#it's probably the season too autumn often fucks me up in the head

[nowendil]

burning out all by yourself queen??

[wilcze-kudly]

Thank you @nova-leaf for this tag too 🥰

wow i get to talk about myself so much im nervous

•How many tumblr accounts have you had before this one?

This is gonna be my fith tumblr account lol. I lose track of them really easily because I'm a silly funky guy with so much wrong with me.

• How long have you been in fandom?

Oh like. Since I was 10? God I remember my firat forays into fandom culture on amino it was an experience good god. My first fandom was Tolkien. I've only recently gotten into the Avatar fandom though. Still not sure how that happened but I'm having fun 🥰

•Your favorite trope in fiction?

I adore found family, cause I'm basic lol. The power of friendship is also a cheesy beloved of mine.

•Your favorite random fact?

Tolkien had beef with the Beatles. Hayao Miyazaki hates the Beatles. Junji Ito loves the Beatles.

•Your favourite game or kind of game?

Skyrim is my favourite game. Open world RPGs are my escape. I love them so much I try not to play them too often or I'll never get up lol.

•A place you’d like to visit? (If carbon emissions, logistics and money weren’t in question)

Hm. This is a tough one. I like to travel and I want to go to many places. But if I had to pick one point off that list, it would pribably be mount Shasta. I'm just curious, I guess, with all the legends and disappearances and odd happenings around it. Like I just wanna see the place not even have anything supernatural happen. Just be there for a bit? Call it morbid curiosity. Also the area seems beautiful even of itself like even if the aliens don't get me i think it'd be a nice hike.

•An animal you’re irrationally afraid of?

Ants. I like most bugs. I like spiders. But ants? Ants give me straight up panic attacks? I don't know why. There's just something very terrifying aout them.

Also. Swans. But that's not an irrational fear. Geese and swans are in my opinion the true successors of dinosaurs. If you haven't been a girl scout cowering in a flimsy tent with your three other girl scout friends, in the middle of a thunderstorm, while a pair of feral swans is trying to peck their way into your tent you do not know true fear.

Their pecks hurt like a bitch too. Their beaks are serrated like a fucking saw.

•What’s your favourite season?

Autumn. In Poland we divide Autumn into two mini seasons. Golden Autumn, which is early autumn, when the freshly fallen leaves are all crispy and beautiful. And then we have Rainy Autumn, which is when it has rained and gotten much colder. I love both.

•A smell that brings you nice memories?

Tea. I started drinking tea when I was very young. My dad is an Englishman and the moment i stopped drinking breastmilk i was immediately given tea with milk.

I think I associate tea very strongly with my family and feeling loved by them. When I was younger, my parents would often wake up before me, so they would often make me tea and wake me up with it.

Making tea for someone is still a huge gesture of affection to me and there's nothing quite like the smell of a nice hot cup of tea.

(If you’re ok talking about food. If not, delete this part)

•What’s your favorite food from where you were born? And what’s your favorite food from some place else?

My favourite food from Poland, huh? I love a lot of Polish foods, but I if I had to pick something it'd probably be krówki [which translates to 'little cows']. They're fudgelike candies, similair to Scottish Tablets and White Rabbit Creamy Candy. They're delicious.

For food from a different country? @nova-leaf has put the idea of Shortbread into my head now so that's all ill be thinking about I have to see if I have the stuff to make some at home or I'll go insane.

•What’s your favorite drink (if you drink alcohol, alcoholic and non-alcoholic)?

Alcoholic: Salty Caramel flavoured Krupnik. It is very difficult to explain what a Krupnik is? Its kind of like a liqueur.

Non Alcoholic: Orange Juice. It used to be diet coke but my addiction got so bad i had to quit cold turkey lest I completely wreck my health.

•Do you give your pets random table scraps?

Not random table scraps, but if I have any extra of whatever I'm cooking, and if they can eat it, I'll sometimes give them some as a snack or as an incentive while training them.

Thanks for the tag honey!

Tagging: @linnorabeifong @thatoneguy56fanfic @novaae @thenamescaba

[tj-dragonblade]

Tea and Books Asks

Tagged in by @littledreamling , @mathomhouse-e , and @quillingwords thank you!

1. What period of history do you enjoy learning about?

As long as it's not the fucking founding of America and drafting of the constitution, again, we're golden

2. Who is your favourite fictional character and why?

Of all time? Impossible. Current fandom specifically? ...uh. Kind of also impossible. But I think if pressed Hob might just barely edge out Dream in the standings. Because? Because...his vibes? Immortal Everyman who's not all woe-is-me this-life-is-misery is a delight and idk he's just got that je ne sais quoi that makes me smile and say 'That one, that's my favorite'?

3. What do you order at a café?

It's a rare occurrence but. Some sort of coffee, extra sweet, extra whichever flavor added. Caramel and pumpkin spice are both excellent

4. Libraries, botanical gardens, or art galleries?

Of the three, I've only ever been to libraries, so, that

5. Do you have a favourite film soundtrack?

Beauty and the Beast 1991 probably. The score tracks on that just. Do things to me. Fond of a lot of Hans Zimmer's work as well (Lion King, PotC off the top of my head) and I keep circling back around to the Robin Hood Prince of Thieves soundtrack every few years

6. What does your dream home look like?

Underwater. With bits above water too, maybe half and half, but the important things I've always wanted are submarine airlock entryways and enormous windows with an underwater view. Not too far from civilization either

7. What makes you feel better on gloomy days?

Long solo drives with good music played loud

8. What are your top three films? Books?

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home; The Princess Bride; Beauty and the Beast

I've read fanfic almost exclusively the past twenty years but, let me think...I was very taken with the Shannara series by Terry Brooks in high school; I spent some time on the Vampire Chronicles after that and The Vampire Armand was my favorite (because Armand was my favorite more than because it was actually a good book)

9. Are you an organized person, generally?

...Ish. I dislike clutter and mess, but I wouldn't really classify myself as 'organized' by any standard measure of the word

10. Do you have a favourite classic novel?

...I am extremely fond of Alice in Wonderland and Wizard of Oz both but more for their permutation into pop culture and malleability therein than for their actual books specifically

11. What character archetype or trope is your favourite?

I have a laundry list, and they're generally best when multiple tropes are blended in one character. But maybe...let's go with The Foreigner, The Outsider, the one who often holds up a lens to humanity or whatever majority/default group is involved to offer commentary, try to understand, and who is perpetually Apart from them, usually unable (or unwilling) to quite blend in or assimilate completely even when they may be welcomed and accepted.

12. Do you prefer baking or cooking?

...give me a relatively simple recipe with clear instructions and I'll probably be okay, in either arena

13. Which season do you feel at home in?

In my current climate? Summer. Summer means I can get out and go places and do things. I love autumn in theory but in practice it's far too short, far too cold too quickly, and just a very depressing reminder of the half-a-year of winter that will follow

14. What is your opinion on poetry?

It should absolutely exist, integral facet of humanity, etc. Not really anything I actively seek out, however

15. Do you speak formally when texting and emailing?

Emails are nearly always business related whether home or work, so yes. Texts are not exactly formal but it's rare that I'd ever fail to capitalize, use copious abbreviations, etc. Punctuation droppage depends entirely on who I'm talking to and whether I need the clarity punctuation can provide

16. How do you organize your music playlists?

Haaaaaah. Let me count the ways:

- by artist, when I want The Good Tracks from their discography (and related projects) in chronological order

- by genre

- by pairing - many pairs have multiple permutations of their playlist also

- by character

- by character group

- by theme (e.g. Moon, Aquatic, etc)

- by mood

- by fic inspiration/writing soundtrack

- I have playlists for Disney movies where I put the songs and score pieces back in movie order since the soundtracks always group them separately and I also leave out the shitty radio versions of the songs

- I also have a playlist with all my individual Disney playlists combined in chronological order by movie release date

- by vibes

- by which family member I'm driving with

- I have a playlist for stuff that's in (or contains sections that are in) 3/4, 6/8, and various other non-4/4 time signatures

- I have a couple different playlists of favorite voices

- there's a giant playlist where I dump all the stuff I've rated 4 or 5 stars (some 3s may also get included), sorted by play count, for when I don't know quite what I'm really in the mood to listen to

- aaaaaaand then I usually have two or three playlists in constant flux for whatever I'm really craving to listen to at this particular point in time

17. Who is your favourite author?

Can't say as I have one

18. Chai or hot chocolate?

Chai

19. Do you prefer forests, sea shores, or meadows?

Sea shore, hands down

20. If you were to cultivate a fruit orchard, what would you grow?

Everything I would name I have developed allergies to so. Maybe not. Kinda sucks.

[hookingminor]

Can you please write with Pierre Luc Dubois, fluff “have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?” and smut “next time we get into an argument, i’m reminding you that i took your virginity.” Thank you 😘😘

43. “Have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?”

10. “Next time we get into an argument, i’m reminding you that i took your virginity.”

warnings (18+): mentions of sex/loss of virginity

-

Pierre had been in your life for as long as you could remember. You two had been inseparable as children and throughout middle school, but the drifting started once you’d reached high school.

You were still friends, though. Your parents hung out frequently and you saw him enough in school, but he was on the path to professional hockey and you were heading towards the local university.

Feelings changed as did bodies. Pierre was no longer the scrawny boy you thought of as a brother but now a man whose figure had definitely filled out. Being sixteen had changed your view of him, painting Pierre in a romantic light rather than a brotherly one, but you were no longer close enough to do anything about it.

You ran in different crowds. He always skipped class, you hated his friends, but there was too much history for you to let him go completely.

When he got drafted and moved to Columbus, you thought your crush would fizzle out if you didn’t have to see him all the time, but it did the exact opposite. Your father made a point to catch every Blue Jackets game, often getting together with Pierre’s father to watch them. You couldn’t forget him if you tried.

You weren’t sure what had changed that first summer after. Pierre came back after his first season with the Eagles and you came back from your first year of college. Without the confines of high school around you anymore, you easily fell back into being friends again. The only difference was that instead of teasing you, Pierre’s chirps turned more flirtatious than normal.

Friends turned into a fleeting summer romance, and after sneaking out late one night to the lake, you woke up tangled in the bed of his truck. Your clothes were strewn in the corners, only your bare skin against each other underneath the thick covers Pierre had decorated the bed with.

He went into the night hoping to take your relationship to the next level, and you had been ready to give him the one thing no one else would ever have.

It was uncomfortable at first, awkward even, but Pierre had eased your nerves and taken his time. He was the perfect gentleman, caring and sweet, wanting to make your first time worth it. And it was.

The rest of the summer was spent rolling around in bed sheets or the back of Pierre’s car, but you knew it wouldn’t last forever. You didn’t ask for more, Pierre didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend, and he was off to Columbus again when autumn came back around.

You weren’t heartbroken or anything. You knew your lives were too different for anything permanent between you two, but that didn’t stop you from falling into his bed every time he came back in the summer. A few months of heated passion. That’s all you had.

