#im just. stricken by small kindnesses today

[catravandece]

I took my cat to the vet early this morning after not sleeping and frantically shoveling out my driveway at 8am. I forgot to bring a blanket to cover his crate and the office receptionist who was helping me carry him used her keffiyeh to protect my boy from the snow. We had a shining moment together when I complimented it, I made her smile because most people didn't know what it was, and I swear to god I nearly busted out sobbing on the icy steps of that vet office. I was an emotional wreck and a hot sweaty mess, worried my cat was gonna die and she covered him from the snow. People in Palestine are fighting genocide and halfway around the world, a woman in my community used a bit of that culture to show my cat a kindness. It was beautiful and I am going to remember her for the rest of my life.

[st-kitten]

707 pt.3

← previous chapter christmas special

A/N: um... i've got two small special effects for this part, sooooo see if u can use them at the right moment :")

WARNINGS: trauma, implied death by accident, a good cry honestly, violence (intended IM A GIRLS GIRL BUT SOME THINGS ARE OKA-), that shlong, sloppenheimer (kidding: oral sex, both receiving), age gap (newsflash 😒) (reader is obv 20+ and toji is idk 38?)

"can we call y/n? for cake?" asked megumi.

"i'm not sure she wants to see anybody today, kid," replied a distressed toji

"but it's my birthday..."

toji couldn't resist megumi's puppy eyes. but he figured that if there was anyone you'd listen to, it would be him. it was worth a try.

both of them stepped out of their apartment, hearing music coming from your apartment. toji felt his breath returning to his lungs. music meant you were okay. or at least alive. your singing got clearer as the two of them stood outside your door. he tried knocking but it was left unanswered. toji wondered whether it was just a recording playing, so he pressed his ear on the door. no, that's definitely her. open the fucking door, y/n!

all toji had as a sign that you were inside were was you were singing.

[mention: easy on me, by adele, again for the lyrics ft.]

"i know there is hope in these waters..." is she crying?

"but I can't bring myself to swim, when i am drowning in this silence..." your voice croaked in the end. she's definitely crying. what the fuck did i do...

toji looked around the lobby. seeing it empty, he grabbed your doorknob and pressed hard on it, tearing it apart, breaking it. he gave it to megumi. he barged inside your barely lit, dark living room, only to find you sitting on the floor, head against the sofa, looking at the ceiling. broken glasses and torn papers surrounded you as you sang at the top of your lungs, voice overcome with some kind of pain that toji couldn't understand, but just feel.

"you can't deny how hard I've tried i changed who I was to put you both first but now I give up..."

"i was still a child..."

"so go eas-" hearing the door blast open, you stopped, whipping your head in its direction.

you were about to bark at toji when you saw the look on his face. fear... then you saw megumi, holding your doorknob, standing behind his father.

toji saw your grief-stricken face. the haunting melody of whatever heart-wrenching song you were singing still echoed in his ears, reaching out from the walls like a desperate cry for help. your disheveled hair clung to your face, a stark contrast to the carefree spirit that used to reside next door.

"w-what are you d-"

"what happened?"

toji treaded carefully around the broken glass, telling megumi to wait where he stood. he knelt down beside you, pushing away the small shards.

you sat there, too horrified to say anything. why is he here? a small shaky breath left your mouth, the rest bubbling up like lava, ready to erupt.

"i don't know what i did baby, but i'm sorr-" toji's apology went unheard as tears streamed down your face and a cry tore through the air like a wounded animal's howl. it was guttural, unrestrained, and laced with a pain so visceral that toji felt it in his bones. the sound wasn't pretty; it was raw and unfiltered, like the ugly side of life laid bare for anyone in earshot.

without a second thought, toji enveloped you in a tight embrace, pulling your trembling shoulders into him. he sat on the floor next to you, one leg folded down and the other tucked to his chest. he felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine as you sobbed into him.

"it's okay..." was all he could say. even he knew that it wasn't about fixing everything; it was about being there in whatever storm was raining down on you. he looked at megumi, unsure about how his son would take seeing you break down. the child stood a silent witness to all of it, his eyes glistening slightly.

"why is it okay?" you muttered. "for parents to be your first bullies..."

"what... stopped them," you sniffled, "from just listening to me?"

toji held onto every word that came out of your mouth. a part of him was relieved that this wasn't about him.

"i didn't want a fucking cake... i didn't want a cake, i just wanted them..." your breath hitched.

"you spend half of your life raising a child in the cruelest way... your last words to each other end up being an argument and... your last words to me were nothing..."

toji felt a knot in his stomach. he watched megumi leave and go back to their apartment. he was torn between his kid, disturbed on the eve of his birthday and the woman he was cradling, on her birthday...

as the echoes of your cry faded, they left behind a heavy, oppressive silence. only your shaky breath could be heard. he sat beside you, his eyes searching for the right words as you wiped away the tears that had traced down your cheeks.

"birthdays are supposed to be happy, ya know..." he whispered to you, as gently as he could. as if the wrong words would shatter you.

"they're also supposed to be spent with family apparently..." you said, gritting your teeth. toji didn't know what to say... he wanted so desperately to talk to her. but how do you even say something at a time like that?

megumi's small steps echoed in your living room. both of you looked at him. you felt like bawling your eyes out and toji simply smiled at his son.

megumi carried a small plate with a loaf of bread sitting atop, two tiny candles buried in it, their flames flickering in the dark room. he stood in front of you, holding out the plate to you with his tiny hands.

you held the plate, placing your hands on his. you glanced at the clock, which was seconds away from midnight. you blew one candle, covering the other with your palm. and when the clock struck 12, megumi blew the other candle out.

"happy birthday, gumi," you put the plate down and hugged him. he wrapped his tiny hands around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "happy birthday, y/n," he said softly.

hours passed by as you talked to toji about your unforeseen disappearance. megumi had fallen asleep in your lap and you stroked his head. you told him about your 13th birthday, your parents death in a car crash... you left some things off the conversation. oh, how toji felt each word you said. he knew how ruthless families could be. his own was never kind to him. he told you about his scar in return, and how he felt insecure about it.

"it's kinda hot, if you ask me." seemed like you were back to being your normal self.

toji smirked. "i know. you wouldn't stop kissing it last night."

you smacked his chest with the back of your hand. but it brought you two to that conversation. toji wanted it off his chest.

"i like ya."

you looked at him, taking a shallow breath.

"not just 'cause we made out yesterday. i'm the worst person to talk about feelings and shit to, but... i got 'em. for you." toji was done with it. he didn't want to stretch it any further. not after the day you'd had.

you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, "sit with it for a while. ya don't need to answer me right now."

toji picked megumi up from your lap, carrying him in his arms. he pressed a soft, patient kiss to your lips. "belated happy birthday," he said against your lips, got up and left, leaving a large hole in your door.

[ambient song y/n might vibe to: jeene mein aaye maza, by ankur tiwari]

you wandered aimlessly in the convenience store, picking up things and putting them back where they didn't belong. you circled the whole store thrice until the cashier asked you if something was wrong. paying for cheap beer and rice crackers you didn't even want, you left the store.

you walked home in the evening, head in the clouds. (a cloud shaped like toji)

he liked you. his words hammered in your mind like construction workers at the crack of dawn. girls usually felt giddy after hearing a boy confess to them. the fuck were you feeling? and why was it some kind of diarrhoea? you mind went back to how you'd kissed and how good it felt. there was no doubt that you found him attractive. you liked spending time with him. but did you like him? what even would you do if you did? date him? be his girlfriend? mother to his child? how did one go about dating an older man? if anything, he'd end up with another child.

you walked by a park, watching children playing (mostly falling), building sandcastles in the pit (and falling on them), running around chasing nothing (and falling), scurrying into their parents' arms (guess what).

did you want to be that to megumi? because being with toji meant being with megumi and being responsible for him.

you sat down on the pavement, sipping on beer that tasted like toothpaste, pondering over what kind of life you'd build for yourself. you were not interested in hook up culture. committed relationships were made to sound like life imprisonment sentences. the titles didn't apply to you and especially him. what would being with toji even look like? once your little quinn project comes to an end, what then? would he grab the cash and bolt? would he stay? would he stay anyway?

the more you sat and thought about it, the more things blurred. you thought it best not to overthink it. he did tell you to not rush an answer. but you were not the most patient of all people. the one thing you disliked was how things get awkward every time someone confesses their feelings out of the blue and the other has to be the dealbreaker.

you decided to do the rest of the thinking at home. the city was twinkling with christmas lights and decorations. it was always a wonderful sight to see. it made you want to travel to a quaint countryside only to realise your long lost love for the holiday season and family values as you broke into song about reuniting with your childh-yes, that hallmark movie.

when you entered through the gate to your building, you spotted megumi near the postboxes. a very uncomfortable megumi... in the arms of a woman you'd never seen. she looked rich. fur coat, pradas, sunglasses that covered her whole face like a covid shield. megumi so didn't want to be held like that. your gaze fell on toji, who... drumroll... had the exact same expression as his kid. as you walked in that direction you could hear the conversation.

"he likes me, don't you think?" PLEASE that's what rich people sound like?

"just put him down," toji sighed.

"no, i'm gonna steal him!!!" she giggled, shoving her face into megumi. he flinched and pushed himself away from her.

"aww, he's so playful... toji, why don't you invite me over for a drink?"

megumi wiggled like a worm in her arms, trying to escape her grip. he twisted like a pretzel until she had to put him down. but she held onto his hand tightly. that didn't go unnoticed by toji who was growing angrier every passing minute.

"come on... it'll be fun," she sneered.

"i gotta look after my kid." that was all he said.

"i'm sure he won't mind... right meggy? you'll let daddy and i play for a while, right?" megumi tried to pry her hands off, but she tugged at him harshly.

suddenly, all the diarrhoea made sense. the blur cleared. your eyes narrowed as you observed the audacious scene unfolding before you. something in your head snapped and you took purposeful steps towards her, and offensive gaze locked, devoid of any remorse.

swatting her hand off of megumi's, you put the kid behind you protectively. in a millisecond, your hand swung with conscious thought, as you smashed the beer bottle on her head. the glass shattered on her scalp, cutting through the background noise like a warning shot.

"not. your. kid."

caught between shock and appreciation for your sudden defence, toji covered his curled mouth with his palm. he looked at megumi, who stood behind you, holding the ends of your jacket. the kid looked back at his father, smirking mischievously. toji turned his cackling laughter into an asthmatic cough.

the woman couldn't take a hint even when it hit her in the skull.

"who do you think you are?"

"how dare you hit me? do you know who i am?"

"i'm talking to you!!! hello!!!??"

you let her run her mouth. you weren't interested in what she had to say. you looked down at megumi. you could see the faint red strip that circled his wrist. you knew how manipulative it was to use toji's kid as a means to get to him. you already befell his threat. but you understood it all of a sudden.

the honest urge to protect your kid.

the woman eventually stomped and left, mouthing cuss words at passersby.

"so... care to explain what that was?" asked toji, folding his hands, looking at you with fascination.

"my answer," you said with a smile as you held megumi's little hand, rubbing the back of it with your thumb.

toji smirked proudly.

"what happened here?" asked the building watchman, who heard about the act of violence from others who witnessed it.

"nothing interesting,"

"they're saying you harassed a woman," he was quick to throw an accusing glance at toji.

"nonsense! just some personal drama," you interrupted. "that's the father, this is his son."

"and that's the unholy spirit..." toji mumbled to the guard, earning a death glare from you.

the three of you walked towards the elevator. you handed megumi the rice crackers you bought and he wasted no time in digging in. toji put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer as he whispered in your ear, "what does a fella like me have to do to see you smash another bottle again?"

"flirt with another woman and i'll gladly smash one on your head."

toji's deep chuckle vibrated in your ear.

megumi dragged you inside their house to show you his new sketches. he'd really outdone himself. he'd also made his father hang all the small drawings on the christmas tree they had in their living room. toji was glad that he'd found something to occupy himself with. not that he didn't want to spend time with the kid, but seeing him not get overly attached to a single parent relieved the giant weight on his shoulders.

"mmm! gumi, i have a gift for you."

megumi trotted to you like a puppy, eyes twinkling like stars.

"you're gonna spoil him."

"correct."

you gave him a cd. "i wrote you a song." megumi clutched the cd like a prized trophy. he opened the case and showed his father the cd. you'd chased down your producer's sales guy to put one of megumi's sketches as the cd cover.

"when did you even have time to do this?"

"last night. and today morning."

"you didn't sleep?"

you looked away from him, perfectly expecting a fatherly scolding. instead, toji just chortled. he left megumi to listen to your song on a loop as the two of you went to your apartment. (sorry megs, but this is a toji x y/n)

you closed the door, swearing that the hole where your doorknob used to be was getting bigger by each minute. not a moment later, toji had his arms wrapped around you, his mouth on yours. you dropped the grocery bags on the floor and threw your hands around his neck. bumping into nearly every piece of furniture along the way, you sauntered into your room, lips glued to each other. he kissed you like it was the last thing he could do in the world and you kissed him like it was the first thing you wanted to do before anything else.

"mmm... hold on," toji pulled away momentarily and said, "promise me one thing."

"what?"

"you don't disappear when shit hits the fan. you come talk to me."

you felt guilt churn inside you, recalling how you'd left toji and megumi to wonder what 'they' had done wrong to make you go distant.

you nodded. "i promise."

toji held you in his arms for a while, taking a look at your face. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you winced.

"ow! careful, i just got my ear pierced."

toji raised his eyebrows. he pushed your hair aside and saw a helix piercing, the edge of your ear pink and slightly swollen.

"that looks like it hurt."

"oh, it did."

"then why'd ya get it?"

"i always get piercings on my birthday."

"why?" toji honestly didn't understand this form of self-harm.

"what can i say, buddy, i love getting stabbed..." you said plainly, backing away and took your shoes off.

toji snorted a laugh at your comment. "masochist."

"aww, big man uses big words now..." you said, keeping your shoes under your bed. toji simply slapped your ass.

"sadist."

"by the way, i added some background noises to our recording. it sounds so good!"

"oh? let's hear it then," said toji, sitting down on your bed. he was glad to see you be your usual confident self. last night had him tensed with worry. even though he wasn't the source of your pain, he couldn't imagine how lonely you must've felt spending your birthday crying as life wickedly toasted to your parent's death, scarring the one day you were supposed to own with pride.

you made him listen to some excerpts, but ended up talking over them anyway, excitedly telling him how smartly you had edited some things. he just watched you with a small smile. whenever you turned to face him, his eyes fell on your piercing. he counted how many you had. nine. marking nine years of an anniversary nobody would want to remember like this. four piercings on each ear and one in your nose. did you really need the pain to validate your broken heart? did it make you feel like you deserved it?

he dismissed those thoughts from his head. it was your decision. and you bore it like an ornament, and not a scar. plus, he now that he fully took your face in, he couldn't deny hot incredibly hot those piercings looked on you. the thought of you sitting through that and showing off your piercings made his stomach flip. seriously, how much more hot could you get?

as if to answer his question, your recording played in his ear, some scene at a party with your characters failing to keep their hands to themselves. his voice blended with yours like the perfect duet. the way you spoke, changing your tone, pitch, hell, even your little laugh to suit your character made him feral. he wanted to hear you more. but not for some recording. he wanted to hear you for himself.

the moment the recording ended, toji pounced on you, grabbing your neck, careful not to hurt your ear as he kissed you roughly. you gasped, but melted on the spot. you liked where this was going anyway. toji moved his lips along yours, nibbling at you mouth. he let you catch a breath, before shoving his tongue inside, only for it to hitch again.

he pushed you into your bed, immediately hovering over you. he let his hands run up and down your legs. you hummed under his touch. he felt you shuffle underneath. he pulled away for a moment to watch you sneak your phone out of the pocket, finger pressed on a red dot.

"you wanna give your fans a show, baby?" he murmured.

"nuh uh, this is for me," you panted.

toji smirked. "gotta make this good then..." he peppered kiss on your neck, sucking on your skin. he could smell that god awful coconut perfume. to ease the weight his humongous body dumped on you, he shoved his knee between your legs, hoisting himself over you properly. you practically moaned in his mouth at the feeling of his knee rubbing against you. you had no idea what to do with your hands, so you just let them stay on your stomach lifelessly.

toji broke the kiss once more, chuckling at the whine that escaped from your mouth.

"so needy..." he growled, taking his shirt off with one hand. your jaw hung open as you took him in. the way he towered you even when sitting on his knees made him seem almost... monstrous.

toji only it thought it fair to get rid of your clothes too. he held your waist and pulled you to him, hoisting you on his lap. he took your jacket off, throwing it on the floor.

"be careful with the shirt. it's vivienne westwood."

"strip then."

slowly, taking the sweet time of your life, you pulled the shirt off, turning it right side up and neatly folded it, placing it at the far end of your bed.

"you done, sweetie?" he cooed in your ear.

"done."

"lovely. put your hands to use." he had you folded under him, back on the bed, kisses getting rougher, wetter, messier. you clawed at his shoulder, back, neck, chest, every part of him that you could touch. he licked a particular spot just under your ear that made you mewl in pleasure. like a vampire, toji bit your neck, causing you to moan softly.

his free hand unclasped your bra and tossed it away.

"would it kill you to not throw my clothes here and there?"

"thought you liked it violent, baby..." he murmured in your ear, biting a hickey on your neck. he kept switching between kissing your lips and sucking at your neck while he played with your tits, squeezing them, pinching them, kneading them like dough. he was right. they did fit in his hands perfectly. he latched his mouth onto one, making you squirm under him.

toji was absorbing your body. he felt bold; bold to take what he wanted from you. well, what he wanted was you. your body, your hips, your mouth, all of it. he wanted to show you just how desirable you were to him.

the hand that roamed your waist slowly trailed down your cargo pants. you didn't even realise when he took them off, but it was good anyway. less is more.

at an agonisingly slow pace, the tips of his fingers teased you over your panties. toji took a look at you, covered in his marks, lips pink and swollen.

he chuckled, "just how many of these stupid panties do you have?"

"I FUCKING KNEW IT. PANTY THIEF!" you smacked his abs.

"they're mine now," toji murmured as back away, spreading your legs apart with his hands, grabbing at your thighs. he kissed your inner thigh languorously making his way down to your wet cunt. he took your panties off, once more putting them back in his pockets. he dipped two of is fingers inside slowly, as if he was learning about your body. he watched your every reaction, every quiver, every hitched breath as he took his time and prepped you for himself. he curled his fingers at an optimal spot and like a cat on heat, you mewled and your legs shut tight around his hand.

"uh uh uh, i need these legs wide open, darling." he knew how much you liked it when he said that. when you didn't spread them, he smacked a hard slap on your hip, causing you to gasp and giggle as you did as directed.

"don't be a brat."

"or what?"

toji didn't retort. instead, he dove straight into your cunt, painting your insides with long strokes with his tongue. he paired it with his forefinger running up and down, inside and out, pushing against your clit. hearing you whimper and pant just made him want to tease you. recording all those dirty audios with you had him gain a mind in the game. like an illusionist, his hands disappeared and he pulled away, making you pine for him.

"toji fushiguro, i will smash a bottle on your head if you ever take your mouth off me like that again..." god, you sounded so sexy.

"ya know... it makes my dick hard when you talk to me like that."

you crunched forward and grabbed his hair, pulling him back to your pussy. toji chuckled, resuming eating you out like a man starved for days.

"oh i bet it does," you said breathlessly, throwing a few more slurred taunts his way. toji extended his free hand and shoved two of his fingers in your mouth.

"put that mouth to use, brat." he groaned in pleasure feeling your tongue swirl around his fingers, sucking them, gently biting them whenever he lapped at your cunt the right away. even with his fingers stuffed in your mouth, he could hear your muffled moans loudly. he sped his pace, slipping his fingers in and out of you, lapping at your core. he felt you clench and he took it as an open invitation to increase the pressure. you let out a long, stretched moan as you gushed all over his chin.

"is this what you ladies call girl dinner?" toji took his fingers out of you, licking them and tasting you, smacking his lips.

you laughed, throwing your head back.

"ugh, shut up."

"make me," you commented, practically waltzing into the man's next plan for you. toji's hand wrapped around your throat as he pulled you up as if you weight nothing. he got off the bed, standing in front of you as you were on all fours.

"gladly," toji slid his pants and boxers down, freeing his hard-as-a-rock girth.

"this isn't fair, toji," you cried at the size of it.

"i know, baby..." he gripped your chin with his fingers, nearly crushing your jaw. you looked up at him and seeing you on your knees for him lit a fire within him.

playfully you licked his wet lip like a kitten...

"cute. but that's not gonna cut it, sweetheart."

"i'll have you know i won the popsicle eating contest in my college..."

toji chuckled, holding his cock out to your face and smacked it against your lips. "gonna keep me waitin'?"

you took his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, letting the tip run between the faint slit. you bobbed your head a few times, adjusting to his length and width. you'd be grateful to have a jaw left by the time you've sucked him dry. you took his length in your, stroking what you couldn't. you felt his cock twitch and pulsate in your mouth.

"god, you're doing so well..." toji reached forward, accidentally thrusting more of his dick in your mouth, making you whimper. he picked up your phone, which had been recording every lewd sound you made and he held it by his hip. "you sound so... fucking perfect, baby... gagging over my dick like that."

he pushed your hair aside, gripping it tightly as he pushed your head further in, moaning at how good it felt to have you take damn nearly all of him.

"fuck... shit.... s' good" toji let a buffet of grunts and moans spill out of his mouth. first, because he you took him that well, and second because he wanted you to get off to his voice, just like he did to yours. he began thrusting into your mouth faster, feeling his release creeping its way up. had he known how easy it was for him to come just by getting a quick blowjob, he'd have put more work into the foreplay. but fuck, he loved every damn moment of it. how your mouth was wet and warm, how your pointed tongue knew just where to lick, how your cheeks hollowed to pull him in.

"keep going, baby... i'm almost there," he panted, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, hips moving at a brutal pace. his mind went to you eating a popsicle for some reason and he laughed, paving the way for a guttural moan that rumbled through his mouth as he came into your mouth. you closed your eyes, letting the uncomfortable feeling pass away as you managed to swallow the barrel full of cum he just shot into your mouth.

toji pulled out, feeling euphoric. he was completely obsessed with you. he wanted to take your right there. he wanted to be inside you. fuck, he wanted to see how loud you could get for him.

a knock on your main door and a small voice calling out to toji snapped you back to your senses.

"what a cockblock," toji sighed.

you threw a pillow at him. "that's your adorable birthday boy you're talking about!"

toji changed back into his clothes, refusing to give you your panties back, earning another pillow to his face. he looked at you to make sure you still didn't have second thoughts about him. but there you were, effortlessly moving around the room, picking up the pieces of clothing he'd tossed here and there. he loved how much fun you had doing all these things with him. it made the experience twice as much worth it.

you changed into your pyjamas and led toji out of your bedroom.

"does it say 'juicy' on your ass?" he said, reading the glittery text on your pants.

"ya bet it does," you smacked your own ass, proud of your sense of fashion, no matter how ridiculous it was.

"gonna fuck that ass someday."

"fix my door first." you peeked through the hole in your door, looking at the top of megumi's hair.

you opened the door to see megumi standing in his pyjamas, holding his demon dog, yawning.

"awww, sorry for keeping your dad for so long."

megumi yawned again, nodding.

"she sang a song for me too, you know..." said toji, picking up his sleepy kid, giving you a wink. you kicked his ass, making him stagger out of your house.

"good night."

"good night..." you smiled at the two.

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊

TAGLIST: @kaininety2 @ruixrei @chicken-fifi @mrsfush1guro @szillx @queendessi24 @sillysillygoofygoose @shadowmoonlight0604

[iwadori]

are you going to do a 'when the haikyuu boys make you insecure' part with Iwaizumi / could I request that?

When they make you insecure part 6 (Iwaizumi,Matsukawa)

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 Part 6

Word Count: 2.8K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

masterlist

AN: Did I embedd myself in this story? Yes, yes i did. :3 (it’s only a small part dw loool)

Iwaizumi

One day when you were walking to the gym to go see your boyfriend  

You overhear him and the team talking about some instagram girl

“She’s hot” you hear Boktuo yell doing a hoot as he fawns over a picture, with the rest of the guys agreeing.  

“What do you think Iwaizumi?” Hinata ask  

“She’s cute... I guess?” the rest of the guys, grunt in disagreement at Iwa’s lack of drooling over the girl.

“Well I see why you wouldn’t want her Haji-kun,” says Atsumu “you are into the more simple girls bro”

“Simple?” Iwaizumi questions, and the rest of the guys agree

“Yeah simple, you know Y/N... she’s simple” says one of the guys, with the word ‘simple’ rolling off their tounge with a tone of disgust.

“I guess your right guys...” Iwaizumi says “Y/N is pretty basic and simple but-”

You leave the gym before you hear what the rest of them had to say. When you got to your house you bolt straight to the mirror, you look at your outfit and frown. You never thought your style was ‘basic,’ to be fair you wouldn’t describe anybodys style as basic or simple. Of course, you weren’t like those instagram influencers, that wasn’t your thing. But Iwa has known that about you for years... but I guess that’s not what he truly likes.

You go to your closet and take out all the contents, just tossing all your clothes (even some of your favourite items ever) and dashing them in a black trash bag putting them to the side. You were already on a mission to buy a whole new wardrobe, going through all different stores and looking on pinterest for inspo.

You didn’t really talk to Iwa for the rest of the week, since you wanted him to see you in your ‘new form,’ you weren’t being radiosilent but you didn’t initiate any hang outs with him or face time calls (which he did find slightly odd, but didn’t think that much by it.)

Finally, the clothes came and you were kind of shocked at how much you ordered you spent over £200 on clothes from all different places. When you were trying them on, you liked some of them the ones that were kind of similar to your past style but not so ‘simple,’ the others you kind of frowned at since it definitely didn’t feel like ‘you’ at all. ‘This is for Iwa,’ you reminded yourself as your forced a smile on your face analysing yourself in the mirror.

You had everything sorted, your wardrobe was now changed and done the colours and styles you once wore before is now the complete opposite. You invited Iwa over, hesistantly waiting to see how would he react.  

When you hear your door knock, you rush over to open it and model a pose you saw one of those girl do trying to look as natural as possible.

“Hey babe ho-” he says, with his eyes widening seeing your new look “Woah Y/N!”

“Hey Haji..come in!” you exclaim with a beaming smile pulling him inside to the couch. “So, are we going to continue watching the crown, I watched the previous episode and god prince phillip is such a dick.”

You look over your shoulder and see Iwa still standing in your entranceway a bit awkwardly, looking a bit stunned. “Come sit down then, we’ve got an episode to watch.”

“uh oh yeah, sure” he says blinking, following you to the couch.

You got through atleast 4 episodes together, you barely talked as you were really engrossed in the show. Iwa was barely paying attention, he was too busy questioning how you were acting. This definitely wasn’t the girl he knew, even the way you were acting whilst watch the show was odd. The way you’d cutely giggle and ‘sublty’ look over to him whilst laughing at a funny part of the show instead of just doing your usual obnoxious laugh that he loved to hear.

“Oh Y/N, I’m going to go to the bathroom.” he says standing up, you don’t reply you just wave your hand in acknowledgement.

On his way to the bathroom, Iwa nearly trips on a black bag left outside your bedroom door. He opens it, and mildly gasped when he saw all your old stuff jumbled up in there. He picks up the back and goes straight back to the living room and stands in front of you.

“Haji, what are you doing you’re blocking the TV” you complaining trying to see what’s happening behind him.

He drops the black bag infront of you and you internally curse yourself for not moving. You stare at him waiting for him to say something.

“Well whats this then.” he says looking down at you, almost like a disapproving dad.

“Clothes.” you say smartly, knowing what he was asking.

“You know what I meant Y/N, why are all your clothes in a garbage bag.”  

“Because I wanted to put them there,” you wanted to seem as nochalant about it as possible as if putting all your clothes in a garbage bag doesn’t make you feel sad.

“Yeah but why?” he says sitting down next to you.

“Just because I wanted to” you reiterate “what else do you want me to say?”

“Well this isn’t like you, its just a bit random Y/N” he says

“I know this isnt like me you” you spat, standing up “Isn’t this what you wanted anyways.” You head to your bedroom picking up the bag with you, with Iwa hot on your heels.

“What do you mean this is what I wanted?” he says in disbelief “When did I ever say that?”

“It doesn’t matter” you mumble, you start to aggressively take our your old clothes and shove them back into your wardrobe whilst Iwa is just talking. You’re not really listening to him your just putting the clothes back.

“Y/N Stop!” he yells kind of knocking you out of your ‘trance,’ “what is going on with you?” he grabs you hands and pulls them down stopping you from what you were doing and he winced at seeing your tear stricken face.

He gently pulls you into his arms sitting you both on your bed, waiting for you to speak. “I don’t know what you want from me Iwa..” you start your voice slightly breaking “it’s just I did this all for you and you don’t even appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you mean Y/N?” he says sounding genuinely confused.

“Y/N is simple and basic.” you say repeating words that you heard your boyfriend say about you, you feel him tense as you say it and you slowly get out of his hug.

“Y/N I-”

“That really hurt Hajime, I know now that I'm not your ‘type’ but I-”

“No Y/N, you are my type of course you are!” he says gulping in nervousness “I love you, and your style. I’ve always being enamored by how you dress and present yourself and I don’t know why I even said you’re basic and simple I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Really?” you say sniffling looking down

“Yes really you idiot,” he says lifting your head up “To be fair I don’t care what you wear, since you look great in anthing I just want you to be happy Y/N and especially not dress for anyone including me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree slightly nodding your head.

