#if you pay attention to things like Character Design you can actually clock this as some time between later 16 & 18

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

anyway wowowwowo dazai

[dyeher]

High Stakes| Ran H.

Includes| secret agent! Ran Haitani x secret agent! Reader

Warnings| fem! reader, violence, murder, mentioned gambling, implied harassment, guns, mirror sex, dry humping, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, choking, creampie, dirty talk, multiple orgasms.

Notes| mwah! another repost.

Ran is making plans to return to the Bloody Lotus when he’s not working. Bright eyes scan the clientele, and fingers drum the side of his glass, he decides he likes the energy. Rich people are always eager to spend their earnings, to show off their pregnant coin purses and boast about investments and returns and how they’ve recently deprived the world of another useless piece of art that costs more than it has any right to. Rich people paired with alcohol makes this place a breeding ground for ‘Too Much Information’. Ran affectionately calls it TMI, and it’s the reason he’s here tonight. To collect some of that.

When he returns though, when he’s off the clock, he’ll be here for the pretty call girls and the lacquered cards that are screaming his name. Absently he raises his glass to his lips. Tonight he is not Ran Haitani, Agent 001. Tonight he is simply Ran Haitani, one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors, and a potential investor in whatever business venture Izana Kurokawa has cooked up.

He glances around the lobby, careful not to make eye contact with you as the balding man’s hand snags on the exposed flesh of your upper thigh. Ran’s grip on his glass tightens reflexively. He reminds himself that if he kills Lorano now they’re fucked and you would’ve been groped for no reason. He remains quiet, pretending to take in the brightly lit room with its marbled floor and high ceiling.

To his left is the entrance to the VIP section where he’s currently perched at the bar. It’s a pair of glass doors flanked on either side by two large men dressed to the nines but sporting firearms. Through the glass, he can see regular patrons, the upper-middle-class dressed in their best and whispering to each other over glasses of overpriced champagne. Some are gambling their way down the social ladder without really paying any attention to it.

To his right is the entrance to Izana’s private quarters. Well, for the most part. To his right actually stands a set of hand-carved mahogany double doors. Those doors don’t lead anywhere. Behind them is an elevator leading to the rooftop of this fine establishment and the only true way to access Izana’s quarters is from the rooftop entrance. A little way off from those doors is a simple nondescript door that leads to the stairwell on the inside of the building. The stairwell gets as high as the private rooms of Izana’s friends. If all went well Ran would be on that floor within the hour.

He’s brought out of his reverie when you warble spilling a little of the drink in your tray onto Lorano. He’s impressed by your ability to mold into any character as he listens through the earpiece. You lay on a faux Italian accent, as you scramble to apologize that immediately has Lorano perking up, and Ran has to sip from his glass to cover his disgust when one of the buttons on the man’s shirt pops open at the movement.

Izana dresses his female employees in the most ridiculous things. Tonight’s number is a sheer black leotard, the front covered in some sort of stitched design that just barely covers your breasts, the back so low it dips beneath the band of the too-tight, too-short black skirt paired with it. The shoes are strappy and wound all the way up to above your knee. The heel and platform are so high that Ran winces internally as he watches the ease with which some of these girls can maneuver the tables and crowd in them.

He’s whispering to you in rapid-fire Italian, things Ran wishes he didn’t understand, promises to treat you right, questions about how long you’ll be working for. His grubby hands trail down to your thigh when you bend across him to replace his drink and even from this distance Ran can see the way your fingers on the tray flex.

An irrational amount of pride swells in his gut when your smile doesn’t even waiver, and for a second he’s so transfixed he almost doesn’t hear when one of Lorano’s lackeys bends into his other ear to let him know Izana was ready for him. Ran’s heart slows, his eyes locking with yours as he starts moving. Based on Wakasa’s intel Izana’s meetings are held on the roof, and there should be a viewing room on that floor. Only one elevator goes to that floor and it requires either Izana’s Identification card or the code, a code only he knows. Ran subtly adjusts the face of his watch, a beautiful Patek Phillipe piece he’d paid Inui out of pocket to have modified. He chuckles when he reaches the door of the stairwell and Wakasa’s voice filters through his ear.

“I think I threw up in my mouth a little when Lorano asked if she eats ass,” Ran can hear Wakasa’s shudder. He uses the knuckle on his index to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, activating the screen on the camera on the left screen. “Take a step back Ran, need to see the entire door.” Ran shuffles back feigning glancing at the floor in front of the door and then back up. “Thank you,” Wakasa says, and Ran fidgets as he begins to count down in his head. “You ready big guy? You have thirty seconds to climb three flights of stairs before the camera’s auto-reboot.”

Ran glances to his left and right quickly before nodding. “Go.”

He doesn’t even register the door slamming behind him as he flies up the stairs. He’s mastered the art of running in suits at this point. His chain lifts with his movements until finally, he catches the pendant between his teeth to stop it. He uses the rail to hoist himself up, taking the stairs four at a time until the leather sole of his shoe lands on the dark marble of the top floor. He skids a little, catching himself on the wall. “Twenty-six seconds,” Wakasa tells him. “Not bad.”

Ran chuckles. “You talk too much Wakasa. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You,” Wakasa retorts. “Every time we work together.”

“Lorano’s on his way up,” your voice interrupts them both. “And I’m coming with him.”

Ran tenses. “That was not part of the fucking plan,” he says as he stalks the length of the hall. He passes his room, heading for the elevator. He watches as the numbers change.

“Yeah but it’s smarter than the original,” Wakasa admits. “If she gets up there Izana’ll send her back down because employees aren’t allowed on that floor. Which means she’ll control the elevator.”

Ran curses, because Wakasa’s right. “Fuck.” He watches as the elevator gets to the top floor and then ten minutes later he watches as it begins its descent. The impromptu change works and Ran finds himself face to face with you not thirty seconds later.

“Camera’s are down,” Wakasa announces. “Double-loop so it looks like she came off the elevator. Shouldn’t have any issues if no one is standing at the elevator doors.”

And no one is standing there. In fact, getting into the viewing area is too easy, not only that but they find that it’s not just a viewing area. Ran takes a good scan of the room following Wakasa’s instructions until they land on a row of computers and Wakasa almost moans in both your ears. It’s the central command.

“I despise Izana Kurokawa,” he hisses. “I hope he knows I’m praying for his downfall. Specifically, because this setup is so beautiful he doesn��t deserve it.”

Ran glances at you out of the corner of his eye and almost swallows his tongue when he finds you squatting at one of the outlets. Your ass stretches the material of the skirt and Ran has to force himself to look away as you get on your knees to press the switch. One of the older computers lights up next to Ran and Wakasa honest-to-gods giggles.

“Ran, plug the flash drive in there,” Wakasa instructs. “Turn it on and where is my beautiful little amateur hacker. Get your ass over here.”

Ran tunes in to the conversation between Izana and Lorano, looking out through the glass at them from his spot. Izana as always is dressed in some elaborate get up, his second in command stands to his left his arms folded and the disgust in his expression clear as he looks at Lorano.

“It’s quite simple,” Izana is saying. “You join me, I get control of your men, I pay you to speak when spoken to.”

Lorano looks torn. “It’s not that simple, my men will not respect me anymore,” he tries to explain.

“Lorano,” Izana coos. “Your men don’t pay you. Your men are ungrateful pigs. Your men are incompetent criminals. Your men are failures as men. Their respect for you isn’t worth hot shit even if it came from a god.” Izana’s men laugh and Ran winces at the shade of red Lorano turns. “Think about the respect you’ll earn from the rest of Japan when they find you’re associated with me.”

This seems to give Lorano pause and Ran scoffs. He wonders what Izana might have offered him if he planned to stick around long enough to hear.

“How much are you offering?” Lorano finally says.

“I’m offering you a salary,” Izana says slowly, in case Lorano misunderstood. “Not a percentage cut of the shit I make.”

Lorano swallows, and the microchip in the collar of his shirt picks up the sound extra loudly. Ran almost gags. “How much?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars a month,” Izana says and Ran is appalled at the way Lorano immediately agrees. He wonders if Lorano knows that he’s signing this document in his blood. And just as Ran expected when Izana verifies that Lorano has in fact signed over his properties and his men he opens his palm and Ran shifts when a gun is placed in it. “It was great doing business with you,” Izana frowns and Lorano doesn’t have time to scream before the gun goes off and his pudgy body is falling face first into his dinner, blood mixing with the delicacies on the plate. Ran’s thoughts are interrupted by Wakasa’s curse.

“What?” he snaps turning back to where you’re tapping away at the computer screen.

“You’ve got company,” Wakasa says quickly. “Fuck. Two incoming looks like Izana’s personal guard and the Head of Security.”

Ran’s head snaps to the door when he hears the telltale sounds of footsteps coming down the corridor. “How much longer, angel?”

You tap away at the keyboard rapidly. “We’re at 87%,” you scramble to type faster but Ran’s already dragging you away from the desk. “What the fuck are you—”

“You can punch me in the face afterward,” he whispers quickly. And then he’s kissing you. Tentatively at first, just a soft brushing of his lips that immediately has you relaxing in his hold. One large hand cups your face to angle your head better and the other dips into the base of your spine, curling you closer to him. His fingertips are warm as they trail the length of your spine. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and you shudder, your nipples pebbling in the thin material at the contact. You’re frozen, struck dumb by the gentleness of his kiss, eyes wide open so you see the way long lashes brush the tops of his cheeks.

Ran pulls back just far enough to growl against your mouth. “Kiss me back, angel.” And then he’s running the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip and they’re parting to let him in. His tongue is eager and warm and so soft as it brushes confidently at yours that your toes curl.

Your body presses closer to his, your hands winding around his shoulders as you kiss him back. It’s the consent he needed. The kiss grows intense, Ran’s tongue dipping farther, his head slanting to deepen the kiss. You’re suddenly reminded of your lack of underwear when Ran’s hand comes up to grasp the back of your head, the one cupping your face drops to your thigh as he backs you into the desk. He hoists you onto the surface easily, your body displacing the keyboard, and stack of papers next to it. His grip on your thigh slips to the back of your knee and he hikes it up around his waist, to slot himself between your legs, bending you back a little so you’re propped against the monitor.

“Fuck,” he groans when your fingers tangle in his hair. You tug his head back harshly, desperation making your movements a little rough as you press sloppy, lipstick stain kisses along the side of his neck and the column of his throat. You wonder if he’s wanted to do this as bad as you have. If he’s ever lost sleep thinking about the contours of your body the way you have. Or imagined the softness of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the feel of your hands on him. Because you’ve spent countless nights with your fingers between the folds of your pussy, rubbing circles into your clit imagining they’re Ran Haitani’s fingers or his tongue. Many nights with your dildo pumping furiously into you imagining it’s Ran Haitani’s cock molding and shaping your insides for him.

The guards are forgotten as Ran presses the length of his body to yours. The hard outline of his cock rubs into the damp crotch of your leotard when you finally bring your lips back to his. Your kissing becomes frantic and sloppy. Ran devours your mouth, fucking it with his tongue in a way you know he’d easily replicate in your cunt. Your body bucks when his fingers climb your thigh, his knuckles rubbing the sensitive skin as it inches higher. You moan into his mouth and Ran’s responding chuckle sends chills down your spine.

“Bet you’ve soaked through this flimsy thing,” he mumbles, lips not pulling away far enough for you to focus on his features. His kisses move from your lips down to your neck and throat. “Probably got a messy little pussy.”

You whine, arching as though you can get any closer than you already are. Your fingers catch in his jacket as you try to push them off his shoulders. Ran eases back just enough to free his arms, dropping the jacket next to you as he resumes his previous position. You get a glimpse of how well he fills out the silk shirt beneath and realize this isn’t enough. You want to feel his skin, you want to rake your nails down his back and mark him with your teeth. Just as you think this Ran’s teeth latch onto the erogenous area where your neck and shoulders meet. Your moan is absolutely wanton. You feel him shudder in your arms as he reaches for the strap of the onesie and rips it down your arm freeing one of your breasts for his hungry mouth. It’s only as you toss your head back, lips parted on a sigh at the gentle sucking of Ran’s mouth on your nipple, to give him better access to your body, that you see the two men in the doorway.

Your squeak of surprise is genuine as your hand scrambles to clutch Ran’s shoulders. The sound seems to snap both men out of their stupor and you watch as they straighten to their full height. Your mind clears quickly, embarrassment sinking like lead in the pit of your stomach at your actions. Ran’s grin is lazy, almost natural as he glances over his shoulder, you’re grateful for the width of him as he angles his body to block out whatever view they might’ve had of you. One of Ran’s hands still clutches your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as though he knows you’re struggling to get it together.

“Gentlemen?” Ran’s smile falters perfectly, even the breathless hitch in his tone is staged. It feels like a bucket of ice water has been doused on you. Of course. Of course, none of this was real. He’d just saved both your asses. You wonder if he knows you weren’t acting. You tense in his arms and his grip on your waist tightens. “Can we help you?”

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” the shorter one says. Even from here, you can tell he’s the scarier and more than likely Izana’s head of security. Bleached buzzcut with parallel strips of his natural hair color running from the corners of his hairline back. You might’ve giggled at the fact that he resembled a tennis ball if he didn’t pull his gun. His eyes narrow when Ran frowns and glances at you.

“Sorry? Is this not the guest floor?” Ran’s confusion is so convincing you almost don’t feel when he slips the flash drive up your thighs. It takes all of your self-control not to react as his fingers dip into the sticky mess between your thighs and slide the flash drive flat across the crotch of the leotard. Your hand snaps out to clutch his arm and he chuckles. “She’s a needy thing,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t quite make it to my room.”

The taller one adjusts his glasses and steps into the room and Tennis ball follows him. “How’d you get up here, Mr. Haitani?”

Ran blinks at him like he’s stupid. “The elevator?” You squirm in his arms, playing your part as the brainless, shy employee, who’ll probably get in trouble for fraternizing with one of Izana’s VIP guests. Ran straightens to his full height, fixing the straps of your onesie and closing your legs as he turns to face both men. He stands a little shorter than the one with the glasses but he’s broader and you know that if this comes down to a fight you could take the taller one while Ran takes the other. “What’s really going on here? Have I done something wrong?” His tone is carefully accusing.

Glasses sighs through his nose. He knows there’s no way Ran should’ve gotten to this floor undetected but starting a fight with one of Izana’s friends is the last thing he needs to do right now. “This floor is off-limits to guests. They lead to Mr. Kurokawa’s private rooms.”

Ran’s expression morphs into a perfect mask of embarrassment and regret. You hope the horror in your expression as you clamber to your feet, swaying a little in your heels is convincing. “Ah, sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “Got a little distracted,” he motions with his thumb to you over his shoulder and you look away. “We can move.”

He reaches for his jacket when Tennis ball chips in. “Wait a minute,” he says, slipping his gun back into the holster. “You’re not leaving until we search you.”

Ran bristles as they expect him to, head jerking back like he’s been slapped. His jaw clenches, fingers flexing. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said Mr. Haitani,” Tennis ball snatches Ran’s jacket and passes it to Glasses who begins to rummage through the pockets. “Spread your legs for me.” Ran tenses but does as he’s told.

The flash drive feels like it’s weighing you down as Ran gets the all-clear and Glasses starts toward you. “Seriously?” Ran scoffs. “She’s half-naked, where the fuck would she hide anything?”

That seems to give both men pause. You make sure to shudder for good measure as they step aside. Ran grabs your arm glaring at both men as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and guides you out of the room. Glasses follows after you, making a quick call for someone to send the elevator down before taking you both down to the VIP floor. “This is you,” he says nodding at Ran as he leads you out of the elevator.

Ran takes you to his room and as soon as the doors are closed you shrug off his jacket. Your heart is pounding in your chest. That could’ve gone horribly. Your hands are trembling as you wobble over to the spacious bathroom.

“You still make the prettiest sounds,” Wakasa’s voice comes over the earpiece, and you yelp, stumbling back and almost falling onto your ass. In the midst of everything it seems you’d both forgotten about Wakasa. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says gently. “Just thought you should know. They’re the still prettiest I’ve ever heard.”

“Wakasa,” you hiss. “Can Ran-

“He can’t,” Wakasa reassures you. “I muted us. I’m gonna take these off until you’re out of this room. In case, you want to finish what you started.” You open your mouth to argue that you were just trying to save your asses when Wakasa continues. “And before you tell me you were just trying to stay alive try to remember how well I know you.”

There’s a distinct click and you know Wakasa can no longer hear you. A tentative knock sounds on the door and Ran’s voice carries through the wood. “You good in there?” He asks. “We got what we came for, we can leave.”

His comment reminds you of his earlier actions and you immediately reach between your thighs and pull the slippery flash drive free, yank open the door and slap it against his chest. “Yeah,” you say giddily. “I’m about ready to go.” And then you haul your fist back and slam it into his nose. “Do not ever do some shit like that again,” you snap. “Next time we fucking kill them.”

Ran’s eyes darken, as he clutches his nose. It’s not broken but it hurts like a motherfucker and he’s not at all surprised when he inhales and it burns. His eyes water as he glares at you incredulously. “You’re not serious.”

“Deathly,” you say, releasing the flash drive so he has to scramble to catch it. It’s soaked in your arousal, the scent heady as he clutches it. You poke him in the chest. “If you ever, ever touch me like that again I’ll fucking kill you.”

Silence envelopes you for a few seconds and then Ran chuckles. You’re about to snap at him again when his hand wraps around your throat. “You’re so transparent,” he smirks. “I bet you’re not even mad I touched you.” He squeezes your throat, backing you into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. “You’re probably mad because we were interrupted,” he drops the flash drive on the counter. “Mad that you didn’t get to cum.” He’s slowly cutting off the blood flow to your head, his fingers pressing into the blood vessels on either side of your neck. “Wanted me to clean up the mess I made of your pussy?”

His free arm wraps around your waist and lifts you onto the counter, your hands immediately reach for the wrist of the hand around your throat, your nails dig into the soft flesh as he scoots back onto the counter and spreads your legs to make room for him. You’re dizzy by the time his grip loosens. “Answer me,” his voice softens to just above a whisper, his finger massaging your neck gently. “Do you want me to clean up the mess I made, angel? Is that what this is about?”

You almost shake your head but Ran gives you a look. Like he’ll know if you’re lying. Like you’d be an idiot to pass up this opportunity. So you nod, swallowing when he flashes you a beautiful smile. “Yeah? But I need to hear you say it,” he breathes. “Say ‘Please eat my pussy Ran’. Go on.”

His hand has reached your jaw and his thumb is rubbing distracting little circles into the side of your bottom lip as you repeat after him. A not of breathlessness in your voice. “Please- please eat my pussy Ran.”

His groan as he leans forward to kiss the spot he’d been rubbing has your heart rate increasing, the organ beating wildly at his words. “You don’t know how badly I need to taste you.” He drops to his knees, careful to work your feet out of your heels before he kisses the inside of one ankle and then your calf that he massages and then the inside of your knee and then the fat of your thighs until he’s propping that foot on the edge of the counter and then he does the same to the other. Showering them in kisses, massaging them until they’re jelly and then he’s easing your skirt over your thighs. Working it down to your ankles and discarding it next to him on the floor. He’s almost reverent. The way he treats your body, and it makes sense. Because it feels a lot like he’s worshipping you.

He takes a moment to take you in. The leotard is cut higher than he’d initially expected and he almost salivates as he watches you bring your legs back up to the counter, butterflying them open for him. An entire lip of your pussy has escaped the scrap of material that should be covering it. He can’t help himself when he leans forward to suck the poor flesh into his mouth. And the sound he makes when he finally gets your taste on his tongue makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. One hand wraps loosely around an ankle as he shuffles closer, his nose brushing into your cunt as he pulls back with a wet smack only to latch onto the ruined material between your thighs. His other hand rests in the juncture of your thigh, his thumb pulling apart your pussy. “Look how fucking pretty that is,” he whispers to himself, as strings of arousal stretch and snap each time he repeats the movement. “Fucking hell.”

You reach for his head, fingers sinking into his hair to tug him closer. “Fuck,” you whine. “Ran!” Your body bows when he pushes the material to the side and properly buries his tongue into your cunt. He fucks you with it like you imagine he’d fuck you with his cock. His head bobbing, nose bumping into your clit. He groans again at the rush of liquid that floods his mouth as you squirm.

Ran’s hands press your legs a little wider when he pulls back to spit on your cunt. He watches, eyes wide, lips parted and glistening with your arousal as the spit drips down to your entrance. He drops his head between your legs again just give your clit a soft kiss. He chuckles when you whine his name, your hold on him slackening when he dips the index of one finger into your cunt. Your body swallows him eagerly, your walls squeezing around the digit. He removes it to add another two to it, his brows furrowing as he watches the way your cunt struggles to take those three fingers. “Shit and you’re so fucking tight,” he groans.

You squeal when he stands, fingers still buried in your pussy, to kiss you. He swallows every little noise you make, every whine and gasp as he works your cunt open diligently. Maybe if you weren’t so distracted you might’ve questioned why he’d need to stretch you out this well. But you’re cumming with a soft keen of his name, shuddering in his arms as he fucks you through it. The sound your pussy makes when Ran finally pulls his fingers free makes you burn with embarrassment but the way he casually stuffs those fingers into his mouth, lids fluttering at your taste. He strips with one hand, dragging his silk shirt off and quickly undoing his belt buckle.

By the time his cock springs free you’ve wiggled your way out of the last piece of clothing and you’re dizzy with anticipation. Your first reaction is apprehension. Ran’s cock is thick and heavy, the weight enough to have it hanging between his thighs. He’s also a little longer than average with a fat mushroomed head. Your second reaction is desperation. Imagining the stretch of your pussy to accommodate his cock has you shuffling to the edge of the counter, eyes wide as you reach for his cock to rest it against your cunt.

“Shit,” Ran hisses when his cock makes contact with the slick lips of your pussy. He’s bucking his hips almost instinctively, one hand pressing his cock in place as he fucks your pussy lips steadily. And the picture Ran Haitani makes drunk on you before he’s even slid his cock inside you is enough to have your eyes watering. He’s beautiful. His hair in disarray, sticking to his forehead and standing askew from your hands, his lips swollen from your kisses, his skin flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and his eyes. Hooded and bright with an emotion you cannot identify.

You’re so distracted by him that you don’t register he’s shifted his cock down to your entrance until the head of his cock squeeze into your hole and you choke on a gasp. Ran kisses you then, a slow, deep affair that wipes your mind of any coherent thought. Your stomach flip flops when he pulls you closer to him, wrapping your legs around his body as he wraps his arms around you. The position is so intimate something pangs inside you. Every lap of Ran’s tongue coincides with an inch he’s fucked into you. You’re shaking when you feel his hips bump into your thighs and he’s still not stopped kissing you.

He fucks you there, in short strokes that rubs the head of his cock into your g spot. Kissing you until you can’t breathe and then barely giving you time to catch your breath as he proceeds to tell you about how good you feel. ‘Never felt a pussy like yours angel’, ‘’m never leaving you alone’, ‘’s my pussy now, the best pussy’, ‘tell me it’s mine, tell me it’s my pussy, please’. They’re a mix between a whine and a growl as he begs and grunts and threatens your life and the life of every other man you’ve fucked. It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever encountered and your body agrees. When your orgasm slams into you you have to drag your lips away from Ran to scream. A garbled mix of his name and thanks, as he fucks you through it, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering as he chases his own high.

You’re both weak in the knees by the time Ran pulls out of you. The silence isn’t awkward as you clean each other up. “So my pussy is your huh?” you say later as you’re waiting in the conference hall for Wakasa and the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” he answers without missing a beat, expression brightening when he catches your smile. “And I really will kill you if you try anything stupid.”

Your smile falls. “What?”

“A bullet right between your eyes,” he holds up finger guns aiming one between your brows. “Pop. Pop,” he chuckles. “I dare you to act dumb.”

You can only swallow around the mounting arousal in your gut because you think you’ve known him long enough to know when he’s bluffing. And based no the slightly crazed look in his eye as Wakasa enters the room you know this is not one of those times.

[teddyqd]

POV 👀

YAAAAY YIPPEEEE this got so long but have 1.2k of Sam yelling at a fandom teen <3

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

Mr Crowe’s eyes rove over the lake of fans with this unplaceable emotion in them. It’s almost like he’s not all here, seeing something other than a group of people desperate to hang off his every word. I raise my hand a little higher, waving my immaculately crafted, one-of-a-kind replica of the intricate Redshifter above my head in hopes that it’ll catch his attention. There’s a moment where it seems like he’s going to point to me, when instead he indicates yet another scruffy-haired guy in a graphic tee. It isn’t even official merch. But it’s fine. It’s alright. There’s still plenty of Q&A time left. I lower the flashing rifle back onto my lap and try to pay attention. They’re talking about something to do with his short story collection from a couple of years ago. It’s interesting, but hard to hear, what with the awful mic that keeps popping in and out, and the rushing of blood in my ears.

Mister Crowe. Thank you for your work. I have a question about what inspires you. Why do you write? I rehearse the question over and over, so much so that I nearly miss when the current speaker sits down and they call out for questions again. I stand up almost too fast, whacking my knee on the chair in front of me. The mum sitting there (clearly dragged here by her kid) glares at me venomously as I mouth an apology and grimace before looking back up towards Mr Crowe and the host. As I stare up, scared to blink, the question morphs in my mind. I can barely keep a hold on it for a second. Mister Crowe. Thanks for all you’ve done. I wanted to ask about your inspirations. Why do you write? Mister Crowe, your work saved my life, thank you. My question’s about why you write. What inspired you to start? Mister Crowe, sometimes it feels like your work was made to invite people in. It feels like you wrote it for me to make a home in. How? Why? Mister Crowe, do you feel as at home in the worlds you create as I do?