Things changed again when Pierre was traded to Winnipeg, and suddenly he was back in your life again. Year round, not just for the summer.

He didn’t treat you like a meaningless fling. You thought he would pull away since he was going to be around more often, but the first hug he pulled you into when you visited him after the trade did the exact opposite. It was middle school all over again except you were ten years older.

The sex became less frequent as you began spending more of your time with him just hanging out rather than ripping each other’s clothes off. You had movie nights, went to his games, chirped his bad fashion taste, and made early morning trips to the market.

The upcoming season sent Pierre’s nerves through the roof.

It was his first full season with the Jets, and he was still in the middle of finding his place on the team. Not to mention his whole family was in Winnipeg, and it felt more stressful trying to impress them when they were just down the road and not hundreds of miles away.

And as his friend, you packed up your father’s truck with all the necessities for a night away: blankets, pillows, cheap beer, favorite snacks, and your bluetooth speaker.

You nearly dragged Pierre out of his house and into the truck, driving him out of the city and to that same lake you used to sneak away to when you were kids. Pierre protested the entire way, claiming he needed to be getting ready for the season, but you only turned the music up louder every time he opened his mouth.

He finally quieted down when you parked the car on the beach.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Pierre said after you opened the tailgate and propped yourself on it. He joined you and took the beer you offered from your hands, cracking it open and taking a long swig.

“I think the last time I was here I was with you,” you nodded.

The lake was quiet, as it usually was after sunset, the only sounds between you were the cicadas and hushed rolling of the waves. Soft music played over your speaker, and you reveled in the silence for a few minutes.

“Have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?” Pierre asked after a while.

Cocking your head towards him, you raised your brows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I was just thinking,” he shrugged. “You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember. Not a lot of people would know how to get me out of my own head like you.”

The last part caused a smile to tug at your lips, and you bumped your shoulder against his. “Not a lot of people would be able to put up with me, so I guess I’m pretty glad to have you in my life too.”

“The first time we were out here,” you continued on, “I was so fucking nervous. Like, so jittery and anxious, and you helped me out then. This is me returning the favor.”

“No offense, but I don’t think the situations are comparable,” Pierre chuckled. The first time you were out here, he took your virginity. All he was doing was moving to a new school, basically.

“No,” you agreed, “but you’re my friend, so I’m trying to help.”

“I was nervous that first time too, if you must know,” Pierre commented, and you sent him a curious glance.

“Why? I know that wasn’t your first time,” you wondered.

“It wasn’t, but I’d never…” Pierre paused to try and gather his thoughts. “I didn’t care about the other girls like I cared about you. I wanted you to feel special and I didn’t want to hurt you or anything.”

“Well, if you must know,” you repeated his words. “It was about as perfect as a first time could have been.”

“I thought you were going to hate me when I left,” he added.

“I could never hate you, P,” you said. “You were the first guy I had a crush on, first guy I probably loved, actually. You were my best friend before you were… my first time. I don’t think I’m capable of hating you.”

“You were the first girl I ever loved,” he said. “But it’s good to know you could never hate me since I was your first.” He had a teasing smile on his face when he said that last part, and you bumped his shoulder harder this time, causing him to slosh his beer.

“That’s not what I said.” You rolled your eyes, but his grin didn’t falter.

“Next time we get into an argument, I’m reminding you that I took your virginity,” Pierre said. “Since, you know, you can’t hate me.”

“Never said I couldn’t try to hate you,” you emphasized. “Keep it up or I might be tempted to test that theory.”

Slinging an arm over your shoulders, he pulled you into his side. “I don’t think you’re capable of it,” he said, agreeing with your previous statement. “And because I love you, I’ll let it drop.”

“Wow, so courteous of you.”

“I know. I’m just filled with good manners.”

A few more minutes of silence passed.

“You know, I’m still feeling a little anxious…” Pierre started, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as his lips brushed over your jaw. “Wanna help me calm down?”

And, well, who were you to say no? You did have a favor to return.

[saltedpeppermintmocha]

into the night (bakugou x reader) - Chapter 1/?

Summary:

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You refuse your supposed fate and try to live the best life you can while remaining undetected.

But maybe fate has another plan. A chance encounter on a mountainside changes your life forever.

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You don’t want to die. Not now, not when there are so many things you haven’t done. So many views you haven't seen.

You pull yourself up some ragged rocks, muscles working harder than they have in months to successfully drag your body up. The small rock ledge isn’t close to the top of the mountain, but it’s a good stopping point for today. You look up at the snowy expanse still ahead of you, the sun leaving long shadows along the white and grey exterior, and can’t help but smile. No, you don’t want to die.

Sitting back, you let yourself breathe and watch the top. An old memory flashes in your mind, the first time you hiked to the top with Dad. You had been so little, and so proud of yourself despite Dad having carried you through the most difficult parts. You screamed so loudly at the top, trying to tell the entire village that you made it. Dad had only been able to quiet you by saying that you could “wake up” the volcano with your screams.

The memory makes you smile. There weren’t many good times in your life right after your quirk manifested, but Mount Yotei had been a part of almost all of them. You have missed the mountain since moving to the city. Sapporo might not be that far, but you haven’t been able to make your way home often enough. Being on-call meant that leaving the city even for the few hours it took to get to the village was almost impossible, let alone actually making the long trip up.

You breathe in the crisp autumn air and reach for your pack, grabbing some water and a granola bar. You don’t bring much in terms of food with you, careful of attracting the wildlife during this season, but this will do. Munching happily, your eyes don’t leave the top of the mountain. You will get back up there soon.

It feels like only a few minutes before you have to begin the trek back down. You had started the climb too late in the day to actually make it too far up, or to relax too much, but you couldn't resist the call of the mountain when you saw it on your drive up. Dad could wait, he’d understand. You slide carefully down the rocky ledge and begin your walk back down. The trail you  are using is rough, with roots and rocks sticking out all over the place. It is not a tourist trail, but the one used by locals the most.

Something moves in the distance.

You startle, on edge immediately. Your hand reaches down for the bear spray connected to your belt, fingers ready to release it from the clip at a moment's notice. Damn, you knew you stayed out a bit too late, pushed it a bit too much.

But it’s not a bear that emerges from the bushes. It’s a man. Equally as startling, really, as the tourist season has been well and over for a few months now. You feel the tension release from your body a bit, but not completely. People can be just as dangerous as animals, you see that every day at work. The man pauses too, although he does not look surprised to see you.

Your first thought at seeing him is that he is definitely not dressed to be out on the mountain. His clothes are dark and inappropriate for the altitude level: a long-sleeved shirt and baggy pants. At least he seems to be wearing boots. You don’t see any bag, no protection items, no water or food, nothing on him. It was something you would see on a casual hike around the bottom of the mountain, not this far up.

The more you look at the man, the more you realize that he is, well, really damn good looking. The man, probably around your age if you had to guess, is tall and built for power. He has spikey ash blonde hair and a handsome face that was...slowly turning angrier as you stared at him. Shit, okay. You should probably stop that then. You force your gaze away, looking down at your feet as you continue your descent down the steep terrain. Your hand fiddles with the bear spray, a cation brought on by city life. Just in case.

It only takes a moment before you pass him, each silently headed in opposite directions across the mountain. You bite your lip, thoughts focused on the other hiker. Why is he up so high on the mountain dressed like that? It's completely irresponsible, dangerous. The times you had been on the mountain after this late had been calculated and in dedicated areas where people knew to find you. You had protection from the elements and animals. It had never been this late in the year. The thoughts nag at the back of your head. Maybe it is a feeling of politeness towards a fellow hiker, or maybe it's just the want to not have the local police up on the mountain tomorrow over a dead body, but you stop in your tracks.

Fuck it.

“Hey, um, it’s pretty late.” You call out, turning around to the man.

“Hah?!” He pauses, turning his head just enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. A shiver runs down your back.

“I’m just saying that you should probably begin to head down. The mountain gets much more dangerous after sunset. Oh!” You reach around to your backpack, hand rummaging around until you grasp a familiar can. “Especially the bears. They’ll start hibernating soon so they’re more aggressive than normal.” No response. Okay.  Maybe a peace offering. “I don't see any bear spray on you. You can take mine, I have extra.”

You give a polite smile and hold it out with your hand, prepared to throw it up to him if necessary. For a moment he just stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Then he turns away with a small grunt, continuing his walk up the mountain. Your smile falls as your mouth opens in shock. Is he just...going to leave you standing here holding out the bear spray like a damned fool? Without saying anything?!

You watch him walk away, hand clutching harder at the can as your anger rises. Eventually, you lower your hand, shoving the spray roughly back in your pack. You grumble angrily to yourself and turn around, stomping harsher than normal down the path.

Okay, so he’s an asshole then.

Still, completely rude or not, you can’t help but be a bit worried. You make good time down to the bottom of the mountain and trek your way through the forest to the street you parked your car on. The sun has completely set by the time you turn on your engine and drive away.

Well, you tried to warn him. If something happens, it’s not your fault. Right? Right.

With a groan, you pop a rock CD into your stereo and turn it on full blast. Anything to distract you from that nagging feeling in your gut. Makkari isn’t too far from the mountain, so that feeling hasn’t completely gone away by the time you pull into your childhood home. Your dad though, sitting on the front step reading a book, does the job. You smile and turn off the engine.

The rest of the night goes by quickly, as both of you have a lot to say to each other. Dinner is a relatively calm affair, and you take a bath before heading to bed. The bed is much smaller and harder than the nice one you splurged on in your apartment, but being in it brings a sense of nostalgia and comfort that only a childhood bedroom can have. Dad hasn’t changed a thing since you left.

You sit on the bed, pulling your hair into a comfortable do for sleep, when your eyes catch the outline of the mountain in the distance from your window. You sigh, sending a quick wish that he made it alright, before sliding under the covers and passing out.

You wake up to sounds from downstairs. For a brief moment, you are confused, as you have been blessed with an apartment with thicker walls than normal, but then you remember. You stretch in bed and smile. It has been a while since you have had the opportunity to sleep in. Why do people rarely get in trouble during normal business hours?

Finally forcing yourself out of bed, you wander to the bathroom before heading downstairs in your pajamas. The smell of breakfast is already making your stomach growl.

“Get dressed.” His voice echoes through the house.

“But- how- you’re not even looking!” You protest, feet pausing on the stairs. “How do you even know?!”

“I always know.”

Ugh. “Such a Dad answer.” You grumble, turning to head back upstairs. You’re a grown adult, if you want to wear pajamas to breakfast you will. Not that you would say that to him though. Nope. Not going to die on that hill today.

You put a little more effort into your appearance this time, dressing and putting your hair into a casual do before heading back downstairs. Dad, already fully dressed, gives you a look but says nothing. You stick out your tongue at his back, feeling like a teenager again. You sit down at your usual chair as he begins to set the table.