“Good, so can we go and finish the crown and then burn all these clothes?” Iwa jokes as he stands up.

“Burn them!” you exclaim “These cost £200, you muppet.”

“£200! Gosh Y/N, next time you go shopping im definitely coming with you.” he says shaking his head “can’t have you blowing out your bank account for clothes you don’t even like that much.”

You spend the rest of the day finishing of The Crown and you and Iwa eventually both sort out your wardrobe. Your style and aethetic changes a lot more through the times you were together and Iwa was very supportive and helpful of every single change. Especially *insert your favourite dress aesthetic here.*

Matsukawa

You were walking with your friends; Iwa, Tooru, Maki and your boyfriend Matsun. Walking to school as you did every morning, today the topic of conversation was Tooru’s bad taste in women.

“Gosh yesterday was horrible, she didn’t want to talk to me at all,” he complained “all she wanted to do was to come straight to my place, I didn’t even have the chance to tell her my hair routine.”

“That’s why you don’t find dates off of Tinder shittykawa” grunted Iwaizumi

“Well I know that now!” he exclaimed.

“Y/N,” said Makki grasping your attention “Would you ever use Tinder?”

“Well I-”

“Of course she wouldn’t” your boyfriend interrupted wrapping his arm round your shoulder “she’s got me”

“Yeah, but if you two weren’t together, would you use it.”

“Well may-”  

“Y/N definitely wouldn’t” he said interrupting you AGAIN “she’s way to frigid for that shit”

Frigid? You thought to yourself, ouch. Their was a quick awkward silence and all you could hear was Matsukawa laughing with the others laughing after awkwardly in pursuit. After sensing your uncomfortability (is that a word?) Oikawa decides to change the subject to make things less awkward,

“I need a woman who understands me!” he rants “One that can listen to me and appreciate my awesome hair.”

“Goodluck with that Shittykawa.”  

Oikawa rambles on as you walk to school with the other guys chiming in. You on the other hand, were lost in thought. Your sex life wasn’t something you would want to publicly talk about let alone to you and your boyfriends' male friends. Also, with Matsun describing you as ‘frigid’ struck a nerve. You weren’t frigid, well at least to you, you weren’t.  

When you got to school you immediately rushed straight to your lesson claiming that you teacher really needed to talk to you. Which was odd to Matsukawa as you usually all hung around each other until the bell rang, the other boys gave each other knowing looks all assuming the reasons for your odd behaviour.

At lunch time, you stayed in your class instead of going up to the roof where you and your friends usually end up. In the class room you hear one of the girls in your class, Empress having one of her usual gossip conversations with her group of friends.

“Hajime is so hot!” she said, fanning her face being dramatic  

“Of course he is! You should totally go for him.” her friend said and the rest of the friends agreed.

“What do you think Y/N?” she says to you catching your attention “you’re close friends with him right?”

“Yeah, I am” you say a bit sadly “You should definitely go for him, I think you’d be perfect together.”

“Okay! I think I might later” she says smiling. Her and friends leave, but then Empress returns and walks straight to you.

“Are you alright doll?” she asks softly smiling

“I guess so..” you say hesitantly “It’s just something my boyfriend said to me this morning.”

“Matsun?” she asks and you nod in reply “What did he say?”

After you rehash the situation from this morning Empress scowls in annoyance, “Boys can be such pigs sometimes, such a dick thing to say.”

“I know right!” you respond “Even if I was frigid, which im totally not it’s not even a bad thing nor is it something to reveal to people in public in a ‘jokey’ way.”

“Yeah!” she agrees “I think you should go and give him a piece of your mind.”

“I mean...” your voice falters, when it comes to Matsun you’ve never really given him a ‘piece of your mind,’ even when he makes jokes that you’re not so fond of.

“Come on!” she encourages “I’ll come with you and cheer you on.”

“You just want to come to see Iwa Empress” you say pointedly “But fine let’s go.”

You both power walk to the roof where you see the four seijoh boys sitting down and eating. “Oh hi Y/N/-chan and look Iwa its Emp-chan... isn’t that a surprise!” Iwa blushes and the rest of the guys laugh.

You walk straight up to Matsun and stand right infront of him. “Matsukawa I need to talk to you,” you say folding your arms. “Why whats up babe?” he says, still sitting down with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Alone.” you say turning around walking to a secluded spot. Behind you, you hear Matsun get up and the rest of the boys saying “oooh Matsukawa your in trouble” as they laugh.

“What’s wrong with you today Y/N?” he asks slightly accusatorily.  

“I didn’t appreciate the comment you made today on the way to school,” you say with your arms folded.

“Oh that little comment about you being frigid, come on it was just a joke I wasn’t being serious.” he says lightly laughing but he stops once he sees the glare you give him ”you knew it was a joke right?”

“Matsun, some are your jokes just aren’t funny,” you say “especially when they're about me and our sex life in front of our friends too.”

“Y/N I didn’t mea-”

“You just come off as a huge dick sometimes, and I can’t do this anymore if you keep on making these comments anymore I don’t think I can do this.”

“Woah Y/N, are you threatening to break up with me?” he asks “Over a few little comments?”

“These aren’t a few little comments, sometimes what you say is just unnecessary and rude.”

“Okay well...”

“Well...” you repeat staring at him waiting for to apologise or atleast say something, “fuck you Matsukawa.”

You storm away and walk bout to the group saying “Empress lets go.” She jumps of Iwa’s lap and waves by to them following you back down to the school. You walk into the bathroom and just start to cry, “Y/N whats wrong?” Empress says pulling you into a hug  

“H-He doesn’t care,” you cry “He pretty much excused his stupid comments, passing them off as little ‘jokes,’ that didn’t apparently mean anything.”

“Oh dear,” Empress says consoling you “he’s not worth your time right now.”

“B-but but I love him.” you wail fat tears streaming down your face.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” she says letting go of the hug “so what do you wanna do about him?”

“I don’t know,” you say “I don’t want to break up with him or anything, but is there a point in staying if he’s just going to make these comments again.”

“I don’t know Y/N, but whatever you wanna do I’ll support. Wether it’s keying his car or reading shitty fanfiction and crying.” Empress says making you laugh.

The final bell rings and now it's time to go home, of course you don’t walk with the guys so you just enjoy your own company walking home.

“Y/N! Y/N!” you hear from behind you and of course the only person it can be is Matsukawa.

“What do you want?” you mumbled  

“I..I want too” he says heaving out of breath from the running he had to do “I want to apologise. I need do.”

“Okay...” you respond

“Im sorry, Im so so sorry,” he says “those jokes and comments were stupid and I agree I can be a dick sometimes. Well a lot of the time, but I never wanted to be a dick to you.”

“Well you were.”

“I know I was, and I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse what I said and what I have said before I just hope I can make it up to you.”

“Okay then.”

“So are we not broken up?”

“No we’re not broken up, but it’ll take a lot of making up to do for me to fully forgive you.”

“Great! And I'll spend every day to get you to forgive me.”

Which he did, he spent every day showering you with love and affection. He was way better than he was before, you even went on double dates with Oikawa and his flavour of the week and triple dates with Iwa and his girlfriend. Matsukawa, although he still made jokes, he never targeted them and centered them around you in an insulting way.

AN: I didn’t really like the matsukawa one since i couldn’t really write for him properyl sooo sorry bout that one kids.

[vixenpen]

Im just starting season 3 pt2 of AOT and I can't stop drooolingg over mr.commander man Erwin 🥵 can u please write a black fem. reader just taking care of him especially after his little arm incident 😅 like her buttoning up his shirt for him before he leaves for work and maybe him being a little down on himself or doubting his abilities bc of his missing arm and the reader reassuring him. Also, u can make it a lil spicy 🥵 if ur feeling it ahahha

Luckiest Woman (Captain Erwin x Black! Fem Reader)

Erwin had a very particular routine in the morning. That was just the kind of person he was.

Wake. Stretch. Kisses. Quick breakfast of fruit and milk. Brush teeth. Freshen up. Get dressed. More kisses. Leave.

He was a man of rules and ordered, and he liked it that way. And you enjoyed watching your man through out the morning. Erwin had a dry, quick humor, and your mornings were usually filled with laughter and banter.

But ever since the incident...

Erwin woke up and stretched, reaching for the bedside table for the newspaper—with his missing arm.

A crestfallen look fell over the man’s handsome face, and you diverted your eyes just in time to miss the way he looked at you to see if you had caught it.

Erwin’s quiet banter was absent from his new routine. A routine that consisted of heavy movements, dragging feet, and reaching or scratching at his ghost appendage.

The bright grin that lit up those beautiful crystal eyes was mostly absent. If he did manage to give you a smile, it never reached his eyes.

“Baby,” you started, hesitantly, “you know it’s ok to take a bit more time off if you need it, right?”

Erwin gave you a grave look.

“Y/n, we’ve talked about this,” he replied, finishing off his glass of milk. “Nothing good will come of me wallowing about feeling sorry for myself.”

“It’s not wallowing to take care of yourself, baby.” You said, softly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Baby. I know you mean well, but the best thing for me Right now is to go about my duties as usual for the sake of my people...missing limb and all.”

You knew he meant it as a joke, but the corners of his lips barely quirked upward. Before you could reply, Erwin got up to head for the bathroom. Once he came out, in his white collared shirt, a deep frown was settled on his face.

“Baby,” you curled a finger towards yourself, beckoning him over.

Erwin shuffled his feet a bit before making his way towards you, averting his gaze in embarrassment.

“You remember when we first met?” You asked, kissing his chest. “Remember what I said to you?”

Erwin’s blue eyed gaze was fixed on your kinky head of hair as he watched you.

“That you were my future wife.” A small smile crept into his voice.

“And?” Your dark eyes peered up at him and you trailed more kisses down his abs.

“Andddd to watch out, because once you decided you wanted me that would be it for other girls.”

“Mmhhmm...” you hummed again, sinking to your knees in front of him.

“Y/n, I have to report in today...”

“What else did I say to you, Erwin?” You asked.

“You said,” he swallowed as he felt your full lips pressing against the v-cut disappearing below his trousers. “You said; any woman would be lucky to have me-ahh~”

“Mhmm.” You hummed in response. “And?”

You soft hands gripped his trim hips before trailing up his taut abdomen and pinching his nipple.

“And?”

“And that-ohhh god...” his dick stirred under your hand massaging his erection. “That—the squad was fortunate to have a man like me.”

“Not just ‘a man’,” you unzipped his pants, freeing his sizable dick from the trousers. “What kind of man.”

You gazed up at him keeping his stuff dick pressed against your lips. Your eyes smoldered at him and smeared the tip of him around your lips. Erwin groaned at the way his pre-cum glossed your lips.

“A strong, reliable, loyallll-ahhh, gods..” he trailed off when he felt your tongue tickling his cock.

“Tell me, captain.”

“L-loyal, capable man..oh goddd, y/n!”

His voice rumbled. His dick twitched desperately in your hot, moist mouth.

“Y-y/n, I-haah~” he held your head in place and let his head fall back, allowing you to do your thing and groaning as you juggled his balls in your delicate hands.

You hummed, loving the taste and feel of his long manhood twitching at every move you made and the way his low voice chanted your name like a prayer.

“I-I’m coming!” He exclaimed.

And come he did, hard with a guttural growl in the back your mouth.

When you looked back at him, he was gazing at you, love stricken. A large, rough hand stroked your cheek.

“You are-have been-the best part of my life, love.” He said.

He leaned down to pick you up and press you against his chest, supporting you with only his one arm. You’d never loved his touch more. He gave you a long, slow, sensuous kiss before pulling back to admire you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You kissed him once again. “Now, let’s get you ready for work.”

“Actually,” Erwin laid you down gently on the bed, “I think I’ll take the day off like you suggested.” The man smirked, lowering himself down on top of you.

[p1nkwitch]

@lonelyeyesweek

Day 1 - First Meeting

Peter was very reluctant to go to the Magnus institute funding party; uncle Nathaniel informed him that one of his new duties would be to make business with James Wright and he really didn't want to do that. A beholder… What a nightmare.

I would've stayed at home

'Cause I was doin' better alone

Peter was very reluctant to go to the Magnus institute funding party; uncle Nathaniel informed him that one of his new duties would be to make business with James Wright and he really didn't want to do that. A beholder… What a nightmare.

The party was unfortunately the most informal way to meet the man, otherwise he would be forced to enter a small room with the watcher to make sure he didn't dry up his family money for an indefinite amount of time.

So he was really dreading the moment he would be meeting this man, Simon kept telling him that James was an old friend and that it would be fine, that he was actually funny beneath all the politeness, however he wasn't so sure about that.

Due to Simon’s and his uncle’s influence he has a very loose idea of some boring old man, a type of academic with a nondescript look that he will forget as soon as he leaves.

With any luck he would just make his acquaintance today and then he may go from the party, Peter preferred to be at home instead of dilly dallying with the masses. As much as he likes to observe people, he likes it better when it's on his own terms and when he is not forced to be part of an event.

So he goes with very little hope for the night, the only positive is that he may get some free food and some alcohol, albeit champagne will not do much for him.

The moment Simon sees him, he zeroes on him and stays nearby talking about his trips to Europe. He also tells him about a few sacrifices he made that actually seemed rather interesting. Still Peter preferred the ones he committed at the ocean, but he knew the man was always more partial to the sky so its not surprising they are all on that vein.

“What about you Captain? You have a few voyages under your belt now lad, how did those go? Were they to your liking?” And the answer to that is a bit complicated, Peter is still getting used to handling a ship, his crew hasn't been properly trained yet to keep themselves in check so he has to… ugh make a few rules.

The other problem is that most of his crew is formed of older, more experienced sailors. Peter is 26 and unfortunately has a rather… soft looking face, he has been trying to grow a beard to at least make himself look a bit more rugged or older looking, but that will take time and he just has a five o’clock shadow for now. It will take him months to have anything resembling what he wants. The graying hair does work a bit better, that he can count for at least.

He is considering hiring someone to relay his messages to, so that way he can stay away most of the time and he can practice his solitude in peace. He really would love to not be perceived until he looks like he wants.

“Its ok, I still need to figure out a few things to be honest, I would love it if the crew was a bit less…”

“Talkative?”

“Friendly” Simon nods at him and pats his shoulder before going back to another story of a trip he made like 250 years ago. It is quite interesting, albeit Peter gets struck with how old the man is. Most of the time he can forget it, easy to do when Simon is so lively, but when he tells him these stories…. hard to ignore in all honesty.

Picking up an offered champagne glass he listens distractedly wondering when he will meet the man organizing this whole charade.

The older man talks to him but at some point his sentence drifts off and he looks behind him with a grin. A bit lost and now concerned, those grins never end up well for him, Peter turns back to check what exactly was his companion watching.

The answer comes to him like a hit to the face.

An older man talking and entertaining several people at the same time, Peter doesn't realize that he was gripping his glass very tightly until Simon waves and calls for the man over.

He wasn't boring looking like his uncle or very, very old like Simon. He must be in his fifties, he was dressed up impeccably with a black shirt that had his sleeves rolled out to his elbows, a deep green vest with golden details and dark green pants.

The man also has a pencil moustache and a few moles near his jaw, which made him stand out. He was also a bit shorter than him, but most people are so that doesn't surprise him.

The air of surety, of knowing he had made him feel bigger than he was however.

Peter swallows and feels his face warm up for reasons he can't comprehend.

When the man turns around towards Simon, he can see his eyes-

Grey.

Peter never looks anyone to their eyes and yet, and yet-

For a second it feels as if the man also froze looking at him, he had a look of….surprise almost?

But it was only for a second, the next thing Peter knows is that the man starts to approach them while he is struggling to not disappear in a puff of smoke. Oh, Forsaken protect him.

“Hello Simon” His voice is very low and amused, oh fuck.

“Hello James!! It's been a while hasn't it?” Ja-

James?

“You are James Wright?” Peter cuts off the man before he answers back to Simon and he realizes that he is an idiot, shit-

No wonder he was so eye-catching then.

…

For some reason James' lips twitch upwards as if he was trying not to smile at something. Peter has no way to know what is so funny.

“You must be Peter Lukas then? Nathaniel… told me about you, its a pleasure to meet you” Peter smiles his usual vapid smile to keep him from prying, he already feels exposed and kind of confused about the man. Better to make this quick and go.

“Yes, uncle mentioned you too, albeit he did not do you justice” ???? What the fuck is he doing, what is wrong with him??? Why did he say that??

Peter feels his hands sweat and his face warm up, he is praying he is not red in the face.

James looks perplexed and he feels Simon staring at him with the biggest grin ever as if he was having the time of his life which knowing him, he probably did, he loves drama after all.

“Is that so?” The man crosses his arms and Peter has to keep himself from staring at the flex of it he has to.

What the hell is wrong with him?

“Yes! He made you sound like a boring old man to be honest, but you are quite the opposite, you look very-” Peter spends a lot of time alone, meaning he doesn't properly talk with people. His usual mechanism of defense is to talk so much that everyone just lets him be.

That translates into him not having a filter, because of that he just says what is on his mind, even if he knows he shouldn't. In this case it is a shot in the foot and he has no idea why, why is he reacting like this? The man is-

Is just a bit good looking thats all!! No need to be so nervous.

“...Good” His face is burning, Peter knows he must be red all over.

He is an embarrassment to the family name, he has to go, he has to go now. How is he going to face him to do business oh shit-

James for his part seems to look at him with something akin to wonder an a bit of curiosity, while Simon-

Simon for his part is sighing mentally about his nephew’s taste in man. Very on brand for a Lukas, albeit Jonah seems to be quite taken aback.

Peter might look like Mordechai but they are not alike at all.

“Well thank you Mister Lukas”

“Peter is alright” Why won't he shut uppppp, what is wrong with him? This has never happened before, a little bit more and he will spontaneously combust.

James smiles at him and something in his chest squeezes. Is he dying? Is his heart giving out on him so soon?

“Well Peter, it was lovely meeting you. I can't wait to make business with you. I'm sure we will get along… very well”

“I can't wait” !!!!!! He wants to die.

Peter is going out to sea for the next 4 months just to get rid of whatever this is.

James grins at him and is about to leave, making him let out a breath of relief when he turns slightly.

“Say… I was going to ask Simon to drink with me after the party, in my office. Would you like to join us?” No!

“Sure” The man gives him a smug look and goes.

Simon pats his back.

“You need to get better at flirting, albeit i do believe you impressed him quite a bit, he usually ignores all the Lukas that come to make business with him”

“Im going to kill myself” He hates his life so much.

“Ah lad don't be like that, its just a few drinks, it doesn't have to go anywhere else”

Several years and flings with the man later. Peter is left with only grief at James sudden passing. They had something of a thing going on, not really labeled, since neither liked that. But the man suddenly broke things up and Peter in his anger left for months on end.

By the time he came back he found out James died and he had a new replacement.

Elias Bouchard.

He hates him on principle.

Peter is cold with him at every little meeting, speaks just as necessary and goes before the man even attempts to chat him up. At least he has his own loneliness, the only thing that truly lasts for him.

It sings out to him, like a siren song, it's easier to get lost on it, to just… become colder and harsher. What else should he do? It's not like Peter could ever love someone like that again.

Or want to.

“-ter, Peter!!”

“What do you want Mr Bouchard?” The younger man was glaring at him and it feels unfair, he should be the one glaring.

“I was asking you if you intend to stop being difficult and listen to me for once! I swear i get you lonely ones love playing at the grief stricken partner, but its been months already im getting tired of trying to talk to you like pulling teeth. Listen- i know i was kind of an ass, but really i needed to do the switch and i was worried a bit about people talking about some favouritism-” What the hell is he on about now??? Also how dare he!

“What- are you talking about? I'm not faking- what are you-!? Listen, I'm not up for games, let alone your games. I have better things to do than be your little entertainment, give me the papers to sign and I will be on my way, off of your life-” Elias gets up and slams his hands on the desk making him flinch.

“That attitude!! I don't want you out of my way!!! I said what I said as James because I was going to change bodies and people were talking about our relationship too much, it would look odd when I became Elias and we hooked up again!!”

Peter freezes.

“What- what do you mean became Elias?” The man who is not Elias??? Narrows his eyes and then suddenly looks surprised and confused.

“You don't know-”

“What do you-”

“How can you not know I told you- i-” Elias? Drifts off and looks to the empty room with a blank expression.

“I forgot to tell you”

“Um-”

“I thought i told you after- oh, oh fuck we ended up sleeping together after sacrificing that woman at the restaurant, i got distracted and-”

Peter starts to piece together a few things.

“James…?” Elias flops on his chair covering his face and doing a muffled scream into his hands.

“I can believe i forgot i got so excited that you let me tie you up that i completely forgot” Peter’s face burns.

“I-”

“Yes, yes it's me, I thought you were being difficult not that you- oh my god you actually were grieving me weren't you? You sap” His face turns smug, and it's so familiar-

The eyes-!

“Yes, those are really mine”

“You-!” Peter wants to punch him.

“Me?” Elias already closes his eyes expecting a punch. Yet he side steps the desk, comes closer and pulls him up to his feet by his tie.

“If you- you want to choke me-” He shuts him with a kiss. It takes a bit to register on the other’s mind because once he does he grips his hair and pulls them closer practically melting against him. Peter doesn't stop kissing him, cnat.

“You twat-” In between kisses he curses him out, he was making the rounds across his neck, decided that he was going to leave pretty little marks for everyone to see. Elias? James? Doesn't seem to mind much.

“Sorry-”

“You- fucking- bloody- ass!!” A bite close to the jugular has him moan a bit, Peter’s hands go to grip his thighs and the other catches his meaning because he lets him lift him up. He carries him to the small couch and drops him there with an ompf-

“Hey-” That he interrupts when he climbs on top of him and starts to kiss him again with a very clear intention in mind.

“Oh…” Yes, Peter is glad he can use forsaken to soundproof the room, he had no intentions to let the other be quiet.

Now that he is not upset, angry or… turned on, Peter lays his head on top of Elias' chest, while he explains the whole being Jonah Magnus, and thinks that he is very handsome.

Not in the same way as James was, no, but he was still very handsome.

“I was leaning more into pretty but unassuming, but thank you for the vote of confidence for the new body” What a smug prick.

“He is not…?”

“God no, only fragments or echos, the real Elias is very dead, its just me”

“Jonah?” Elias nods at his question.

“Basically”

“Huh” The shorter man’s hands play with his hair making him nuzzle his neck. He thinks about it for a bit, but decides to go for it, after all he has gotten this far anyways “Pleasure to meet you Jonah”

The other stays quiet for a bit.

“Pleasure to meet you Peter”

Their relationship is not conventional or normal by anyone's standards, but…

It works.

Somewhat.

“So… I got you so distracted you forgot to tell me huh?” Elias sighs.

“I can show you exactly how enticing you looked to me to make me forget, do not tempt me” Feeling his face heat up he tries to play it off.

“Maybe when we are in an actual bed and want to experiment a bit” Elias chuckles and then turns into a full blown laugh that makes him feel the rumble of it against his ear.

“I can't believe this, but i missed you” He hears Elias heart speed up while admitting that to him, it makes his face warm up.

Peter knows he missed him too, but he wont admit that, too out of character. So instead...

“Will take that with me, feels delicious”

“Oh hush, you already cannibalized yourself, don't be a prick”

Yes, he definetly missed this bastard and he will have so much fun re-aquitaining to him properly. They are closer in age now, Peter’s body is a bit older than Elias now, just 6 years, but it feels good.

This time people will give Elias looks instead of him, Peter’s gray hair and beard made him look older.

“You are impossible Peter”

“Stop reading my mind then” Elias sighs and kisses the top of his head hesitantly.

“Don't make it so easy then” Peter lets out a breath.

Prick.

"Never"

"Rude, what a rude person you are" Peter nuzzles him and that shuts him up.

Better.

[chaoticdazefire-new]

Morning guys! Today I'm finally getring back to posting my It Lives fics. (Sorry for the delay) Im posting 2 parts today since the first one is kind of short and its been a while. In todays chapter, its the morning after you and your friends performed the ritual that finally brought Noah back, and you just get a call with a new lead on stopping the Power. But before you go to get some answers, you take the time to catch up with an old friend. You can go to part 16 here. @it-lives-in-westchester @anxietyismyspiritanimal @ouleye I hope y'all enjoy it!

    The following morning, you rub your eyes wearily as the suns rays shine through your window and hit your face. You check your phone to see it's only 8:30 and groan. Given you only got roughly four hours of sleep last night, you're not ready to greet the outside world just yet. Just then, Luna stretches at the foot of your bed and walks up to you, gently headbutting your arm and purring. You scratch her head for a few minutes until you're interrupted by a phone call from Connor.

     You answer the phone still half asleep. "Hello?"

     "Woah, sorry, did I wake you up?" He asks. You chuckle a little bit and sigh. "No, I actually just woke up. What's up?"

     You can hear muffled voices in the background, one sounding like Jocelyns. "I'm pulling a shift at the hardware store right now, but Joss just came in here with some pretty solid information about the um... Situation."

     "Really?" You ask, "like what?"

     "She said she found-" Connor suddenly stops mid sentence and you can hear the phone drop, and in the distance you can hear Connor yell "put that back Joss it's just a display!" You pinch the bridge of your nose, and after a minute of more muffled talking, Connor picks the phone back up.

     "Heh, sorry about that."

     "Are you sure Jocelyn is the one who found actual information?" 

     You hear Connor give a small chuckle over the phone. "I'm sure. It's pretty busy here today, so maybe it's best if you just come here."

     You flop your head back down on your pillow and scoff. "But I don't want to get up yet."

     "Well, when you are ready to get up, you know where we'll be."

     "Yeah yeah, I'll be there soon."

     You hang up the phone and lay down a little longer, cherishing the comfort of your bed before getting up and running around for the rest of the day.

     Before leaving, you make sure to take care of Luna, then head to the shed to check on Russel. As you step into the backyard, you take a long look at how destroyed it is. Branches from your tree have been broken off and scattered throughout your yard, dirt has been picked up and tossed around, not to mention the tire tracks in the grass leading up from your driveway to the tree where Connor slammed the vine bear.

     Well, this is a mess.

     Surprisingly, despite a few cracks and loosened boards, your shed still remained intact. You step inside and spot Russel nestled up in his nest, easily startled at the sound of the door creaking open. He puffs his feathers and caws, but once he realizes its you, he giddily jumps up and hops along the table as you approach.

     "Looks like someone is happy to see me." You hold out your arm and he quickly leaps onto it, cawing with excitment. You gently stroke the feathers along his wings for a moment, until he suddenly puffs up and caws aggressively at the door. You feel your heart race as you carefully set him back in his nest, not taking your eyes off the door. You grab your bat and grip it tightly as you slowly approach the door.

     You take a deep breath and place your foot between the door and the frame, then YANK it open! You charge out of the shed with your bat held high ready to swing- but no one is there. You look around skeptically but see no one around, and slowly lower your bat. You look back at Russel, who is still cawing from his nest, and then you hear a strange sound coming from your pond. You raise your bat once more and begin to cautiously advance towards the pond.

     As you slowly approach the pond, you can see a torrent of bubbles shooting to the top of the water, and you feel your heart pounding in your ears. You can feel your legs begin to go numb as you are only a few feet away, but you keep on moving.

     Then, as you finally stand right before the pond, the bubbles disappear in an instant. Bewildered, you cautiously look into the water and only see your reflection. Just as you are about to look away, you spot a face appear right behind you in your reflection. A face that you've only seen in a drawing you discovered at Coras: Redfield.

     Immediately, you spin around and swing your bat as hard as you can, and see the figure just dodge it by a mere inch, their long brown hair brushing in the wind. "Hey!-"

    "Noah?!" You drop your bat and feel your entire body shake as your heart drops like an anchor at the sight of him, relief washing over you. "Jeez, you want me gone again that bad already?" He asks, his arms still covering his face like a shield.

     You roll your eyes and he grins. A small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth and you pull him into hug. After hesitating for a split second, he wraps his arms around you as well. "What are you doing here Noah?" You ask, still locked into a hug. "Trying to get my head taken off apparently."

     "No, seriously," you say strictly as you pull away. "It's not even 9 o'clock yet, how did you even know I was in the backyard?" He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. "Well, I knocked on your door first but you didn't answer. Then I heard your bird in there making all sorts of noise, so I figured I'd come out back to see if you were out here. And then you tried Lucilling me."

     You can't help but shake your head and laugh. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were-" you cut yourself off, thinking back to the face in the water. He raises an eyebrow at you as you remain silent. "Thought I was... what?" You shake the thought off and look back at him. "I thought you were something else."

     He looks at you, eyes wide. "Something that involved using that?" He points to your bat lying by your feet, and you pick it up. "I...I just thought it was something from the woods."

     "Hey, look around." He scans your entire yard with his hand and looks back at you. "There's nothing here now. Its just us." You look around yourself without seeing a hint of anything suspicious. "Yeah, you're right."

     But I know what I saw...

     You take a long skeptical look back at the pond, then turn back to him. "Connor actually called not too long ago. He said him and Jocelyn might have found something new about the Power but they're stuck at the hardware store. Want to take a walk there with me?"

     He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "I might as well, since you clearly need a bodyguard." He grins as you playfully punch him in the arm. You set your bat back in the shed and you and Noah head out into town. But as you're walking away, you swear you can feel something watching you from the trees. Something that makes your blood run cold.

