass.”

You shot her a firm smile as a few employees came over to discuss any specific nail styles you may want. Worrying about it too much would only ruin the trip. You had already come this far⏤ may as well keep jumping in head first.

It had been ages since you’ve flown, literal years, and never had it been in a private jet. Standing on the tarmac watching part of the flight crew roll your bags to be loaded, you just stared. Eventually, a large hand settled in the middle of your back. Joel saddled up beside you and he offered you a small smile.

“You gonna board or just stare at it all day, darlin?” He chuckled. He wore one of his suits, but he had already stripped of his coat. 

You nodded, “Yeah, sorry, I just can’t believe I’m about to board a private jet.” Without preamble or question, Joel’s hand slipped from your back to slide down your arm and tangle his fingers with yours. It was almost a habit now for Joel to take your hand. He led you toward the jet. “Do you always ride in style like this?”

“Not always.” Joel replied. “But I will say that ridin’ like this has spoiled me of public airlines.”

“No kidding.” You chuckled and Joel motioned for you to walk up the stairs to the jet’s door first. He followed only a step behind, hand not leaving yours. The inside of the jet was simple but luxurious. Couches rather than single seats and one side had a booth like table. “I can’t imagine going from this to Spirit airlines.”

Joel snorted behind you and stepped around you so he could lead you toward one of the couches. “If you think I’m ever gonna let you fly Spirit, sugar, you’re crazy.”

You sat down and your eyebrows lifted when Joel walked toward the back rather than sit beside you. He briefly disappeared from sight, it sounded like he was speaking to an attendant, and you took that time to gaze around the plush interior of the jet. This was your life for now. It felt like a dream.

Joel walked back and he had two champagne flutes. Your lips pulled up into a grin as he settled right beside you and offered you a flute. “For the pretty lady.”

“Why thank you.” You chuckled. The two of you lightly clinked your glasses together before sipping at it. Despite the jet having, ample space, Joel sat close enough to drape his arm over the back of the couch behind you. “How long is this flight?”

“A little over an hour or so.”

“Oh, that’s not bad.” You hummed. “Is anyone else flying with us?”

Joel shook his head. “Tess is gonna meet us there on day two, and Tommy never comes to the Vegas conference.”

“Why?” You asked then paused. “To both situations.”

Joel chuckled. “Day one is kind of pointless for us to be there. All the work and meetings my company is involved in starts day two.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Then how come we’re going for day one?”

Joel shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “I figured it’d be fun to sight see together? If you’re interested that is.” You always loved watching him grow slightly nervous when asking you something like that because the smile he shot you after you inevitably said yes was damn near radiant. You nodded in excitement and Joel’s eyes lit up in response. “Good, and as for Tommy,” Joel gave a little shrug, “He’s got a history of gettin' involved in shit he shouldn’t. He’s got his head straight on now, mostly, but it’s just safer if keeps away from the temptation altogether.”

The pilot poked his head in to let you both know he was ready and suggest you strap in. You glanced around to see if there was a place you could set your flute down but the closest table was on Joel’s side. He set his own flute down briefly and reached out. You thought he’d take the flute, but instead Joel reached down to click your seat belt around your waist. It was such a simple motion yet you felt a warmth fill your cheeks.

“Thanks.” You mumbled. The plane taxied out to the runway and you quietly sipped at your champagne. You felt a rumbling underfoot as the plane picked up speed and when it began to rise your stomach lurched. Startled, your hand shot out to steady yourself on the closest object which just so happened to be Joel’s thigh. 

Before you could even fully comprehend how awkward this could be, your hand squeezed as the plane continued to rise— your only focus on the sensation of taking off. As the plane leveled off, you were able to feel other aspects around you, such as how thick and firm Joel’s thigh felt under hand.

He cleared his throat and peeled your hand off his thigh. Embarrassment flooded your soul, but Joel kept your hand in his. He laced his fingers between yours, shifting closer so his thigh was pressed against yours, and lifted your hand to his lips to set a soft kiss at the back of your hand.