The breakfast you ate regularly as a kid but haven’t been really able to replicate successfully since moving out gets placed down in front of you. You wait for Dad to be sitting down too before grabbing pieces for yourself. For a brief, glorious moment, you are both silent.

“So, have you met anyone?”

And it's over. You swallow your food, looking carefully away.  “I meet lots of people. It’s a big city.”

You can practically feel his eyes stare into you. “You know what I mean.”

With a breath, you put down your utensils. “Dad, we go over this every time we talk. No, I’m not seeing anyone. Can we stop discussing this now?

“Is it because of-”

“No! It isn’t because of him.” You interrupt, looking him straight in the eye.“Why does it matter? I can be happy on my own.”

“I just...want you to be taken care of and protected.” Dad finally looks away. “I need you to be safe.”

“Dad, I don’t need someone to protect me.” You sigh. “I can protect myself, you know? I’m a big girl.”

You watch his reaction, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker over behind your head, to the picture on the wall you know he is staring at. It tugs at your heart. “Move back to Makkari?” His voice is quieter now.

It’s an argument you’ve had countless times before over the phone. When you first moved to Sapporo he asked you almost every day. Luckily, it isn’t that bad anymore, but you can still rely on a call anytime a villain is even close to Hokkaido.

“No.” You shake your head, catching his eyes as he looks back. “I have my job, my friends, and my life in Sapporo. I love you Dad, but I can’t live here.”

“You could be happy here.” He insists. “There are no villain attacks. No heroes.” His eyes flicker back over your shoulder. “You can be safe.”

“Nobody is safe anywhere Dad.” You sit back, frustration draining. “We could die any day. I don’t want to live my life in fear. That is not a life.” The flinch in his shoulders makes a bit of guilt dig into your stomach. It was a low blow, but you were not going to let this escalate. Not this time. Not here.

You finish your breakfast in silence, both in thought. While he gets the sink ready to wash, you gather up the dishes. It almost feels like you never left. You grab the drying cloth and get ready to help dry. While waiting, you glance out the window. The mountain looms ahead, big and beautiful as normal. You can’t wait to get another crack at it. Not today, probably, but soon.

Wait. The mountain.

“Oh.” You turn to your Dad. “Is there anyone new in the village?”

“A resident?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Anyone, really.”

Dad hums in thought for a moment before passing you a plate. “I believe Tanaka said he saw a guest at Fuccanchi. Why?”

“I saw someone on the mountain yesterday.” You explain, leaving out the part of you actually climbing up alone. “It was late, so I stopped the car and tried to warn him not to be out late. He still went in. I’m a bit worried.”

“It is late in the season to be going up the mountain.” Dad mused. “We can ask Tanaka when we’re in the village.” He hands you another plate. You grab it and begin drying.

“Okay.”  

---

NOTE: I will be posting these on tumblr approximately a week after the chapters are posted on Ao3 (we are currently at chapter 7, so I will be quicker with these ones). When caught up, Ao3 will be approximately one chapter ahead. 

[mollymawkwrites]

Geralt/Eskel/Jaskier: Geralt brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen and Eskel/Jaskier get their shit together first (communication skills!!) and Geralt comes to a Realization - dp/spitroasting - the turn of seasons, contrast of bright/dark, warm/cold

... this took way too long and I am so sorry about that. As an apology, here’s more than 5.5k of feelings, pining and misunderstandings, with a sprinkle of smut (as an apology, and not at all because I have zero self-restraint). Thank you so much for the lovely prompt, I hope this lives up to expectations 💖

I’ll post the link to Ao3 in the replies when this is beta’ed, sorry if there are any big mistakes!

CW: post-Mountain break-up, smut, Geralt’s Canonical Self-Loathing.

Falling in love with Eskel is the easiest thing Jaskier has ever done.

It happens slowly, but with a certainty that Jaskier has rarely felt before. Like sinking into a feather mattress, silk sheets caressing your skin.

It was never that easy with Geralt. Jaskier fell in love with him fast, sure, but he also fell hard, had to pick himself up afterwards, bruised and bloody.

The first day he arrives at Kaer Morhen, two weeks after his rescue from Nilfgaardian spies, Jaskier is miserable. The trek up the mountain has been hard on him, but harder even was his underwhelming reunion with Geralt, who barely acknowledged him, grunting that he'd be safer in Kaer Morhen before leaving Jaskier to decide by himself what he wanted to do.

His heart aches with two years of missing his best friend, finding he misses him even more now that they’ve been reunited. He'd always told himself he didn't hold any hope of his relationship with Geralt ever evolving into something more, but getting his heart broken on the top of a mountain had made him realise he'd somehow managed to fool himself too.

So he's prepared to spend a winter avoiding his former friend, though Geralt would probably not even call him that, holing up in whatever drafty room he's been attributed, and then he'll find a new name and dye his hair a different colour and hope it's enough to fool the Nilfs. It's a hard choice to make, renouncing the name he's made for himself, the reputation he's built over twenty years of hard work and songs he's still proud of today. But it's all tied too tightly to Geralt, and neither him nor his heart will survive it. Maybe, if Jaskier the Witcher’s bard is forgotten by everyone, his heartbreak won't be so obvious.

That pathetical plan is countered as soon as he steps foot in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt's brothers and mentor introduce themselves to him. They are similar, yet so different to the Witcher he's known for more than half his life.

They welcome him, if not with open arms, at least with warmth and smiles and, in Lambert's case, snarky banter Jaskier takes great pleasure in reciprocating.

Eskel doesn't draw his attention much at first. The dark-haired Witcher is friendly, tugging Geralt in a bear-like embrace as soon as they've passed the gates, and shaking Jaskier's hand with a kind, genuine smile Jaskier can't help but return.

But over the next couple of weeks, Jaskier spends more and more time with the amber-eyed wolf, discussing music and poetry and history as they execute their respective chores. After only a few days, Eskel is the one who searches him out when Jaskier is helping Vesemir in the kitchen or feeding the chickens in the courtyard. He shows him around the keep, more than the customary tour Vesemir gave Jaskier on his first day here. Eskel is full of stories from his childhood in the keep, and he is not greedy with the details. Jaskier can sense the underlying grief when the Witcher talks about the boys who didn't make it in the Trials, but Eskel doesn't linger in the sadness and makes sure to tell Jaskier all about his and Geralt's most imaginative antics.

The Witcher's company is a delight, and a nice distraction from Jaskier's heartache. When he can't take Geralt's silence and avoidance anymore, he seeks Eskel and his warmth, bathing in the man's attention. After a month, he finds himself dreaming of tanned hands and dark hair as much as pale skin and silver strands.

At first, he feels guilty about it. Eskel does not deserve to be someone's second choice. What he deserves is unconditional, untainted love.

But as days pass, frost a little thicker on the blades of grass in the courtyard every morning, the mountains losing their warm autumn colours to shades of blue and grey, Jaskier and Eskel gravitate towards each other until they collide, softly and without a sound. It happens so naturally, Jaskier almost thinks he’s dreamt it when he wakes up one day at dawn, and instead of his freezing room, he opens his eyes to a broad, golden-skinned chest. His cheek rises and falls with the slow breaths where it rests on one plush pec, a pool of his own saliva glistening in a smattering of dark hair.

He hasn’t felt that relaxed in years, and only part of it is due to the frankly fantastic post-sex bliss he’s still basking in. There is no anxiety, no second thoughts. Eskel made sure to make his intentions clear before they fell into bed together, shocking Jaskier into silence with how open with his feelings he was. The bard still can’t help but compare how completely different Geralt and Eskel are.

They agreed to take things slow, to enjoy each other for the winter and then see where things take them. Jaskier knows he’s falling in love with Eskel, but it doesn’t feel scary. He won’t be alone once the time comes to make a decision.

It takes another week for him to move into Eskel’s room completely. They don’t bother hiding their new… entanglement, to the others. No secret can be kept in a keep full of Witchers, and neither Eskel nor Jaskier cares to pretend.

Lambert gives them shit, to no one’s surprise, and Ciri squeals in delight, the gossiping princess resurfacing for a few moments. Vesemir claps Eskel on the shoulder, before reminding all of them that they have chores to do.

Geralt doesn’t say anything.

Jaskier didn’t expect him to jump in joy, he’s not sure the Witcher is even capable of such displays of emotion, but the white-haired Witcher doesn’t even look at them, only ushers Ciri outside to the training grounds.

Over the next few weeks, Jaskier only sees him at supper. He’s gotten used to avoiding Geralt, to keep out of his way, but until then they would still meet in the hall when the weather was too bad for the Witchers to train outside, or at lunch when they would accidentally come in for a bite at the same time. Eskel and Geralt spend a considerable amount of time together, and Jaskier would often find them together doing whatever repair was needed, but these days, when he manages to escape his chores long enough to seek his lover for a stolen kiss or a quick fuck, Geralt is nowhere in sight.

When Jaskier asks his amber-eyed wolf one evening after they retired to their room, Eskel confirms what he already suspected.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, no,” the Witcher rumbles softly, a hand tracing arabesques on the bare skin of Jaskier’s back. “He goes hunting alone almost every day. He does that, sometimes, when he’s upset, though I’m not sure what it’s about, this time.”

Jaskier hums, pensive. His heart clenches at the thought of Geralt avoiding his own family. Guilt creeps on him, its long, sharp claws burying themselves under his ribs. How dare he come to Geralt’s only home, his only place of peace and acceptance, and claim a place in his brother’s heart? He’s done a shit job of fulfilling Geralt’s wish of having him out of his life, hasn’t he?

A strong arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him closer to the furnace of Eskel’s body.

“What’re you thinking of that makes you smell so sad, songbird?”

Jaskier smiles at the endearment. His wolf is generous with his affection, and Jaskier is selfish. He wants it all. But does he have any right to it, if he is taking it from Geralt?

“Do you think it’s because of us?” He asks, turning his head to rest his chin on Eskel’s sternum. “That Geralt is keeping to himself, I mean.”

Eskel frowns pensively. “I… don’t know. I suppose, in a way. But I think he’s mostly wallowing in his own self-loathing.”

“When isn’t he?” Jaskier teases.

The Witcher huffs, a sad half-smile tugging at his scars. “I was afraid he’d be jealous, or upset, hoping maybe it’d help him pull his head out of his own ass, but I’m afraid it’s buried even deeper than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t want to get between the two of you, but I know Geralt. He ain’t gonna do anything about it, and then he’ll regret it once it’s too late.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “Eskel, there’s nothing between me and Geralt.” Well, that’s not quite true. “I wanted there to be something, for a very long time, but… well, turns out I was the only one wanting it. If anything, I thought I was the one getting between the two of you.”

“Songbird, there hasn’t been anything but friendship between Geralt and I since before you were born.” Sadness clouds Eskel’s eyes for a second, and the piece Jaskier has been missing clicks into place.

“You and Geralt were together?” He asks, voice tight with emotion.