******

    The walk into town is long and quiet, giving you and Noah time to catch up.

     "So, how does it feel?" He looks at you with a raised eyebrow.  "How does what feel?" You lightly nudge him in the arm. "You know, to be back. To be you again."

     He looks down and stares at the ground as he walks, thinking before answering you. "I'm not sure how to feel about it honestly. For three years I was trapped as some shadow monster, now all of a sudden I'm back," he looks at his hands, studying them. "And it's like I never was that monster."

     You walk in silence for a minute as you take in his words, and think of how to respond. "I wouldn't necessarily say you were a monster." He looks at you as if baffled. "Then what was I?"

     You shrug your shoulders. "You were just... You. Just with a new look." He scoffs, but with the hint of a smile on his face. "And telekinetic powers? And the ability to go through walls? Not to mention a terrible speech problem."

     You both burst out into laughter, the first time you've seen him laugh in years. You can't help but stare at the smile on his face, the happiness he hasn't felt in so long, even if it's just for a moment.

     You look forward as you can just see the town in the distance. You look over to say something to him, but realize hes no longer walking next to you. You turn around to see he's stopped a little ways back, staring down a long street. You make your way back to him and follow his gaze, and you know exactly what he's looking at:

     His house.

     You look at his face and see the pained expression, the joy he had just felt disappeared, as if it were never there.

     "Do you... Want to go? And see her?" He doesn't speak, nor does he look at you, his entire focus still locked on his house. "Noah?" He shakes his head as if coming out of a trance, and looks at the ground. "No. I can't." He kicks a pebble by his feet and watches it skip into the grass. "I'm not ready for that. Not yet. And I don't think she is either. Not after thinking I've been dead this whole time."

     You put a hand on his back and rub it soothingly. "Hey, there's no rush. You've been through so much. Just take it all one step at a time, okay?" He still doesn't meet your gaze, but nods his head.

     "Now come on, the town is just up ahead." He slowly starts walking with you, taking one last look at his street, guilt stricken across his face.

  When you finally reach town, you notice him looking all around, at all the people, all the buildings, even the birds flying above. "Enjoying the scenery I see?" You say jokingly. He gives a small smile, still looking around. "Just taking in what I've missed the past few years."

     You smile and look forward, and see the hardware store in the distance. You keep walking until he suddenly puts an arm in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

     "Hey-"

     "Do you have to be there right away?" He asks. "I'm not necessarily on a schedule, why?" He nods his head and you notice he's stopped you in front of the cafe you sat down at the day he followed you from school, where he told you the story about when Jane chased after him when he ran away as a kid.

     You look at him grinning from ear to hear as he meets your gaze. "It's been a long time since I've sat down and had a blueberry muffin." Rolling your eyes with a smile, you both walk inside.

     "Go ahead and find a place to sit, I'll get us something to eat." You look at him with a sarcastic smile. "You're treating both of us to blueberry muffins?" He smiles. "Technically, Dan is treating us." He pulls out a ten dollar bill from his pocket and walks in line as you find a seat by the window. After a few minutes, he sits in the chair across from you and hands you a muffin. You take small bites from it like a mouse while he scarfs his down.

     "So, you still never told me why you were at my house at 8:30 in the morning." He looks up at you with a mouth full of muffin, and holds up an index finger while he finishes eating.

     "I assumed you'd want to play 21 questions with me about everything, so I figured we might as well sit down somewhere and talk about it." He picks up whats left of his food and admires it before finishing it. "Plus, I really wanted a muffin."

     You raise a mischevious eyebrow at him and grin. "So, you wanted to take me out on a date is what I'm hearing?" As soon as the words leave your mouth, he nearly coughs on his food. "What? No! Nothing like that-"

     "Noah, I'm kidding."

     He eases up and sits back in his chair. "Oh, good." He looks out the window, his cheeks a shade pinker. You both sit in silence for a minute and he clears his throat. "So um, what do you want to know?" You gaze out the window, so many questions racing through your mind, deciding what to ask first.

"How much do you remember? From being like that?" He huffs and looks at you, "all of it." He looks out the window, watching as people walk by. "I remember floating through the woods night after night, day after day, just feeling lost. Like I had no idea who I was. I remember being alone for so long, just thinking to myself how much I deserved it." You look at him, pained as you take in his words, and then he looks at you, his eyes lighting up a little bit. "And I remember the day someone I thought hated me came barging right into those ruins calling my name like she had no fear." He smiles at you and you smile back.

"Well, I wouldn't say she hated you. But she did have a little fear running up in there." You go to take another bite of your muffin and you can still feel his eyes on you. You look back up at him to see his smile has faded. "What?"

"...Why?" He asks. You tilt your head at him. "Why what?"

"Why did you come for me that day? At all? After what I did?" He swallows hard, and you can see the guilt across his face.

"I had a dream. That you were at the ruins, begging me to come help you. You told me I could save you." He looks at you, confused. "So, a dream made you go out there, where I could have killed you for all you knew?" You shrug your shoulders at him. "I knew the risks I was taking."

He looks at you as if struck. "You were really willing to do that? Even after I-" You cut him off before he has time to finish. "It doesn't matter what you did or didn't do that night Noah. You didnt deserve what happened to you. I promised you before I wasn't going to pull away again, and I'm sorry it took me two years to keep that promise."

A small smile spreads across his face, and you smile back. After smiling at each other for what feels like too long, he clears his throat. "So um, we should probably get to the hardware store and see what Connor and Joss picked up."

     "Oh, right, of course." You wipe your mouths with a napkin and toss out your trash before heading out. But as you're heading out the door, you get a weird feeling in your gut.

     You look around the cafe and see everyone is paying no mind to you, yet you can't help but feel like someone- or something- is nearby, watching you.

[reminiscing-writer]

Unexpected Surprise

Prompt: Reid is a regular at his local bookstore, and also has a very good acquaintance with the young storekeeper there. When she turns down his date very last second, he finds a secret about her that can’t help but make him fall harder for her.

Warning: idk man I’m just tryna write fluff lmao I got hella carried awayyyy

We all deserve happy Reid

—————

The cold October air whizzed by, as Spencer walked into Pages And Pages, his local bookstore, with a large smile on his face, and two steaming coffees in hand. He’d made it a part of his schedule to try and drop by at least once a week. Sure, the books were very captivating, but so was the receptionist.

He thought, from the moment he laid eyes on her, that she was a beauty. Her hair was always loosely tied in a bun, her make up close to minimal, and her sense of style almost mirrored his- sweaters. Lots of sweaters.

He found it fairly easy to talk to her, because, although at first he stumbled with his words, her kind and soft spoken demeanor drew him into a safe space.

Y/n was very well aware of Spencer’s occupation. If he didn’t come by on his weekly visit, she’d figure he was out saving the world, as she liked to put it.

The little bell on the large oak door of the bookstore rang as Spencer entered, and headed straight for y/n’s desk. He was very punctual. 12:15 every Friday. Y/n didn’t even have to look up to know that the shadow covering her table was him.

She had a smile etched on her lips before she even looked up, “You realize I’m seeing you in less than 48 hours right?” She joked, taking the cup of coffee he handed to her.

“I do,” he smiled, just as stricken by her beauty as the last time he saw her, “but, I didn’t want to skip out on meeting with you today.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind his ear.

She takes a sip of her drink, humming at the delightful taste, “Why won’t you just tell me what you order?” She has her eyes closed, having every taste bud tingle in happiness, “This is delicious.”

He laughs slightly at her happiness, “Becuase, if I told you, then you could get it yourself, anytime. And, I want these coffee meetings to be special.” He says, shyly shrugging.

Y/n’s cheeks filled with a rose blush, “Dr. Reid, you are over the top.” She laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Just wait until Sunday,” Spencer sips his own coffee, “I’ll pick you up from your place, by 8 o’clock, you said, right?” He double-checked. He didn’t need to double check. He had it memorized down to a T. Her address. The route. The time to pick her up. The restaurant he was planning on taking her too. The walk that he planned on them taking from said restaurant to a small ice cream parkour.

He didn’t need to double-check anything.

“Mm-hmm,” She hummed, sipping her drink this time, nodding slightly, “he should be down by then,” she mumbles to herself, quickly scribbling down something on paper, “I’ll be ready by 8, waiting for you.” She smiled.

-

“I’m so sorry.” Y/n apologied for the hundredth time. “I really feel awful. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” She sniffled over the phone.

“No, I-its fine,” Spencer spoke into his cell, trying so hard to mask the disappointment that was dripping in his voice, “I understand.” He was pacing back and forth in the break room at the office, “We couldn’t possibly know you’d be getting down with bronchitis. It’s not your fault.” Spencer says, scratching the back of his neck.

Y/n had called Saturday afternoon, the day before the duos scheduled date. She had been coughing and sniffling, saying she went to the Urgent Care near her earlier that morning because she was feeling off, and they said she had came down with a pretty bad case of bronchitis.

She kept apologizing and saying she’d make it up to Spencer as soon as she felt better.

Spencer tried not to take the date-canceling to heart. Y/n really was sick, she wouldn’t lie about that- would she? No, of course not. She wasn’t like that.

“Listen, don’t worry about it.” Spencer stopped pacing, “Just rest. That’s what you’ll need to feel better quicker.”

He heard her giggle lightly, causing him to smile, “Thanks, Doc.” He snickered at the nickname, “Hey, Spence,” he hummed in response, “I really do like you.” She said, causing his stomach to turn, “Please, don’t think I’m turning you down or anything. I really was looking forward to our date. And, I really do mean it when I say we’ll go on another one.”

He smiled to himself, putting one hand in the pocket of his jeans and swaying slightly, side to side, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

-

It had to be the right address. Spencer checked his phone for y/n’s previous message and confirmed it for the third time. He held his breath for a second, and licking his lips, he rang the doorbell again.

He felt bad that y/n had gotten bronchitis that just didn’t seem to go away for almost 5 days now. His first priority of Wednesday morning was to stop at a small Chinese spot and grab some soup.

Surprising her would be a small little thing he was hoping would make her happy. So, there he was. At y/n’s doorstep, soup in hand, ringing her bell, awaiting for her to open up.

He checked his watch again, and shuffled his feet. His stomach fluttered as soon as he heard shuffling from behind the door.

“I’m coming!” He heard her voice from inside. He played with the box of soup in hand, and bit his bottom lip anxiously. That’s when he heard a faint cry. Not her cry, though. A cry that seemed to belong to a small child. A baby, maybe. Spencer furrowed his brows, confused. “Baby, please, you have to lie down.” He heard y/n’s voice from a distance.

After some more shuffling around, the door before him opened. Y/n distractedly looked up at Spencer just to do a double take, shocked. “S-Spence? What- What are you doing here?” She asked, barely in frame of the open door.

He looked at her, unable to speak for a second. She fully came into view of him. She adjusted a small sleeping baby in her arms, the child’s head resting on her shoulder.

“I-um, I came to see you.” He spoke slowly, and quietly, “I bought soup.” He held up the box in his hands.

Y/n smiled, and just as she opened her mouth to reply, the baby she was holding began stirring causing her eyes to widen, “Come on in.” She whispered hastily, nodding to Spencer before going into her abode.

Spencer followed behind her, unsure of what exactly was happening. Questions were running through his head, but it was as if his body was working before his mind could catch up.

Y/n went straight to a small couch, and sat down, pulling her legs up, and cuddling the small child in her arms, wrapping the both of them up with a nearby shawl. Spencer’s heart warmed up at the sight, and he unknowingly smiled to himself.

He slowly walked towards the two when he heard a small but gruel cough come from the baby’s mouth.

“You’re... not the one that’s... sick?” He slowly pieced together, sitting on a couch opposing from the one y/n was on.

Y/n sighed quietly and licked her lips. Shaking her head, she stroked the small child’s hair, “No,” she looked up at Spence, “I’m not. They’re calling it bronchilitis, because he’s so young. It should be gone in about a week total, so at least 2 to 3 days left.” She swallowed hard. “It’s the first time he’s ever gotten sick, and I couldn’t just leave him with a sitter, which is why I had to stay back on our date. Im sorry,” she apologized in the midst of her ramble, “I just...” she paused before breaking eye contact with Spencer, “we don’t have anyone but each other.”

Spencer stayed silent for a moment. He watched y/n hold the baby close and his heart felt all heavy. It was a sight he didn’t think could affect him at all. But, something about a girl he was already infatuated with, being so protective and loving made him fall even deeper for her.

He just couldn’t form any words to express this to her, so he stared at the mother-son silently. That is, until the baby started coughing again. Y/n cringed at the way her son shook as he forced the cough out of his small body.

“I understand if you want to leave,” y/n spoke up, feeling Spencer’s eyes on her, “I shouldn’t have hid the fact that I’m a mother. It’s just, I know that some people would have seen it as,” she shrugged, “extra baggage, so I just refrain from saying it at all. I apologize.”

“You apologize far too much.” Spencer spoke without thinking for once, shocking himself and y/n. He stood up from his seat, and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, “Does he, uh, drink soup?” Spencer asked nodding to the child.

Y/n cracked a small smile, “Adam,” she said, “and, yes, he actually is very fond of soup.”

Spencer nodded, before finding his way into the kitchen. As quietly as possible, he emptied the soup into a bowl, and plopped a decent looking spoon into it. Filling a small glass with water, he brought it out to y/n, who was now standing, pacing with a very upset looking Adam.

Spencer’s brows furrowed in worry.

“He’s fine,” y/n assured him, “just a little fussy. Don’t worry.”

“It’s tough, huh?” Spencer spoke, not sitting down until Adam had calmed, “Being a parent, I mean.”

Y/n had seated up the small one year-old next to her on the couch. She was slowly feeding him the soup, and although he was dozed off on meds, he slurped it up happily.

“Being a single parent is something I wasn’t ready for,” y/n admits, wiping some soup of Adams chin, “but, I love this monkey so much,” she scrunched her nose to her son, who gave a very sleepy smile in return, having Spencer laugh lightly, “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

-

Spencer answered the third FaceTime call he had received in the past 5 minutes, “Hey, sorry I was in a meeting with Hotch, is everyth-” he cut his sentence short when he saw his girlfriends face tearstreaked on screen. “Oh, my god,is everything okay? Are you hurt? Is Adam okay?” He quickly rambled, his mind thinking the worst.

Y/n sniffled, “I’m fine, we’re fine,” she quickly answered, “just, wait-“ she quickly runs into a different room and Spencer can hear Adam babbling in the background. He smiles hear the child’s voice. “Watch this.” Y/n tells Spencer. She pulls up a photo, and shows it to her boyfriend first.

It was of the two of them on New Years Eve, happily smiling. Spencer was holding a very giggly Adam, and had his free arm wrapped around y/n’s waist.

She turns the photo to Adam, “Sweetheart,” she tries to grab her sons attention, “hey, Adam,” He looks up to her wide eyed, “you know who this is, baby?” She points to herself.

Adam starts clapping and smiling, “Mama! Mama!” Y/n starts tearing up all over again.

“Yes!” Spencer encourages the child, “Hey, good job!” He gets shushed by y/n quickly.

She points to Spencer in the photo and asks Adam, yet again, “Okay, sweety, and who’s this?” She ask, already ready to cry again.

Adam starts laughing and jumping in place, “Dada! Is dada!”

Spencer gasps, covering his agape mouth with one hand. “Did you teach him that?” He asks a very ecstatic y/n who shakes her head.

“No, he just started to point to the picture all by himself and talk.” She sniffled, leaving the room her son was sitting in.

“Well, one things for sure,” a very smiley Spencer admits happily, “he’s smart, just like his Mama.” He attempts a wink, causing y/n to laugh.

-

It was early. Y/n could feel the December brisk air seeping into the apartment, making her pull her duvet up to cover herself further. She felt a tug, as her boyfriend pulled her covers back from her.

“Hey,” She grumbled, “no hogging.” She whined causing Spence to turn to face her and snicker sleepily.

The two heard their bedroom door open slowly, and the slight pitter patter of small feet tip toe in.

“He’s awake.” Spencer whispered to his girlfriend, peeping one eye open.

“Brace yourself.” Y/n groaned, just seconds before the three year old attacker jumped on the bed. He bounced and he jumped and he laughed loudly, inevitably causing him the grown ups in bed to groan and slowly sit up in bed.

“Mama, Daddy! It’s Critthy Time! It’s Critthy time, now!!” He pumped his tiny fists into the air.

Spencer smiles, still trying to open both eyes, “Did Santa even get you any gifts? You’ve been been pretty naughty lately.” Y/n groans, covering her head with a pillow.

“So many! Daddy, there’s like,” Adam puts up 3 fingers carefully, “this many boxes with my name!!”

Spencer fake gasps causing the child to have a giggle fit, “Honey, Adam has been such an angel, I’m sure all of the gifts under the tree are his.” Spence pulls the pillow off y/n’s face receiving a groan from her. “Long night?” He smirks to her, causing her to stick her tongue out. Her cheeks slightly blushed as she remembered the... eventful night the two shared.

“I’m exhausted.” She sighed, sitting up and rubbing her tired eyes. Adam jumps out of the bed and runs to the living room. Spencer can’t help but smile at the little ones pajamas.

They were a mom-dad-child set. So all three of them were wearing the same red plaid winter pajamas. Spencer and y/n had gone to sleep in just the pants of the set, so before they went out to the Christmas tree, they made sure to put on the shirts as well.

Y/n groggily made her way to the sofas, and sat by the foot of one. Spencer made his way to the kitchen to put the coffee on before he sat beside y/n, his arm draping around her shoulders, and her resting her head on his chest.

Adam came up to y/n, putting his face a mere centimeters from hers, as grabs her shoulders by his small hands. “Can I open, now? Please?” He pouted to his mother.

She laughed and kissed her nose, “Of course, monkey. Let’s see what Santa got my big boy.” Adam cheered before running to the small pile of boxes under the decently lit tree.

He help up a box, and took it to Spencer first, having him nod in indication that it does in fact have Adams name on it. Happily he plops down right in front of y/n and starts to tear open the wrapping paper. The smell of coffee starts to fill the apartment, and Spencer gives y/n a kiss on the forehead before getting up to go to the kitchen.

“Mama?” Adam whispers to his mother, who simply hums at him in response, “You know, Daddy opened presents not asking you.” He said to y/n innocently.

She furrowed her brows, ruffling his hair, “What are you talking about, Pumpkin?”

“Daddy,” he repeats, “he took a small box and hid it in his jacket. He don’t want you to know. So, you can’t get mad.” He explained, although causing more confusion to his already confused mother.

Y/n had suspicions for a few months now. She once overheard Spencer on the phone with his colleagues, saying something along the lines of yeah man, I knew she was the one a while ago. Any day now. I’m just deciding on when.

Then, she was borrowing his phone once when Adam has dropped hers down the toilet, and when she opened Safari, she saw 2 tabs open. One that had been searching for unique and special rings, and the other that was searching, children’s tuxes and suits.

But, what really put the icing on the cake for her, was when the three of them were coming home late after one Spencer’s teammates wedding. Y/n had been tired so she was resting her head, with her eyes closed. Adam was already fast asleep, snoring lightly. Spencer has put his hand on y/n’s thigh, and when her being to tired to respond, translated into she’s asleep for him, he said the words that had been tugging at y/n’s heart since then.

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

Y/n unfolds her legs, and slowly gets up, “Mama’s gonna go check on Daddy,” she informs her child, “I’ll be right back.” She kisses the top of his hair.

She goes into the kitchen to see two mugs with steaming coffee in them, but no Spencer in sight. She furrows her brows, and turns to head into the bedroom, looking for her boyfriend. Glancing over her room she fails to see him again. She frowns slightly, and turns around on her heels, almost falling over her own feet when she bumps into Spencer right behind her.

“You scared me.” She frightenedly giggles, putting a hand over her heart. “I was looking for- What... are you doing?” She narrows her eyes at him when he takes a step back, and gets down on one knee. She sees a paper and a small box in his hand.

Her breathing fastens, watching his every move, “I was planning on doing this on New Years, at Rossi’s house party,” Spencer started off, “but, my surprise seems to have been foiled.” He nervously laughs. “Y/n,” him saying her name causes her eyes to start tearing up, “You came into my life unexpectedly,” he says, “but, I decided a long time ago, that you were definitely the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” He looked over his shoulder to Adam, then back to y/n, “Both of you.” He inhaled as y/n’s bottom lip trembled, “Y/n,” she whimpers in response, biting her bottom lip, “will you do me the honor of making me your husband, and the official father of Adam?”

Y/n in the midst of her crying, sniffles and cocks her head, confused. She walks closer to Spencer, pulling him to stand up. He hands her the piece of paper and opens the small box in his hands.

A beautiful ring shone brightly in Spencers hands, and adoption papers shook in y/n’s hands.

1 very cold wedding, 2 additional siblings to Adam and a kitten later; and still, Spencer refused to tell y/n what type of coffee he would get for her when they go out.

-

I kinda like this mmm we’ll see my opinion change in a few days lol

[authorized-trash]

To Tie a Knot: Chapter Three: Virgil’s Verdict

Ao3

Chapter One , Chapter Two

Trigger Warnings:

Sympathetic Deceit, self hate, mild language, hospital mention, panic

Chapter Summary:

Fate works in mysterious ways (in the dead of night, apparently.)

Word Count:

2,400+

Note:

This is where things get tricky, as the story on Ao3 has Deceit’s name down as Ethel, while here it is Damian. And since im copying and pasting from where i posted it to ao3, i gotta change his name over to here haha. If you see a mistake where i called him the wrong thing, yell at me

Anyways, we’re just going to ignore the fact that im pretty sure its nearly been a year since last time i updated, shhh

reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated!

Damian was getting real sick of this stupid hospital room.

The walls were a obnoxiously bright gray, and the curtains did little to block out the pale sun of winter. There was this stupid little picture across from his bed, with a cute silhouette couple holding hands, a small loopy string dangling from their fingers.

Damian rolled over onto his side, picking at the slightly peeling paint. He’d been in here for days, and still had an hours wait before he was discharged.

His spine hurt from being in this position for so long, but he’d already explored the hospital five times now.

He didn’t understand what was so important about him being here so long. They already told him the bad news. He’d already passed the mark for another soulmate. He had already come to terms wi-

A lump raised into Damian’s throat, but he swallowed it down. He hadn’t cried yet. He wouldn’t now.

Perhaps the hardest part about this whole ordeal was the pitying looks. The nurses telling him it was alright to cry. The therapist that had stopped by to tell him it wasn’t healthy to act like everything was fine.

Everything was fine though, right? It wasn’t like Damian lost something important. He didn’t lose his job, didn’t lose his house. No, he lost someone he hadn’t even met yet. Surely it wasn’t that important.

Yeah, he’d be a bit lonely, but was that really important? No. It wasn’t, not really.

His stomach twisted into knots. It didn’t bother him, it didn’t. The feeling of nothing he found didn’t mean anything. The complete lack of movement from his fatestring meant nothing.

He ran a hand through his hair, and even after all this time, was a bit disappointed when he didn’t feel the string pull against his finger.

With a sigh, he sat up, reaching for his phone. He had gotten a notification from Remy, five minutes ago. He opened it. They’d be here soon.

His phone buzzed in his hand as he got a message from Emile. Sometime this week they’d swapped numbers, the therapy student wanting to be nice and keep him some kind of company.

-Hey were heading there now, you ready to leave

Damian rolled his eyes.

-no, i really do enjoy it here

-Thought so see you soon

Damian put his phone into his pocket as he stood. Stretching. He stretched out the soreness in his arms and headed out of his room. HE was given some paperwork, which he finished quick enough.

The hospital was on campus of the town university he attended. He would’ve normally just walked to his dorm, but Remy had insisted he drive Damian.

He spotted Remy’s car, recognizing the sunglasses clad male as he opened the side door.

“What, no Emile today?” Damian asked as he buckled in.

“He had work. Where do you wanna go babes? We can go out to eat or-“

“I think I’d just like to go home. Today is just such a lovely day.”

Remy looked out the window to see the thunder clouds rolling up over the hills in the distance. He rolled his eyes as he turned out of the parking lot.

“Yeah well, I’m not leaving you alone all evening, get that into that pretty little head of your’s Dee. We’re goin’ to your apartment if you are, hon.”

“Figured as much,” Damian said as he pulled his hat over his eyes and laid his head back against the head rest. That feeling of emptiness was present again. ‘We’ Remy had said. He was most likely bringing Emile along. It just reminded Damian about how he wasn’t going to get another soulmate. Another fatestring. Another chance. He didn’t do anything wrong to deserve this, did he? Sure he took that pack of gum from the store without paying, but that was years ago. And yeah maybe he was a bit sarcastic and stand offish, but surely-

“Hon I can hear those gears turning in your head.”

Damian flushed. He looked at the frayed end of his fatestring again, messing with it with his other hand. Remy’s eyes caught the movement as they pulled up to a stop light.

“You’re looking at it again, aren’t you.”

“No.” Remy sighed, “Damian, sweetheart, platonic love of my life,” Damian grumbled at that one, “It will be fine. The reassigning is just a little late is all. Perhaps its finding the perfect match to tag you onto right now. It’s rare not to get reassigned babe, there’s no way you won’t be.”

Damian shrugged.

“Okay. That’s it babes. We’re getting some coffee. I ain’t goin’ into some sappy ass monologue just for you to shrug me off. I’m going to cheer you up with chocolate and sparkles. Buckle up.”

“I am.”

“Shuthu’ fuck up.”

Damian hid a smirk as he lifted his hat from his eyes and looked up to see Remy’s irritated driving. They pulled into the starbucks, and Damian attempted to forget the whole soulmate thing for the time being.

Easier said than done.

-

Two Months Later

“You are being ridiculous.”

“Oh, am I? I’m being ridiculous? You, sir, are ridiculous. I am simply trying to get my work done, now if you’d simply leave me alone,” Roman huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in indignation.

“Ro, honey, you were shouting lyrics to beauty and the beast at nine in the afternoon, people are sleepy.”

Roman gave an outraged cry, he was being ganged up on by the glasses gays! He would not stand for this! “It was not shouting, I was belting! I was singing as loud as my heart desires, I simply wish to follow my heart!”

“More like belching them out,” Virgil snickered into his hoodie sleeve from his seat on the counter. Roman gave a few offended noises that sounded suspiciously like squawking.

“How dare! I am simply trying to memorize my lyrics-“

“And why don’t you,” Logan came up behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders lightly, “Memorize them in your room, and not off the balcony.”

“But there’s no romanticism in that.”

“Baby, I’m sure that nice imagination of yours can think of a nice audience to listen to you,” Patton said, kissing Roman on the forehead as the redhead fell to the couch.

“A more willing audience then our neighbors,” Virgil grumbled, “I don’t want another sound complaint.”

“Better yet,” Patton said, pulling Roman right back to his feet, why don’t we go to your room, and I’ll listen to you..”

Roman perked up like a puppy, nodding and already pulling Patton into his room. Logan and Virgil watched them leave, both with love stricken looks.

“This happens every night,” Logan said, walking to the coffee pot to poor him another cup.

“Yeah well, it’s a routine at this point,” Virgil said, eyeing the new cup in Logan’s hands, “You’re not planning on staying up all night with that, are you?”

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I do need to stay up late, yes. I have an essay that needs edited.”

“Logan you are going to work yourself to death one of these days.”

“And you plan on sleeping soon?”

Virgil grumbled some excuses, just as Logan thought he would. The bespectacled male smiled into his mug as he brought it to his lips to drink.

“Whatever idiot, I’m going to bed. And yes, whatever, by bed I mean I’m going to be on my phone for another hour or two. Sushi. I- I mean- damnit, sue me.”

Logan laughed, setting his drink down and pulling Virgil into his arms and off the table. The emo grumbled but returned the embrace anyways. Logan gave him a peck to his lips, brushing the hair from his eyes.

“Goodnight Virgil, please attempt to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, pushing away from Logan. He was sure his face was a deep red, but he didn’t expect Logan to notice as he rushed away down the hall.

Logan smiled again. He wasn’t normally the one to be all lovey-dovey, but it was late and he was in a good mood. A great mood actually. Life was good, stable, had a rhythm to it. Logan liked to keep things organized, liked to have a schedule, a routine.

There had been no outside factors messing up this schedule for a few years now, and he planned on keeping it that way.

He finished is coffee and work sometime in the early hours. He couldn’t tell when, as he had immediately curled into the bed next to his soulmates minutes after. Sleep made his eyelids heavy as he drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of the faint numbing feeling in his fingers.

-

Morning came with a buzz of an alarm clock. It was annoying, and loud, but it did its job well.

Logan woke up the same way every day. He’d carefully untangle himself from his fiances, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold ground. He’d yawn as he exited their shared room and entered the bathroom. He’d brush his teeth, shower, and leave. He’d start the coffee and solve a word-cross puzzle. He’d make himself a Crofter’s covered piece of toast, leave a small note for his partners, and depart for work.

This morning shouldn’t have been any different. He woke up, untangled himself, stretched and yawned. He left the room and entered the one across the hall. He was too tired to notice when he reached for his toothbrush. Didn’t notice as he rinsed his mouth out. He noticed as he patted his mouth dry with a hand towel.

He dropped the cloth into the sink and shouted, stumbling back until he hit the wall. He shoved his hand into his pajama pockets, trembling all over. A feeling of dread filled him, the feeling he got when something major messed with his schedule. An unknown constant added to his perfectly mapped out life.