“You,” his weird accent draws the word into two syllables, “In the Redlight cosplay.” That could be anyone. I’ve seen, like, five Redlights today, “Nice Redshifter.” I’m the only one with the Redshifter, though. Given its complex design, most people opted for the sleeker (if canon inaccurate) Greenshifter. A shock runs down my spine as the mic is passed down the row. I’m sure I look like a deer in the headlights as it drops into my hands.

“Hi.” Oh, god, my voice is loud. What the fuck was my question? All I can think is that I’m talking to Carrion Crowe, and I’m making a fool of myself in front of Carrion Crowe, and Oh god is that what my voice sounds like?

“Hi.” He’s looking right at me. Well, no, he’s looking at the top of my head, but I think that’s about as close as he gets to looking someone in the eyes, “What’s your name?”

“S- Skye!” I blurt, trying to will my cheeks not to burst into flames, “I’m Skye. I- I, uh, named myself after your character. My, my question is… I wanted to ask, because… It just feels like… Sorry. I’ll start again.” His eyes flick to the clock on the wall of the shop, then back to me, then away to another cosplayer. I take a deep breath and force my anxiety down. Just for 20 seconds, then I can shake it all out. I can do that much, “The thing is, your stories feel really real. Even though, of course, they’re not. It’s just that they’re like another actual world. Somewhere where me and, I think, a lot of people have found a home. And I was just wondering… Why do you write like that? Or, maybe it’s better to ask how?“

That gets his attention. He stops fidgeting, stills entirely actually, and looks at me with an expression I can’t read. There’s a long silence, and I’m sure I’ve somehow put my foot in my mouth and I’ll have to excommunicate myself from the fandom before I’m cancelled for bringing a downer on the first Q&A that Mister Crowe’s done since he was a debut author. I’m already mentally drafting my grovelling apology post when he finally speaks.

“It’s funny you say it’s not real. It is. To me, at least.” His voice wavers in a way it hasn’t for the other questions he’s answered. Gone is the flat affect machine-gun essayist speaking about Ga’al reproduction, and in its place is a flighty, airy voice and focused eyes, “You and I live in, ah, different realities. Our experiences, the ways in which our realities are shaped, are different. And so are our perceptions. Even if you came into my head, saw through my eyes, we’d still be seeing different things. Take colours, for example. It is impossible for us to know, beyond reasonable doubt, that what you and I call ‘red’ is broadly the same.” He’s speeding up, now. He stabs a finger at the poster behind him, at that iconic tricolour streak that blasts from the engines of the Galaxyhopper, “Most of the time, that doesn’t really matter. Your red is my blue, but we both know what to call each colour to communicate what we mean, so to speak. But… Sometimes it slips. I’ll describe red as, god, I don’t know, the colour of joy. And you’ll say, what, no, that’s the colour of sadness! And that’s the gap we can’t cross. I can’t describe to you in any real way what my red looks like, not in a way that you’ll be able to map onto your red and see the differences.”

Someone next to me coughs, and I can hear murmuring from further back rows. The mum in front of me has looked up from her phone to stare at Mr Crowe. The mic is cold in my hands as he continues to ramble.

“It’s not a perfect metaphor, I’ll admit to that much. What I’m- What I’m trying to say is that these books are my world, my reality, my attempt to translate the untranslatable. To transmit it from my mind to everyone else’s, and you need to understand that I will never do it right, okay? It will never be what I see, and you all,” and he’s looking directly at me now, his eyes wide and wild and angry, “Will never truly understand. Does- Does that answer it? What was the fucking question again?”

All of a sudden, all of that energy leaves him, and he looks like a deflated balloon. It’s only when the person next to me gently nudges me that I realise I’m still holding the mic to my mouth. I manage to eke out a thank you before shoving the mic into someone else’s hands and picking my way out of the audience, towards the exit. My heart hammers in my chest, and my head is filled with fog. The words replay in my mind, the way he was so possessive in calling it his world, the venom in his words as he told me I’d never understand it, not really. Fuck. Never meet your fucking heroes.

[wheelercore]

Rosegate Masterpost

I talk way too much about this theory so I figured I might as well make a list of all the posts that I consider relevant and important so nobody has to slave through my blog for context. Turned out to be way too fucking LONG though. RIP to you I guess (please read about this theory please please please *gives you the biggest wettest saddest eyes*).

Really the only purpose of this post is to pin it.

Anyways. All the information is under cut:

Basic Summary: The basic premise is that the Wheelers are connected to the Creel home somehow. However since the similarities (as you will see in the post links that I am sharing below) seem to be with the objects that were in the Creel home before the Creels even moved into Hawkins in 1959 (eg. the grandfather clock, the wheelchair, the wedding dress, the rose wallpaper, etc etc) it seems that the Wheelers actually may be connected to the home in a way that may not be related to the Creels themselves at all. Now, every guy and their mother knows all the Karen theories out there so hey why not throw out a Ted theory ya know spice it up a bit.

This theory? The Creel home is Ted's childhood home- *gets boo-ed off the stage*.

This show is for Freaks and Weirdos so I'm 100% in the right for being a Freak and Weirdo who hyperfixates on this lol.

Now more seriously, not only are there the parallels to the Creel home, but also this theory surrounds an urn that has been sitting on the Wheeler mantle place since s1. This urn is decorated with pink flowers (could possibly be roses), which is not only a repeated design in the Creel home itself (the rose door being particularly important), but it also in the Wheeler home: the upstairs/ dining room wallpaper and the variety of other fake urns-vases around the Wheeler dining room that have rose designs on them. And yeah this could all be a coincidence, but the show all but confirms the urns significance when they intentionally switched it out with a different urn in the ST4 climax.

Other usage of rose symbolism can be found particularly surrounding female characters- and even more smaller in scope is the reoccurring motif of the Blonde Mother (tm) whom are also associated with roses *eyes The Urn again*. When looking at the similarities at how these female characters are dressed you start to notice that there are certain trends- pink/white/blue color scheme, certain hair styles, and jewelry. Which is why I believe that Rosemary's Baby may be a huge inspiration for this ("Rose" Robin aka her fake identity in Penthurst being my favorite because literally- Rose Wheeler Weaver). Given that Holly is a blonde to two brunette parents its not a stretch to believe that Ted had a blonde mother who's urn sits on that mantle place. There are multiple gags in s3 made about a "nana" who has cancer and I just think its veryyy interesting that one of the things that Victor pays particular close attention to in the attic is an old wheelchair. Anyways, think of this as a "haunting the narrative" sort of thing.

Also Rosemary's Baby is a classic horror movie literally about forced female conformity in the 20th century, so I find it really hard to believe that it would be left out of the show that is literally a period piece about conformity. So if you see me referring to "rosemary" or "rosemary wheeler" I'm talking about dead blonde nana in that urn.

Also The Shining is on the ST4 inspo board and I wrote a bit about how the Creel & Wheeler homes may have been inspired by the Overlook hotel. Not only that but The Shining possibly being a huge influence since S1 and all the stuff that comes with that including themes of abusive cycles in families and supernatural manipulation (detailed in the posts below).

This could also be related to by Mike seems to be able to sense El in the void despite not being supernatural as far as we know- especially since Nancy and Holly (I mean Holly is a bit weird too but imo not like Mike) are not shown to have a sense for the void like Mike. Mike and Ted are repeatedly paralleled throughout the show via clothing and scenes.

The crux of this theory is very metaphorical as a lot of it is about using visuals to portray generational cycles (hence Mike-Ted parallels which I don't really get into on here but its all over my blog just search up either character or mike-ted or whatever key word).

This summary is a bit of a mess and I'm pretty sure I've missed a lot but whatever. Please feel free to drop any questions in my inbox I'll be so happy to answer them.

It would not be fair if I don't give credit to @boysdontcryboycry as the co-founder of this theory because they do So Much and they're Great!!

Anyways here are the links:

Basically....

A humorous brief overview

Also Something Longer I Wrote

Rosegate General

The Urn Watch Post (TM) aka the Rosegate Bible (Post Credit Goes to User boysdontcryboycry)

More Wheeler Home-Creel Home Similarities 

Fake Urns with Roses on Them All Over the Wheeler Home

More Urn Shenanigans (aka T(urns) Outs the Mantle Urn Has Pink Flowers (Roses?)) on it! (Post Credit Goes to User boysdontcryboycry)

Mantle Urn Changing/Holly and Her lite brite/”Mothergate”

The Urn Intentionally Changed for the ST4 Climax 

Blonde Mothers Association With Roses

S4 thoughts surrounding female conformity (pink/white/blue color symbolism+roses etc): Part 1 

S4 thoughts surrounding female conformity (pink/white/blue color symbolism+roses etc): Part 2

Dustin Ringing The Wheeler Doorbell Scene in ST2 Possibly Referenced Three Times in ST4 (Steve + Jonathan + Victor- The Duffers confirmed they're returning to things left out of ST2 in ST5 so I just think this is very interesting plus Shaun Levy has said every scene has a purpose- read "PTSD" Pt.1 & 2 under Long Misc if interested)

Billy’s Mom/El Rose Symbolism

Possible Oedipus Reference

Virginia Reflections + Grandfather Clock in Creel Attic (Trailer)

Short Thoughts on Rose Symbolism in Creel Home Pt.1

Short Thoughts on Rose Symbolism in Creel Home Pt.2

El’s S1 Blonde Wig Confirmed to Have Belonged to Nana Wheeler? Lol Pt.1 (Post Credit Goes to User coldninjaruins-blog) Pt.1 

El’s S1 Blonde Wig Confirmed to Have Belonged to Nana Wheeler? Lol Pt.2

Shared Characteristics Amongst Some Female Characters (Clothing, Jewelry, Hairstyles) Pt.1

Shared Characteristics Amongst Some Female Characters (Clothing, Jewelry, Hairstyles) Pt.2 

Shared Characteristics Amongst Some Female Characters (Clothing, Jewelry, Hairstyles) Pt.3- Nancy/Karen Edition

Shared Characteristics Amongst Some Female Characters (Clothing, Jewelry, Hairstyles) Pt.4- Nancy/Karen Edition

Karen/Angela Clothing Parallels 

Victor = Spiders??

Rosemary’s Baby

Initial Rosemary’s Baby x ST Thoughts 

Karen/Nancy/Terry/Rosemary All in Blue Nightgowns

Possible Steve/Guy Woodhouse Parallel

Rosemary’s Baby Pink+White Outfits 

Grid Symbolism in Rosemary’s Baby

Long post on Rose Symbolism (plus others) in Rosemary’s Baby and ST

Thoughts on Nuclear Family Dynamics in ST and Parallels to Rosemary’s Baby 

Pendulum Clock and Other Time Symbolism in Rosemary’s Baby

Rosemary’s Baby and Stranger Things Clock Symbolism

“Aren’t You His Mother?”

Gingham/Roses imagery?

Mr Castevet’s Speech

The Shining

Holly- Henry “Explorers” Parallel Possibly Being a Reference to The Shining

The Shining Visual Parallels (Karen = The Woman in the Bathtub? Jack Torrance = Victor?)

Will Byers/Danny Torrance Parallel?

The Shining and KarenTed

More Karen/The Woman in the Bathtub 

If you are also interested I suggest you read Rob Agers analysis of The Shining because its very fascinating and goes into mirror symbolism, bathroom symbolism, and intentional production "errors" and how this all intersects with denial that is also utilized in ST. Warning for discussion of CSA, sexual abuse, and physical abuse. You will find that it is pretty enlightening, even if you don't subscribe to a lot of it.

Long Misc (rosegate related thoughts pre rosegate itself)

“Bad” Blonde Mothers Reoccuring in The Show

TODFTHR (Post Credit Goes to User stranger-chichka)

PTSD Parallels Pt.1

PTSD Parallels Pt. 2

Updates

*Some of this stuff may be repetitive, I'm just collecting posts*

The Curious Case of The Dead Wheeler Granny

Are the ages in TFS weird age fuckery or just canon inconsistencies/retcons? (link to @/aemiron-main's blog because for some reason this iteration of the post wont link to mine -.-)

Alice Creel Haunting Funerals

Oedipus the King in ST

Henry and Jason's Monologues: Are They Mirrors of One Another?

Some S4 Rosemary Coding Thoughts

The Talisman

Wheeler Family and "normalcy"

Rose Connie

Mike, Victor, Fred, and Ted: weird murder/killing & PTSD subtext

The Changeling/Rosemary's Baby/The Devils Advocate/The Omen: Anti-christ media

Short Misc (random small thoughts/shitposts etc etc, may not have context to them but I think they're neat)

x

x

x

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x

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In short:

[everygame]

Pac-Land (Famicom)

Developed/Published by: Namco Released: 21/09/1985 Completed: 17/11/2023 Completion: Beat all five levels before it looped. Version Played: Namco Museum Archives Vol. 2 Trophies / Achievements: n/a 

Whelp, I accidentally put this in my spreadsheet as being released in November 198*6* instead of 1985, where it makes a lot more sense. But here’s what I’ll say, immediately: I wish it hadn’t been released until 1986!

Pac-Land is one of the earliest games I remember playing in the arcades, indeed I have memories of playing it in an arcade in Candleriggs Market which hasn’t existed since… the mid-90s? and I remember it being one of my absolute favourites before I graduated to things like Contra. It’s not really hard to see why. It’s colourful, full of character, and easily understandable by a bairn as probably [“probably? Great research”--Ed.] the earliest side-scrolling character action game, coming out a hair ahead of the hella seminal Kung-Fu Master. And it is, in turn, just as seminal, transparently influencing Super Mario Bros.--though it’s extremely amusing to note that Toru Iwatani claims that Shigeru Miyamoto told him the game had a “profound” influence on it, and Miyamoto himself sniffily claims that the only direct influence was choosing a blue background instead of a black one. Pull the other one, Shiggy!

It’s possible that this gave Namco a bit of a complex about Pac-Land, because Nintendo brought out Super Mario Bros. and by all accounts it was immediately a massive hit, and desperate to not fall behind as, after all, they bloody invented the thing, they shoved a Famicom port out of the door as quickly as possible. 

Released, as far as the dates I have here claim, just over two months after Super Mario Bros. hit on Famicom, I would fully believe that they didn’t start development on it until they saw what a hit Super Mario Bros. was, because this is absolutely dire. In fact, I think it might be one of the worst ports of a game I’ve ever, ever played. It is shite on every level.

For one, just look at the screenshot, and compare to what the arcade original looked like. Sure, you can claim that it’s too early in the Famicom/NES life-cycle for people to have got nice big sprites working while also scrolling smoothly, but the background art doesn’t even look finished (and on the Namco Museum Archives Vol. 2 version, you can see multiple bits of glitchy art if you are paying attention). The game literally just cuts seemingly in the middle of a level to get to the arcade game’s “break time” interstitials, which don’t have any of the fairy animations in them at all!

Here’s the most insane thing about it though. It’s so insane I doubt you’ll actually believe me. This came out after Super Mario Bros., and… you use the A and B buttons to move left and right and the d-pad to jump. You know, the directional pad. You use it to… jump.

What? Oh, and there’s a hidden-unless-you-remember-this-from-the-arcade run that you perform by double-tapping. I only worked this out after getting to the second level and wasting loads of time trying to do lots of precise platforming between platforms where you bump your head constantly (a bugbear) and thought it might be unfinishable.

It may as well be, really. There’s only five levels, and insultingly the level design isn’t anything like the arcade original at any point like it’s a port made for the ZX Spectrum where all they had to go on was a bunch of black-and-white faxes of polaroids taken of the game off-screen with the flash on. The first level doesn’t even feature the cars (though according to The Cutting Room Floor, they’re in there) and as the game goes on you can sense Namco panicking that people will finish it in about 20 minutes so they, I guess, innovate again by making you perform some kaizo mario-esque nonsense where you have to ride one enemy to survive a long pit and then, at the very end of the game (spoiler) you have to wait for the clock to run down, and time bouncing off the enemy that is sent to kill you to get across the last chasm!

It’d be a clever idea if the game was a) about that sort of thing and for an audience who were used to the tropes and b) not totally shite.

Will I ever play it again? I’m angered that I’ve ever played it. I look forward to playing the arcade version again one day, though.

Final Thought: I checked, and the ZX Spectrum version is sadly flick-screen rather than scrolling, though it’s probably still better than this. The Amstrad version doesn’t scroll either, but the bastarding C64 does? Boo!

Support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi! You can pick up a digital copy of exp. 2600, a zine featuring all-exclusive writing at my shop, or join as a supporter at just $1 a month and get articles like this a week early.

[runninguplenorahills]

Your tags were clear, no worries. I pointed out how much thought goes into the costumes to specifically highlight that the designers have more in mind than simply popular 80s fashion. And the aspect, as shown in the video, that goes against your point is the fact that costume pieces are not chosen merely because the designers want to reuse an item for the sole purpose of it going with a certain aesthetic. There is more thought going into this, ranging from imagining where and why a character got a piece to replicating themes from earlier seasons.

The shiny hair barrette does work for the purpose of dressing Nancy more adult while still keeping the pastels that were featured in a lot of prior costume designs, but they could’ve chosen literally any other girly, vintage hair clip to achieve the goal of just grounding her personality. Instead, they chose a clip that’s worn by another character in an earlier season, and for lack of a logical explanation as to why they didn’t just use a different clip, using the same clip is a deliberate choice. Especially because Nancy actually does wear a different, girly hair barrette in a later episode.

Equating perceptibility by most to significance of choice is a faulty notion. You’ll be surprised how little most viewers pay attention to detail and how fast they forget most of the show right after watching it. But just because most people don’t pay attention doesn’t mean that there’s nothing to pay attention to.

For example, there are several low quality shots of Mike’s rainbow colored bedroom blinds, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it kinda thing but turns out they’re actually an E.T. reference (and probably more than that); For season 2 they had a custom cover made for the book Karen is reading in the bathtub so the male lead would visually represent Billy; Jonathan has a poster in his room from the movie “the evil dead”, the plot of which includes a girl hearing the clock chime and a voice telling her to “join us”; etc.

And then there’s also the fact that Will’s season 5 jacket has the exact same colors as one of the shirts he wore in season 3, Mike is now repeatedly seen in that bright teal color which Ted is also seen in, Nancy wears a dress in a s5 bts shot that’s incredibly similar to the pink dress El wore in s1 (which was also Nancy’s), and how can we forget the time El wore the same exact clothes Mike wore just one episode ago when he shoved her in his closet?

“Most of the public” didn’t notice any of these details, and I can guarantee you that “most of the public” did not realize that the triangles on Robin’s shirt are of any significance whatsoever, either. Speaking of Robin though, did you know that her red sneakers in season 3 have a drawing of a female body on them to hint at her being a lesbian? And she wore those before her coming out/before it was confirmed she’s a lesbian. Queer coding is a method of communicating that someone is queer without having to say it, sometimes even because you can’t say it. Arguing that a subtle detail that queer codes a character is the only valid queer coding for the reason that said character has already been explicitly discussed to be queer ignores why queer coding is even a thing in the first place.

I’m very aware that rainbows weren’t associated with being queer in the 80s like they are today, but while Stranger Things may be set in the 80s, it’s a show from the 21st century, watched by people with the influences and context of today. So if framing the character in close proximity to rainbow colored items is how today’s people understand that said character is queer then it doesn’t matter that 40 years ago it wouldn’t have, because the intended recipient of the message that “this character is queer” is us.

I don’t think anyone’s trying to argue that the hair clip isn’t used for Nancy’s sake at all (at least I don’t) but there’s nothing that speaks against the clip grounding Nancy’s personality as well as being a callback to s2 to convey a deeper message.

Why did they give Nancy the exact same hair clip????

What was the reason

[call-me-aesthetic]

If Twisted Wonderland was an American Public School; Part 2

Part 1 can be found here

School Staff

Dire Crowley:

- The principal with them LOUD footsteps that you can hear through the hallways, especially during a test

- Lowkey got a fatty, that dump truck be bouncing whenever he walks 😳

- Has his walkie-talkie in hand and turned on 24/7 to get ready to report on some kids

- If you hear keys jiggling, you know damn well he’s coming straight towards your ass for not being in class

- Wears a dress shirt and blazer that makes him look like a mess with coffee stained pants

Divus Crewel:

- The teacher that everyone thinks is hot, both students and the staff

- Looks hella young for his age but tells himself out loud that he’s old, which worries a lot of people

- Talks about his weekend during a lesson, the students don’t care enough to listen lmao

- Allows you to turn late work in, one of the many reasons why people love him

- Wears a polo shirt that isn’t buttoned up and them air tight khakis to show off that cake 🥵

Mozus Trein:

- The old ass teacher that hates kids but refuses to quit their job 😤

- Always sus of you no matter what you’re doing, even if it’s homework or a class project

- “Sorry I can’t accept this, you know it was supposed to be due yesterday.”

- Has the coldest room in the entire school since the AC is broken so he’ll remind you to brink a jacket

- Wears white T-shirts and a long ass cardigan with a tiny flip phone as an accessory, Karen looking ass

Ashton Vargas:

- Creepy gym teacher who hits on the popular kids, sorry about that people 🤢

- “You can’t participate because you have asthma? Well I’m gonna have to see your doctor’s note.”

- Would most definitely have a beer belly, like why don’t you run bitch?

- Probably has a crush on the principal, you always see them talk before and after school

- Wears hoodies or tank tops that are soaked in his sweat and baggy joggers

Sam:

- The chill substitute teacher who puts on a movie for y’all to watch 😌

- Doesn’t really give our work unless you start to get all noisy and rowdy with each other

- If he had other jobs like being a lunch lady, the food he serves would be garbage except for the square pizzas and chicken nuggets

- As the janitor tho, he’s either good at cleaning or the complete opposite, it really depends on his mood

- Wears jumpsuits based on which job he’s working, switches outfits pretty fast too

Ramshackle

Yuu:

- Both the school’s nurse and guidance counselor who doesn’t know what they’re doing or why they’re here in the first place

- Whenever you visit the office, they’re always on their lunch break or tells you that they’re busy

- “You have a bloody nose? Let me get you an ice pack for that.”

- Re-evaluates their career choices, literally got a degree to only sit around and do nothing all day 😭

- Wears clothes that make them look professional and a child at the same time

Grim:

- The class clown who tries to be funny 🤡

- Jokes around too much to the point where he doesn’t bother paying attention to class

- Asks for your notes and never giving it back to you unless you threaten to beat him up

- Cheats off of you during a test, doesn’t care if your answers are right or wrong, he just needs to put something down before the time runs out

- I’m not going to even bother writing what he’s gonna wear, he’s a literal cat my dudes

Rival School RSA

Chenya:

- Rich Boy that’s decked in designer’s clothes, makes you wonder if they’re fake or not

- Doesn’t really brag about it, just wears them because they comfy and looks good on him

- Despite him wears designer’s, he wears the “trash” brands for clout ig 🙄🤚

- Mans is out here walking around looking like an off brand version of 6ix9ine, sorry not sorry

- “Gucci flip flops, fuck it, hit your bitch in my socks. This a big watch, diamonds drippin off of the clock.”

Neige LeBlanche:

- Rich Girl, I swear there’s a difference between the other one just hear me out 😩

- The thing is that he actually brags about his expenses, either purposely or unintentionally but it really depends on who he’s talking to

- He probably has enough money to replace anything he broke, you know this since he gets the latest iPhone every year

- Watched movies like Mean Girls, Heathers, or Clueless and ultimately wanted to be like every character, you could definitely tell lol

- Wears “good” designers like Channel with a matching handbag and perfume

Thank you such much for your love and support! Especially @i-exist2spite-god, @leonakingscholarship, and @twstsimp for their funny suggestions I used in this.

I honestly didn’t expect the first one to blow up so quickly but if you want more similar to this, I might just rearrange that, ahaha.

[baya-ni]

The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

~

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy​ finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

[dracosaurusrex]

Kintsugi: Imperfectly Perfect (Draco x Reader)

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.”

- Tiffany Ayuda

Summary:In which Y/N teaches a broken Draco Malfoy how to mend himself and embrace the scars that haunt him.

Wordcount: 10.3k

Genre: Angst/Fluff; Postwar AU

Warnings: Descriptions of depression; self-degredation; sexual themes but no smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing a postwar AU. I was always afraid of doing so out of fear that I would mistakenly portray Draco, but I guess this can be a rite of passage in a way aha. With that being said, here’s my attempt! I hope you like it :D Feedback is very much appreciated!!

The sound of an alarm clock breaks the peace that had manifested within the darkness of the room. One eye creaks open, followed by the other, and a body raises itself to greet the day. 

The boy lifts his sheets gently, allowing the cold air to engulf his skin, to wake him, to pull him into the reality of yet another morning. 

The pads of his feet are the next to awaken as he hoists himself out of bed, meeting the frigid floor beneath him. He plods across the expanse of space, only to take notice of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco Malfoy, once boisterous, prideful, loud, and arrogant, had been reduced to a shell. One that lived by drifting through the motions of each passing day. It showed through the dark circles apparent under his eyes, the frown that resided on his lips, and his overall gaunt appearance. The thrill that was once characteristic of his youth had spilled through his cracks, leaving him empty and seemingly unrepairable; and no other perspective of his experience could convince him otherwise. 

The second wizarding war took too much from him so early on. It started with his father, the man he had ardently looked up to, who he desired so much to please. Lucius’s arrest put the young boy on the forefront of the Death Eaters’ activities, placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders. From that point on, it wasn’t long until the mischievous smile left him, only to be replaced with panicked eyes, increased stress levels, and absolutely no peace of mind. The boy had his entire life on a tightrope, constantly pulling strings to survive.