“Are you alright, sugar?” Joel asked with nothing but concern.

“Sorry.” You shook your head. “It’s been a while since…”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve asked if you were a nervous flyer.”

“I didn’t think I was.” You chuckled and swallowed the lump in your throat as the plane hit a patch of turbulence and wavered. Joel continued to trace circles against the back of your hand with his thumb and you focused on that alone. Somehow, his presence alone was enough to soothe your frayed nerves. You leaned your head against his shoulder and Joel shifted so you’d be able to rest in a comfortable spot. You really did like this way too much. 

Joel hummed, “Lemme know if you feel sick. We got a first aid kit on here somewhere with some motion sickness patches, I think.”

“I’m okay.” You replied, loathing the idea of him getting up or anything right now, “Where are we staying in Vegas?”

“The Wynn.” 

“Is that where you usually stay?”

“No, actually.” Joel said. “I usually stay at Mandalay Bay, but I thought you’d like the Wynn better.”

You were glad you were resting your head on his shoulder so he couldn’t see the absolute stupid smile that crossed your features. He had changed his usual routine and picked a hotel that specifically made him think of you⏤ one he thought you’d enjoy best. Maybe the bar was just on the floor from your last boyfriend, but it was no wonder you were falling for Joel Miller when he did such sweet, considerate things. 

“Why?” You asked.

“It’s real pretty. You’ll see.”

The two of you continued to chat idly and you listened to Joel tell stories about past conferences and the things he was looking forward to and wasn’t. Your stomach had mostly settled now that the plane was smoothly soaring at its cruising altitude. So, you figured now was as good a time as any to use the restroom. You excused yourself and cautiously walked to the lavatory. As you finished up and washed your hands, your eyes glanced up in the mirror at yourself. You may as well have been glowing. For the millionth time, you thanked your lucky stars that Joel had somehow found you.

At the thought, you paused. This entire time you wondered how Rosalind randomly found you at work, but what were the chances that Joel Miller would randomly walk into a failing bakery and see you behind the counter? You shut off the water, dried your hands, and walked back out. Joel was using the plane phone when he spotted you.

“Yeah, we’ll see you when you get here.” Joel stared at you as he spoke, his gaze soft. “Just call me if you need anythin’. Mhmm. Right. Bye, Tess.” He hung up and set the phone aside. “All good, sugar?”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Course.” Joel nodded and you settled back in your seat beside him. 

You didn’t lay your head on his shoulder and turned just enough so you could face him while the two of you spoke, “How did you find me?” Joel raised an eyebrow in confusion. “At the bakery. Were you just passing by and saw me through the window? Or were you coming in for baked goods randomly?”

Joel suddenly looked sheepish. He cleared his throat, “It’s… Alright, this might not sound too good or flatterin’ toward myself.” You furrowed your own brows in confusion this time. “That week I was at a work site a few blocks down from the bakery. I had stepped off site to take a call and… and I saw you.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck, but he didn’t break his gaze. “I recognized you from the coffee shop, figured you were going to work, and I… I followed you.” Joel closed his eyes and shook his head at the admission. “Jesus Christ, you must think I’m the biggest creep. I swear I didn’t mean to. It was like… I was movin’ before I even knew it. I nearly followed you right into the bakery, but I stopped and came to my senses.” He reopened his eyes and there was regret and shame in his brown eyes⏤ two emotions you didn’t like seeing there. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I know it was stupid and I tried to stay away, but I… I couldn’t get you out of my head. I broke down a few days later and came in. Told myself I was just gonna pay you back for the coffee and be done with it, but once I got to talkin’ to you…”

“It’s okay, Joel.” You said softly.

“No, it really isn’t.” He shook his head. There was a firmness in his words that echoed the shame he felt. “I should’ve told you much sooner than this and definitely not on a plane 40,000 feet in the air where you can’t even run from me.”

