#inaccurate clothing but he's allowed to be a little extra

[kyuhu]

not jealous at all

[couldawouldashoulda50]

Previous Chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two

A/N - To start, I truly appreciate the likes, comments, asks, and reblogs of this story and to anyone who just drops by to have a look. This chapter, which I have aptly named The Filler Chapter, is just that. I hope it helps tie certain parts of the story together. When I started writing this out, I didn't plan out chapters - it was just a long document that I ended up splitting into sections. I tried combining it with the following chapter but the next one is already quite long, as things start to get a little steamier between Loren and William.

No warnings that I can think of - maybe some profanity

Word Count: 2.6k

The next morning, Loren's alarm clock blared the repetitive, high-decibel beeping sound at 6:30. She slapped the snooze button, cursing at herself for not adjusting the alarm to later in the morning. Loren was facing a double shift at the group home on this particular Saturday, and she grumbled at the thought that she could have gotten, (and could have used) a few additional hours of sleep.

As Loren lay in bed, falling back to sleep proved futile due to the millions of things on her to-do list flashing through her head. As grumpy as she initially felt waking up early, the extra time allowed for a little more self-care, helping her ease into her workday.

Loren gradually rose and stretched as she walked into the bathroom. She went about her standard routine, feeling more alive and alert by the minute. She glanced out the bathroom window and although the weather seemed dreary and overcast, it was perfect for a relaxed Saturday morning to do something or nothing at all.

It felt like a good day. Loren felt light, happy, and truly grateful for everything she had.

Putting on the same cozy clothing from the night before, her memory suddenly flashed back to the previous day’s events and last evening's exchange with William.

Standing in the middle of her bedroom, Loren half groaned and half giggled recalling the conversation. She covered her face with her hands when she remembered certain parts of the conversation where she may have sounded more flirtatious than innocent. Between the wine, her tiredness, the adrenaline and giddiness while talking with William, Loren worried if her loose tongue and unfiltered words gave William an inaccurate perception of her.

Loren shook her head to release those thoughts from her mind. Regardless of whether she made a good impression or not - even how enjoyable the conversation was - William was extraordinarily popular throughout all of Leafs Nation, and likely had no time for the likes of her.

Once she finished making her bed, Loren grabbed her phone from her bedside table and made her way down the staircase towards her kitchen. Swiping the lock screen, she opened her text notifications and her heart nearly stopped when she saw William’s name.

Loren re-read both of William’s messages he sent the night before over and over again. Her mind was completely clouded in disbelief that he had actually reached out to her, asking when she might be free to get together.

She took a deep breath and looked at her shift calendar for the next two weeks, and much to her surprise, she had two days off in a row the following week.

Loren could hear the drum of her pulse in her ears as she typed in her text response to William, tapping send before she could talk herself out of replying. She tucked her phone out of sight inside a drawer in an attempt to avoid fixating on it.

She made herself a coffee and escaped into the larger TV room next to the kitchen. Loren figured if she wasn’t in close proximity of her phone, the distance would make her forget about the torture of waiting for a response. She mentally planned out the next few hours in her mind and then pressed ‘resume’ on the golf documentary that her dad suggested she watch.

Loren began to relax as she immersed herself into the Netflix program, but every so often, her mind would flash an image of William. She felt ridiculous as her stomach flipped at the thought of him. It had been such a long time since Loren had even thought about dating, and she felt completely out of practice. She tried to stay calm but as the day went on without hearing from him, she reminded herself to stay cool and detached, even though it was difficult not to allow her mind to wander back to him.

Later that day well into her first shift, Loren had all but forgotten about William or text messages or anything else to do with the world outside of the group home. As she set up the checkerboard for a few rounds with Gary, her phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. She rounded the table and told Gary she would make him tea as she entered the kitchen and grabbed her phone.

She couldn’t help but to smile widely at the text response from William. She could feel her body react to seeing his name on the screen; her cheeks felt white-hot as jolts of adrenaline travelled through her.

ok - perfect. let's say Thursday at 2 near my place. i'll send you the address

Loren held her breath and hoped her cheerful text message hid how excited (and confused) she really felt. After another quick exchange, William said he needed to get ready to leave, and asked if Loren would be catching the annual St. Pats game that night against Carolina.

She smiled and let out a tiny giggle, responding that she and Gary would be watching, and they would cheer as loud as anyone at ScotiaBank Arena. After Loren wished him a good game, she let out a long exhale and placed her phone down so she could wave some air towards her burning face.

Gary called out from the other side of the wall and grumbled that she was taking too long and he would die of old age before she got him his tea. Loren stepped up her pace and within seconds slid Gary's favourite mug in front of him. Loren grinned as she sat down beside him.

“Thank you, Loren” Loren chimed with sarcasm toward Gary’s unimpressed expression.

“Whaddy'a want, a medal? And stop being so chipper. It's annoying me,” Gary replied, making fun of Loren and her happy mood.

“OK you, let's just play checkers…prepare for an ass-whoopin’,” Loren said, feeling a bit smarmy.

Gary won every single game and he wasted no time in roasting Loren for playing so poorly. As the afternoon turned into evening, Loren positioned Gary in front of the TV for the Leafs game as she did every Saturday throughout the season. Gary was particularly excited watching the team come onto the ice for warm-ups since Loren had told him how popular he was with the players.

The Leafs began a scoring barrage in the second period, with one being a breakaway goal by William. Unfortunately, the Hurricanes pushed the game into overtime, and the Leafs succumbed to Carolina in a shoot-out.

With all the residents in bed and the initial overnight checklist completed, Loren stretched out on her makeshift bed for the sleep portion of the shift. She pulled up the post game media scrum on her phone and when William appeared bare chested and sweaty in the green ‘TORONTO’ cap, Loren let out a low and audible “holy fuck” as she watched William interact with the media.

After watching the presser, Loren continued to replay William’s interview several more times. She just couldn’t help looking at his face - his body…. and his chest hair.

As she turned her phone over and closed her eyes, the sting of negative thoughts bounced around in her head.

Get a grip Loren. That’s William fucking Nylander…a lot can happen before meeting him next week. He may just forget about you altogether….you cannot think you’re the only girl he’s talking to.

Instead of listening to the noise inside her head, she sent William a short text applauding his impressive goal, and even jokingly calling him out on his shirtless appearances, and that he had to know what a frenzy that puts his fans in.

Much to Loren’s surprise, William responded - he got the joke but teasingly responded that he has no idea what she’s talking about. The texting and banter ensued into the early morning hours, and reached into the days that followed. With a quick road trip to Philadelphia and Washington, Loren and William kept each other company from time to time during the odd hours that they found each other to be awake. As time went on, their quick chats often turned into long conversations, causing William to arrive late to the bus just minutes before it left without him.

In the days leading up to Loren’s get together with William, Kathy, her long-time coworker turned friend, noticed a marked change in Loren’s mood. Kathy remained silent as she watched Loren seemingly float and glide around the house as she completed all the daily tasks assigned to her.

Loren had always been pleasant, friendly, and easy to be around. However, Kathy always noticed, since their first shift together years ago, Loren’s shoulders were tense and weighted down, burdened with mistakes from her past.

Kathy could see something was definitely different with Loren.

As such, on their first shift together since the skate event, Kathy waited for the opportune moment to pry more information out of Loren. For their break, the women stepped outside into the damp and cold March morning with their hot coffees in hand. Kathy pulled out a cigarette and flicked her zippo in a quick motion, lit her smoke and took a long draw from the white filter. Both women shuddered from the frigid breeze and Loren wondered to herself why she continued the habit of accompanying Kathy outside for her smoke break, especially in the freezing temperatures.

“So….haven’t seen or talked to you in a few days. How is everything?” Kathy asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Shit - her radar’s up Loren thought to herself.

Loren shrugged her shoulders. “Everything’s pretty good…and you?” Loren replied, trying her best to redirect the Q&A back to Kathy.

Kathy rocked back and forth on her heels, exhaling a massive plume of smoke into the air.

“Nothing new with me - I’m good, hubby’s still alive…same old story,” Kathy said with a slight smirk, not allowing her gaze to stray away from Loren’s face.

Loren looked back at Kathy as silence hung in the air.

Kathy ran her tongue along her teeth, trying not to smile. Loren turned her head as she tried to stifle the smile that threatened to form.

“Look, you might as well just tell me what’s going on…I can see it. Even Gary can see it…”, Kathy replied with an air of confidence.

“See what?” Loren said, with a hint of defensiveness. She had not breathed a word to anyone about interacting with William. She felt she needed to covet that information, otherwise she was sure the whole meeting up thing with William would either blow up in her face or not happen at all.

“You just seem lighter - happier even. You’re a doll and I love you, but I’ve only ever seen you in whatever it’s called…self-preservation mode. Like you’re always got a distance about you…like there’s always a layer of sadness hovering over you,” Kathy said affectionately.

If Loren knew anything, she knew Kathy could draw water from a stone if she put her mind to it. She finally relented and explained that she and William had been talking since they first met, and she was heading into the city on her day off to spend some time together.

Kathy’s expression was a mix between mild excitement and a faint “I told you so”, when she reminded Loren that she had called it last week about her finding a hot-hockey husband.

“Whatever - Jesus, Kathy…,” Loren chuckled as tried to shake off the nerves that had settled into her stomach once again. “That’s never going to happen.”

◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈

Wednesday was the last day of the Leafs road trip ending in Washington. Although the conversations had been sporadic, William made sure he reconfirmed that Loren was still able to get together the following day.

Leading up to that same day, Loren had worked extra hours covering more shifts than originally scheduled due to a co-worker’s illness.  After a long and grueling week, Loren arrived home, flopped onto her mattress and with her clothes still on, she fell into a deep sleep on Wednesday evening.

Thursday morning, she awoke feeling rested and energized.  However, the nerves about Loren's upcoming afternoon with the Swedish hockey player had settled in, making her stomach feel upside down.  She went about her morning routine, but with her stomach in knots, she had completely lost her appetite.  She settled on a piece of dry rye toast and ginger tea to try and calm her insides.

She clasped onto the warm mug of tea with both hands, and paced around the silent rooms in her abode, thinking how time seemed to be ticking by torturously slow.

Annoyed with herself, Loren decided she had enough of the nerves and the twisted feeling in her abdomen.  She bounded upstairs to her bedroom, quickly changed into her warmest attire, grabbed her phone and her earbuds and left the house.  Once outside, it was sheer adrenaline that propelled her fast pace as she walked through her neighbourhood.

Walking along the streets lined with trees still barren from winter, Loren reflected on her journey to her current place in life, as she often did while exercising.

Loren’s pace matched the brisk, increasing wind speed of that spring morning. Winter had crept back into the southern part of the province overnight, and the morning wind chill hovered around minus seventeen degrees Celsius. Knowing she was meeting William outdoors for a walk with the dogs, she mentally selected each layer of clothing that she would wear to avoid freezing in such cold temperatures.

For all she knew, things might not go well. It might just be a quick walk with the dogs and then she heads home. Maybe the connection she and William had felt was fleeting and would evaporate once they met in person again.

When Loren had returned home from her walk, she decided she would simply get herself ready and begin the trek midtown to William’s affluent neighbourhood of Yorkville.  Loren had never been to the trendy area before and only had online searches for parking lots and directions to guide her. She didn't mind arriving long before William, calculating that she would get to their meeting spot at least an hour early, depending on traffic. Loren thought to herself that could use the extra time to calm her nerves. But then again, she knew the moment she spots William, her insides will crumble.

She pinned the sides of her long, layered hair up which showcased the warm caramel and blonde highlights against her rich brunette hair colour.  She rummaged through her seasonal drawer for an extra thick pair of mittens and a secondary pair of gloves, a thick knit scarf and matching toque, given to her as another Christmas gift.

She smiled at her reflection, Loren began to feel a little more confident. She no longer felt the same nerves that had been plaguing her earlier that morning.  Loren reminded herself she was not trying to impress or convince William that she's worthy of his company.  She just hoped they'll have fun and spend an enjoyable afternoon together.

After all, with everything she survived in previous years, meeting a player from the Maple Leafs should be a breeze. Loren managed her little world just fine (despite the low points where tears and exhaustion prevailed).  She found a world full of many women that work tirelessly at multiple jobs to make ends meet, rising above adversity everyday .  Loren learned from this collective of women and was grateful that had begun to rebuild herself into a solidly, independent person.

Loren pulled out of her driveway and ventured south on the busy Toronto-bound highway.  Win, lose or draw, it was bound to be an afternoon Loren would not soon forget.

[watatsumiis]

neuvillette with patches of scales. discuss.

HELLO YES. YES. IM SORRY I LET THIS SIT FOR A WHILE IVE BEEN GATHERING MY THOUGHTS ON IT !!

heads up, i havent caught up with the 4.1 story quests or anything just yet, so apologies if anything is inaccurate/against canon <3

im a big advocate for "give more genshin characters blatantly inhuman features" honestly, and obviously neuvillette is no exception

i imagine that, like with the adepti and youkai (in my version of teyvat anyways), most creatures with the power to take on a human form have the ability to pick what physical attributes will be masked and what will be visible/tangible, however the drawback is that the more 'human' they look, the more 'human' they will be (something about divine powers being stored in that which is divine/inhuman, idk)

Neuvillette likes to appear at least human-passing on a surface level, so he keeps his 'inhuman' features to a minimum. His antennae/horns/handles/what-have-you allow him to pick up insanely subtle vibrations in the air that give him a bit of a better insight into how those around him are feeling. It gives him an empath sort of vibe, though he doesn't always know exactly what to do with the information he's given.

I feel like he definitely does have scaly patches, though they're much more prominent underneath his clothing. They tend to cluster around his soft, vulnerable parts as an extra layer of defense just in case something bad were to happen to him (he's aware that his place as the Iudex and his loyalty to the letter of the law causes a lot of people to hate him).

The ones on his back are a deep blue, almost black if it's dark enough, and his front ones are a very very very light blue with an iridescent sheen (like how sharks have light patches on their bellies so they blend in to prey from above). his 'stomach' scales tend to be larger, softer and rounder than his back ones.

I think there's a smattering of scales on the front of his neck that you can just see above his high collar if he cranes his neck enough - there's also scales on his wrists, chest, lower stomach, armpits, inner elbows and knees.

in addition to this, i imagine him having big, platelike scales all down his spine that almost overlap each other. im thinking potentially a snake's vertebral scales, but im also rather fond of how crocodile scales look. Sometimes these can cause a bit of grief for him, as they're fairly tough, thick scales and if he has a long day of sitting up straight while appearing in court, the added pressure can cause his back to ache quite badly.

If he were to take on a more 'monsterlike' form (like if he were threatened and immediately needed more access to his powers without fully transforming), this patch would sort of expand out into a big line of spines and fins (a little like what is pictured below, but bluer and bigger)

Accompanying the scales in his humanoid form, i imagine he has some vitiligo-like patches of lighter skin that are almost imperceptible unless you're really close thanks to his pale complexion. They tend to group towards his shoulders, back, stomach and legs. HOWEVER he also has bunches of them that are so small theyre almost like inverted freckles! (these are on his cheeks, arms, hands, across his collarbone, etc)

some of them may light up (like his horn thingies do!) when he's having trouble managing his emotions (usually anger, but they may also glow when he's really really happy! i like to think that intelligent water-dwelling creatures such as him have nonverbal ways of communicating underwater). On top of that, they also glow under blacklights!

Anyways, this got a fair bit longer than intended and is a little all over the place - thank you to anybody who took the time to read this, and thanks Arden for sending in the ask, it was a delight to infodump about! :D

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or copy - pasted into bot or AI technology.

[rafesangelita]

₊˚⊹ᰔ 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

pairing: cowboy!rafe x farmer’s!daughter!reader

warnings: enemies to lovers (barely lol i’m just dramatic), implied age gap, flirty banter, sarcasm, angst, mentions of death, probably inaccurate descriptions of bad weather and tornadoes (i researched the best i could lol), forced proximity, sexual tension, smut, unprotected sex, hair pulling, creampie

summary: when an unexpected tornado makes landfall, you find yourself taking shelter with none other than rafe cameron himself. the problem? you two can’t leave until help arrives. with half of the town torn to shreds, and hundreds of people either missing, injured, or dead, who knows how long that can take?

word count: 2.8k

a/n: i watched the movie twister (1996) and instantly thought of this pairing.

“yeah.. well i better get going then since you so kindly asked rafe to head on over here.” you rolled your eyes, twirling the ends of your hair as you held the telephone between your cheek and your shoulder. “sweetheart, i just don’t want you to be by yourself when that ugly storm hits, that’s all.” you hummed. as if on cue, a flash of lightning lit up the sky in the distance.

“i have to go, love you. tell auntie i miss her and i hope to tag along with you to see her next time.” you chirped, hanging up once your dad said; “will do. love ‘ya.”

it was raining cats and dogs by the time rafe showed up, his white t-shirt soaked all the way through. “you didn’t have to come, you know.” rafe’s hair was dripping wet, the water droplets running down his skin as he leaned against the doorframe. “yeah, i did. your father trusts me for a reason.” your eyes trailed down the column of his neck, an amused smile playing on his lips when he caught you staring.

“i don’t need you to be here with me.” you crossed your arms, your voice barely above a whisper. “i know that, m’just doing what your old man asked me to do.” rafe noticed you always had to clarify you could do something on your own before letting someone else take over, so he made sure to always acknowledge the fact in order for you to never feel less than. slowly, you moved to the side, allowing rafe to come in.

“would you have sent me back home in the rain like that?” he laughed, locking the door behind him. “i was thinking about it.” you looked back, your skin flushing once you realized how close he was. “don’t you think you should change into a pair of jeans or something? you never know if we’ll have to run outside to the storm cellar.” you looked down at your nightdress, and then back up at rafe who looked like he was fighting off inappropriate thoughts in his head.

“no, i don’t think so. i’m quite comfortable if you couldn’t tell.” you winked at him, laughing to yourself when you heard him curse under his breath. “alright.. well, i guess we could get comfortable until we hear something on the radio.” you settled in your little corner by the window, watching rafe as he changed the radio to the news station. his clothes were still wet, his skin glistening with the moisture.

deciding it would be rude to leave him like that, you snuck upstairs to your father’s room for an old pair of jeans and a flannel. “here.” you held the clothes up to him, “you could dry off in the bathroom.” rafe hesitated for a moment, ultimately deciding to accept your kind gesture. “alright. call me if you hear anything.” his fingers skimmed your own as he took the articles of clothing from you.

“and don’t sit by that window, either!” he shouted down the hall. you waved him off, taking a seat at the kitchen table while you stared outside. the storms during the summertime were extra vicious, the thunder being loud enough to rattle the walls. surprisingly, there hadn’t been any tornadoes yet, but that was something one couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of— the tornado siren is so delayed, you know a twister has already made landfall once it blares.

“just coming in, folks! we’ve received some phone calls reporting hail and get this!— a funnel cloud! start herding your animals indoors if you haven’t already, and stay home, there may or may not be debris flying in your area.”