Logan heard his fiances start to stir and get up. He took his hands out of his pockets. They trembled violently, bringing them in front of him, praying that he was wrong, he hadn’t seen what he thought he did.

With a shaky intake of breath, he confirmed the impossible.

There was a thin yellow string attached to his pinky finger where there hadn’t been last night.

“Logan?! Logan are you alright?” Patton was the first to round the corner. He had shot up when he heard the scream and thump. His breath caught in his throat. Roman and Virgil were next, damn near getting wedged in the door with how fast they both rammed into it. Logan was shaking his head in disbelief, staring at his hands, at the four strings that were connected to each finger. The others looked down as well, at the string that had connected itself to their pinky fingers.

“How is that possible?” Roman asked in disbelief, messing with the string. Logan just shrugged, exhaling shakily.

“It shouldn’t be- you are born with strings, you shouldn’t be able to gain them.”

“Who are they?” Patton asked as they all looked up at each other. They had five soulmates. Five. That was a ridiculous number, absolutely unheard of.

“I guess,” Virgil swallowed, “I guess we’ll find out when we find them.”

-

Damian woke up with the feeling that he’d been hit by a truck. Everything was sore, and his hand hurt to move. Maybe he slept on it weird.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, wincing as his fingers tugged weirdly. They felt like the circulation had been cut off, they were all sleepy and heavy.

He got up, shivering as his toes touched the freezing floor of his apartment. He could see his breath in front of him.

He really needed to fix that heater.

Walking into his kitchen, he made himself a cup of coffee, his eyes barely open. His fingers gave another uncomfortable tug. Weird.

Slugging into the bathroom, he took a shower, running his hands of his face. Perhaps it was a good thing he was never reassigned a soulmate. The ugly scar on half his face would scare them off.

He dried off afterwards, brushing his teeth. He looked at himself long and hard in the mirror, scrutinizing every inch. He had school and practice today, enough people would see him to need makeup, and he applied the simple face he wore with practiced ease.

It didn’t do much to cover up the scars, but it was something.

He left the house with his coffee in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder, wearing a black long coat and a scarf. It was beginning to feel a lot like winter, and Damian wasn’t one to like the cold.

The walk to campus wasn’t horribly long. Just a walk through the park and up the block. He was pretty fit and in shape, both from the walk and practice, so it no longer bothered him any.

Damian ignored the few looks he got from passerby. There seemed to be a lot of them today. Odd. He had lived here for a while now, surely most these people who were routinely out at this time had gotten over their staring phase.

He spotted Remy waiting at the fence as always, speeding up slightly to catch up with him. The glasses clad male waved without looking up from his phone.

“Hey hot stuff, how’s your morning been?” Remy asked, still texting. Probably Damian if one was going off the fond look on his face.

“Dreadful,” Damian grumbled, leaning against the fence, “I must have pulled a muscle in my arm or something, it hurts something awful.”

“Uh huh. Well, I wish the best for you babes. Maybe take some meds or somethin’ before class?” Remy looked up at him over his glasses. Damian nodded, running a hand through his hair, missing how Remy followed them movement.

“Yes well that’s a giv-“

“Holy shit babe,” Remy exclaimed suddenly, grabbing a hold of Damianl’s wrist.

He moved out of the way of the street light, holding Damial’s wrist out, staring at the shadows on the ground in absolute disbelief.

“You have four and you didn’t tell me?!” He have shrieked in excitement, looking up at Damian in surprised. The other man raised a concerned eyebrow.

“Four wh-“ His throat closed in on itself, and the world around him seemed to melt away as he stared at his hand. Four- four strings. There were four fatestrings connected to his fingers. Four-

Four soulmates?

Taglist:

To be added later

[nobeliumoxygenoxygenmisc]

asra || you are my sunshine

based on ‘you are my sunshine’ (>1.5k words) - moments in asra’s life, from small snippets of being with you to a journey to a certain island 

--

You are my sunshine

“What are you smiling about?” 

“It’s too bright. Did we forget to set up the tent again?”

Asra blinked blearily up at you as you gave him a quizzical look. “No? We’re inside the tent, Asra.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t help his grin from widening. “I guess I just mistook your brightness for the sun.”

Your answering blush and exasperated laugh was enough to last him the rest of the day, and even though you promptly dumped your blanket on his head, Asra did not regret setting up the conversation just to say that one line. 

My only sunshine

The ride back to Vesuvia was the same as always--the beast sprinting through the desert at breakneck speed, Faust entwined around him and watching their progress with delight. And yet every time he travelled with you, Asra swore he felt happier than the last. No matter if you were talking amiably about whatever had piqued your interest that day, or sleeping, like now.

This time, you sat in front, for he did not want you slipping off as you slept, but whether you sat behind or not, it was always a comfort to feel your presence, your breath on his skin, your hair tickling his face even as he buried himself in it, relishing in your scent. 

You shifted in your seat, mumbling what he made out to be something that sounded suspiciously like “Give me the food, Asra.” He chuckled, the arm around you tightening to reposition yourself. That was both a mistake, and not, for you woke up then.

“How long was I out?”

“Only an hour so far. You can go back to sleep, Y/N.”

You shook your head. “You can sleep this ti...” Your words trailed off as you yawned, and you ducked your head in embarrassment. You didn’t have to turn to see Asra’s smug expression.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Sleep!” Faust said.

“Faust says sleep,” Asra relayed.

“Fine, fine, I get it you two. I’ll go to sleep again,” You grumbled, settling back into his chest as he laughed once more.

You make me happy

The shop was probably one of the most unconventional shops there was in Vesuvia. There was never a set opening and closing time, and most regular patrons just had to be accustomed to a kind of feeling they had to cultivate to determine whether or not they would be open. And yet there were times when handling customers and doing readings did become mundane, and too much of a routine for Asra’s liking. 

Still, you always seemed to make everyday just a bit different.

“So I didn’t know whether to buy the pumpkin bread or try Selasi’s new recipe because I know you were craving the pumpkin bread today but, but the new bread looked and smelled heavenly so I bought both and well, um, we have…” You mumbled the rest under your breath, seemingly too embarrassed to continue.

“We have..?” Asra prompted, giving you a reassuring smile. You looked sheepish, but Asra knew that whatever you did would never be able to anger him. 

“We now have nothing else for lunch or dinner now,” You finished. “I’m sorry!” You added quickly, continuing. “But we have lots of bread and I think bread for dinner is nice, right? Selasi’s bread has never failed us after all and--”

Asra did not like interrupting you, but he couldn’t help the laugh that spewed out. Pretty soon, you joined in, leaning against the counter to allow Faust to poke her head into the bags full of loaves.

“Y/N,” He began when he cooled down. “You don’t have to look so worried. Of course we can have bread for lunch. And dinner.” You relaxed, smiling. “Even if it’s just bread.”

When you had both settled down upstairs, you handed Asra his bread loaf and a knife, giving him a silly grin before saying, “Your meal, master Asra.” He snorted and took a bite. “Is it to your liking? Or would master Asra prefer another dish?”

He played along, giving a contemplative ‘hm’. “What would the chef recommend?”

“More bread,” You said at the same time Faust squealed “Bread!” happily.

He smiled. “Then I shall take their recommendation.”

When skies are grey

Some days were hard. Long days in the shop, when the desire to travel had reached its peak, for one. And the anniversary of his parents’ death, for another. 

Asra had always thought he preferred to be alone for that day, save for Faust curled up around him. Muriel had understood, but he’d always ensured Faust stayed with him to keep him safe, and most importantly, grounded. Asra had never realised just how much your presence, even silent and still, was so, so wanted.

His head lied in your lap, face pushed into your stomach and his arms wrapped awkwardly around you. He wasn’t sleeping, neither of you were, but though it was silent and you mindlessly stroked his hair, it was enough. 

For now, it was enough.

You’ll never know dear

There were so many moments that you never saw Asra looking. 

Like the times when you laughed too hard at something--hopefully at something he had said--, eyes shut, doubled over, the twinkling of your laughter literal music to his ears, as cheesy as that was. Or the late nights when you and he talked about anything and everything, sometimes until your eyes couldn’t stay open but you continued to talk and listen. Or when you’d go into the market and he’d wait on the side as you bartered and bought whatever you two needed. Early mornings when you woke up later than him--admittedly rare mornings--, not awake enough to notice Asra’s gaze. When you’re talking about something that you’re passionate about, stars in your eyes, frowning a bit when you catch him just staring and not quite listening. 

So many moments that you never caught, just because you weren’t looking. So many smiles that were reserved just for you.

Always just for you.

How much I love you

“Clearly I love you more, Asra.”

“Y/N, there’s something you have to know.” You gave him a challenging raised eyebrow. “You need glasses, because what’s clear here is that I love you more.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully pushed him away as you both lay in bed. “Hm, I’m not so sure about that.” You got up on your elbows, grinning down at him. “Let’s see, I wouldn’t be able to count all the ways I love you on all the hands of the people in Vesuvia.”

Asra grinned back, a mirrored challenging gleam in his eyes. “Ah, but I wouldn’t be able to count all the ways I love you on all the hands of the world.”

You momentarily pouted, before persevering for there was no way you were going to lose now. “I was wrong. I meant, I would need all the stars in the galaxy to count the ways I love you.”

He only smiled wider. “And I would need all the stars in all the magical realms and this one to count the ways I love you.”

“Oh, but are there stars in all the realms?”

“Maybe not all of them, but I already know the Magician’s realm does, and that’s already a galaxy on it’s own.”

There was a competitive glint in both your eyes now.

There was no way either of you were going to lose, it seemed.

Please

Arguments were rare. Of course, there were the almost daily play fights, sometimes even escalating into a pillow fight that constituted the only physical violence--if one could even call it that--between you two. 

But if anything became too strained, it was almost a tie to see who would apologise first. Sometimes you were stubborn, so most of the time Asra won. But other times he had to take a walk around Vesuvia just to get his thoughts into an organised order before he could return, and by then both of you were willing to apologise or compromise.

It was very, very rare that Asra left Vesuvia completely after an argument. For if there was one thing he had to do before going on adventures you couldn’t accompany, it was making sure you knew just how much he loved you before he left. You had once joked that it sounded too much like he was leaving for good and he’d told you that that would never be true. You had then said, “Well, don’t make it sound so much like you’re going to die out there or something, okay?” You two had shared a laugh back then, you playfully telling Faust to take care of Asra in case his fluffy white hair joined their cloudy brethren in the sky, leaving him vulnerable to whatever was out there.

Neither of you had thought that the day he couldn’t say anything to you would come.

Neither of you had thought that it would be you who would not return. For in a sense, you were each other’s homes.

Don’t take

Running through Vesuvia had never been as terrifying as that moment. 

Asra ran; Faust and him giving alleyways quick glances, every hooded face a look, scanning crowds and everyone and anyone who passed him.

The crowds thinned the closer they got to the docks. 

Shipments to the Lazaret that day had ended, so the docks were ominously empty, save for the few sails men tying up their boats. 

Asra had all but jumped into the one boat left untied, the sailor crying out in confusion more than anger, for when they saw Asra’s sweating pain-stricken face, they all but backed off.

Especially when they saw how he looked at the island with more fear than anyone should had ever known.

My sunshine

He had felt it.

He had felt it as if it was burning his own skin.

The flames tearing into him, melting his very being and yet, at the very same time, doing absolutely nothing.

For it was not him who had gone through that pain.

It was you.

The pain in his fingers was nothing compared to that. Compared to the ache in his chest, as if something that was supposed to be beating inside was not, as if it had been carved out and the weight of the object in his hand was not the handful of ash and dirt, but his own heart instead, slipping through his fingers.

Falling, falling, falling.

Even though you had brightness to rival the sun, Asra knew that those flames would have stopped at nothing to devour all in their path.

You were gone.

You were gone.

Away 

--

asra and angst just go hand in hand im so sorry. i was hoping my second arcana fic would be happier lmao - thank u for reading tell me if you liked it?

[justauthoring]

anything is possible // lorenzo de medici

request: hey love! could i request a lorenzo imagine where he and reader are in love but she is to be married to some nobleman so she thinks they should stop seeing each other? but then lorenzo somehow manages to break that engagement off and instead arranges for the two of them to be married? im so sorry if this was too confusing 😂 thank you so much u rock!

requested by: @musicandbeat

please don’t plagiarize my work!

word count: 1,830

The news that you were to be married had only reached your ears that very morning.

Despite the fact that your father and your husband to be had been discussing the arrangements for at the very least a month, you had been blissfully unaware of what was essentially your future. You’re not sure if it’s this; the fact that your father had not even considered that you might want to be apart of the arrangements that directly involved you or the fact that you were to married when you loved another.

To a marry a man you did not know, a complete stranger, was one thing. But to marry a man when your heart belonged to another was nearly impossible. And you haven’t been able to get rid of the ache in your heart since you were informed of this arranged marriage.

Your father had announced it with your husband to be beside him. The two had smiled at you as if this was news you were meant to be excited and thrilled by, and instead it had the complete opposite effect. When the words had left your father’s lips, your first thought had been Lorenzo and how you needed to find him, needed to see him instantly.

You knew it was improper. You knew that you very well could be punished for your rather rude behaviour -- but you found you didn’t much care as you gathered your skirts into your hands and promptly spun around, running out the door you’d just entered from. You heard your father call after you, and the sound of two pairs of footsteps hastily following after you, but with your determination and desperation, you were much too quick for the both of them.

Maybe your fiance was kind. Maybe, just maybe, if given enough time, you would learn that it is possible to love him. But you don’t care, because your heart already belongs to another.

You run down the streets of Florence, a destination in mind and you refuse to let anyone or anything get in your way of reaching it. You turn the many corners, run down the many roads and ignore the slight ache in your feet as you run wildly, tears in your eyes and your hair whipping in response to the wind behind you.

You don’t stop until you reach Lorenzo.

He is in his room when you suddenly burst in, ignoring the pleading cries of the servants who try to stop you from entering Lorenzo’s room without invitation. Upon your sudden entrance, Lorenzo jumps in surprise, turning to you and you realize that he must’ve just been getting ready for the day because he has nothing more than a pair of trousers on.

The servant that had tried to stop you lets out a wail of distress, instantly shuffling back as she bows her head. “I apologize Messer Medici,” she stammers, “she would not listen--”

“It’s fine,” Lorenzo cuts off, keeping his eyes trained on you as he raises a hand in the servants direction. There is a moment where he just observes you, his eyes narrowing in deep concern at the redness around your eyes and your tear-stricken cheeks as you stand there, clearly disheveled. Then, he is speaking again; “you may leave.”

The servant’s eyes grow wide, obviously not having expected Lorenzo to be so open to your presence given that she’s never seen you before. But she says nothing more nor does she argue, knowing her place, and with another bow of her head, she scurries out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

The second the two of you are alone, Lorenzo rushes over to you. “Y/N,” he breathes, cupping your cheek as he pulls you close. “What is the matter? Why are you crying?”

You raise your hand, clasping it over Lorenzo’s own as you sniffle up at the man, your eyes falling shut. “I am to marry,” you whisper, unable to speak the words any louder as you feel a great bout of discomfort and unhappiness flood your entire being. “My father arranged the marriage without my knowledge. He only told me just this morning.”

When you open your eyes to gaze back up at Lorenzo, his own are wide, disbelief flooding them. For a moment, he remains silence, obviously unsure how to react or how to response. There is a deep sadness that burns into the irises of his eyes as your situation washes over him.

“When is the wedding?”

Swallowing thickly, you lean into the palm of Lorenzo’s hand, basking in the warmth it brings you. “In two days time.”

Lorenzo lets out a shaky breath, his hand leaving your cheek and falling by his side as he shuffles back. As if he is unable to stand on his own two feet, Lorenzo takes a seat on his bed, setting his head in his hands. Your eyes water, fresh tears flooding as you take the small steps over to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice pitching slightly. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Lorenzo takes your hands into his own, firmly, meeting your eyes. “This is not your fault,” he whispers, “I do not blame you.”

“But Lorenzo...--”

“Shh,” Lorenzo soothes, pulling you into his lap. You fall into him easily, running your hands through his hair that is still a curled mess on top of his head. Lorenzo rubs his hands over your arms, as if trying to memorizing the sight and touch of you as the gears in his head work madly to find a solution. “I know,” he whispers eventually, “I know.”

There is nothing more for either of you to say. Your heart is heavy with the knowledge that you will no longer be able to be with Lorenzo as you once thought you could. 

The two of you use this time to cherish each other and the feeling of one another, knowing that it could very well be your last time. 

But the time passes all too sudden, and before you know it, you are walking back through the doors of your family estate. Your father and your fiance are still in the spot you’d left them, and they both jump to their feet at the sight of you, your father rushing over to you. He takes your face in his hands, the concern bleeding off of him painfully honest. 

“I was so worried,” he breathes, voice quiet. “Where did you run off to?”

You don’t have an answer, at least not one you can speak of now. So, instead, you remain silent, keeping your voice emotionless as your father lets out a sigh, stepping back from you and turning in the direction of your new fiance. He takes a hesitant step towards you, as your father introduces him.

Your fathers words bleed into the back of your mind as you meet the man’s eyes. All you see is Lorenzo’s own staring back at you and the anguish of your situation seems to stab you in the heart.

-

Two days later, you find yourself surrounded by handmaidens, adorned in fine silk and your hair curled into beautiful waves around your face. A mirror is positioned before you, and you stare back at your reflection with a heavy heart and a heavy frown.

Anyone would tell you you look beautiful, and your husband is a lucky man. That you should be happy, because it is your wedding day. But you cannot bring a smile to your face knowing that you are marrying a complete stranger and not Lorenzo. That this entire situation you had no control or say in, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to oppose of it.

You are stuck, and there is no solution to the problem that floods your mind.

So, you stand there, motionless and silent as the women around you flutter around in a scurry, making sure you look your absolute best for the festivities to come. The adorn your in jewels and makeup and straighten your dress and fluff your hair, and you don’t say a word.

Then, a knock echoes about the room and your father’s voice carries through; “Y/N?”

You turn, blinking at the sight of your father. He peaks his hand in past the two, hesitant to make sure you are decent before he enters. Your eyes widen, however, when another follows him inside. It is not your fiance, and rather, Lorenzo.

“Lorenzo?” His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper.

He smiles breathtakingly, but otherwise remains silent as your father takes step forwards. “Y/N,” he calls once more, “there is something very important Messer Medici and I must discuss with you.”

You are quick to bid your handmaiden goodbye, pulling up the skirts of your dress and stepping off the raised pedestal you’d been placed upon. You hurriedly make your way over to Lorenzo and your father, unable to hide the urgency in your eyes to find out what it is.

“Yes, father?”

“Lorenzo and I have been discussing your wedding as of late.” Your brows furrow at your father’s words, your eyes flickering over to Lorenzo who has not stopped smiling in that way since he’d first entered the room. “And he offers a large sum for your hand in marriage.”

“My hand?” You breathe, unable to mask your disbelief. “But aren’t I to marry Iacopo of the Ferrari family?”

“Messer Medici is a persuasive man,” your father smiles, turning to look at Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo then takes a step forward, finally speaking; “if you’ll have me of course, I would love to have your hand in marriage, Y/L/N.”

You do your best to mask your true happiness, the swelling of your heart radiating through your body. But still, a wide grin falls on your lips as you let Lorenzo take his hand in your own, your eyes twinkling with delight as you smile up at him. “I would love to, Lorenzo.” You falter slightly when you realize that you are in a wedding dress and your wedding was to happen that very day. “But what about today?”

“I would be fine to marry you today, Y/N.”

You bite your lip, turning to your father who shrugs. “The preparations have already been made. I see no reason why not.”

Your eyes fall back on Lorenzo’s as you smile, unable to hide the glee that practically radiates off of you in waves. Your father excuses himself, an explanation you don’t hear as you keep your gaze on Lorenzo’s own. The moment the two of you are along, Lorenzo instantly presses his lips against your own, pulling you close.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, returning the kiss with just as much love and ferocity.

And then, when you pull back, breathless and Lorenzo leans his forehead against your own, you can’t help but ask; “how?”

“When it comes to the woman you love, anything is possible.”

-

let me know what you thought? remember, reblogging always helps!

requests are open for jaime lannister and lorenzo de medici!

[lovelylogans]

lavender for luck: chapter five

see warnings here

art by neil

previous chapter | the timestamp/sequel

“Bit dismal, isn’t it?” Roman asks pointedly, as Logan’s car trundles past the pitiful excuse for a welcoming sign.

“Lots of parking, though,” Logan says dryly, gesturing into the nearest lot that, aside from about three cars scattered throughout, had their pick of spots.

“This is where Virgil grew up,” Patton says, a tone of quiet disapproval in his voice. “Where he lives.”

“I’m starting to see why he was so emo when we first met him,” Roman says in an undertone. “If I lived here I’d be miserable too.”

A pause, as they examined their surroundings, and Roman looks at the map again.

“So,” Roman says. “Do we start at the grocery store, or the tiny excuse of a library, or the gas station? Or whatever number of closed-up shops there are? Or, oh, look, a bed and breakfast—”

“It’s a Sunday in a small town, stands to reason things are closed,” Logan says, tapping lightly at the dashboard. “Could use a bit more gas. Besides, they might have instructions. Maps. Directions. They might even know where he lives, it’s a small enough town—everyone must know everyone here—”

“Gas station it is,” Patton agrees, shifting in his seat. “I could use a good stretch. I hope they’ve got snacks.”

“—then I suppose we’ll check into the bed and breakfast. I have a suspicion that if Virgil ignored all of our calls and texts, he might not be quite so open to seeing us all in person. It may take a while.”

“We’ll just curl up on his doorstep and refuse to leave,” Roman suggests, and Logan lets out a slight huff that might have been hiding a laugh, pulling in to the gas station and parking by one of the two pumps, setting it to fill up before going inside.

A man, their age, or perhaps a year or two older, stared at them, smiling a kind of aggrieved customer-service smile.

“Sorry,” He says, not sounding particularly sorry as he stands from where he’d been sitting and scrolling on his phone. “Not often we get out of towners. Sunday’s normally a slow day—”

“It’s no trouble,” Logan says, and then glances around the small excuse for a gas station. Fridges line two of the walls, and there’s about three aisles worth of snacks, which Roman and Patton are already perusing, and then back at the counter, where the man (whose nametag read JIMMY KAVANAGH in cursive white stitching) gawks at them openly. “If I could pay in here—”

“Yeah, sure,” Apparently-Jimmy says, waving a hand and squinting out to double-check the pump number.

“What’re you doing in Ligerion?” he asks, as he’s punching in the information. “I think the last visitors we had was over a year ago, now.”

Logan tries his hardest not to wince at the use of a singular verb with a plural subject, and busies himself with glancing through yellowed, old maps of the town. “We’re visiting a friend of ours.”

“Oh, yeah? Bet I know ‘im.” He says to Logan, who laughs politely, well-versed in small-talk and all of its intricacies, even if he wasn’t particularly genuine about it.

“Place like this, I suppose you have to,” Logan agrees, setting what looks like the most in-depth map on the counter. “I’m paying for all their snacks, too, plus this—anyways, we’re visiting Virgil. Virgil Fae.”

It’s like saying his name flips a switch. The color practically drains out of his face, and gone is the look, the conspiratorial one that seems like he wants to be first to know the business for the visitors. Now, he looks like he’s seen a ghost—like Virgil’s name alone shook him to his core. Apparently-Jimmy looks around the station, scandalized, before bending his head towards Logan.

“All right, look,” he says to Logan in an undertone, an edge of a laugh in his tone. “I get that you’re, like, city boys, y’all’re new around here. But don’t go shoutin’ it out—guess if you’re seeing a Fae you haven’t got much sense, though,” he adds, and Logan stiffens.

“Beg your pardon?”

His voice is louder than expected, and he can practically feel Roman and Patton’s questioning gazes on his back. The soft padding of Roman and Patton’s feet as they approach the counter, silently putting their things on the counter. Patton’s fingers brush soft, subtle, down the steel of his spine.

Apparently-Jimmy sighs, and looks at them. “Look, bit of free advice?” He says, as he’s starting to ring up the snacks.

“Faes aren’t friends. They’ll do a good job convincing you of it, sure, but that’s the way they are. They’re good at it. That’s how they get you. You’re not from here, I get it. But I am. People in this town… they’ve seen people like you get all wrapped up in the Faes and what happens to them. You’ll think they’re your people, they’re parts of the town, that they’re your friends. They are not.”

Logan did not particularly care what this person thought. He didn’t know Virgil. He didn’t know the quiet, earnest Virgil, the one who made his own garden in their land-locked, green-bereft apartment. The one who grew from snarling and grouchy to someone who tried, all the time, learning how to fit and change and be with people who cared about him.

Because if Virgil had lived his life—in a dark, dismal, small place like this, with people like this who suspected his every motive—Logan could understand why he had been so shut off to them, before.

Because of people like this.

Logan draws himself up to his full height, and feels his best well-bred sneer cross his face, disdainful. He puts down enough cash for the snacks, their gas, the map with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.

“For your information,” and his tone was acerbic and cold, “which I’m not entirely sure will sink into your thick head, Virgil is one of the best men I’ve ever met. And we don’t particularly care about whatever horrid, false warnings you want to give to us.”

“Your funeral,” Jimmy mutters as they finally head for the door, and Patton has to grab Logan’s arm and practically shove him outside, lest he double back and—what? Punch him? He wouldn’t punch someone.

Would he?

He needs to calm down. He needs to keep a level head.

Roman, meanwhile, has stopped in his tracks.

“We’re idiots,” Roman says, and swivels to look at them. “We… we’re idiots.”

“Why d’you say that,” Patton prompts, and Roman gestures down the main road.

“You guys. Cora.”

They all freeze. Cora. Virgil’s great-aunt.

Who owns the only restaurant in town.

“We are idiots,” Logan breathes.

Patton checks his watch, and says, “Early dinner, then?”

They scramble for the car.

It turns out to be barely a minute’s drive, and Logan pulls into the first available spot, before they all head straight for the diner door.

The diner’s small, and neat. It’s kind of… cute, really, with a soda counter and booths, everything done in shades of red or white. Everyone in the diner is staring at them, though, and they swiftly slide into a booth.

“What is with this town,” Roman says in an undertone, stealing a glance towards an old man, who’s squinting at them suspiciously.

“It’s not exactly a hot spot for tourists,” Logan says dryly, and reaches for the menus—pieces of paper put into a plastic holder, as if the menu’s swapped around often, all tucked behind a condiments container.

Patton takes the menu, and observes it, before he pauses, stricken.

“What?” Roman asks.

“I—nothing,” Patton says. “Just—butterscotch milkshake.”

The scattering of butterscotch candies in the care packages that arrived twice a month, the ones Virgil claimed and shoved in his backpack and sucked on when he was studying.

“Well,” Logan says, “at least we know we’re in the right place.”

“Yeah,” Roman says, with a nod to the Auntie Cora’s printed on the window, “there were no other hints, at all.”

“Have you just decided to pick up the snark in Virgil’s absence, then?” Logan asks Roman, and Roman rolls his eyes at him.

“Hey there,” the woman starts, looking at her notepad, and then looks out with a smile. “What can I get…?”

She trails off, staring at Patton, who’s staring back.

“You’re… that nice boy,” the woman who must be Cora says, tucking her pen behind her ear, invisible in her toss of white curls. “Patton, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Patton says softly. “And this is Logan, and this is Roman. Thank you for your recipes, I know Virgil—” he falters, and continues, strangled, “I know Virgil really loves them.”

She clears her throat, tries for a smile, and fishes her pen back out. “Can I get you boys started with a drink?”

“We were wondering—” Logan begins, leaning forwards, but Patton’s hand closes around his wrist.

“We’d love to,” Patton says. “I’ll start with a butterscotch milkshake. Rome, Lo?” He says, glancing at them.

Roman meets eyes with Logan, shrugs, and says, “I’ll just get a water, thanks.”

“Water as well,” Logan says, and Patton rubs his thumb over Logan’s hand as Cora notes it down.

“Be right out with those, fellas,” she says, and goes back behind the counter, presumably to the kitchen.

“People were staring,” Patton says, and nods his head to the side, where a child is openly gawking and pointing at them. “Still are. If the way our friend at the gas station acted is any indication…”

“Virgil isn’t popular,” Logan says with a sigh. “Well spotted. I don’t know why I’m so off today.”

“Yes, you do,” Roman murmurs, and puts his head on his arms, letting out a gusting sigh. “Anx—I mean, when Virgil wrote to me back then—I thought he was exaggerating.”

As the meal goes on, and they each try to the butterscotch milkshake, which makes Logan think about Virgil even more, the people turn more towards their own meals and ignore them. The food is hearty and filling and warm; Logan thinks that Virgil’s constant praise of Cora is well-earned.

As they wind down, Cora brings over three plates balanced on one arm, dishes them out, and slides in the booth next to Roman, who hastily scoots aside so there’s room.

She’s brought them jam tarts, and a brownie for Patton. They all murmur their thanks.

Cora nods, gestures for them to dig in with a thin, strained smile, and says quietly, “You know, Virgil was named after my late husband.”

Logan isn’t quite sure what to say—he never is, in these kinds of situations.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Patton says somberly, and Cora gives him the same wan smile.

“It happened years ago,” she says. “Before you were born. We had a good life together—started this diner, moved to Loch Ligerion. Raised Virgil’s mother as our own, after his sister and her husband died. We knew, of course. When she came home from kindergarten all atwitter about the Fae boy in her class. We knew what it meant.”