“I’m not gonna run.” You chuckled. Maybe you should be more concerned than you were, but Joel had been nothing but respectful the entire time you had known him. Besides, the only thing you could grasp from his words was the fact that it seemed Joel felt drawn to you the same way you felt toward him. It could just be naive optimism or a delusion, but you began to wonder if it were possible that Joel liked you as much as you liked him⏤ as more than just the sugar daddy and sugar baby ties between the two of you.

You turned in your seat to lay on his shoulder once more. Joel seemed mildly startled by the motion, but he was quick to wrap his arm around your shoulders to hold you in place. You reached up to play with his hand. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Joel chuckled, “I’m never gonna lie to you, sugar.”

The pilot came over the intercom to announce he’d be starting the landing process soon and you wondered if Vegas was going to be the start of a new chapter of your relationship with Joel.

taglist (closed):

@weddingfairy @bfences @fairntonorth @jasminedragon @biwitchy @huffle-punk @shelbyteller @anoverwhelmingdin @aheadfullofsteverogers @stagerightlauren @basicoccult @rinnfey @boofy1998 @farintonorth @thepascalofus @amatis-gray @casa-boiardi @northernbluess @jettia @sapphicsoie @spidey-3 @camiali25 @hrtsforpascal @gingersince97 @sentients17 @bigboiseason123 @lunxramour @ktheunready @heyheyheygaypay @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @adoringanakin @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @cherriebat @whitewolfstar01 @alyssa121611 @asreadbyaj @painfullyandprettypoetic @cantobightcafe @hellooseulgi @str84pedro

[previous][next]

✨J.M. Masterlist✨

[jedipoodoo]

Liz,,,, I have,,,, a mighty need. Firstly, I read and reread your fics ALL the time, you are solely responsible for introducing to and making me obsessed with the bad batch, congrats.

I’m on an Echo kick. And there’s,,,not,,,any,,,,pregnant reader fics with him😭😭

Pre-citadel with ba’vodu Fives, post citadel with clingy over concerned ptsd!papa echo,,, I need it😭

Do you want me to flood your inbox with headcanons because I can flood your inbox with headcanons

YOU HAVE INFECTED MYSELF WITH THE MIGHTY NEED NOW I WILL TAKE ANY AND ALL HEADCANONS OF PAPA ECHO

Back to You (Echo x Mom!Reader)

Notes: No warnings, sick child, discussion of death, female reader. The Pergil lullaby is from @marierg. Not beta read, I wrote half of this in a fitful haze as soon as I got this ask, promptly lost it all by hitting the wrong button and couldn't recover it, and then re-wrote it in an even sleepier, more fitful haze. Divider by @stars-n-spice

You shifted your hold on your toddler to keep him from slipping out of your arms, gently bouncing him as he cried, hoping it would help him go back to sleep. It had been two days without sleep, so you were willing to try anything

"Oh baby pergil, little baby pergil, flying through the sky..." You murmured beneath your breath. This was your fifth time singing through the song, but it seemed to be working,

And then your comm began to glow with an impending message.

It was one in the morning, but you were too tired to wonder who could be calling you at this hour. Plus, you could use the distraction.

"H'lo?" You asked.

"Are you sitting down?" It was Kix. Dr. "Medical comes before sleep", who would turn right around and scold you for not getting what sleep you could get with a baby.

Fives was starting to fuss, now that you weren't serenading him. "I can't, I just got Iv'ika to calm down, and if I sit down it'll make it worse."

"Look, I've got something important to tell you, and I really think that you should sit down before-"

"Is someone dead or dying?" You asked.

"For once, no," Kix laughed half-heartedly, "Are you sitting-"

"Are you gonna tell me whatever this is or not?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the comm.

"We found Echo."

Your stomach twisted, pushing everything out f your stomach and up your throat, threatening to make you vomit.

"Don't- don't- don't you dare joke about that," You snapped. The sudden sharpness in your tone made Fives cry out.

"I'm not joking, look-"

"Did Jesse put you up to this?" You demanded as your eyes began to sting with more than just the lack of sleep, "Tell him he's a mir'sheb-"

"Jesse doesn't even know yet! Rex told me to-"

"You're all a bunch of miserable old men, and I never want to speak to any of you ever again."