The result of such was the immense realization of guilt pooling from the sights of Hogwarts in shambles, the lifeless bodies of those he was once acquainted with, and the shame of literally walking away from it all. 

Nightmares were also frequent visitors. Besides those that embodied remnants of the war, Draco was almost always confronted by the tauntings of his wrongs: the way he poorly treated others, his stuck-up sense of superiority, the foul slur that he once used so freely--they all haunted him with no end, and all he wanted to do was take everything back. The boy has so often degraded his character since then, describing himself with words such as ‘worthless’, ‘loathsome’, ‘putrid’--the list goes on. He carried his beating heart as though it was dead weight, wanting so desperately to discard the regret that compounded on itself through the years. He was broken, and had no hope of being fixed. 

It was also needless to say that the family dynamic had changed for the Malfoy’s; especially since they often stayed within the confines of the property. Narcissa had been diligent in eradicating the place of all things that harbored any signs of Voldemort’s occupation--opening curtains, tending to her garden, changing up the plans for the interior design. Lucius, on the other hand, often occupied himself in his study, simply abiding by the plans for change that his wife had made. He still invested in his social connections, actively making donations to charities and hospitals that had been established as a result of the war. The act helped shed some light on their image, however any interaction that was to be made with the world outside was done through Draco as representative of the family name.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his mind silent in the mornings. As he walked through the vast hallways he would take note of the way light had poured into the manor, admiring the charm that it brought to its nooks and crannies. The quaint atmosphere that was characteristic of these corridors were peaceful, and managed to calm his thoughts albeit temporarily. 

As soon as he entered the dining room, Narcissa beckoned him to sit with her and his father. 

“Draco, darling, come have some breakfast.” Without much response, he obeys, taking the spot across from her. She placed his favorites on a platter, and observed him as he nibbled on the food in front of him. After several minutes of silence, she pulled an ivory-colored envelope from the pocket of her robe and slid it to him. With food still mounted on his utensils, the boy glanced at the gold details that embellished its corners.

“We’ve been invited to an art gala hosted by the Ministry. The details are inside.” She said.

“I’ll be sure to be in attendance, mother.” He confirmed before resuming his breakfast. The woman casted a worried look at him before turning to Lucius. Things could never go back to the way they once were.

--

The art gala was held on a Saturday evening, and Draco found himself standing in front of a finely decorated building. An air of aristocracy and luxury loomed within the environment--it was an energy that he had been surrounded by all his life. Large columns aligned its front. A red carpet stemming from the entrance had been rolled out, sweeping along a flight of stairs. Familiar faces of esteemed socialites were seen making their way up the steps. Banners had been hung, indicating the gala and a live auction as highlights of the day’s events. 

His only job was to engage in civilized conversation, connect with other high-standing figures, and expand the family network. Simply put, he was there to look pretty.

The feeling of dread overcame him at the thought of immersing himself in socialization. With a begrudging sigh, he straightened his back, briefly smoothened out his suit, and adjusted his cufflinks before trudging up the stairs. Eyes tracked his every step. Despite his emotional wellbeing, the boy still managed to clean up well, creating a facade to those around him. He didn’t bask in the glory, though. He knew he was handsome, he knew he was wealthy, but looks and money were no longer sufficient enough to help him tend to the emptiness he felt on the inside.

The gala itself didn’t begin until 6:00 PM, which was in an hour. Therefore, in hopes to kill time, Draco aimlessly walked through the art displayed for the auction to be held later that night. He carefully observed the numerous crafts with great scrutiny. Paintings were created with much detail--many of them embodying styles from the varying art periods. Sculptures paying great detail to the human body littered the main floor. Hand-crafted furniture were set on display as well, showcasing elaborate ornaments and designs. Mother would like these. He thought. He continued plodding across the exhibit, typically stopping for a mere minute for every submission before walking away. 

It was when he took sight of a humble set of ceramics that he actually stopped to stare. The collection consisted of bowls and pots ranging from small to medium sizes. However, what caught his attention were the traces of gold that coursed through their shapes. They took the form of cracks, which looked too beautiful, too flawless to be such--he couldn’t comprehend them ever being broken at all.

“Do you like them?” A light voice startles him from his thoughts. Standing next to him is a bright-eyed girl whose face he vaguely remembers.

“Y/N Y/L/N? What are you doing here?” He dismisses her question and looks at her with disbelief laced through his voice. The girl was in Ravenclaw when they were still in Hogwarts. Due to the difference in houses and friend groups, there was rarely any interaction between them. Nevertheless, he’s heard countless praises for her artistic talent even as a student, therefore reserved a tinge of respect for her reputation.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s been such a long time!” She beams at him. A breathy laugh escapes him as a polite smile settles on his lips.

“Definitely has been. Were you eyeing this set as well?” He glanced back at the ceramics, contemplating on bidding for them in the auction. The sight of them evoked a warm, admirable energy within him, as though they called for his presence.

“Heavens, no. I actually made them.” Y/N took notice of the way he glanced at them, and shyly rubbed the back of her neck. The boy turned to her with eyes widened in awe of her brilliance—the smile of politeness immediately transitioning to one of sincerity.

“You made these? They’re beautiful!” The comment brought heat to her cheeks. 

“Draco, please. You flatter me so.” 

“I’ll be taking these home without a doubt.” He reassures her. In the moment that he says so, he immediately takes notice of her appearance. Her hair was slicked into a low bun. Her makeup gave her a pleasant dewy look. Gold accessories accentuates her deep emerald evening gown, which only emphasizes her curves as it flows down her body. He couldn’t recall her ever being attractive when they were students—she had always been clad in blue. But, tonight proved that green was definitely her color.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He complimented as his eyes glossed over her. She bit her lip in response to the butterflies that formed in her stomach.

“You always had a way with words didn’t you, Malfoy?” The melodic laugh that she produced, in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat.

“I admit I was a prat, but I’m not joking around this time.” The girl let out another giggle before placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think you look rather dashing yourself. Unfortunately, though, I have to get going. I’ll see you around?” 

“It would be my pleasure.” Draco watches Y/N’s figure as she walks away. Before she goes any further, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Good luck with the auction!” 

With a small wave and smile, the boy is left in a lighter state.

The gala came and went with Draco thoroughly exhausted from the copious amounts of socialization. Questions regarding connections to his father were asked, business cards were exchanged, and flattery and compliment was a common occurrence amongst these interactions. Nevertheless, the boy’s energy especially drained from the intensity of the auction that occurred towards the end of the night. All the art pieces were valuable and beautiful, however it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t the only one drawn to Y/N’s work. Competition for the highest bid was at an all-time high as number paddles were desperately raised for every price announced. His heart clambered in his chest as the thought of keeping the ceramics seemingly slipped from his grasp. 

“Highest bid for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any takers?” The auctioneer announces. Draco waits for a second to see that no one has raised their paddles. Within the next, he lifts his own confidently. 

“We have a bidder for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any more bidders? No?” At this point, adrenaline coursed through his veins, beads of sweat had formed and fell, and the grip on his paddle tightened, leaving marks on his hand.

The auctioneer proceeds to announce the final countdown, “Final bid for 80,000 galleons! 1, 2, 3, sold to Draco Malfoy!” Relief overcame him while congratulatory praises were given by those nearby. He catches Y/N’s gaze from afar, and throws her a wink, signifying the resolution for the chaotic night.

--

As attendees began to file out of the building, the boy waited in the hall to collect his reward, filling out the form that confirmed the amount he had to pay. With his attention drawn to the slip, he fails to notice Y/N’s presence beside him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes widening at the amount before looking away to suppress the smile that threatens to form on her lips. She never really gave much monetary value to her art before; each one was produced as a product of passion and love. However, the expression that it first brought to Draco’s face, in addition to the amount of effort he put in to attain them, reassures that her work will be well taken care of. She momentarily stares at his broad shoulders before gaining the courage to speak.

“Congratulations!” She says, startling him once again. He takes a second to collect his breath before looking up at her.

“Do you plan on giving me a heart attack, Y/L/N, or is it in your nature to be overly enthusiastic?” The shameless smirk she has on her face, prompts him to release a chuckle. He stands up straight as soon as he signs the piece of paper, engaging his line of vision with hers.

“The way you respond is not my fault, Malfoy.” She answers, playfully shoving her index finger towards his shoulder. He grabs her wrist, and the warmth from his hands, accompanied by the flirtatious gleam in his eyes, prompts her to cast the same expression. She shoots him a coy smile before he releases her from his grasp.

“Would you like to accompany me to the front?” He asks.

“That’d be lovely.” The pair approaches the stage where the volunteers greet them both. They present his items upon confirmation, and proceed to wrap each bowl individually. He lifts one of the unwrapped pieces to his eyes, examining the gold details.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?” He asks, impressed by her craftsmanship.

“It’s a technique called ‘kintsugi’. I learned it while living in Japan for a while after the war,” She says, reaching her hand out for it. He gives it to her.

“You know, these pieces were never supposed to be auctioned off in this gala,” She explains as she delicately traces the lines, “They were so damaged. You can even consider them to be broken beyond repair,” Draco observes as she lifts it to her eye level.

“But obviously, when pieced back together—with all their cracks emphasized by the gold—they have much more value and beauty,” Y/N gives it back to Draco, and he takes it gingerly.

“However, It took a long time for it to come out that way. When you examine the piece before its repair, the first thought in mind would be to discard it. After all, why would anyone bother mending a broken bowl?” She meets his eyes once again.

“These cracks would typically be considered flaws, but at the end of the process the piece is still whole—I’m still whole. They mean a lot to me, and helped me heal from the war and all.” Her line of sight drifts towards the end of her statement, yet the boy catches himself appalled by the passion in her voice. He didn’t expect her to speak so openly, yet the words that flowed from her mouth touch him in a way he can’t comprehend. For once he feels a glimmer of hope budding within. For once, inspiration meets him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling she effortlessly provided. 

“I’ll make sure to take great care of them.” He says with much sincerity.

He places the piece back onto the table, and turns back to Y/N to see a sweet smile on her lips.

“I have faith you will.” A knowing look is shared between them--one that makes both hearts flutter in longing to see each other again.

“Do you think we can keep in contact? If it’s alright with you that is. I’d like to become more familiar with this art technique.”

“The Slytherin prince wants to keep in contact with me? Consider me wooed.” Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles at the old title. Before he could respond, she speaks again with more seriousness, “I don’t usually accept visitors in my studio, but I’ll make an exception for you. You can come by sometime, if you’d like.” 

A genuine smile appears on his lips for the second time that night. Out of all the individuals he exchanged contacts with, she by far had been his favorite. He ensured to send her an owl to confirm their meeting, hoping to do so some time next week. 

As they part, she turns back one more time, and calls out to him, “Draco,” The sound of his name perks his head upward

“You should smile more. It’s a lovely sight.” Before he could see her face erupt in a blush, she apparates away. With his new belongings in hand and an obvious grin, he too returns to the manor, feeling elated for the first time in a long while.

--

It was nine o’clock by the time Draco apparated home. Narcissa immediately took notice of his change in aura much to her relief.

“How was the gala, dear?” She asks.

“Quite pleasant this time around, if I’m being honest. I won these at an auction.” Draco stated as he props the box on top of a table. His mother approaches him, attention drawn to the objects when he reveals the contents inside.

She gasps, “Oh my stars, they’re beautiful.”

She picks one up delicately. The expression she had on her face was very much identical to the one he sported when he came across them the first time.

“I knew you’d like them. The artist was a fellow classmate of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Who is it? I would like to see more from this artist.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Quite brilliant she is.” Mother’s instinct told Narcissa that this girl had her son taken aback. She saw it through the pleasant expression that graced his facial features, which contrasted greatly to the gloomy air that usually accompanied him. Furthermore, there was a decadent tone in his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile present when her name rolled off his tongue. She decided to probe a little bit more.

“House?”

“Ravenclaw.” He responds.

“Very fitting. The craftsmanship in her work is amazing,” The woman’s eyes marveled at the gold.

“How is she?” She asks. The question catches the boy off guard.

“Pardon?”

“How is she doing? Has she been okay since the war?”

“We didn’t touch upon it too much. Although, she mentioned that creating these has helped her heal.” 

“You mean to say that these were broken at one point?” 

“Precisely. She mended them.” At this point, Narcissa was quite taken by the girl as well. 

“You should invite her over one of these days. I’d love to have a cup of tea with her.” Draco quirked a brow at her.

“You’re not going to ask about her blood status?” 

“I would’ve known she was a pureblood from her last name, but times are changing aren’t they not?” Narcissa flashes a tightlipped smile towards her son, to which he responds with a nod of understanding.

“I’ll be going up then. You can keep that one mother. You seem to take a liking to it.” Draco turns on his heel at the end of his statement, carrying the box of ceramic goods under his arm. He wouldn’t acknowledge that times are changing. However, tonight has been the only instance he had felt his life shifting  —from the way he reunited with Y/N, to the way his mother spoke. It was a step forward to redemption, and he felt a little more willing to see where it would go.

The boy sat on his bed, deep in thought. With moonlight shining upon him, he delicately traced the golden lines that streaked the small bowl in his hands. Then with much hesitation, he rolled up his left sleeve and began tracing the blaring curves of the mark that stained his porcelain skin. Its presence resembled shackles that have been chained to his ankles, and the weight of the memories caused him to grimace. However the budding warmth that had seeped within him soothed the negative sensations. Heart palpitations of regret transformed into those of hope. Furthermore, recollection of the girl’s words rang through his mind. It led him to wonder if piecing himself into something better would ever be a viable reality—a dream so tempting to pursue that he brought himself to his desk to start a letter addressed to her.

--

Y/N awoke to a tapping noise on her window. With heavy-lidded eyes, she peeks through her curtains only to be met by an eagle owl. Its wide orbs stared directly at her, and attached to its beak was an envelope. She recalled the conversation she had with a certain platinum-haired boy from the night before, and immediately jolted upward, pushing the window open to let the animal in.

“Do you belong to Draco, love?” It perches itself on her shoulder, and drops the envelope into her hands. A wax seal presents itself with an ‘M’, confirming her inquiry. She opens it with much carefulness, and pulls out the letter inside.

Y/L/N,

How does this Thursday sound? 5:00?

DM

The girl chuckled at how straight-to-the-point he was, while her mind flitted back to their school days. She had always felt neutral about him. In contrast to popular belief, she didn’t think he was quite bad. Despite the harshness behind his actions, his eyes always maintained an undertone of fear. Upon the revelation that the boy was indeed a death eater, the title itself wasn’t what stirred her. Rather, it was the incomprehensible experience that she could merely picture him going through. She was there when he crossed sides. She was no stranger to the distraught look on his face--fear had overtaken him even in that moment. He might’ve been flawed, but it wasn’t without reason.

A cry from the owl broke her out of thought. “Impatient are we?” It blinked in response. Not wanting to keep the bird waiting any longer, she pulls out a piece of parchment and begins to write a response to the letter. 

Y/N inserted the parchment into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the owl only after she gave it a treat. As she watched it take flight from her window sill, she contemplated more on the boy. ‘Kintsugi’ the art of broken pieces and precious scars. As thoughts of him lingered, she began to wonder if how he fared ever since the war had drawn to its close. Before she knew it, she carried along with her work, totally occupied with the image of him in mind.

--

Draco’s heart beat like a drum when he skimmed through the contents of Y/N’s response. The feeling of nervous excitement erupted within his stomach up until the moment he stood on her doorstep. Besides the instances in which he’d gone out for his parents, it had been a long while since he stepped foot outside for himself. He took sight of the sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, the small plants that were scattered on her porch, and the movement of the curtain as wind blew through her open window. 

Mere seconds of waiting were filled with more self-doubt as he tugged on his left sleeve, clenching his forearm soon after. Not much could be guaranteed from this meeting. For all he knew, this might’ve been a one a time thing. However, such thoughts were casted aside once he was greeted with Y/N’s glowing smile.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you!” She stepped aside to let him in, “Please come in.”

The boy greets her, and looks around her small space. He indulges in the glimpse of her expressive decor--somehow they represented the life that she had built and created for herself over time. 

“Darling, your jaw is going to fall off,” she chuckled, “Come, the studio is in the back.” The girl gestures at him to follow her, and is met with a small building stationed behind the main house. The image of shelves fills his view upon entering. On them were stacks of cracked ceramic—some in large pieces, others in small. Towards the far corner of the room was a pottery wheel, and opposite from it was a small gas kiln. In the middle was a table space with various tools, brushes, lacquer, and gold. The room was as neat as it could be, much to Draco’s surprise.

“This is me.” Y/N turns around with her arms spread out. She then proceeds to pull a stool out for the boy and urges him to sit. He does so, and she stands in close proximity to him, leaning on the table for support.

“I was actually working on a piece before you came.” The girl points to her current project—a vase whose cracks have already been bound.

“What’s the process like?” He asks

“It’s much longer than you think. I learned how to do it the traditional way in Japan, and I haven’t deviated from it ever since.” The boy quirks a brow.

“You mean to say that there are faster methods?”

“There are, however it’s the process I appreciate the most I suppose. Mending takes time after all.” Y/N, who had been looking down at her feet, glances up at him to see his brows furrowed inwardly. 

“Don’t you get impatient?” She nods in reminiscence.

“I used to in the past, but all things worth anything take time, right?” They stare at each other for a moment. Draco, who has longed for the feeling of redemption, looked into the pure intent within her eyes. The silence prompts her to slip a small smile at him. 

“How about you, Draco Malfoy? How have you been?” There it was: The question that he could never answer (not truthfully anyway). Despite being in the center of all his thoughts, he hadn’t developed the courage to face them properly. He was stuck in a routine of living that provided a false sense of security. However, the present brought him to the realization that he had never been secure--not with himself.

“Not as good as what people see at face value.” He said simply.

“I never would’ve thought. Although, I suppose it just shows that we can never truly judge others, huh?”

“Yes, definitely.” He allowed his view on her to linger before speaking again.

“I actually wanted to see the way you worked.” It was her turn to quirk a brow at him.

“And why’s that?”

“To see the mending process.” Y/N remained silent as she analyzed the longing look in his eyes. His silvery orbs conveyed volumes of a history that was left unspoken. 

He continued, “I want to believe that broken things can be mended.” The determination in his eyes reminded her of why she began learning kintsugi in the first place. Behind the determination was hope that longed to be born to fruition. 

“I have one condition,” she said. His eyebrows arched in response.

“You can watch me, but you have to do some mending yourself.” She stepped away at the end of her statement and reached for something on her shelves. When she came back, she grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed a small bowl in his palm. It was a simple piece--still intact--taking on a warm, grey sheen. He looked at her with confusion, only to be met with seriousness. 

“Kintsugi begins when something breaks, and it focuses more on the beauty of the process rather than the outcome. That being said, it requires a lot of patience and acceptance.”

“I’m not an artist, Y/N. It won’t be perfect.” The girl takes hold of his other hand, and cups it within hers firmly. 

“It doesn’t have to be, Draco. The process belongs to you. You just have to trust yourself.” She said earnestly with her grip on him tightening. The warmth from her hands emanated through his skin and into his chest. She stood so close now, her head tilted upward to meet the uncertainty on his face. It made him feel vulnerable, but he stared back into her eyes with much resolve. It was an answer as it is.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile and stepped away from him.

“I want you to drop that bowl. You don’t have to smash it, just let it fall.” Draco shifted his glance and looked at the bowl hesitantly. After a couple of seconds, he releases his hold, and allows the piece to slip from his fingers. His eyes were trained on it as it fell through the air, meeting its fate with a shattering sound. The bowl that was once intact was now in pieces on the floor, eliciting a familiar ache within him. It had split into five--a large one, one medium, and three more that were much smaller that comprised the object's rim.

As he bent down to pick up the pieces, a new wave of ambition overcame him. Each chip was picked up with much mindfulness, with responsibility, with purpose. When he stood up again, he began to perceive them as a reflection of himself, and gently placed them on the workbench.

Y/N, who witnessed the entire scene, smiled when Draco turned to face her. Her lips were pulled up gently, sweetly, and it evoked rosy feelings inside him. The boy eyed her as she went back to the shelf.

“How do you feel?” She asked. Her back was turned to him as she reached for another bowl. 

“Light.” She smiled at the sound of his response. She returned with a teal-colored bowl in hand. Following his previous actions, she dropped it, allowing the sounds of shatters to fill their ears once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks. 

“You think I’m going to make you do this alone?” The girl bends down as she gingerly picks up the chips of ceramic from the floor. She proceeds to clear out the table, leaving only the utensils to be used to start the process. 

“The materials I use are already here, but we’ll be working only with the lacquer for today.” The two set off to organize their pieces, hearts becoming more aware of one another as time passes on. After everything got sorted out, she demonstrated layering a coat of lacquer to the edges. Draco examined the way the smile instantly left her face, only to be replaced with a focused expression. Her eyebrows lowered, lips in a firm line, sights fixed on the ceramic. He also noticed how languid her fingers were in handling each piece with care. 

The solemnity of the sight is broken as she parts her lips to speak again, “Did you know that the lacquer is toxic?” He shakes his head when she spares him a glance momentarily before setting her gaze back onto the chips. “It’s toxic when wet, therefore much care needs to be taken when you lay it on the edges.” She then takes the smaller pieces and proceeds to add lacquer on them as well.

“However,” She continues, “as it dries, it hardens and mends the bowl perfectly.” She attaches the pieces together, and lifts the bowl carefully to show him. The boy stares at her flawless handiwork--the cracks reveal themselves as mere lines, seemingly invisible to the naked eye. 

“Strange, right? A substance that was once toxic is used to mend. When it dries it restores the product to perfection, and loses its toxicity.” Draco simply nods. It was a hard concept for the boy to grasp, but her words tickled a corner of his heart. How could something so bad be used to restore something that was once whole into perfection? He gazes at his own project while Y/N sets hers down carefully.

She passes the materials to him, observing as he gingerly takes the brush in hand. He dips it into the pool of lacquer, raising a glob of it up from the bottle.

“You don’t need too much, just enough so that the brush is covered completely.” She reached out to grab his hand, to demonstrate what she had meant. After realizing their closeness, however, she turned a shade of pink and stepped back. Draco tried his best to hold back his smile, but failed miserably.

“I’m s-sorry.” She stammered. He chuckled at her. 

“Nonsense, I’m all for this form of instruction.” He said teasingly, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Don’t mind me, just concentrate.” She ordered. Silence loomed, but smiles remained on their faces. Draco continued his work, emulating the way she coated her edges. He gripped each chip firmly while his eyes trailed the movement of the brush. Each second spent felt like darkness was being extracted from within, leaving him light and solemn. With much caution, he then pressed them together, and watched as the product adopted its once flawless form. With an approving look, Y/N explained the proceeding steps, immediately noticing the relaxed expression that had settled on his features. Deciding to take a break, the two embark to the main house to relax.

“Since we have to wait a while, is there anything you want to do? To eat?” She asked as they entered the room. The question, however, was left unanswered due to the sighting of a familiar looking uniform. Hung on her wall was a Ravenclaw robe.  

“You still have it?” He asked, pointing to the article of clothing with his chin. She chuckled and pulled it off it’s hanger.

“Yeah. I found it a couple days ago, and thought I’d try it for old times sake.” She slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the boy through a series of flashbacks from his time in Hogwarts. He recalled passing her by the hallways, getting small glimpses of her sketches, even seeing her vibrant personality shine with her friends.

“You know, I always thought you looked better in green.” He said approaching her.

“You think so?” He nodded.

“It’s a shame that we never really talked much. I think we would’ve been good friends.” She said in response.

“You think so?” 

“Well besides the bullying, yes. I don’t think you’re as bad as people portray you to be.” 

“You give me too much credit, Y/L/N.”

“Maybe you deserve a little more credit than you were granted.” This sparked more warmth within the boy. As she ordered food for delivery, Draco took a seat at her table, his gaze locked on her with the robe still propped on her body. His thoughts drifted as he imagined what might’ve happened if he did befriend the girl. How different would he be if he had her for company? How close would he have allowed their friendship to become? His mind began to wander and he ruminated on the what-could-have-beens, most especially the effect that his receiving of the dark mark would have had on her. His fingers flitted to his arm and rubbed the portion of fabric that covered his mark.

Y/N sat across from the boy, immediately noticing his dazed look.

“What’s on your mind?” She inquires. The boy broke off from his thoughts and refocused his attention to her.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“What of it?” She asked. He looked at her with slight reservation in his eyes.

“How different things would be if we were friends.” Her thoughts lingered on the possibilities for a while before she abandoned them completely. Only one realization came into mind:

“Well, we’re friends now. Perhaps everything that happened in the past was needed for us to meet like this.” She slid off her robe and propped it back on the hanger. 

She continued, “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now belongs to us.” 

In that moment, a switch flipped in Draco’s mind, and he knew those words would stick to him for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t a chance at redemption that he yearned for--the conversation he had with her made him realize that the chance had always been presented to him--rather it was company. Genuine company. The one that opened their arms for comfort, the one that offered understanding when he couldn’t offer some to himself, the one that provided reassurance that everything was going to be okay. 

She didn’t need to elaborate. Her words conveyed her intent clearly, her eyes blazed with firmness, confidence, and faith in him. The boy closed himself off for way too long out of the fear that he’d be rejected once again. The anxieties that had resulted from the foul glances, derogatory statements, and prematurely formed accusations towards his family locked him away to the only source of comfort that was available to him--himself. How was it possible that he made it through on his own all this time? He barely held on to a thread, and as he crumbled further, so did his grip. And when the grip was no more, he fell into the hollowed body that he was. He allowed his darkness to swallow him, to control him as he mindlessly drifted with each passing day. 