The other three exchange glances, and Logan says politely, “I don’t think we do.”

Cora smiles, pats Logan on the hand. “Oh, I know,” she says. “He wouldn’t have told you about that. Any of it. Got too much flack about it here, poor thing, I think that’s part of why he went off to school. Didn’t phrase it to us quite like that, but Dee and I knew.”

It takes a while for the name to click, but Roman gets it first. “Dee’s… Virgil’s uncle?”

“Mhm,” Cora says. “He didn’t want Virgil to go at all, really, in his mind the fact that James—Virgil’s father—ever left town is what caused him and Violet to pass away so suddenly, before—” She cuts herself off.

“Before?” Roman prompts, and Cora laughs a little awkwardly.

“It’s… traditional, for there to be two Fae children. Occasionally more, but most commonly two. Virgil’s the first only Fae child in two hundred years.”

Patton lets out a low whistle. “Wow.”

“It’s… unusual, certainly,” Logan says, “but—”

“There are things at play here that you don’t understand,” Cora says kindly.

“Okay,” Logan says. “Would you tell us about those things?”

“It’s not my place.”

“No, but it could be Virgil’s,” Logan says. “Could you—could you just let us know how we could see him?”

She’s visibly hesitating, and Roman adds hastily, “Just to see him. Just… we want to make sure he’s okay. We didn’t even know he’d left, we thought something awful happened—"

Their desserts lay forgotten, and Cora glances nervously over her shoulder, before looking back to them.

“You seem like very nice boys,” she says. “Every time Virgil came home, he smiled more and more, and I know it was because of you three.”

They all brighten, a little, but she holds up a hand.

“But I saw James smile more and more because of my Violet, too,” Cora says. “Boys, I’m sorry, but… I’ll let him know that you’re in town, and that you want to see him. But I’m not going to be part of what leads you to it. He’ll be the one who makes the choice. I think the fact that he left town should tell you what he’s going to choose.” She nods to them, says even softer, “Eat your sweets,” and slides out of the booth, going straight for the kitchen.

“Well,” Patton says quietly, dipping his spoon into the melty brownie, “that’s… something, at least.”

“Something confusing,” Logan says. “I don’t know why she’s acting like us seeing Virgil again would be the end of the world.”

They eat their desserts slowly, dawdling over the last of their meal.

Almost theatrically, the door dings open, and a hush falls over the diner. Logan blinks at Roman, and they look to the door.

A man stands there, and Logan nearly chokes on his last bite of tart.

He looks like an older Virgil.

Except for the part that he’s scowling at the majority of the diner, wearing a cape and a bowler hat, and has unfortunately selected yellow as an accent color, rather than Virgil’s usual purple.

“That’s Virgil’s Uncle,” Roman says in an undertone. “Has to be, right?”

“Has to be,” Logan agrees, equally quiet, and they watch as Cora emerges from the kitchen with a brown paper bag, as the Uncle takes it and leans over the counter to chat with her, the way her eyes stray towards their table, how his grip tightens on the takeout bag.

And he turns around, facing them full on, and by Patton’s poorly-bitten off gasp, the other differences between himself and Virgil are made immediately apparent.

He practically glides over to their table, and unlike Cora, doesn’t slide in to sit next to Roman—he hovers over them, drawing himself up to his full height, glowering at them all with his yellow, snakey eye, a smirk straining the scar tissue on his cheek, the scales catching the fluroescent light.

“You must be the boys I’ve heard all about,” he says, voice quiet and precise and drawling in a way that Virgil, even at his meanest, could never quite manage.

“The boys who’d like to see him,” Patton says politely, and his smile turns even nastier.

“I’m afraid Virgil isn’t at home.”

“Tell us where he is, and we’ll get right out of your way,” Roman says, tilting his chin up proudly.

“I wouldn’t know what to tell you,” Uncle says. “Virgil leaving town, I’m sure it has nothing to do with you three.” He smiles at them, nods, and says, “Goodbye, boys.”

He sweeps out the same way he came, and Logan can see the other diners relax, as if all of them had been holding their breath.

Logan’s usually disinclined towards such metaphoric statements, but it’s undeniable, the sudden release of tension as Virgil’s Uncle leaves.

“Charmer,” Roman remarks quietly to them, and Logan pauses, touching his own cheek.

“Skin condition, maybe,” Logan murmurs. “Not sure which. And the eye… contact, maybe?”

“He looks a lot like Virgil,” Patton says. “Aside from, you know. The weird snakey stuff.”

At last, they pay, and tip, and venture to walk the main road of the town; it’s really not all that much to look at. The grocery store, a tiny library, Cora’s diner, the gas station, a couple other little, tiny shops that probably wouldn’t do them any good.

“Bed and breakfast, do you think?” Roman asks as the sun begins to set, and Patton, very suddenly, gasps.

“Cat,” he says, and moves to approach it. The cat looks to them, meows at them loudly, and trots over, purring noisily.

As the cat approaches, Logan can tell more—it’s an entirely black cat, the only bits of color being its large amber eyes and the twining of flowers around its neck. Logan’s no Virgil, but he can pick out anemones, a single daffodil, and purple hyacinths. Some he doesn’t know—Virgil would, he always did. Does.

Virgil, Logan thinks, and in that moment misses him so terribly he can barely take in his next breath.

And there, a little scroll of paper around her neck, as she lays on her back, showing her belly and tipping her head back, as if to ensure that they’ll see it. Patton takes it, hands trembling.

“Thank you,” he tells her, and the cat blinks slowly at them with their amber eyes, and sits back on her haunches, before licking at her paw and starting to clean her face.

“What does it say?” Roman asks, hoarse, and Patton fumblingly unscrolls the tiny piece of paper.

you need to leave, it says in Virgil’s spiky handwriting, and, I’m sorry.

“That’s it?” Logan says, taking the paper and turning it over. Nothing.

The cat meows, butts into Patton’s leg with her head, and sits back to scratch at the flowers with her hind paw, before giving him a look. Logan knows that Virgil’s good with cats, but he hadn’t known it was possible to train them this well.

“Oh,” Patton says, and carefully pulls the flower collar off of her neck. “Here you go.”

She meows at them, dips her head as if nodding at them in acknowledgment, and stalks away.

There’s a pause.

“Do you think she’s going back to Virgil?” Roman asks.

“We should follow her,” Patton says immediately, slipping the flowers onto his wrist, and without waiting for a response, following the cat towards the woods, Roman hot on his heels.

Logan sighs in exasperation before he follows his two boyfriends, who are following a cat, into unfamiliar woods. There are so many ways this could go wrong.

The cat often looks back at them, too, as if to say could you keep up?! and Logan has to take a second to remind himself that cats are not actually capable of such communication. The woods are dark and smell overwhelmingly of dead leaves and pine; there does, at least, seem to be some kind of path they’re following. Logan wonders how often Virgil walks it, when the last time he walked it was. Had he been scared of something? What had made him uproot himself from his life, a life he’d given no prior signs of showing malcontent with, a life that had been… good?

They break through the trees, and Roman whispers, “Holy shit.” Patton doesn’t even lecture him for language; the three of them are too busy staring.

Virgil’s house—manor?—looks straight out of a storybook. It’s black, dark woods, iron, green glass Logan can only barely see the suggestion of light through—the garden’s extensive, and the bluestone path leading to the back door seems to glimmer in the moonlight. There’s towers and spires arching up into the moonlight, and the cat keeps moving, seemingly ignoring them, and moves to the backdoor, yowling and meowing.

“Down,” Logan says, once his brain starts to work, “Get down, behind the bush—”

Logan shoves them, and they crouch behind the bush in time to see the door open, light spilling onto the lawn, Virgil’s Uncle backlit by the glow of the… kitchen, maybe? He says something undiscernable and gestures for the cat to come in, and she does. He looks out into the yard, squinting, before closing the massive door with a bang.

“That is,” Roman says, “a ridiculous house. You know, I’m starting to get Virgil more now. Dressing in all black all the time just makes sense when you live somewhere like that.”

“D’you think that his Uncle lied?” Patton says, soft. “And that he’s really home?”

Logan and Roman are both nodding before he even finishes the sentence.

“I don’t think we can trust that man at all,” Logan says darkly.

“Whenever Virgil mentions him, it always seems… weird,” Roman agrees. “Back when we were penpals, I remember just kind of feeling off about Virgil’s descriptions of him.”

“He’s clearly not going to let us in to see him,” Logan says with a sigh, and turns to his left. “Patton, what do you…?”

He isn’t there. Roman hits him on the arm, and hisses “Patton!” loudly.

Because Patton’s striding up the bluestone path, straight to the door.

Patton takes a breath to steel himself before knocking on the door, and glances over his shoulder to see Logan yanking Roman back to the relative safety of the bush and turns back in time for the door to open.

“Well,” Virgil’s Uncle says. “If it isn’t… what’s your name.”

“Patton,” he says, and digs in his pocket, before unearthing the cat tarot cards that Virgil had left behind, holding them up for his inspection. “Virgil’s usually the one who does this for me. I was wondering if you’d be willing to give me a reading.”

Virgil’s Uncle stares at the cards, and Patton swears he can see something flicker in his eyes before he smiles. He steps aside, and Patton walks into the house.

The décor’s all dark wood and greenery strung haphazardly through the room, a bit like how Virgil keeps his room at the apartment. Patton sits at the kitchen table, and Virgil’s Uncle clatters about in the kitchen.

“Tea,” he says. Patton gets the feeling it isn’t a question.

“Mint, if you have it,” Patton says, sitting down and glancing into the doorway that leads to the rest of the house, the stairs—Virgil’s room must be somewhere up those stairs. Patton, for a fleeting moment, wonders what would happen if he ran up the stairs while Virgil’s Uncle’s back is turned—but a teacup’s set before him before he can act on it.

“Which spread?”

Patton steels himself, and says, “The true love spread.” His voice is much steadier than he thought it’d be.

Virgil’s Uncle nods, as if it hasn’t affected him, and says simply, “Drink your tea,” as he begins to shuffle the deck.

He knows how this goes—cuts the deck without Virgil’s Uncle prompting him at all. It’s almost familiar, a warm drink, a tarot reading—but the surroundings are entirely unfamiliar. Virgil’s Uncle instead of Virgil, Loch Ligerion instead of the Busy Bean, mint tea instead of hot chocolate.

First and second, under them third, fourth, and fifth, sixth in a row alone at the bottom. You, your partner, what brings you together, what keeps you apart, what needs work, and outcome.

But then Virgil’s Uncle sits back and stares. “Tea,” he says, and sips at his own. Patton finishes it in three scalding gulps and sets down the teacup. Virgil’s Uncle takes it and tilts it, squinting, before looking at Patton, level-eyed.

“I must have calculated it perfectly,” Virgil’s Uncle muses, and Patton frowns at him. The room’s getting darker. Why is the room getting darker?

“I—what?” Patton asks. His tongue feels numb.

“You’ll have a bit of a headache in the morning,” Virgil’s Uncle says, and Patton’s balance faults, as he falls off the chair and to the ground. He tries to sit up.

“What did you do to me,” Patton gasps, head spinning, and tries to sit up again.

He can hear thunder—is it thunder? It sounds like thunder, and then someone’s hand on his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Vurge-uhhl?” Patton forces out around his numb tongue.

“Jesus Christ,” Virgil says, like his voice is coming from the top of a well, “what did you do to him?”

“Virgil,” Patton tries to say again, blinking, fixating on Virgil’s eyes. His eyes are so pretty. Such an unusual shade of brown—like there’s bits of gold, like amber, like—

And Patton’s sinking, sinking down into the water.

“…hospital, or something, he’s been out for hours—”

“—and where do you propose we take him? The nearest medical help is a vet, which doesn’t seem—”

Patton groans and the voices stop and pick up again.

“Patton?” The first voice says, and that’s definitely Roman, and Patton tries to turn his face towards him, except that it feels like a herculean effort.

A hand on his cheek, a thumb over his cheekbone. “Patton, can you hear us?”

“Lo’an,” Patton manages, and adds, “Ro—”

“Hey there, sleepyface,” Roman says, soft and soothing, and a hand strokes through his hair. “Can you open those pretty green eyes for us, honey?”

With herculean effort, Patton forces his eyes open, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

He sees his boyfriends’ faces above him, crowded together, and he sees the looks of relief blossom across their faces.

“Hey there,” Roman says, and runs a hand through his hair again.

“Do you remember what happened?” Logan asks.

Patton blinks as the memories come back, bubbling sluggishly to the surface of his brain, and he tries to sit up in bed.

“I saw him,” Patton says, and both Logan and Roman push him back onto the pillows. “I saw Virgil, he’s at the house, he was—”

Patton’s cut off by a noisy yowl. They all blink and look to the window.

The black cat from before is scratching at the window, and, to put it bluntly, screaming at them.

“Let her in,” Patton says.

“Patton, your medicine—”

“She might have something from Virgil,” Patton says, and Logan sighs, nudging Roman to go to the window, before going to Patton’s bag and digging out his medicine as Patton pushes himself up onto his elbows.

When Roman opens the window, the cat launches herself at Patton, landing on her chest, and meowing in his face, making Patton thump back against the pillows.

She’s kneading his chest and meowing the cat equivalent of some kind of lecture—it’s a lot of angry-sounding mrorororwwww!!!! Mrrrrow! and occasional poking of claws as she kneads against his chest.

“I—” Patton says, and sneezes into her fur, causing her to make a disgusted hiss and leap a little further down the bed.

Just a little, though. Patton accepts his glasses and allergy medicine from Logan, as Roman coos at the cat, who gives him a Look.

“She has one,” Roman says, and takes the scroll, unrolling it, before frowning.

“What?” Patton asks, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “What does it say?”

“I—I don’t understand,” Roman says, and reads off, “The empress, the hanged man, two of cups, the devil, reversed two of swords, the lovers.” Roman exchanges a confused look with Logan, but Patton softens.

“It’s Virgil,” Patton says, soft. “He read it, he—give that to me, and my phone,” he says, and adds hastily, “Please.”

He’s awful at reading this—Virgil’s the one who knows how to read it. But—

Patton begins googling some kind of tarot card reading site, and Logan says, “Patton, what does it mean?”

“They’re tarot cards,” Patton says unthinkingly, before he flushes and clears his throat. “Um. I mean—”

He tries to think of another excuse, can’t, and sighs.

“Yeah, they’re tarot cards,” he says. “He asked me not to tell you, because he thought you guys wouldn’t believe him, but—you know those fliers around campus advertising for tarot readings?”

Logan’s eyebrows are lost somewhere in his hairline.

“That… was Virgil?” Roman says slowly.

Patton shrugs. “It’s how we met,” he says. “And I asked his Uncle to give me a reading, before he—I think he put something in my tea, but. Virgil ended up doing the reading, and these are the cards. Or at least I think so. So.”

The website loads, and Patton starts to cross-check meanings.

“Virgil,” Logan says slowly. “Was the one advertising his. Tarot services.”

“He’s pretty accurate about them, too,” Patton says.

“It’s all power of suggestion,” Logan begins, and the cat meows at him irritably, before curling up on Patton’s stomach.

He looks up each card. Empress, which is apparently him, represents a nurturing, caring, and supportive person with those around them, which certainly seems nice. But apparently when in a spread with the devil card, it could suggest that he’s causing damage to someone without knowing it, which is much less nice. Hanged man, Virgil, as he’s another person, potentially represents someone who is not who they appear to be, and could very well cause a big disruption in your life, which is… a little unnerving, especially when he sees an illustration of the hanged man. Then the two of cups, what brings them together, apparently means potential for a wonderful relationship in front of your eyes, and for an attached lover, the two of cups means something big will be happening in your relationship in a positive way. He can really only hope so. The devil, what keeps them apart, serves as a warning, and can point to lying or hidden motives, and could show someone whose association with the wrong crowd will ultimately be your undoing. And the reversed two of swords, what they’re meant to work on, could show a reminder that you have all the tools necessary to make the best choices you can for yourself, and you can be sure you are making the right decisions, which is reassuring. And the outcome—the lovers—Patton doesn’t think he has to look, but he does anyway. A resounding “yes!” to having a happy and fulfilling love life, but at the same time, since the devil’s in the spread too, it could mean that you and your romantic partner are not going to work out regardless of how hard each of you work on the relationship. Patton sets his jaw, but he can only focus on one thing.

He sends a text to Virgil, the latest in a long line of unanswered ones, I know you, okay? Any disruption you bring I’d love and sends it before setting down his phone at last.

“So,” Logan says, sarcastic, “what do the cards tell you?”

Patton disregards the sarcasm. “That Virgil probably isn’t what he appears,” he says. “That there’s going to be something positive happening in our relationship soon. A warning about hidden motives, about Virgil potentially hanging around the wrong crowd. That we’ve got all the tools we need to make the right choice. And—” Patton blushes, just a little. “That we’ll have a happy and fulfilling love life.”

He leaves off the warning of the devil and the lovers—he’ll keep it to himself for now.

“So,” Roman says, “What now? Cora’s not going to help us, and if Virgil’s Uncle’s delicate approach shows anything, it means he definitely doesn’t want us to see him either.”

“What now,” Logan says, “is we get some food from Cora’s, give Patton a filling breakfast, and let him rest. I’ll go to the library and research—maybe there’s some kind of house plan on record, or family history that’ll give us some kind of leverage.”

Roman groans.

“You’re welcome to stay with Patton,” Logan sniffs. “Or conduct some of your own research. Subtly.”

He pulls on his coat and leaves.

When Logan enters the library, his eye’s immediately drawn to the warped, twisted metal of some of the shelves, the dents in the walls, how small and outdated it is.

“Oh, wow, you’re one of those newcomers, aren’tcha?”

Logan turns and nods at the girl at the front desk.

“Would you be willing to point me towards some kind of archive?” Logan asks politely. “Newspapers, city hall meetings, something.”

She gives him a knowing look. “You’re looking for stuff about Faes, right?”

Logan hesitates, but figures it wouldn’t exactly hurt. He nods.

“They’ve got their own section,” she says dryly, hopping over the desk. “Ruth,” she adds, nodding at him, and leads him over to a beat-up little corner, with an uncomfortable-looking chair, a collection of filing cabinets, and several old journals.

“Microfiche is against the east wall,” she says, and turns to go. She pauses, before she turns back.

“I was in Virgil’s grade in school,” she says. “Went to school with him for eleven years. Is he really as weird as they say? He was mostly just quiet, round me, but by the way Jimmy Kavanagh talked, he’s the devil incarnate. Plus, well,” she says, and points to the warped, twisted metal. “Margot never really talked about it, but the whole town knew it was him, so—”

Logan blinks. The damage doesn’t look like it’s even natural—it’s as if it was left out in a storm, torn asunder by wind and rain, or maybe some kind of sculpture.

“Virgil’s one of the best men I’ve ever known,” Logan says honestly. “Excuse me.”

He turns to the file cabinets, and, after some meddling, pulls out the file of the oldest information—dated back to the 1800s.

He braces himself for a long day of research.

Logan’s deliberating going to get lunch and checking in on Patton and Roman when someone’s boots thunk down on the table, dangerously close to the Victorian-era excuse for files.

Logan looks up to glare and sees an only slightly familiar face grinning at him.

“Heya,” the woman��Gillian, he remembers—says to him. “What’s your name?”

He’s about to say it, when he remembers Virgil telling Gillian that Patton’s name is Puck, for whatever reason. Maybe she uses personal information for fraudulent purposes?

“Logic,” Logan says instead, and Gillian snorts, rolling her eyes.

“C’mon, I only used that trick to rile up Virgil,” she says. “You can tell me. Too much work to steal a name, anyways.”

Steal a name? Steal his identity, most likely.

“I trust Virgil’s judgment,” Logan says coolly.

“You’re looking through the family history,” she notes. “Where are you at? Maria, or have you gotten to Regina? Ida? You’re definitely not up to Cecelia yet.”

This was an interesting thing too—the Fae line’s matriarchal, rather than patriarchal. It seems to be, entirely, a Fae quirk, amongst the period-typical misogyny of the rest of the town.

“Got any questions?” She asks, and Logan looks at her. The combat boots, paired incongruously with an ankle-long skirt, ripped around the hem with tears going up to her thighs, the even more incongruous glittery top, her hair chopped messy and short, like she did it herself.

“Why should I trust you?” he says, and she hoots with laughter.

“Hey, you got the townie attitude already! Or, wait, did Virgil warn you about me? Say he did, it’d be the sweetest thing he’s said ‘bout me since he was six.”

“He never spoke about you,” Logan says. “Before or after you visiting our apartment, unannounced.”

She pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“You’ve got the usual attitude surrounding me already,” Logan says dryly, sifting through wills and town records (apparently Virgil’s ancestors were quite the delinquents, though at least half of them tended to be targeting them for being women, as most of the accusations were witchcraft, though there were a few concerning parallels between Faes and the mysterious deaths of those around them) and adds in a monotone “Ha,” just to clash with her laughter from before.

“Seriously, though,” she says, knocking her ankle against his, “no questions? None?”

“No,” Logan says.

“Not even about what Dee put in your friend’s tea?”

Logan pauses. There must be something on his face that gives off his hesitation, his curiosity, because she grins.

“You want to know that, don’t you.”

Logan gives her a level look, and says, “Do you know?”

“Course I know,” Gillian says. “Virgil’s not the only one in the family who understands plants, you know? Plus, where d’you think I’m staying? The B&B? You’re in the only room.”

Logan pauses, and says, “Will there be any ill effects?”

“Nope,” she says, cheerful. “Should just make him sleepy, a bit out of it. Should be wearing off by now.”

Logan lets out a soft breath, before he nods, and turns back to the old files.

“What, that’s it?” Gillian says, and she’s definitely irritated now. “Nothing about what Virgil might be hiding from you? I saw the cards—hanging man, devil, and lovers in one—”

Logan closes a journal with a crisp snap and a roll of his eyes. “Great,” he says. “The superstition’s hereditary.”

She laughs at him, then, conspicuously loud in the desolate library.

“Superstition,” she says, and cackles louder. “Superstition?! Wow. Wow, Uncle told me the gist of things, but I can never really be sure if I’m right with things with him—but wow. You really have no idea what you’re walking into, do you?”

Logan pointedly opens the old journal. Not by a Fae, by someone named Kavanagh, like the rude man in the gas station. He’s not going to engage with her anymore. He starts reading about Kavanagh accusing Maria of witchcraft, which seems fitting for the time period.

But then she starts shuffling a tarot card deck she pulls from her bra, and Logan lasts about five seconds.

“Is it a family tradition, or something?” Logan says irritably.

She grins. “Or something.”

“You know, this Kavanagh man accused your ancestor of witchcraft,” he says.

She grins wider. “A tradition that’s continued through the years,” she says, and offers him the deck. “I could do a reading for you if you want.”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “I’d rather not.”

She shrugs and stands. “Fine,” she decides. “I may as well tell you all the warnings. Virgil isn’t gonna break down and see you, because he’s terrified of what’s gonna happen if he does. And Uncle’s more protective over Virgil than he is anything else. If you keep trying to get to him, Uncle’s gonna put worse than those herbs into your system,” she says. “Because Uncle’s capable of some dark shit that you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

“Warning heeded,” Logan says coolly, “and disregarded.”

“Your funeral,” she shoots back, and strides out of the library. The girl who’d showed Logan around before—Ruth—peeks hesitantly out from the desk, once she’s safely gone. And Logan can’t help but overthink.

What is it with the people in this town, Logan wonders, but then his mind turns to Gillian’s warnings. Uncle’s gonna put worse than that into your system.

Logan frowns. And frowns some more. Before he shuts the journal again and picks up his coat, heading straight for the bed and breakfast, mind whirling.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he prefaces immediately, “and I’m still trying to piece together the whole of the theory.”

Patton and Roman look over at him, from where they’ve cuddled together on the bed, laptop balanced on both their laps.

Logan sits on the bed, takes a breath, and says, “I think Virgil’s Uncle, and thereby the family business, is in organized crime.”

Roman and Patton share a glance, and Logan winces—because him and Virgil are usually the ones sharing that glance.

“I know how it sounds,” Logan adds. “And I’m not saying it’s certain, but—but look. He put something into Patton’s tea to knock him out, and no one seemed fazed when they saw us walking back with him. The whole town is terrified of him. Virgil’s cousin—Gillian—she was at the library, and she told me that if we continue to meddle, Virgil’s Uncle would, and I quote, put something worse than those herbs into our systems, and that he’s capable of dark shit I clearly wouldn’t understand, and that if I disregarded the warnings it would be my funeral. Gillian told me outright that she’d steal my name if I gave it to her, which I can only assume is some kind of shorthand for stealing my identity, and—look, the crime counts for Virgil’s ancestors are ridiculous, I’ve barely made it through two generations without fielding several counts of mysterious deaths surrounding their lovers and those who are noted to have wronged them, and dozens of accusations of witchcraft.”

“Okay,” Roman says, “can we back up to the part where Virgil’s cousin threatened you? Like, outright told you it would be your funeral?”

Logan waves a hand irritably, and says, “I’m fairly certain she was just posturing.”

“You just mentioned the mysterious counts of death, though,” Patton says thoughtfully.

“In the eighteen hundreds—I haven’t gotten much further than that,” Logan admits, “I was going to see if you two wanted lunch before I went back to it, but then Gillian came.”

“Aw, Archi-nerd-es,” Roman says, grinning, “you took a break from research for us? We’re flattered.”

Roman ends up going to grab the easiest thing possible from Cora’s, and Logan takes Roman’s place, curled up against Patton’s side, and he runs a hand through his hair.

“How are you feeling?” Logan murmurs, and Patton snuggles into his side.

“Better, really,” he says reassuringly. “I took a bit of a nap while you were at the library, fixed me right up.”

Logan breathes a sigh of relief, and pets Patton’s hair again, because Patton enjoys such physical, comforting contact. “Good,” he murmurs. “Gillian said that would likely be the case, but. I wanted to be sure.”

“Meeting Gillian really didn’t bother you?” Patton asks, and Logan pauses.

“She seems like a difficult person,” Logan admits. “She tried goading me, I think. It didn’t really work for her. She mentioned—”

Logan pauses, and what Gillian said about Virgil finally catches up.

“What?” Patton asks, squinting up at him.

“I,” he begins, and sighs. Keeping this from either of them would likely poorly impact their approaches to Virgil. “She said that Virgil… that Virgil was terrified of what would happen. If he saw us again.”

Patton’s arms squeeze tighter around him, and he whispers, “I’m so worried about him.”

“I know,” Logan says.

“Why do you think he’s scared?” Patton asks plaintively, and Logan can only shrug.

“We can theorize,” Logan says. “Maybe Virgil’s Uncle dislikes the fact that he’s gay. Maybe the family business is something relating to organized crime and Virgil wanted to go clean, which the family didn’t like, and he thinks he’s protecting us by staying away. Maybe Virgil’s isolating himself and his family’s falling in line to support it, even if it isn’t entirely healthy behavior. Maybe it’s something entirely different. We don’t know. We can only continue to reach out.”

“What if,” Patton says, and he takes in a shaky breath. “What if we see him, and he says he never wants to see us again?”

Logan fights the instinct to say that wouldn’t happen, but he lets out a long breath. “If he does—which I believe is unlikely,” he adds. “Then I suppose all we can do is accept it. Go back to school. Move on.”

“What if I can’t,” he says in a whisper, and Logan tightens his arms around Patton, because Patton clearly needs comfort.

“You can,” Logan says. “Not—it’s not likely that he will. But if he does, you can. Roman and I will be there. Okay?”

He’s bad at this. Not debatable. He is bad with emotions and emotional confrontations.

Patton turns his face into Logan, and essentially maneuvers them so he’s practically laying on top of Logan, nose pressed at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. Logan, fumblingly, places his hand on Patton’s hand, scratching at his scalp, doing the best he can. Roman’s better at physical contact than he is—

When Roman walks in with two takeout bags, Patton’s breathing is snuffly and soft and evened out against his skin, in a way that kind of tickles.

“Hey,” Roman says, soft, setting down the takeout bags and nudging off his shoes, before he carefully clambers onto the bed, against Patton’s other side. “He okay?”

“Napping again,” Logan murmurs softly. “And—well, he got a bit upset, because I—well. To put it bluntly, Gillian said that Virgil’s terrified of what’s going to happen if he sees us again. Which was upsetting to Patton, who seems to think that Virgil will decide he never wants to see us again.”

“Aw, Pat,” Roman says, spooning up to Patton’s side, and Patton makes a contented humming noise, buzzing against Logan’s skin.

“Logan,” Roman mumbles.

“Yes?” Logan asks, and Roman twines his fingers with Logan’s, so their hands rest on Patton’s back.

“I just,” Roman begins, and falters, closing his eyes before he opens them again. “I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

“Roman,” he murmurs, and Roman squeezes his hand.

“He drugged Patton, Logan,” Roman says, and there’s an undercurrent there, an undercurrent of Roman’s voice shaking with rage. “He probably knew we were right outside. What—if he treats us like that knowing there’s a witness—”

Logan’s already squeezing Roman’s hand back, shaking his head as much as he can without dislodging Patton.

“You know what Cora and Gillian said,” Logan says, soft. “He’s protective over Virgil. I—I wouldn’t think he’d hurt him. Hurt us, maybe, to keep us from potentially hurting him. But Virgil’s okay.” He has to be.