“Not sure we can even call it that,” a bitter smile twists Eskel’s scars in a painful grimace. “We found… comfort, with each other, when nothing else could give us that. But it hasn’t been like that in a very long time.”

“Why?”

Eskel shrugs with one shoulder, almost dislodging Jaskier from his position. “People change, songbird. And when you live as long as we do, well… you can’t expect things to stay the same forever. I’m glad we stayed as close as we are, despite him not wanting us to be anything other than friends anymore.”

The Witcher kisses the crown of Jaskier’s head and flicks his wrist, snuffing out the candles, a clear sign that the conversation is over. Jaskier doesn’t push, conscious this is a sensitive subject, but that doesn’t keep him from staring in the darkness for a long time after Eskel’s breaths have slowed and deepened, troubled by this new facet of the two men he loves.

Geralt’s reaction makes more sense now, why he would act so uncomfortable around Eskel and Jaskier now that the two of them are a thing. If Geralt still has feelings for his friend, then… seeing Jaskier, the man he hates and despises, whom he holds responsible for his every trouble (quite unfairly, in Jaskier’s opinion, but still), taking his place in the arms of the man he’s been in love with for longer than the bard has been alive… well, Jaskier can understand why he’d be upset.

There’s just a tiny bit of pettiness coming from the selfish, ugly part of him, that sings at the idea. Geralt broke his heart on that mountain top, isn’t it simple justice that Jaskier breaks his heart in turn?

But that line of thought is quickly smothered by guilt, and, more upsettingly, love. He’s loved Geralt for half his life now. No matter how hurt he might be, all he wants is for him to be happy. Or as happy as a self-loathing Witcher can be.

And it’s so obvious that Eskel loves him, too, now that Jaskier thinks about it. There’s a softness in his eyes and the corner of his mouth when he looks at Geralt that isn’t there when he’s around anyone else, an ease and a trust that Jaskier used to attribute to long term friendship but can only come from two bodies knowing each other intimately.

Jaskier can’t put himself between the two of them, can’t bear the idea of robbing both men of the little happiness they can find in a world that doesn’t accept them. And if he was Geralt, he would probably let Eskel down gently, taking himself out of the way and hoping the other two would get their shit together and talk, but he’s not, and if there’s a way that the three of them can find even a little satisfaction in this mess, then he’s going to try his best and make it happen.

He only hopes Geralt will listen to him.

*

It takes him a few days to work up the courage to approach the sullen White Wolf, and then another two to catch him alone, one night after dinner.

Unsurprisingly, he finds him in the stables, brushing down a Roach who seems more interested in nipping at Scorpion’s flanks than in the brooding Witcher in her stall. A wave of fondness overcomes Jaskier at the familiar sight, and he has to shake himself to remember what he’s come here to do.

“Geralt,” he says, softer than he intended. The Witcher doesn’t startle, but he tenses visibly, his grip on the brush turning white-knuckled. Jaskier lets out a trembling sigh, his resolve the only thing keeping him from turning away and finding shelter in Eskel’s arms to cry his heartache away. “We need to talk.”

Geralt doesn’t gratify him with an answer, like maybe if he ignores Jaskier long enough the bard will go away. How he didn’t learn that doesn’t work in the twenty years they’ve known each other, Jaskier has no idea.

“It’s about Eskel.” That, at least, has the merit to catch Geralt’s attention, the Witcher turning his head just enough to peek at Jaskier from the corner of his eye.

“He told me, about… about the two of you. What you were to each other.”

Geralt sucks in a harp breath. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

And Jaskier can see this is a lie even with the Witcher turning his back to him. His heart clenches, for his best friend, despite everything that happened, and his lover, who have not allowed themselves to have what they both so visibly crave. “It does, though. It does matter. I’m not… I have no wish to keep you from each other, Geralt. I… I love him.” Jaskier chokes out, and something painful flashes in Geralt’s eyes. “And I… I…” he almost lets himself say it, bare his heart for Geralt to see, but he’s gotten too used to protecting himself, to hiding his most shameful truth. “I know you do, too.”

Geralt hangs his head between his shoulders, face hidden in the shadows, the warm, low light of the oil lamp he brought with him playing in his pale hair. “You’re making him happy. The two of you… you’re good, together. I am glad you found each other.”

“Are you really, Geralt? Because you’ve been avoiding us for weeks. It’s hurting him.” It’s hurting me, Jaskier doesn’t say, because none of this is about him. “Listen, I… I know you don’t want anything to do with me, I got that loud and clear, but if there’s a way… for us three to… to find satisfaction, then maybe…”

“Speak plainly, bard.”

Jaskier exhales, nerves making his throat tight. “You know I don’t believe in exclusive relationships,” and Geralt doesn’t, either; Yennefer and him both had lovers on the side, it was no secret between them. “If you and Eskel wanted to… start again where you left things, I see no issue with that. I want him to be happy, too. I… I want you to be happy, Geralt. You’re still important to me, even after everything.”

He’s said more than he wanted to, and Geralt doesn’t even deign to look at him. That’s so familiar it hurts. Jaskier smiles, an ugly thing full of regrets and unspoken words, and turns on his heels. He’s done his part. It’s up to Geralt to make a choice, now.

“Jaskier,” a broken voice says as a hand wraps around his wrist. He startles, and turns to find Geralt watching him with pleading eyes. It’s such an absurd sight, it leaves him speechless for a minute, and Geralt takes it as an encouragement to speak. The Witcher clears his throat. “I don’t… You’re…” the way he interrupts himself in obvious frustration, brow furrowed and lips thinned, is almost endearing. “You’re important to me, too.”

Tears swell in Jaskier’s eyes, and he tugs at his wrist to free it. Geralt lets him go without resistance.

“Please don’t lie to me, Geralt. I can take the hurt, I can take the rejection. But I won’t take the pity.” He almost spits the last sentence, and a surge of bitter satisfaction warms his painful heart at Geralt’s flinch.

“I’m not, I swear. I… I’ve missed you, Jask, I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is husky, weighed by shame and regret, and Jaskier has no doubt he is saying the truth. Geralt is a lot of things, but a good actor is not one of them. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about what I said to you after the dragon hunt. None of it was true, I… I was furious, but it wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry.”

When Jaskier let himself dream of this moment, while walking down of the mountain or in the dark of the cell the Nilfargiaans kept him in, he’d imagined how he’d make Geralt grovel, how he’d tell him about every little thing Jaskier had ever done for him, to make his life easier, to show him how he could find happiness even on the Path.

As it is, Jaskier only stares at Geralt for a few seconds before tugging him into a crushing embrace. “Fuck, I’ve missed you too, you stupid Witcher.”

Geralt makes a wounded noise but lets himself be engulfed in Jaskier’s arms, tucking his nose in the hollow of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, warm breath humid against the bard’s skin. “I wanted to come looking after you, but I had to make sure Ciri was safe…”

“I am glad you did,” Jaskier says, petting the hair at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “But why didn’t you say anything once Yennefer brought me to you? Geralt, we climbed up those damn mountains together. It’s been two months since we’ve been here. I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t want me here.”

Hands twist in the back of Jaskier’s thick woolen cape. “I didn’t know how to. While we were still on the Path I was worried about Nilfgaard catching up to us, about keeping Ciri and you fed and safe, and I thought this could wait until we were here. But then…” Geralt makes a frustrated noise so familiar it has Jaskier smiling in the crown of his head.

“Words were hard to find?”

He feels more than he sees Geralt’s nod. “And once you and Eskel became… involved, you seemed so much happier. I thought I’d only make things worse, and that you deserved to move on. To… forget about me. But I do want you here, Jaskier. If I had any right to it, I’d want you by my side always.”

A breath catches in Jaskier's throat, and tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Those are words he's dreamt of hearing for so many years, and he's finally hearing them now, in a stable smelling of horseshit and hay. It's so simple, so mundane, and yet he can barely bring himself to believe this is truly happening.

And maybe it's because he is stunned, or maybe because he's done hiding, but suddenly it feels so important that he says the truth.

"Geralt, you… you must know…" he pulls back, putting just enough distance between them that he can see Geralt's suspiciously red-rimmed eyes, that he can see how the Witcher reacts to his words. "I would have followed you anywhere, until my feet could carry me no more. You know that, right? I've never been subtle," he laughs wetly. Geralt is looking increasingly confused, like he has no idea what Jaskier is talking about, and that just doesn't make sense.

Making a frustrated sound, Jaskier twists his hands in the lapels of Geralt's thick winter coat, tugging him forward slowly so the Witcher can stop him if he wants.

But he doesn't, and their lips meet, harshly enough that Jaskier hopes it'll carry his meaning even through Geralt's thick skull.

It must work, because next thing he knows, he is being ravished quite thoroughly by an enthusiastic Witcher, a hand at the back of his head and another at the small of his back, under the hem of his cape. A thumb rubs circles at the base of his spine, and he's slowly melting into a puddle of contentment, his only thought a constant stream of this is happening, oh my fucking gods this is happening.

There's little time for the realization to set in, though, as a draft of cold wind fills the stables, and a soft "oh" pushes Jaskier and Geralt to separate.

Just outside of the circle of light cast by the oil lamp, Eskel stands watching them, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Jaskier's guts clench in guilt and he steps away from Geralt hurriedly. "Eskel, it's not-" what you think, he doesn't finish, because that is a lie, and Eskel deserves better than lies.

But there's little else Jaskier can say to justify how Eskel just found him, kissing his best friend and former lover passionately in the middle of the night, when he should have been back in their shared bed an hour ago.

He knew he'd fuck up somehow. That's so classic.

The three of them are silent for a heartbeat, the horses shifting in their stalls the only noise in the cramped space, and Jaskier wants to cross the space between Eskel and him so badly, but he knows he doesn't have the right to, and it's killing him.

Just when his agony reaches a peak, Eskel's mouth curls at the corner, softness blooming in his eyes. "I see you've gotten your shit together," he says. " 's about time."

This is so completely out of what Jaskier expected him to say that he doesn’t manage to find a suitable answer. Surprisingly, Geralt is the one to talk next.

“I’m not going to take him from you,” he says cautiously.

“I know,” Eskel grins. “I know that if I asked you you would never even look at him again.”

Jaskier spares a glance for Geralt, and a pit opens in his gut at the acceptance he finds in his eyes.

“But that would make the three of us miserable,” Eskel adds. “And I won’t do that to Jaskier, or to you.”

“Eskel, what are you saying?” If his soft-hearted Witcher is suggesting what Jaskier thinks he is…

“I don’t see why things between us should change, songbird, if you wished to spend some nights in Geralt’s bed. Of course, if you two want to be exclusive to each other,” the first glimmer of doubt insinuates itself in Eskel’s kind voice, but he keeps speaking bravely, “then I will not impose myself.”

“No!” Jaskier says, a little too loud, his hand shooting up to grip at Eskel’s wrist. Roach nickers irritably in her stall at the disturbance.