Until now.

Right now, in the stillness of the room, in the comfort of her dining table, in the presence of her worn out Ravenclaw robe, the thread had reconstructed itself. It presented itself as the small smile that softly graced her lips, the scent of clay that lingered on her hands, and his bowl that sat solemnly streaked with cracks in the workshop behind the main house. 

“I suppose you’re right.” The boy showed a smile of relief, which prompted the girl to reach out for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Here’s to our friendship!”

--

There were very few things that Draco cherished in his life: his family and his solitude. As weeks flew by with Y/N’s company, however, he found that his heart was beginning to create space for her as well. It began subtly with the way he silently observed her actions. She catered to each of her pieces with the same amount of dedication--every detail incorporated with mindfulness, with care, and intention. She exerted a similar effort when it came to guiding him. Every step in the process was taught with much patience. Her soft hands would graze his own in attempts to correct his form, to stabilize his shakiness, and to relieve him of the tension that came with his perfectionistic tendencies.

-flashback-

The sound of Draco’s uneven breaths made themselves aware in Y/N’s presence. She had left him alone to tend to his project and herself to her own. Muscle memory led her to scrape off the excess traces of lacquer from the cracks, while the boy fixed his concentration on sanding the surface of his bowl smooth. Scratching noises filled the air, and only became more amplified as minutes ticked onward. It was unfamiliar to the girl--the action itself shouldn’t have required much energy. With a brow arched upward, and her gaze directed towards him, the sight of furrowed brows and tense lines fill her view, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“You’re going to break the bowl at that rate, Draco.” The boy unclenched his jaw and gave Y/N an exasperated look, increasing the volume of her laughter.

“I told you I won’t be perfect.” 

“What is it that you’re having trouble with?” Y/N asked, as she made her way to his side of the table.

“Some of the excess just won’t budge from its place.” Draco huffed in frustration. She removed the bowl from his grasp, and examined the object. On the other hand, he takes the liberty to step closer to her, his face peering over her shoulder. The heat emanating from his body distracted her, which she responded to by immediately returning her attention to the remnants that resided on its cracks.

“It helps to focus on one spot at a time,” She grabs the crumpled piece of sandpaper laying on the side, and connects its surface to the porcelain. He watches as she uses minimal yet focused motions to scrub at the excess. Slowly but surely the residue clears out, revealing a clean, crisp line. “See?” She turns her head to the side only to be met with his in such close proximity. His breath softly brushes against her skin. His silvery orbs dive deep into her y/e/c ones. The pulses of their heartbeats ring through their ears, and the concentration shifts from the demonstration to one another. 

It’s the apparent flush staining his skin that has her pulling away. 

“Why don’t you try?” She nervously asks. Y/N hands the bowl to the boy, and observes as he attempts to emulate her actions. With motions still stiff and choppy, she finally takes his hand into hers.

“Relax, Draco. You need to be patient with it.” With slender fingers wrapped around the back of his palm, she guides his grip with focused and particular motions. The repetition engrains itself into his muscle memory, and he quickly gets the hang of it. He exhibits relief with every remnant removed. In return, she releases her grip and looks at him with a satisfied expression.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. With perfection constantly being expected of him, the feeling of humility that comes with being a beginner is foreign. He had always been pushed into the limelight--the weight of his family name designates the image of flawlessness, elegance, and poise in all that he did. No room for mistakes. He was required of only the best. So, when he looks at her and gazes at his hands, a genuine smile spreads on his lips. 

The expectation for perfection may have taunted his past, but the realization of his commitment in giving his best brought out a clear sense of victory despite the imperfect process that had been associated with it.

--

Some days are tougher than others. The nightmares make it difficult to get through the night regardless of how infrequent they became. It always resulted in him waking up, broken into a cold sweat. Goosebumps peppered his skin, the hair behind his neck stood straight, and he would gasp for air. With regret once again overcoming him, a weight forms in his throat--it’s impossible to go to sleep now. Moreover, the fear for the lack of a peaceful slumber keeps him wide awake until sunrise, and there is only one word that shouts at him in the back of his mind.

“Mudblood.”

“Mudblood.”

“You filthy mudblood!”

The sayings are coupled with the memory of his back pressed onto the cold, wet, bathroom floor. He could recall the stinging sensations that pricked his body, the sight of blood seeping through the white fabric of his uniform, and the energy that was draining from his spirit. It was the lowest he has ever been--mere moments away from what could’ve been his end. Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. There was no one for him to turn to--the warmth of his mother’s arms was so far away, the act of shedding tears was sacrificed to protect his family, and the fact that he was already repulsive in the eyes of others caused his hope to plummet. There wasn’t anyone who he could call his true friend--one he could confide in to relieve the burdens he had faced.

But there was Y/N. The erratic heartbeats that rang against his chest subside when he remembered the firmness within her voice as she cheered for their friendship. The sparkle and reassurance that was displayed within her eyes tickled his heart in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. The soft touch of her hands reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The patience in her voice reminded him that despite all of his shortcomings, there was always hope for change. 

It was then that he’d pluck himself out of bed, and take hold of the ceramic piece that laid prettily on his desk. With deep breaths, he ran his fingers through its golden streaks, allowing the chilled sensation to calm him down. His eyelids would flutter close, and he’d envision her soft smiles, her chipper personality, and the passion that was expressed through her eyes whenever she worked. He’d recall the worn-out Ravenclaw robe hanging on the wall of her dining room, and remember that she was there. She believed in him. She had given him a chance. With his mind set to ease and the morning sun illuminating through the fabric of his curtains, Draco picked up his own broken pieces, and binded himself with the faith she had as the lacquer to keep him together. 

Narcissa and Lucius had noticed subtle changes in the boy. A peaceful light had returned to his silvery eyes, the frown that graced his lips began to fade with time, and the tension that he held in his joints loosened. He treaded the halls with his back upright, his vision trained straight ahead--each step filled with more purpose than the last. They didn’t make it known to him, but the sight brought them much joy.

--

It was a cloudy day when Draco returned to Y/N’s workshop. This time around, however, there’s much more uncertainty and nervousness within him as he stands in the midst of her working. 

Earlier that morning, Narcissa mentioned hosting a ball within the manor (something that hasn’t been done in forever). Invitations were sent out already, the RSVP list continues to grow, and the property itself has been decorated to exhibit its new grandeur. Of course, he agreed to it--slightly concerned about how they’d be perceived--but he was more thrown off by his mother’s only request:

“Please bring Y/N with you, Draco. I’d like to commission her for a piece.” In his mind that translated into, “I want to meet the girl you’ve been constantly visiting.” He knew his mother wasn’t against her. He was more worried about how Y/N, herself, would respond.

The familiarity of her focused expression surfaces, and it attracts him much more than it has before. Her hands are nimble, and she moves fluently. Her hair was tied into a low and messy bun with loose strands framing her face. Her appearance now was much different than their first meeting at the gala, yet his mind went back to that night--picturing her beauty in her deep emerald green dress. With his feelings for her more clarified, he feels his heart beat at the thought of her touch, moreover the thought of his touch on her. Would she even return his feelings? 

“Draco, are you alright? You’ve been staring this way for a while now.” He takes the opportunity to test the waters.

“I needed to ask you something actually.” He goes around and pulls a stool to sit on, meeting the level of her gaze.

“And that is?”

“My mother asked for you,” He said, fumbling with his fingers, “My family is hosting a ball, and she wants you to come--she wants to meet you.” He notices the way her eyes widen at the sound of his announcement. 

“I’m sorry. Come again?” Draco released a soft chuckle before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a decorated envelope with her name printed on the front.

“This is yours.” She takes it from his grasp gingerly and brushes her fingers on the fine embellishments. Realization hits her when she skims across the familiar letters of her name.

“I’ve imagined many things in my life, but they certainly don’t come close to this. Wow, imagine being invited to a Malfoy ball.” Her words flowed out with awe, softening his heart. He reaches out, and tucks one of the loose strands behind her ear. The action forces her to look into his eyes.

“She’s taken quite a liking to your work.” His smile brings out one of her own.

“I’m honored.” She starts to beam, “I should go dress shopping soon.” Her eyes remain transfixed on the information given on the actual invite itself.

“I think you’d look beautiful in anything you decide to wear.” It was meant to be a thought--meant to stay in his head--but it came out, and now the girl felt her face get hot. She covered it with her hands, while the boy just looked up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He says.

“It’s fine.” 

“If it’s fine then why are your hands still covering your face?”

“Why are you still looking up?” Draco, lowers his chin and pulls her wrists away.

“I’m not anymore.” When the words leave his lips, and his eyes meet hers, he becomes aware of the amount of peace that he attained since meeting her again. In some way, the silence that fills them is overtaken by the messages that their gazes send to one another, both containing gratitude and affection. 

“So will you come with me?” He asks.

“Definitely.”

--

 Y/N paced back and forth while many aristocrats stepped into the manor with much poise in their step. She didn’t mind formal events when it came to art, however, this case felt entirely foreign to her realm of comfort. She wasn’t from a wealthy family nor was she pureblooded either. Surely the end of the war had initiated a shift in change, but the significance of blood status still persisted in some even after. Nevertheless, she made herself present. With much resolve and a false sense of confidence, she stepped into the entrance of the building.

The foyer was bustling with chatter--many attendees stood with glasses of champagne in hand. Still in an awkward stature, the girl takes a look around. The ceilings were decorated with crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains were pulled to the side, exposing massive windows. Arches, columns, even the walls were covered with ornamental carvings. Every single aspect portrayed luxury. Whenever Draco visited the girl, she discarded his association to wealth and solely focused on him as a person. Because of this, the realization that the boy actually had some coin in his pockets hit her like bricks. 

Draco, who had kept his eyes locked on the girl, chuckled to himself. She stuck out from the crowd with her eyes widened in awe. Not to mention her attire. Her hair was kept straight down with golden clips holding it tucked behind her ear. Furthermore, she was dressed in a champagne mermaid gown speckled with beads and embroidery, which flourished outwards and into a sheer fabric decorated with similar details. Her neckline plunged into the middle of her abdomen, yet her shoulders remained covered with long sleeves that wrapped themselves fittingly around her wrists. She truly had the tastes of an artist.

He quietly made his way to her as she continued to gawk at the room. “Your jaw is going to drop, darling.” He whispered in her ear. The feeling of large hands planting themselves on her waist caused her to let out a small yelp, pulling her out of her daze. She let out a breath of relief when she turned to see Draco’s face. 

“You scared me.”

“You were gawking at the walls.” Y/N rolled her eyes, and briefly skimmed him from head to toe. Heart skipping at the way his suit had admiringly framed his shape well. She giggled at the sight of the snake brooch that embellished the collar of his jacket.

“Always a Slytherin, aren’t you Malfoy?” As she brushed her fingers along the details of its design, Draco reached for her hand, and held it by her fingers. She could only stare as he lifted it higher to press his lips on it. Butterflies were felt everywhere.

“And a charmer.” She added. They shared a quick laugh before being interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Standing before them was Narcissa, who beamed at the sight of her son with the girl beside him.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I admire your work, dear.” The older woman stuck her hand out, which the girl shook firmly.

“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” The delight in her voice emitted a welcoming energy, loosening the nerves that Y/N felt early on.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Narcissa.” 

“It was no problem at all, dear. I’d actually like to speak to you regarding a commission later on tonight. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course! I’m honored you’d even considered me.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sweet smiles and gazes were exchanged between the two women. After casting a knowing look to her son, she departs from the pair, disappearing into the crowd. 

“Draco, I’ll have you know that I can’t dance to save my life.” He snickered at her confession, already letting the comfort between them settle in.

“It’s alright. Let’s walk instead.” With arms hooked, Draco begins leading her away from the bustling room and into a secluded hall. Mounted on the walls were paintings of his predecessors. He introduced each patriarchal figure to her, starting with Septimus. Her vision plastered itself to their features, mentally discerning the traits that Draco inherited. After a while of walking and conversation, they finally got to a family portrait. Depicted on it was a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, and seated on his mother’s lap was a young Draco himself. Y/N unhooked her arm from his, and approached the painting. She concentrated on the little boy. He had bright eyes, a toothy grin, and flowing platinum locks. His hand gripped firmly on Narcissa’s, and his small legs dangled over her dress. He was the only one smiling in the painting, and it warmed your heart knowing that the artist decided to keep that detail in.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He asks, stepping close. He hesitantly snaked his arm around her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind. She looked up to him and smiled, stepping even closer to him. 

“You were so small.” Draco scowled slightly. However, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the way she looked at the portrait with adoration, allowing his foul expression to fade.

“Well that was painted when I was seven, so it’s no wonder I was small.” His sarcastic remark caused her to roll her eyes again, softly slapping the hand that was planted on her. He glanced at her and squeezed her side tighter, pulling Y/N even closer to his body--his warmth increasing the amount of butterflies that rose in her stomach.

“When I walked in earlier, it completely slipped my mind that this was your house. That you grew up here.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, genuinely interested in her response.

“Everytime you came over, I only saw you as Draco. Not as Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy family name.” 

“Please elaborate.” He commands, his heart now racing.

“You’re more than the expectations held for you. You came with commitment to learn about a process that you were genuinely interested in. You grew with your mistakes and your frustrations. That experience was you, and you alone.” She couldn’t help but reveal that admiration she had for him through her voice. 

“I thought it was amazing.” She whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He did, however. In turn, he grabbed her hand and led her further down the hallway and into his room. Y/N stood there confused at his sudden action. Her eyes then begin to widen at the sight of him removing his suit jacket with her mind drifting to rather dirty thoughts. 

“Draco, what are you-” 

“I didn’t think it was possible.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“What do you mean?” Draco looked into her eyes, before shifting his gaze to his left sleeve. Her line of sight follows him as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls the fabric up, revealing his dark mark. She gasps.

“I didn’t think it was possible to mend myself.” It didn’t take him to say much for her to finally understand that he didn’t intend to do anything dirty. It was the opposite of that. He was making himself vulnerable to her.

“But you showed me how.” He said, completing his statement. Tears brimmed her eyes upon the realization of the reality he had to live. The blaring mark that took away his innocence screamed against his pale skin. It screamed of the pain, of loneliness, and the many many long sleeved shirts he must’ve worn to keep it hidden away. 

“If there’s anyone amazing, it’s you, Y/N.” The tears that had built up fell as she furiously shook her head.

“No, Draco. It’s you. It’s all you.” She took his arm delicately into her hands and pressed her lips on his dark mark. Draco felt his eyes well up in tears, while her own spilled onto his skin. Every kiss that she peppered seemed to paint over his scars, his cracks with gold. The feeling of emptiness dissipated in her presence, only surrounding him with warmth that he had yearned to keep.

“I’m thankful for you.” He whispers. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back at that point anymore. She released his arm from her grip, and held his cheeks within her fingertips, wiping the moisture that managed to fall from his silvery orbs. She, then, slowly lifts herself using her tiptoes, and scans his face for a moment before pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. It was gentle, much like her. It was patient, much like her. It was filled with faith, hope, and concern--things that she hadn’t been able to express to him in words, yet was felt through her kiss. Draco closed his eyes at the sensation. When she parted from him, he cupped her face with his hands, and drew her close once more. A sigh escaped her as she felt all the emotions he managed to keep in. Each press conveyed a level of appreciation that the boy had never thought he was capable of showing. 

In that moment a memory of a shrill shout fills her mind, and she stops so suddenly.

“Weren’t you struck with sectumsempra?” She asks with her brows furrowed towards him. His lack of response confirms her curiosity. 

“May I?” Her fingers trail to the top of his shirt as she makes her request. Knowing what it is she wants to see, he nods, prompting her to carefully undo the buttons. Her hands tremble as she makes her way down, revealing the scars that resided on his body. She pushes the fabric over his shoulders, and begins tracing each one--much similar to the way he has done with the golden cracks on her bowl. She slowly lowers herself and starts placing kisses where he has been struck. With her hands gently fastened to his sides, her lips linger in one area before transferring to another. He finds comfort in them--it was as if each sensation reassured that he was loved. As she travels upward, she plants a kiss on his jaw, and a final one on his own. With it she expresses a message dedicated only to him: I believe in you.

They separate and bask in the moment by holding each other’s gaze. After a while, Draco wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into a tight embrace. He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck and kisses it, while she runs her hands up and down his bare sides. His left hand then finds its way to her jaw, tilting her face upwards. He proceeds to nip the expanse of her neck, making her head fall back to grant him more access. The hand that was wrapped around her waist travels downwards to her hip, grips it, and presses her body against his. 

“Draco,” she moans.

“Hm?” She doesn’t respond. She finds herself completely intoxicated by his lips as he moves from her neck, her sternum, and to her exposed abdomen. Instead, she laced her fingers into his hair and pushed him closer to her skin. 

The pair was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. 

“Young master! Are you in there?” It was a houself. Draco presses a finger to his lips, signalling to remain quiet.

“I don’t think he’s there, we should check elsewhere.” Light footsteps were heard fading into the distance, eliciting a light laugh between the two. Y/N looks into his eyes once more, and kisses him one last time.

“Should we go?” He responds with a small ‘yes’ and kisses her forehead. As he buttons his shirt, the girl plods across his room, fascinated with its luxuriousness as she takes in the details. One of them causes her to gasp, however. She walks with her throat choking up at sight of the familiar bowl that was placed on his desk. It was hers. She lifts it gently, recalling their first conversation at the gala. The golden scars remind her heavily of the boy behind her. As she traces them, warm hands rub against her sides before snaking around her waist once more. 

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Y/N laughs at his question.

“I suppose it does.” She says as she weaves her fingers into his. The boy takes a moment to stare at the bowl ahead.

“When you said that Kintsugi helped you heal, I wasn’t quite sure to believe you or not. But, going through the process was more than enough to make me understand why.”

“You truly are amazing Draco Malfoy. I won’t let anyone tell me you aren’t.”

“Even if my past is completely flawed?”

“Your past made you into who you are right now. What we have is ‘now’, and ‘now’,” she sets the bowl down and faces him, while her hand caresses his cheek. “...‘now’ belongs to us. Now you are amazingly, wonderfully, imperfectly perfect.”

Epilogue:

The sound of Y/N’s words rung in his mind as Draco found himself standing in the middle of her workspace. With a firm grasp on the brush handle, he dips the bristles into the gold liquid, allowing the excess to drip back.

He takes a deep breath, and allows the solemnity of the room to fill him. Many thoughts overtake him in the moment, but only one makes itself prominent to him, resilience. After going through the binding process himself, he pridefully lays down the gold over the cracks on his bowl--each one portraying the imperfections of his past.

A/N: Hi! If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! There’s a bit of inaccuracy in the last bit, but besides that I hope I brought much light to the technique in general. I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo

Link to the taglist is on my masterlist :D

[lostinthewiind]

HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN YOU’RE HAVING A BAD DAY

Characters: Tsukishima, Sakusa, Ushijima

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

【TSUKISHIMA】

Because he is so quiet most of the time (except when he is being a little snark-master), he is very astute regarding the emotions of people around him, so he immediately knows when you’ve had a bad day

He can tell by the way you shuffle your feet or close your locker just a little bit more roughly than usual

Since Tsukki has more experience with putting people into bad moods rather than helping them get out of them, he is sort of at a loss for what to do, but he is slowly getting better

His go-to move is to offer to hang out with you after school since he knows you don’t like talking about your problems in front of people, so he’s hoping you will open up a little bit if it’s just the two of you

If that doesn’t work, he will plop his headphones over your ears, blast some of the music that he knows you like, and drape his volleyball jacket over your head and shoulders so you can be somewhere dark where you don’t have to feel like everyone has their eyes on you

It wasn’t really one single thing that had put you in a bad mood that day, but rather a series of small events that had piled up and eventually brought you to your breaking point. With feet that felt heavy like lead and your head hung low, you made your way to the designated meeting spot where Tsukki would meet you after his practice was over and plopped down to wait for him.

As soon as you felt the grass beneath you, the sun shining down on you, and the overwhelming sensation of finally being completely alone, you let out an exasperated sigh and began plucking at the blades of grass between your fingers, willing yourself to at least try to hold out on crying until you got home.

Before long, you had become so distracted by pulling out the blades of grass one at a time and tossing them into the breeze, you didn’t notice Tsukki had joined you until you felt a light, soft weight on your shoulders. You instantly knew that Tsukki had draped his volleyball jacket over you.

Looking up, you forced a small smile. “You’ll get cold.” You moved to shrug the jacket off and hand it back since Tsukki was in just a T-shirt. Before you could, however, he stopped you and sat down beside you.

“Bad day?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. You nodded slowly as he repositioned the jacket tighter around you. “Wanna talk about it?” You shook your head.

“It’s just one of those days,” you told him, trying more to convince yourself than him. “I’ll be okay. Just need to cool off a little.”

Instead of responding, Tsukki pulled his headphones out of his bag and placed them gently onto your head. Seconds later, a song that you had sent him just the other day started playing just loud enough that you could still hear Tsukki talking beside you.

“Let me know if I can do anything,” he said, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.

You smiled again, this time not forced, and continued ripping out the grass around you. No matter how flustered he got when it came to taking care of others, your big, blonde middler blocker always tried his hardest, and that would always be good enough for you.

“Thanks, Tsukki,” you just barely whispered, and even though you couldn’t hear it over the music, Tsukki could hear it clear-as-day.

【SAKUSA】

Sakusa is the master of handling bad days

Unfortunately, he hasn’t quite caught on yet that the things that work for him don’t always work for everyone else

He is quick to jump into action when he learns that you’re having a bad day because he knows how much they suck, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in trying to help you feel better that he completely misses the mark on what you need

Always says he will try to do better next time but always ends up forgetting again

You could never stay mad at him though because you know he means well

As soon as you had shown up on Sakusa’s doorstep with that characteristic combination of pout and grimace on your face that indicated you had had a bad day, he was quick to sweep you into the house and settle you onto the couch.

“Sakusa, I-” You chuckled lightly as he wrapped a large blanket around your shoulders and promptly took off toward the kitchen to make you a cup of tea, completely ignoring your attempt to talk to him.

Knowing this act all too well, you simply sat back and resigned yourself to your fate for the next hour or so of non-stop babying from your loving boyfriend. Besides, in the grand scheme of things, you could have had it a lot worse—you could have had a boyfriend that didn’t care about you or your emotions at all. While his actions were definitely extreme, at least they were the good type of extreme and not the bad type.

Having had closed your eyes in order to try to calm yourself down a bit, you jolted a little when the sound of a tea mug being placed on the table in front of you pulled you from your thoughts.

“Thank you.” You turned toward the boy with wide eyes and black curls hanging in his face beside you, patiently waiting for you to ask for whatever else you needed so he could jump up and get it for you. “You can relax now, I’m okay,” you told him.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else you need?” He was so on-edge that you could practically see him vibrating before your very eyes.

Sighing softly, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to calm him down a little. “Actually, there is something else.” You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, tackling him into the couch before he could say another word. “I need you. Just hold me please.”

After getting over the initial shock of being pushed into the soft couch cushions, Sakusa reciprocated the hug and held you close. “Your tea will get cold,” he whispered into your ear.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s okay. I’m sure you can make me another one if that happens.”

He smiled down at you, finally having realized he was being too-doting and forced himself to take it down a notch or five. “Anything you want.”

【USHIJIMA】

I’m sure this comes as no surprise, but this man is just GOD-AWFUL at picking up on other people’s emotions

It’s not his fault, and oh goodness the poor boy tries his hardest, but he is just so oblivious

You are well-aware that he requires you to physically tell him that you are in a bad mood, but sometimes all you want is to curl up into a ball and have him come to you on his own accord

This almost never happens, however, and you’re almost completely convinced that the few times it did was nothing more than a fluke

Even a broken clock is right twice a day

Once he KNOWS you’re in a bad mood, he is an excellent care-taker

Prefers to talk about problems rather than try to distract you from them, and even though sometimes you just want him to hug you and kiss you and tell you everything is okay, you prefer this method in the long-run

Ushijima is an amazing listener and gives great advice (helps you figure out how you want to solve a problem instead of telling you what to do, but does it so smoothly and effortlessly that you don’t even notice)

Shuffling your way over to where Ushijima was sitting on the couch, homework in front of him and attention completely focused on the work at hand, you felt bad about interrupting him but knew that if you didn’t tell him now, you never would and then the poor boy would wonder why you were sulking by yourself all night long.

Clearing your throat, you waited for him to look up at you before speaking. “Just letting you know that I had a bad day today and that I am now in a bad mood.”

Ushijima nodded, silently thanking you for telling him. “Was it something I did?” he asked.

You shook your head as you hugged your hoodie (well, Ushijima’s hoodie, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to wear it once since you had laid claim to it) tighter around your body. “No. Just a bad day.” You shrugged.

Closing the textbook he had been reading and placing it beside himself on the couch, he wordlessly reached out to you and pulled you into his lap. “What happened?”

You huffed and buried your head into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna talk about it.” You pressed a soft kiss to his neck, hoping it would distract him from forcing you to talk about what was going on. Of course, however, it didn’t. Once Ushijima had his mind set on something, it was impossible to get him off track.

“Hey.” He gently cupped your face with his large hand and forced you to look up at him. “You can’t solve a problem if you don’t confront it head-on.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you groaned. “I know, but can’t you just hold me and tell me everything will be okay . . . just this once?”

Ushijima just rolled his eyes. “What happened?” he repeated.

Slumping your shoulders in defeat, you deflated. “I got a bad grade on a test that I studied really hard for.”

“Why?”

You shot him a dumbfounded look. “I have no idea! If I knew why I was so bad at studying, I probably wouldn’t be in this current predicament!”