Roman pauses, and lets out a shaky breath, before his eyes focus on Logan again. “Do you want me to log into my old email and show you the stuff Virgil said about his uncle and the family business? If there’s some kind of hint I missed when I was twelve?”

Logan rubs his thumb over Roman’s knuckles. “That would be helpful, thank you. If you or Patton would like to go over those while we’re in the library, while I read through Fae records—"

“Ugh, just me, I think,” Roman says, and shudders theatrically. “Twelve-year-old me. There was… an abundance of copy-paste emojis.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Logan says, and Roman shoots him a playfully injured look.

After Patton wakes up, and they eat the lunch Roman brought from Cora’s, they all go over to the library. Patton takes over reading some of the journals as Logan sorts through city records; apparently, the massive house of Virgil’s is the house Faes have been living in since they came to Ligerion. The counts of witchcraft only fade slightly with the entrance into the twentieth century, which surprises Logan; history, admittedly, is not his main area of interest, but he’d thought the counts would fade in historical comparison to Salem.

Patton frowns a lot at the journals, likely because someone’s ancestors are writing mean things about Virgil’s ancestors. Roman’s scrolling constantly through his laptop, often wincing or putting his face in his hands before he continues reading. There’s the occasional break as they read something interesting, mostly Roman, but Patton does read in the journals about how Virgil’s ancestors could, apparently, appear from out of nowhere, and morph their faces, and more.

Mostly the city records are accounts of crime. Apparently, Virgil’s ancestors got up to some stuff; they apparently just outright ignored prohibition, and there were several counts of public drunkeness, lewdness, and the like, along with the continuous deaths of spouses. By a variety of very odd ways that just provide more evidence towards the organized crime theory. Drowned in the well, lightning strike, freak horse accident. One dropped dead in the midst of the town square.

The librarian introduces herself to Roman and Patton, eventually, and tells them much o the same spiel she told Logan—that she went to school with Virgil, if they need any help or have any questions—

Patton looks up from the journal, and asks, “Why do the Kavanaghs hate the Faes so much?”

Ruth grins, sudden, wider than Logan’s seen in his two days at the library. “Oh, that,” she says, almost gleeful, before she looks around and sits down at the table.

“So, like, Maria Fae was one of the two women of the thirteen founders of the town, right?”

“Right,” Logan says, because he’d read that. She’d been a woman with a baby and no husband, dressed in black, who wore sapphires until the day she died, commissioned nearly all of the capable people in town to build the house.

“So was a Kavanagh,” she says. “And, like. Maria was an unmarried woman with a baby, super scarlet letter, but she dressed in black, so I think a lot of people assumed she was a widow. Anyways—” she leans forwards. “John Kavanagh tried to instigate, like, a punishment for adultery, because she couldn’t prove that she’d been married, and it could’ve been adultery. So he moved the townspeople to try to shut her in the pillory.”

Roman frowns. “Pillory?”

“More extreme version of the stocks,” Logan says in an undertone. “Usually they were standing, on a platform, so they’d be publically humiliated. Please continue.”

“The day came, and they rushed the house,” Ruth says. “And, well, sexism, so it was supposed to be brutal. Throwing rotten food and dead animals and mud and… excrement, and stuff. A few theories think they were going to try to stone her. Maybe even whip her. But they tried to lock her in—and John Kavanagh got locked in instead.”

They all blink at each other, and Logan says incredulously, “How did they make a mistake of that magnitude?”

“It gets worse,” Ruth says. “So Maria walks away, home free, and Kavanagh’s just screaming after her. And all the townspeople try to unlock Kavanagh—but the device broke. So he was stuck in.”

“Stuck,” Logan repeats.

“Mhm,” Ruth says. “One of the town founders, locked into the pillory with no way to escape. Outsmarted and tricked by a woman, shame of all shame, and the town was ready to stone someone. So they try to get him out but realize that, one, the mechanism’s broken, and two, they can’t exactly cut him free without endangering him by a lot.” Ruth takes a breath.

“So he stays there for days. Stuck. Can barely eat broth, can’t excuse himself to go to the restroom, screams until he’s hoarse, threatens anyone and everyone into getting him to go free. It’s awful, but there’s some accounts in the old newspaper if you want the grisly details. Eventually, though, Maria wanders into town again, to get some supplies. The story goes, she walked up to the pillory, and didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, square in the eye. Those amber eyes of theirs—Faes, I mean—apparently, she just stared at him. And he died. And suddenly they could unlock it again, to take him away and bury him.” She leans back in her chair. “And everyone in the town started to learn that messing with a Fae was a horrible, horrible idea. Especially for a Kavanagh. But they do it anyway, and it never ends well for them. I’m surprised Jimmy’s only gotten spiders, really—”

“How did she do it?” Logan asks. “How did she manage to get John in the pillory instead—and lose the key? Break it so that he couldn’t get out until he was dead?”

“Spiders,” Roman says, at the same time, and types intently on his laptop.

Ruth shrugs, and spreads her hands. “Magic.”

Logan scoffs.

Rather than laughing it off, as if it’s a joke, Ruth shrugs, grinning.

“Yeah, I know how it sounds,” she says. “But I’ve been around this most of my life, so I’ve seen Virgil do some weird stuff, and those cousins of his are super obvious about it. Anyway, I should probably check the desk, but—if you wanna know more town history, let me know, that’s kind of my thing.”

“Magic,” Logan says dismissively, already standing. “I’m checking that microfiche. There’s a logical explanation that must have gotten tangled up in the superstitions of the time—”

“Wait,” Roman says. “Spiders. Virgil told me about the spiders—”

Logan pauses, and reads the email over Roman’s shoulder, Patton on his other side.

—i mean, I guess I’ve done a couple pranks. my cousins are way better at that kind of thing, though, but my older cousin g helped me flood gaston’s house with spiders once because his family and mine have hated each other for YEARS—

Roman scrolls over, to his own question in the next email, how did you flood his house with spiders???? that’s so scary, omg, I’d be terrified, I’m sure he deserved it though ⊙﹏⊙

I was six, it was really mostly g, she’s good at that kind of thing, was Virgil’s evasive response.

Logan glances, nods, and says, “Microfiche, then. You two, keep doing what you’re doing. Please don’t get into trouble.”

“How dare you,” Roman says, straight-faced, as if he and Patton have never gotten in trouble in their lives.

Logan manages to find the article in the microfiche, but it’s just a little snippet, mostly with the brutal, grisly details; nothing about Maria Fae, herself. After reading it, Logan can see how it’s a point of a family feud. Though in his memory, Logan can’t recall Virgil mentioning Jimmy Kavanagh at all.

He returns, and digs slowly through the journals, working slowly up until present day, until there’s the last one, that’s the most recent. Logan traces the embossed name on the front.

“Is it another Kavanagh,” Patton asks wearily.

“I—no,” Logan says. “No. It’s—it’s Virgil’s father.”

This had been what he was after the whole time—a source from a Fae, not from the townspeople observing them. And Virgil’s father, his Uncle’s brother—

“Oh,” Patton says. “Oh, wow.” Even quieter, “do you think Virgil’s read it?”

Logan hesitates, and Roman says, “Maybe. This section kind of seemed… untouched, though.”

Logan takes a breath and opens the journal.

It starts approximately, according to Virgil’s timeline, five years prior to Virgil’s birth; it’s a thick journal, and not a daily one, and Logan wonders if it’ll go to that point.

For the first couple years, it isn’t exactly scintillating material; he is, after all, a fifteen-year-old boy, even if he is a fifteen-year-old boy in a potential crime family. There’s complaining about school, and chores (even if the chores seem to be a bit unusual; Virgil’s father spends a page or so talking about how he’d had to trap a crow or his mother, which seems… unusual, to say the least. Perhaps the crow was a pest?)

But he talks about how much time he spends at Cora’s, though, and about the girl in his grade, Cora’s niece, Violet, his eventual wife.

—D seems to think that Violet’s just awful, though, so I tend to sneak off whenever he’s in the garden with Mom, which is really the only time she pays attention to us, whenever we can do the work for her with family stuff. I know the curse took dad away, but we’re right here, you know?

Logan frowns, reads that line again. I know the curse took dad away.

Fifteen’s a bit old to believe in curses, isn’t it?

“What’s that face?” Patton prompts.

��Oh,” Logan says. “Just—fifteen is too old to believe in a family curse, isn’t it?”

Roman’s head snaps up, and back down again, as he furiously starts to type.

“What?” Patton asks him, then.

“It’s just—I asked Virgil why he never talked about his friends, once,” he says. “And…”

He spins his laptop so they can see.

you asked about my real life friends. to be honest, I… well I mean I have auntie c and my uncle but they’re family so they don’t count. my friends are mostly the cats, haha, most of the other kids in town on’t like me much. it’s a pretty long story but basically I’m kinda like. stanley yelnats? from holes? except instead of just affecting me and uncle, it affects the whole town too. but also kinda zero too. it’s a really really long story, but basically most of the town hates me. hates us, I should say, my dad’s side of the family. I think the main reason we aren’t, like, chased out is bc they need the family business, otherwise we’d be like. super gone. plus I guess they’re kinda scared of us, that too. but, uh, I guess to answer your question—I don’t talk about real life friends because I don’t have any.

anyways, I’ll talk to you later, or whatever. tell me more about the backstage drama.

-anx

“Poor Virgil,” Patton murmurs, once he finishes reading.

“They need the family business,” Logan reads aloud. “People have mentioned going to Fae house, but they never talk about what they actually get there. Even Virgil—the closest he’s ever gotten is anything anyone needs, we can provide, for a price. Which—” He scowls.

“Is vague,” Roman fills in helpfully.

“Is vague,” Logan agrees, cracking open Virgil’s father’s journal again. “What business needs a teenage boy to capture a crow, and grow a garden of that size, and has available the drugs in Patton’s tea?”

A couple passages later, it reads, that Kavanagh girl’s accused me and D of witchcraft. I mean, it’s tradition, I guess, but all we did is curse her ears to fall off, and not even permanently! They were back in a week! D says we should have made it permanent but Vi said it probably wouldn’t be a good move. I think D’s gonna try to sneak something into Violet’s water bottle at school or something as revenge, but 1. He’s tried that a dozen times now and 2. she’s got a good eye, she’ll catch him.

Logan reads this passage aloud, incredulous, and Roman shrugs.

“Maybe ears falling off is some kind of slang?” He offers.

“For what?” Logan grumbles. “I’m more concerned about the potentially dozens of times Virgil’s uncle tried to poison Virgil’s mother.”

“There’s also the point of Virgil’s Dad never using Virgil’s uncle’s full name,” Patton points out, from where he’s contorted himself in his armchair so his legs stick in the air and his head tilts back to the floor. “The closest we’ve got is Dee, so.”

Logan shakes his head and mutters, “I’m starting to think Virgil’s the only normal person in this town,” before he turns back to the journal.

That is when things go from slightly odd to very strange.

Violet asked me out on a date today, is the only sentence written, the rest of the page blank. By Logan’s calculations, he must have been sixteen—and he turns the page to be confronted with cramped handwriting.

She’s beautiful, and she’s my best friend. I can’t do this to her. But God, I want to, I want to so bad. D’s running interference, for now, because he’s really the only one who gets it more than me. I don’t know what to do now. Do I avoid her for the rest of my life? Violet would never stand for that, she’s gonna march right up the tower to demand an answer from me. Do I turn her down? She knows how much I care about her, she’d know I was lying, and Violet doesn’t want to be protected from herself. She’s young, we both are, I can’t—I can’t let her do this to herself. Loving a Fae is a death sentence.

Logan reads that line again. Loving a Fae is a death sentence. Is this what Virgil thinks? Is this what Faes are raised to believe?

Mom’s no help—she’s actually talking to me for once, but it’s just all about Dad and how she had the best times of her life with him. I might have yelled at her, a bit. Okay, a lot. But she gets that I’m not like her, she has to. I don’t want to do this to Violet. I can’t do this to Violet. I don’t want to know how the curse is gonna get her. The well? Lightning? Car crash? Something entirely new? I don’t want to know. I never want to know.

Logan closes the journal crisply, looking over at Roman and Patton, before he asks, “Dinner?”

As they leave the library—Logan isn’t sure why—but he puts the journal in his bag and smuggles it out.

He can’t stop staring at the wall beyond his boyfriends.

They’ve all crammed into one bed, that night, all crowded around Roman, who’s laying on his back with an arm around both Patton and Logan. Judging by the snuffling noises, the inhaling and exhaling, his boyfriends are both fast asleep.

Logan isn’t. He can’t.

And he’s about to try to do something incredibly stupid.

He slowly extracts himself from the bed and puts on the clothes he’d worn during the day, glancing at the bed periodically as he tugs on his boots and writes a note.

Roman and Patton—

Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk.

-Logan.

It suffices. He shrugs on his coat, slings his satchel over his shoulder, grabs one of the sets of keys, and walks out, treading softly outside.

It’s cold here, and even colder at night. Nowhere is open at night, either; well, Logan wagers the gas station might, but knowing what he knows now, he’d doubt a Kavanagh would welcome him back in, lest Logan transmit the Fae cooties by proxy, or some such ridiculousness. He wonders distantly about doubling back, holing up in his warm room, reading the journal he’s brought along with him.

Instead, his feet turn him to the woods.

He does, of course, understand how some people become afraid of the woods, especially at such a time of night. But such a thing would be foolish; the town’s high crime rate had been, after all, primarily due to Fae outliers that shouldn’t have been counted.

And then stupidly, stupidly, he starts to walk down the bluestone path.

Logan raises his hand and knocks on the door.

Almost immediately, despite the late hour, the door opens.

Virgil’s Uncle grimaces. “I was so sad to think you’d left town,” he sneers, before he steps aside, offering Logan a path in. Logan walks in, and says brusquely, “You’ll understand if I deny your offer of a nightcap.”

“I wouldn’t, actually,” Virgil’s Uncle says, and sits at the kitchen table. Logan sits across from him, back to the rest of the house. He wonders, only for a moment, if Virgil’s awake too.

Logan pauses, staring at him, before he takes a breath in.

“I know the appearance of your face is likely a skin condition coupled with either an ocular abnormality, or you decided to lean into the snake metaphors and added a contact,” Logan says bluntly. “I know that you have, quite literally, locked Virgil up into a tower for most of his life to prevent him coming to any perceived harm. I know that for whatever reason, tarot cards and similar occult activities are part of the family history. I know that you,” Logan says, and fluidly removes Virgil’s father’s journal from his satchel, even as he sees Virgil’s Uncle look as if the air’s been knocked out of him, eyes widening. “Apparently the curse keeps him from saying anything he actually means, but I get him pretty well. The rest of the world, however, does not.”

“Where did you get that,” Virgil’s Uncle breathes, fists tight. Logan ignores him.

“So I understand that I cannot trust a word out of your mouth,” he continues. “However, the repeated application of curses, and witchcraft. That’s what I don’t understand. Cora has seemingly decided to leave things up to you. So I can’t ask you, clearly, because you will lie to me. I can’t ask Gillian, because I don’t trust her. There is only one Fae who I actually trust. I figured I would start with the polite route. I would like to Virgil, please.”

“This is your attempt at a polite route?” Gillian snorts, from the cover of darkness, emerging just enough so the light could hit her red hair.

“Your attempt at a polite route was attempting to steal my name, telling me my boyfriend had been drugged, and minimalizing my efforts to understand,” Logan says. “If we’re going based on comparison—”

“Harsh, braniac,” Gillian says, and glances at Virgil’s Uncle. “You want me to, ya know.” She wiggles her fingers.

Virgil’s Uncle surveys Logan, tilting his head. “You said he’s—”

“Yeah, I know,” Gillian says. “Your empathy’s pretty low there, Logic. Might just max me out to make you feel something. Hope you appreciate it.”

Logan frowns. “What—” he begins, but he can’t say anymore when Gillian’s icy cold fingers brush against the back of his neck.

Roman’s woken up by the sound of sobbing.

It’s enough to immediately strike out any sense of sleepiness that he could have had, and he sits up immediately, and blinks.

He’s never seen Logan’s face get that blotchy before.

He’s never actually seen Logan cry before.

“Whoa,” Roman says, scrambling out of bed, which is enough to wake Patton, “whoa, whoa, hey, Logan, Lo Lo Lo. Are you okay?”

“I,” Logan chokes out, and gasps, “I don’t know what she did to me,” and bursts into a fresh round of tears.

“Can I touch—”

Logan’s already yanking Roman in, though, burying his face into Roman’s bare chest as Roman wraps his arms around Logan tight, exchanging a panicked look with Patton. This was never how it worked. Patton or Roman were the big criers in their relationship, he had never, not once, seen Logan admit that he was feeling any emotion other than frustrated or stressed. It feels downright unnatural, hearing Logan cry, cry genuine and deep, crying with his whole heart.

Logan’s hugging is clumsy, just like how his sobbing seems to be clumsy—like he doesn’t quite remember how to cry and breathe, so there’s sobbing jags which ends with him gulping in a desperate lungful of air. He chokes on it, a couple times, and can only cry more.

Roman hates this. He hates Patton crying, and he’s only seen Virgil cry once, sulky and self-loathing and furious at himself, and he’d hated it then too, even when he’d still half-hated him. Logan’s upsets were small and difficult to see, sometimes exploding into outbursts, but never outbursts like this. He can only lean to pick Logan up and distribute him gently onto the bed, where he immediately clings to Patton as Roman slides in behind him, as Patton makes nonsense shushing noises coupled in with it’s gonna be okays, scratching gently at Logan’s scalp, and Roman presses himself against Logan’s back (cold) and wraps his arms around his waist.

The only things that move are Patton’s hands through his hair, his mouth with the soft murmurings, and Logan when his body’s wracked by sobs, coming in irregular and intense, like tremors, shaking Logan all up inside so that he couldn’t even speak.

Roman’s grip tightens around Logan’s waist, and he presses a kiss against the back of his neck.

And, all at once, Logan slumps, spent, and Patton asks “Logan?” panicked, shoving his hair out of his face.

“That’s exhausting,” Logan says, hoarse. “I hated that. How do people actually enjoy emotional release?”

“Because it’s an emotional release,” Roman says, propping himself up on his elbow and looking closely at Logan’s face as Logan scrubs hastily at his face with his sleeve.

“Are you okay?” Patton asks, soft and concerned. “Did something happen?”

Logan hesitates, and says, in the same hoarse voice, “I don’t know how she did that.”

“Who?” Patton asks. “Gillian? How did you run into Gillian?”

Logan curls up tighter, and Roman tugs the covers over them, thinking of how cold he’d been.

“Well,” Logan says, weakly. “I didn’t exactly. Run into her on accident.”

It takes a couple seconds to click.

Patton gasps. “You went back alone?!”

“I didn’t eat anything,” Logan continues, the same weak, thready, exhausted undertone in his voice. “Or drink anything. I tried to… I tried to talk to him. Virgil’s Uncle, I mean, I brought the journal, but she—” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what she did to me.”

“Go back to the start,” Patton advises.

Logan shudders, but he speaks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “So I decided to go for a walk. And I ended up… well, I ended up going down the bluestone path. Knocked on the door. He was up at this hour, for whatever reason, and he let me in. So I started… addressing him, I suppose. I told him that I knew he’s a pathological liar—there’s something accounting that in Virgil’s father’s journal—and… a couple other things. I brought out the journal, to show him. I don’t think he knew the library had it. And Gillian came out of the darkness, and she said—” He takes a breath. “She said, your empathy’s pretty low there. Might just max me out to make you feel something.”

“Logan,” Patton murmurs, but Logan shakes off his attempts at comfort.

“And then she… she put her fingers against the back of my neck. Like this,” he says, and reaches up to brush against Patton’s nape with his fingers. “And I just… I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t—” he shakes himself, and says in a hoarse whisper, “How did she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Patton says. “A drug wouldn’t do that, would it?”

Logan’s already shaking his head. “Not with the sudden come down I had,” he says, and twists his head to look at Roman. “I think it’s because…” he grimaces. “I know how this sounds, but I think it’s because you kissed my neck. Something about the affected area.”

“What, like true love’s kiss?” Roman asks, and immediately kicks himself. True love’s kiss, they’ve barely been dating for not even a month, it’s way too fast—

But Logan’s cheeks tinge pink, and he turns his face into Patton’s chest.

Roman grins, despite the fact that Logan had been sobbing hysterically just a few minutes ago and leans to press another kiss to the nape of his neck.

Eventually, Patton’s gently coaching Logan into trying to sleep again (“crying drains you out, okay? trust me, I’d know”) and Roman slides out of bed.

“I’ll grab something to eat, if you want,” Roman says. “After Logan’s nap.”

It’s a sudden swap of how it’d been a couple days ago; Patton had been the one snuffling into Logan’s chest, and now it was the other way round.

“Not tired,” Logan mumbles into Patton’s chest.

“Sure thing, nerd-coleptic,” Roman says, reaching over to rub his back. “I’ll get something that’ll taste good even if it has to wait a while to be eaten. Keep an eye on him, Pat, okay?”

Patton winks at him, and says, “Eye-eye, captain.”

Logan groans, and Roman chuckles, tugging on a shirt and his coat before heading over to Cora’s.

Only to stop in his tracks.

“You,” Roman declares furiously, storming up to the counter Gillian’s leaning against. “What did you do to him?!”

Gillian rolls her eyes, and says, “Did either of you figure it out yet?”

“I kissed him on the back of the neck,” Roman snaps, “What did you DO?!”

“No need to get shouty,” Gillian says. “You look less hot when you’re shouty. I’m an empath, theater-for-brains.”

The wires in Roman’s brain shorts out. “What?” He says, frowning, and Gillian rolls her eyes.

“Here’s the—” Cora falters, and glances at Roman, before she tells Gillian, “Here’s the food, Gillian. And the receipt.”

Gillian frowns. “No Fae discount?”

“That only applies to my favorites,” Cora says. “Which you ain’t.” She turns to Roman, and says, much warmer, “How can I help you, honey?”

Roman can’t help but shoot Gillian a smug grin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gillian says, and reaches out, cupping his face. “Laugh it up.”

She strides out of the diner as Roman finds himself bent double, laughing so hard it doesn’t even make a sound anymore.

Cora quickly reaches over, brushes a hand against his cheek, and Roman stops.

“What,” he gasps, trying to gain his breath, wiping under his eyes, “was that.”

“Leave it to her to let the cat out of the bag,” Cora says. “She told you, hon. She’s an empath.”

“That’s—” Roman begins, before it hits him.

That Kavanagh girl’s accused me and D of witchcraft—

“—Look, the crime counts for Virgil’s ancestors are ridiculous, I’ve barely made it through two generations without fielding several counts of mysterious deaths surrounding their lovers and those who are noted to have wronged them, and dozens of accusations of witchcraft—”

“—Magic,” Logan says dismissively—

“—I didn’t know you knew coin magic too.” Pearl’s piping voice echoes down the hall.

“I know all kinds of magic,” Virgil says—

“Okay. All right, hon, that’s it, right on the barstool, there ya go.”

Roman looks at Cora, and says hoarsely, “Magic?”

Cora worries her lip between her teeth. “Yes,” she says, at last. “Magic.”

Roman gets out his phone, and he makes a call.

Cora explain it to tell Logan at least fifteen times before he accepts it, but the more and more Roman thinks about it, the more it makes sense. The tarot cards, the weird spacing out, the family business, the way Virgil’s coffee never seemed to get too cold and the cats seemed to love him and Virgil knew exactly what to do with the cat who gave birth in his bathtub—the boy he loves is magic.

And cursed. That part… makes more sense of why he ran away from them, now. Roman couldn’t imagine living with that kind of fear.

“We have to tell Virgil we know,” Roman says immediately, once they’ve taken lunch and grabbed a booth.

“How,” Logan says, irritably. “Gillian’s there, she’ll—and Virgil’s Uncle—and if they really are magic—”

Roman takes a napkin and starts to sketch.

“Okay,” Roman says. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

Virgil’s starting to lose count of the days.

He’s eating because Uncle shoves bags of food from Cora’s at him. He’s sleeping because he rarely leaves his bed. Most of his social communication comes from Crow, who rarely leaves his room and has formed a semi-permanent rumbling warm spot on his stomach.

It’s night, that much is clear. The candles in his room are lit. He’s not sure if he did that with a wave of his hand or if Uncle came into his room while he was napping.

Virgil only lifts his head when there’s a crash that comes from downstairs, but only slightly. Virgil frowns, hesitates, and lays his head back down in his pillow.

“Do you want me to check?” Crow asks, leaping softly down from his bed and stretching.

“Please,” he says hoarsely, and she jerks her cat-chin towards the glass of water on his nightstand before she slinks out of his room. He takes the glass, and takes a sip, and then starts to gulp it down when he realizes how dry his throat is.

He wipes his face with his arm, and frowns at the empty glass, before he starts to rifle through the latest (cold) bag of Cora’s food. She’s sent him extra sweets instead of extra vegetables, which is truly just a sign of how bad she feels for him. And little written updates about when any of them step into the diner (usually Roman.) He can bear to read them sometimes.

He might even shower, soon. The world’s his oyster.

There’s a banging at the window, and Virgil frowns, before looking back at the food. Probably the wind.

More banging. Virgil sighs, before he heads over.

Immediately he gasps and throws open the window.

“Roman, you idiot,” Virgil says furiously, “what are you doing?!”

Roman looks up again. “The magic boy, all locked up in his tower,” Roman said, trying to smile like none of that sentence affected him at all. “And you teased me about being too overinvested in fairytales. I don’t wanna hear it from you ever again, Eugene Fitz-hurt-bert.”

“I—” Virgil says, before he reaches down and grabs the collar of Roman’s shirt, hauling him inside. He might be trying to separate himself from them, but magic help them, Virgil still loves him.

“Woo,” he says, shaking out his hands. “Thanks, it’s chilly out there.”

“Roman,” Virgil says, and his voice breaks. “Roman, what are you doing here?”

Roman licks his lips, hesitates, and says, “You said you wouldn’t do this again.”

“What?”

“Leave me without an explanation.”

Virgil closes his eyes, and turns away, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle, trying to defend against the wave of emotion that washes over him just then. God, being in love sucks.

“Virgil,” Roman says, and he coos, “Virgil” and steps back into his line of sight. “Virgil, it’s okay, I—we know what’s going on now, okay?”

Virgil snorts.

“That you’re magic,” Roman elaborates. “And that you have a curse on you. We know. Okay?”

“Then you have your explanation,” Virgil says hoarsely. “That’s why I left. That’s why you have to stay away.”

There’s another, louder, crash from downstairs, and it suddenly clicks.

“Oh my God,” Virgil says. “Oh, my God, are Logan and Patton wrecking my house?”

“I actually don’t know exactly,” Roman says cautiously. “They’re just supposed to distract your Uncle and Gillian—”

“They’re going to kill them,” Virgil says, and flings open the door, and steps straight into the living room, nearly running straight into Patton’s chest.

“Virgil!” He squeaks. “Oh, Virgil—”

“Wait, this is—this is downstairs, your house is magic too?” Roman demands, stepping after and shutting the door behind him.

“Logan’s right behind me,” Patton pants, “I—”

Patton is nearly knocked over by the force of Logan running into his back, and Virgil has to catch him.

Logan looks at him. “Virgil,” he says, and falls immediately silent.

“Hi,” Virgil says hoarsely. “So, um. How did that. How did that realization go over?”

“Honestly,” Logan says, “it wasn’t until your Uncle sicced the snakes on us until I actually believed it.”

Virgil has to bury his face in his hands again, and groans, before uncovering his face.

“You guys need to leave,” Virgil says weakly. “I—I get that you might have been… concerned, but you guys realize I have good reason now, right? So you need to go. Right now.”

“Have you been eating?” Patton says, disregarding him entirely, and Virgil drags his hands down his face.

“I’m fine,” he says. “You three will continue to be fine if you get out of town. I—go back to school, I’ll pay my share of rent, you can find a subleaser, but—”

“You are not fine,” Logan says, frowning, “the bags under your eyes are much heavier than usual.” “Will you three listen to me?!” Virgil explodes, and there’s a knock at the door, and he turns to see his Uncle, expressionless.

“Should I,” he begins, and falls silent.

“I was just telling them to—” Virgil says.

“Sorry, but that’s not happening,” Roman bursts in. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“You don’t get it,” Virgil says.

“Could we have some privacy, please?” Logan asks lowly, and Uncle turns to Virgil.

“I—just for a bit,” Virgil says, at last. “And if you see Crow, send her here. Please.”

Uncle frowns. “Don’t remember your history,” he says at last, before he steps away, closing the door behind him.

Virgil takes a deep breath and looks at them.

“I’m going to kill you,” Virgil tells the three of them, voice only a bit watery.

“That’s not true,” Patton says, soft.

“It is,” Virgil says tightly. “Back to the nineteenth century. I can’t—I can’t stop this.”

“Has it ever affected three people at once?” Logan says fairly, and Virgil swallows.

“It might if—” Virgil hesitates, but plows forward. “It might if a Fae did a true love spell.”

Uncle had been furious when Virgil had gasped out the explanation when he’d gotten home. The yelling had nearly shaken the dust from the rafters.

They look at each other. “True love spell?” Roman says.

Virgil takes a shaky breath. “One of the only rules growing up was not to do a complicated spell,” he says. “I ignored it. I found a true love spell when I was seven, and I—I tripled the ingredients. I thought I was putting in things that would contrast in just one person, but—” He gestures feebly to the three of them.

They look at each other, surprised, before they turn back to Virgil.