“rafe, we have a funnel cloud!” you jumped up, turning the volume up on the radio. rafe ran out of the bathroom, his jeans hanging low on his hips. oh. “are the horses in their stalls?” he was shirtless, chest rising and falling as you nodded dismissively. “cows in the barn?” you hummed, tearing your eyes away from his v-line. “go get in the cellar, do you or your father need anything important before a tornado sweeps through here?”

you nodded frantically, catching the keys he tossed your way. “we both have emergency bags in our closets.” you grabbed your throw blanket, wrapping it around yourself before rafe yelled at you to go. slipping on your boots by the back door, you wasted no time, running out to the middle of the field where the cellar was. with the rain coming down so hard, and hail pounding the ground around you, you whimpered when you looked down and saw at least twenty keys on rafe’s key ring.

“what the fuck!” you whispered to yourself, scrambling to find the key that fit. “come, on!” you cried, pulling on the metal handles as hard as you could. rafe came running full speed, a ‘why aren’t you in, yet?!’ falling from his lips. “you give me a shitload of different keys and expect me to try each one?!” you shoved him, moving out of the way so he could open the wooden doors.

you looked down at the bags rafe bought, your heart dropping when you saw the wrong one. “wait— rafe, that’s not the right bag.” you panicked, looking back at the house. “yeah? well you had like three in your closet so i assumed it was the biggest one.” you shook your head, booking it towards the back door as rafe shouted after you. “hey- y/n, get back over here!” he chased you down, grabbing your wrists as you thrashed against him.

“i need that bag, rafe! it has the only thing i have left of my mom.” you cried, still trying to get out of his hold. rafe met your eyes, a knowing look passing over his face. “okay, i’ll grab it but i need you to go back to the cellar and keep trying those keys.” without another word, you nodded, going back and doing as he said. thankfully, the doors opened on the first try. you laughed, your joy short lived when you realized it suddenly stopped raining.

it was no longer windy, the air eerily still before you heard the haunting sound of the tornado siren. “rafe!” you screamed, “it’s here!” you jumped into the cellar, motioning for him to run faster. “move over!” you yelped when he launched himself inside, falling to the cement flooring with a groan. you were quick to close the doors, locking it shut with a heavy duty lock before you rushed over to check on rafe.

“are you okay?” you helped him up, the flannel he once wore now long gone. “yeah, yeah.” he nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. rafe moved your hair out of your face before he checked you for any scrapes or bruises. “are you?” you muttered a ‘yes.’ as you backed away, your fingertips hot against his bare skin. “here. ‘didn’t know which one so i just grabbed all’em.” you sighed in relief, thanking him.

“it’s gonna be really bad, an EF-5.” a shiver went down your back at the revelation. the last EF-5 tornado that tore through your town was the same tornado that took your mother all those years ago. “oh, god..” you whispered to yourself, pacing back and forth as rafe dusted himself off. “don’t worry. we should be just fine in here.” he lit up a nearby lamp, the dim light flickering against the walls.

“are you cold?” he sat you down in the corner, wrapping his arms around you as he eyed the shelter doors. “you don’t have to do that..” you pulled away slightly, making rafe pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “would it really hurt you to accept some help, some comfort? we’re in the middle of a tornado for crying out loud.” you swallowed thickly, both of you jumping at the sound of a loud bang from outside.

the doors rocked against the metal frames, a scream leaving your lips when the doors flew off the hinges. “shit!” rafe shielded you, your eyes screwing shut at the whirlwind of debris falling into the cellar. you unintentionally clung onto him, your nails digging crescents into his flesh. “it’s okay, i got you.. i got you.” he whispered the last part, his voice making goosebumps rise across your skin.

you kept your head buried into his chest until the tornado passed. it wasn’t until it was dead silent that you pulled away from him, your awkward position making your cheeks heat. there you were, straddling his lap with both thighs on either sides of his hips with one of his hands cradling your head, and the other wrapped tightly around your waist. he was still holding onto you despite the storm being over.

“rafe?” you tapped his shoulder, “it’s gone.” you pulled away first, his arms falling to his sides as you gazed up at him. he stared at you for a moment. “right.” he cleared his throat, tapping your thigh as an indication to get up. you looked around, kicking the debris out of the way before gasping at the sight of the blocked cellar entrance. “well that’s great.” rafe walked over to the telephone on the wall, dialing for help.

“hello? uh, no— no injuries, s’just me and another woman down here at y/l/n’s ranch are trapped here inside a cellar. yes, i’m sure we’re stuck, ‘looks like a tractor tire just wedged itself inside. yes sir i understand, alright thank you.”

“what did they say?” you chewed your lip nervously. rafe scoffed. “we’re not their priority right now. they’ll send someone out here as soon as they can.” he sighed taking a seat on a nearby stool. picking up your bags, you placed them on the wooden table in the corner. “do you by any chance have a shirt in there?” you shook your head, laughing to yourself. “you could do without it.”

rafe smiled, tonguing his cheek as he stood up. “oh, really, you think so?” you felt the heat of his body behind you, the urge to back into him and feel him against you was overwhelmingly strong. “yeah.. it’s not like i don’t see you parading around here shirtless all the time.” you shrugged, opening the bag with your valued belongings. “so, you do watch me.” you froze, knowing he’s caught you in your own lie.

“cool it, cowboy.”

checking to see if the folded up photo of your mother was still in its small pocket, you smiled softly as you traced your fingers over her beautiful face. “would you like to see a picture of my mom?” at this, rafe stepped closer, his chin resting in the curve of your neck as you both inspected the image. “she’s beautiful,” he whispered, “you look just like her.” you sniffled, letting rafe run his finger tips up your arm.

“she died from the last EF-5 tornado that hit town. my father had gotten both of us to the cellar but she ran out last minute to get our family photo album..” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “and she just never made it back.” you shuddered. rafe rubbed circles into your skin, his breath tickling the side of your face. “did you find it? the photo album i mean.” you turned around, blinking up at his, very handsome, face.

“yes. it was just right outside the doors.” rafe took the picture out of your hand, placing it back in your bag before stroking your chin with his thumb. “you’re strong, you know that? sometimes a little too strong.” both of you huffed out a laugh. “i know you’re smart, i know you’re ambitious, i know you’re capable..” rafe’s hands rested on your hips, “but can you please just shut your brain off for one second and let me take care of you?”

you gasped when he hoisted you up onto the table, his lips finding yours before you could protest. he was eager, the weight of his body making you melt into his touch. you welcomed him between your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as he started leaving kisses down your jaw to your chest. surrendering to rafe was so much easier than you liked to admit, his strong calloused hands roaming your body as if you’d disappear into thin air if he left any part of you untouched.

“i’ve wanted you for so long, you have no fuckin’ idea..” he grounded himself against your clothed cunt, his eyes snapping open at the sensation. “just look at you.” he marveled, your nightgown now pooled around your waist. “you’re so beautiful.” you kept your eyes on him as he backed away slightly, his fingertips hooking inside the waistband of your panties. “i don’t want to wait.” you were breathless when he ripped off the flimsy material.

“i’ll never make you wait.” he spread your thighs, his cock jumping at the sight of your pretty pussy. “holy.” he sucked in a breath, eyes darkening. “don’t stare at me like that!” you laughed, your cheeks flushing at his expression. you couldn’t help but attempt to shut your legs, suddenly feeling exposed as rafe’s jaw clenched. “don’t get shy on me, now.” he teased, running a thumb between your folds.

you bit your lip, eyebrows knitting together as he took himself out of his jeans. “feel what you do to me?” rafe grabbed your hand, wrapping it around his length. he was big. huge even. “please,” you whimpered, “i need you inside me.” embarrassingly enough, rafe felt like he could cum from those words alone. “i thought you’d never ask.” he winked, hovering above you as he tapped your swollen clit with the head of his cock.

jumping at his ministrations, both of you moaned as he entered you slowly, his mouth hanging open as he watched you greedily take him to the base. “oh, my fuck-” rafe’s head fell on your shoulder, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. you had never felt this full before, the intimacy of having rafe’s body on yours, his finger’s running through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear was enough to make your head spin.

hand finding the nape of his neck, you cried out when he grazed that soft spot inside of you. “shit- i’m sorry, did i hurt you baby?” you shook your head, using your other hand to cup one side of his face. “no— mhm fuck!” you clenched around him, “feels so good.” rafe groaned, pulling you into another kiss. “you’re taking me so fucking good.” he pulled up your nightdress, exposing your tits before taking a bud into his mouth.

“rafe!” you mewled, the sensation unfamiliar but so, so good. “wearing this short little thing.. you secretly wanted me to do this to you, huh?” he smacked your clit, making a squeal leave your lips. “yes!” tears were pricking at your eyes, the pleasure so intense and heavy in your tummy you couldn’t do anything else but make pathetic noises as he took you for all you had. nothing could possibly get better than this.. or so you thought.

bringing his hand down to your soaked cunt, your eyes widened as he started rubbing hard circles on your clit, your thighs shaking at the penetration. “oh, god!” your back arched off of the table, and into his chest, his skin warm and clammy against yours. rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you up for you to watch the way he slammed into you. he was glistening with your slick, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing in the small space.

“rafe?” you looked up at him, both of you locking eyes. “cum inside me please.” rafe’s hips immediately stuttered, your orgasm washing over you as he cursed through gritted teeth. “those are dangerous words, darlin’.” he pulled you against his him as you shook and trembled in his arms, rafe’s seed spilling into you. a single tear drop fell down your cheek, the side of his face pressed against his skin.

“you’re perfect.” he kissed the crown of your head, both of you watching as he slowly pulled out. “fuck, i’ll never get tired of seeing this.” he pulled up his jeans, getting a change of clothes for you out of your bag. “who said you’ll see it again?” you arched a brow. rafe gave you a look, both of you smiling at each other. “here. i don’t want anyone else seeing you in this nightdress.” you quickly changed into the jeans and oversized t-shirt he gave you.

“i hope help comes soon.. i just want to see if our house is still standing.” rafe hugged you, sitting you down near the table. “our house?” he loved the way that sounded. “yeah.”

[euphorajeon]

love (and all of its complications) | kth

— pairing: photography student!tae x reader

— genre: fluff, angst (a bit) | college au

— word count: 3.1k

— warnings: insecurities, self-deprecating thoughts, (most likely) inaccurate use of photography terms, the nickname love, brief mention of min yoonji (haha)

— summary: when you think you're not worth loving, he lists all the reason why you are.

— author's note: this is a request from a friend based on the song best part of me by ed sheeran (ft. yebba)! so its a bit oc-centric. if you're having similar thoughts to oc, i hope tae's words can become a source of comfort for you :) enjoy!

masterlist

The first thing you notice upon waking up from slumber is the weight of your boyfriend’s head on your chest, his fluffy hair tickling your chin. As much as you like having him close like this, the position makes it hard for you to breathe, so you shift your body a little to give your lungs the oxygen they deserve. Your movement triggers that of his as well, his arm tightening around your waist and his leg around your legs, making you sigh in defeat.

A glance at the wall clock tells you that it’s still way too early for him to wake up, so you decide to give him those extra hours of sleep you know he will appreciate later. Your hand settles on his hair, fingers running through the strands once before you angle your head to give him a kiss on the top of his head. He stirs a bit but doesn’t wake up, instead he snuggles closer to your body like you’re his personal body pillow.

When your hand catches on his t-shirt while rubbing his back, the black color of the fabric reminds you that your boyfriend had gone straight to bed last night in the same clothes he had been wearing all night. Any protests you put up fell on deaf ears as he whined for you to get into bed with him, claiming he was too exhausted to wash up. Between his big puppy eyes and pouting lips, you couldn’t find it in you to deny him of your hold, allowing him to pull you onto the mattress and into dreamland.

Last night was the opening night of Taehyung’s photography exhibition, so you understand the state of exhaustion he’s in. You’ve witnessed first-hand how stressed he was preparing for this event, from the initial proposal to choosing the photos to display and arranging them in the exhibition venue according to his vision. It was filled with countless sleepless nights and too many cups of coffee you started to worry about his wellbeing, something you told him often. Despite his reassurance that he would be fine, you still found yourself biting your lip in worry every time he looked even the slightest bit tired.

Last night, he proved to you that all of those sleepless nights and bitter coffees are worth it as he proudly hosted the opening night of his own exhibition that has been his dream for so long. You had watched as the sparks never left his eyes for the entirety of the night, even though he had to be on his feet for hours and talk non-stop to the guests. You watched with admiration in your eyes every time he explained the meaning behind the photos on display, feeling pride swell in your heart when you see that people were as mesmerized as you were listening to him talk about his art.

You had let yourself wander around the exhibition without him, letting him be the star of the show on his own. It was fascinating to see the exhibition in its finished form when you’ve only seen parts of the building process, seeing the bits you recognize and how it came to life with the things added around them. It was also different seeing the photos finally lined up according to the story that Taehyung wants to tell, the message he wants to convey. Through the various colors and techniques, he bares his mind to everyone and hopes that it was enough to be understood.

You’ve always admired Taehyung’s photography skills. The way he captures mundane things and makes them appear extraordinary in his shots never fails to evoke emotions out of you, sometimes even making you believe that the world is as beautiful as it is behind his camera lens. Often you wonder if that’s how he sees the world — through a rose-colored glass, void of the black-colored stains that’s always lurking in the corner.

You found the answer last night, when he was talking to his photography club friends about the general theme of his exhibition. It’s not exactly looking at the world through a rose-colored glass — or lens, in his case — but just to show people than you can find beauty even in the tiniest nook and cranny of places you never thought to be beautiful. You thought it’s an endearing concept, but one of his friends argued that the narrative seems too idealistic in the way it sugarcoats the harsh realities of the world. They had launched into a discussion of this topic with different opinions from each one of Taehyung’s friends, giving their own input as to why this is damaging or healing.

The discussion was intense and at some point even they made you voice your thoughts on the matter as someone who doesn’t see the world through a lens like the rest of them. Your answer, of course, made them groan because it aligns with your boyfriend’s opinion, giving the impression that you were just saying things to support him even though it was your honest thoughts on the topic. Taehyung had given you a huge grin before squeezing you in a side-hug, relaying his gratitude silently. The conversation continued in a good-manered banter, soon after shifting to the techniques used in Taehyung’s photographs.

The words being thrown around sounded so foreign to you, who was only able to recognize the terms composition and exposure. Something about positioning, lighting, coloring, editing.. you tuned them out after a while. Despite so, you didn’t miss the way Taehyung talked animatedly about his craft, responding to each and every query from his friends with enthusiasm. It was clear from the discussion that everyone in the club is really passionate about this, about the things they want to tell through photographs, about the message each of them carries in every frame they capture.

Sometimes you wonder how it feels to be that passionate about something.

You have your own interests and hobbies, of course, ones you even think are your passion in life that you’d continue doing for the rest of your life. You spend weeks, months, years to perfect your own art until you’re confident that you have put out the best results and can proudly present them to the world. Surely, this is your passion, your life calling, you’re meant to do this for as long as you live. For a moment, you truly believed that.

Soon after, reality turns bleak as you come to a realization that your best does not even come close to someone else’s worst. Every corner you turn, there’s always someone with more things to offer; more appeal, more elegance, more eloquence. Your best result, the one you created with all the effort you could muster, paled in comparison to them. Hell, it was annihilated, utterly destroyed without a trace left. You’d watched your dreams crash and burn, taking your confidence with them.

Striped off your art, your passion, you’re left with a gaping hole of what else? What else do you have to offer to the world? What else do you have in you that’s worth showing off? What else can you do to prove your worth? What else can you do if not this?

Those questions play themselves in an endless loop inside your head, plaguing your mind day in, day out. There are times when they’re not as loud, only serving as background noise while you go through your day, but you find there are more times that they are roaring in your ears like thunder prior to a storm. They get worse whenever you see people talking about what they do with so much fervor, the fire in their eyes reflecting in your empty ones. Your fire was long gone even before it was able to be ablaze.

Often times, it makes you wonder whether you’ll ever be good enough without a passion.

“Honey? Sweetheart?”

Your boyfriend’s voice brings you out of your thoughts. It sounds even deeper than normal, indicating that he just woke up. When you look down, though, his eyes are wide open and there’s concern in them, like he can hear the thunder that rumbled in your head moments prior. You hope not. It’s too early for him to be worried.

“Are you okay?” Uh, oh. “I called you like, five times before this. Thought you were still asleep, but you’re awake..” Taehyung turns in your hold, holding himself up using his right arm. The worry in his eyes doesn’t cease, and you hate to be the cause of it.

“I’m fine, Tae, why wouldn’t I be?” You press your lips into a faint smile, hoping he would just chalk it up to you being tired from the event last night. His left hand comes up to your cheek and you lean into the touch, unconsciously releasing a small sigh.

“You had that faraway look that you do whenever you’re thinking about something,” Taehyung says, his gaze analyzing your expression. “And this time, it’s paired with a frown,” he continues, the pad of his thumb lightly brushing over the corner of your lips which you try really hard to keep upturned. “You’re not fine, love.”

Another sigh escapes your lips as you close your eyes, hating the fact that your boyfriend knows you like the back of his hand.

“Yeah, it’s just..” How do you downplay this so he doesn’t get more worried? “..morning woes,” you settle. That should be enough. “Don’t worry about it, Tae.”

Your hand reaches for his head so you can go back to running your fingers through his hair like you were doing before he woke up, but he’s having none of it as he pushes himself to a sitting position, ridding you of his body warmth. “You saying that is the reason why I have to worry,” he counters. “Is it one of my friends? Or the guest? Did anyone make you uncomfortable last night?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you rush to correct his assumptions. Although it is true that your spiraling thoughts started because of his friends, it’s not for the reason he’s thinking of. “It’s just me thinking too much, Tae, it’s okay,” you try to reassure him once again.

“About what?” Taehyung asks, eyes never leaving yours. You wish he’d turn his gaze somewhere else, because you’re not sure the clouds behind your irises can be hidden for much longer. You’d hate to taint this important moment for him with your clouds, dark and rumbling in your mind.

Apparently you’re silent for too long that he deems you’re back in your head again. “Hey, it’s okay.. you can tell me,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek gently. His eyes have gone softer now, no longer staring at you with concern swimming in his orbs. You should be relieved, happy that he’s not worried anymore, but somehow the emotion replacing that worry makes your heart tighten in your chest.

Love.

He’s staring at you with love. Gentle and quiet, like he’s saying it doesn’t matter what you have in your mind, doesn’t matter how dark the clouds are, doesn’t matter how much the storm is raging, he will always find your hand to hold and pull you out into the light. He will always love you, whether your head is filled with a ray of sunshine or a raging storm.

“Do you love me?” You say quietly. It’s almost rethorical, with the way his gaze has your answer even before you voice out the question.

“Yes, of course I love you.” It doesn’t even take a second for him to answer. “Is this what you were thinking about? Whether I love you or not?” Taehyung sounds genuinely surprised, maybe because it never occurred to him to doubt his love for you.

Instead of responding to his question, you put your arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a hug. It’s an uncomfortable position and his arms are bent at an awkward angle, but you don’t care. You need to let this man know that you’ve never doubted his love for you either, only the reason behind it and whether you deserve it or not.

“Love, will you tell me what’s going on?” Taehyung’s voice is muffled against your shoulder. You blink back tears that are threatening to spill out as you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Why do you love me, Tae?”

The whispered question makes him pull away from the hug to get a look at your expression. You lost your hiding place and have no choice but to let him see you in this state; glassy, red-rimmed eyes, vulnerable. Taehyung’s eyebrows slope downwards and he looks like he’s something between angry and upset. It occurs to you that the single sentence you let out could have been interpreted in so many different ways, so you rush to explain yourself.