Ushijima just ignored your outburst and cocked a thick eyebrow at you, still waiting for a response to his previous question.

Knowing that there was no way you were going to win this, you finally submitted and resigned yourself to his line of questioning. “I don’t know . . . maybe I was focusing on the wrong stuff? I think I have trouble picking out the important information from the less important stuff.”

“There you go. See? You’re smarter than you think you are.” He flashed a hint of a smile as encouragement. “And how could you solve this problem for the future?”

You thought for a moment. “Pay more attention to the stuff that the teacher repeats a lot and puts more emphasis on?” your voice wavered slightly, a little unsure of your answer.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you,” you replied with more confidence.

Ushijima nodded, an even bigger smile spreading across his face. “I think that’s a great plan!” He then squished you into his chest and pressed a big kiss onto the top of your head. “Now I can hold you and tell you that everything will be okay because it will. You’ve got a plan to make sure of that.”

Unable to deny that you did, in fact, feel a whole lot better about the situation now that you had a definitive plan to deal with it, you exhaled and let the tension fade away.

Thank goodness you had him to ground you when you needed it the most.

[dholwrites]

Okay. I have to ask. AHow would the boys act streaming horror games like Monstrum? Who would be the panicker and who would just be immune to jump scares?

Note: I don’t play horror games, I can watch people play them and that is as close as I will get.

I have a hard time imagining Hien and Haurchefant playing horror games. 

Ao3

Aymeric

Clock tower

Corpse Party

Ao Oni

You can see when he starts to internally panic and stress out; his eyes growing wide and darting around the screen as he tries to move on. He would still read and talk to his viewers in his calm and soothing voice, but his words would trail out at any odd creek or subtle movement on the screen. Aymeric would let out a long and drawn-out sigh when he gets caught and dies, but jump scares rarely get to him. At least until someone comes up and tries to stick a fake knife in his side.

Estinien

Resident Evil

Ao Oni

Outlast

Estinien is entirely immune to jump scares, neither sudden sounds nor monsters running at the screen can make him flinch. He doesn’t make comments on what is happening in the game, not even the things he sees or hears. It doesn’t mean that he isn’t scared. A keen-eyed viewer could start to pick up the small cues and tells of the panic inside his mind. Perhaps he starts to move faster or he fumbles a bit with a lock or puzzle that nearly causes a ‘Game Over’. Estinien would never stop playing when he hits a bad ending, but he becomes more and more desperate to complete the game. 

Thancred

Outlast

Evil Within

Resident Evil

Thancred is quite at home in this genre with a strong preference for survival horror. He enjoys managing his resources, learning about the enemies, and doing everything he can to accomplish his mission. What gets him is when he gets lulled into a false sense of security. His ammo is fully stocked, health packs are ready and within reach, and triple-checked. All it takes is an unsuspecting zombie to show up around a corner or grab at his feet, and he ends up fumbling to put most of his bullets into its brain. Once he finally has time to collect himself, he would pretend as if that didn’t get his heart racing. 

G’raha Tia

FNAF

Until Dawn

Angels of Death

He’s a bit jumpy whenever there is a sudden sound in the midst of pure silence or the background music slowly getting louder and louder. His ears are quite sensitive, so it’s common to see him suddenly stop mid-game to look around for noise that only he hears. It has saved his tail more than a few times, but it doesn’t help when he is so focused on the task at hand. G’raha enjoys the puzzles within the game, even if it causes him to come face first with a monster. He can become obsessed with saving and helping every NPC along his path that he ends up replaying old saves until he manages to trial and error his way through the game. 

Cid

SOMA

Doki Doki Lit Club

Prey

He loves it when horror games get creative with their story and game style, especially those that add a fresh spin onto something that has been done a million times. He has more interest in the sci-fi horror genre. Cid is delighted, albeit a little worried, when he discovers that some games require you to mess around with the game files on your computer to progress through the game. He isn’t a screamer, the gross and disturbing details of a game don’t bother him. The jumpscares will startle him and cause him to take a few minutes to take his breath before he continues on, often with him grumbling about how it has to be a glitch that it caught up to him so quickly. 

Alphinaud

Fran Bow

Spooky’s jumpscare mansion

Tattletail

Alphinaud is a huge scaredy cat with horror games and he does everything he can to avoid playing them. However, he still ends up playing them when Alisaie tricks him into trying out cutesy-named games with ambiguous designs. The young elezen panics at sudden noises, and movements would always cause him to squeak and scream, even when it’s just the sound of his character moving around. Pure silence unsettles him to the point of stalling, but having a little too much noise causes him to duck into the first shelter. It has happened often enough for Alisaie to compile an hour-long complication of him just screaming. 

Alisaie

Resident Evil

Emily wants to play

Deadspace

She has a love-hate relationship with horror games. Alisae gets angry enough to scream and yell when she gets caught and blames the game for cheating to find her hiding spot. That doesn’t stop her from booting up the last save and push forward until she makes it to the ending. Alisaie cracks up at the cliches and bad animations in bad horror games, but she will take the time after she finishes a game to give genuine praise and sound advice for the games she finds herself enjoying. She garners a lot of attention from developers and writers for her feedback as she does not hold back any punches when it comes to criticism. 

Ryne & Gaia

FNAF

Little Nightmares

These two share the channel as they usually play multiplayer games together, horror games included. For single-player games, the girls would alternate between who is controlling the main character and who sits back and watches. Ryne is a complete scaredy-cat, you can see her physically shaking in her chair and hear it in her voice as the music starts to grow more ominous. Gaia enjoys making her scream by poking her sides when the moment feels just right. Gaia herself behaves as if nothing scares her, she charges into rooms without even checking. Her actions cause her to run into even more jump scares than Ryne. The second something rushes to her face, she lets out a short scream before dropping some very unladylike words that need to be bleeped out down the road.

Urianger

Call of Cthulhu

Amnesia

Silent Hill

SOMA

Urianger has a habit of forgetting that he is actually playing a horror game.; the elezen would immerse himself in the numerous books and notes. Any in-game lore captivates him, especially if the story is something that you would have to piece together to figure out what is happening. He would follow a plot to the end even if it’s nothing more than a side story that players aren’t meant to pay a lot of attention to. Because of his tunnel vision to find the answer, Urianger easily gets caught by bosses and monsters that lurk around the corner. A sudden grab or attack can induce a paralyzing effect on him, leaving him staring at the death animation and end screen with wide eyes for long moments.

Sidurgu & Rielle

Fatal Frame

Mad Father

At Dead of Night

The Xaela looks as if he lives and breathes horror; from the dark clothes and decor to his interest in music. It is a surprise to find out that he is secretly a scaredy-cat, who struggles to even attempt to progress the story out of fear. Rielle has to egg him into playing horror games, even ones that most people don’t even consider scary. Sid would take a few steps, stop, and force his character to face a wall so he doesn’t catch a glimpse of something that would haunt his nightmares. Only to let out a high hiss when an arm phases through the wall to grab him. Rielle has gotten so used to it that she barely moves when the screen flashes red and Sid gets a shot of pure adrenaline to get away from the monitor as fast as he can.

[abreathofthewild]

I Need A Hero, Chapter 1/?

Summary: After Y/N finds out that her late grandfather has willed his rural Montana ranch to her, she decides it’s time for a little change of scenery. At least until it’s in a condition to sell. Along the way, Y/N finds a renewed appreciation for hard work, new friends, and possibly even love. She has the land. Can Thor help make it a home?

Word Count: 11559 (I have no idea either, trust me)

Warnings: non-main character death, mentions of alcohol, some thematic elements, eventual smut.

A/N: I have so many people I could tag on this post, so many. For now, I'll just say thank you to @spacelabrathor​ for allowing me to use this idea and to @itssimplydior​ for going above and beyond in helping me grammar check and just being a great hype person. Thank you thank you thank you! And thank you to everyone who has waited so long for this. I have an amazing circle of friends on here. I hope this first chapter was worth the wait!

Edit: The banner is by the amazing @frankiemorales who designed this moodboard because she loves the story so much ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Links: Thor Odinson Masterlist and AO3 Version

Skyscrapers cut through the blue sky like ancient monoliths; they weren’t ancient at all but the way the sun glinted off the glass and steel of their structures made them look like modern interpretations of old gods. Car horns and shouts and ongoing conversations hummed through the air, the constant buzz of life an undercurrent that was all at once hard to ignore and easy to be lost in. There in the middle of it, beneath the heartbeat of the city, you sat in an office chair trying to clear your head around a different type of ringing in your ears.

Your grandfather had passed away. Your estranged grandfather. And yet here you were, listening to his attorney tell you that he had willed you his ranch. The ranch you had spent almost six summers at as a child. The ranch where you had learned to ride a horse. The ranch where you had learned how to skip rocks and climb trees. The ranch where you had decided that one day you’d have a big ranch of your own, “just like Grandpa”.

“Miss? Miss, are you still there?” A breath rattled from your lungs as you tried to form a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, I can imagine this is difficult but were you able to hear me on the line? Hank has passed away and he’s left you his ranch. We’ll need you to come sign some paperwork. There are some stipulations that I’d rather discuss in person. Then you’re free to get the details settled to sell it if that’s what you want.” Another pause.

“Um, yes, I’m sorry. I heard you. Can you email the initial documents?” The barely-managed response felt odd on your tongue, stiff.

“Ah, yes, I’m sure we can manage that. I’ll have to apologize, things move a little slower around here so sometimes it slips my mind that electronic signatures are an option now. Like I said though, the final details will need to be worked out here, in Dove’s Reach.” After that, you tuned out; the man’s voice on the line seemed to drone on. Your brain honed in on “it’s not really in a state to sell” and “I’ll put you in touch with a licensed appraiser just to make sure”. Then the call ended and you realized somewhere in there you must have hung up the phone but you honestly couldn’t remember.

A ranch. A whole ranch. 500 acres of rolling hills in Montana. Your breath caught and you quickly brushed away the tears that had welled in your eyes, pursing your lips and glancing at the paperwork spread in front of you. There was so much work to do here with the Harrison case. Your eyes roved from the physical documents to the spreadsheets on your computer screen and back again. It would be foolish to take time off now when you were so close to finishing it up. You could see your father’s frown as if he was standing in front of you.

And yet… Your grandfather hadn’t been a part of your life for so long. In the beginning, when your parents had told you abruptly that Grandpa had done something bad, been mean to them, you took it hard. Seven years old is a horrible time to lose a grandfather who taught you how to milk a cow and showed you the wonder in the small things. But as you got older and your parents became more embroiled in work, more distant, you put it to the back of your mind. You were still young enough that you had no choice but to take their word for it. The thoughts tripped around your head like a broken record; you felt a little queasy. You wiped brusquely once more at a stray tear and, taking a deep breath, turned to your monitor. You minimized one tab and opened another, preparing to write an email. It was a little more difficult than you had anticipated though and ten minutes later when your assistant walked in reminding you of your 2 o’ clock, you startled from a blank daydream and an even blanker screen. Your surroundings rushed back in around you on a pinpoint vortex and all at once, you knew you had to go. Regardless of parts of the will needing to be handled in person, something split in your heart. Right now, your place was at the ranch.

“Reschedule that appointment please. Let Clark know we’ll be switching it over to a Zoom call. Actually, cancel the rest of my appointments for the next two weeks. I’ll let you know if I need you to move anything around after that.” She widened her eyes but nodded all the same, turning and exiting your corner office with purpose. You began typing out the email to your father letting him know that you’d be taking advantage of all those vacation hours you had stored away for a rainy day. You would take the Harrison case with you and could easily finish it remotely. It would be on his desk by the deadline. Your rainy day was today but despite the circumstance, you were beginning to catch the feeling that there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The ranch house flashed across your mind’s eye and you blew out a breath from your lungs you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

You clicked send and stood, throwing on your coat and gathering the necessary paperwork from your desk. You let your assistant know you were leaving and walked out the door, not bothering to pay attention to a few pairs of wandering eyes who watched as you entered the elevator and headed down to the ground floor. With each minute of descent through the high-rise building, you felt your heart beat faster. It felt like there was a balloon in your chest waiting to burst. Your heels clicked on the marble floor and as you pushed through the doors into the spring air of New York City, you felt just a little more alive than you had moments before.

The redeye flight and extra two-hour drive put you in Dove’s Reach before the sun had completely risen. Last week if someone had told you that you would be standing here right now looking at your grandfather’s ranch house with the notion that you could fix it up, you would have laughed in their face. But as the sun rose in the east, it felt as if anything was possible. To the north was a range of mountains that could have looked menacing, but from your vantage only served to leave you in awe. The immediate land was just miles and miles of green fields that met with forest. The trees were behemoths; the sun bathed everything in a rich golden light adding unbelievable depth to the scene before you. The air smelled clean and fresh and alive.

You resisted the urge to pinch yourself because if this was a dream you never wanted to wake up. There was your grandfather’s house right in the middle of all of it. It still held the country charm that you remembered but there was so much that was… off. From what you could see with the naked eye, the wooden fence was sagging and falling over in a lot of places. The barn was missing slats of wood and one door hung precariously on its hinges. The house was a relic, the paint dry and peeling. You knew your grandfather as a strong, stout man who even in his older age was capable of running a whole ranch. The state of things now left a hollow feeling in your stomach and left so many questions unanswered.

A suitcase, carry-on, and laptop bag was all you had with you as you took the key from under the mat and opened the front door. It groaned loudly as if it hadn’t been opened in a long while but it made you smile to know that your grandfather had left the key in the same place after all these years. You walked to your left into the kitchen and set your keys on the counter. The familiarity of it all suddenly made you pause with a sudden sense of Deja Vu. The magnets on the fridge, the little table with four wooden chairs, and an old fashioned clock hanging on the wall that had faded from a once dark blue. The checkered yellow and white curtains were rolled up above the farm-style sink and an old mason jar with some dried flowers sat in the sill.

You found yourself choking up as you realized your grandfather’s coffee mug, the big one with some western painting of a bucking bronco, sat ready next to the coffee pot. You walked over to it and cradled it in your hands as the feeling washed through your bones that it was your mug now. There was so much you remembered about him and yet so much you never got to know, never would know. It nagged at you as the realization began to set in that there was so much to get done to sell this place. And after it was gone, there would be nothing of your grandfather left. A shaky sigh escaped from your lips.

Sleep. Right now you just needed to sleep. You made your way upstairs, the wood groaning in protest as you went, and headed to the right where one of the two guest rooms were located. Again, it was like a museum, in a state of preservation. With a wrenching in your stomach, you wondered if he’d ever had visitors after you. The bed sat against the opposite wall under the window and the sunlight filtering in passed the tree outside left dappled patterns on the patchwork quilt. You brushed your fingertips across it and marveled at how soft it still felt.

The room smelled faintly of dust so you cracked the window. You were rewarded by the cool breeze laced with the scent of pine wafting gently into the room. It was the beginning of spring but mornings were still chilled with the end of winter. You were pretty sure that in the shade of various trees on your way in there were small drifts of unmelted snow and the dried grass in the fields outside had sparkled with frost. You flopped down on the bed, covering yourself with the knitted throw that was tossed across the bottom.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you had a distinct feeling that you had always lived here. The thought crossed your mind as you edged into sleep that maybe you should stay.

It was well past noon when you startled awake. This time, it felt like there was a weight on your chest. You cracked your eyes and let out a small ah when you were greeted by a plump silver and white cat with green eyes sitting on your stomach. It chirruped when it realized you were awake. The cat hadn’t been in the house when you arrived (that you had seen). Maybe it climbed the tree and hopped in the window. Either way, it had been a long time since you’d last had a pet (your long hours didn’t allow for it back in New York) and your heart did a light skip as you scratched behind its ears. Its purr sounded like a motorboat.

The breeze coming through the window was a little warmer now and after a while of trying to stay lost to the world outside, you knew if you didn’t get up right then, you wouldn’t feel motivated to do so for the rest of the day. And there was a lot to do. With an exaggerated grunt, you deposited the cat on the other side of the bed. It sat there licking a paw and periodically giving you an irked look. You let out a small snort and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the desk and began writing down your goals for the day.

The main one was a basic grocery list (you were pretty sure there was nothing in the fridge or cupboards), and now getting some cat food. If you remembered correctly, the actual town was about another half hour from the ranch in the opposite direction you’d come. You stood and winced as pins and needles prickled up and down your legs from sitting cross-legged on the bed. You glanced at your computer bag tucked in next to the desk on the floor. The Harrison case would have to wait.

Main Street hadn’t really changed much from what you could remember of your time here. A lot of red brick and dark wood. It was quaint and about as small-town as you could get. Something lurched in your chest when you pulled to a stop in the grocery parking lot. Everything was so foreign to how you lived in the big city but at the same time… it sang of a home you had not experienced before. Part of you thought it was a shame that you had to go back in two weeks. You brushed the thought aside as quickly as you allowed yourself to feel it. There was no use indulging that line of thinking and besides, it was the first day. You were sure you would feel differently at the end of that time after you’d put in the work that would be required.

The grocery store was bigger than you remembered; you were pretty sure it had been expanded. Maybe the town wasn’t as little as it used to be. A cartful of basics and what felt like 500 mental notes later, you brought your groceries to the front. You daydreamed for a moment as the steady beep of the register sounded in the background.

“You’re not from around these parts, are you darlin’?” You came back to yourself, shaking your head. The woman ringing you up was older, with short-cropped white hair and glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her name tag read “Rose''. “I thought so. We don’t get many people around here that buy tofu. Is it any good?” She wrinkled her nose in such a way that made you giggle. You shrugged your shoulders.

“There’re a few different ways I make it that taste pretty good. I’m not vegetarian or anything, I just like all sorts of foods.” She brightened at that; you guessed there were also not very many vegetarians in Dove’s Reach either. “I’m actually here to handle my grandpa’s estate. He just passed away…” You trailed off, surprised by the lump that was suddenly in your throat. Her eyes widened just a bit before she reached out to pat your hand.

“Do you mean Hank? Was Hank your granddaddy? Yes, he must be, I can see you have the same eyes now. Well, I’m so very sorry, hon. He was a good man. It seems like only yesterday he was here picking up groceries.” There was a tear in her eye now and it made you wonder how close the two were. “It had actually been quite some time since he was able to make it in here on his own. Months at least.” Months? So he had been sick for a while. Why hadn’t he told you? Rose saw the look flash across your face. “Oh,” she breathed out quietly, “you didn’t know, did you?” She clucked her tongue as you paid. “That Hank, always thinkin’ he didn’t need help. We were all surprised when he finally had Jonesy coming ‘round to do things in town for him. Jonesy was his attorney, you’ll probably be speaking to him soon, I’d reckon. Well, if you need anything, you just let me know, okay?”

You grabbed your bags and put them back in your cart. There would be time to ask Rose questions about your Grandpa later, you hoped. But right now, you needed to focus on getting help with the ranch.

“Well actually, Rose, I’m looking for some help to fix the ranch up. Do you know anyone off the top of your head?”

Rose had told you to go across the street to On The Wings of A Dove, the local hang out after a day’s work had been finished for a lot of folks. It was surprisingly modern with an old feel. Deep red brick, exposed black pipe, and low lighting. The smell as you walked in the doors made your mouth water. Luckily the owner, Gus, was in and was more than happy to help a young lady such as yourself.

“Thor! This lady here needs some help fixin’ up her ranch to sell. You lookin’ for work?” You glanced in the direction the portly man was facing, down the bench, and around a couple of other patrons. A man leaned out and smiled in your way; the flash of white teeth made your heartbeat stutter.

“As a matter of fact, Gus, I just finished up at the Finch’s farm helpin’ them with that young colt.” He stood and walked over to you. If he looked big from a distance, there was no denying it now as he moved into your space. You looked up at his face and the golden hair framing blue eyes was enough to make your brain go foggy. He held out a hand, the chorded muscle across his chest and in his broad shoulders evident even with such a small movement. You took it and something bloomed in your chest when his hand enveloped yours. His skin was rough with calluses. It was warm and a vision flashed across your mind unbidden: those hands grasping at your face, roving down your arms, across your chest, gripping your hips, and moving lower… You shook your head and tried to listen to the words coming out of his mouth.

“The name’s Thor. Thor Odinson. How may I be of service, pretty lady?” Normally, someone being so forward would irk you. But somehow hearing Thor say the words “pretty lady” in a slow drawl didn’t bother you in the least. You offered him a smile back, quirking your head to the side. Taking inventory. He couldn’t be much older than you if he was older at all.

“Thor Odinson? That’s an interesting name.” He nodded, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair. It looked ridiculously soft to the touch and you had to stop yourself from snorting in good-natured annoyance.

“Yes, ma’am. My family comes from the Old Country. They wanted a strong name for a strong man. Gus said you’re lookin’ for help though?” He crossed his arms and leaned in, the white t-shirt he was wearing stretching across his chest. You forced your eyes to move back to his face where you were met with a little crook of his lips. You were pretty sure he saw that but there was no embarrassment in the knowledge. “I can help you do just about anything. Pick your poison.”

It was a lot. And you were certain there was more than you even realized with your knowledge of how to run a ranch being zero. You listed off how the house needed a good cleaning but you could take care of that. It probably needed a new coat of paint inside and out. Several of the shudders on both stories needed repairing. The barn looked pretty run down but you hadn’t gotten up close to it yet. One of the doors had definitely been hanging crookedly on its hinges. Then there was the fence… You could probably use more than two people for that. You had no idea of what state the ranch hand cabin was in. You looked up at him and gave him a shrug. His eyebrows were up near his hairline as he leaned back and whistled.

“Boy, we’ve really got our work cut out for us, don’t we? Well, I think we’d better start with those things you mentioned first. Trust me, if there’re other problems we’ll find ‘em real quick. Might cost ya a pretty penny. Are we tryin’ to stay within a certain budget?” He looked you right in the eye and Lord help you, it had been a long time since someone looked you in the eye with any sort of sincerity. You were used to working with less-than-savory types in your corporate world. You cleared your throat and shrugged again.

“Not really. If we fix it up good enough, there won’t be a loss. It’s a pretty place. Just needs some TLC. And the land is worth its 500 acres in gold.” The silence was palpable but not in an uncomfortable way. Thor leaned in and you caught a slip of his scent. Sweat and leather and woodsmoke. You took a deep breath, pulling the smell with it. You realized he was listening. He wasn’t just hearing your words, he was taking them in and mulling them around in his brain. “But wait. Does that mean you’ll do it? We haven’t even talked about wages or anything like that.” He waved a hand in dismissal, rolling his eyes.

“We can talk about that later. What matters is you need help and we like to help people ‘round here. Maybe that’s not somethin’ you’re used to where you’re from? It’s all right though. I’ll introduce ya to small-town hospitality. When are you wanting to get started?” You threw him a sheepish grin before glancing down at the floor as if the pattern there was the most interesting thing in the world. If your parents could see you now, you knew they’d be appalled. Thinking of doing the work yourself, of hiring someone you literally just met and someone who was only suggested to you by a cashier at a grocery store. It was a little ridiculous you admitted but you brushed the thoughts away.

“Tomorrow? You can stay in one of the guest rooms in the house. There’s a ranch hand cabin but I have no idea what it looks like. As far as I can tell, it hasn’t been a working ranch in a while so there’s really no telling what state it will be in…” Again, he held his hand up slowly, politely putting a stop to the words pouring from your mouth.

“The cabin is just fine. I don’t need much anyway. Depending on how long I’m there, the only thing I ask is to bring my dog, Tucker, with me. He’s as good a help as any man I’ve met and twice as friendly.” You nodded enthusiastically. “Well, all right then. Sounds like everything is as settled as it gets for now. Can I get the address from ya? I’ll head over around 5 PM, get settled in if that suits your plans for the rest of the day.

“Perfect.” You smiled as he shook your hand again.

It occured to you that this is the first contract you’d ever made without a signature on paper and yet somehow, it felt like the most foolproof one as well.

It didn’t take long for Thor to settle in. He had insisted on taking the ranch hand cabin despite your protesting. When the two of you looked it over, it wasn’t as bad as you would have guessed it to be, even though there was a thin layer of dust on every surface. You searched through some of the cupboards and luckily came up with a spare sheet set. You took the old one to wash, holding your breath against all the dust motes that flew into the air as soon as you took the sheets off.

“Tucker didn’t want to come?” You asked with a teasing tone,one that Thor responded to with a laugh. He took his baseball cap off and roughed his fingers through his hair. He shook his head.

“No, ma’am. We’ll see how things go here but guessing by the fence line I saw on my way in, he’ll definitely be coming to stay here with me. Don’t worry, either way you’ll get to meet him. He’ll be tickled pink.” Again, a duck of his head that made you wonder how someone could have such good manners. You looked down, shuffling your feet. That seemed to be a regular thing for you now as well. Not being able to look someone in the eye? Not a good look on a big time lawyer. But you had an excuse, right? You glanced up through your eyelashes as he turned away and looked around.

He stood tall, straight-backed. You absently wondered if it was from riding horses. He probably looked great on a horse. He was no longer in just the white shirt from earlier but his Carhartt jacket didn’t swallow him, it just somehow emphasized how big he was. Every movement brought that into sharp focus. The floor creaked beneath his boots as he flipped switches on and off, watching with concentration as each lightbulb somehow still worked. They took a few moments to crackle on but crackle on they did. And with each one his smile somehow got bigger. After a little while of inspecting the little space he turned to you again.