“You wished for us,” Patton says, sappy.

“I made you,” Virgil says. “I twisted you into creation, I doomed you to—”

Logan frowns. “There’s records of our existence before we were seven.”

“Magic is powerful,” Virgil says, hoarse. “Maybe I put those memories in your head. How would you know?”

“You might have power, Virgil,” Logan says, “but I highly doubt you were that powerful at seven.”

Virgil’s shaking his head, though, because Logan doesn’t understand. Logan’s smart, but he wouldn’t understand. Faes understand Faes. No one else.

“Okay,” Patton says. “I—Virgil, staying away from us isn’t going to make you love us any less. It isn’t going to make us love you any less. It’s just going to make everyone miserable.”

“We won’t know unless I try,” Virgil says, hoarse.

Patton reaches forwards, but Virgil steps hastily out of his reach. If Patton tries to touch him or hug him right now, he’ll fold. He can’t do that.

“Virgil,” Patton says. “Trust me. I would know. Staying away from someone does not make you love them any less.”

Virgil’s eyes close, and he wraps his arms around himself again.

“Virgil,” Roman says, his voice soft. “We’re out of balance, without you. We were right last year. We work, but not as well. I—we can’t—” He breathes, deep, and says, “Please come home.”

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut. He resists the urge to clap his hands over his ears.

“Please come home,” Logan repeats, soft. “I—it’s impossible to run herd on them alone, Virgil. We miss you.”

“Plus,” Roman adds, “you know how stubborn we all are, we’re just going to keep having this conversation over and over and over again.”

“How would I—” Virgil says, and shakes his head. “No. I’m not giving in. You will die if I give in. I couldn’t—” There’s a lump in his throat. “I couldn’t survive that. My first three friends in the world, I can’t—you can’t make me be what kills you. Please don’t make me be what kills you.”

“Virgil,” Logan says, voice soft. “We’re different. The curse has never worked on anyone gay, let alone anyone with multiple partners. If it truly is a curse for your true love, singular, then—then the fact that you used a spell to make yourself have three might have outsmarted it.”

Virgil’s shaking his head. “You can’t outsmart it,” he says. “You can’t. That’s how my father died, you can’t—”

“We’re not suggesting outsmarting it,” Logan backtracks. “We’re suggesting… circumventing it. Do you know how the curse was placed?”

There’s something absurd about Logan using his usual scholarly voice to talk about magic, something in Virgil’s brain thought, but he’s too upset to acknowledge it.

“No,” Virgil says. “Great-great-whatever-grandma took that secret to the grave. And some Faes have skills inclined towards necromancy, but no one’s—no one’s managed to contact her about it.”

“Necromancy,” Logan says blankly, before he shakes himself. “Right. But—if you don’t know—it could have had terms. Singular true love. Opposite sex true love. Your family operates in the gray area, doesn’t it?”

Virgil grimaces, because, well, it’s true.

“Virgil,” Patton says, eyes at full puppy power, “please. Please. Can we at least… try? We don’t know if it’s true love. Not yet. Can’t we just try?”

Virgil’s eyes close. He knows, though. He knows it is. The spell says so.

“Anx,” Roman says, and Virgil’s eyes swivel towards him. He steps closer. This time, Virgil doesn’t back away.

“Please. Please, it’s hurting all of us if you stay away. If you stay with us, at least—at least we can be happy now.”

Virgil looks away, and blinks hard, and at last there’s the tears coming down his cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” Roman whispers, and Virgil’s eyes snap to him. Barely, imperceptibly, he nods.

Roman’s hands cup his cheeks, and he uses his thumbs to wipe away Virgil’s tears, before he leans in.

It’s soft. Gentle. Nothing like what Virgil imagined Roman would kiss like—his lips, soft and lush and a bit cold against his. He pulls away, and Logan steps forwards next.

“May I kiss you,” he says formally, and Virgil chokes on a laugh, but nods.

Logan tips his chin up a little, before kissing him the same way Roman kissed him—soft, and gentle, and his lips are just a bit chapped, but warm.

Patton, last, and they both laugh wetly at each other, Virgil at last reaching up to wipe at the tears on his cheeks.

“Can I—” Patton begins, before he rushes forwards.

This is, however, exactly how he figured Patton would kiss—eager, and fullhearted, all clashing lips and feeling the curve of his smile against his mouth.

They pull back, and Virgil laughs a little.

“Okay,” he whispers, before he nods. “Okay.”

There’s still a question, though, and one Virgil won’t be able to answer for all the long, happy years to come.

He has no idea which one of them got the good kisser part.

[laurens-lil-fics]

hi again it’s me! so i was wondering if you could please do a fanfic on a modern au where firefighter!peter quill gets some burn marks on his chest and his stomach and almost all over his body, and the reader is a beautiful (yet very sexy) nurse, who heals peter up, and falls in love with him?

Heckie yes!

Stay with me. Stay with me.

That was the first thing Peter heard that voice say. He could hear the desperation in her voice, maybe it’s what set her words apart from the others. The raw emotion.

This was an off day for Peter, 10 years as a firefighter you think he’d be prepared for just about anything. And yet here he was, blinking in and out of consciousness in the hospital.

How did he know it was a hospital? For starters those ugly fluorescent lights. He saw them in his nightmares, when he’d dream of his mother. The blinding white walls were another tip. Lastly were the dozens of voices surrounding him, making him feel claustrophobic.

He was caged like an animal, a wounded animal. Then he heard her voice again.

You need to steady your breathing. Breathe with me. In and out… Just like that.

The oxygen mask pressed to his face made him panic, just for a moment, then he focused on her voice once more.

In and out… Shhhh…

The burning on his chest ripped him out of his haze, thrusting him back into the real world. He screamed into the oxygen mask, the ringing in his ears drowning out her voice.

His eyes, wild and panic stricken, bounced around the room, looking at the people and the machines surrounding him. He just barely made out someone shouting about morphine.

Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. His head whipped in that direction as the stranger took a needle to his IV.

The woman standing over him set the empty needle aside and looked down at him. Her hair was pulled out of her face, there was sweat on her brow and heavy bags under her eyes.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever scene.

Another blast of pain had him surging forward. She pressed her hands to his shoulders and forced him to lay back with all her might.

Peter swore those ugly as fuck fluorescent lights formed a halo around her head, maybe it was the morphine.

You’ll be okay… You’re gonna be okay.

He breathed hard and watched her hover above him for a moment longer until his body began to relax. His eyes slowly fluttered shut and he drifted off into a long, dreamless sleep.

Why do breezes sigh every evening… whispering your name as they do…

And why have I the feeling, stars are on my ceiling… I know why and so do you…

It wasn’t the aches in his body or the natural sunlight streaming into his room that woke him up. It was that voice bringing him back to reality.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, wincing at just how bright the daylight was despite the rain clouds forming outside. He looked around the room, familiarizing himself with the space.

Even though he knew she would be there he still froze in place when he saw the woman from the night he was brought in.

She looked a lot more put together this time. She looked like she had gotten some rest since their last encounter. The woman was completely focused on her clipboard and her singing, she didn’t notice Peter was awake until he attempted to sit up in his bed.

“When you dance with me, I’m in heaven when the music- Oh my gosh. Don’t do that.” She set her clipboard on his bedside table and moved to his side as quick as a flash. She rested her hand on his shoulder and gently laid him back onto the bed.

“You need to take it slow,” she said, pulling the remote for the bed from its velcro strap on the wall and showing it to him. “This button will help you sit up… You have severe burns on your torso. You can’t put strain on yourself.”

Peter pressed onto the small arrow button, wincing as the bed began to adjust to his control. Before he could even thank her she left the room, mumbling something about getting him some food.

He sat there for a couple minutes, blankly staring at the tv mounted on the wall. It was playing one of those cook off shows. He usually hated them, but he assumed the nurse had put it on and decided to sit through the yelling and the over the top panic.

She stepped back into the room, setting a tray of food down on the table above his lap.

“I read on your medical records you have no food allergies, so this should be fine… unless you’re on one of those weird gluten free diets…” she trailed off, moving the tray closer to him.

Peter chuckled softly, wincing when he felt his chest ache from the quick movement. He took a sip of the ice water she brought him and sighed happily.

He looked up at her, not really knowing what to say as she began unboxing his meal. Of course his mouth always ran a mile a minute out of his control.

“I’m not like… Like all Freddy Krueger-y am I…?” he asked, motioning to his face.

I’m a fucking idiot.

The nurse laughed and glanced at him, giving him a onceover as she shook her head. “Never heard that term for severe 3rd degree burns before… but no, you’re not all Freddy Krueger-y. Your chest is a little worse for wear… but with some time and a lot of pain meds and aloe vera it’ll be fine.”

She retrieved her clipboard from the other side of his bed and pointed at one of the many buttons on the bed’s remote. “My name’s (Y/n), if you need anything just press this button. I’ll be right back to check on you once you’re done eating.”

Peter looked her over as she left the room, smiling to himself once she was gone.

Once he was done ripping into his food he could feel himself beginning to doze off. He growled to himself and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, hoping to keep himself awake until (Y/n) got back.

He hadn’t realized he dozed off until the sound of little white sneakers on the linoleum floors stirred him.

(Y/n) stood over him, getting the tray together as quietly as she could. She stopped once she realized her patient had woken up and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, Mr. Quill.”

“You don’t have to apologize… and you can call me Peter….” he said, feeling butterflies in his stomach when her smile brightened.

“Well, Peter, looks like that turkey has you ready for a nap.” she said, preoccupying herself with the messy tray he had left. “I’m a little surprised, not everyone finishes their food here. Can’t really blame them though, hospital food’s always a little rough.”

“Yeah… I used to visit my mom in the hospital a lot, so I pretty much lived off of it for a while.” he sighed, shifting under the covers only to wince and whine in pain from the burns on his chest.

(Y/n) quickly moved the table aside and stood over him, gently moving his hands away as he clutched his chest.

“Here, let me go ahead and change out these bandages…” she plucked a new roll of bandages from the cabinet on the other side of the room and returned to him. She carefully helped him sit up straight and untied the front of his hospital gown.

Peter heard the heart monitor quickening and screamed at himself to calm the hell down and let the woman do her job. But damn, the way her fingers brushed over his skin as she took off his bandages had him fighting back the burning in his cheeks.

The sight of the burns on his chest were enough to knock his head out of the clouds and send him back to reality. (Y/n) held up a small tube of ointment, warning him that it would probably sting.

After getting a dollop on her fingertips she began gingerly massaging the medicine onto his burns. Sure enough Peter grunted in pain and held his bottom lip between his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut while (Y/n) worked.

“It’s best to let it all out… How about you keep talking, that’ll take your mind off it.” she suggested.

Peter nodded, racking his brain for something, anything to talk about.

“W-Whenever I got sick of the hospital food… m-my grama would being me something…” he said through his gritted teeth, continuing their conversation from earlier. “I think my fav-fuck… my favorite were these grilled cheeses she’d make… she’d always bring em by wrapped in foil… with some tomato soup in tupperware…”

(Y/n) wiped what was left of the ointment onto a tissue and began wrapping Peter’s chest, giving him a small smile. “Sounds like someone’s getting hungry again.”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle as he breathed through the fading pain. He breathed a sigh of relief once she finished and laid back into the bed.

“Those should heal up in the next week… Hopefully applying that ointment won’t be as painful, it only gets easier from here.” (Y/n) said, her fingers working on retying his hospital gown.

“I’m kind of a baby when it comes to pain, sorry if I’m a little difficult.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” She assured him, gently rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to let me know if you’re in any pain. I’m here to take care of you.”

The corners of Peter’s lips quirked up into a small smile and he gave her a slight nod. He sighed happily and laid his head back, relaxing into the bed once she left the room.

The rest of the week was basically the same routine; Peter would wake up, (Y/n) would bring him his meals, change his bandages, then he’d go to sleep. But in between all that Peter tried his best to make small talk with her, get to know her more.

He dropped that sneaky “Oh your boyfriend must be so proud” line the third day in. He almost jumped out of bed when she corrected him, saying she wasn’t dating anyone.

With the burns on his chest already healing he knew he’d be out of the hospital soon. He wasn’t too distraught, he could try to get (Y/n)’s number. Hell, screw “try” he was gonna do it.

His last afternoon in the hospital finally rolled around. His check out was scheduled for 3, it was currently 11.

She’s gonna bring me my lunch, Im gonna ask her for her number, it’ll be fine…

The door to his room opening put the biggest smile on his face, but it dropped once he saw a different nurse walk into the room with his tray of food.

“Good morning, Mr. Quill. How are we feeling today?”

“I… I’m good, is (Y/n) not here today?” Peter asked, looking behind the nurse to see if (Y/n) had trailed in after her.

The nurse frowned and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid she caught the flu from one of her other patients. She won’t be coming in today.”

Peter felt his heart drop out of his chest and into his stomach, along with all hope of ever going on a date with (Y/n).

“But,” she continued, setting the tray down on his table. “She did bring this by a little earlier… I’ll be right back to check on you when you’re done.” She smiled, turning and leaving the room.

Peter eagerly sat up and pulled the table closer, unboxing the food. He smiled wide, realizing what she had sent for him.

A grilled cheese wrapped in foil, and a glass pyrex bowl of tomato soup. A small, folded slip of paper sat between the two and he quickly unfolded it.

I’m willing to make a house call once I get over the flu. Call me.

Sure enough, the seven digits of her phone number along with a small heart sat under her message.

[twopedalpushers]

Travel Update #7

The End of the Road - A Reflection

About 18 months ago I pinned a world map to my bedroom wall in North Wales. I had wanted to travel for a while, I didn’t take a gap year between my studies and went tirelessly from school to college to university to a few years of full time employment without a break. Long story short, I was bored, craved adventure and happened to be middle class and privileged enough to be able to quit my job, sell my possessions and go on a big walkabout.

18 months ago I had little idea as to where I wanted to go. I didn’t know what kind of experience I wanted to have. I didn’t put much thought into how these experiences would shape the person that I am today. I remember when I sat in front of that big world map with Max and drew a crude line through Central & South America in a dried up red whiteboard marker and first discussed the idea of travelling that line by bicycle.

Since then, I’ve travelled 4000km in 6 months, over 4 countries and two continents - all by bike. I changed location nearly everyday. My bicycle weighed more than I did. Most days I woke up at 5am, cycled around 70km and climbed over 2000m of elevation. I repeated this routine day after day. I got to enjoy the true beauty, magnitude and power of the Andes. I learnt a new language. I got fit and lost 8 kgs in the process. I discovered a love for particularly awful reggaeton and garishly patterned shirts.

Away from the pace of my normal life in the UK; I was anticipating that I would learn a little more about myself. Naively before I spun my pedals for the first time back in Costa Rica, I thought I would be learning about light hearted subject matter, such as the kind of company that I would like to work for upon my return to London.

What I didn’t know back then was that cycling in this relentless manner strips you to your absolute core!

What I learnt most about was how I cope with extreme fatigue, pressure and exhaustion (the answer is not so well!) And that I have a tendency to jump headfirst into challenges without thinking too deeply about what they entail. In hindsight, it was an incredibly insane decision to cycle through the longest mountain range on the planet having never cycle-toured before in my life. I hadn’t even owned a geared bike since I was about 10 years old.

I have no regrets about any of this and despite finding the trip the most exhausting holiday of all time, I highly, highly recommend cycle-touring! Every ounce of effort that I put into cycling; I was rewarded with breathtaking views and dramatic scenery. Reaching a milestone or a border crossing was emotional as I had spent days, weeks or months and literally climbed mountains to get there.

Cycle-touring pushed the boundaries of my mental and physical endurance and I now feel confident in my ability to accomplish any challenge that life throws at me. Not a lot (in my opinion) can be harder than cycling my 70kg bike up 10% gradient hills in the rain all day everyday (yes I’m talking about you, Ecuador).

I spent so much time outdoors with so few possessions that I have a new found appreciation for small luxuries such as a sleeping in a comfy bed, wearing clean clothes and taking baths whenever I please.

The slow nature of travelling by bicycle is awe-inspiring. I know in detail entire stretches of the countries that we crossed and I have a deep understanding of how both the landscape and culture shift with this progression. I saw the big, glitzy cities and the stark, poverty stricken reality of the locals lives outside of them. This is something I never would have seen travelling by bus from one tourist hotspot to another. We spent so much time in each country that after a while, they started to feel like home.

I know that my experience cycle-touring will be something that I remember for the rest of my life and mentally revisit whenever I want to feel inspired.

Two months ago I woke up everyday with little idea as to where I would be sleeping that night and had the freedom to go wherever I pleased. My world was so big! Fast-forward to now and my world encompasses my parents house and a few kilometres surrounding it. This shift has been a huge mental challenge for me. I spent a lot of time whilst on the trip thinking about all of the amazing places that I would soon be visiting, so its been hard accepting that I will no longer be cycling the Peru Divide or through the Salt Flats in Bolivia or the Atacama Desert in Chile. Unfortunately, a few weeks after returning to the UK, me and Max split up, so I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that the person that I shared my cycle-touring experiences with, will not be part of my life going forwards.

After spending 6 months on the move, in lockdown I have started to discover that there is elegance in staying still. Travel is really just a means of filling your life with distractions - albeit new, picturesque and adventurous ones.

In the quietness of the past couple of months, I’ve learnt more about who I am and what I want out of life than during my entire trip. This time that we have for introspection and self improvement at the moment is priceless. It’s something that can’t be bought with a plane ticket and a bicycle.

I thought I would round off my blog with a some of my favourite, memorable moments. Im not sure how relevant these will be for you guys (sorry!) I just wanted to write them all down somewhere so that I don’t forget!

Here goes:

Looking down on Medellín, Colombia from high up in the mountains, lit up in the darkness. I had spent 12 hours cycling uphill that day to get there. Then spent an hour and a half descending. My hands ached the next day from holding my brakes- thats how steep it was.

Everyone applauding a beautiful sunset on the beach in Salvador, Brazil.

Swimming in the sea around the San Blas islands in Panama and seeing dolphins under the water. 

Cycling up to a viewing point in Jacó, Costa Rica. Looking down on the bay and the jungle beneath and seeing a flock of red parrots fly above the rainforest canopy.

Cycling through Cotopaxi National Park in Ecuador and camping near Volcán Cotopaxi. 

Getting soaked to the bone by the tropical storms everyday in Costa Rica and Panama. Attempting to dry out my shoes every night became a ritual.

The importance of always having a supply of peanut butter and the joy of finding a rare jar in a supermarket. It was like gold dust. 

Camping on Lauras floor in Popayán, Colombia.

Limonada all day everyday in Colombia. 

Seeing sloths in Manuel Antonio National Park, Costa Rica.

Arriving into the town of Salento, Colombia and cycling up a hill so steep that people in the town clapped and cheered once I reached the top. 

Getting my bike stuck in the mud after a storm in San Onofre, Colombia. The bus drove past and refused to let us on because both us and our bikes were so muddy. We were stranded.

Helados everyday in Ecuador.

The pure joy of finding pasta sauce (not ketchup) in a supermarket. This was also like gold dust.

Camping next to waterfalls at Cascadas Condor Machay, Ecuador.

Getting my scuba diving license in Coveñas, Colombia.

Camping on a volleyball pitch near Alausí, Ecuador.

Crossing the bridge of the Americas in Panama and completing the Central American section of the trip.

Cycling to our highest altitude - 40009m above sea level in Ecuador.

The smell of rotting animals that had been hit by cars on the Panamericana in Panama.

Seeing the Champions Parade at the Sambadromo in Rio de Janeiro during Carnival.

How beautiful the cycle route was during the 3/4 day journey into Medellín, on an abandoned road.

Swimming in Guatapé Lake, Colombia.

Experiencing a Colombian black hairdressers (to get my hair re-braided). Damn they’re loud.

How near the end of the trip, getting chased by dogs was such a regular occurrence that it didn’t bother me anymore.

Seeing crocodiles sunbathing next to a river in Costa Rica 

The cycle into Baños, Ecuador, near Volcán Tungurahua.

Camping in an old lady’s garden in Colombia because we had run out of time that day to get to the next town. She lived in a wooden shack, with a dirt floor and slept in a hammock.

Blocos at Copacabana beach, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, during Carnival.

Looking out across endless misty fields of frailjones, in El Angel National Park, Ecuador.

[paybackraid]

Incoming Message

FMA AU Week Day 4 Prompt L: Overused but Well Loved

Words: 1998

This time it’s a modern AU. Based on some lovely art by @ignicule with their permission, ofc. Warnings for strong language from Edward.

It should also be noted that I do not support Roy/Winry in anyway; they are messing with Ed and in this, Roy loves Winry like a daughter.

Please don’t tag as Roywin

“I can’t believe I trusted him with her. I. Cannot. Believe that I trusted him. What was I thinking? I should have called Al home. What was I thinking?”

Riza sighed silently to herself, glancing to her companion who clutched nervously to his phone. She and Ed were away on a mission, too far from Resembool or Central to return quickly should anything arise. She was a little nervous too; Roy had a knack for getting himself into trouble when she wasn’t around, but he was also a grown man who could take care of himself and those around him. Ed had been aware of that when he asked Roy to check on his heavily pregnant wife who was taking up a hotel room in Central. Alphonse was away in Xing with his wife Mei visiting her family, otherwise Winry would have stayed in Resembool with him. Riza wished that Ed would remember why he had trusted Roy to keep her safe and well taken care of in the first place.

Roy absolutely adored Winry, after all, and would do just about anything for her, even more so now that she was with an unborn child. Riza wouldn’t be surprised when she got home if she found out that Winry ended up staying in their guest room, or Roy spent all day in her hotel room.

“He’s going to fuck up. He’s going to fuck up royally, and I’m going to lose my child. And probably her. ...That’s it, I’m call--”

Riza strode over and plucked Ed’s phone right from his hands, where he had been staring at the still phone app for over a quarter of an hour. He protested and flipped onto his back on his bed, just in time to see her pocket it. “Edward. Winry still has two months to go. Winry can take care of herself. Roy is a responsible adult who knows how to take care of a pregnant woman.” His sister had gotten pregnant a little over a year ago, and he had Googled just about everything he had needed to know even though he obviously wasn’t the father, and had stayed with her the last half of her pregnancy. The baby had been born happy and healthy. Not to say that was Roy’s doing at all, but at least his doting hadn’t harmed his new niece in the least. “They’re going to be fine. If you want to ensure that the baby will be fine, then focus on the mission so we can get home as soon as possible. Alright?”

Ed stared at her with wide, stricken eyes like he thought he had been betrayed. “But he’s useless!”

“Only on rainy days, and the forecast called for sun today. At least take a break from your phone. If Roy texts me that anything goes wrong, I’ll tell you immediately. Please take a look at the case files.”

Ed ground his teeth, waited for a second to see if he could wait her out, then deflated. “...Fine. But as soon as they call, you tell me!”

“If they call, I’ll tell you.”

Ed grouched for a moment and stormed over to the table, yanking out the chair and dropping into it like a brooding child. Riza laughed to herself and shook her head; though it had been over five years since Ed had gotten Al’s body back, sometimes she could still see the same sullen child she had come to love. A small part of her hoped that part of him would never grow up. She took a seat on her bed (she and Ed had agreed that sharing a room would be easier and would pose no problem) and tucked into her own case file, hoping for some clues.

After a small amount of time, both phones in her pocket buzzed. Curious, and a little nervous, she pulled out her phone. Roy was a responsible adult, no way he had let something happen to Winry.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile drifting over her face. A group chat, from Winry, sent to her, Roy, and Ed. And the picture, no doubt Ed wouldn’t be terribly pleased with that, the jealous little thing he was.

’Stay safe! We love you! See you when you get home!!’

“Ed.”

Ed shot up like a hunting dog, staring with wide eyes at her, clearly waiting for the moment she called for him. She rolled her eyes again, but pulled out his phone and stretched out the small distance to hand it to him.

“Take a look.”

He took the phone and opened it up without looking at the message. Slowly, his scowl darkened into something unholy, which made her smile. Oh how pleased Roy would be if he knew that he had caused a face like that only by taking a picture with Ed’s wife. After a solid minute of scowling at the picture, Ed started typing back furiously.

The picture that Winry had sent was really just a picture of the two of them smiling, pressed close to one another. The background suggested they were at Gracia’s--the half of the wall painting she could see looked like the one above Gracia’s living room couch. Either Gracia or Elysia had probably taken the picture. Roy was holding Winry to his side, his shoulder behind hers a little, although Winry seemed no less enthusiastic to be with him. Their outer hands were curled together, forming a little heart between them. Winry’s grin was huge, showing off a tongue piercing that she and Roy had nearly had a spat over three years back. Roy’s smile was soft and warm--though he seemed happy to pose for the picture with her, he had likely had to be connived into it. 

It was a cute picture, one that made Riza smile if for no other reason than to see these two she thought of as family to get along so splendidly. She saved the photo and set it as her home screen just in time for Ed to send back, ‘Get away from my wife, you pervert.’

‘Oh Ed,’ Riza thought, but didn’t bother saying aloud. She waited to see what the two on the other end would say.

Their end was silent for five full minutes. Finally, when the chat pinged again, it was another picture. It was a selfie done by Winry, her arm extended forward. The selfie was staged in a bedroom, as the two of them seemed to be seated on a cushy bed, likely Gracia’s. Roy sat behind Winry, his legs drawn around her. His arms swam around her pregnant belly, and his chin was nestled on the crown of her head. He was making the same bedroom eyes he made at Riza when he was messing around. She could tell that he was joking around, and that Winry was as well, but would Ed see that? In a state of heightened agitation, probably not.

Winry was making a delighted face, but also was trying to pull off her best goofy-but-sexy face. She turned her face up to Roy only a little bit that it made her look like she was going to kiss him, her free arm curled up so she could stroke her fingertips on his jawline.

Those two were going to get themselves in huge trouble with Ed when they got home. Riza? She could let it slide this time. Really, Ed was kind of asking for it.

The picture was on their phones for nearly half a minute before Winry finally explained. Ed was silently fuming; Riza could practically see smoke spewing from his ears. She lifted her phone to snap a quick picture to send just to Roy, saying ‘Look at what you two are doing to him.’

Winry’s text was simple and only barely explained the picture. ‘oh yeah didnt you hear? We’re eloping sorry boo ;) xoxo’

Ooohhhhh no. Ed was definitely kicking Roy’s ass when they got home.

Within seconds, Ed answered, ‘I’m kicking your ass if you dont get away from her!!!!’

Riza feared that they’d send another picture, perhaps of them kissing, which she wouldn’t be too happy about. Thankfully they both had the common sense not to respond with that. The text that followed was from Roy: ‘how you feeling, Fullmetal?’

He was stirring the pot. Of course he was.

‘How am i FEELING?!?

Like youre gonna get an ass kicking is how im feeling!!!

And im not an alchemist anymore!!!’

‘With a temper like that, youll ALWAYS be Fullmetal, Fullmetal.’

Ed just about put a hand through the wall, and Riza just about choked trying to suppress a laugh. Ed shot her a look but he must not have seen her laugh, because he immediately turned back to his phone.

‘And you’ll always be a piece of shit, you piece of shit!’ popped up on Riza’s phone seconds later. Riza shook her head and looked down to her forgotten case file. Well. So much for getting closer to going home.

‘:OOOO’ Winry texted immediately after. Roy’s response was a simple, ‘creative, Fullmetal’, just as Winry continued with ‘I’M SO SORRY GENERAL OMFG EDWARD’.

‘Don’t be, I’m not.’

‘That’s no way to speak to your commanding officer.’ Riza informed, then set her phone aside. Ed shot her a look that was half-betrayal, half-surprise, then turned away from her when she looked at her file.

‘...

Yes ma’am’

The phones were silent for probably ten minutes, blessed silence, during which time Ed actually sat down and took a look at his files.

Her phone suddenly chirped with Roy’s newest addition. ‘You know, Ed...’ was all it said, although the indicator said he wasn’t quite done. Riza could feel in the pit of her stomach that whatever he would say, it would spur Ed’s furious rage on further. Not that Roy’s very existence didn’t seem to do so most days.

‘What.’ Ed replied, and Winry’s addition was a nervous little ‘...’.

‘You’re stuck working all week, while I get to care for a beautiful young woman all alone.’

‘General’ Winry cut in, likely in the hopes of quelling her sure-to-be-raging husband.

‘Just me...

And her...’

‘THATS IT IM COMING BACK HOME AND KICKING YOUR ASS MYSELF YOU FUCKIN CREEP’ Ed responded, jerking up out of his bed and toward his suitcase like he intended to pack up and head out.

“Ed!” Riza squawked, hopping out of her seat and to his side. She cut him off from his suitcase and shoved him back, just as Winry replied, ‘OMG Ed it’s fine he’s just joking!!!’

‘Your wife gave me permission to drop kick your ass to next year so be ready for that.’ Ed snarked, crossing his arms. He dropped onto the bed, face souring at his phone.

Riza squeezed the bridge of her nose tiredly and held her hand out to Ed, who stared at her with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

“...What?”

“Give me your phone.”

”What?! Why?!”

“Because you have work to do, now give me your phone, go sit down, and work. You know Roy’s only messing with you.”

Ed stared between her face and her hand, as if unable to believe that he, an adult, was about to be grounded from his own phone. But when Riza wiggled her fingers a little and did not back down, he realized that she was being completely serious. He scowled and slapped his phone into her hand, probably unnecessarily hard, and stormed to his case file. He dropped into the chair like a petulant teen and went about actually doing something useful.