“I… I mean, if both you and Geralt are amenable, there is space in my bed for the two of you.”

Eskel’s dark eyebrow arches. “Don’t you mean in my bed?”

But his hand closes around Jaskier’s reassuringly, warm and soft as he looks at Geralt. “What do you say, Wolf?”

And Geralt is watching them both with equal part fear and want in his eyes, like his deepest desire is just in reach but he isn’t sure if it’s not going to burn him at the first touch. Jaskier extends his free hand, and he can feel Eskel tensing infinitesimally beside him, careful to keep a relaxed posture, but as worried as Jaskier that their white-haired Witcher is going to bolt out the door to a more familiar loneliness.

Geralt surprises them both by taking Jaskier’s hand with an air of firm resolution, crossing the space between them slowly until he stands close enough to share their warmth. Eskel raises his left hand, cupping Geralt’s jaw with infinite softness. Jaskier can see in his eyes the same pride he is feeling himself, at their white wolf’s bravery.

The air leaves Jaskier’s lungs in a rush when the two men’s lips meet like they weren’t ever meant to part. The contrast of Eskel’s golden skin against Geralt’s milky one is the most beautiful work of art he’s ever been given to see, and the tight heat in his lower belly tells him he wants to see more of it, now.

The two Witchers kiss for a long minute, Jaskier watching them with naked hunger and want, but for once not in a hurry to claim the attention back on himself. He makes an involuntary noise when Eskel nips at Geralt’s lower lip playfully, and two burning golden gazes turn on him. It’s so intense, so heavy, that another breath leaves Jaskier with a wheeze. A grin is spreading on Eskel’s handsome features, and Geralt’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“What do you think, Wolf? Do you think the two of us will be enough to satisfy our little bard?”

And oh, Jaskier does so want them to try.

*

Jaskier often prides himself loudly and brazenly of his carnal exploits as an Oxenfurt student and travelling bard. He’s had sex with numerous people of all genders and races, sometimes several at the same time, and has been praised for being a generous and enthusiastic lover.

Never has he been so overwhelmed after only a few minutes of foreplay.

There’s a cock down his throat and fingers in his arse and he’s trembling all over. Eskel is soothing him with a palm to his side, murmuring praise as he pushes three thick, oiled fingers to Jaskier’s prostate.

Geralt is brushing a hand down his cheek, feeling his own cock through the stretched skin. Jaskier sucks and licks with single-minded focus, moaning and wiggling when Eskel executes a particularly well-aimed thrust.

“Look at him, asking for more even when he’s stuffed full,” Eskel smugly says to Geralt as he gives a sharp slap to the bard’s arse. Jaskier yelps and jumps forward, Geralt’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He chokes and gags but doesn’t relent, breathing through his nose expertly. Geralt wipes the tears from his cheeks, the tender motion in stark contrast with his curses and animalistic grunts. It’s a contradiction Jaskier is quickly becoming addicted to.

He's so focused on his worship of Geralt's glorious cock he doesn't notice Eskel's fingers slipping out of his hole before they are replaced with the fat head of his prick. He gasps, letting Geralt's hard length slip out of his mouth, resting his temple against his hip as he breathes through the intrusion. He still hasn't gotten used to Eskel's girth, the stretch leaving him drooling and dazed every time.

They're all still as Jaskier accommodates it, testing the sensation with little clenches of his arse that have Eskel grunting and squeezing the plump flesh of his cheeks.

"'m good, you can move," Jaskier mumbles in the dip of Geralt's hip, and Eskel pulls out to execute a few shallow thrusts, getting the both of them used to the new sensations.

When he picks up speed, a hand threads in Jaskier's hair, pulling him to look up and meet a painfully tender gaze. Geralt holds him with one hand, the other grasping his own cock and guiding it back into Jaskier’s begging mouth, smearing a trail of pre-come on his cheek on the way.

It's easy to lose himself into it after that. He is full, warm and content, and he wishes he could stay that way forever, pinned between his two lovers, pleasing them with his wet mouth and his tight arse. Used for their pleasure alone.

He's only human, though, and his stamina can't compare to two Witchers'. He spills almost as soon as Eskel gets a hand on his cock, his wails muffled by Geralt's.

Geralt is caring enough to let Jaskier breathe as he comes down, cradling the bard’s face in his hands, but Eskel doesn't pull out. They've talked about each other's boundaries at length, he knows Jaskier can take more.

He's brushing his thumb where Jaskier and him are connected, hole fluttering with the last spasms of his orgasm. Jaskier whimpers at the sensation.

"Damn, you always get so loose and sloppy when you've come… do you think you could take the two of us like this?"

Jaskier's chest swells with a sob at the thought, arms trembling where they struggle to keep him up. The fingers around his jaw squeeze lightly, demanding his attention, and he meets Geralt's gaze once again.

"Answer to Eskel, pretty lark," Geralt rumbles. "Is it too much? Do you want more?"

"Yes," Jaskier manages to slur. "More, please. I want… I want both of you."

Geralt's pupils expand impossibly larger, and he bends to kiss Jaskier languidly.

He's a very thorough kisser, grunting at the taste of himself on Jaskier's tongue. Tears well up in Jaskier's eyes as emotion seizes his heart. Finally, he thinks, finally, I get to have him.

He shouts in the kiss, breaking their connection, when Eskel's thumb slips along his cock in Jaskier's hole.

The stretch is intense, even with how relaxed Jaskier is from his climax, and his arms give out, his face squashing into the mattress with a moan.

Geralt chuckles above him before gathering the weak bard into his arms, shuffling them so Jaskier is propped against his chest, while Eskel keeps opening him from behind.

It’s too warm there, pinned between his two Witchers, but Jaskier doesn’t have any complaint. Geralt resumes kissing him to distract him from the almost too intense stretch, and it works. When his breath grows too ragged, Geralt frees his lips and lets him rest his head against his shoulder for a second, lungs expanding with deep gulps of breath. Geralt and Eskel talk in hushed voices, but he can’t focus on what they’re saying, his every thought gathering around the point where he is stretched wider than he’s ever been around Eskel’s cock and fingers.

He is manhandled without difficulty, until he is straddling Geralt’s lap, Eskel still buried hilt deep in him, Geralt mouthing at his neck, two pairs of large hands roaming his sides, his back, his stomach.

“You ready, songbird?” Eskel rumbles in his ear, the low timbre of his voice piercing through the thick fog in Jaskier’s fucked out brain.

The bard nods into Geralt’s shoulder, whining pitifully.

“Did you actually manage to fuck words out of him, Eskel?” Geralt says with a hint of humour, squeezing Jaskier against him affectionately. “Might have to give you a medal for that.”

“Hm. What about a kiss?”

Jaskier smiles groggily at the sounds of intense making-out next to his ear, turning his head to admire the view. Geralt and Eskel truly are gorgeous together, skins lit by the candles, sweat beading on their foreheads, a drop rolling down the crease of one of Eskel’s scars to where his lips join Geralt’s. Their kiss is all teeth and tongue, playful and nipping, fighting for a control none of them truly cares about. It’s a sight Jaskier hopes to be graced with every day of his life from now on.

But for now, impatience is making him clench and grind around Eskel, who breaks his and Geralt’s kiss to grunt. “We haven’t forgotten about you, songbird, don’t worry.”

He cups Jaskier’s cheek in his hand to meet his lips, tasting of Geralt and himself.

There’s a new pressure at Jaskier’s entrance and he gasps in Eskel’s mouth when he realizes it’s Geralt’s cock pushing inside him. The three of them moan in unison when it gets past the ring of muscles and slides besides Eskel’s prick. They stay still, panting for a few moments, until Jaskier garbles a “move” and Eskel complies, taking the lead. Geralt, carrying most of Jaskier’s weight, is slower at the beginning, but picks up speed, moving in counterpart to Eskel, never leaving Jaskier empty even for a single second. They hit his prostate with every thrust in, overwhelming him so quickly he’s only a ragdoll between the two of them after only a few minutes of the same treatment.

Eskel and Geralt lavish his throat and shoulders with soft bites and soothing licks, meeting for a kiss over him once or twice.

Jaskier comes quickly, his cock rutting against Geralt’s toned abs, the friction barely enough to have him tip over the edge, coating the rippling muscles in thick white come. Eskel follows him rapidly, his thrusts growing erratic until he spills deep into Jaskier’s ass, whispering his name reverently in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Geralt joins them after a few more thrusts, grunting his release into Jaskier’s collarbone, goosebumps breaking over the skin of his back.

The Witchers’ softening pricks slip out of his ass and Jaskier hisses at the sudden chill of emptiness. A dribble of come drips from his sensitive hole, gaping and fluttering, and Eskel takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight, fingers coming to brush the abused flesh. Jaskier whimpers in protest, too tired to move, and Geralt shushes him with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

They bring him down to the mattress, arranging his limbs comfortably. One of them - Jaskier doesn’t open his eyes to check which - gets up and brings back a rag to clean him up and a waterskin, bullying him to drink even though all he wants is to lie down and sleep.

Finally, they all snuggle up together on the bed that is slightly too small for three grown men, the room stinking of sex.

There will be a lot to talk about, tomorrow when they wake up, but for now Jaskier buries his nose in the crook of Geralt’s neck, Eskel plastered to his back, both their hands meeting on his chest, over his slowly beating heart. Content. Warm. Jaskier drifts off with a smile on his face and a new song in his mind.

[sadachmesarthim]

yes this is a rewrite, feel free to fry my ass on anon about it.

content: starker being mean to each other, peter parker has Supportive Friends™, tony has daddy and mommy issues, quentin beck is a Mean Boss™, smoking, secondhand smoke.

word count: 3.0k

square filled: coffee shop au  -> link to playlist here

part two is here!

a little vocab lesson before continuing: mobster = really high up in the chain of command for this group of coffee shops. they go around training new hirees, and often decide who gets to move up the line of command. they get to travel on company money, and are very well respected in the workplace. mobsters usually come in groups - siblings, hires from the same groups, etc. 

Tony didn't like Richland.

Sure, okay, it was a serious step up from Federal Way. He was free from his parents, he could do whatever he wanted in a house all to himself, no one knew who he was - it was a refreshing change, one he definitely needed now that he was graduated, all grown up.

He'd moved back east about two months ago. He'd wanted to get as far away from home as possible, stretch his legs - he went under the guise of missing his grandma, wanting to go to school. He wasn't a terrible liar, either. Howard and Maria'd eaten it up, encouraging him to go as soon as he could.

"If you go now, you could get there in time for summer classes. Maybe even get a job before they stop hiring seasonally. You never know, but you might as well try!"

So here he was. Still jobless, still not yet enrolled in school. Enjoying his time in the (now autumn) sunshine, biding his time before he ran out of money. He'd planned well - he had enough cash to keep him covered for a while, as long as he didn't go blowing it.

He'd blown it.