“This will do just fine. No worries need be wasted on my behalf. Tomorrow I’m thinking we should head down to Redwood Hardware and see if we can get an order in for some fence posts. They might have some in stock already but the amount we’ll need is probably not gonna be in store. You might also wanna consider hiring other help besides me. I stand by my work ethic but we’ll get the job done a lot faster with more people.” You blew a breath out of your mouth and pursed your lips. He was closer in an instant, placing his hand on your shoulder. He lowered his head to make sure you would meet his gaze. It threatened to take your breath away. “I know it might not seem like it right now, but we’ll have this place up and running, sale-worthy in no time. A place your granddaddy would be proud of.”

You did meet his eyes then, glancing back and forth between them. You nodded. If anyone was going to tell you how a thing was going to go and you would believe them… It was going to be Thor.

The day came when it was time to actually set up the new fence posts instead of just staring at them with a certain bit of dread each day when you went outside. The sky was a blue that seemed to go on forever and the air itself smelled alive but still, you stood, hands on your hips, ticking off all the other things you could be doing. There were loads of things. But Thor stood next to you, a smirk on his face and you knew there was no way you could put off starting this any longer. He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed.

“It’ll be alright darlin’! It’s a lot of work, hard work, but you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll be right there every step of the way to help ya out.” Again, the uncanny wave of reassurance swept over you at his words and so it was you found yourself climbing into the passenger side of his old Ford and marveling at what pristine condition it was in. The last couple of days you’d been driving your rental car; there was an old Jeep in the barn but it needed more repairs than you could focus on at the moment. You’d seen his truck the day he drove up to the house and the days after but you hadn’t seen the interior and you were impressed.

You didn’t know many hyper-specific details about any vehicle but you guessed this one was old and yet… the seats were a rich brown leather, worn in certain places from use but not split. It even had a sheen to it still, as if he wiped it down on a regular basis. There was one little piece of plastic up near the passenger air vent that was slightly cracked but the rest of it still shone as close to new as it would ever get again. A reddish brown darker than the seats but just as fine. Nothing had been replaced or updated it seemed, just kept in the same condition it always had been. But looking around, you knew it had been used. It had worked many long years. You quirked your mouth and glanced at him as he shifted the truck into gear and drove through the gate, driving along the rutted pathway that ran along the length of fencing. The field stretched out for miles and miles beyond you in gentle sloping green hills. There were some wildflowers starting to sprout up but from what you understood, it was nowhere close to peak season yet. The fence closer to the buildings was in better condition; the farther away from there you got, the more obvious it became that the ranch had been non-operational for some time. As it was apt to do regularly now, your mind wandered. You were lost in two vast landscapes, one physical, the other in your memories. It took Thor slowing and then parking at the point where the fence literally ceased to exist to bring you out of yourself.

The two of you hopped out and started grabbing supplies. After figuring out how much you wanted to get done for the day, the two of you started in on the fence posts. Or more like Thor jumped right in and you took a split second to watch him as he began working. Almost immediately he shrugged off his flannel; he was in a simple white tank top and those ridiculously well-fitted Wrangler jeans and boots. Even the gloves on his hands looked slightly tight as if his hands were too big even for the large size. His motions were smooth and concise; he turned away from you, leaving his back on full display. You leaned on your post hole digger for a minute, taking in the way all the parts of his body worked together. From the muscles in his arms, the ones chord across his shoulders and back, all the way down to how his hips swayed with the movement.

An eagle cried out overhead and you moved in about ten feet away from him. You wanted to think that you knew how to do this right away just from watching him. The soil was no problem. It was soft and dark and easy to dig. The smell curled through the air and reminded you of being a kid, when the most you had to worry about was if the dirt was the right consistency for a mud pie. But after a few tries, you realized you must be doing something wrong because your hands kept slipping and Thor had already moved past you to dig and place two more wooden posts. Still, you don’t say anything just yet. You were determined to do this.

As the day waned on, slow as molasses, you could feel him watching you. He didn’t move in to stop you, didn’t tell you you were doing it wrong. He let you struggle. There was a war inside of you at that moment, part of you wanting him to jump in and show you how and the other part being refreshed by him letting you figure it out. That inner monologue went on for a while before he nudged you and handed you a bottle of water. You stopped, relieved. The sun was somehow high overhead now. For every one post you were finishing with difficulty, Thor was getting two done. Frustration flared over your whole body. He cleared his throat and raked his hand through his hair.

“I noticed it looked like you were havin’ a bit of a hard time diggin’ the post holes. Would ya like if I gave ya some pointers?” You watched him, the earnestness in his blue eyes, and nodded. A smile lit up his face and you wondered how many people got to see it. It was bright and put the endless Montana sky to shame. “Perfect. Let’s eat lunch now and then I’ll show ya a thing or two.” You munched on the turkey sandwiches you had thrown together, sitting on the ground in front of the truck where there was still some shade. The ground was cool beneath you, the air around you smelt like something that should be written about in a book; the earthy smell of grass , the distant hints of pine, the promise of wildflowers. Thor was sprawled out next to you but not in an overbearing sort of way. He just took up a lot of space. You tried not to concentrate on the fact that your knees were touching.

“So your granddaddy left you all this? I’d be pressed to sell it. It’s too bad ya can’t keep it.” You stiffened before catching yourself quickly, though you were pretty sure he had noticed He took his last bite before standing up. “You’ve got a life back home though. It’d be hard to leave that behind.” He held out his hand and you accepted it, wanting to push that cagey feeling behind you. He looked off in the distance, hands on hips, then back to you. “Well, ya ready for those tips?”

“Yes, sir.” You brushed dirt off your backside and put your gloves back on. “It is too bad,” you mumbled. Mumbled because you were too afraid that saying it out loud would change something for you. “That I can’t keep it, I mean.” He turned to you, not the least bit of surprise on his handsome face. But there was understanding there. He got it. You grabbed your post hole digger and went ten feet from the last post readying to dig the new hole. Thor watched your position for just a moment before you heard his footsteps come up behind you. And then he was standing there, at your back. If you took one half-step back you would be met with his chest. The day was warm but heat radiated off of him like a steadily growing fire. Something pooled low in your belly and your mouth went dry as he moved into your space and then you were flush with him.

His arms came around yours, his hands engulfing your own. His breath was warm near your ear as he rumbled “No, darlin’, like this.” He shifted your hands from the middle of the handles to the top. You were hyper aware of the way his arms felt around you, acutely aware of his scent. Sweat, and musk, and dirt. “That way you have more leverage and you’re not leanin’ over when it goes in the dirt.” He stayed like that for a moment, probably only seconds, but it felt like longer. You heard his breath catch from behind you before he slowly removed his hands, backing up just a pace. You immediately tried to retain the feel of him against you, the way his voice settled into you when he spoke. The way his smell engulfed you, making you feel like the safest person in the world. When was the last time you had felt that way?

Your limbs moved slow, as if your body was now full of lead. He moved back in again, briefly, sliding his boot between your feet and nudging them just a tad bit farther apart. “That’ll help too,” he said. And this time, when you raised the digger up and heaved down, you immediately noticed a difference. While it didn’t necessarily feel easier, it definitely didn’t hurt as much and your body didn’t feel as stiff, didn’t feel like it was being pushed into an awkward angle. You took a couple more plugs from the earth, digging down far enough to keep the pole stable and when you stood straight and looked at him, there was that grin written all over his face again. This time, that smile leapt to your face.

Thor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, red with a white paisley pattern, and raised his hand, slowly, as if he was touching a wild animal, wiping a streak of perspiration from your cheek. “That’s my girl! Keep that up, we might not need help like I said before,” he exclaimed with a wink. Time seemed to slow to a halt. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. The words thundered through your brain, down out your limbs, between your legs. That’s my girl.

You looked down at your watch, surprised to see the hands tick forward without delay. As the day went on, a thought tickled at the back of your mind, like a horses’ whiskers on your palm. It’d be easy to be his girl.

The night came in cold enough that you were filled with relief when Thor stood to his full height and stretched, slotting the post hole digger in a pile of soil and suggested the two of you call it a night. Goosebumps had already peppered your skin and the breath coming from your mouth was visible in the air. You nodded and stretched a little too, trying to ignore that stiffness you knew would turn into full-blown pain by tomorrow morning. Thor watched you quietly as you slowly put your jacket on; he glanced from the ground then to the sunset when you looked his way. You let out a small barking laugh and almost immediately regretted it, wincing as the cold night air ripped its way into your lungs.

You managed an uncomfortable grunt as you stuffed your gloves in your pocket and Thor grabbed the keys to his truck. You examined your hands; your palms looked like one huge blister. The skin was bubbled and inflamed and if you were being completely honest, it was one more thing you really had no idea how to take care of on a scale like this. Thor started the truck and even though it was only a ten-minute drive back to the house, you were already thankful in anticipation of him cranking the heater just a bit. It would hopefully be a small relief for the contracting sensation in the muscles along your shoulders and arms and back.

There was not a whole lot to gather since the only portion of the fence that went up today was the posts; still, you moved in to help him by grabbing some smaller loose supplies and your post hole digger. You could feel his eyes on you, feel the way he noted you navigating around your raw hands. It took a moment but soon he was wandering over to you and taking the items from you, nodding his head kindly to the truck. You mumbled your gratitude as you got in, frustrated with yourself. It was only the first day but Thor was already picking up your slack. You watched him from the passenger side mirror as he slammed the tailgate shut. There was not a bit of annoyance in his expression. You had small inkling you were being a bit too harsh on yourself.

When he got in, the truck groaned and immediately the cab that felt huge and open before now felt full; crowded but not in an unpleasant way. You sneaked a sideways glance at him as he settled in. He didn’t shift the truck into gear right away but instead sat back, gazing out the windshield at the sunset. Even from your vantage point, it was stunning. The sky was a variation of colors from deep black-blue, to a soft blue, to pink, to orange. The sun slipped back below the mountains to the north and west and the only detail you could make out on them now was their peaks; they were in shadow and looked like a great set of black teeth.

The light coming into the truck had softened, illuminating the planes of Thor’s face. The slip of his golden brown hair, the strong cheekbones and slope of his nose, the clean jawline that now had a five o’ clock shadow. It was quiet, save for the lulling roar of the truck engine and somehow you knew in that second, you wanted more of these moments. Your brain hadn’t quite latched onto how you would get them but you were going to try. Maybe it was Thor. Maybe it was the gentle heat in the cab with the chill outside. Maybe it was the clean smell of spring scented air. Maybe it was a hard day’s work that was so different than the long hours you kept at home. Right now, it didn’t really matter. You sat back with a sigh of content, able to ignore the subtle aching in your limbs. Finally, Thor let out a gentle hum, a sound you guessed actually reverberated through his body.

“When we get back to the house, we’ll take care of those hands, all right?” You nodded and he shifted the truck into gear, turning back the way you came this morning and it was suddenly all you could do not to reach out and rest one of those hands on his arm.

The gravel crunched under the wheels of Thor’s truck as he dropped you off at the front of the house, telling you he was gonna take a shower and then he’d be back up to bandage your hands. You tried to tell him you would take care of it, really, but he insisted. Deep down, you knew you had taken care of blisters on your heels before but nothing like this so you gave in, hiding a smile as he drove the truck down to the other cabin.

When you got to the bathroom, it took every effort not to just quit and wallow right there on the old tile floor but after a few struggling moments, you peeled your clothes from your body and stepped into the warm water, ignoring the stinging of the wounds. It took a few tries with washing off the dirt of the day, with every contact with soap intensifying the hurt in your hands. As you stepped out, you knew you’d be popping some Advil tonight; it would be foolish not to, you guessed.

You threw some leftover chicken noodle soup on the stove and plopped unceremoniously into one of the kitchen chairs, leaning your head against the wall as you relaxed. The fact that you hadn’t worked on the Harrison case for two and half days now nagged like a trapped rat at the back of your mind. Your laptop was currently upstairs though and there was no way you were forcing yourself up those steps again until you absolutely had to. Instead, you checked your emails on your phone, briefly scanning over the subjects on each of them and filtering out the spam. You set it back down with satisfaction. You’d just worked one of the hardest days in your life and you guessed it was probably going to remain tough from here on out. Despite that, you felt more nervous energy bubbling in your veins.

You decided to pull out the old maps you had found at the little desk in the living area. The house was small compared to the expanse of the land itself. Your grandfather hadn’t been a person who needed extravagance, that was for sure. Maybe you’d convert one of the guest rooms into a study. It would certainly be a lot easier to spread out property maps in an office rather than a little desk in the living room. You put little x’s where you thought the boundaries were. You were somewhat familiar in your work life with reading property maps but these… the maps were old enough that you were second-guessing if the plot already marked was accurate. Another thing to put on the to-do list for a town run. Land maps would be public record, especially in a town as small as Dove’s Reach.

A knock on the front door snapped you out of your thoughts. You hollered that the door was unlocked as you rolled the maps up and put them back on the desk out of the way. You ladled soup into bowls, setting them back on the counter to cool just a bit. You heard him knock his boots on the door jam outside and then set them with a thump just inside the door as he ambled into the kitchen. You reprimanded yourself as you turned and got caught off guard again by his size. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the wood of the kitchen entrance, completely filling it up, quietly surveying your movements. You thought he was zoning out but you were not entirely sure.

“Uh, I hope chicken soup is okay,” you let out. His eyes met yours and he nodded enthusiastically as he shot you a dazzling smile. You gave him one back. “Somewhere else just then?” He nodded and you took one bowl at a time to the table, a heavy cloth in between your skin and the bowls. You hissed as the edge of one of the bowls caught a patch of the blister, the hot ceramic making the burning more intense than it should be. Thor was behind you immediately, taking the bowl and steadying it. It was a good thing because you were certain you couldn’t have prevented a spill at this point.

“Let’s take care of those blisters first. Looks like that soup is a little too hot to eat just yet anyway.” You nodded as he placed a gentling hand on your shoulder, maneuvering you to the chair you were sitting in earlier. The pain was pretty bad at this point; you had taken Advil about fifteen minutes ago but it hadn’t taken effect yet so here you were, miserable, and trying to fight the hot tears welling up in your eyes. It was embarrassing. Thor cleared his throat. “Did your granddaddy have a medicine cabinet around here?” You took a shaky breath and pointed to the little doorway off the kitchen.

“There’s one there in the laundry room on the opposite wall from the door.” He stepped away from you and into the little room. You could hear him open the cabinet door and rummage around. You hadn’t looked in there yet to see what supplies were available but you doubted any of it was still usable. Yet here was Thor, a huge grin on his face, some bandages in one hand and a questionable-looking jar in the other.

“I knew if your granddaddy was as much of a working man as you had mentioned that he’d have some of this here with him. Best ranch and farming remedy for just about anything.” You knew the look on your face was one of clear skepticism because he laughed, a deep booming thing that made you want to listen over and over again. “I know you city folk probably like to go to the doctor’s for everything but let me tell ya, if we put this on your hands twice a day and keep them all wrapped up, those blisters’ll be gone in no time. Three days tops,” he murmured as he finally looked at the ragged state of your palms. He was moving slower again, pulling out a chair and placing it right in front of you.

He sat down and despite the pain, or maybe because of it, your breath hitched when he caged your knees with his own. “Let me see ‘em up close, darlin’” he breathed as you held out your hands for closer inspection. He let out a low whistle as he gingerly took one, then the other to examine the raw skin. He rubbed a small circle on the inside of your wrist and you were acutely aware of every little detail as his calloused thumb against the soft skin there elicited an erratic heartbeat. He sat like that for a moment before seemingly catching himself; leaning back and reaching over to open the jar of salve. It was not a bad smell but you wrinkled your nose a little at it. He glanced over at you and smiled.

“This might hurt a bit. But it’ll help.” You nodded and braced yourself just a little. The balm itself didn’t sting but the contact of fingers on the blisters definitely did. There was no use hiding your grimace so you just let yourself go, taking deep breaths and letting them slowly out through your mouth. He was so gentle. This close and with his concentration on your hands, you allowed yourself to watch him unhindered by the threat of getting caught. His fingers were steady and slow and he was so sure of himself. You found yourself leaning into his touch, holding your breath. After he was satisfied with one hand, he took the roll of bandage material and slowly wrapped it around your palm, down around your wrist, and back up again to secure it in place.

“You did real good today,” he said quietly, still looking down, almost as if he was unsure he should say it. As if he thought you may not want his opinion. A smile spread across your face as you let out an exasperated groan.

“If you say so,” you replied, willing him to look up at your face to see that you mean it. He must have felt your eyes on him because he turned to you then, looking back. Searching. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and creep down your neck and something leaped in your belly. He was so close. You could see his eyelashes. See how his eyes weren’t just one shade of blue but several different ones. You could smell him. A similar scent to when you first met him but also mixed with a fresher element from his shower. You could smell his wet skin and how it went from a day of work to warm water to the chill outside to the warmth of your house. It made you want to lean forward and bury your face in the place where his neck meets his shoulder.

You must have been staring a hole into him because he bit his lip then leaned back, finishing up with your other hand before grabbing the supplies and heading to the laundry room. “I do say so,” he rumbled from the little room. When he came back out again he’s smiling. His hands were on his hips and for whatever reason, it was exactly the release of whatever emotion that had transpired moments ago. You laughed, grabbing some bread slices and dropping them in the toaster. They popped up and you spread on some butter, ushering him to sit back down.

The conversation was easy, more idle chatter than anything else. Questions about each other’s lives. How long had he lived here? All his life. When did you know you wanted to work in law? As long as you could remember. You wanted to help people at the heart of it. How did he learn to train horses? From his daddy and his grandaddy before him. Would you ever consider keeping the ranch? The question caught you off guard and a rush of emotions flowed just beneath the surface of your calm exterior. Your pause told Thor what he had guessed the moment he saw you go to work on the land that morning.

“Of course I would,” you murmured as you pushed your empty bowl aside. You leaned onto the tabletop, one arm across its surface and the other supporting your face as your eyes stared off into space. “I just… I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me right now. If it had fallen into my lap under different circumstances or at a different time, maybe. But now? I don’t think so.” Your words trailed off and sounded empty even to your own ears. But as you glanced back up at Thor, there was no judgment there. Looking into his eyes, you could almost imagine a future here.

A future here was a dream though. A dream you were not keen on indulging. You tossed him a smile and grabbed the bowls to put them in the sink. Dreams were good. They could keep a person going. But you were already living a dream back home so you plastered your best convincing expression on your face just as he stood and brought the toast plates to the sink. You watched as he washed both of the plates, slowly, like he was waiting for you to amend your words. But you didn’t and he thanked you for dinner and headed for the door.

You followed him to it, leaning in the doorway as he stepped outside into the cold night air. He zipped up his jacket and turned back to you, a curious expression on his face. If he had thoughts about any of the night’s conversation, he didn’t voice them. Instead he just gave you that lopsided grin and bid you goodnight. Without a second thought, you reached out and grasped his wrist. He turned to you, looking at where your hand held on and then back to your face. You let go immediately.

“Um, thanks for… for today? For your help. Thanks for your help so far. I really appreciate it.” He chuckled low and quiet, a sound that seemed to continually get under your skin, and warmed you up from the inside out. He nodded.

“The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.” You watched from your place as he stepped off the porch; you could still see how his breath fogged up the air. “Good night,” he called over his shoulder.

You did not retreat into the warmth of the house until the darkness swallowed him up.

“This is ridiculous. What do you mean there’s a stipulation?” Another ten days had gone by and you were just now getting around to meeting with your grandfather’s attorney. Thaddeus Jones was emblazoned on the golden placard on his desk. The man before you did look like a Thaddeus but at the beginning of the meeting, he had insisted that you call him Jonesy. He sat back in his chair with a look somewhat like that of a golden retriever being scolded.

“Well, your grandfather wanted to give you time to… enjoy the little things in life again. He thought that maybe you’d need a break from all the hustle and bustle in New York. As such, in his will he specified that you could only sell the ranch if you stayed there for one year. If at the end of that year you decide that you still want to move forward with the sale, then you are more than welcome to and will receive any and all profits made from said sale. If, however, you have a change of heart, the ranch is also yours to run as you please. But if you decide to sell any time before then, all profits made from the sale will go to our local youth program.” There was no use trying to hide the stunned expression written all over your face. You had to stay here for a year? How were you even supposed to go about this without feeling torn about one thing or the other? You weren’t in it for the money. You knew that with a certainty that sat deep in your gut. And donating to a youth program was a great use of anyone’s money.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just thought this wouldn’t be so complicated.” Jonesy nodded solemnly, his round spectacles sitting towards the tip of his nose. “I thought this would be a sign and done deal. I thought I wouldn’t feel so conflicted about leaving,” you finished quietly and suddenly it was as if the air had been punched from your lungs. There it was. There was the real reason this whole thing felt so ludicrous. It wasn’t the stipulation itself--it was the fact that you were actually considering it. You glanced out the vaulted window of Jonesy’s office. It was on the second story of his building and gave you a sweeping view of Dove’s Reach. It also gave you a focused picture of the huge storm brewing outside. Massive cumulus clouds gathered not so far away, the heart of them dark and foreboding. It mirrored the storm in your heart.

“I suppose the good news is that you have a while to make a decision. I’ll just have you sign some preliminary papers today and then you take all the time you need. It is a lot to take in but your grandfather was a good man, one of the best. I’ve known him since we were young colts ourselves. I’d like to think he knew what he was doing when he made this decision.” It was difficult to argue with any of that, considering you didn’t get the chance to know him better yourself. Maybe this was a good thing.

“Thank you, Jonesy. I really do appreciate it.” You bit your lip and glanced outside again. “That should work for today. I have a feeling I should be getting hom--getting back to the ranch before that hits.” You pointed and Jonesy watched you for a moment before nodding.

There really wasn’t much for you to sign at this point. Mainly papers about you having seen the will and that you had a knowledge of what was going to come of it. You gathered your copies and shook Jonesy’s hand before leaving; you were instantly glad that the two of you had decided to speed things up a bit because as soon as you exited the building, a cold gale hit you in the face, ripping back the hood of your jacket and nearly blowing your hair out of its braid. It would have been twice as cold had Thor not given you direction on which clothing was worth spending money on. You gave him a call, letting him know you were on the way back. It was a new routine, one that you had started. It felt good to have someone to stay in touch with. It was unlikely you’d get lost in such a small town, but still.

“Drive safe, darlin’. The closer you get out here, the harder the wind’s blowin’. I already put all the tools away and got most of the larger open spots on the barn boarded up. Also dropped some buckets on the front porch just in case. From what I could tell, the roof seemed pretty sounds but just in case.” A pause. “How did the meeting go?” You sucked in a breath.

“Different than how I thought it would go. I’d rather talk about it later though. I’m thinking I’m gonna head straight to bed when I get back. It’s just a lot. See you tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The drive back was definitely worse than the drive out. Wind and rain pelted your vehicle, so much so that by the time you got home your knuckles were white and your hands were aching when you released the steering wheel. Thunder rumbled closer and closer and lightning flashed in the distance. A warm bath and warm pajamas were currently at the top of your list. Then bed. You smiled when you saw there were indeed buckets on the front porch, all mix-matched colors and various sizes but they would do if the roof started leaking. At least you wouldn’t have to be scrambling to find anything if it did. There was also a note taped to the door, scrawled in surprisingly loopy handwriting.

Grabbing some clothes and things from my place, won’t be back for a couple hours. Call if you need anything :)

You smiled and stepped inside, glad to be out of the weather. As you turned again to glance out at the land, the sky darkened visibly even as you stood there. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

Your phone screen was too bright in the dark space of the living room. 8:30 PM. The power had gone out and it had taken you a little bit of time to scrounge up some candles to keep things lit. You knew you should just go to bed but quite frankly, you knew that wasn’t a possibility. The storm raging outside was unlike any storm you’d experienced before. Sure, there were big storms back in New York but this… the wind and rain was coming down so hard, you were sure the roof was going to tear off. It was doing surprisingly well right now but with each big gust, the whole house groaned. The thunder and lightning were even worse. The sound of both was so close, so loud, so frequent that your ears were ringing. There was no way to research now with the internet out but you were pretty sure you had read something about lightning being able to strike you in a house.

You paced, already familiar with the location of the furniture, every wall, every corner. It was a comfortable dance around the couch, passed the coffee table, to the window by the fireplace and back. A flash of lightning burst in the sky, illuminating every contour of the layout of the house. Almost immediately the clap of thunder sounded like some ancient drum and despite the logical part of your brain telling you it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine, you dropped to your knees.

“Holy shit,” you breathed through clenched teeth. Your hands were shaking as you brought the phone to your ear. Thor was probably already asleep. He had gotten back about an hour ago and was a naturally early riser because he somehow was able to fall asleep early every night. He was probably asleep--

“What’s wrong?” The sleepy gravel in his voice sent shivers tripping down your spine. He had been asleep. But those two words were still calm. Concise. Protective. You were silent. Now you felt stupid.

“Uh, it’s--it’s nothing. I’m sorry I woke you. I can’t sleep. This storm is pretty wild. Um. I thought maybe you’d still be awake and wanted a drink but it’s fine. We have--” You didn’t know if it was your rambling or if he sensed the fear in your voice.

“I’m comin’ up.” That was that. A dial tone. He had already hung up. There was no chance for you to object. You waited by the front door, listening to the rain and watching for more flashes of lightning. You heard Thor’s heavy footsteps as he came up the porch steps, saw him as a flash of lightning illuminated his outline from behind. You hastily opened the door. He hesitated for a moment, only long enough to watch as you nearly leaped out of your skin when another boom of thunder cascaded about you.

He stepped into you, wrapping you up in a hug. It was unexpected but you felt yourself sag into him. His jacket was wet from running through the rain so he slipped it around you and suddenly you were enveloped in warmth. You buried your face in his chest, as he rested his chin on the crown of your head, rubbing his hand down your back. You took deep pulls of his scent as his voice rumbled above you, into you from his chest.