Riza rolled her eyes and pocketed his phone.

‘I most certainly did not,’ she responded on her own phone, taking a seat beside her own case file. ‘But keep it up, Roy Mustang, and I may just change my mind on that.’

To which Roy simply responded, ‘heh... okay okay. ...Love you?’. And Riza, if only to make him sweat a little, did not respond.

[sweetnestor]

You Look Happier | Chapter 4

university au, teamiplier + jack

platonic/romance/angst/(smut at one point but it’ll only be on ao3)

previous chapter

One of the things Jack and I had in common was that we were our best selves when it came to making videos. We brought it up during a session with Helena, then she required we do this as a trust exercise. I wasn’t exactly reluctant, but I was nervous about what would come up in the middle of this particular video.

Jack and I sat on the couch in the living room, camera and lights on us. Depending on how this went, this video would be going on YouTube, so we had to treat it as such. It was also going to be viewed by Helena, who was going to go in depth at our next session.

“Hey, it’s Bella!” I greeted. “Today, I’m doing something that a lot of you requested, which is the best friend tag! And as of… last year, my best friend is…”

I gestured to Jack, and he put his arms up in the air.

“It’s me.” He smiled before putting his arms back down. “Y’know we first met around this time last year?”

“Really?” I asked, surprised. “Jesus Christ. Actually, that brings us to the first question: how and when did we meet?”

“Ah, it was a bright and sunny morning,” Jack began, “in nineteen fifty four…”

I giggled. “Yeah, basically. Feels like we’ve been friends for a lifetime. It was last year, first day of the spring semester, Mark introduced us.”

“You were so shy,” Jack said fondly. “Aw, that car ride was-”

“Quiet and anxiety inducing,” I finished with a laugh. “But I thought you were really kind.”

“Aww.”

Next question: what’s your favorite memory together?

We sat there and thought about it. Jack was the first to speak.

“I liked the time we went to The Tube,” he said. “Where we drank a lot and someone had to come pick us up.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “That was fun. I think I like… that time I was sad and you let me do your makeup.”

I was starting to understand why Helena made us do this. Remembering little moments made me feel a huge rush of affection for Jack. My heart was already swelling.

“Describe each other in one word,” he read off my phone.

We looked at each other in thought. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this prompt. What was I to Jack?

“Welcoming,” I answered, deciding to go first this time. “You always treat people the best you can, and you always try to make everyone comfortable. I don’t know, the energy you give off is always kind and warm. You’re just full of good vibes.”

Jack was smiling ear to ear. “I think Helena was right to make us do this.” He paused and then faced the camera again. “My word for you is passionate. You care so much about everything you do. You’re so passionate about your viewers, LGBTQ rights, mental health, makeup.”

The moment was sinking in. But to keep myself from crying, I read the next question.

“What’s one thing you don’t know about each other? Here we go, it’s time to get deep.”

There was another moment of silent thinking, though I knew what my confession would be. I had thought about it plenty of times, and Jack seemed like the only person I could tell.

“Um, I fart a lot in my sleep,” Jack said jokingly.

I chuckled. “I knew that already.”

“Well, I guess you know everything about me!”

“Okay, well I can’t tell them,” I began, gesturing to the camera, “but I’ll tell you.” I hesitated. “You’re probably not gonna believe me.”

“What is it? Just tell me.”

“Santiago isn’t my real last name.”

Jack was silent at first, looking like he was trying to see right through me. He let out a small laugh in disbelief. “No way.”

“I’m serious,” I told him. “I swear, honest to god. I legally changed my last name to Santiago a little bit after moving out of my parents’ house.”

“So what was your real last name?”

“Sanchez,” I said, and then added, “I just didn’t want to be tied to them anymore. Plus, it’s a super generic Mexican last name, and I didn’t really want to be generic.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Jack nodded. “Wow… Bella Sanchez.”

I chuckled at the sound of it. “She’s dead, I don’t know her.”

The next few questions were just guessing each other’s favorite whatever’s. Those were easy and left plenty of room for banter.

“Three things I always carry with me?”

“Easy. Phone, car keys, and whatever lipstick you’re wearing that day.”

“See? This is the kind of man I need! Okay, what nicknames do we have for each other?”

Jack giggled as he sat up. “Let’s see, you were Bella, then Bellers. Then fuckin’ Baller. Nervous Ball, Tiny Ball.”

“You give good nicknames,” I commented. “I have none for you, though.”

“I have enough for the both of us.” He took my phone and read, “Strengths and weaknesses.”

This was definitely going somewhere else. I should mention that Helena picked out the questions for us. She obviously had specific things she wanted us to bring up.

“Bella Santiago. Strength: sharp eyeliner. Weakness: people,” Jack announced, still joking around.

“Well you’re not wrong,” I said. “Let’s see, for you… I think your strength is… remaining humble. Like, you’ve made it so far, you’ve accomplished so much, and none of it has gone to your head.”

“Aw… can I change my answer?”

“And a weakness…” I paused, actually stumped for once. “Hmm…”

“Confrontation,” he admitted. “That’s a tough one.”

Helena was going to have a grand ol’ session with us, that’s all I knew.

“Last question,” Jack went on as he took my phone, “what do you admire most about each other? Oh, that’s easy. Well, you talked about it on your channel, but uh… you were in a very bad situation when you were, what? Eighteen? And you took the initiative to pack everything up and start a new life. You found a way out, even when you thought you couldn’t. And that’s very admirable.”

I let out a strangled, whiney noise. I wanted to cry at his words. Not knowing what else to do, I hugged Jack from the side in a somewhat silly way. “I love yooouuu!”

When I let him go, I took things seriously again. This was proving to be therapeutic.

“The amount of empathy you have for other people is something else,” I told him. “Like… you really can put yourself in other people’s shoes and you can feel what their feeling. I’ve told you some shit about me and we both ended up crying.”

“Your pain is my pain,” he said. “But I think that’s because we’re friends and we’ve also been in the same situation, with the breakups and all.”

“That’s true. But still. Even in your ‘Try Not to Cringe’ videos, you’re still feeling what the other person is feeling, and you’re trying to understand the situation.”

“I’m just being a decent person!”

“But you do it so well! I don’t know, you’re a good role model.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

I looked at him, then at the camera. “What’s one thing you hate about your best friend? He can’t take a fucking compliment!”

Jack laughed. “Well, neither can you!”

“I know…”

~

That video went up before our next therapy session. Our followers went absolutely wild over it. It was sweet. Made me smile for a little bit.

I did cut out certain parts, though, like my last name reveal. Thankfully, instead of people speculating over it, they made it into a meme instead. Not only that, everyone seemed to like us solely as friends, so I was glad I didn’t have to stress about that anymore. I could see the internet as a safe place again.

Another thing I noticed was my subscriber count. I was dangerously close to one million, and it scared me. It was such a big number. It was intimidating, overwhelming.

I took a screenshot of my live subscriber count and tweeted it out with the caption “lmao.” My heart began to race as my mentions filled with responses. Then one particular notification made my head spin.

CrankGameplays quoted your tweet: “Go subscribe!!”

I wanted to reply in all caps, but I was even more nervous about the backlash. I mean, he brought to attention the fact that we knew each other. That, and he told his followers to subscribe to my channel. Strange, a gamer promoting a beauty guru. Not the first time it’s happened, but it was still bizarre.

“Ahh!!” I yelled out when the number on my screen rose dramatically.

Jack was currently in the shower, so he wasn’t here to talk me down from my oncoming anxiety attack. He did scream back in response, though. It was starting to become a regular occurrence within the apartment.

999,028. I wanted to shit my pants, and I tweeted about it. 999,057. I wanted to throw up. 999,102. Jack finally joined the show.

“Did I miss it?” he asked excitedly as he barged into my room. “Did you hit it yet? Man, I should have brought party poppers or something!”

“Almost there!” I told him, anxiously picking at my nails.

Jack came over and sat next to me on the bed. He pulled out his phone and opened up Twitter. Not long after that, I had another notification of another quoted tweet. The live count rose rapidly right then, and I began flailing my hands around hysterically.

“Ahh, what the fuck?” I exclaimed.

999,921. I opened up Snapchat. I recorded the screen and let out a stressful noise. Jack screamed along with me as the number got higher.

I nearly burst into tears when it got to one million. Jack jumped onto the bed and cheered. I quickly tweeted out a thank you in caps lock, my hands shaking from all the excitement.

“WTF THE FCUK IM NT CRYIGNG YOU AR E TE AMO ❤💓💖💗💘💙💚💛💜💝🖤💕💞”

Suddenly, Jack tackled me in a side hug, nearly knocking me off the bed. “I’m so proud of you, Bellers.”

I couldn’t help but think that I literally could have been dead in this moment. I could have been dead for almost six months, and I wouldn’t have been here to see this. Life is wild.

~

Later that night, I was able to see Ethan. I did have to pick him up at the office, though… and I had to park somewhere down the road. I felt like a stalker fangirl, waiting for my YouTube crush to come out of the building so I could kidnap him.

Ugh, crush. I felt like I was sixteen, stricken with lovesick emotions. My chest was constantly warm, and my stomach was always full of butterflies. I had Cupid’s arrow in my ass, and now I couldn’t see anything except the hearts circling my head, and the guy who gave me all these gross, mushy feelings.

Those feelings intensified when I spotted him leaving the building. Just seeing Ethan a distance away made me grin like an idiot. He spotted my car and walked over, holding a balloon in his hand. When he got closer to the car, I looked towards the building, just to make sure that none of his friends/coworkers had followed him. It was short, but I didn’t see anything. I turned my attention back to Ethan when he got in the car.

“Hey,” he greeted, “I got you this.”

He struggled slightly to pull in the single purple balloon. It only made my heart sing more.

“What for?” I asked.

“‘Cause you hit a milestone today,” he told me.

I blushed. Thank god he couldn’t see me in the dark. “That’s sweet.”

Ethan pushed the thing into the backseat before I drove off. Today, we decided to go up to Hollywood Hills. It was better for us to go at night because there were far less people, and neither of us were busy at this hour. I had to have him navigate though, because neither of us had been up there before. Thankfully, we got there without any extra difficulty, aside from the usual traffic.

It was quite a walk up to where we wanted to go. There was a specific view we wanted to find, and honestly, I was not a hiker. But this was mainly Ethan’s idea, and I was willing to do whatever he wanted, despite the underlying bout of nerves.

“Is this high enough?” he asked when we reached a certain landing.

I looked out at the view. It was all black with many dots of light. I wasn’t one for heights, but since the elevation was blocked out by the darkness, it wasn’t as scary. The stars in the sky were covered by the busy, neverending lights of the city. My legs were sore, and I was out of breath, so I nodded in response and went to sit on a nearby rock.

“How long have you lived out here?” he asked me as he walked around the cliff.

Uh oh. Interrogation time.

“Two, almost three years,” I replied.

“Oh, you’ve probably seen a lot of the city, haven’t you?” he guessed.

I chuckled, and rubbed my hands together nervously. “If you count my skill of handling traffic from driving so much, then yes.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, I don’t really get out much.” I could tell this was going to bring on an awkward pause, so I quickly added, “but what about you? Are you liking it here so far?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he said. “I, uh, I miss my family a lot, though. It still feels weird being so far away.”

“Aw, I know,” I said, even though I really didn’t. “You get used to it. At least you really get to value the time you do spend with them.” Again, I didn’t know the feeling, I just heard that from other people.

“Oh yeah, I loved this last Christmas,” Ethan said, pacing around some more. “Did you get to see your family over the holidays?”

Oh god, why did he ask that? I couldn’t stop the awkward tension from arising.

“No.”

Before I could explain further, Ethan stopped in his tracks and interjected, “Oh! You mentioned at homecoming… uh, I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about that.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured. Although, I did cringe at the mention of homecoming. I had to give him the gist of my family thing. He had to get an idea of all the emotional baggage I carried. “I have been living on my own for…” I counted on my fingers. “Six or seven years. My parents didn’t exactly like the idea of their daughter being bi, so as as soon as I turned eighteen, I left and started fresh.”

Ethan took a minute to process all of that. I could tell I made things awkward with that bit of information. There go my chances.

“Oh, I didn’t know that was the case,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

I waved it off, as always. “It was years ago, it’s no big deal.”

He nodded and continued pacing. “Were you scared when you first moved?”

I was grateful for the subject change. “Absolutely. I cried a lot when I moved out of my parents’ house, and I cried more when I moved here.” I paused. “Are you… how have you been since you moved?”

Ethan hesitated. “I don’t know how to put it. I miss my family, but I’ve also been so busy that I don’t really feel it all the time. And I miss my friends too… But YouTube is all I’ve wanted to do, and everything is taking off, so I shouldn’t be sad, right?”

“You can be sad,” I reassured. “Like, you’re far from your hometown and all your friends, it only makes sense. And chasing your dreams comes with a lot of sacrifices.”

“Yeah…” he hummed.

I was eighty percent sure I said it to him at homecoming, but I was thinking about it again: how lucky was he to have a family so good to him that he’s genuinely upset to be far away from them. I didn’t really envy him for it, though. I could see why he was feeling like this.

“D-Do you need a hug… or something?” I mumbled, but he caught it anyway.

A little smile began to etch on his face. I half meant it as a joke, but as soon as it was in the air, that was all I wanted to do. The look on Ethan’s face said the same thing, and he opened his arms.

It should have been a quick, jokey-joke hug. But as soon as I was wrapped up in his arms, I didn’t want to let go. I was supposed to be comforting him, but I felt so light and warm. His hand went down to my lower back, which sent intense feelings of heat and electricity throughout my body. I felt weirdly comfortable, and that was so rare.

Then, a bright, blinding light shone on us.

_______

next chapter

[readfelice-blog]

moominland chronicles fünfzehn: felice vs the german health care system

Hello you, 

It’s 4am on Friday morning, I’m lying in bed with one of my 3 flowered ikea lamps burning away, holding my cuddly pig tight to my chest whilst I tap out this blog on my iphone, balanced on a pillow.

I cant sleep.

I’m going to get a taxi to hospital in 5 hours.

Before we start all that please administer any of the below music to yourself as an accompaniment, I’ve been dipping my toes into the clear water of pop shoals this week, I might be the last person to have listened to blond (an article in vice insisted upon me lining it up on my google play - still no cd player, I know):

Frank ocean

Nikes (song, always a fan of a big opener on an album)

https://vimeo.com/179791907?ref=em-share

Blond (album, yes you've probably heard it already)

https://www.discogs.com/Frank-Ocean-Blond/master/1046042

I'm also late on the train for Mitski I’m sure, but the words, restrain in her voice and divergent harmonies (discordant, is that better?) are searing through me, might listen again in the hospital tomorrow.

Though perhaps as she grows older she wont long for that kiss quite as much as she does now, because prince charming will never save her really (though she does acknowledge that from time to time on this album)

Mitski

A horse named cold air (song)

https://youtu.be/ce3m-o1pZqY

Be the cowboy (Album)

https://mitski.bandcamp.com/album/be-the-cowboy

And just this one song, which kind of speaks frankly from my heart a little, or at least I sympathise with, though in a fuller sense my situation is very different and it’s only my little brain that identifies with the lyrics.

SZA: the weekend

https://youtu.be/PALMMqZLAQk

So then.. youre suited and booted musically, lets press on shall we? After all I mentioned hospital, it would be cruel just to taper off now.

Heres my small brain again:

Fuck the fucking german health system, fuck all those uptight bigoted cunts that put the phone down on me this week, fuck my insurance for charging me since july and slyly adding it to my bill, fuck the man at the tk queue yesterday who aggressively shouted at me for talking on the phone with my sister, about my illness, at the first opportunity that day after a very strange experience with the gynaecologist.

Ok, 

I’m breathing, my small brain is retracting, lets continue a bit less aggressively now.

Health health health, we’re jumping back on the theme from last week, because sometimes illness doesn't go away, and as this blog is my warts and all document of the weird happenings of my life, I am going to be very very open about whats happening to me this week.

So I’m bleeding, like all pre menopausal women do who dont take contraception that inhibits it, thats what was happening in Paris, thats what has been happening for 3 weeks.

I’ve been bleeding for 3 weeks, yes.

I had really bad period pains last time round, which is unusual for me these days, I took buscopan plus, i soldiered on, then it stopped for a week, then it returned, light some days, heavier seemingly at the weekends. I pigheadedly pushed through physically exhausting weeks of cleaning, travelling, working, I’m a freelance cleaner, I don't get sick pay or holiday pay, I have to work or I can't pay rent.

I wrote a blog about it last weekend. But that was just before the blood clots starting coming, when the first one fell out it plopped in the toilet, I was so shocked I fished it out and curiously studied it (warts and all, I’m sick of skirting the weirdness in my life: its there: get used to it). I thought it was a dead baby, it was monstrous and displayed a horrid kind of plasticity as it eerily shifted round the jar in my hand I was gently coercing. It was an alien, more like rosemary's baby than my cherub cheeked nephew.

That was MONDAY.

I thought, ok the babies fallen out, now it’ll surely stop.

On sunday the bear got in touch, he'd been trying to phone, he was annoyed he couldn't get in contact, he was horny. I told him I was still bleeding, he insisted I go to the doctors, in his very forthright way, he sent me money to go even: because i was clueless about my insurance at that point. I knew i’d been getting letters I couldn't read from tk (die teckniker, german health insurance provider)  for months, since I stopped working at the hostel, but I’d just carefully ignored them.

I didn't have the money to pay for health insurance.

I botched my first attempt to see a gynaecologist, I made an appointment online but the transfer the bear made was not in my bank so he asked me to phone them and check payment methods. When I did the receptionist point blank refused to speak English to me, my quandary was simply, “Do I need cash today?” But she was haughty and unsympathetic, another colleague took the phone, who even through garbled understanding felt kinder but it soon transpired that my appointment was for November 1st not October 1st.

“Im very ill i dont think I can wait that long.”

I phoned Meoclinic to be told by a woman with razors in her voice who suddenly became sickeningly sweet after she’d told me it was €400 just to see someone. I felt like the pleasure she was deriving from me tripping over my words and despairingly saying that was to much money for me, was enough for her to take home and masturbate over later, in her silky agent provocateur corset, on silk sheets, with a flute of champagne on the bedside table.

I gave up for the day and decided that tomorrow I’d go to the doctors I went to for my sti test a few months ago, they were very nice. They spoke english, they had open appointments the next day at 18h.

TUESDAY

More clots started coming, big, gloopy, just pouring out of me, they were announced by a tirade of blood, I was soaking through organic pads at an alarming rate.

So that wasn't the baby on Monday then.

I went to clean first, I cant afford to not clean for reasons stated above, at an office where the woman who employs me talks to me through gritted teeth as if our every interaction is painful to her.

Lowly pauper girl, know your place.

Anyway due to logistical issues she had probably not envisaged, I didn't do the whole job and left early. I walked out on to the money lined streets of Uhlandstrasse, Cara Delevine’s svelte androgynous eyes staring out at me from various glass paned monoliths, and sat on a moth eaten bench, very upset from the shift, feeling utterly worthless, responsible and at fault, bleeding.

Then I had a cigarette, collected myself and went to tk: Round 1.

I waited, gushing out blood, in line for 25 minutes to see the receptionist, then a further 10/15 to see the sales girl. I dont have to pay them straight away but when november comes I will have to pay them 720+€ , plus from then on 180€ a month, from an average wage of 800€.

In retrospect I was probably fully within my right to protest starting the contract from July 1st, but I was so grateful for someone health related to be talking to me in English and perhaps it will stand in my favour now the hospital bills will be tallying up.

I left with no card or proof of insurance.

I went home, lay down, then showered, laced my trainers and went back into the world depleted, to Mehringdam to see the emergency doctors, it was raining heavily outside.

They were different this time, I had no proof of insurance but I had the bears money so I was paying cash, I waited dutifully and wrote in my diary.

It was a different female doctor, a more boxy and less vital woman than the previous medic I’d met at the same clinic. About halfway into my bloody tale of woe she stopped me panic stricken.

“You know this is a doctors surgery, you have to go to a gynaecologist.”

“Ok, so you cant help me.” - i start putting my coat back on.

A pause.

“Can you at least refer me to one? I’ve had a hard time trying to find a gynaecologist, I can't really speak German, people have been very rude to me so far, I came back here because I remember people were kind and tried to help me, even though I wasn't sure it was the right place.”

We go out to reception where I stand in front of 2 receptionists who speak in German and totally ignore me, the doctor hands me some measly bits of paper with contact details printed on them and hurries away. Shaken from my bloody tale of woe I imagine she just sits in her office for 10 minutes alone obsessively sterilising her hands and shuddering.

I continue to look at the 2 women in front of me who carry on as if I am invisible for a further 5 minutes, I tell them I’m going to the toilet and then coming back, they brush me off. More blood pours out of me. I return and finally they allow me to pay them, I plod back out into the rain and miserably wait for a bus, head home via the shops and climb back into bed.

WEDNESDAY

Is a national holiday, so I can't sort anything, my client offers me the day off, I take it. I make 9 drawings for my project, bounce the rough edit of the album I’m working on, pull myself to the dance studio I’ve started to rent to practise my live show. Have a long overdue singsong, though I can't really dance i can still sing.

Sunday edit: I’ve since missed 2 bookings at the studio because of this infernal bleeding, hope I can go back soon, it was utterly riveting to finally find a place I could sing as loudly as I wanted.

It's a glorious day even though blood still rains, I’m not cleaning, I’m doing what i really want to do.

THURSDAY

I need to be at my clients early, but I go via the apotheke on the way, there a pharmacist advises me on the best way to take iron and vitamin supplements, sells me ibuprofen and alerts me to the gynaecologist upstairs, but she’s only open till 13h, my job is supposed to finish at that time.

I hum and haa as I hobble to my clients and when I get there decide to finish the job early and see if I can get an appointment.

On the way into the building there's a system of doors, I enter alongside an elderly gentleman with a walking stick and we have quite the time not understanding each other, me holding doors for him, him very jovially propping them open with his stick. I have no idea what’s being said but something tender and wonderful is occurring between us that puts a lightness back in my step.

This reception is slick and clean, the receptionist is neat and elegant. But the doctor isn’t there. They wouldn’t accept my tk insurance anyway, they’re going on holiday till November.

Ok,

I leave and just flop down on the street outside, I’m supposed to be doing a double clean today but I have a 2 hour window before my next job, which is only a 15 minute walk away. I’m getting closer to seeing someone. Still crouched down on the street, still bleeding, I dig out the contacts handed to me, one is for a doctors I’ve called before. I call 2 numbers from the 4 sheets I have, both go through to hard voiced women who utterly refuse to attempt to speak English to me and relish the goodbyes they bestow before they coldly put the phone down. To the second one I say in English:

“I’m really sick, but if I don’t speak German I am just going to continue to be sick, is that what you’re telling me?”

I found a list on google, theres a male gynaecologist just up the road, a man rummaging in my lady bits is a bit disconcerting but truly I’m beyond pride now.

This reception is more modest, I place my cleaning bucket on the floor and then just start with

“I’m losing a lot of blood, can you please help me.”

He’s in.

These receptionists are gorgeous humans, they speak to me in broken English, they’re shocked I’ve been bleeding for 3 weeks, yes he will see me, please take a seat.

He’s a big warm man with no sexual energy, I tell him everything, I feel so grateful just to be able to see him that I’m bowing as I say thank you. I get sent to a little room, remove my trousers and knickers, get let into another room, climb on the chair, he inserts the spy camera dildo (ultrasound) device inside me, then on the screen we look at a ball like thing inside my womb.

Hes glowing when he tells me its probably a very early pregnancy, he’s so excited, though it’ll most likely be a miscarriage, but he paints a future where my little fetus determinedly survives the bloodletting and in 9 months time arrives in my life.

I cover everything in blood, which freaks him out.  

“You’re really bleeding a lot.”

He gives me the ultrasound photo, then after some confusion I go to the nurses and deposit a urine sample on the counter of another room.

“Thank you so much for seeing me.”

“Of course: you have been bleeding for 3 weeks.”

As I wait in the reception for the test results a new future, inconceivable before this point, rolls out before me, where I have the baby and take the government stipend to look after it as a single mother, I thought I didn’t want kids but something seems so precious about this vision. It’ll just be me and my little ball of love, together in some warm cosy flat in Prenzlauer Berg, surrounded by all the other Berlin mothers.

The test is negative, a jolt of dismay passes through me, the vision is shattered, I have to go to the hospital he says. They give me the bill, without proof of insurance I pay in cash, thanking the bear silently. He also tells me to go to my insurance and get a letter, because the hospital will really cost a lot.

So I go home, breathe and collect myself, go back out. Spend over an hour wandering around looking for a photo kiosk for my insurance card (not blind> I’m using google maps to try locate one), finally I find it nestled into a dark part of the s bahn station, it costs double what the machine costs but I just eat the charge, earlier I’d spend 30 minutes wandering around the crossroads outside Leopaldplatz: the fotofix on the map was apparently invisible, I need a picture. I then wait for another 30 minutes to have my photo taken.

When I get to the u bahn where tk is there is a fotofix booth right there, to my left as I walk out of the station, I really hold myself back from screaming and kicking over all the chairs arranged outside the cafe before me. I finally manage to call my sister and it's a glorious funny loving chat, cut short by the aforementioned man in the tk queue.

I tell him in english which he insists he doesn't understand, that I am having the day from hell and that was the first time I’ve managed to speak to that person, he abuses me again in German but then stands very far away from me, the shame weaving around him, I curse him, but its a little thing, just that I hope he gets eaten by spider babies.

Don’t take yourself too seriously.

I retrieve my letter from the receptionist, the same sales woman I spoke to on Tuesday who doesn’t recognise me at all.

It’s getting late in the day, I call back my sister and head to Charite Campus Mitte, as I get there it dawns on me this is where I was an extra on an art video shoot around 3 weeks ago.

There is no discernable entrance, it seems mostly deserted. I travel up in a lift towards the gynakolgie department, but when I exit the skybent box that is my vehicle there is no clear signage towards it, just a door to an emergency exit staircase, wind billowing behind it, with a note in fluoro yellow fixed on its metallic facade and a bridge / corridor leading to empty waiting rooms.

I give up, decide I’ll go to the address given to me by the doctors tomorrow. I’ll go home and sleep now.

Home, I eat then I crash, I get into bed at 19h, I’m still here its now 6am and I’ll try sleep a bit more before I get a taxi at 9am.

I’m scared

It’s like some sick version of the night before christmas, black humour and absurdity have been welcome companions but armour fades in bed, so writing this in the knowledge I will share it with the online community has been the only thing I can do to douse the fear.

I’ll probably have to beg receptionists later but I just hope I get to someone who can start to mend me, because the blood is still coming, for the first time since it started it stained my sheets last night but I’ve wiped them down a little.

Sunday edit: the sheets are now in the wash.

Saturday edit: they did see me, I’m having an operation on monday at 9:30, the saga continues because I have to rush back to the gynaecologists first on monday to get a note so I can be operated on : as by the time I got out of hospital on friday the gynaecologists surgery was closed and nothing is open on the weekends.

And on the anaesthetists form where it asked me who would be collecting me or looking after me for 24 hours after the procedure I stubbornly wrote noone. Though my mentor will be around as I swallowed my pride and asked her.

And, of course, I just expect more bullshit: that was my dads very astute advice:

“Expect more bullshit Felice.”

So then, yes I should speak German, yes I should of sorted my insurance, yes I’ve been irresponsible.

Saturday edit: I’ve been utterly irresponsible and disrespectful to the country I live in, I MUST learn German and make more of an effort to learn their culture, right now I’m truly an idiot abroad.

I might cancel all my jobs next week as well if I’m really sick, I might not be able to go to Krakow and watch Eartheater,

Saturday edit: All my jobs are cancelled, one of the days next week is my birthday, which I’d scheduled a double clean on so perhaps it’s not all bad.

But I’m not going to see Eartheater, if you’ve heard irisiri though ( LISTEN TO IT, I IMPLORE YOU, MORE THAN ONCE, on the first listen it’s quite harsh: https://alexdrewchin.bandcamp.com/releases) then you’ll immediately understand that not going to her show because I’m having my uterus forcibly wedged open and something cut out of it, is utterly appropriate, it’s like missing formula one because you got hit by a ferrari.

I hope I’ll be better by turin.

Saturday edit: very much.

I will still finish this project whatever happens.

Saturday edit: Now I have a week off it should help.

But I’m not 100% sure how I will make ends meet this month.

Saturday edit: Perhaps the polyp they cut out of me on monday is really an alien and I get paid hush money not to leak the story to the press.

I really miss the nhs, its a big soft Pugsy bear I just want to hug and hold and thank for everything it’s done for me over the years.

The german health system is an amalgamation of all these callous female receptionists, ignoring you and filing their niles whilst you just bleed out in front of them.

But still, I’m stubborn, its a test and i will overcome it whatever it is. I am not leaving berlin, I am standing taller, stronger and more powerful than before. I’ve experienced completely new angles and feelings this week, it’s been abhorrent but kind of sickly enjoyable as well. Life is always entertaining as it energetically throws its bounty of strangeness, cruelty and beauty (etc) at you.

It’s all good fun, even the dark days.

I’m going to try get a bit of shut eye now, might move my alarm back a little see if I can get 2 hours before i wake up to get a taxi.

Take care everyone, if you made it to the end then I guess thank you for reading as well, it’s a long fraught one this week eh?