You hung up before Kix could hear you sob. Fives was already crying, and you had to be strong for him, like you had for his whole life.

You held your son tightly, caressing his sweaty hair while you focused on singing lullabies, not about the dead father of your child. In your hand, your comm kept buzzing as Kix and even Jesse tried to call you back. Until finally, you blocked them, and Rex too for good measure, not even bothering to read the messages they tried to send you.

Fives fell asleep about an hour later, and you pondered your reaction.

Rex and Kix weren't the type to play pranks in the middle of the night, and Jesse might have been a bit of an arse, but he wouldn't prank you like this, would he? Not even Fives would have gone that far, especially not when it came to the life of a beloved brother.

Could Echo really be alive?

You'd have to worry about that later. Fives was asleep, and you had work in a couple hours. You had to try and get some sleep while the opportunity was fresh.

Your woke to the smell of your mother making breakfast. She immediately came in and took Fives from your arms, cooing to her grandson while she changed his diaper. You took a quick shower and smeared on some makeup to cover the dark circles under your eyes. When you stepped out of the refresher to get dressed, your mother was singing one of the lullabies she always used to sing to you.

"I think his fever's broken," She smiled at you, and you felt a bit of the huge weight lifted off your shoulders.

"Be good for Nana, okay?" You told Fives. He was a bit fussy, but nowhere near how he was last night. You could breathe easy at the office, even though you were almost late, and let yourself focus on fielding calls from agitated customers and filling out the proper files for each complaint.

You were still exhausted, though, so as you made a fresh pot of caff your mind wandered back to Kix's comm last night. You should really just apologize to him, but you felt so embarrassed. Ever since Echo died, the boys of the 501st had been there for you. Holding your hair back while you threw up from morning sickness and learning how to cook so that you could nap and have a proper meal when you woke up. In the end, pride kept you from unblocking them then and there, but as you made your way back to your desk with a cup of caff, your mother commed you.

"Mom, is everything okay?"

"Honey, there's a group of clones here to see you. lots of them."

A shiver ran through you and you groaned. You were gonna get an earful from all of them, weren't you.

"Tell them I'm on my way. I'll be there in a minute."

"Do I have to let them in?"

You paused. Your mom could be blunt from time to time. She was a wonderful mother and an even better grandmother, but she still wasn't used to the idea that you'd had a child with a clone. Having been a single mother herself, she got protective real fast. It was probably best that they stayed outside.

You apologized profusely to your boss for leaving early, and ended up playing the desperate single mother card. The sloppy makeup job and the faint perfume of sick baby that was following you everywhere as of late certainly helped sell the act.

When you got to your apartment, Rex, Kix, and Jesse were waiting, along with six other troopers. Four of them wore dark gray armor, while two had armor that was more white like the standard trooper armor.

One of those troopers looked at you with wide eyes, and you couldn't blame him. You had to look as much like a ghost as he did. He had the same nose shape and facial structure as all the other clones, but he was incredibly emaciated and pale. His white armor looked to be the kind that they gave civilians in the field, and it was clearly padded out in some places to help him fill out the bodysuit.

"Did you have to bring everyone and scare my mom half to death?" You sighed to Rex.

"Hey, they insisted," Jesse waved to the squad of new troopers dismissively and held out his arms for a hug. Given everything that had happened in the last few days, you accepted the comforting embrace without question.

"We tried comming you to tell you we were coming, but for some reason our messages won't go through," Rex placed his hand on his hip, all business.

You folded your arms and glared at Kix. "That'll happen when you call someone at midnight to pull their leg."

"I wasn't pulling your leg!" Kix sighed in exasperation and grabbed the emaciated trooper's arm, pulling him to stand in front of you.

You took a step back, "Um, hi?"

"Hi," He said softly. He coughed to clear his throat and repeated the greeting in a firmer tone.

"Well, what do you want?" You asked, oblivious to the revelation that was right in front of you.

Rex sighed, "You'll remember Echo, right?"

You stopped. you looked the emaciated trooper up and down, but refused to look him in the eyes.