“It’s not that — that I don’t believe that you love me. It’s just..” you take a deep breath and release it in a shaky sigh. “Why are you in love with me? I’m not as pretty as your other friends, I’m not talented, not even that smart. Heck, I quit doing my art because I wasn’t good enough at the thing I claimed to be my passion. I don’t have anything about me to be proud of, to be worthy of being loved. Why are you still with me? You could have anyone else that has so much more to offer than me..”

By the end of your explanation, tears have flown freely down your cheeks. It seems silly to be crying even before noon, but the demons inside your head don’t look at the time when they summon storms. You just wish Taehyung didn’t have to see this. He doesn’t deserve this version of you when he has given you nothing but his best.

“I’m still with you because you make me happy,” Taehyung says. He pulls you up into a sitting position before cupping your cheeks in his huge hands, thumbs brushing away your tears. He doesn’t stop even when they continue flowing out of your eyes.

“I’m still with you because you make me laugh with your one-liners, because you laugh at my jokes. I’m with you because you call my photos beautiful even when I think they’re not. I’m with you because you don’t get mad at me whenever I burn food and instead offer to clean up with me. I’m with you because you push me to be the best version of myself even without realizing it.

“You’re beautiful, talented, and smart, love. Even when you choose not to believe it yourself. You’re courageous, too, for deciding to quit when you felt it was too much for you. Many people might not agree with me, but it takes great courage and strength to be able to quit from something you’ve been doing for so long with so much effort. It’s okay if you don’t have something to be passionate about right now, I will be here for you until you find a new one, or maybe get back to the one you left.”

Taehyung smiles, and your sobs get uglier.

“I love you for all the reasons you think you don’t deserve to be loved for, so you can quit worrying about it, okay?”

You sob loudly and he chuckles, endeared, as he pulls you back into his arms. His hands rub soothingly down your back, letting you cry on his shoulder without any complaints. Pressing his cheek against the top of your head, he releases a relieved sigh with a small smile.

“You know, it’s a wonder as well that you love me,” Taehyung laughs quietly. “I can’t cook, I’m terribly messy, and when I work on my project I ignore you for days. Do you remember the twenty missed calls you left because I fell asleep in the studio when preparing for the exhibition?”

You sniff and chuckle, your voice sounding funny when you talk because of your blocked nose. “That’s because you’re passionate. You just worried me when you didn’t pick up your phone, thought you were dead from exhaustion.” You clear your throat to get rid of the scratchiness of your voice. “Also I don’t mind that you can’t cook, as long as you stay updated on delivery places so we have something different to eat every day.”

“You don’t mind that I can’t cook because you can’t cook either, love.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Taehyung lets out another chuckle as he squeezes your form, peppering your head with kisses. You both stay like that for a while, enjoying each other’s body warmth. It allows you to settle the storm inside your head, now only a pitter-patter against the window in your mind. Soon, it’ll be filled with sunshine again. You believe it will.

“Can I ask you about something?” Taehyung says after minute of being silent. You hum your affirmation, allowing him to continue. “What triggered you? To think about all of that this early in the morning?”

“It’s almost eleven, Tae, not early at all,” you muse, ignoring the first part of his question. You let out a sigh when he gives no response to your joke. “Just.. meeting your friends last night. They’re fine, I swear! But the way you guys were talking about the exhibition, about photography in general.. it made me realize how passionate you all are and made me wonder why I can’t be that passionate towards something as well. Yeah, there you go.”

“Oh, love..” Taehyung sighs.

“Also, your friends are really pretty and talented, I couldn’t help but feel insecure, you know?” You add, tone light and playful to let your boyfriend know that you’re okay now. Even if there’s some truth to your words. “Who’s the one who has dark blue hair? I saw the shot she showed you on her phone, it was really beautiful and stuck with me the most.”

“Oh, that’s Min Yoonji. If you remember Yoongi from the club last year, she’s his twin. Yoongi couldn’t come last night so he sent her in his stead,” Taehyung explains. “You don’t have to be insecure, though. Yoonji might be pretty and talented, but she’s not you.”

You snort out a shy laugh. “Alright, I get it. Ease up on the flirting, will you?”

“Hey, I’m serious!” He laughs and it’s so contagious you find yourself laughing out loud as well. “Really, though, love. Okay?”

“Hmm,” you respond. Then, “I love you, Tae.”

“I love you too,” he replies. “Now can we get breakfast? Brunch? I’m starving.”

And as you laugh again, you think you’ll be fine. You think the storms will calm down into a drizzle, and the drizzle will soon let up to allow a ray of sunshine to pass through the clouds. There might even be a rainbow adorning the sky of your mind, and it will look picture-perfect just like how Taehyung captures the world in his lens.

You’ll be fine.

— a/n: thanks for reading! tell me your thoughts here :)

[vg-sanctuary]

The World Ends with You

Jupiter - DS - 2008

[screenshots from Nintendo Life, jack-reviews.com, and LPArchive; please excuse the low res, I couldn’t find better ones]

TWEWY is an RPG with modern (circa 2008) style and character designs by Tetsuya Nomura, the director of Kingdom Hearts. I meant to write about it the day its sequel NEO: TWEWY came out but missed that by a few days. anyway, I think it's reasonable to call this game the epitome of the Nintendo DS. it has every feature to be expected of any game on the wildly unique handheld: a touch-based minigame with wireless multiplayer and little bearing on the main game, a sleep mode puzzle, touch controls, forced use of both screens, and gameplay and plot designed to be enjoyed in short bursts. it's loaded with cool ideas, some of which are more than questionable, even barring the crazy DS features, hence the remakes. (savvy readers will notice I left out the iOS and Switch platforms and, while there are remakes of the game for both platforms that have extra content and a more elegant combat system, they don't hit quite like the DS original.)

I don't fancy myself an RPG fan for the most part. the usual high fantasy themes and turn based combat are boring to me. usually, if an RPG has either one I'm not interested, and this has neither of those. I decided to try TWEWY while collecting DS games, and the plot and combat had grabbed me within two hours. I haven't mentioned the awesome music and visuals, both wonderfully stylish and unique in the same way Persona's UI is stylish and unique, only this game uses the style on its game world and characters instead of menus.

the premise is the antisocial protagonist, Neku, wakes up in a killing game wherein each day has a mission that he and his partner either complete or face erasure. after a week of these missions he'll be free. I can’t tell you the massive general plot spoiler that makes the whole thing so compelling as it goes on, so this section of the post is sadly pretty short. there is an anime that goes over the main events, but it's only four hours long compared to the game's 20, character development is sometimes lacking in detail or totally inaccurate, and it generally doesn't include the hardships you would go through as a player e.g. having to try a boss five times.

almost everything about TWEWY's gameplay is intriguing, so I'll try to be concise. combat is a strange beast that comes from developer Jupiter's need to use both screens to the fullest. by the way, don't let this wall of text scare you away from the game; it introduces these mechanics much slower and it's easier to understand and use. the bottom screen is gesture-based ARPG combat where, for example, short swipes over an enemy makes Neku use a sword attack or touching somewhere on the screen makes him fire a bullet. the exact gestures and attacks are determined by what pins he's wearing. the top screen asks you to use the d-pad to attack with Neku’s partner and navigate along a tree of cards where getting the right card grants a star; enough of those allows you to use a powerful and health-restoring fusion attack. there's this green light puck that passes between characters when the one holding it does a finisher and multiplies the finisher's damage with each successful pass up to five times, but disappears if held by one character for too long. fortunately the game has an auto mode for the top screen that's roughly equivalent to mashing left or right on the d-pad so you don't have to try to split your brain between both, but you get a little more experience if that's turned off. I love the bottom screen and the idea of the top screen but could never really get my head around doing both at once. maybe the intent was to focus on the character that has the puck and leave the other standing still or spamming defense? (in NEO: TWEWY, the light puck mechanic was changed to beat drop combos, where using a different character to attack shortly after a finisher gives you some charge for a super. no attention splitting, just fun ARPG combat with an interesting combo system that can inform what pins you use.)

turning up the game's difficulty makes enemies stronger and mostly drops different pins. there aren't random encounters: you have to scan for enemies and mostly get to choose which encounters to take. you can choose to fight multiple in a row without getting health back between them and multiply your drop rate multiplier, with enemies getting stronger the more encounters you take. you get your health back when you return to the overworld, which cuts out a lot of the obligatory spending for healing items and the trouble of running out for the player. there are still some pins that can heal you during a battle, though.

leveling up, instead of arbitrarily increasing every stat, only increases your HP, but you can turn your level down to lower your HP and multiply the drop rate of pins by one for each level. other stats can be increased with clothes or food, with different foods permanently increasing different stats and have different calories. each character can only eat so much in a single real time day, which is wack but still interesting. the food system in NEO is similar except without the per-day limit, and I think it's a great idea that gives the player agency in terms of what stats they want to increase and whether they want larger or smaller boosts.

pins can evolve when leveled up enough, but may only evolve if you give them the right kind of pin points, which is like experience for pins. there's PP from battles, from the game's proto-StreetPass mingle mode (that you could only get randomly roughly every hour, from other folks in TWEWY's mingle mode, or from other DSes running any wireless software; thankfully this is removed from the remakes but it's a neat idea), and from turning off the game for up to seven real time days. if a pin reaches max level with the wrong kind of PP, you have to go get another one to evolve it, but I don't think there are any super rare pins that evolve. the game doesn't show what kind of PP you need to evolve a pin, so while it's a cool idea, there's a fair chance that you'll miss lots of evolutions and not even notice.

there are lots of rare pins that can be worn as a set to do something ridiculously powerful, but you have to go out of your way to get them, like the Darklit Planets. it's a set of seven pins that are useful alone, but if worn all together they become three times more powerful. they all drop rarely from bosses on the highest difficulty. I love wacky, mystical, obscenely powerful postgame stuff like this but can't be bothered to actually go and get it. some games give you their best weapons last, which is always a shame because there's nothing to use it on, but in TWEWY, there's a boss rush that saves your best time and lots of bosses to re-fight for their rare pins, so you'll have a reason to fight bosses until you've got every one of those rare pins.

speaking of postgame, TWEWY's is rather extensive, with a bonus day focused on the Tin Pin Slammer minigame and goofy non-canon alternate personalities plus four sort of tedious missions for every ingame day that unlock secret reports for much more lore about the Reapers' Game. (one of the missions for every day is "find and destroy the pig Noise," which mostly have puzzle-ish fights; one is killed by closing the DS and opening it again, which is the sleep mode puzzle I mentioned.) if you get them all, it unlocks a special scene in the ending, but again, I can't be bothered to do that kind of postgame. not all of it, anyway, the bonus day's missions are too tedious for me.

in Tin Pin Slammer, the minigame with almost no bearing on the main game, you use your pins to play kinda-sorta Beyblade. every pin has different stats, many of which are hidden, and different amounts of the different weapons to stun your opponents' pins with. it's a rather extensive side mode and a totally unnecessary inclusion, but really fun anyway, and can be played wirelessly with others. there are some other mechanics that are also interesting but not quite worth adding any more words to this ridiculously long post, including a brand trends system and an interesting way to limit running from fights.

even with all of these words and some pictures, I seriously can't offer a glimpse of the vibes, the combat, the music, the story, the characters, the entire energy of The World Ends with You in a blog post, and in my opinion, it's not the same without the crispy DS sprites or peculiar dual screen combat. if you like the DS, 2000s energy, or action RPGs, this is an essential addition to your library if you don't want to track down a DS copy or you prefer more elegant combat, try one of the remakes instead. you're this far into the blog post, so I'm sure you won't be disappointed. (NEO: TWEWY is very good too and has a free demo on PS4 and Switch; while not the same, it's still worth trying. it carries a modernized audiovisual energy of its predecessor, more elegant combat improvements to other TWEWY systems.)

[poepoe-thebunny]

Rudy/Tony and Fam during Quarantine

Cause this is where my life is at, apparently. I thought I escaped the “quarantine fever writing” that everyone else got. Apparently I was wrong. 

After another visit to the castle, the Thompson’s end up there in quarantine once miss rona hits the world. Thank god for WI-FI and working remotely, even if his parents look vaguely like zombies due to time zone differences. Tony can’t talk, his online schooling schedule is all sorts of weird and he’s pretty sure his teacher just wants to sleep until the whole thing is over. Honestly Tony can’t say he blames her. 

The Sackville-bagg clan, as it turns out, is a surprisingly overprotective bunch when they need to be, especially now that they have accepted their humans into the fold. Even with catching up on modern medicine and germ theory, they won’t allow anything to happen to their precious humans. 

(AU/headcanons incoming??

Rudy/Tony: 

- Think Rudy was protective before? Think again. 

- Rudy is over 300 years old, he’s old by human standards and he has met people who are old by vampire standards. He’s seen Things(TM) ok?

- He has been through more than one plague in his life. He has seen what it can do to the sick and the poor. He knows it’s a different now, that life-saving machines exist, that they’re working on a vaccine, that soap is widely available. 

- But he also knows it’s not. 

- Tony? Not going anywhere as far as he is concerned. Say hello to your prince, Rapunzel, cause Rudy is keeping Tony up in that tower if it kills him (again). 

- He knows where all of Tony’s masks are, and where he puts the extras. 

- He’ even shops online for masks with Tony, finding cool hand-sewn, gothic looking ones for Rudy himself to wear. He’s not sure if Corona even effects vampires, but Tony likes finding stuff to match his “aesthetic’ and it keeps his mortal happy. 

- He waits on his mortal hand and foot in between videogames and watching Netflix. (Tony likes How to Train Your Dragon and Paranorman, Rudy likes The Little Prince and Kubo and the Two Strings.). 

- Rudy’s first introduction to Tumblr is through Tony, and at one point they reach the Plague Doctor Aesthetics. While Rudy hasn’t spent much time in Italy, he doesn’t think they’re very accurate, and complains as such to his mortal. 

- Rudy is surprisingly easily offended about historically inaccurate things, and it sends Tony into laughing fits. 

- Rudy is Bad At Memes. Like, just in general he doesn’t always get them, and when Corona Memes become a thing he’s just constantly confused. Poor Rudy honestly. 

- Tries to learn to cook healthy human food, except he hasn’t had any major kitchen experience in 200-odd years and it comes out as a disaster the first few times he tries it. 

- It turns into a teaching session between him and the other adult humans, turns out the old couple who owns the castle like to feed people. Rudy walks into Tony’s room with a tray piled so high Tony can’t see his head. 

-Always offering to fly around the castle to get things for Tony, even if he isn’t sick. 

- TikTok dances. Tony shows him, then teaches him. Rudy is shockingly good at them, but Gregory thinks he’s cringy. 

Gregory: 

(Not me flexing my love of the good big brother trope, absolutely not, nope)

- Surprisingly rather take charge about the whole thing, he’s come around to the Thompson’s and the old couple. 

- While his parents help when they can, they sort of take a step back, and let the three siblings explain what’s happening in the world to the clan (if they are there). Being the oldest, Gregory sort of defaults to being the leader. 

-Checks in with the Thompson’s, as well as Otto and Emma (The old couple who run the place.) Asks if they need anything while they work/are in school etc. 

- Warns the clan to be very careful when visiting, not just for the Thompson’s, but also because Otto and Emma are getting on in years and could become sick very easily. Always asks for a heads up before a family visit. 

- Won’t tell anyone but, late at night if he’s not busy, he’ll do things around the castle for the humans, especially upkeep for Otto and Emma, while they sleep. 

- Dusting hard to reach spots like chandeliers, organizing books in the old castle library, moving heavy furniture and stuff since he can fly. 

-Low key drags Rudy and Anna into helping him clean 

(”But Gregory, this is our home now too! I’m sure they don’t mind.” 

“Humans are fragile, and they’re letting us stay here out of kindness, so don’t be rude. Clean up after yourself little brother.” 

“He’s right you know.” 

“Of course I am. And don’t think you’re getting out of cleaning the rafters Anna, and stop leaving your books everywhere for them to pick up.” 

 ‘hmph.” )

- Of the vampires he’s lowkey the best at cooking human food. Tony, Rudy, and Anna just walk into the kitchen at night and Fredrick is just watching his eldest, genuinely amused, as he dances around the kitchen in a “Kill the Cook (Too late, I’m already dead)” apron, blasting out dad rock from the stereo. 

-Bonds with the Thompsons over cooking human food, especially Tony’s dad after he teaches Gregory what an “air guitar” move is. 

-Gregory discovers pinterest food aesthetics, and is a machine of baking, mixing, and decorating sweet candies/cakes/brownies. He wants his food to look pretty dang it. 

- Anna and Rudy just watch, silently judging him. 

Anna: 

- She’s just thriving tbh. 

- She has internet access now, and her brothers have never been more terrified. 

-If Gregory is the vampire equivalent of a pinterest mommy, Anna is the vampire equivalent of creepy diy aesthetic tiktokers. 

-Not like, bloody horror diy, but like, the subtly creepy but still sweet kind, like the Addams family or Coraline. 

- She learned needle arts with her mom, so she’s out here sewing Coraline dolls, or patchwork dresses a la Nightmare Before Christmas cause she CAN. 

-Makes her own handbag with those felt cartoonish vampire faces and big fake bat ears on the side. 

-Learns more modern patterns and stuff, but will make masks for the humans as gifts, cause she doesn’t want them to get sick. 

- After watching Coraline together, she made “Other Me” dolls of her brothers, button eyes included, and stuck them in their coffins. She would make them “move’ by flying them around to different rooms when her brothers weren’t looking, just to freak them out. 

- Spoiler alert: it worked. They ran to Tony for help and she laughed over it for days. 

- Anna loves adventure books to Rudy’s poetry and Gregory’s fables/folk tales. She hates being excluded from her brothers “adventures”. 

-Tony introduces her to comics and video games and she just lives her best life. 

-One of her favorite comic book character is Cassandra Cain/Blackbat/The Orphan.

- She loves books like Matilda, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Giver, as well as games like the Lara Croft/Tomb Raider series. 

-VICIOUS at video games, this girl has no mercy, she will blue shell you so hard. 

The Adults: 

-Life is Hard(TM) right now, but the Thompson’s try to make the best of it. They’re very grateful to Otto and Emma for letting them stay. 

-They’re both working remotely, so they’re a little messed up sleep schedule wise. But that’s ok, their vampire friends don’t seem to mind. 

- Freda teaches Dottie how to make proper tea, cause she likes it and Dottie is sort of addicted to caffeine. Dottie teaches Freda how to make mochas and smoothies, Dottie likes mango-pineapple smoothies and Freda likes hot white chocolate mochas with cinnamon. 

-Surprisingly, Frederick and Bob become pretty good friends. Frederick understands the stress of having to care for your family in very uncertain times, and the two men bond over unsure parental decisions. 

-Bob is also surprisingly good at making Frederick loosen up, much to Freda and Dottie’s amusement. While initially awkward, they have a surprisingly snarky and sarcastic sort of friendship. Frederick deadpans insults at him and Bob cheerfully annoys him into Being Nice For Once while being completely aware of the fact that he’s annoying Frederick. 

-Meals where Bob cooks often consists of him singing oldies into his spatula, making bad impression of certain singers, including Elvis and Cher. He is occasionally joined by Tony and Gregory, making the entire family laugh. 

- Anna’s bones may be old, but she can hand sew like a goddess, and has occasionally taken to fixing up the kids’ torn clothes, as Dottie can barely keep straight lines and Freda prefers knitting. 