“Aw, it’s just a little lightnin’, darlin’. Just a little storm. You’re safe. Nothin’ to worry about, I promise. You’re safe.” He kept murmuring it as he nudged the door shut behind him with his boot. Murmured your safety into existence like a mantra. As you rested there in his arms, your hands under his jacket around his back, you tried to remember the last time you felt this way, like nothing could touch you in the world. The house could crumble around you and you would be fine. In his arms, you would be fine. You gripped a little tighter, noticing with mirth how your hands could barely touch around his abdomen.

“How about that drink?” You said it into his chest as he stilled above you, breathing in slow and steady as he nodded into the top of your head. You reluctantly backed up from him as he slipped passed you into the living room making straight for the fireplace. He had it roaring as you brought two glasses of whiskey on the rocks and set them on the coffee table. You sat, dragging the blanket around your shoulders and allowing yourself to zone out while you stared into the fireplace. The crackling of its embers still couldn’t drown out the maelstrom outside, however. Thor took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. When he sat next to you, the couch sagged under his weight. He took a sip of his drink before sitting back and opening his arms in invitation. You didn’t wait this time, instead scooting over to nestle up against him. Heat radiated off of him.

“Did you know the diameter of a lightning strike is actually only about the size of a quarter? Think about that, that big ol’ powerful force of nature the size of a coin.” No you didn’t know that. Another flash of lightning, another clap of thunder. This time you didn’t jump. “And thunder can actually be heard as far away as twelve miles from the actual strike.” Another sip of whiskey. “Lightning can also strike outside of the rain zone. Those strikes are called anvil crawlers.” A log shifted in the fire and your eyes drooped. He chuckled quietly as he intoned “In Norse mythology, the sound of thunder supposedly comes from my namesake as he rides his chariot across the sky.” You offered a lazy smile even though he couldn’t see it.

Thor continued on with more various facts about thunder and lightning and the storms that brought them. The taste of the whiskey sat light and spiced on your tongue, and your eyelids became heavier as you relaxed into him more. The fire burned steady and even though the storm continued to rage outside, at a certain point Thor’s voice faded into nothing as you fell asleep.

You woke up to the sun shining directly in your eyes. You groaned, shielding them from the crisp light and instantly regretted taking your hand out from under the blanket away from your heat source… Thor was stretched out behind you on the couch. It could barely fit the two of you but his arm was locked around your waist, caging you in. His breath came slow and steady on your neck. You could hear the rooster calling from his coop by the barn, hear his hens clucking about him. The cat you still hadn’t named was curled up on the rug by the fireplace, the embers almost completely died down. Thor took a huge breath, tickling the hairs on your neck as he rumbled something into the skin there. Your heart ballooned in your chest.

“I guess my facts weren’t that interestin’, seein’ as how we both fell asleep. Want some coffee?” You nodded as the two of you sat up. The cat chirruped from his place on the rug. He stood and arched his back in a stretch as well, coming over to the two of you for his morning pets. You both reached down to touch his hand, your hands meeting in the middle. Thor offered you a sheepish grin as he stood. “Uh, coffee is… ?”

“In the cupboard above the pot.” You smiled back, not bothering to hide any of the warmth in its shape. You stood, letting the cat out the front door. He seemed a little indignant at the fact that it was so wet outside but his ears swiveled and he was out the door and racing down the steps. You added some kindling and more logs to the fire, satisfied as flames leaped into existence. Thor handed you a mug of steaming coffee, with cream and a little bit of brown sugar. How he knew how you liked your coffee you didn’t know. But you liked that he knew.

The storm had cleared. A peek of blue sky could be seen from the window. With the clear sky came clear thoughts. It had been two weeks already since you had come to Dove’s Reach. Two weeks since you learned you had the rights to a whole ranch. A day since you had learned that you had to stay here for a whole year if you wanted to see any profits from selling. And only a night since you had realized that a year was no time at all.

[feralnumberfive]

The Rewatch Academy: Episode 3 of Season 1

“Extra Ordinary”

I am in no way a good analyst so my little analysis and speculations probably sound a bit goofy or pretty wild and probably mean nothing at all. Everything I put into this post about each episode is purely what I noticed or thought, whether it's funny or serious. I will be making jokes, so please just leave it at that (in no way am I trying to make fun of an actor and or character!) I am also in no way saying I noticed this stuff first. This is just what I noticed while rewatching these episodes

☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ 

1x01 | 1x02 | 1x03 | 1x04 |

☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂

☂ First off I’d like to say that this is one of my favorite episodes of this season. It’s just soooo good

☂ The second comic book in the window features the Televator from the actual comics, so that has to be canon in the show! Also at the time that that second comic came out, Five had already left since we don’t see him on the cover

☂ It’d be cool if they actually printed Vanya’s book for fans to read

☂ Well Diego isn’t wrong when he called Hazel and Cha Cha animals because of their masks

☂ Honestly I feel Vanya’s struggle with chair placement. I’ve fortunately had the luck of playing in all three clarinet chair placements, but 1st chair is challenging. I personally found each placement very fun to play, especially 3rd, and I hope Vanya does too! (why am I talking like she’s real)

☂ Hazel talks about people living ordinary lives, but didn’t he live like that too at one point? How does The Commission recruit people? If they get ordinary people, do they wipe their memories of their previous lives?

☂ “Let’s see’em get out from behind their desks, get their hands dirty for once.” Well Hazel, Five does indeed do this even though he only had a desk job for a day. Still, he got to experience both worlds

☂ My mind is blanking on this, but how did Five get that cut on his arm? Was it from a bullet wound at Gimbel’s? 

☂ Five must have a high pain tolerance to stitch his own wound but his bandaid probably wouldn’t stick due to the wet blood he slapped it over. Five sweetie you need a cotton pad and gauze for that one

☂ Wait, you’re telling me that The Umbrella Academy boys’ top uniform consists of a tank top, a white dress shirt, a tie, a sweater vest, and then the blazer? Someone asked Reginald what he wanted for the uniforms and he just said “Yes.”

☂ Five: *puts hands in pockets only to immediately take them out*

☂ Aidan almost sounds like he has an accent when he says “I'm done funding your drug habit.” 

☂ Five’s so soft talking to his wife

☂ No Leonard, your bread and butter is being a creep

☂ Also, he thinks wood carving is embarrassing? If someone came up to me and showed me something they carved out of wood I would be so jealous cause it’s such a neat form of art

☂ Leonard saying that he carved wood, and in that case wooden figures, when he was a kid is a slight foreshadow of all of his tampering with his Umbrella Academy figures. He can make wooden figures but he’s also destroyed a handful of the Hargreeves figures 

☂ “Never really did like The Beatles.” Well sir you’ve made me dislike you even more

☂ Vanya asking Allison if her siblings wanted her at the family meeting bugs me a bit. I absolutely get that she was literally left out of anything and everything that had to do with her siblings when she was younger, but Allison just asked her to come back home for a family meeting. Allison wouldn't have walked around looking for Vanya only to tell her that they were having a family meeting and that she wasn’t actually invited. Allison is including her in on a family meeting but Vanya is just in a bit of disbelief that she’s being included

☂ Ah yes, the only PTSD flashback for Five we see in the show! He looks so scared when he snaps out of it. I believe it was somehow triggered by the kids (I could be wrong) but do you think Five sometimes panics when he looks at himself in the mirror now since his body is the same age it was when he got stuck? Also it’s very subtle but when Luther opens the door, Five slightly jerks/flinches back. I wish we would see more of this in the show since it’s one of his major traumas

☂ “Does it matter? It’s Klaus.” Ouch! Well Five I hope you know that your siblings are somewhat thinking the same thing since they believe that you’ve lost your mind and are practically an old man crying “Apocalypse!” 

☂ Five does an ever so slight huff and smirk when Luther tells him that the meeting at the Academy is important. He finds it a little funny but so frustrating in his mind that Luther doesn’t know what’s truly important

☂ Also I love that Aidan has to turn to the side so that he can keep it together after Klaus talks about his chocolate pudding waxing. Either that or he’s portraying Five as being frustrated and in disbelief. Also this is the first time I’ve noticed that he says “Ay, ay ay...” 

☂ “We’re all you have. And you know it.” Oh Luther, you’re failing to see that that’s why he’s acting like this right now. He’s all frantic and crazed about trying to stop the apocalypse so that he can protect and save all that he has

☂ Five certainly is mad at Luther during his mini lecture. He’s clenching his jaw tightly and when he first speaks he hisses out the words through gritted teeth. He even called Luther by his number. He’s very impatient at this point and doesn’t care for Luther’s act of attempting to be a leader

☂ This is their first, and certainly not last, time watching Klaus go by in front of them doing something he shouldn’t be doing

☂ “You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya.” Sir you were also just on the moon for four years. Yeah Vanya was away for a long time but Grace easily could have changed too during the four years you were gone

☂ How sweet, even though Five hasn’t really been home they want to include him in on the family vote :]

☂ I’ve noticed that in S1 that David really mumbles his lines. A lot

☂ I wish we got more flashbacks of the younger Umbrellas

☂ Diego my beloved mama’s boy ♥️

☂ It’s confusing as to which country TUA takes place in, but it’s really not supposed to be a specific one. It’s portrayed as being in North America, but you can see behind Cha Cha when she gets out of the car at the Academy the flag of the RAF, which Canada would have at a monument since it’s a Commonwealth country. At the same time though Delores came from Gimbels, which was a department store chain across the U.S

☂ The light above Five’s portrait is slightly crooked, which probably means no one has really been paying attention to it

☂ It makes me nervous that Klaus wipes bubbles onto his face. It looks like he got some in his eyes

☂ Ugh I love the whole scene of Hazel and Cha Cha walking around the Academy with “We’re Through” playing

☂ Diego: *has knives but instead chooses to punch and hit Hazel to try to make him let go of Allison”

☂ A rope-a-dope is a boxing tactic of pretending to be trapped against the ropes, goading an opponent to throw tiring ineffective punches. Diego sweetie Hazel wasn’t even trying to get you off of him all he was doing was choking Allison. The only person who got tired was probably you

☂ What’s the point in Diego yelling “Luther, go!” if he’s already going 💀

☂ Luther was there immediately when Hazel attacked Vanya. That means that Luther heard Vanya and was going to go get her to safety

☂ I will never stop signing my praise for the entirety of the “Sinnerman” fight scene(s). It gives me chills every single time. Easily one of the best scenes in all of the show

☂ Klaus must really have his music blasting if he can’t hear the gun shots right next to him

☂ I’ve always wondered if Allison actually registered in her mind that “The boy” is Five when Cha Cha says that’s who they’re looking for. Either she does realize that’s Five, is simply just angry that those two are looking for a boy, or registers in her mind that it’s Five through his superhero codename even though Cha Cha’s not referring to him in that way

☂ Diego is full on just standing in the background watching Allison get beat up by Cha Cha 🕴

☂ I love Diego’s little hand flap when he gets hit in the hand fighting Cha Cha

☂ Okay so I make everything about Five, but the whole Cha Cha fight scene with Allison and then Diego kind of scares me. Cha Cha and Hazel are both amazing assassins (they’re both probably right below Five) and neither Allison nor Diego could stop her by themselves. Could you imagine Five fighting one of his siblings? Especially with his spatial jumps? We already got a glimpse of his true combat skills when he fights Lila in S2. What a scary little old man

☂ “Vanya, get out of here!” Again, wanting to make sure that Vanya is safe and gets away. He even tried to go look for her

☂ Something I don’t really get about the Hazel and Luther fight is why doesn’t Luther just overpower him? Luther has super strength and on top of that he has giant muscles due to the gorilla DNA. Shouldn’t he be able to beat Hazel to a pulp? Maybe we have to consider that Hazel might have been altered by The Commission to be stronger and more durable, but they haven’t mentioned that in the show

☂ “Ah, you gotta cut down on that fast food, soldier.” What are you talking about Diego he literally just got off the moon two days ago aflksjfdk

☂ So Luther was too injured to jump out of the way of the chandelier but was able to push it up off of himself? 🤔

☂ I personally think that Luther’s body design adaptation for the show is really cool and that they gave him the perfect amount of bulk without making him look ridiculous

☂ This has been pointed out before, but cross-stitch foreshadowing, baby 

☂ Again, Diego my beloved mama’s boy ♥️

☂ Well at least Diego thought about Vanya dying before thinking about his siblings dying because of her. The latter is ironic!

☂ The clock above Luther’s mirror reads approximately 1:30 am. Hazel and Cha Cha didn’t want to wait until morning

☂ I wonder how different it would be if Five was present at the Academy when Hazel and Cha Cha attacked. He probably would have surrendered himself to them, but it's fun to entertain the idea that he would go apeshit if he knew that they were harming his family in order to find him

☂☂☂☂☂☂☂

Feel free to comment or reblog with things you have noticed too!

[jtrokujo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐒

pairing: Shoto Todoroki x fem!Reader

word count: 2.1 k

warnings: none

genre: fluff

summary: the bad relationship in the past mixed feelings of him until his heart beat faster and faster for a certain person. Because of his nervousness and fear, he didn't even dare to have a dialogue with her and therefore decided to use the old-fashioned way of confessing his feelings.

—

The rain, which kept beating on the window panes, saw the young girl see her prospect.

The weather was once again not pleasant.

It should probably stop tomorrow, let's hope, because it has been raining almost continuously for about 3 days.

In addition, the wind blows very strongly from time to time, which doesn't really make the situation any better.

With the heater turned on, she also put on cuddly clothes plus a towel on her hair, as she comes from school and the hair has gotten wet from the weather.

The girl quickly remembered something specific, which is why she reached for her bag.

Rummaging through, she searched for something specific, but she did not find it at first glance, which almost increased her panic.

She took her bag and shook it out.

It came down like in slow motion.

Grabbing it quickly, she took it and made herself comfortable on her bed.

The young girl has been receiving one and the other letter from a mysterious person for weeks.

In addition, every time she opens the letter, a white flower shines out, but it's not just a white flower, but that of a white rose.

How they love this.

The font; clean and orderly.

The Rose; soft and pleasantly scented.

And this notation; the new butterflies that dance in her every time.

Actually, she has no eye on anyone or has the feeling that someone has an eye for her.

Maybe it's because she doesn't pay attention to everyone.

Because she goes to a hero school to become a heroine and not to make new friends.

Still, she has friends with whom she spends most of her time.

The only person who knows is Mina, but sometimes the (H / C) hairy one wishes to have the quirk that other voices take from her.

Example; when they want their books for the next subject and open their locker, the letter falls like every time the letter falls, Mina screeches now and then like a madwoman and sometimes watches the boys, but one thing is clear, it is not a member of the BakuSquad.

With a pounding heart, she finally began to read the letter she had delivered.

As reluctantly as I like to talk about my feelings, or in this case write, I know easily too acceptably that I can do it with you.

Every day I see your smile, your smile that lets butterflies fly into my stomach, your radiance, which gives me protection, your trustworthiness, which makes me cheer up from the difficult days that I have behind me, your jokes that make my heart laugh and that although some of them are also pretty bad or your character itself, everything is perfect, as if you were a handmade doll that does not show a thread.

Everything about you is perfect, your mind, your warmth, your body and infinitely much more.

I want to tell you every day how optimal you are, nonetheless that is also the problem.

You are effortlessly too impeccable to me, in the course of giving almost everyone the cold shoulder, you are pleasant to everyone, for yourself to a few you do not particularly like.

I love getting up every morning just to see you.

It is already funny to master that you talk to me without knowing that it is me.

That this very cowardly person who has the courage to talk to everyone in the way I want, in spite of all this, cannot tell the person that I designed for those feelings.

We talk this way many times, we also spend our free time together and I like to listen to you, but you don't recognize me, the person who wrote you these and other letters every evening with a sad expression on his face.

However, it makes me happy that you read it and also that you hide it as quickly as you can.

I wonder how we were in our previous lifetimes, if you understand what I mean, if not I will explain it to you immediately.

For example, in the 18th century we were lovers who were not allowed to be together and therefore fled.

Or in ancient Romans, for example, when I fought a lion for you.

Or when we spent most of the time together in the Ice Age, just so as not to have to end up as huge insights.

Or will we see each other again in our subsequent lifetime?

I sincerely hope that it is clear to you that there are enough of people out there who love you in the way you are, please do not forget that alone.

And if you should be hungry, do not ignore your stomach and eat as much as you can, nevertheless not too pronounced is not healthy!

See you tomorrow.

As always, she folded her letter again, united as she had previously.

Immediately afterwards she knelt in front of her bed to be able to get at an old shoebox.

She slowly opened it and put her letter there.

Since she receives a newfangled letter almost every independent day, her shoebox is still bursting, as it is obviously not too big.

So far she has received at least 20 letters from her Mysterious Admirers, but she hoped that he should not come to school one day so that she can control who is behind all this.

Especially when the (H / C) wanted to lie down, she noticed that she still had to do her homework for tomorrow.

Sighing, she got up from her bed and did her homework equally.

TIME SKIP

In the morning with no dream whatsoever, her alarm clock woke her up from her sleep.

As much as she wanted to sleep, she gave up regardless of that and got up after slowing down several times.

Yawning, she did her 'morning trial' as if continuously.

After she put on the last pair of her, she said goodbye and was long gone.

After a few minutes she finally arrived, but as always earlier than the others, that Iida and Momo are at school earlier than some teachers, it ultimately doesn't surprise anyone.

From minute to minute the students enter, some talking to each other, some in turn sit quietly in their place and wait for the school bell to ring.

Hitting the floor with her foot, she looked out the window and saw some students entering the school grounds.

Some themselves, some with friends.

By the time anyone entered the classroom, she turned and saw him.

Shoto Todoroki.

Even when they were very small they learned to control themselves, nevertheless they were not like you can see during the films or series from the beginning buddies, no more precisely old acquaintances.

Of course they talked to each other, but they were too different.

It is already clear that they are having the same dreams, however a voice keeps saying again and again at any given moment; You do not belong together.

Anyway, she just doesn't like remembering her old days with Shoto.l

Of course, right now, in some ways, she understands why he was this way, that it hurt her.

There was that one moment when she finally had the courage to talk to him, but it all tended to be a failure instead of what she had planned.

ABOUT 9 YEARS BEFORE

It was the beginning of summer, the sun was shining continuously, the ice was melting on your hands, the long day and the short night, going swimming in combination with relatives and much more.

A real season for people who love warmth endlessly or for those who never get bored.

However, the summer vacation does not initiate for 3 days.

Will Shoto still manage?

At home, things were by no means exceptionally acceptable.

Why no human soul knows except for the people who are to blame.

Even the educators had already asked his parents or his father whether everything was okay at home, he laughed heartily and said that Shoto had been constantly in this way for a long time and that everything was okay at home.

They are currently on a break, which is why all the children are outside and enjoying the weather these days.

The marginal girl saw him watching, 'You will do it, (Y / N), ask him without a hitch if he would like to play with you.'

Of course she could have asked the other one if she had been given a little consideration.

Every time she tries to talk to her fellow human beings, ignore them, they or they walk away without saying a word and since no one soul wants to talk to Shoto, she saw this as her chance to talk to him and who knows, they might Be friends.

"Oi, Shoto." slowly turned, the tiny boy around whence the voice came anyway.

"Do we want to play UNO together?" she asked kindly and shows him the cards.

"I want to be to myself and please don't bother me." he said softly and turned away from her.

Since the little one was a bit sensitive, it had hurt her for a long time, as he had long since turned her away.

Sometimes he said coldly 'Don't nerve' or 'Please get out of here'.

Sighing, she sat a little further away beside him, in silence until the pause passed.

PRESENCE

"Good morning, (Y / N)." she heard his voice.

Turning to his direction, she explained it to him in exactly the same way and, just like the other students before, gave her consideration from the window.

The half-white haired man hung his head sadly and hoped that any second the school bell would explain.

Since one day of school at the UA, they had mutually unusual aura.

Because since the beginning of elementary school you have had no more 'contact' because you go to the selected schools and immediately?

Now they are behaving strangely and already speaking only one sentence in one sentence, they have by no means had a real dialogue together.

Nevertheless, it may also be better that way.

Suddenly the school bell explained and all the students took their seats.

"Good morning, students."

"Good morning Aizawa-sensei!" said the students in chorus, with which the lessons began from now on.

TIME SKIP

"Finally, I had the feeling that this lesson would never end, because this time the lesson with the present mic was pretty bad, he had scared me so much that I forgot what my name was in English." Mina pouted to herself, while her friend, (Y / N), laughed at her heartily.

"Hey, that's not funny!" she said indignantly and finally opened it.

"Yes, please forgive me, Alien Queen."

"Hey, my name was clearly better than yours!"

"Oh yes?" said the (H / C) amused and opened her locker and like every time her letter landed on the floor.

In a few seconds Minas beamed with joy and quickly picked it up for her friend, "Do you have any idea who that might be?" she asked excitedly.

"No, unfortunately not." her friend sighed and put it in her pocket.

"Doesn't matter now, let me escort you home." she said and left without waiting for her.

"Hey, (Y / N), please wait for me!"

On arrival at home (Y / N) did her daily routine, sitting comfortably on the bed with her letter in her hand, she slowly opened it and noticed at first glance that it seemed a little different from the others.

It was short, quite a bit.

Not like the others in that the last sentence on the sheet should be so small that everything fits.

Tomorrow, at the cherry blossom place.

Right after school.

So short and dry?

Well, I had a choice, but I can defend myself at any time and why should I, it's clear that he goes to the UA just like me.

It doesn't matter now either, I should get ready for bed now.

TIME SKIP

"Are you sure you want to go there alone?" Mina asked uncertainly and meanwhile put on her street shoes.

"Yes, but if you want you can send you my location."

"Ok ... but tell me who this person is, understand ?!" Mina giggled to herself.

"Naturally." (Y / N) took a look at her cell phone and saw that she was spending a little longer time with Mina than expected.

"I think I should go!" and jogged out of school, Mina shouting after her "Send me your location!"

"Will I!"

Except for breathing, she has arrived at the meeting point, but she does not know whether she came too early or too late.

While walking in the park, she saw friends talking to each other, couples sitting on a bench and talking about different topics or older seniors taking a little walk.

"I'm very happy that you came, (Y / N)." she heard his voice behind her out of nowhere.

Slowly, as if in slow motion, she turned around and said quietly, with a grin, his name "Shoto?"

TIME SKIP

"Finally, I had the feeling that this lesson would never end, because this time the lesson with the present mic was pretty bad, he had scared me so much that I forgot what my name was in English." Mina pouted to herself, while her friend, (Y / N), laughed at her heartily.

"Hey, that's not funny!" she said indignantly and finally opened it.

"Yes, please forgive me, Alien Queen."

"Hey, my name was clearly better than yours!"

"Oh yes?" said the (H / C) amused and opened her locker and like every time her letter landed on the floor.

In a few seconds Minas beamed with joy and quickly picked it up for her friend, "Do you have any idea who that might be?" she asked excitedly.

"No, unfortunately not." her friend sighed and put it in her pocket.

"Doesn't matter now, let me escort you home." she said and left without waiting for her.

"Hey, (Y / N), please wait for me!"

On arrival at home (Y / N) did her daily routine, sitting comfortably on the bed with her letter in her hand, she slowly opened it and noticed at first glance that it seemed a little different from the others.

It was short, quite a bit.

Not like the others in that the last sentence on the sheet should be so small that everything fits.

Tomorrow, at the cherry blossom place.

Right after school.

So short and dry?

Well, I had a choice, but I can defend myself at any time and why should I, it's clear that he goes to the UA just like me.

It doesn't matter now either, I should get ready for bed now.

TIME SKIP

"Are you sure you want to go there alone?" Mina asked uncertainly and meanwhile put on her street shoes.

"Yes, but if you want you can send you my location."

"Ok ... but tell me who this person is, understand ?!" Mina giggled to herself.

"Naturally." (Y / N) took a look at her cell phone and saw that she was spending a little longer time with Mina than expected.

"I think I should go!" and jogged out of school, Mina shouting after her "Send me your location!"

"Will I!"

Except for breathing, she has arrived at the meeting point, but she does not know whether she came too early or too late.

While walking in the park, she saw friends talking to each other, couples sitting on a bench and talking about different topics or older seniors taking a little walk.

"I'm very happy that you came, (Y / N)." she heard his voice behind her out of nowhere.

Slowly, as if in slow motion, she turned around and said quietly, with a grin, his name "Shoto?"

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days. 

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

characters: sirius black, regulus black, background wolfstar

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services

words: 3.1k

read it on ao3 here

When Sirius wakes up, he feels like he doesn’t know where he is. It’s all too much, as usual. Just another completely  unremarkable day. He wishes he could say he didn’t feel like this all the time, he wishes he could say that waking up didn’t feel like the ultimate betrayal– a way that his body continued to force itself not to submit to his will. But he couldn’t say that when his day and his routine always felt like a chore. Not when he was tired, and so fucking bored of this life he kept waking up into. So he mindlessly rolls out of bed, thin hands already wrapped around his body in a self soothing posture. He didn’t remember the last time he had a good night’s rest. He finds himself stepping on the hardwood floor, all of his bones cracking into place, and wonders what the day will bring him.  

The way he trudged over to the coffee machine was mechanical. It was always just a short twenty steps, and yet each  stride felt like an eternity. He knew that nothing would get better without his normal too sweet cup of coffee, his eyes would not click into focus, the buzzing in his brain would  not slow down, the way his stomach lurched with every step, none of it would end until he had his  usual cup. So he made his way through the desolate flat, eyes unseeing, and before he knew it, his hands were wrapped around the shocking cold of a glass brimming with ice and espresso. He knew this isn’t the most productive part of his morning routine, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. A quick glance towards the clock told him he was running late, and it takes a moment for his brain to register the fact that he needs to care about that. He needed to do something about that. So he returns to his room, coffee in hand, and methodically picks out an outfit. When he was younger, his mother had impressed upon him the importance of a uniform. Every outfit should have at least three pieces, and uniforms were an excellent way to maintain looking put together. It was one of the only things Walburga had ever truly taught him, and it was all thanks to the high society life he left behind. 