"Rex," You took a deep breath, "Please don't do this to me. Not today-"

"But it's him!" Jesse exclaimed, "We found him and rescued him on Anaxes!"

"We?" One of the dark-armored troopers demanded, flicking a toothpick at Jesse.

"Well it's easier than explaining ev- Is it really so hard to believe that after everything karked-up that's happened to us, something good might have actually happened?"

"Boys," Rex said sharply. He nodded down the hall, and most of your little group ambled off to give you some distance.

"Cyare..." The trooper who everyone said was Echo reached out his right hand towards you, then returned it to his side. It wasn't much of a hand anymore, there was a scomplink attachment in its place.

"Cyar'ika, you're trembling," He noticed, a hint of terror in his voice. You kept your eyes on the floor. He was one to speak, how could he even stand on those wobbling legs?

His helmet fell on the floor as his left hand--still a hand--came up to cradle your cheek, wiping away a single tear.

Don't cry, you told yourself, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

With that tender touch, you finally allowed yourself to look him in the eyes.

A million men had the same brown eyes as Echo, but none of them shone when they looked at you like Echo's did.

"Prove it. Tell me something I've never told anyone el-"

"You talk in your sleep. It's probably because you need a cup of tea before you go to bed."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I wanted to name our son after Fives, but you said he'd get to big a head about it."

You managed a laugh, "He did get a big head about it."

Echo chuckled, and the scomp on his right arm rested against your arm as he pulled you closer.

"I told you I wanted to marry you as soon as the war was over, and you tried to convince me to move it up until after my last mission."

You gasped out a sob, wiping your runny nose on the sleeve of your blouse. Echo wrapped his arms around you, and you pulled him even closer.

"So you really named him after Fives?" Echo gasped, pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

You squeezed him as tightly as you dared. When you hugged him before he left for the citadel, Your arms almost couldn't make their way around him. Now you feared that if you held him the wrong way, he'd snap like a twig.

"It was what you wanted, what else was I supposed to name him?"

Echo took your chin in his hand, fiercely pressing a kiss to your lips. You could feel a year and a half's worth of loneliness and longing behind the passion in that kiss. All the fear, pain, and isolation the both of you had felt without each other. You almost couldn't bring yourself to stop kissing him. If you stopped kissing him you thought you might wake up in the middle of the night with your crying baby on your chest.

"I want to meet him," Echo said in between kisses.

Your heart fluttered. Echo was going to meet his son. Fives was finally going to meet his dad.

"Yes, yes," You gasped, and grasped his hand, pulling him into your apartment. It was almost exactly the same as the last time he'd been there, with the exception of all the baby toys strewn about and the holos of you and Fives hanging on the wall.

Your mother was in the kitchen, spatula in hand, making dinner and watching the door at the same time.

"Where's Fives?" You asked her.

"He's asleep, but-"

You ignored her protests and brought Echo into your room.

Fives was just waking up when you opened the door. He'd lost his pacifier while tossing and turning, but that allowed Echo's first view of his son to be the big, wide-toothed smile he gave you.

"Hello precious boy!" You swooped across the room and swept him into your arms. He had a bit of a cowlick from the way he'd slept, and you tried to smooth it back, but it didn't do much.

"Fiv'ika, there's someone you need to meet," You whispered calmly, "Can you be a good boy for mama?"

Fives didn't say anything, but he buried his face into your neck, cooing softly.

You brought him over to Echo, who stood in the bedroom doorway, spellbound at the sight of the two of you. You had never been able to see how Little Fives' eyes looked exactly like Echo's, but now that you had them next to each other, the likeness was unmistakable.

"I...I don't know if I can hold him," Echo held out his arms. You could see his heart, struggling not to break as he watched you cuddle your son. Your son. Yours and Echo's. A proper family now.

"Sit on the bed," you nodded. Echo did so, and you pushed him back against the pillows so that you could lay Fives on his chest.