- Someone (read: Freda) mentions that Frederick can play the cello, and after a rousing performance, it turns out that Otto can play an accordion, and of course Bob can play the guitar. A jam session occurs as the kids just stare in utter bewilderment.

- Tony’s grandparents were kinda hippies, so Bob and Dottie know a lot of oldies and folk songs, which while different than from what they normally hear, Otto and Anna connect too. They swap songs back and forth, and it turns out Dottie can do a mean Loretta lynn impression. 

- Dottie likes the Beach Boys, and teaches the others how to Twist. As in, the dance, and Freda actually likes it quite a bit. 

[hecohansen31]

Maybe In The Next Lifetime

Reincarnated! Ivar The Boneless+Reincarnated! Reader (Modern AU)

(Previous Chapter)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I am sorry it took me so long but this is a small reward to @youbloodymadgenius​,who bought me a Ko-Fi, a bit of time ago and I just am so so grateful for this small gesture because it shows that you truly care about us, writers.

It truly means the absolute world to me and I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to properly express my gratitude through words, but I do hope that you’ll like this (you gave me the green light for everything that came up to my mind, so since i saw that you all liked the first part, here comes the second).

If you want more, please do let me know through a comment or a reblog (PLEASE DON’T FUCKING REBLOG WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING... IT’S FUCKING STUPID).

Do leave some feedback if you want to: it makes us, writers, write faster and our hearts beat stronger.

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: Visions have accompanied your staying in Iceland, tainting your experience and making you meet the literal 'man of your dreams', but is this a crazed fever dream or is this the truth?

WORDS: 4,7 K

WARNINGS: Reincarnation Cycle, Menton of Violence and Blood, Inaccurate Portrayal of Iceland.

You changed your outfit for the umpteenth time, wondering if there was anything that would ever fit the theme of Midsomar, allowing you to show off your body, in a way that was flattering and proper.

Your friend, Hedda, had already chosen an outfit and was waiting outside of your shared bedroom at the small apartment you had rented for your staying in Iceland, singing out loud some Swedish song and refusing to give you any help with dressing up.

‘You need to find your inner “Midsomar” ‘ she had muttered after you had gotten out of your wardrobe in a bland floral dress ‘… but also you gotta impress that idiotic guy, you met, so… get out your best Maja’.

‘I don’t think that being a crazy witch in a cult will win me many points with any boy’ you had shot back, eventually completely ignoring her suggestions, trying on at first a few other dresses, and eventually settling up on an oversized white shirt in a pair of your best shorts.

The flower crown you had bought in a Chinese shop, already awaiting you in bed, and as you pushed it onto your head, the vision reappeared.

You had been having visions since the start of your staying in Iceland.

At first you had though they were simply strange dreams, created by your first holiday without your parents and far away from home.

They were different visions of different beautiful girls in clothes from different historical ages, but they all had one thing in common.

Your face.

And then when you had at first noticed Ivar, his own face had haunted your dreams.

As a king, as a slave, as a commander, in a haunt that reversed the roles.

Sometimes you’d be the prey and sometimes he’d be the hunter, and sometimes the opposite would happen.

In the mirror various figures shifted: a meek girl with a flower crown like yours, a well-dressed woman, her face hidden by a thick veil and the heavy crown on her head, again appearing in a more frail way on a woman with a spoiled smirk and expecting eyes.

But you knew that deep down they were all you.

And you were desperately trying to understand what this all truly meant.

You had eventually settled on browsing through some rather confusing pages about the interpretation of dreams, settling yourself up in the ‘reincarnation aisle’ discovering that many in forums thought that in dreams, they could see their past lives.

Or so they believed.

But in most cases, it was boring details that could be easily overlooked and most of the time they were interpreted by clairvoyants that wanted nothing more than to make their daily earn.

And you couldn’t blame them.

But your situation wasn’t a hoax.

Because there was so much confusion in your heart and mind.

And you knew it was a downright wrong thing to follow Ivar around, just because he was the literal ‘man of your dreams’.

And you knew that you would have probably ended up sounding as a crazed hysterical woman, had you confessed him that you had been dreaming about him for your entire staying in Iceland, seeing him in various outfits.

But one thing never changed also for him.

He had loved you and he had lost you.

Never the other way around.

Which you found lightly discriminatory and sexist…

… but Fate didn’t welcome any complaints, did He?

You wished you could talk about it with someone, but not only you didn’t know that well the few friends you had done around the hotel and in the city.

But also… who would have believed you?

And who wouldn’t have wanted to intern you in the nearest psych-ward, after hearing about your crazy dreams?

But this secret was burning you on the inside, completely ruining your holiday there, because you weren’t able, not only to sleep properly, but the knowledge of some previous past life was shaking your beliefs to the core.

And not in a good way.

You almost doubted the reality around you.

And more than one time you had found yourself pinching your arms in search of some signs that you hadn’t simply dreamt also this life.

“… are you fucking finished?” muttered loudly Hedda, startling and effectively reminding you that you were indeed in 2019, getting yourself ready for a Midsomar ‘date’ (because Ivar certainly hadn’t meant it that way, when you had basically invited yourself in it).

“Yeah yeah!” you shot back, slightly annoyed at her antics but eventually settling up on adjusting the flower crown on your head, as you grabbed your clutch, stuffing an extra charger for your phone and headphones in it.

And then appeared in the hallway of your room, for Hedda’s inspection, who told you to turn around, meanwhile she examined attentively your outfit, eventually holding up eight fingers, which was enough to make it pass.

‘… cute but have we forgotten the “sexy factor”?’ commented Hedda, as you were already grabbing a jeans jacket in case it ended up being colder.

You had agreed with Ivar on meeting each other for lunch and then move to a little place where a small folklore festival was to be held.

And had you had a bit of energy, you would join your friends for the night to a ‘Midsomar’ themed party, for which you weren’t too eager, but your friends had already seemed offended by the fact that you wouldn’t have passed the day with them, partying and drinking.

But you wanted the true Icelandic experience.

That was why you had moved there.

And honestly partying and drinking could be done everywhere.

Instead what Ivar had told you that he had planned that day was much more typical of the place and not something that you’d have found everywhere.

And having more time to spend with the ‘man of your dreams’ was definitely a bonus.

Hedda, who, although seemed extremely superficial, had assumed an extremely motherly and protective role over you, had wanted to accompany you, although she had used the excuse that:

‘Booze doesn’t affect me that much, anymore’ she had then winked your way ‘… and didn’t you say that Ivar has a cute brother?’.

You had barely seen Ivar’s brother, but you had felt like you had to give something to Hedda for ‘sacrificing’ herself for you.

Meanwhile you were getting out of your small apartment, making sure to lock after yourself, since Hedda always forgot, you received a message from Ivar, letting you know that they had just arrived to his uncle’s barn, sending you his location and reassuring you to take your time, since they had arrived early to help with the preparations.

You had thanked him, meanwhile you were thoroughly panicking because you didn’t want to arrive late, but to dissuade the uncomfortableness of the entire situation, you asked him ‘whether his brother was hot or not’.

Which you realized a minute after locking the door didn’t sound quite alright.

Shit.

You hoped that at least in one of the previous lives you hadn’t been this awkward.

‘.. for a friend’ you added, hoping he didn’t think you wanted to flirt with his brother.

Because you didn’t want to, for sure.

Although Destiny had indeed pushed you closer, you couldn’t deny that you had found yourself comfortable with Ivar in a way that hadn’t happened in so much with the few guys you had tried out a date with.

And it truly made you feel like this was real.

Like that was your reality.

He was clearly much shier than you were used to, but this didn’t mean that he hadn’t a sarcastically cocky side that had brought you to tears with laughter and judgement.

And it made you feel comfortable and at ease.

As if only with him you could be the true you.

And not the long line of previous reincarnations you had been.

‘… my brother does consider himself hot’ he sent you ‘… hot if you like brainless dudes who will do nothing but eat and drink’.

‘That’s Hedda’s perfect type’ you sent back, careful to avoid breaking your neck on the stairs, Hedda thankfully coming to your side to guide you meanwhile you messaged.

“I do hope that he is worth it” commented your friend, trying to sneak a small look at your conversation “… because those shoes certainly aren’t made for texting and walking”.

“His brother is hot” you were simply able to reply in the general confusion.

“Did you ask him?” shot back Hedda, facepalming as she completely stopped you from slamming your face on an unseen step “… you seriously… you better hope that that guy is in for it…”.

“Don’t make me feel worse than I am already feeling!” you protested loudly “… he is hotter than his hot brother, so do pray for me instead”.

“… you’ll need a miracle” she protested, but did make you arrive at the end of the stairs safe and sound, and then took your phone, throwing it in her bigger bag, as you complained loudly “… and no you are driving, so no phone, neither for the hot guy”.

“Always the responsible ones…” you muttered, knowing that it wasn’t the truth in the slightest “… just let me tell him that we’ll reach them in a quarter hour”.

Hedda simply sent you an annoyed look, before relenting as she got in the car you had rented for the occasion.

“… I wouldn’t have pegged you as one of those who is constantly texting her boyfriend” she muttered, lowering the car windows and you quickly typed in your message, waiting a few second for a simple ‘ok’ from Ivar.

Were you panicking?

A bit.

But you’d be fine.

Or he’d realize that you were seriously a stalker had you talked with him anymore.

And then Hedda reminded you of her as she sounded the car horn, effectively startling you away from your anxious brain.

And after all, the faster you got the car started, the faster you’d see him again.

You tried to convince yourself that wasn’t a comp6letely creepy thought.

---

You had been able not to lose yourselves on the trip to Ivar’s uncle’s barn, which had been a great way to certainly hype you up.

Hedda’s awful choice in music had done the rest.

But now you honestly didn’t want to get out of the car.

“Please don’t make me spray you with water” commented Hedda between her teeth, as she adjusted her blush and her own flower crown and you nervously curled a strand of hair between your fingers.

“… just give a minute”.

And she did, moving to lightly check some messages on her own phone, meanwhile you eased up in the place where you had parked, which was supposed to be a few minutes away from Ivar’s uncle’s barn.

In the middle of basically nowhere.

Hedda had joked about the fact that you had seriously ended up in ‘Midsomar’ and would be soon sacrificed, much to your already panicking soul, as you tried to search in yourself some willingness to meet again Ivar.

It wasn’t the simple nervousness of finally seeing the guy you had a crush on.

It was a multilayered feeling of fear and anxiety that had gone on for many years, as your lives were threaded together and separated by Fate.

And you didn’t know how to calm yourself.

In the end Hedda did spray a bit of water on your face, bringing you back from your historical thought, as you finally realized that you couldn’t let past history influence your present.

Although you didn’t know how to do that.

“Is everything alright?” asked Hedda as you moved away from the parking lot towards the small house, walking slow so that you could arrive there comfortably “… are you sure that this guy isn’t a psycho?”.

‘I am actually the psycho, with all these dreams of a past that maybe never existed between us’ you wanted to say, but simply shook your head, yawning lightly, because you had been up till late last night for your last turn at the hotel.

And you tried to keep your mind on the hotel’s turns that you’d have to restart tomorrow, to keep your mind in the present you were living.

Which worked well…

… till you arrived to the house and you found Ivar already out, helping up with setting in place what looked like a small gazebo, to protect you from the sun, meanwhile another boy set up a small plastic table under it.

And you wanted to turn and run away.

What had you been thinking when you had basically invited yourself to what looked like a reserved family ceremony?

Did you seriously think it was a good idea?

But before you could make a complete U-turn with your body, you heard your name being called out by a slight Nordic accent and as you turned around, your reality had changed inevitably.

No matter how much you tried to bring back your annoying turns at the hotel.

“… Ivar” the words left your mouth, although it felt like it had just been forced open, no matter how much you didn’t want to say those words.

His eyes smiled gently at you, as he walked to you, his clothes weren’t modern anymore, but they were an hard armor of leather, constricting him in a way that pushed his whole body to appear bigger than he was.

Relief flooded in you, as you faced him again, the knowledge of him having come back to you completely making you emotional, although you stopped yourself to wait for him to come to you again.

Your vision was disrupted by Hedda’s nails digging themselves in your upper arm, and when you batted your eyelashes, the entire set up you had imagined was gone.

Although Ivar was very much in front of you.

And looked like he had asked you something.

“I am sorry, I didn’t…” Gosh… he must have thought you were a weirdo for sure.

“… I just said that I am glad that you are finally here” his words were truly genuine as a softer smile appeared on his face “… and that you found us so easily”.

“I am a wonderful GPS” commented Hedda, noticing that you were having quite the trouble replying and more generally at talking “… I am Hedda, by the way”.

Ivar looked wary of Hedda but didn’t say anything, and his brother seemed quite taken by her appearance and he pushed himself up from the place where he had sat down, presenting himself to her.

And from the gleaming bits in Hedda’s eyes, you knew that he was hot enough.

And you were soon left with Ivar.

Gosh, could you embarrass yourself more.

Probably… yes.

You almost wanted to plead Hedda with your eyes to stay with you, but at the same time you completely understood she wasn’t your babysitter in any way.

“… so that is why you asked me if my brother was hot” simply commented Ivar, and although you blushed profusely at that knowledge, you felt like he had just shattered the wall of awkwardness between you.

“Hedda needs to have her own fun” you muttered “… mostly because she is a bitch whenever she doesn’t get enough attention”.

Ivar laughed loudly, and when you had both calmed down, you moved to ask if you could do something to help him.

And he redirected you around the gazebo to set it up, as he revealed to you that his uncle would be away for the day.

He was extremely blushy the whole time he said it, and you were a properly matching tomato.

‘… he said that he is too old to for these things” he commented softly ‘… he went fishing and will be back by nigh-time’.

‘Still it was very generous of him to offer us his place to stay’ you tried to make your words appear gentle and kind, although you couldn’t deny that you again felt a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

Two guys and two girls with a small private barn all to themselves.

Hedda would have called you a stupid not to think that this was an entire trick to get you to stay closer to Ivar.

But Ivar’s words seemed honest in what he had said.

And yet it didn’t lessen your embarrassment.

And neither your knowledge that this had happened before.

A picture perfect in your mind of a ’70-fashioned yourself, sleeping with your head against Ivar’s, meanwhile a lazy fire crackled beside you, light giggle and breathy moans from the other couple with you, who had been much more courageous than you two.

Because although you had been on the road for quite some time, you hadn’t been able to do much more than simply stand closer.

“… he hasn’t been the same since his wife died” commented Ivar, his voice lowering itself slightly and bringing you back to the reality.

Not the peaceful and nightly one you had seen in your mind.

You should have taken some medicine for these hallucinations.

And got a whole check-up once you were home.

Although you weren’t sure you wanted them to disappear.

The knowledge that you had been able to score a guy like Ivar in past lives certainly stroked your ego.

“I am sorry to hear that” you replied softly, another memory in your mind, an angry Ivar, nothing peaceful in the way he threw things all around the room and screamed, but then after all the air in his lungs had disappeared he had searched you, shielding himself in your chest, meanwhile he let out all the emotions he had been denying to feel.

“… thank you” his words were honest now as they had been there “… but on better topics, the place we are going after should be good, my brother has never played there so that is a sign of true quality”.

You laughed softly at his comment, meanwhile he kept a straight face but eventually cracked up a small smirk.

“Please don’t tell me it is this brother” you muttered, pointing to Hvitserk, who had been trying to show Hedda a magic trick, involving his abs, thing that had made Hedda very much interested.

(In the abs)

(Not the magic trick. That was pathetic).

“… she’ll make him ask to play her a song, record him and play it till she gets bored with it, and I already think her taste in music his problematic”.

Ivar laughed at your sassy comment, as you managed to finally settle up the gazebo, sitting in the grass to stare at your marvelous work.

“… no not this one” he commented, shooting you a conspiratorial look that made you laugh loudly “… another of my many brothers… Sigurd, the one that I can’t stand”.

“I thought you couldn’t stand all of them”.

But the name Sigurd brought something back to you.

Something dreadful that your subconscious tried to keep locked away and again you pinched yourself to avoid deepening up.

You had seen yourself dying in horrendous way each night.

Once you had been shot, another time an overdose had taken you and the most horrendous had been when a sword had pierced your back.

You had woken up with the feeling of it, screaming loudly as you groped your chest sure to find iron and blood in it.

But it had been just a nightmare.

And yet each time you died you had this knowledge that this had happened.

That it had been painful.

And that it hadn’t been fair.

And what was linked to the name ‘Sigurd’ seemed much worse than that.

Ivar felt the shift in you and you were grateful when he suggested he went inside and started to bring a few starters and drinks outside, since you had to admit that you were quite famished.

And so was his brother.

Hounding him almost like a dog, as you laughed softly at the image.

Having seen it thousands of times happening.

And yet it still hanged in your mind as if it was new.

Hedda took this moment to come to you, muttering about how dreamily Ivar’s brother, Hvitserk, was.

‘… and Ivar does seem to be quite taken by you…’ she commented, shooting you a knowing look ‘… and you seemed a bit taken by the gazebo, I’ll admit it’.

You pushed her away with your shoulder, although you couldn’t deny that.

And you were glad in the following moments to be able to simply think about food.

You thanked profusely Ivar when you realized that the meals he had gotten ready were some Icelandic ones that you hadn’t tried yet, mixed with some other typical dishes, and you were honestly impressed.

‘Oh, don’t worry, Hvitserk over here is the one who cooked everything’ he commented, shooting a quick look at his brother, meanwhile Hedda let out a breathy ‘oh seriously?’.

And you and Ivar laughed of those two idiots.

Again, that natural complicity sparkling up between you, as you talked with each other.

It just felt so comfortable and natural that you couldn’t help but confess him your ‘darkest’ and ‘deepest’ secrets, as he did the same of you, both laid out in the sun, after lunch, staring up at the it, barely shielding yourself from it with your hands.

You joked and you laughed.

And it almost felt like you hadn’t lost anything in your previous life.

As if nothing existed except you and him, in that moment.

But your soul was growing restless.

Almost as if it expected something bad to happen.

Because history had a tendency to repeat itself.

And your soul knew it all too well.

So, you were secretly happy when you moved into a crowd for the musical festival, glad to be able to move yourself among many people, the music completely blaring your mind in a calm state that brought you to definitely enjoy the moment.

And so, seemed Hedda.

You had also had special places, because of Ivar’s disability, standing in the front, meanwhile various bands of various musical genres moved onto stage, alternating themselves, between applauses and ‘boo’s, making you definitely feel like this was an unlike ‘Midsomar’.

But soon it got a bit too much for you and Ivar, the man almost reading your mind (which scared you, because your mind wasn’t a nice place in that moment) and you both suggested going for a round of cold drinks.

Hedda and Hvitserk carrying their orders on you, taking great advantage as you muttered softly in protest, Ivar matching your harsh glare, but you both laughed it off, moving to the small bar set up there, the crowd making it again a wonderful occasion to make small talk with Ivar.

But you couldn’t deny that every talk with him wasn’t simply ‘small talk’.

Although you knew that Hvitserk and Hedda were waiting for you to come back, you still decided to set yourself up in the deserted tables next to the small bar, since everyone was dancing in the crowd, but you were able to still enjoy the music.

Even better with nobody sweating against you.

The lady that brought you your drinks smirked softly at you and said something in Icelandic that you couldn’t quite catch but simply smirked at her, meanwhile Ivar blushed bright red.