He was a sucker for good coffee, though, and he missed Outback. He'd worked at one back home for almost a year before he left, and now... now, it was like an itch he couldn't scratch - he needed the interaction, needed to go make friends. He was too much of a social butterfly.

Yet again, he found himself in his truck, on the way to the nearest stand. He was pathetic, really. Here he was, wasting more money on coffee, when he could be out hiking or climbing or... literally doing anything else.

He knew it was worth it the second he pulled in. The cutest kid was running lines that day - shorts hugging his tight ass deliciously, in a way Tony knew his operator would get in trouble for if a Mobster or Coach saw.  Christ, they lettin' just anyone work here now, that it?

He had to keep his thoughts to himself, though - the kid had just finished the cars in front of him, and was headed straight for Tony, iPad in hand. He took a breath, putting on his best poker face. He needed a fucking cigarette.

"Hey handsome! Welcome to Outback, what're we drinkin' today?" Shit, he's cute. All bright and cheery - it might be fake, sure, customer service voice and all - but boy, did he play the part well. All big eyes and wide smile. He looked up at Tony expectantly, right hand hovering over the screen of the runner iPad. Shit, he still has to order something.

"Hi, just a small iced white vanilla breve please." Tony watched as the kid pressed a few spaces on the tablet, shocked at how fluidly he moved. Tony'd never seen him at this location before, but he obviously knew what he was doing. Location transfer, maybe? Mobster? He wasn't sure.

"Perfect! I've got you in - anything else, love?" God, he was too much. There's no way this was just the sickly facade Outback enforced - no, this was all him. "Nah, I'm okay. I'm paying card today, too." He reached his hand out for the tablet, wanting to tip this kid specifically.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, this card reader's broken. The one up at the window's working though! My girl Maia'll be up there waiting for you!" He turned with a smile, skipping off to the next car.

Jesus, who was this kid? And what did Tony have to do to see him again?

•|||•

Return an application, apparently.

Maia, the girl at the window, had let him know that they were hiring. He didn't have to feign interest - he had relevant experience, could work his way up if he needed to - and he'd get to see the mystery boy again. She'd ran and grabbed a small stack of papers for him, which he dutifully filled out and brought back a couple of hours later.

The closing shift lead had briefly interviewed him, practically giving him the job on the spot. Apparently she'd met his sister on a Mob trip, before - it paid to have connections, but damn... someone in town already knew who he was. Oh well. Not a big deal. These were still new people, fresh faces - he could make a clean reputation for himself, a fresh start...

It was exactly what he needed. And if he needed to use a bit of his influence with his sister to get it... so be it.

•|||•

"Emma, please, just... don't be a dick when he calls you. I need this job, it'll be good for m-"

"Save it, Tony. I don't want your excuses. If I say I'll do it, will you leave me alone?" She was being unusually short with him. Fuck. She and Rhodey were fighting again.

"Yes, yes, anything. Thank you so much." He was met with a bored sigh.

"Whatever, dude. I'll put in a good word. Talk to you later." She hung up before he could say anything else. Whatever - it wasn't the worst conversation he'd had with his sister, but it left a lot to be desired.

They hadn't been doing well since she & Rhodey got together. It was on-again-off-again... and they were honestly both to blame. Neither one of them was good at commitment, and it showed.

It put strain on both of their relationships with Tony, and didn't do much to help keep him in Federal Way. He sought comfort in the isolation of a new town, but it didn't seem to be helping anything.

Leaving never did, but it was really all he knew how to do.

•|||•

Peter hadn’t been at Outback long, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

He’d gotten hired almost immediately after graduation, not wanting to waste a second of his summer not making money. It was a bit of a difficult transition - he wasn’t a big fan of Beck, his boss, and training was really overwhelming. But after he’d hit that twelve week mark... it’s like something just clicked.

He was a whiz on bar, he was making friends right and left. He and Maia’d even gone to get tattoos together a couple weeks ago during a flash sale. He was getting faster and faster at running cars, he knew almost all of his regular customers. He genuinely felt like part of the family.

That didn’t really change when Beck hired a new group, either. There weren’t too many of them, helping keep their group small. They’d been spending a bit of time in the stand here and there, going over the rules, the ins and outs of making coffee, taking their menu test.

The three he was introducing today seemed okay enough. He just barely caught the tail end of Beck's “congrats on becoming a full employee” monologue before the man set the fresh meat loose. Not that they could really go far - it was maybe a good spit's distance from corner to corner. But, if it helped them get their bearings...

He was pulled from his thoughts before they could take off too far. “Hey, Parker! Come say hi to the green beans!”

•|||•

The red haired girl was nice enough. They'd introduced themselves, exchanged snap usernames, gushed over Peter's tattoos, and bonded over the typical new job anxiety. He'd forged a sweet new friendship with Bri, and was hopeful she'd stick around. He'd seen people like her get chewed up and spit out in this industry, and he liked her.

The tall guy... was pretty boring, actually. He stayed on his phone for the majority of the introduction, opting to ignore Peter entirely. It was fine - he'd probably be gone by the end of the month. Not like they’d miss him - he barely passed his menu test, from what Peter’d overheard.

Then came Mr. Short, Dark, and Brooding - Tony, apparently - Peter remembered him from a few weeks ago. He’d given Peter a poorly concealed once-over, tried to take the runner iPad from right out of his hands... if he wasn’t so attractive, Peter’d pin him for a fuckboy.

Despite how much he looked like he’d wanted to back then, when given the opportunity, he didn’t really engage with Peter. He apparently wasn’t the type to keep eye contact, go in for a hug, make small talk. 0 for 2. Disappointing. Oh well. That’s fine - Peter was perfectly content as the only guy at this location (sans Beck, of couse). Too much testosterone didn’t foster a healthy working environment, and they all knew it.

The girls, especially. They all gushed over Peter - apparently being the token gay guy in the stand somehow made him exempt from the targetted harassment. Nearly every guy they’d hired had left within 9 months - coffee was definitely a female-dominated field.

Peter was excited to see how these two fared.

•|||•

The tall guy was gone within a week. Didn’t even leave notice, just up and stopped showing up to his shifts. Not that it was the end of the world - he was still in his probationary period, so he wasn’t even making tips. No sweat off Peter’s back.

Bri did really well, in comparison. Beck was unusually strict with her - lashing out during her initial first shifts, generally being a hardass. It was unnecessary, and everyone knew it - Peter often found himself having fridge or bathroom meetings with her to help calm her down. But she kept showing up, kept trying, and after a few weeks she was doing just as well as Peter and the rest of them.

Tony was even better. Peter’d heard through the grapevine that he’d worked at a different location when he was still in school. Why he had to go through training again was lost on Peter - Beck tended to be thorough when it came to these kinds of things, but Tony was arguably more experienced than some of Peter’s coworkers...

Apparently, it’s because he wasn’t one to play nice.

•|||•

It took them quite a while to work together. Peter’d found himself getting the shit end of the schedule, working 7-1s religiously. It was by far his least favorite shift - dealing with the morning and lunch rushes were nothing, if not exhausting. But he pushed through, and finally got a say in what he worked - a very comfortable 5 - close.

Tony seemed to fill the between-shift gap - 2-8 was his jam. He liked working later, but still getting home before dark. Apparently being a newbie meant drawing the short straw sometimes -

And the short straw just so happened to be barring with the twink from a few weeks ago.

He hadn’t been... avoiding him. Tony just... didn’t like the way he worked. Peter was flighty, always moving. It irked him... he was just so much, it made Tony’s head hurt. If he wasn’t so engaging he might actually piss Tony off - but he knew the kid had nothing but good intentions, and that made it bearable.

It didn’t translate to the bar, though.

It seemed nearly impossible for them to work well together. Tony’d been assigned the milk station for the last three hours of his shift - a long stretch, but nothing he hadn’t done before. Peter was on shots almost the entire time. Poor kid.

Tony’s sympathy ran dry when they actually began working. They were almost always on top of each other - Peter crowding his space and trying to do too much. It grated on Tony’s every nerve, made it difficult to function. Peter didn’t seem to notice at all - or if he did, he didn’t care.

It came to a head when Peter went for the fridge. 

It was a pretty well-known rule that the person on shots doesn’t reach for the fridge. Not only was it too far away from their position on machine, it requires them to go behind their bar partner, which is dangerous in a shop this small. Hot liquids, ice, sugar... they can cause spills, burns, falls... 

So of course this dumbass goes for the fridge. Opens the door. Grabs a can of cold brew with his bare hands before turning back around. 

And running into Tony face first. 

This would have been fine if it were literally anything other than a cold brew. This would have been fine if Tony wasn’t holding a fresh drink! But no - the universe lined things up just right, laid out the most well-planned disaster. 

As they made contact, Peter’s hands flew up in shock, dropping the very pressurized can. It exploded as it hit the concrete, spraying nitrogen and foam-y coffee all over them. This caused Tony to let go of the drink in his hand, coating both of their lower halves in hot, sticky milk. 

It was picturesque, the mess they made. 

Tony looked up at Peter in absolute shock. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Why were you in the fridge?!” 

“I was just trying to help! You were busy, I figured I could-” Tony cut him off before he filled the stand with more hot air. Not in the mood for his bullshit excuses. 

“I don’t care how busy you think I am - you ask before doing something outside of your station. Do you understand me?” The look in his eye was one Peter’d never seen before - it probably should have scared him, but frankly, it just made him angrier. 

“Who do you think you are to be giving me orders?” He was huffy, he could feel his cheeks burning red. He was an angry crier, and knew he was struggling to control his face. 

“My sister’s a Mobster. I think I know what I’m doing.” Oh. That explained it - his experience, his proficiency on bar... why he was such a dick. Peter’d never met a Mobster he liked, and if this guy was related to one... shit just made sense. 

•|||•

He spent the remaining few hours of Tony’s shift hiding in the back. They were better off separated, and neither complained. Tony could handle himself up front, and Peter was productive enough. He had chores to do, dishes to finish, the closing list to start... Getting an early start benefitted everyone. 

By the time 8 rolled around, the atmosphere in the stand had relaxed. They’d both had a chance to clean up, the girls on window had helped ease the tension with casual conversation. Bri had been running, and Peter spent plenty of time in the back with her, hushed enough to avoid the ears a few feet away. 

“I don’t see why he gets to walk all over us. You’ve been here longer, and the attitude isn’t necessary.” She was sitting on the edge of the sink, goldfish making their way to her mouth between words. “You know I don’t like him. I don’t see why you keep trying to be nice.”

Peter sighed. He knew she was right. “I just... I don’t want anyone here to feel left out, or like I did at the beginning. Beck can be mean... I want all of you to feel welcome.” It wasn’t a lie, either - he’d made a point to make everyone feel at home, to make this stand a family. Until Tony showed up, he’d been doing a great job. 

“I know buttercup. Just... don’t go bending over backward for someone that won’t even look you in the eye.” With that she hopped down, ready to clock out. 