Fives blinked his dark brown eyes at Echo, drinking in the not-so-stranger's face. Echo stayed as still as possible, like a sniper in wait. The baby wasn't as heavy as he expected, and he was scared to hurt him. His hands were made for combat and firing weapons, no for child rearing.

Fives' head dropped suddenly, his forehead smacking against Echo's collarbone.

"Yow!" Echo gasped in surprise, but Fives wasn't upset. He rubbed his face against Echo's neck, just like he had with you.

"He likes you," You said, lying next to Echo. You placed your hand on his upper arm and squeezed.

"He likes me?" Echo asked.

"He does," You whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, "And guess what?"

"What?" there was a hint of fear in Echo's voice. Today had already been a very long day for the both of you.

You rested your head on Echo's shoulder, close enough that you could press a kiss to Fives' dark curls.

"I like you too."

[howdygravytrain]

*jingles pathetically across the courtyard*

holy shit y'all, this was the most extensive set of gposes i've done yet. this took almost an entire week from me getting a room at my fc's crib and transferring all my shit from my apartment to there so i could make the bedroom, gathering/crafting everything for said bedroom, the poses themselves, desperately trying to find a crime for aymeric's earring before i said fuck it and photoshopped it on LMAO, the editing, putting the screenshots into panels since tumblr only allows 30 images per upload and finally typing up the transcript, I AM FINISHED.

all because a friend wrote a snippet about "what if aymeric fantasia'd into a lalafell?" i have not known peace since then 😩 /pos

btw i plan to make an introductory post for gravy sometime, but noT FUCKING TONIGHT PLS IF I HAVE TO OPEN PHOTOSHOP ONE MORE TIME I'M GONNA HURL MYSELF INTO THE AETHERIAL SEA

got a doozy of a transcript, find it below the break!

TRANSCRIPT

Panel 1: [ONE PECULIAR DAY WHEN GRAVY ARRIVED BACK HOME IN ISHGARD…]

Panel 4: Gravy Train: Huh, that’s weird…Aymeric always greets me when I come back home. Maybe he got holed up at work again?

Panel 7: <He hasn’t been to work in two days…The hell is goin’ on?>

Panel 10: Gravy Train: Howdy, Eddie. Aymeric home?

Panel 11: Edrant: Ah, welcome home, Lady Gravy. M’lord is currently upstairs in his bedchambers. He specified to let none interrupt him since yestermorn.

Panel 12: Gravy Train: He ain’t want no one to bother him? Is he alright, is he sick??

Panel 13: Gravy Train: Ayms, ya doin’ alright, sugar bear?

Panel 14: <Hmm, no answer. Maybe he’s in the bathroom?>

Panel 16: Gravy Train: The hell, he ain’t in there either??

Panel 17: Gravy Train: Now just where could he’ve gone off to? Surely if it was an emergency he’d’ve let me know somethin’...

Panel 18: Gravy Train: Maybe Estinien’s gotten into some shit that Vrtra couldn’t get him out of and Aymeric went to help? Or Lucia needed him in Garlemald? Naw, Lucia’s got her shit together, Estinien’d be the one who’d fuck around.

Panel 19: Gravy Train: Aight, that bastard better have his linkpearl in or I swear to goD–

Panel 20: ???: Darling, is that you?

Panel 21: Gravy Train: Huh–who in the–?!

Panel 22: Gravy Train: Hollup–Ayms, is that you?

Panel 23: Aymeric: Aye, and I assume by your expression the potion worked?

Panel 25: Gravy Train: Oh my god, yer my size! Holy shit this is so cool!!

Panel 26: Gravy Train: Oh wait, ya got any clothing that’ll fit?

Aymeric: That I do. I may have taken the opportunity to, ahem, borrow some of your clothing and have outfits of similar proportions made for myself.

Gravy Train: Ohhh, I wanna see those fits!

Aymeric: Of course, if you could excuse me for just a moment…

Panel 28: Gravy Train: Ahhhhhh ya look amazin’, honey!

Panel 31: Aymeric: Um, darling, is something amiss–

Panel 33: Gravy Train: I can do this t’ya now, sugar.