‘What did she say?’ you asked, twirling your orange juice in its glass, meanwhile Ivar looked like he might choke on his own beer.

‘… she muttered something about… us being a cute couple’.

This time you basically spluttered the orange juice in his face.

Blushing even harder because of that.

‘… oh’ you simply were able to retort.

‘Oh, indeed’ he repeated, with some kind of bitter embarrassment to it.

And suddenly you were feeling deeply uncomfortable.

Unsure of whether you had said the right thing or not.

And the painful knowledge of your past hanging on you.

An awkward silence fell onto you heavily and you didn’t know what to say and you didn’t want to go back, because Hedda wouldn’t be much helpful since she had set her sights on Hvitserk and she’d have his number for sure, by the end of the night…

… if not something else.

In the end, Hvitserk and Hedda came looking up for you, joining you to drink, something that certainly made you feel definitely better, a bit less awkward, as you leaned on Hedda, almost shying away to her side.

And Ivar did the same with Hvitserk.

In the end you managed to eventually talk with Hvitserk, but awkwardness had again created a wall between you, two…

… a wall that had to be shredded, because Hedda had come up with a dangerous idea.

‘Why don’t you and Ivar spend the night together?’ she suggested, and again you were a tomato ‘… I mean… you could stay over there, since Hvitserk and I were thinking of partying a bit more and I know that you don’t like it. And I feel bad in making you stay alone…’

Other than the fact that she had basically invited yourself in her house, you didn’t think that it was a good idea, and told her so, insisting that Ivar’s uncle would be soon back.

‘… then you can stay for a bit and then go back’ it was obvious that both she and Hvitserk were playing matchmakers.

And you and Ivar didn’t feel like it, in the slightest.

You had already Fate pushing you up close.

That was enough.

You insisted with Hedda that you didn’t want to be of any bother to Ivar, and she insisted back that it wasn’t good to leave you coming back alone.

And although Ivar didn’t seem the type to be guilt-tripped into doing anything, he eventually agreed, although he told you that he’d have to see with his uncle if you could stay over for the night.

‘… oh no no, don’t worry!’ you tried to protest, already feeling like a useless baggage ‘… I’ll just go back before it is too late, I mean… it is still pretty sunny’.

But your mutter had gone unnoticed and after another round in the crowd, the concert had stopped, setting up a more commercial DJ sets, as you went back with Hvitserk’s car, the one to which you were gone to the concert, an hour away from the barn.

Back at the barn, the situation with Ivar hadn’t become better and another flashback had developed in your mind.

An annoying ride of carriage, because you knew that somehow Ivar was angry with you and you should have been angry with him, but at the same time you were damnably worried for him.

And you had reached out for him.

Finding the same gesture replied in the future.

And you were glad you had chosen to leave Ivar take the front seat, meanwhile you had simply reached out for Hedda’s hands, who sent you a look, as if to check whether you had inhaled some passive ‘smoke’ from the crowd of the festival.

You wished.

And when you arrived to the place you and Ivar basically were barely able to get out of the car, before Hedda and Hvitserk sprinted off, effectively leaving you stranded.

“Shit” muttered Ivar under his breath and you couldn’t have expressed better your thoughts, as you faced him, and all his previous reincarnations appeared in front of you.

A Viking warrior, a merchant, a lord.

And then you, bloodied and lost.

You shifted your head away from him, focusing it on your dirtied converse shoes.

“… if you want, we can go inside” he proposed eventually his tone settling up on a defeated tone “… nothing too much to see, but we might have beer…”.

“… have to drive” you reminded him.

“… and whatever you might want to drink with no alcohol” he commented, something almost comical in his words “… which is a sad choice, I’ll admit”.

“I am used to it” you shot back with a slight smirk “… does Hedda seem the type to be trusted behind a car wheel?”.

“You do make an excellent point”.

And then you dived inside, the small barn, being quite welcoming and quite comforting, definitely something that made you remember of home, as you noticed the small figurines draping and decorating elegantly the main hall.

Ivar saw that they had caught your eyes.

And not solely because they were beautiful.

But you had seen them in your dreams.

And then you felt like you had a heavy stone on your lungs, and you had to free yourself from it.

“Ivar, I have a thing to tell you”.

---

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[9r7g5h]

Her Little Garthy

Fandom: Fantasy High

Rating: K

Genre: General

Summary:  In which a previous Ayda gains her child.

Words: 2097

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantasy High.

AN: So, Garthy specifically stated that they were from Zajiri celestials, and they’re a half orc. While Ayda could be their bio mother, Ayda has also said in her notes that she hasn’t been in love with anyone for at least the last three lifetimes, spanning the last 150 years. Garthy is nowhere near that old, and Ayda is half phoenix, not related to the Zajiri at all, while Garthy also exhibits no bird-like features. So, best conclusion is adopted families and with the cuteness of Jawbone adopting Adaine, this went ahead and popped out as well.

Ayda Aguefort legitimately wasn’t used to people being inside of her library. Other than Roland, who she had hired many, many years ago as a young man, it was common for her to pass her many days reading and writing and studying without seeing a single other soul. Silence, broken only by the sound of her quill on paper and the rustle of pages, the occasional thunk as she dropped a book back into place, her hands getting a bit too old for the larger of them.

It was nice, in a way. She was old, early fifties by her count, as inaccurate as it was, since she didn’t have an exact date of her last reincarnation. The person she had hired, according to her notes, to take care of her had skipped out when she was young, leaving Roland for the task he was woefully unprepared for. But he had taught her to read and write and use the magic within her, all the things her absent father should have done, so she was grateful, to him and for the silence. She knew she was off, knew something about her seemed strange to others, and so she accepted and enjoyed the silence for what it was.

Except, now, there was an orc woman standing in her library. Clearly suffering from exhaustion, weakened by some unknown affliction Ayda would have to study later, and, most obvious and concerning, coated in blood both her own and not. Her clothes were tattered, clearly showing signs of the fight she had most likely been in just a short while before, especially since her sword was still dripping blood onto the wood of Ayda’s library.

She was also cradling an infant in her other arm, another thing that intrigued Ayda, but that would have to wait for further examination.

“Please,” the orc woman said, holding out the infant to Ayda. “Please, take her.”

Ayda had had very little interaction with children in this life, though a previous one who had made children of various species their subject of investigation had left incredibly detailed notes. So she knew how to cradle the child’s head with her elbow, keeping the infant face up so it could breathe, the runes on her arms flaring slightly to produce the extra heat something so small would most certainly need.

It was so tiny. Fascinating.

“Do you require assistance?” Ayda asked once she had made sure the child was secure, her mind content that said task was complete. “I am not a healer, but I can escort you to-“

“No,” the orc woman said, even as she unsteadily lowered herself to the floor. “No, please, just, let’s just stay inside. No one will bother us here.”

Ayda wanted to ask what the orc woman meant, but there was also part of her that could take a very well-educated guess as to what she was talking about. Ayda was considered weird here on the Leviathan, an anomaly, a magic user amongst all of the pirates that focused on swords and their primitive miniature cannons. Sure, there were some pirates that knew a bit of magic, enough to call up a wind to fill their sails, or those druids who were trying to grow a garden on the north western side of the city, but nothing like her.

There was nothing like her anywhere.

Except, to an extent, the infant she was now holding in her arms.

It was clear the child was a celestial, probably from one of the angelic fiends that inhabited orcish religions. Zajiri, if she had to take a guess, though she would have to reexamine the child and compare the brief mental notes she had taken to the books she knew she had, second floor, twelfth row on the left side of the library. Maybe she could convince the mother to let her borrow the child for a bit, later, when she wasn’t slowly leaking a large puddle of blood.

“Are you sure you do not require assistance? I am available to help if you require it.” For, of course, a fair and reasonable price, but Ayda had been taught to not bring that up when someone was in obvious danger. It was rude, and could potentially hold up events that needed to happen at a quicker pace.

Still, the orc woman shook her head.

“No, I’m alright,” the woman said. She took a few deep breathes, placed her hand over her lower stomach, and the puddle of blood stopped growing as a low light glowed from her hand. A healer, then. “I just needed somewhere safe to rest for a bit.” She stopped for a moment, looked at Ayda. “I’ve heard what you can do. What kind of person you are. Figured you wouldn’t hurt a baby, and could maybe help ward off those who would.”

Ayda gave a jerky nod of her head, adjusting her arm as her shoulder started to feel sore. She disliked violence, though she was well versed in quite a number of spells to protect herself and her library as necessary. She had actually just been working on one a short while before, to help with the unraveling of someone’s very essence. A work in progress, but it showed promise.

“Your child is a celestial.” A statement, though perhaps with the slightest bit of a question behind it.

“As are you,” the orc woman said back, giving a small shrug. “Don’t know what you are,” she added, “but mine at least isn’t a bird.”

Ayda gave a squawk of laughter, finding humor in the orc woman’s statement, she following with a chuckle of her own shortly after.

“It’s funny, because I’m only part bird, and your child doesn’t seem to have any bird within them,” Ayda explained, the orc woman giving a nod at her explanation. No other words, but still the nod made her feel warm inside, at least for a moment. “Is that why you came here, because of our shared heritage from the celestial realms? If you’re looking for information on your child’s legacy, I could be of some service.”

A shake of the head, the orc woman’s previous brief smile disappearing. “You’re strong, right?”

Another jerky nod from Ayda.

“Strong enough to protect a baby, if anyone should try to harm it?”

Another jerky nod, though this one with confusion.

“I am not sure why anyone would try to harm a child, especially in the presence of a wizard, but if you need my help keeping this one safe, I would be happy to help. Do you require this assistance?”

“Good,” the orc woman said. After another moment of sitting, she forced herself to rise, Ayda rising with her, not even aware of when she had sat on the floor to be face to face with this strange orc woman, the child still in her hands. “Look,” the orc woman continued, stretching out the soreness in her muscles that remained even after the healing, “there some asshole out there, James Whitclaw or some shit, who wants to eat my baby’s brains. Kidnapped me from my ship when the word got out that I was birthing something special, thinks it might help him become king or something someday. I’ll be damned before I let that bastard touch that skull, but I’m badly outnumbered. I won’t ask you to come with me, but no one will try to take my baby from you here. Will you watch her until I come back?”

Ayda paused for a moment, looking down at the child in her arms. Sleeping soundly, maybe a few hours old, still wrinkly and that weird newborn orcish green before it settled into its permanent shade.

“Will you allow me to research your child during this time, until you return for it?”

The orc woman snorted and nodded her agreement. “Thought you might say that, from what I’ve heard of ya.”

“Then by the seven seas and the twelve stars and the nine hells, I will care for your child as my own until you have returned to claim it.” Ayda’s runes flared as she spoke her oath, the orc woman satisfied with that response.

“Let me see her real quick then,” the orc woman said, holding out her arms. Ayda was careful handing the child over, watching curiously as the orc woman sniffed the infant’s head, held it close to her chest, and placed a quick kiss on its forehead, causing it to coo and murmur in its sleep.

A brief pang of jealousy, that Ayda quickly forgot about as the child was returned to her care.

“Garthy,” the orc woman said as she reached the door, not turning back. “The babe’s name is Garthy O’Brien.” And with that the orc woman was gone, sword on her should, prepared to go make the world a safer place for her child.

Ayda leaned down as the door closed shut and sniffed the infant’s head, her eyebrow raising as she smelled the strange scent the newborn gave off. Not the various odors one expected from a child, pleasant but not overly so. Fascinating.

“Well, Garthy,” Ayda said as she headed towards the stairs, shifting the child in her arms to a more comfortable position, “I have promised your mother that I would care for you as if you were my own. While I have never had children, as far as my knowledge of my past lives allows me, you are now legally mine until your mother returns. An hour? Maybe two? That should be enough time for me to study you, get a sense of your origins.”

At some point during her statement, one of Garthy’s large eye slid open, looking up at Ayda with sleep and curiosity in equal measures. Curious pupils, a wonderful color, just hinting at the mystic within the child, just waiting to be found.

Ayda leaned down and kissed Garthy on the forehead, the child quickly lulled back to sleep by the warmth of her runes, safe and warm until its mother returned.

***

Ayda Augefort legitimately wasn’t used to people being inside of her library. Other than Roland, who she had hired many, many years ago as a young man, it was common for her to pass her many days reading and writing and studying without seeing a single other soul. Other than, of course, her child, Garthy. A health ten years old, if she had to guess, though half orc aasimars weren’t her specialty, they were happy to spend their time sitting with her in her library, handing her the books that her hands were too old for, taking notes for when her eyes were beginning to fail her.

She hadn’t been the best of mothers, of course. She had been woefully unprepared for the challenges of raising a child, especially one that had been left with her by an orc woman in the middle of the night, once for the child to be left for what Ayda had to presume was the rest of their lives. The orc woman had never come back, and knowing the Leviathan and a smattering of statistics, it was highly unlikely she ever would.

But Ayda had taught Garthy how to read and write and how to use the magic within them, had learned to cook more then just a basic sandwich to feed her new child, and had even considered reaching out to Arthur to let him know about his new grandchild, though she had lost the nerve just before she had. So far she had given them all of the love that she could, in her own strange way of showing it, and Garthy was happy and healthy and seemed to be doing alright.

And by the seven seas and the twelve stars and the nine hells, until the day her next reincarnation was to come, she would make sure that was the case. She loved her little child, the small creature that had so quickly grown from the squalling infant, her little Garthy, and even in her next life, she would make sure that Ayda loved them too.

(And she would, even without the notes reminding her to love Garthy with all her heart, to love her child she couldn’t remember, Ayda would love them. Because Garthy would teach her how to reach and write and use the magic within her, and would love her with all of their heart, and even before Ayda could do so, as Garthy picked her newborn form out of the ashes, Ayda would love them.)

[hypexion]

A Pile of Fanwalkers (Part 2)

Part two of me posting a bunch of “OCs“, since actually working out a better way to organise and present is this information is clearly too much effort. Despite the fact I’m putting what could be charitably described as an amount of work into these posts.

The basic format for each planeswalker will be a Name/Colour Identity/Pre-Ignition Typeline/Homeplane blob of information, a quickish description of them and some “fun“ facts, and then some hits and misses for extra flavour. Also, I’m going to split this into three posts - “Heroic“, “Okay“ and “Villians“, for I believe I have the moral authority to judge my creations.

Also some of these are going to be from fanplanes, which will go undescribed beyond whatever tidbits come out the character flavour. Others will just have a ?, representing a lack of knowledge and/or sufficent worldbuilding. With that out of the way, let’s go!

Okay

Not everyone is actively Heroic, and that’s okay. Generally, this lot might not want to help you out, but they’re unlikely to ruin your day just for the sake of it. Of course, some might offer to help if their skills are a match for the situation, or if they stand to benefit. And some of them might be a little rude, but they generally won’t murder you.

Ferroxi - BGU, Faerie Artificer, ? - While other fae are luring you around in circles, trapping you in an eternal sleep, or stealing your name, Ferroxi is probably rummaging through your recycling looking for useful stuff. Born on a plane piled with interplanar scrap, she learned at a young age the value in taking things apart and occationally putting them back together again. Ferroxi sees the wastefulness of other planes as her gain, and is always on the look out for anything that can be fixed up, melted down or repurposed. This doesn’t stop at the physical, either. With a bit of work, she’s managed to keep a few Infinite Consortium cells spinning, as a way to provided access to resources she’d otherwise have trouble obtaining. Ultimately, Ferroxi brings her finds back to her clan, where she is considered a peerless salvager, able to seemingly conjure resources from nothing.

Ferroxi has hair she self-describes as “rust coloured“ and brown skin. Being a Faerie, she’s just over a foot tall. But don’t underestimate her. Just because her weapon of choice looks like a sewing needle, it doesn’t mean it can’t hurt you. Of course, she also has access to all the various fae tricks, so getting into a fight with her is generally going to end her favour. Just let Ferroxi have your old lightbulbs, okay? When she planeswalkers, she disappears into a puff of rust dust. Don’t breath that! (Generally you shouldn’t breath planeswalking auras, but the metal oxides to be especially avoided.)

Hits: Recycling, Izzet technology, Moxen, white and gold bordered cards. Misses: Izzet security, large animals, things that can’t be repaired or reused.

Mazamat - UB, Human Wizard, Akkyria - For Mazamat, death is merely a setback. After each defeat she rises again, a new body forged from mana in her ziggurat. As a mortal scholar, her fame was not enough to enjoy the immortality Akkyria offered it’s most renowned. So through careful research, she discovered an alternative, a way to tie her life force to the leylines that shaped her world. She divised a ritual, and performed it to perfection. And in seeking eternal life, she found something far greater. For Mazamat was born long before The Mending. Her ignition gave her powers beyond bound. Even with a fractional of her strength sequestered as an anchor for her soul, Mazamat was a force to be reckoned with. She mastered lifetimes of magics, slew gods, and accidentally created a few highly dangerous artifacts. Unfortunately, even without meeting Urza, Mazamat was affect by his ruinous influence. The Mending weakened her. Enough that it was now the majority of her strength that anchored her to Akkyria. This made planewalking fatal. But for Mazamat, death is merely a setback. No Lich forgets their Phylactery, and Mazamat did not forget the mechanics of her undeath. While the first sucessful test walk only worked because of the Interplanar Beacon, it provided Mazamat all she needed to write a new ritual, and continue her endless study.

Often, Mazamat isn’t hard to miss. It’s difficult to ignore the walking corpse with glowing purple eyes, even you’d prefer to. She could put more effort into looking presentable, given her wide magical knowledge, but generally considers it optional. When she does wish to tidy up her appearance, she tends to appear as she did in the middle of her mortal life. In this case, she has brown skin and grey-black hair, which she ties back into a bun to get it out of the way. She also dampens the eye-glow effect, although they still take on a purple hue. Mazamat tends to dress in the classical “Robed Wizard“ look, ardorned with various magical symbols. Mazamat’s planeswalking effet is a pulse of pale blue light, occationally leaving behind short-lived inscriptions on nearby surfaces.

Hits: Mastering skills, advising adventurers (who bring the appropriate tribute), a kind of savory cake served with honey and dried fruits. Misses: Dying (it’s still not fun, even if you come back), Nicol Bolas, Urza, whoever started the rumor that flying snakes could be found near her ziggurat, because now she can’t get rid of the things, being stuck on a plane.

Pyrolas - R, Dragon, Ithmorne - Many planeswalkers are subtle. Many are careful. Pyrolas is neither, because Pyrolas is a red dragon. When presented with a problem, they consider fire and fury to be an acceptable solution. As dragons go, Pyrolas is considered implusive and quick to act. This is good for the non-dragons living with their domain, as it means Pyrolas tends to deal with problems such as bandits within a week. Meaning you might actually have a home to go back to. Pyrolas is also less than interested in the ever-shifting politics of the Draconic Confedracy, prefering to get their excitement from visting other planes, or comissioning sweet new artworks. Like many dragons on their homeplane, Pyrolas graciously allows non-dragons to use the singular they when referring to them. This is nice, because in Ithmorne Draconic, pronouns are also honorifics, and using the wrong one can range from “slightly rude“ to “mortal insult“ (it’s also nice because some of them are very hard to pronounce if you aren’t a dragon).