But that life was gone now, it only lived in the recesses of his mind, and the periphery of his vision. He trudges back out of his room once more, this time towards his computer. He was far too busy to be behaving in this manner. He didn’t have the time to lose his mind, there were deadlines approaching. He logged on to his computer, into his first meeting of the day, and was met with a new project. He wished he could say he paid enough attention to know what the pitch was, but he figured he’d read the  summary  of the work in the brief James was kind enough to send over, as well as the client notes. It pays to work with your best friend. Sirius found himself chuckling humorlessly at that statement, and wondered how long it had been since he actually laughed.

He threw himself into the project, illustrating for a book cover he has yet to actually consider the content for. He knew it was a personal work, a series of poems that are no doubt about depression and trauma, given the brief, but there was no way he would actually be reading the poems. Not when he was already dealing with his own chaos. He was so busy grappling with being spurned by  his family, by his younger brother, that he didn’t really have the energy for someone else’s trauma. Instead, he was too busy trying to figure out how to deal with the resentment from his younger brother, a brother who had been placed in his care by the government. He was trying to figure out  how to budget for two, how to make this all work. The hearings and the documents and the lawyers and the awarding of custodial custody had all been incredibly intense, and he still didn’t know how to explain to Reggie why he left him behind, or how to ask what kind of support he needed. 

He heard the door click closed, which is a sound Sirius is not yet accustomed to.  He felt the hair stand up on the back of his throat, and his fingernails have torn into the soft flesh on the inside of his arm before he remembers that two people live here now and he is no longer living with his parents in Islington. Regulus had the courtesy to not say anything to him, instead locking himself in his room. For a moment, Sirius considered just leaving his brother alone, but something struck him as wrong. While they might not know how to interact the way they used to, Sirius would be damned if he couldn’t find a way to support his brother through this transition. It takes him a moment to remember that it was two pm on a Wednesday, which means Regulus just returned from court ordered counseling, no doubt to deal with the trauma his parents put him through. So Sirius pulled himself out of his chair, and shuffled over to Regulus’s door hesitantly. His thin fingers curled into a fist, but before he can even knock Regulus’s quiet sobbing met his ears. 

Sirius moved much faster after that, spurred on by his brother’s clear distress. He barely registered Regulus’s quiet “come in” before he’s bounding through the door. 

In times like these, Sirius is confronted with the fact that Regulus is only fifteen, and that  this whole thing must be weighing heavily upon him. It reminded Sirius a lot of himself, because Sirius wasn’t much older when he was kicked out of their childhood home. But still, Regulus seemed so much less prepared than Sirius had been. Sirius was again confronted by just how young they were, only fifteen and twenty-one, and far too young to be dealing with these calamities. Sirius only hoped that he could prevent Regulus from making the same mistakes he had, trusting the wrong people, only to be spurned by them. 

He sat cross legged on the floor beside Regulus, unsure of what to do. He wants to pull his brother into a fierce hug, and tell him that he’s safe here. But instead, he did the thing he always craved others would have, when he was a scared kid falling apart at the seams because of his parents and their torments. 

“Reg, can I touch you?” He asked, arms limply at his sides. He wondered if it was weird to ask, even though if Regulus said yes it wouldn’t matter whether or not it had been weird. 

The younger boy let out a heavy sigh and nodded, and their identical silver eyes meet in a look of anguish and understanding. 

Sirius pulled his younger brother into his arms, his embrace gentle, and found himself tutting as though he were a parent. He was trying to be comforting, he really was. Reg was so small, and Sirius remembers what that was like too. He remembers being that young, and that alone. He knew how badly they must have hurt Reg, for him to have reacted like this. Regulus was always much more prone to passivity, to giving in and staying quiet. He had always tried to blend into the background, and Sirius, in return, had always made much  more noise to keep their attention. It was only when he took it too far, that all attention was on Regulus. Regulus had simply cracked under their pressure, which was why Child Protective Services had gotten involved. He couldn’t hide anymore,  he had been noticed, and it wasn’t long before they got more vindictive. Regulus was lucky someone had called for a constable when the screaming in their old home was so loud the neighbors could hear, because he had been in such a state when the ambulance arrived. 

The crying only subsided when Regulus collapsed of exhaustion in Sirius’s thin arms. For as much as Sirius wanted to just let the boy sleep in the safety of an embrace from the closest thing he’d ever have to a paternal figure, he needed to go back to work if they wanted to maintain their flat. So he settled his brother into bed and made his way back to his desk. His email had popped off for lack of a better term, and the client wanted to schedule a preliminary ideation meeting. So he added Remus Lupin to his calendar and went back to his sketches. 

He heard the familiar ping of his alarm, and compiled his sketches into a PDF to prepare for his meeting. He grabbed his pen, his notebook, and titled his page for his notes. Remus Lupin: Pre-Lim/Brief. This would  hopefully be quick, and he could log off for the rest of the day. Something was nagging at him, like he knew things were about to go incredibly wrong. It felt like a thrumming in his chest, and a constant need to look over his shoulder. But he ignored it, in favor of popping on his headphones, and opening the Webex meeting. Before him was a man that looked almost as young as himself, with caramel colored hair and eyes to match. This was decidedly not good. Sirius didn’t have the time to develop a crush, and it seemed unethical to crush on the authors of the books he designed cover art for. But he doubted that would stop him, when he tended to be romantic by nature. 

“I’m Sirius, I’m the designer spearheading this project. Sorry we couldn’t do this in the office, I’m currently working remote.”

“Hi!” The other man greeted, “i’m Remus! Do you know when you’ll be back in the office? We could  reschedule and do this meeting over coffee?” Sirius could tell this was Remus’s first publication, either he had previously self published  or he had simply never worked with a company before, because he seemed eager to have his hands in design in the way that only green authors want to. 

“I don’t really know, I’m currently dealing with a family crisis. But if I do come in, I’ll be sure to Teams you.”

“Oh, okay. I just wanted to get a sense for what direction you’re taking the cover art in.”  

Sirius nodded, eyes trained on the screen, “I read over the brief you and James wrote up, and did some precursory sketches. I sent them over in an email, but I could also share my screen.”

They talked about the logistics of the art, what Remus was trying to convey in his poetry. It wasn’t until they were talking about the subject matter of the book that Sirius felt his teeth set on edge once more.

“The book covers a lot of abuse and processing trauma in a tongue in cheek way, so I think it’s important that the cover art conveys that while also not being too serious. I don’t want people to look at the book and go ‘oh that book is about when your ex boyfriend beats you’ but I don’t want it to catch them off guard –” 

Remus’s explanation was interrupted on Sirius’s end, by Regulus stumbling out of his room, eyes wide with fear. It was clear Sirius was no longer paying attention, and Sirius was sure that his client could hear the frightened way he called out “Siri–” on the other line. 

“Listen Remus, I have to call you back. Thanks so much for meeting with me, but I need to take care of something. My number’s on the emails if you want to discuss the book further.”

Sirius is quick to hang up the phone, and even quicker to move from the chair at his desk and meet his brother in the middle of the room. His silver eyes were trained on Regulus’s shaking hands and the blood dripping from fingers. He wondered what happened, but he wasn’t about to press the young boy. Not when he looked so thoroughly terrified. So instead, Sirius gently guides him over to the sink in the kitchen, rinses his hands under the water, and bandages up his hands. 

“Siri I swear, I didn’t mean to break it. It just happened, I’m sorry I really didn’t mean it–” Regulus was rattling off apologies and all Sirius wanted was to make him feel safe. He wanted to remind him that he wasn’t in Islington, that Sirius wouldn’t be mad about whatever he broke. But he doesn’t know what to say, other than “don’t worry about it, Reg.”  In that moment, Sirius practically swears that his chest aches with a heartache he forgot he could feel. 

When Reg finally settled down again, back to callously ignoring Sirius because of the resentment he had built up, Sirius found himself letting out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding in. He had wondered how long their actual talking would last, but Sirius would take a sporadic two hours over two consistent minutes any day. 

He settled onto his couch, telly on for background noise, when he noticed a text from James. 

James: i’m coming over in 15. Bringing friends. Be cool. 

Sirius wanted to bang his head against the wall, because he couldn’t have friends over right now.  Not when Regulus was in such a precarious position. But given how long it had been since James had texted him,  there was no stopping him now. So instead Sirius knocks on Regulus’s door, only to find him in bed and half asleep. Sirius wondered if it was normal for a traumatized fifteen year old to sleep this much. But still, he explains to Regulus what was happening, in case the young man wanted him to divert to going out. When offered the out, away from constant vigilance, Regulus didn’t take it, which was, in some way, comforting to Sirius. Instead he told Sirius to try to be quiet, and not let anyone in his room, which Sirius happily obliges. In no time James was telling hiim they were on their way up, and that he was bringing the girl he had a crush on and her roommate. 

Sirius felt like a slob, looking around his home, but he didn’t have the energy to clean it up. So instead, he just unlocked the door, and told them to come in when they arrived. When they did finally make it, Sirius was shocked to be met with the author he had spoken to only a few short hours earlier, as well as his friends, and the girl James was apparently  smitten with. It was clear that Sirius was caught off guard evidently, because James was shouting “Surprise!” from behind him. 

Sirius met that excitement with a cold “Be quiet, Jamie.” It was clear that the group was drunk, which also didn’t bode well for Sirius. Because as soon as they were all settled on the couch, James is airing Sirius’s current chaos. 

“Remus, now that you’re our new best friend,” the man slurred, “you can peer pressure Siri into coming out with us. That bitch never comes out anymore because he’s a responsible parent.” 

Sirius, still nursing a cup of coffee, mumbled, “I resent that” into his cup. 

However, Remus must not have noticed, because he was too busy laughing. Part of Sirius was jealous at that, and he knew it. “I’m sure Sirius will come out when he has the time.” Sirius’s silver eyes met caramel brown and he wondered why Remus was sticking up for him. He finds his calloused hand brushing Remus’s thigh just briefly, and he wondered if he truly wants to flirt in front of his friends, people he’s never had the courage to come out to. 

The rest of their time in his apartment is a blur to Sirius, a blur of getting to know Remus a little better, and trying to  keep  James in line, but a blur nonetheless. But apparently whatever little flirting he had done had been enough for Remus to get the hint, because before Sirius can even blink it feels like, James is shouting for everyone to follow him to a bar, only for Remus to stay behind. 

When the others are out the door, Remus decided he’d make a move, and make a move he did. He got completely in the other man’s space and begins making demands. “If you’re gonna think about me that much, you could at least have the  decency to kiss me.” 

In an instant, Sirius was acting on it, and for a moment it feels like all of his troubles melted away. All he could focus on for a split second was the pillowy softness of Remus’s lips. And just as quickly  as he came, Remus is bounding out the door to follow behind the group. 

This was a day Sirius would remember for a long time. 

The next morning was Regulus’s first day back to school after all of the proceedings, and Sirius was excited to have the house to himself. So excited, in fact, that he sent off a text stating that he dropped Reg off to school, and that he hoped he could actually get some work done that day. That text had been intended for James, but Sirius clearly hadn’t been focused enough to make sure James was the recipient, because he quickly realized that it went to Remus instead. 

Remus, however, responds with excitement and asks if they could finish their conversation of his book over coffee, and Sirius simply didn’t have the heart to say no. That was how Remus ended up in Sirius’s apartment. However, what that didn’t explain were the events that followed. 

When Remus arrived, Sirius felt like shit. He felt shaky and like his vision was clouded and exhausted. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep while Remus was in his home, and he definitely didn’t expect Remus's legs as his pillow, and a pale hand combing through his unruly hair mindlessly. 

He really didn’t expect the way Remus kissed him again, with much more passion and fervor than he had the night before. And maybe it was Sirius’s lack of expectations and predictions that would be his downfall, because it was definitely how he ended up pulling his clothes back on while Remus slept off his afterglow in Sirius’s bed, and how Sirius ended up agreeing to a date with Remus later in the week, despite the fact that Sirius didn’t have the time. 

[chemist-ana]

The Planning

Summary- Everything is coming together for the biggest day of Anas life, and apparently one of the biggest events in New York. So why the rush?

Book- The Nanny Affair

Word Count- 3008

All characters belong to Pixelberry except for my OCs

Are you serious Ana?! How am I supposed to plan the most important wedding in New York since Sarah Jessica Parker and Mathew Broderick in 3 months!?” I can hear the panic in Justins, one of New York’s most sought after wedding planners, voice as he basically yells at me through the phone. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. 

“I know, and I’m sorry, but things have changed. Its why I chose you Justin, to pull off the impossible.” I knew that if I threw in a compliment it would do a little to help calm him down. I was the bride, wasn’t I supposed to be the dramatic one? I heard him take a deep breath. 

“Alright, let me make some calls, I will be in touch.” He hung up before I could answer him. I rolled my eyes and focused my attention to the endless stream of taxis, cars, and people outside hurrying home after a day at work. Things had changed. We needed to rush this wedding, because my father was going to walk me down that aisle. The Bentley pulled to a stop outside of our apartment building. Cliff, the doorman, opened the door with a smile. 

“Welcome home Ms. Schuyler.” 

“Thanks Cliff, have a good evening.” He tipped his hat at me as I walked into the lobby. My heals click against the marble floor as I walk to the private penthouse elevator. I hear the boys talking excitedly as soon as the elevator doors open into our foyer. I set my handbag down and remove my coat. I follow their voices into their bedroom and see them huddled around their 3D Printer. I decide to leave them to their project and follow the delicious smell of dinner into the kitchen. 

Ellen, our new nanny and house keeper, is standing over the stove. She looks up at me with a warm smile. 

“Good evening Ana.”

“Hey Ellen, whatever your cooking smells divine.” I grabbed a grape out of the fruit basket and opened the wine fridge, pulling out a bottle of Chateau Haut Brion Blanc. I poured myself a glass and immediately took a refreshing sip.  

“Thank you dear, it will be ready shortly.” She answers with a sincere smile. I pad across the oak floor into the master bedroom and stand at the floor to ceiling windows, looking out over central park. My mind wanders to my father, and my wedding day. Originally the plan was to get married next year, giving us time to get everything absolutely perfect, but with the news of my fathers diagnosis, things had changed. I wanted to fulfill the only childhood dream that I had about my wedding day, my father had to walk me down the aisle. After countless hours spent researching ALS time lines, I knew our window was closing, and closing fast. I took a sip of my wine and relished the taste. 

I am broken out of my thoughts by Sams cologne and his strong arms around my waist. He leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. 

“Hello my beautiful fiancé.” I lean my head back onto his chest and give him a soft moan in response. “How was your day?” 

“Well things are progressing in the lab, but Justin was a little… well upset at our change of timeline for the wedding…” 

“Good thing we hired the best, I cannot wait to make you my wife.” Sams says seductively, as his hands travel down the sides of my waist and he grabs my hips, pulling them back to meet his. I turn around in his arms and thread my fingers behind his neck. I pull his face down to mine and we lose ourselves in an electrifying kiss. 

“To be continued Mr. Dalton.” I whisper against his lips. “Dinner is ready and I don’t want to be interrupted.” I press one last kiss to his lips and pull back with a smile. 

***

The sound of my phone buzzing on my nightstand at 6 AM wakes me up the next morning. I look at the screen: Justin. I groan as I sit up and swipe my finger across the screen. I put the phone to my ear and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“I didn’t know I was paying you to be my alarm clock too.” I said with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Well honey I didn’t get any sleep last night because SOMEONE needed to fast track the most important event in New York this year, and if I am going to pull this off, I need your opinion like yesterday.” I glance over beside me and notice that Sam is still asleep, that man can sleep through just about anything. 

“Give me a moment Justin.” I climb out of bed and make my way into Sams office, flipping on the Tiffany lamp on his desk and sitting down in his Wegner chair. “Alright, I’m here.”

“So I was able to keep your rehearsal dinner at Tavern on the Green. But we ran into a couple hiccups with the venue. After literally hours on the phone I was able to convince 620 Loft and Garden that your wedding was more important then hosting a fundraiser for lost puppies, so we are a go there too.” My eyes settled on a photo of Sam and I on his desk. It was from our vacation to the Maldives when he proposed. I had completely tuned Justin out, admiring the happiness on our faces. I was looking at him like he was my entire world, and he really was. “My dear do you have your dress yet?” I’m snapped back into the present at his question. “Ana- I am judging by your silence that its a big N-O. My god what am I going to do with you? I will call Kleinfelds and get you in today.” 

“Justin today really isn’t a good day-“

“Ana! If you want the designer dress to go with your designer wedding then the designer needs time. True masterpieces take time. I will make your appointment for tomorrow only because you asked so nicely.” I roll my eyes at his remark and lean back in the chair. “Also- you need to talk to your future hubby about cake tastings and guest lists. We absolutely need to get these invites out this week if you want anyone to show up to your wedding.”

“Sam wants to take care of all the transportation and hotels for our guests, but I will finalize our lists with him today. And talk to him about cake tastings. Can I go back to bed now?” 

“Yes yes get your beauty sleep, and call me when you have that list finalized.I will text you soon with your dress appointment time. Ciao Bella.” He hangs up the phone without another word. I shake my head with a sigh and walk back into our bedroom. I straddle Sams hips and lean down to press a sweet kiss to his full lips. 

“Good morning handsome.” I whisper letting my lips graze the shell of his ear. He blinks awake and smiles.

“Good morning beautiful, I will never get tired of waking up like this.” He grabs my hips and gives them a soft squeeze. 

“So Justin just called, we need to finalize our guest list for the wedding.” 

“What time is it? Does this man have any boundaries?” He drops his hands from my hips and laces his fingers behind his head exposing his strong chest. 

“Well its like you said, we hired the best, and we actually want people to show up, so we need to give them at least a little notice.” I lay down next to him facing him, god his profile is just perfection. “Have you talked to Robin yet?” 

He sighs and runs his hands down his face. “No, we have just kept it professional at the office, he hasn’t even congratulated me yet for our engagement or my promotion.”

“Sam, for better or worse he’s still family. I won’t push you to reconcile with him, but I think you should. Maybe he’s just waiting for an invitation to our wedding.”

He turns to face me, reaches his hand up to my cheek, and runs his thumb across my lower lip. “I will talk to him today.” 

My phone buzzes on the nightstand 

Kleinfelds 10 AM tomorrow- I texted your mother, Vivian, Jenny, and Monica. DON’T BE LATE!

“Well I have no doubt that Justin is the best, he got me into Kleinfelds tomorrow, looks like I am going dress shopping.”

***

The ding of the elevator tells me Sam is home. I glanced at the clock on my laptop, 5:15. He’s home early. I had to go over the final list with him, we had finally gotten our list down to 150 guests, hopefully he had talked to Robin. 

“Where is the beautiful future Mrs. Dalton?” A familiar voice rang out through the apartment. Robin walked into the living room seconds later with a smile on his face. “There you are.” He walked over to me on the couch. I had just enough time to place my laptop next to me on the couch before he grabbed my hand and pulled me up and into a big hug. I look over his shoulder as Sam walks into the room and I give him a confused look. 

“Robin can you please let her go.” Sam says with annoyance. Robin unwraps his arms and holds me at arms distance. 

“Sorry bro, just welcoming Ana here into the family, something I have wanted to do for months now.” He says tipping his head towards Sam who is standing behind him. “I really am excited to have a sister.” He looks me in the eyes and gives me a genuine smile. 

“Hi Robin, so it looks like you two talked?” I say looking at Sam. Robin drops his arms from my shoulders, walks over to Sam and claps him on the back.

“We worked everything out. Sam even asked me to be his best man.” I widen my eyes in surprise. “Anyone want a beer?” Robin disappears into the kitchen and Sam walks up to me. He presses his lips to mine in a quick kiss. 

“We will talk later, but now I need to go make sure he doesn’t clean out our bar.” I grab my laptop and follow Sam into the kitchen. 

“So Robin, should I add a plus one to your RSVP?” Robin pauses before putting a grape into his mouth. 

“Are you kidding? And miss out on all the fine ass ladies you are inviting to this party? Not a chance.” He takes a swig of his beer. “Plus, someone needs to live the playboy life if this guys decided to tap out.” He gestures at Sam with his beer bottle. 

“I am going to pretend you didn’t just tell me you want to hook up with all of my friends at my wedding and just say no on the plus one. Sam can you look this list over and confirm your side? I need to get these names to Justin.” I hand Sam my laptop and he focuses on the screen. 

“Hey Ana, by the way, I heard about your pops, I really am sorry.” Robin walks over and rests a hand on my shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. I take a deep breath. 

“Thanks Robin.”I give him a sincere smile even though it felt like my heart was shattering.

“Looks good to me Ana, let’s send it out.” Sam hands me back my laptop. I sit down at the bar and breathe a big sigh of relief when the email goes out. 

***

Walking into Kleinfelds felt like I was walking into a fairytale. The most beautiful dresses everywhere I turned. I was already feeling overwhelmed.

“I am so sorry I’m late!” I said to the consultant. She had a friendly smile and her name tag read Francine. 

“Honey, this is your day, no need to apologize, let’s find you THE dress. The rest of the ladies are already here, let’s go find them and discuss what you are looking for.” She lead me to one of the show rooms. I see my mother and Vivian on one side of the room, and Monica and Jenny on the other. I hear a loud squeal as Monica turns around and sees me. 

“Ana!!!!” She runs over and squeezes me in a breathtaking hug. “Girl you told me your fiancé was rich, but I didn’t realize he was drop-everything-get-in-this-private-jet rich. I literally flew here on a private jet.” She whispers into my ear. She lets me go and holds me at arms length. I have to remember to thank Sam for getting her here.  

“I’m so happy you’re here Moni.” I bring her in for another hug. 

“Me too, honey, me too. Now let’s find your dress, I over heard Francine saying that she spoke to Sam and money isn’t an object. Jenny and I think we found you the perfect dress.” She grabs my hand and pulls me away from Francine. I look back at her with an apologetic look and she gives me a warm smile. 

“Go ahead, look, pull your favorites, and we will revisit in a few minutes.” She calls after me. 

Jenny greets me with a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

“Ana, look at this one, it’s a Pnina Tornai. This is your dress.” She shows me a long sleeve lace and satin mermaid dress with a plunging neckline. “This is perfect for you.” 

Francine walks up from behind me and grabs the dress out of Jennys hands. 

“I will put this in the fitting room Ana. Let’s get everyone together and have a little chat yeah?” She gives me a wink and I internally thank her. This is overwhelming enough as it is. After I give my mother and Vivian a quick hug we all gather together on the white couch. I glance over at my mother and Vivian, ever since my parents had moved to New York a month ago, they had hit it off. My mother looked at me and gave me a smile, I could see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. 

“So Jenny tells me that Sam has a yummy single brother?” Monica whispers in my ear. I raise my eyebrow as I look over at her. 

“Moni he is a total playboy, I wouldn’t if I were you.” She shrugs her shoulders and we turn our attention back to Francine as she begins talking. 

“Alright Ana, today is a big day! We have some champagne here for you” she gestures at the coffee table in front of us. “My first question is, do you know what kind of dress you are looking for?” 

I swipe a glass of champagne and take a big sip. Honestly I had not found the time to even start looking at dresses. She took my silence as a no. She gave me an encouraging smile.

“Well come back with me and we will start with a few different styles and see if we can narrow it down.” I stood up from the couch and followed her into a large dressing room. The first dress she had me try on was a ball gown. I felt like a princess, but it just wasn’t the one. I didn’t even bother showing it to my ‘squad’ as Francine had so lovingly called them. The next dress was an a-line. 

I walked out onto the show room floor and my mothers tears began to fall. 

“Oh honey, you look so beautiful.” Vivian handed her a tissue as my mother fanned her face. 

“Its beautiful, but is it really the one?” Jenny cocked her eyebrow at me. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror, I knew it wasn’t the dress I wanted Sam to see me in walking down the aisle. I looked at Francine and shook my head and followed her back into the dressing room. 

“Can I try on the dress that Jenny and Monica picked out?” I asked Francine as I lightly touched the sheer fabric on the sleeve. 

“As if you need to ask, of course. It really is a beautiful dress, it’s going to hug those beautiful curves of yours.” She laces me up after I step into it the soft silk caressing my skin. I step out of the dressing room and walk up onto the platform. Everyone stops talking as soon as I enter the room. I turn around to face the mirror. 

The top had a plunging neckline that dropped almost to my belly button and had a tan material behind the lace at the top. The dress hugged my waist and thighs and it was elegant, but sexy. I felt like a million bucks.

“He would love this.” I say under my breath. 

“This is the one.” Jenny said. “It looks like it was made for your body.” 

“Sam won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.” Monica chimed.

“Ana, you look absolutely beautiful.” Vivian said softly. 

“Here.” Francine said and clipped a beautiful veil into my hair that matched the dress perfectly. She spread it across my shoulders. In that moment I could picture it all, walking down the aisle and Sams smile. 

“Mom?” I turned around to look at her, she was the only one who hadn’t said anything. She had pulled another tissue out of the box on the table and was blotting at her eyes. “You look like a movie star sweetie, so grown up. You are stunning.” 

“Do you think it’s the one?” I said tears starting to fall from my eyes.

“Yes.” They all said in unison. 

I looked at Francine. “This is it.” There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. 

Chapter 5: The Emotions

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