Tony shuffled past them both, excited to do the same. Maia’d taken over the bar for him, alleviating him just before the four minute window was up. He didn’t even excuse himself, just inserting himself in their personal space without concern. 

Bri shot Peter a look before she left. Talk to him! 

He opted for bravery. He deserved an apology for Tony’s harsh words earlier today, and he was going to get it. 

He checked the cameras before walking back, making sure Maia wasn’t gonna wind up swamped if this took longer than necessary. Tony was collecting his things - he had to do this fast. 

“Hey, listen.” Tony looked up, unamused. “I know we didn’t exactly have a good shift, and yeah I’m partly to blame for that... but Beck doesn’t really vibe with hostility, and the girls...” 

Tony cut him off halfway through. “What, it makes them uncomfortable? They don’t like it when a man takes charge, has a little outburst? Sheesh, y’all really are a mess.” What the fuck?

“Okay, seriously. I tried to be nice. You owe me, and the rest of us, a serious apology for today, or I’m going to Quentin about it. It’s not that hard to say you’re sorry, Tony.” Good job Parker, firm boundaries. 

“I’m sorry? Sorry for what, doing my job? Fuck that, man. I’m out of here.” He opened the door and left, skipping past an oncoming car and heading toward his own. 

Peter followed him. It was stupid, sure - but he needed to assert himself here. This was his stand, his home - and he was damned if he was going to let some... some asshole trample all over his home like this.

He caught up to Tony quickly, stopping him before he could open the driver’s door. “Why are you such an asshole? The girls are obsessed with you, you clearly have a leg up against everyone else in your group. There’s no reason for you to be acting like this, dude. You’ve been here all of what, a month?” 

Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before answering. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now be a good little closer, and run inside. Finish your shift.” He exhaled the smoke into Peter’s face, getting into his car and driving away without another word. 

What a douchebag. 

[bondsmagii]

Rat—what is your theory about the dyatlov pass incident? I know you’ve talked about what it can’t be, but I wanna know what /you/ think happened based on what the evidence shows.

[gets out journal entry where I went Off™ about what I believe happened here] alright. so. brace yourself because this is long but it’s worth it.

what I really think happened is actually a really cool weather phenomenon, and I actually think this is just as scary if not more unnerving than the paranormal explanations. basically there’s a phenomenon known as a Kármán Vortex Street, which is where wind rushing over the summit of a dome-shaped mountain (so a gentle curve rather than a spiky point) is altered by the shape of the mountain to the extent that the vortex (think the twisting movement of air that causes tornadoes, caused by a powerful wind sheer from friction on the mountain) flips onto its side. this results in two powerful twin tornadoes that are very brief in appearance, but possess all the strength of a regular tornado.

the hikers involved with the Dyatlov Pass incident were camped on a slope right below the domed summit of the mountain. I believe that the Kármán Vortex Street phenomenon caused strong tornado-strength winds to rush down the mountain either side of where the tent was pitched, and anyone who knows anything about tornadoes knows they’re loud. it would have seemed like hell itself was roaring past that tent. would this be enough to send several experienced hikers running into the wilderness, though? no, probably not. there’s something else here: something that we probably all have some experience with.

tornadoes can cause infrasound -- a noise that is too low for humans to pick up on, but has proven psychological and physiological effects. many mild hauntings can probably be attributed to infrasound. ever been in a house where things feel off, you feel weird or anxious, there’s a strong permeating sense of dread? if there’s no other sign of a haunting, it’s probably infrasound. it can be caused in urban environments by traffic, vibrations, pipes, all kinds of things. in nature, wind can cause it. severe infrasound is psychologically unbearable. your body reacts to it: you become nauseous, you develop a headache, you feel completely wrong. your mind reacts to it: as the infrasound continues you grow nervous, and then panicky, until you’re experiencing outright terror. something is wrong, and you know it. fight or flight kicks in. you can’t fight it because there’s nothing there -- all you know is something is wrong, and bad, and evil. so you run away from it.

picture the scene. you’re in a tent on a remote mountain. you’re feeling pretty good, because you’re with your experienced friends and you’ve done hikes far more dangerous than this. you’re all chilling out, resting, having some food, preparing yourselves for the next day. outside the wind is picking up, but the tent is firmly pitched and you have nothing to worry about. except, the wind is really picking up. as in, it sounds like a freight train is rumbling past the tent. it’s loud. it’s scarily loud. you’re all confused, because there were no storms predicted for the area and if you looked outside you would see a clear starry sky. you don’t look outside, though, because something is out there. you can hear it rushing past the tent, first on one side, and then on the other. the sound is deafening; it’s a roar, like something alive. you also feel sick. your head is pounding, the pressure behind your eyes and nose unbearable. the nausea is getting worse, and you have a deep sense that something is terribly wrong with you. you look at your friends, wondering if you should say something, but they don’t look so good, either. did you eat something bad? are you being poisoned by your portable cooker? your sense of dread is growing, and you begin to feel panicky. your breathing is getting shorter, your heartrate increasing. adrenaline is setting in, and you know you’re in danger. you’re not sure what the danger is, but you cannot ignore your own responses. your panic is turning to fear, and gradually to a primal terror. you look at your friends, wanting to reassure yourself that you’re making it up, or having a panic attack for some reason, and that there’s no merit to your fears, but upon looking at them you’re not reassured. your friends -- all of them talented, experienced outdoorsmen -- look just as terrified as you. this confirms your worst fears. all of you know something is wrong. you are in imminent danger. your instincts are telling you to run or you will die. you don’t bother to grab coats, shoes, anything. you cut through the tent in your panic, not wasting time with the zip. you need to go now. you all scramble out of the tent and run into the night. you run off the slope and into the trees, and gradually -- quicker than you would have thought -- you begin to calm down. the noise is a dull sound in the background now, not the monstrous roar you thought. now, you can clearly tell it’s wind. just the wind. your dread is fading. your headache and nausea is receding. you and some of your friends laugh a little, make fun of yourselves. you decide to go back to the tent. only it’s dark, and it’s very cold, and you’re barely dressed. you’re already shivering violently. you’re not sure which way the tent is in the complete darkness. you don’t have long before you freeze to death, but in the darkness you can’t tell where the ravine is, either. some of your friends fall down it. some of them freeze. none of you find your way back to the tent.

it is terrifying, how easily this could happen. perhaps it still seems a little implausible -- I could understand why. I mean, wind and a weird inaudible noise, right? doesn’t seem that bad. I would have perhaps been less convinced by this theory if I didn’t have personal experience to draw on.

for those of you who don’t know: I live in the mountains. this is a close-up of the summit of the mountain closest to my house, photographed from my hallway window.

as you can see, it is dome-shaped. reading this theory reminded me of something that happens frequently during the change of the seasons: at the coming of spring and the coming of autumn, I often find myself lying awake at night too anxious to sleep. it’s not a normal kind of anxiety, either. it’s a terrible, verge-on-panic-attack, something-is-horrible-wrong kind of anxiety. often I find myself getting up and pacing the house, convinced my gut instinct is telling me something is very wrong. I also often find myself nauseous or headachy. something I didn’t notice until I read this theory, however, is that every time this happens, there’s a windstorm outside. and once the wind dies down, my anxiety and nausea and headache vanishes. it’s quite clear that the wind passing over this mountain is causing infrasound, and if the way the wind sometimes throws itself against the house hard enough to rattle things on shelves inside, I’m liable to believe that on occasion some mild version of Kármán Vortex Street might be in effect. and I can tell you it’s fucking terrifying. sometimes it’s honestly all I can do to not have an actual panic attack, the sense of dread and something is wrong! is so strong.

I have to wonder, if this is how I feel safe inside my house with space to move around and a TV to distract me and -- most importantly -- knowledge of this phenomena, how might I feel if I didn’t know about it, and I was in a tent on a lonely mountainside with several equally terrified friends? I can easily see how it happened.

[keanureevesisbae]

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 1

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 2.4k

A/N: The beginnings of a new fic! It’s kind of a build up, so there isn’t a lot of Henry Cavill inthis chapter, but the next one is from his pov and more than 4.5k. I hope you like this new story 🤗

Masterlist // Next chapter

For fuck’s sake, I can still smell the fluids from those anal glands I have been popping all day. Even when you wear gloves every single time, that penetrating smell will just stay with you.

After a long day at the clinic, I can finally call it a day. Of course, I’m on call tonight, but other than that, I can relax now. Working as a vet has always been a dream of mine and now, at the ripe age of twenty nine, I have managed to become doctor Olivia Tran, one of the loved veterinarians here.

‘See you tomorrow, Belle,’ I yell to my best friend and other veterinarian at this clinic.

‘You on call tonight?’ Belle asks.

‘I am.’

‘If you need to go, I can’t watch Vanessa tonight,’ she tells me, while she is checking the ears of a pug, who seems to have severe breathing problems from the looks of it. ‘I have a date.’

‘No worries,’ I say to her with a smile. ‘I probably don’t need to go anyways. Hasn’t happened in the past months, so I highly doubt that something will change tonight. Please let me know how your date went tomorrow.’

Belle, the gorgeous brunette with legs for days and blue eyes as big as Rapunzel, flashes me a bright smile. ‘Of course, dear. Give Vanessa a big kiss for me, will you?’

‘Will do.’ I walk out of the clinic, give a sweet Jack Russell a scratch behind his ear and check my watch. I have twenty minutes before I have to pick up Vanessa, but it’s a fifteen minute walk if I hurry and if I just stroll around, it’s twenty minutes. Can I manage to buy myself some cookies or should I wait after I picked her up?

I think I would have a very happy six year old if I waited with the cookies after I picked her up from school.

I bury my hands in the pockets of my coat. Yesterday it was official: the summer has passed and autumn is here. I always love it when I see the green leaves slowly turning orange or brown and cover the pavement with a blanket of crunchy leaves. It’s Vanessa’s favorite season as well, but that’s mostly because it’s her birthday on November 12th.

I never planned on becoming a mother at twenty three. I never really gave it a big thought, the idea of having kids. In the far far far future I might’ve become one, but I always thought I had more cool aunt potential.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I was scared, but since I was in a pretty serious relationship with Wesley for almost three years, the man I thought I’d end up marrying, I figured we would make this work. We would marry, have this kid and live happily ever after, maybe even have a few more.

But Wesley broke up with me when I told him about the pregnancy and that I was going to keep the baby. I went to my parents for comfort, thinking that they and my two brothers would be supportive of this. We got through the time that I was partying all night, getting tattoos and smoked some weed out of my window. I mean, we would be able to handle this right?

But my parents kicked me out when I told them I was pregnant and I was going to keep the baby. ‘But what about your degree?’ I can still hear my mother say those words, but what was maybe the worst thing, was seeing my brothers turning their backs to me. Their literal backs towards me. ‘You worked so hard and you just got a job as a vet,’ my mom began to yell.