Dragons on Ithmorne tend towards being more slender, and Pyrolas is no exception. However, unlike a certain dragon whose name has been misplaced, they all still look dragony. Pyrolas has red scales, except on the underside of their wings, where they are a more goldish colour. Since they’re a dragon, they don’t carry weapons. Rather, Pyrolas is the weapon, capable of spewing flame, clawing rocks to pieces and able to crush puny humanoids in their grasp. Thankfully, Pyrolas is a kind of “take it easy“ dragon, so you need to try pretty hard to provoke them. When they planeswalk, flames pour from their mouth and engulf them, followed by Pyrolas disappearing. This takes a little while, so they tend to do it while flying out of the way of danger.

Hits: Flying around, treasure, the fine arts, hosting tournements. Misses: Really cold places, dragon slayers, missing out on the chance to claw Bolas in his stupid dumb face, that time they went to Ixalan.

Tanzor - GUR, Shapeshifter, ? - Do you ever wonder how the multiverse fits together? Tanzor does, and they've embarked on the most ambitious planar cartography projection in the multiverse to work it out. Of course, along the way, they’ve picked up a number of other projects. These include subjects such as planar topology, monitoring aether currents, and tracking planes that have been inflicted by Phyrexians (thanks, Karn). Most recently, Tanzor has been investigating the aftershocks from the deaths of Kozilek and Ulamog, and the appearance of temporal anomalies around Tarkir. And with the possibility of more Planar Bridges being constructed, they could soon have a whole new set of issues on their hands. Or claws. Or tentacles. When you’re a changeling, it’s sometimes hard to keep track. When in doubt, check what the person you’re reflexively copying has. (When in a group of three or more people, Tanzor generally exerts concious control over their shapeshifting, as not to freak people out).

Describing Tanzor’s physical appearance is difficult, since as a changeling, it tends to shift around a lot. When changing form, it appears that their underlying changeling colour is dark blue, however. For simplicity, let’s just say they’re friend-shaped. When Tanzor planeswalkers, their form dissippates, and they appear to collapse into a single point.

Hits: Being able to be anything, wings/fins/toxins on demand, high vantage points, advanced eyeball techniques. Misses: Being asked why they can’t shapeshift into a form that isn’t injured, Phyrexians, whoever was the latest one to screw up the multiverse (currently: Bolas, previously: Gatewatch, Ugin/Sarkhan, and others).

Xand - BR, Human Rogue, Ravnica - Xand likes to introduce himself as a cultist of wealth and taste. Which is not entirely inaccurate. He’s a member of the Cult of Rakdos, he’s got money to burn, and he’s very concerned about food. But don’t mistake Xand for some regular glutton, looking to gorge on endless plates of substandard junk. Xand has standards. Out of a dozen recipes, even after days of refinement, only a few will make it to the menu of his bar - which is an unusually “classy“ environment for a Rakdos run business. Sure, you won’t find any Azorius, Selesnya or Ozhov patrons there, and higher ranked guild members tend to avoid the it, but it’s a decent place to grab a meal or a drink. And for the fancier members of Ravnican society, there’s always Café Xand, which features table cloths, a wine list and a krasis of the day. And with the countless flavours of the multiverse available to him, Xand is always looking to expand the menu.

Xand has pale brown skin and shoulder-length black hair. Like any self-respecting Rakdos cultist, he dresses in loud, colourful robes, often patched together from previous robes that didn’t survive whatever manic Rakdos event Xand was last at. He also has a surprisingly well kept set of chef’s clothing, as likes to ensure only the right ingredients get used when he’s cooking. For personal defense (and offense), Xand carries knives. Lots of knives. Too many knives, perhaps, even when you factor in his excuse that “you never know when you might need to cut a cake, or dice some vegetables”.  He’s also pretty good at using Rakdos “hype magic” to disorient his foes, since it turns out that feeling a bunch of conflicting emotions at once is really distracting. When he planewalks, Xand disappears in a burst of dark flame, which leaves a pleasant, yet unidentifiable scent.

Hits: Good food, fine wine, various parties, visiting Valor’s Reach. Misses: Canibbalism, bar fights in his bar, Orzhov insurance rates, not being able to get the right spices, people calling him Alexander.

Look at all these nice...ish people. None of them would be into Gatewatching, but they’re also not making things worse. Tanzor might be willing to help out if they’re in the right place, and if you can appeal to her self-interest, Mazamat might teach you something useful. But with the others, their self-interest is probably going to overcome their altruism most of the time. Of course, the multiverse also has some rather more... antagonistic planewalkers, but that’s for next time.

[roswellroamer]

Day 3. February 1, 2020. Christchurch to Mt. Cook Village. 355km.

After a solid night's rest at our nicely appointed 3 level apartment in the Merivale neighborhood, the task of figuring out the best way to load all the gear/clothes on the bike was the first challenge of the day. With the large rolling duffel left at the bike shop I was pretty confident that everything would fit, but since I would be in a tough spot if it didn't, there was some trepidation as I bought my first pannier liner (borrowed from the Multistrada) down to the bike. The Duc has different sized panniers as one side's volume is cut nearly in half to accommodate and the Italian emphasis on aesthetics. The BMW has frame mounted and equally sized rectangular Givi plastic panniers. Our rental company informed us yesterday that although these bags have a triple clip closures and were supposed to be waterproof, they weren't "New Zealand rain-proof" as the southern and western portions of this island have rainfall measured in feet not inches! 🌧 I brought down the wider bag hoping that it would fit. Murphy once again intervened and it seemed a couple inches too wide. I decided to zip up the expansion section with some side of my body mass the same clothes were smashed a couple inches. Alas, still no go on the bag. So, a retreat to the third floor to rejigger everything. Let's just say I was glad I brought a 70l dry bag for the bike's tail. I needed it once I had to remove some items from my side/pannier. Anyway as I secured my heavier than expected tail bag with my trusty Rok Straps and slipped onto Papanui Road headed for the Southern Alps, I didn't pop a wheelie and felt that logistics weren't now just in need of some tweaking. A system to organize and pack is key to making the daily cycles of unpacking, loading, unloading, repacking an easy and stress-free task. The 70l bag gave me a large margin of error so I did overpack knowing I had this extra room if needed.

Saturday AM brought us little traffic as we rode along the other side of Hagley Park into the Westfield Riccarton area of CHC. A few other bikes were on the road and within 15-20' we started increasing our speed (in accordance with the posted limits, mostly 😉) as we left CHC and development behind. We rode past some of those horse racing tracks and saw a few jockeys wheeling around on their sulkies. For an hour or more we headed west and a bit south enmeshed in a patchwork of farmland. Flat, broken up by Irish style hedges and trees that were manicured and coerced into natural fence lines blocking wind effectively while creating visual barriers. Some small towns and without breakfast (not like me) I was tempted to call for a stop but we were aiming for Fairlie, where a few folks had impressed upon us the need to sample the pie 🥧 in Fairlie. Now when I hear pie, I'm thinking fruit. Usually cherry or apple. But the pies of note on our radar were of the meat variety! I didn't want to ruin my appetite. After a couple hours something changed. We made a turn in the road that wasn't a left or right, but an undulation. Wait, was that a hillside up ahead? All of a sudden we were in the foothills. Gone the flat farms of sheep, cows and agriculture. Now we were winding on increasingly common twisties. As we gained elevation the ambient temp dropped from around 22°C all the way down to 13.5°C (about 56°, still not really cold). We did end up stopping for a light bite in Geraldine at the Running Duck. I had a Coconut Ice (smoothie) and a heated raisin danish. A Ducati monster was parked there and he was stretching out in a chaise type lounger soaking up the sun. Bubba the elephant allowed the local server to locate us outside as most tables were full with travelers. We had taken the inland road which was recommended as more scenic and less traffic. At Geraldine we joined the main commercial road conducting summer crowds up to the Alps and Mt. Cook. A fuel stop there after the danish and off to Fairlie. We chose the Fairlie Bakery and despite the hype, were not disappointed with the buttered chicken and mushroom pie. 😋 We had passed some more interesting farms that included emu, caribou, deer, alpaca along with the more common farm animals. We were now traversing and crossing glacial runoff/moraine. The distinctive turquoise color of the glacial water is visually magnetic. 👀 It is caused by the silt or "rock flour" the water carries and is very distinctive.

Next on the Day 3 hit parade were two stunning glacial lakes. Lake Tekapo and the oft photographed stone Church of the Good Shepherd prompted a photo stop along with a hundred Chinese tourists. It sits near the road overlooking the colorful lake with a view of Mt. Cook aka "Aoraki" in Maori towering to 12,218'. Loads of small RV's everywhere too! #rvlife Riding past Tekapo on to Lake Pukaki which was equally turquoise. Afternoon had brought us a high, thin overcast which kept us from capturing the water's full visual splendor. It is still over 50kms from Pukaki to the end of the road here in Mt. Cook village as you wind up the valley and the glacial run-off becomes a river feeding the lake. There are a number of sizable glaciers here. We are going to tour glaciers by boat later on the ride at Milford Sound so we'll just enjoy the blue glacier ice from the valley floor today. There are a number of well marked trails through the unique alpine environment here as the whole area is a national park. Some trails through woods, others pass over hills to provide panoramic views of the Hooker and Tasman glaciers (the matter is the longest in NZ). Lodging here is limited and we opted to stay at the very nice Hermitage resort. Upon check-in we were informed the room wasn't ready. A bit of persuasion involving the manager whom we requested promptly solved the 1 1/2 hour previously proclaimed delay for a room not yet ready and a corner room with a spectacular view was provided. 😊 We're gonna explore the area for a bit now and hardly think the pics will do today justice but I'll attach 10 to follow. The weather has held off and so far no rain. Tomorrow is supposed to be different but we'll see if the meteorologists are again proven to be inaccurate. We walked through a heavily wooded seemingly tropical path on the way to a dinner which was accompanied by some dense bushes, trees and stairs. A bit of interesting history regarding Aoraki. Sir Edmund Hillary, a Kiwi born in Auckland who is best known for being the first man to climb Everest, cut his teeth on this mountain. 6 years prior to his successful assault on Everest with Tenzing Norgay he was learning the skills needed for the Himalayas right here. https://teara.govt.nz/en/photograph/28327/hillary-and-ayres-on-aorakimt-cook-1947 Mt. Cook has claimed over 80 lives this past century.

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 40 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,470

As the weak light of the early morning filters through uncaring blinds to rest on peaceful eyes and worriless blankets, coating the world in a sheet of simplicity that could one day be, Logan scowls at his phone. Though he should be getting ready for the day, pulling on his work attire and preparing a mediocre breakfast for himself, a few sets of pixels on his screen say otherwise. Sebastian NASA office branch closed for the day, the email reads, due to conflicts regarding Roseland fumigation company. Katie-Lee Johnston. Logan suffocates the light of the screen in the mattress.

Beside him, Virgil rolls over and tosses a heavy arm around Logan’s waist, dragging him closer and burying his cold nose in Logan’s neck. There’s a brief pause where Logan allows himself to simply exist in the silence, before Virgil opens his mouth and talks into Logan’s skin. “Isn’t this supposed to be the part where you bug me to let go so you can run off to work?”

Logan feels the words more than he hears them, but he sort of forgets about them entirely when his eyes flick down to the ring around the finger holding his abdomen. It’s not until that finger starts drumming a rhythm on his ribcage that he remembers he’s supposed to say something now. “They closed the office for fumigation today. Micah probably forgot a tuna sandwich that started its own ecosystem in the fridge or something.”

“That’s awesome. Free day.” Logan curls into Virgil’s chest as he says this, admiring how the low rumble of his barely-awake voice vibrates through his body before he flips around to face him—ignoring Virgil’s protests. Virgil hugs him closer, tucking Logan’s head under his chin and buffeting some of his hair back with a contented sigh. Logan closes his eyes.

“So what do you want to do with your magical day off?”

Logan considers bringing up the idea of job hunting for a steadier career than art tours for Virgil, but decides he’d rather not stir that particular pot. Not today, anyway. “Wait for the world to stop turning?”

“That might take a little longer than a day. Maybe we would update your wardrobe.”

“What’s wrong with my wardrobe?”

“It is woefully lacking in non-work clothes—street clothes, whatever you want to call them—and I cannot be engaged to a man that does not respect himself enough to have a cardigan of his own. I mean, it really is time you stopped stealing mine.”

Logan pouts stubbornly, ignoring the feeling of the cardigan he stole from Virgil burning a hole in the back of his head. “Okay, so wardrobe update day, but why would you propose to me if you already knew I didn’t have any cardigans?”

“You really thought I didn’t notice the box you’ve been carrying around, or how nervous you’ve been since you got it? I couldn’t just let you beat me to the punch like that.” Logan sticks his tongue out and curls up tighter against Virgil, who readjusts his arms to hold him closer. Beneath a mess of blankets and sunlight, they fall back asleep in each other’s embrace.

A few hours later, they wake up in the same position. Logan grumbles softly, more than a little disoriented from the extra sleep. He squints against the light, releasing something between a groan and a whine as he tries to ignore the giant ball of fire maintaining the capacity for life on the planet.

Once his eyes finally adjust, he looks up to see Virgil propped atop the pillow with an elbow supporting his weight. Virgil smiles down at him.

“What’s that face for?”

“What face?”

“That one, the one you’re smiling at me with. Why are you smiling like that?”

“I never get to beat you to being awake. It’s nice to see you all peaceful and asleep like that.”

Logan’s face is on fire. “Shut up.”

Virgil laughs, and it sends shivers down Logan’s spine. “And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m not going cardigan shopping with you today.”

“Well hey hey hey, let’s not get too hasty here.” Virgil shoves up from the mattress and scrambles off the bed, jumping around the room to pull up his skinny jeans at the same time as he tugs a shirt over his head. Logan does not particularly care for how cold he suddenly feels without Virgil’s arms, but he begrudgingly rises as well. He grumbles the whole way through getting dressed and dragging his butt into the kitchen, where Virgil is already whispering forceful encouragement to the sputtering keurig.

Virgil turns as the keurig quiets down, handing Logan the mug with a Calvin and Hobbes strip along its face. “I think our best bet is probably just to hit up the place where I got my first few.”

“I’m really only along for the ride, but I support you.”

“Cool, because they’ve got this great selection there, and it’s a small enough store that no one else has really flooded it yet, and they’ve even got a few sections of vintage shirts and records and junk. Just hipster enough to be cool but not so hipster that it’s uncool.”

This stunning (and confusing) review is how Logan finds himself in a tiny little shop tucked away in the elbow corner of an ill-frequented strip mall. He stands uncomfortably off to the side, watching Virgil dig through racks of cardigans and hoodies and jackets and shirts and pretty much any other form of clothing that could go on a vaguely humanoid torso. The organization of this place leaves absolutely everything to be desired.

It crosses Logan’s mind that he might’ve lost Virgil for good when his boyfriend—no, fiance, he thinks with delight—disappears into the fabrics completely, and the only sign that he hasn’t literally been eaten by the clothing is the sides of his ratty sneakers peeking out from under the hems of the shorter tops.

Finally, Virgil emerges holding far more clothes than he should reasonably be able to carry, all of which add up to stack higher than his head. No, seriously, Logan is genuinely worried they might knock out a ceiling light or something. Virgil jerks his head for Logan to follow him to the far wall, which is completely covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors and peppered with the odd bench or stool. Joining him beside one of the larger benches, Logan looks on as Virgil dumps everything in a disaster pile and digs through it for one particular piece. Several garments fall to the floor.

“Okay, try this one on first,” Virgil says, pressing a mustard yellow ball of fabric into Logan’s arms. He does.

“This looks horrible. It looks horrible, doesn’t it?”

“Haha, yeah.”

“Well, what the—why would you make me try it on, then?”

“I wanted to weed out the worst ones first, and I’d rather try them out and have them fail than never try them and find out later they would’ve been perfect, y’know?”

“Kind of a messy logic line, but I’ll take it,” Logan says, preparing himself for the onslaught of a fashion show montage of trying on one cardigan after another, complete with Virgil pitching in objectively more accurate opinions. He tosses out points regarding the hang, the hem, the colors, none of which Logan can even begin to follow. He simply allows himself to be shoved into each garment, watching the ‘definite no’ pile shrink to Virgil’s right as the ‘hard maybe’ pile grows very, very slowly.

Eventually, Logan’s discomfort reaches a breaking point, and he starts strutting around as if he’s on a catwalk with the ones he likes best. He even pretends to be a very inaccurate parody of a motorcycle gang winner (whatever that is) when he dons a fake leather jacket, to which Virgil buries his face in his hands like a scorned mentor in the training montage of a Disney Channel straight-to-tv movie. It all dissolves into giggles and guffaws when Logan pulls on a zip-up Hawaiian flower print hoodie.

“Wait, stop, don’t take that one off yet.” Logan freezes, glancing at himself in the mirror again. He wears a midnight blue cardigan that falls somewhere around his knees, and the rib stitching that crawls halfway up his forearms is inlaid with tiny white sparkles that almost make it look like the cloudless night sky. “Okay, hold still.” Virgil flits around Logan like a hummingbird, checking the drape of the fabric, the pull of the seams, and adjusts it all to his unknowable standards. Finally, he stops and stares, facing Logan and just holding his hands loosely between them.

Logan hesitates. “What?”

“I just—this is real.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Us. We’re real. This, you, me, all of it is real.” Virgil lifts their joined hands, looking at the gleaming bands around their fingers. “It’s really real.”

“It really is.”

Virgil shakes his head and snaps back into the moment, clearly trying to laugh off the awkward silence that managed to fall on the store. Logan busies himself pretending he doesn’t notice the cashier staring at them, instead twisting the ring up and down his knuckles and admiring how the engraving rubs against his skin. It’ll cost you the stars.

Ironic, perhaps, that the ring Logan had carried around promised Virgil the moon. Better, even, that Virgil opted to keep it. A matched set of harmonious rings that no one else could have quite the thrill of understanding that they would.

Or Logan is reading too deep into jewelry again.

Probably that second one.

“Right,” Virgil says suddenly, looking up from his own ring. His eyes look a tad bit more watery than usual. “Yes. Okay, right, let’s go buy that one, then. Good starter cardigan. Good star-digan.” Logan follows Virgil to the checkout counter, where a changing of the guard is apparently in progress. The cashier that definitely wasn’t staring at them pulls out their till and vanishes into a back room as the new person slots in their own. Logan freezes.

“Micah?”

“Hey, Logan! What’s pop rockin’?” Micah glances between Logan and Virgil, then down at the jeweled hand pulling out a credit card. “Is this that guy you would never shut up about? Viagra something or other?”

“Virgil Sandovall,” Virgil corrects with a light laugh. “And who might you be?”

“Just the guy that had to endure Logan droning on for years and years about how amazing and cute his Cadmium boyfriend is, no one important.” Micah messes with something on the register, and the price drops a few bucks. “Also the guy giving you a free employee discount, just ’cause I’m so nice, so there’s also that. Primarily, though, the intern subjected to Logan’s incessant gushing. That’s me.”

“I, uh, I don’t know that I was all that bad about it,” Logan lies. “And, hey, they’re fumigating the office today for some bugs or something. Did you forget your sprouting tuna sandwich in the fridge again?”

“Yeah, yeah, tall skinny guy,” Micah continues, completely ignoring Logan’s feeble attempt at changing the subject. “You were always talking about what your plans over the next weekend were gonna be, how exciting it would be to go on whatever odd adventure he had planned.” Micah nods at Virgil, who’s barely holding back his own laughter. “Y’know, he hardly ever said a word before meeting you. Then, bam, he comes in one day, ranting about this tour guide from some museum a couple blocks away. I’m pretty sure he almost, like, combusted on the spot when you showed up with coffee for our floor.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Virgil says with what Logan would call an objectively evil grin. “I have never once seen him not raving about space or riddles or whatever quantum something or other, but I am pretty amazing, so what else would he talk about with people who already know everything about space and stuff?”

“Yes, great, can we maybe be going now?” Logan asks. More like pleads.

Micah steamrolls right over him. “I wouldn’t say we know everything about space. To be honest, he never missed a chance to talk our ears off about the latest project he had. You showing up was the conversation change that absolutely everyone on our floor was dying for. Ooh, good couplet, let me write that down—I’m a bludgeoning poet, you know.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is burgeoning, and no, you’re not,” Logan mutters.

Micah ignores him, instead handing over a bag with the cardigan and receipt as he nods at Virgil. “Not to be a weird cashier barging in on the lives of a couple random customers, but I really do think you’re just about the best thing that could’ve happened to him.”

“Besides his promotion, you mean.”

“What! Logan, you got the job? Dude, that’s awesome!” Micah punches the air a few times as Logan debates the merits of literally being launched into space and landing at terminal velocity on Neptune right this very second. “Hey, Virgil, do you do anything besides fetch quests and museum—”

“We’re engaged,” Logan says loudly. Micah blinks at him as Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Engaged. Me and him. Him and I. He and I. He and me. Are engaged. To be married, I mean. To each other.”

“Right, so I think that’s our cue to head on out,” Virgil says, rocking on his toes. “It was great to meet you. Micah, was it?”

“Yeah, um, yes. Great meeting you, too. Besides when we met on your fetch quest, but—y’know what, never mind.” Micah waves them toward the door, nodding at Logan. “Congratulations, by the way. On the engagement, I mean. And the promotion. On everything, I guess. Oh, on the cardigan purchase, too. Thanks for shopping with us, and all that fun stuff.”

Logan cannot get out the door fast enough.

“That was exciting,” Virgil says brightly. He waves to Micah as the door clicks shut behind them. “He the one that left?”

“Yeah, yes, he just didn’t see any upward movement for himself, and he had an interview set up for this place, anyway. Really good benefits, I think he mentioned. Decent hours.” Logan hefts the shopping bag in his hand, half tempted to do a little spin step right there on the concrete. Engaged. It still doesn’t feel real. He wonders if it ever will.

“Here, give me that,” Virgil says, taking the bag and pulling out the cardigan. He settles it over Logan’s shoulders and takes a step back, poking his tongue out as Logan fulfills his spin step temptation.

“Is it good?”

“Yeah,” Virgil murmurs, his eyes catching on the peculiar glint of the sparkling stars. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s really, really good.”

[inside-aut-blog]

On functioning labels

We’ve all heard them. Most everyone uses them—doctors, therapists, people on TV, people on the street, maybe even your auntie whose son is autistic....

We’ve all heard them, and most everyone uses them—everyone, that is, except a very large number of actually autistic people, myself included.

Why?

Well—a number of reasons, but it’s easiest explained like this: let me tell you a story.

We’ve got two autistics—and stop me if you’ve heard this one before, I’m not the first to tell it—but we’ve got two autistics. One’s called Allie, and the other’s Fred.

Let’s start with Allie.

Allie can carry a conversation. She went to a good university and got good grades. She transitioned from student housing to her own apartment, and held down a part-time job all through school. She now has an internship in a special-interest-related field, works freelance on the side, and is independently paying off her student loans. She can control her stimming in public settings and she can navigate public transportation. She has fairly few sensory issues, and is rarely overwhelmed by them; when she is, she is able to calm herself. She accepts and gives hugs regularly. She’s a bit quiet, but she can carry on a conversation, and while she occasionally struggles to pick up on jokes, she’s got the hang of sarcasm. Her speech is a bit stilted sometimes, sure, but her vocabulary’s expansive, and she can write very eloquently. She tends to be pretty literal, but she’s also extremely intelligent and analytical, and those traits—along with her autistic eye for detail— help her understand subtlety very well. She sets flexible routines for herself to counteract the difficulty she faces doing things spontaneously. She is often trusted to look after and manage others. She’s highly empathetic. She can pass for neurotypical.

So that’s Allie.

Now let’s talk about Fred.

Fred often struggles to speak. He also went to university and had his own apartment, but had a lot of trouble keeping on top of academics, and even more trouble with basic life skills. He often forgot to do laundry, wash himself, brush his teeth, comb his hair, buy groceries, cook meals, and eat. He has since moved back home. He stims almost constantly, even in public settings, and grows very anxious on public transportation. He can’t drive, either, because it overwhelms him. His sensory issues cause daily trouble—he jumps violently at sudden sounds, cannot eat several common foods, and hates to be touched. When he gets overwhelmed, he screams and hurts himself. He struggles to understand sarcasm. He often gets stuck on particular lines of conversation, communicates largely through echolalia and pre-scripted speech, and very frequently forgets words mid-sentence. Sometimes—especially with new people—he cannot speak at all. He instinctively sees everything in black-and-white and struggles to internalize nuance. He thrives on routine and grows very anxious and very angry when his routines are broken unexpectedly. When he absolutely must do something new, he often needs someone to go with him. He has low empathy. He is frequently very visibly autistic.

So there’s Fred.

So you’ve got both of them now, two neat little life stories, Allie and Fred, Fred and Allie.

So.

Which of them is high-functioning? Which of them is low-functioning?

Allie and Fred respectively, right?

Wrong.

They’re the same person.

And they’re not hypothetical. They’re both me.

I’m Allie, and I’m Fred.

And here’s the kicker—something that sometimes gets missed out but is pretty important, a little bit crucial, kind-of-sort-of absolutely vital—I’m always both of them.

Sure, sometimes it depends on the day, whether I look more like Allie or more like Tim, and sure, circumstances and support levels and energy levels can all make a world of difference—but most often I am both of them at the exact same time, under the exact same circumstances.

I can hold down a completely average back-and-forth conversation, but still be unable to initiate that conversation, and still struggle to remember basic words in the middle of it, and still struggle to bring it to a natural close.

I can succeed in school and still struggle to complete my assignments, get them turned in at the very last minute or even late.

I can make myself three meals a day according to the strict series of alarms I’ve set myself, using my autistic love of routine to counterract my autistic insensitivity to hunger, but still forget to eat them afterward.

I can remember to shower, but forget to brush my teeth, and vice versa. I can remember to wash my hair, but forget to comb it. I can wash my clothes without issue, but forget to move them into the dryer afterward. I can dry my clothes but forget to put them away.

I can navigate public transportation without error and also be extremely anxious the whole time.

I can control my stimming in public and still stim furiously when I get home. (I can also be perfectly able to control my stimming in public, but choose not to do so—as is often the case, because stimming is a very helpful coping mechanism, and also just fun, and I don’t care if strangers think it’s weird because I know it doesn’t hurt them.)

I can have few sensory issues and still struggle noticeably with those few.

I can hate to be touched and still grin and bear it. (I can also hate receiving hugs and not mind giving them.)

I can calm myself when I get overwhelmed using coping skills and also struggle to do so. (I can calm myself when overwhelmed without much effort using coping skills that alarm other people—like body stimming, screaming, or self-harm.)

I can use sarcasm but still have trouble understanding when others use it. I can speak very eloquently while still relying heavily on echolalia and scripts. I can write beautifully when I am not able to speak a single word.

I can struggle heavily with the black-and-white thinking that comes so much more naturally to me and still force myself to use my critical thinking skills to spot nuance. (I can still struggle to internalize this nuance once I have spotted it.)

I can cope with spontaneity and still have immediate, instinctive emotional reactions to breaks in routine. (I can have a meltdown and force myself to cope afterwards.) I can cope with new situations and still need someone shadowing me. (Having someone shadow you is a way to cope in itself.)

I can have high empathy for objects or fictional characters and little to none for real, actual people. I can care very much about people’s feelings and still not understand what those feelings are. I can analyze the reasons behind someone’s feelings and still not recognize them on their face or in their voice. I can recognize feelings on someone’s face or in their voice and still not know what to do about them. I can want to comfort people and not know how.

I can have the ability to pass as neurotypical at one given moment but not another. I can have the ability to pass as neurotypical in a given moment and simply choose not to. I can choose to pass as neurotypical, and succeed in passing as neurotypical to some of the people I interact with, and not succeed with others.

I can do all of this at the same time, within the same day, the same hour. Even the same moment, if I’m feeling extra spicy autistic.

I routinely do.

Because all of these experiences—these strengths, weaknesses, traits—are part of my life. None of them cancel each other out, because they can’t—they’re all equally inherent to who I am as a person. So they coexist, even if they seem contradictory.

Because I’m contradictory. Because I’m a person, and I’m multifaceted, and nuanced—people are like that, or so I hear.

Autistics are no exception.

You can’t split us so easily into high- or low-functioning, because to do so is to ignore other vital aspects of our experiences.

To do so, put simply, is both dehumanizing and inaccurate.

And, as well—to do so is to box us into one rigid experience or another: one in which people focus only on the things we can do and ignore those we can’t, or one in which people focus only on the things we cannot do and ignore all of the things we can.

Because the labels come with stereotypes—as the common thinking goes, “high-functioning” autistics never really struggle and can do anything they want without any help, while “low-functioning” autistics do nothing but struggle, have very little, if any, potential, and are to be pitied.

That is, of course, nonsense.

So in both experiences the true scope of our abilities is overlooked. (People hearing the labels have no clue what we’re capable of, but they think they do, and they generally act accordingly.)

And, as well, in both experiences we are spoken over by others—by those who think they should be allowed to decide what we are like, and what our futures will be like, and categorize us and compare us to each other and pit us against each other, elevating some autistics above others, as a means of determining our ability to “function” in society. (Which is to say, of course, our worth to society, how much we inconvenience society—because functioning labels don’t express how we experience our autism; rather, they express how others experience our autism.)

So, all told, why don’t autistics like functioning labels?

Because they are not only dehumanizing, inaccurate, and unnecessarily rigid—they’re also not even helpful (to anyone—us or others).

There’s no good reason to use them. We’d like it to stop.

And, personally, if any neurotypical tries to ascribe either label to me—or to any autistics around me, for that matter—I’m going to make a hell of a fuss.

Because we’re autistic, and we’re here, and we can can hear you.

[pokii-jonas]

Purrfectly Virgil : Chapter 1

Summary:

Virgil has always been different from Logan, Roman, and Patton which they have all grown used to and accept.

However, Virgil may be a bit more different than they originally thought.

If only they knew...

***WARNINGS: deceit mention, mentions of discomfort (PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT SOMETHING***

AO3

Next

Virgil felt his pulse increase as his eyes latched onto it. The single most important thing in the universe.

In reality, he knew that he was just letting instincts come over him. In reality, he knew that his desires made no sense. In reality, he knew that they could actually be a bit dangerous, which would usually make his anxiety increase.

But this wasn’t reality.

Suddenly it moved to the other side of the screen and Virgil felt his ears lower themselves closer to his head and felt his body wiggle a bit as he got ready to pounce out of his chair.

“Virgil? Are you okay?” a voice said and the little red dot of the laser pointer disappeared off the screen, breaking Virgil out of his reverie.

“Wha- oh, sorry Logan.” Virgil said and leaned back into his chair, blushing lightly.

“That didn’t answer my question.” Logan stated, still standing at his spot next to the sofa.

“What question?” Virgil asked.

“Never mind Gloomy Guster, can we just get on with this Power-No-Point?” Roman exclaimed as he sank farther into the couch.

“I would comment on how inaccurate and utterly ridiculous your nickname was, but I honestly don’t even see the point in doing so anymore.” Logan said, turning to point at the screen with his laser pointer once again.

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Patton shouted excitedly, while jumping off the couch and knocking down the snacks he and Roman had deemed necessary for Logan’s presentation. “DAD JOKE?” he yelled, face full of childlike joy.

“Never!” Logan shouted back, eyes widening incrementally at the sudden realization that, he had indeed, made a dad joke, no matter how unintentional.

Before Logan could move back onto his presentation and leave the subject behind altogether, Patton had tackled him in a huge bear hug, causing both of them to land in a heap onto the sofa next to Roman who heaved a sigh and picked a bag of sour cream and onion chips off of the floor, tilting his head back and letting the chips fall into his mouth and cascade down his clothes.

“Well, as much fun as this is, I think I’m gonna head back to my room. Surprisingly, I’m not the biggest cuddler in the world.” Virgil said, cutting off Logan’s splutters of, “Patton, get off of me!”

“So he’s allowed to go and I’m not?!” Roman incredulously shouted through a mouth full of chips.

“NO ONE IS GOING ANYWHERE!” Logan screamed as he finally fought his way out from underneath the giggling Patton and adjusted his tie. “Sit down, Virgil.” he said sternly as he resumed his standing position next to the sofa.

Virgil grumbled, really just wanting to lie in his bed at let his tail stretch out after being tucked into his pants for so long. However, he begrudgingly sat back down on his chair with his legs pulled underneath him as he tried to hide the uncomfortable twitching of his tail.

Logan looked around at his counterparts and once Patton had finally settled back in, he resumed where he had left off in his presentation.

“As I was saying, Joan and Talyn cannot possibly fit into our luggage and join on Thomas’s trip to Canada next week. As you can see from the measurements of his luggage here… where’s my laser pointer?”

Logan, suddenly realizing he didn’t have his laser pointer, stopped and started to look on the ground and sofa for it.

“Wh… wait a minute…” Virgil said, his mind processing what Logan had just said. “You mean to tell me that this entire-” he waved his hands wildly around him, “-presentation… is to explain why we can’t fit two grown humans into a suitcase.”

“Yes Virgil, I said that at the very beginning, along with having gone over the table of contents of this presentation.” Logan supplied, still looking through the couch for his laser pointer.

Virgil looked at the clock above the TV and realized it had been almost half an hour since they had been sat down in the living room. He’d been so distracted since Logan pulled out the laser pointer he hadn’t even noticed the time, let alone what Logan was talking about

“I… okay, wow. Look L, I already understand why that’s both physically impossible and a stupid idea to begin with, so would you mind if I just ducked out and caught up on some sleep?” Virgil asked, pulling out his trump card. He knew that, in almost any situation, if he claimed he wanted to get some sleep then the others would let him.

Before Logan could respond, Roman shouted from the couch, “If he gets to leave, I’m leaving too! Besides, it’s not like this is the worst idea we’ve ever come up with. They are so small, al we’d have to do it tuck them in and-”

“Ohhhh, yes! Can’t we please Lo?” Patton asked and leaning forward, eyes lighting up.

“Wha- no! It is so highly illogical to even attempt-” Logan started to say, but Virgil didn’t catch the rest as he appeared back in his room, taking advantage of the argument to escape.

He let out a relieved sigh as he took off his hat and let his black, fluffy ears stretch themselves out. He then walked over to his bed and replaced his ripped skinny jeans with black joggers. He let his tail hang out over the top, running his hands over it as he felt his body relax.

He wasn’t sure why he kept his cat… extremities to himself. It was common knowledge that all the, as Roman put, ‘Dark Sides’ had them. But Virgil wasn’t exactly a ‘Dark Side.’ If anything, he was more of a ‘Grey Side’ like Deceit.

Even though he didn’t really like to compare himself with Deceit, he couldn’t deny its truth. While Deceit was a bit bothersome and not his favorite side ever, he wasn’t as bad as Roman made him out to be. He had his purposes, just like Virgil.

The actual Dark Sides were a lot scarier and sadder, though Virgil had only met one of them, and he had been leaning towards on the sad side rather than scary.

But that is another story. All Virgil really knew right then and there was that he didn’t want the others to know about his feline oddities.

Which is why he couldn’t help but jump and feel his heart stop when he heard a knock at his door - a feature Roman added to their rooms after the Accepting Anxiety videos and Virgil felt uneasy knowing they could come into his room any time without warning. They still could come in without knocking, but Virgil liked knowing when he had someone coming - and a soft voice.

“Hey, Virge? Can I come in?” the voice, Patton, asked.

Virgil quickly dove into his bed, shoving his tail in his joggers and pulling his hood over his head.

“Uh, yeah sure.” he called out, curling up under his blankets and pulling out his phone, trying to ignore the fact that all Patton would have to do is move his blanket and he’d see the outline of Virgil’s tail curled up in one of his pant legs.

The door slowly opened and Virgil looked up to see Patton leaning through the door, not fully stepping in.

“What’s up, pop-sickle?” Virgil asked, popping the ‘p.’

Patton gave a small squeal at the nickname before speaking.

“I just wanted to say goodnight quickly before you fell asleep.” Patton said, fully stepping in and walking over to Virgil’s head, placing a quick kiss on his forehead before going back to the door.

Virgil couldn’t help the smile that took over his face. Patton had been coming to his room at least 5 times a week to kiss him goodnight since, well, almost forever.

“Night pops.” Virgil said and Patton smiled one last time before closing the door, leaving Virgil alone once more.

Virgil was quick to take off his hat, flexing his ears and pull his tail back out from his joggers, brushing his hands over it once more to sooth its aching.

God, he wished hiding his extra appendages was less painful.

Virgil finally placed his phone under his pillow and turned off his bedside light, submerging his room in darkness and falling into a deep slumber.

Next

xxx

STORY INSPIRED BY @Bibblebubble OVER ON AO3

[fruitful-blogger]

Flipping the Script (Part 2)

Part One | AO3

It's the first day of school, Gurls, and we gotta meet some of the other cast! Roman is also breaking the patriarchy as one does.

           “…and that, my good sir, is why the patriarchy is a disaster.” Roman concluded with a nod as he finally sat in his seat. The teacher and other students about were staring, some with open mouths, and others just. Befuddled.

           The teacher fell into the former category.

           “That was… eloquent, Roman.” The teacher coughed. “But I am very lost right now.”

           A student raised their hand. “What the hell does that have to do with Trigonometry???”

           Roman opened his mouth only for a hand to cover it. “No, no, no more.” The star athlete silenced his desk neighbor. “That was stupid enough the first round.”

           The darker of the two swatted the hand away. “I was just saying that the system in place has…”

           His reiteration was cut off with the bell alarm, a loud digital tone that yelled out through the speaker system. “Ok class we start the laws of sine and cosine tomorrow. Please do practice problems one and four in chapter 1.” The teacher told as he looked to Roman and Logan cleaning up. “And please, Roman, save the patriarchal debates for Civics. I’m sure Veronica would love it.”

           “Oh, I will!” Roman defended as his backpack was grabbed by its loop. He was easily pulled across the floor and out of the classroom, where he spun on his captor. “Rude, but also hella good timing. Great for the whole dramatic factor.”

           Logan groaned as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just… it’s lunch. We’ve barely made it half the day, and you’ve already given me a headache. New record. Congrats.” He spun on his heal to walk away, but Roman was following him. “…you have lunch now too, don’t you.”

           “Yup! Besides, who would you sit with besides me? The other tennis guys?” Roman replied cheerily.

           “Maybe. They at least know the difference between duce and advantage.” Logan threw. “They also won’t somehow decide Tennis is a pathetic excuse for a sport.”

           “Hey, I like tennis!” Roman added as he skipped ahead. “It’s scoring system is crazy enough to confuse the masses, and I can stand behind that. My problem is with some of the more archaic rules that are somehow still a thing, like rules on women’s outfits.”

           Logan adjusted his glasses. He’d taken a quick shower after the work out and now wore his normal day clothes. Because it was the first day of school, he hadn’t gone straight for the basketball shorts and sweats (yet) and instead had a pair of jeans that were a bit wrinkled from being thrown in his bag and a navy button up with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He had a fitbit on as part of his training regiment with a beaten pair of trainers on his feet.

           Unlike the uncultured swine that Roman had seen on TV (and met in real life a handful of unfortunate times), Logan wasn’t the stereotypical meat-head jock. Yes, he loved his sport and a few others, but he was in no way blind of the outside world. He was a really good student – probably would have been on the same level as Patton if he wanted to apply himself to it, but he loved tennis through and through. Outside of tennis, he was also the sports editor for the school paper and also liked to debate (usually about healthy lifestyles).

           Roman liked that about his friends. While, on a surface level, they all seemed to fit nicely into the typical goth, nerd, prep, and jock categories, they weren’t just that.

           Like now, as Roman stopped by his locker, he saw the bubbly genius bound down the hall towards them. “LOOOOOOOGAAAANNN! ROOOOOOMMMAAAAAANNNN!” Patton called, but, unfortunately, crashed on arrival. Logan was able to avoid most disaster, though, by jumping out to catch the other junior before he rammed into a hall garbage can. “Woah! Thanks, Lo! I underestimated the friction my shoes would have on this part of the floor!”

           “No problem, Pat.” Logan smiled as he righted the teen. “Are you headed to the lunch room as well?”

           Patton held up his lunch box with a grin. It was a pretty pastel blue with a picture of the solar system on it (though Patton noted that it was proportionally inaccurate, but it made a good learning tool at times). “Yeah! Virgil had to swing by the office, but he’s headed there now, too! Do you guys have lunch this period?”

           “We indeed do.” Logan nodded as Roman tossed the last of the books in his locker. Logan rolled his eyes at the mess that was there as he crossed to his own that he’d left open. Most of the locker was taken up by his tennis bag, so he kneeled down to grab the books at the bottom, stacked in a little organizer to make the most of the room. When he stood, he also reached into the top nook to pull out his lunch.

           Roman nodded as he hiked up his bag. He’d brought money for lunch but, if the menu sucked, he’d try to trade around. Logan always packed healthy but in excess (he burned calories like crazy), but Patton always brought extra sweets to share. “We should head down ASAP. The tables always fill up so fast.”

           The other two nodded as they headed to the lunch room. Patton paused as they approached long enough to dig some ear plugs out of his backpack and put them in. Roman and Logan noticed but did not comment – this was simply a thing. Patton was a Hypersensitive Person. In a broad sense, it made him, well, more sensitive to the world in a variety of ways. He could walk into a room and instantly pick up on the micro-signals that others gave off, allowing him to better notice emotions and read the environment. He was very in tune with the needs of others because of it, but, sometimes, the stimuli became a lot and he needed to diminish it. For him, loud noise was usually a factor. He used to hide in the library a lot, but he’d gotten earplugs from Roman before a movie once (the goth had seen them at the store and figured it was worth a go), and he always carried them now to help.

           It was good timing as the noise doubled once they entered the cafeteria. Students of all grades scattered about, most with lunch trays but a few with sacks or pails of food. Nobody understood how it was established, but the freshman always seemed to coagulate at one end of the room by the lunch ladies, then the sophomores, juniors, and seniors would separate towards the back.

           “Hey, Logan!” Logan looked as a student waved their hand. “Get over here! We got a table!”

           Logan nudged Patton and Roman and pointed to the table, which was only a third filled. The three headed over and set their stuff down, the faces there mostly familiar to the three.

           Lauren was the one to wave them over. She and her boyfriend, Kai, were already seated there while another friend, Elliott, was scribbling away at a notebook. Elliott had a saved seat down next to them, but the rest were still open.

           “Salutations, Lauren.” Logan greeted with a nod before looking to Kai and Elliott. “Hello to you both as well.”

           “Hi again!” Patton waved as he plopped down.

           “Greetings my colorful friends! Except you, Elli. LOVE the dress.”

           Elliott looked up with a smirk. The non-binary teen had actually come into the fold thanks to Roman. They’d transferred to the school last year and, not really knowing anyone, just kind of decided to approach the first person who looked mildly interesting. That person had been Roman, who, upon hearing their pronouns, dragged them to the GSA meeting. Roman had introduced them to Logan, Patton, and Virgil, who introduced them to Kai and Lauren. Nowadays, the teen was usually with the couple. Lauren and Elliott bonded over food, and Kai loved to watch all the B-rated movies with the teen that Lauren hated. “Thanks, Ro. Felt like a no-pants day, honestly.”

           “It’s very pretty!” Patton complimented as he pulled out his lunch. Sure enough, about six cookies fell out.

           Roman only threw down his bag before snatching his wallet. “Guard my things with your lives.” He warned as the others waved him off, them all having already gotten food. Roman weaved through the rows to the lunch line, greeting a few fellow drama nerds that he remembered from last year. A few of the freshmen who noticed him approach seemed to shy back, but Roman got that. He sometimes looked a little scary and out of the ordinary, but he loved that about himself.

           Besides, anyone who spent more than five minutes with the guy knew how much of a bubbly theater geek he was.

           Roman got into line as he spotted a familiar face. “Remy! There’s my favorite sleep-deprived zombie.”

           The figure turned, revealing glasses indoors upon his face. “EEEYYY It’s my favorite gay!” Remy threw as he tossed an arm over Roman’s shoulders. “Gurl, where have you BEEN all day? Like I had the trippiest morning in Mr. S’s class. I swear I thought the starbs guy finally spiked my drink.”

           Roman snorted as they got into line. “Gurl, that’s just Mr. S. You should know that by now.”

           Remy was a senior who was also the president of the GSA and on student council (if only to get the administration to put a Starbucks in the cafeteria). He was as flamboyant as they got, but he also was the king of gossip. He knew it all, even things people didn’t know about themselves. When Roman, a baby goth gay, and Patton, a nervous genius gay, had graced the hallowed doorway of the GSA that first time, Remy had adopted them on the spot.

           “Still, he nearly blew up the classroom! On the first day! That HAS to be a new record.” The teen threw as he grabbed a tray. “And don’t get me STARTED on Dot. I love that woman, I really do, but do you know what she did today? She let her pet MAN EATING PYTHON out in the wild of our halls!”

           Roman couldn’t help but laugh. “Python??? Dude, it’s a foot long, max, and she calls it Fluffy.”

           “Gurl, who’s telling the story? Anyway, apparently one of her kids wanted to hold it. TO HOLD THE BEAST! AND SHE LET THEM!!!” Remy paused to turn to grab a burger as he passed, gaining a few confused (and concerned) looks from the lunch ladies.

           Remy went on about this crazy ‘escaped demon snake’ until they paid and got back to the table. Remy decided to grace the juniors with his ‘gorgeous’ face, even as he could have sat in the senior section.

           When they got to the table, though… there were two Virgils staring each other down and hissing at one another???

           Roman had to stare and blink a few times.

           “What the hell?” Remy spoke.

           “Language!” Patton chided, not taking his eyes off the book in front of him. “And we seem to have an imposter! Virgil A came over here and started having lunch with us, but then Virgil B came in and noticed us. They’ve been hissing at one another since then.”

           “Well when I came back from the office to see this JERK…”

           “You mean when I came back from the office only for this PRAT to walk in…”

           Roman sighed as he looked between the two before grabbing both their wrists. They both yelped as they nearly fell, but Roman allowed their sleeves to fall. “This one is Virgil.” He lifted the arm that belonged to the later Virgil.

           “How can you even tell???” Logan asked, stumped. “I’ve been throwing questions at them for ten minutes!”

           “Ok, it has not been that long, but still.” Kai threw as he looked between the two.

           Roman grinned as he showed off the light pen marks on Virgil’s wrist that looked vaguely like a swirly. “I drew this earlier today when Virgil was distracted. He tried to clean it off, but you can still faintly see it.”

           Virgil blinked before grinning, turning to his double ganger. “Yeah, ‘Virgil,’ looks like your costume isn’t so perfect after all.”

           “Dang it.” He said as his voice shifted. He hissed a little before shoving his hands in his pockets and glaring at Roman. “Had to ruin me, didn’t you?”

           Roman shrugged. “Sorry, Dee, but good effort.”

           The person huffed as they fell into the chair open, shedding the preppy jacket and messing up their hair. They also took a moment to dig out some make-up wipes from their bag and an extra shirt. The purple polo was removed to reveal a black tank, which was quickly covered by the yellow flannel, left open. He used a few wipes to remove the contouring make-up, and soon a plum discoloration on the left side of his face was revealed.

           Demetrius, or Dee, was a bit of a wild card when it came to South Hamilton High. He was beloved by almost all the teachers (especially the biology teacher and her snake – he loved the snake to bits) because he was a good student and relatively trustworthy… until he pulled out his make-up bag. He was renowned for his ability to transform himself and others, and he just loved to pull harmless pranks.

           Virgil snorted as he sat. “Finally some anarchy does me good. No, you cannot use that as a platform for me to get the school spray-painted black or something.” He threw as he saw the look on Roman’s face.

           “Uhg, you suck.” He huffed as he dramatically downed his milk.

           Remy plopped down next to Dee as he nudged the dude. “Gurl, you will not BELIEVE the gossip I have.”

           “Oh, no, you should overhear what Samantha told ‘Virgil’ today…”

           “Stop impersonating me! I have a reputation!” Virgil threw with a hiss. Virgil and Dee had some mysterious past that they never really talked about, but they often butted heads whenever nearby. Really, a teacher’s pet and a prep would usually at least function in the same general vicinity, but Virgil and Dee where not that. It didn’t help that Dee and Virgil shared enough similarities that Dee only had to break out the contouring to get them to look identical as opposed to the wigs and lifts of most of the staff.

           “SHHH I have some important gossip about Samantha right now, Virgie.” Dee waved off as he turned back to Remy.

           Remy and Dee were besties over their shares in the gossip empire of not only the school but most of the town. “Don’t tell me it’s about Todd again.” Remy threw as he bit into a fry. “Seriously, that girl needs to dump his ass.”

           “Oh, but that’s the best part! She didn’t, but he did!”

           Remy choked. “No.”

           “YES!”

           “OMG SPILL!”

           Virgil groaned as he lay his head on the table. “This is only the first day what the fuuuu….dge. Fudge.” He amended as he noticed Patton’s stare. They may be in high school, but Patton kept their language clean.

           “Well, now that THAT is figured out,” Logan turned back to the group. “How is everyone’s first day been so far? Because, honestly, I’d rather be home watching TV. It’s the same drivel they all give every year.”

           “Pretty much.” Virgil shrugged. “Although Patton correcting the teacher this morning was entertaining.”

           “Well, I had to clarify that Hades wasn’t originally the villain of the Persephone story!” Patton nodded to himself. “The book was far out of print, and more recent evidence shows the potential influence of male translations of many of the stories.”

           “Down with the Patriarchy!” Roman, Lauren, and Elliott all said at once. Roman went to high five both.

           Patton nodded, still reading, as Logan rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone to scroll through some sports news. Virgil attempted to keep his composure as he ate, even as half the table began to chant “Down with The Man! Down with The Man!”

           Roman led the charge on that last one.

[dziabara]

Title: A bed is always the best solution Author: Dziabara Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: none Summary: Right before the European Championship, Victor is forced to work really hard and come back really late. Fortunately, a full package of happiness awaits him at home. Well... Sleeping happiness. 

In the winter, St. Petersburg was like a land taken out straight from fairy tales - gray buildings and equally vague streets were enveloped by an impenetrable layer of white, hiding under a snow blanket all more or less imperfect creations of human hands. All because the nature has always known best how to easily fix the world, even if its intentions were often as beautiful as catastrophic. But the most terrible thing, which happened in western part of Russia, was ‘only’ cold, that had came at night, slowly shrouding trees with frost and painting floral stained-glasses on windows. With problems like that the winter was no big deal.

Well, unless you were some thermophilic Japanese. Or even better - thermophilic Japanese who, by some twisted logic, fell in love not only with figure skating, but also with Russian skater, who returned home from the snow-covered city at very odd hour.

Victor closed the front door, left soaked clothes on the hanger, and went to the bathroom on tiptoes dreaming to wash off sweat, cold and at least a part of tiredness. Much tiredness. Ugh, if he could wash it all...

On the one hand, January was time of joy, because after all December perturbations and National Championships, his beloved man finally moved into his apartment, but at the same time Victor did not have so many occasions to celebrate it, because a heavy breath of coming European Championships breathed on his neck no less ominously than cold, winter wind. Of course he still had a lot of fun during mornings and afternoons, but in the evenings he had to focus on his own training to fulfill all duties. Above all, he did not want Yakov to completely got bald because of anger at the irresponsible student, who was only playing someone's trainer and didn't keep his promises. And besides, Victor sometimes saw that Feltsman looked at Yuuri with some strange, sympathetic sight. It was almost as if Yakov thought that Victor completely sucks as a coach and he felt bad for this quiet, hardworking young man, so he should take control over him. As if Victor would allow it!

The skater put on a green yukata prepared by Yuuri, left the bathroom, and then, leaving wet tracks, he went right to the slightly open bedroom, prepared for his back. Victor opened the door carefully and stopped in the doorway, looking at the quiet night scene.

Behind inaccurate closed blinds there were standing lanterns, gently glowing in the dark like some unmoving fireflies. In their warm, yellow light it could be seen that snow was still falling. It had been snowing since the moment Victor left the Club and it did not stop snowing even when tired man finally came back home. Snow was falling diagonally, slowly, steadily, as if it want to falling like this for all eternity. Victor could bet that in the morning plows would have hard time again, and many people would be late for work. But well, at least thanks to the weather some thirsty-for-love Nikiforov could find a good excuse to snap a few extra minutes of the morning, explaining to Yuuri and then to Yakov that well, it was far too difficult to get out, just no way... Literally.

So - this bit of light from lanterns made it possible to see some details of the bedroom, which, in some natural way, just fitted to the view outside the window. Victor smiled, slowly approaching to his two lovely beings wrapped in the duvet. Yuuri was sleeping in the middle of mattress and was clinging to the dog lying on his right side, as if he was the most downy last resort in the world, and in the same time Makkachin... Oh, he was such a traitor. Although at the beginning of their acquaintance, Yuuri's bedroom remained closed to Victor despite all his requests and pleading, but just a few scratches and a squeak was enough to invite the dog to sleep in cramped bed. Victor remembered well that it was not even a month when Makkachin left his rightful owner, staying in the bedroom of his new, better, Japanese guardian. And as if all of this was not enough, now the same two scamps conspired together in his hometown. In his apartment. In his bed. Practically on his holy half of mattress.

Victor smiled. He win so much...

The Russian skater carefully slipped under the covers, snuggling up to Yuuri, and then he put his left hand on Makkachin's back to stroke his fur. Victor wished he could greet them in a more sensitive and louder manner, but it was his own fault. His and that galloping workaholism. Well, he will try to reward it to them in the morning. He will prepare a delicious breakfast, go out for a long walk and maybe as a small surprise he will make a little snowman on the windowsill...

...except that the presence of the new person in warm bed did not go completely unnoticed. When Victor's colder cheek came into contact with Yuuri's neck, Yuuri sighed in his sleep and opened his eyes after a short moment.

"Victor?" he murmured, guessing the guest's identity more because his familiar smell and touch than seeing something in the dark. "So you finally came..."

"I'm sorry, my zolotsye," Victor replied quietly, kissing awakened Yuuri in his shoulder. "It completely slipped my minds that I was supposed to be before ten. You know I have a short memory for such things."

"Yeah, I remember. And we have luck that only your memory is short..." Katsuki whispered, reaching behind him to pet the fragment of Victor's hip hidden under green yukata. Just as a precaution, so there would be no understatements what was going on. "But next time... Better be careful..."

"Yuuri!" Victor gasped, catching outstretched hand. "I swear you're the most rebellious creature I've ever dealt with!"

"You sound like you have a great comparative base. Even if you said earlier that there were not many of them..." Yuuri yawned and despite salty words, he turned his whole body toward Victor, trying to cuddle intuitively to him.

Victor blinked, as if it would help him in the dark. He thought he came upon the wrong phase of Yuuri's sleep. Or the phase of moon. Or he himself had some phase. Probably the phase related to falling in love.

"Two digs in a row?" Victor asked with a pained voice, and then sighed heavily. "Yuuri, please, give me a break. Or you could give me all night."

"Yes, yes... All you want..."

In response, Victor laughed resignedly, turned his back and embraced Yuuri to his chest. One of the Japanese legs ended up being thrown over the Russian thigh, and then Yuuri put his arms around both sides of the human mattress. Makkachin, who had just lost the title of the first St. Petersburg radiator, spun around on his belly and put his face on Yuuri's empty pillow, expecting that both owners would like to move a little more before they found their comfortable positions.

"Is everything OK?" Victor finally asked, stroking Yuuri on his disheveled hair. The drowsy man nodded his head slightly.

"Best of all," he agreed, pressing the corner of his mouth against his fiancé’s torso.

Victor allowed himself for a proud smile. Satisfying Yuuri was in fact quite simple task: just a late hour, a warm bed, a pair of hands and a few sweet kisses left on his temple were more than enough. But this time, perhaps due to the unintended motive, and perhaps because of longing for his fiancé, Yuuri needed something extra.

"Tell me," he murmured.

"What?"

"Tell me... something," Yuuri repeated quietly, stroking Victor's waist with his index finger. He had energy only for this kind of caress. "Anything. I want to hear your voice."

"That's a little..." Victor's attention caught the light visible between slits of the blind. He had no strength nor inspiration to come up with some complicated stories about past competitions, but if it did not have to be anything revealing... "Can I tell you about the weather?"

"Mhm," Yuuri automatically nodded, to which Victor laughed silently. Yuuri was practically sleeping again, but he was still asking for a bedtime story. He was being impossible. And so impossibly cute.

"Well, you probably will not believe it, but it's snowing again," he smiled slightly. Victor closed his eyes and focused on the picture that fluttered under his eyelids. There was no better combination than the warm bed and the winter creaking outside windows. "The entire Tuchkov Bridge is showered so much that it's impossible to see tracks, and all cars staying on parking have become white and fluffy. It looks quite funny, almost like some small mountain ranges. The whole city had transformed from the Venice of the North into the Alps of the East... It's actually a miracle that I came home, because all buildings started to look similar. Just like in real commune. Grandfather Frost really knows his job."

It seemed that Yuuri's mouth twitched and lined up in a light smile, but as well it might have been a suppressed yawn. Anyway, Victor couldn't see it. He had to trust his imagination.

"Everything is white now. Roofs and trees, and streets, and sidewalks, and windows can hardly be seen either... Wires are heavy because of rime, and all road signs have ushanka-hats. No ads, no graffiti. Whiteness is everywhere. So much everywhere that even our quilt is white..." whispered half-sleeping, half-dreaming Victor, rocking with the steady breath of his beloved. "Yuuri... I was thinking a little and... and if we will be buried by snow... then maybe... we...?"

He did not finish. The rest of the sentence disappeared somewhere in his thoughts, and 'maybe' dissolved into the sea of pleasant blackness of the unconscious, when together with their beloved ones, two skaters fell into deserved sleep.

And snow was falling as well. It was falling, and falling, and falling...