To be fair, I was their only hope. My brothers dropped out of high school and are now sort of working in construction, but they can hardly finish a job ever. My mother never worked  a day in her life and my father was a lawyer. I told them that I could work something out, with a bit of help of them, but my mother just pushed me out of their house and told me to never bother them again, if I was going to have a kid out of wedlock.

So I had to do it by myself. I had to find a place for me and the baby to stay, but thankfully Belle was already working at the vet and decided that I needed a bit of help. I could stay with her, even after the baby was born. Belle went with me to the ultrasounds and when I went into labor, she was right there with me.

Belle is Vanessa’s one and only aunt and my best friend. When you get pregnant and not only your boyfriend leaves, your family disappears out of your life, you also notice how many people despise you. My friends from college all of the sudden seemed to have fallen off the earth and never checked in with me.

Now I have a happy six year old, a nice home for the two of us and a baby sitter Belle, who is becoming less and less available, since she has discovered the world of Tinder, because she wants a boyfriend.

I hear the bell ring when I step onto the schoolyard. It doesn’t take long before I see my daughter running towards me. Her baby blue coat is hanging open, her backpack in her hand and a rolled paper in the other. She insisted on wearing her boots to school today, but leave it to her to cover them in mud.

Entirely.

I catch her when she jumps in my arms. ‘I missed you, my lovely lady,’ I say to her.

Vanessa peppers my face with kisses, something she always does when I pick her up from school. I brush the hairs out of her face, including the sweet bangs that she insisted on having. Originally she wanted the same haircut as me from when I was the same age as her, but since I have severe traumas of the bowl cut, I had to spare her that and opt for some sweet thin bangs.

‘Mommy,’ she says, ‘I missed you a lot.’

‘Well, you want to go to the store, so we can buy some cookies?’ I ask her. ‘And maybe tonight we can order a pizza.’

‘Yes, yes, yes!’ She gives me a tight hug.

Sometimes I doubt my parenting skills, especially when I look around the schoolyard. I watch those mothers who are housewives, with very handsome husbands and kids that always look formidable and put together and probably only eat fatty snacks on their birthdays. Sometimes I wished I had that: a husband, a man that Vanessa could look up to.

I figured that when my ex Wesley couldn’t provide that, my brothers and father would step in and treat my daughter like they treated me: a princess.

Now I have to do that myself.

It can be tiring, being both the mother and the father for Vanessa, but if I could turn back time, I’d do it all over again.

With Vanessa’s tiny hand in mine, we walk towards the store, to buy some cookies that I desperately craved the entire day I was at work.

Vanessa looks a lot like me. She’s basically my clone. People often stop us, simply to tell us that Vanessa is like a miniature version of me. I always like compliments about my daughter. I mean, she is my world.

When we arrive at home, I help her change into something more comfy. ‘Mommy, can we please have a pajama night?’ Vanessa asks, while I help her out of her dress.

‘It’s four in the afternoon,’ I say, knowing exactly what she wants. ‘You want to wait two hours before you wear your pajamas?’

Vanessa shakes her head. ‘No, I want to wear my pjs now.’ Her bright smile nearly lights up the room. I watch her nose scrunch up as the corners of her mouth curl up, the only trait that she inherited from her biological father. ‘Are you going to wear yours too?’

I don’t have anywhere to go and besides, after all popping all those anal glands today, I desperately want to get out of these clothes. ‘Yes, sweetie, I’m going to wear mine too, but first I’m going to take a shower.’

‘No bath, mommy? Because I like baths.’ Her dark brown eyes start to gleam with enthusiasm. ‘Please, mommy, please.’ She pouts, knowing damn well I can’t say no to that.

≫≫≪≪

The second Vanessa is in bed, I have some time for myself. I love every second we get to spend together, but it’s nice to have a breather every now and then. I stare at my arms, to see how Vanessa has colored in my tattoos. She’s obsessed with them and when she’s in school, she sometimes tries to draw them on her own arms by memory, sometimes even drawing on others when they want to. A few weeks ago, her teacher asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. ‘Well, I want to be two things,’ Vanessa told her. ‘Like my mommy I want to be a vet, because I love animals, but I also want to draw tattoos on people.’

I sit up straight, looking at the drawing she made me today in school. She always makes drawings for me, but they are always the same. She draws a house, with me in it and herself. And outside she draws a dog and a man, with suitcases and moving boxes next to them. ‘Because,’ she explains every single time, ‘one day you meet a nice man who has a dog and he can become my new daddy. A daddy that does want me.’

Belle didn’t agree on me telling Vanessa her real dad didn’t want her, but I figured she needed to know the truth. Her biological father is a low life that disappeared into thin air and didn’t want to be involved in her life.

Vanessa understood, to the extent that was possible, but she really wants a dad, preferably one with a dog. Though she keeps pushing me, I can’t start dating again. Vanessa is the most important person in the world and men simply don’t fit into this—in my head—perfect picture. Vanessa is my life and men are big fat losers, so I don’t need them. I don’t want them, because the chance of them getting tired of maybe me, maybe Vanessa and leaving, is something I can’t risk.

Vanessa already lost her real father, what if a man that becomes really important to her, leaves too?

At around eleven I drag myself to bed, placing my work phone beside me. I hate being on call, but like I told Belle, I didn’t have a call in months, so I think I’m good.

I’m dreaming about Keanu Reeves (the only man on earth that I’d break my no man ban for) and how he takes me out on a lovely date, has Vanessa on his lap and helps her to cut her food, when the phone starts to ring.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I mutter, before I click on my nightlight. It’s three in the fucking morning. I don’t want this. ‘Animal Clinic Westside, doctor Olivia Tran, how may I help you?’ I say when I pick up the phone.

‘Hello, I’m terribly sorry for calling at this hour, but my dog is vomiting and I see some blood in it.’ Oh, poor man, he sounds so panicked. ‘He collapsed and is breathing really heavily and I don’t know what to do.’

I sit up straight in bed and rub my eyes, as I try to be as alert as I can on this early morning. ‘Sir, it’s okay. Did your dog eat anything out of the ordinary today?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘You think it’s possible for you to come to the clinic? I’d like to see the dog.’

‘Of course, of course.’ The man on the other side of the line has such a lovely and deep voice. He could become a voice actor or a narrator like Morgan Freeman. If liquid gold had a voice, it would sound like this.

‘I hope it’s not too much to ask, but could you take some of the vomit with you? Especially the part with some blood. I’d like to check it.’

‘I’ll bring it with me, of course.’

‘What kind of breed is your dog, sir?’ I ask, while writing it all down on a piece of paper.

‘An American Akita. His name is Kal.’

I don’t think he ever went to our clinic, I think to myself.

‘I’ll be at the clinic in about forty minutes, mister…’ I say, hoping that this man will say his name.

‘Cavill,’ he quickly says. ‘And I can be at the clinic in about an hour.’

That name does sound kind of familiar though, but I could’ve sworn that this man isn’t in our database. Maybe I went to college with him or to high school?

After we hang up the phone, I quickly get out of bed. I opt for a pair of tight fitted black leggings and an oversized sweater (after I put on a bra, because who knows mister Cavill is handsome and my nipples don’t want to keep that a secret) and I slip on some white sneakers. I put my hair into a bun. I freeze when I’m moisturizing my face.

I kind of forgot I had a daughter. I don’t like the idea of bringing Vanessa with me, especially since it’s three in the morning and she’s asleep, but then I realize that tomorrow it’s Saturday. Plenty of time for her to catch up on her sleep and plenty of time for me to feel less guilty about dragging her out of her dreams.

‘Sweetie,’ I whisper, when I gently wake her up. ‘Mommy has to go to the clinic, but you can’t stay at aunt Belle tonight, so you’re going with me to work.’

Vanessa was a groggy mess when I nudged her awake, but when she realizes she can go with me to work, her eyes light up. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, someone has a sick doggy, that needs to be taken care of.’

She gets up out of her bed and I help her with her socks, though she is perfectly capable of doing so herself. ‘You’re gonna save a doggy?’ Vanessa asks.

‘I’m going to try.’

I hand her a thick vest and while she puts it on, she says: ‘You’re a hero, mommy.’

With a smile on my face, I softly pinch her cheek. ‘I guess I am.’

Taglist: @thelastsock​ // @flhorah​ // @sausagefest1996​ // @laufeysodinson​ // @xxxkatxo​ // @memoriesat30​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @crimsonrae​ // @henryobsessed // @madbaddic7ed​ // @summersong69​

[sinkix]

- What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Karasuno edition -

Obviously these aren’t meant to be taken too seriously lol. I’ll probably make this into a series at some point where I include the other teams idk this took me way too long to do JWIDJQENWKJQFN WE’LL SEE. ENJOY! <3

2D men are infinitely superior I said what I said.

Hinata: 

A sucker for motivational speeches or quotes and they always get you hyped up.

Very ambitious and positive despite frequently getting lost in life

Not as innocent as you seem but still a cinnamon roll lololol

You probably eat fruit as a regular snack n ppl judge you for it

Highkey a dumbass but in a very endearing way so people can’t help but like you

Summer is probs ur fave season

Definitely own several plushies and definitely get defensive about it

The friend people go to when they need cheering up.

You either go to bed at 8pm or 3am no in between.

Your texting style consists of several messages as opposed to one paragraph/sentence with the use of MANY emojis.

You 100% fuck with pineapple on pizza. 

Got your head stuck in a cat flap that one time.

Have a hella low alcohol tolerance or don’t drink at all.

Hella clueless when it comes to people flirting with you, they have to hold a neon sign in front of you for you to get the message

“Oh you were flirting with me?” “I was every day for 5 months but thanks for finally noticing”

Definition of a tab hoarder, your pc/laptop frequently crashes because it can’t handle that many but you refuse to get rid of any.

Always get toothpaste stains on your shirt no matter how careful you are.

“Wait we had homework???”

Nishinoya:

You often get random bursts of energy outta nowhere or at 2am and have no clue how to handle it 

You can’t help but head bang and scream the lyrics to your fav songs.

Probably have a hella diverse music taste.

Likely an active/outdoorsy person who either does sports or wants to.

Vvv loyal, type of friend you can call in the middle of the night and you’ll be there.

Chaotic good or Chaotic neutral.

You’re either one of the most responsible people in the room or one of the most fuckin chaotic and irresponsible lmao no in between it just depends on your mood.

Frequently pull all nighter’s and doesn’t even feel guilty about it

Chug soda like it’s water.

An extrovert or one of those introverts that are bat-shit once you actually get to know them.

You have zero shame, can and will run across the street stark naked for a cheeseburger and a can of sprite.

Like fuck yeah who wouldn’t for a burger and some sprite y’know??

Despite being a whirlwind you are actually a hella chill person to have as company.

You own a skateboard or want to.

Own at least one pair of converses or vans.

Probably have a bucket list or tons of future plans for travelling/adventures stored in your head.

You really want a dog and would call it something like Dexter or Human Destroyer 9000.

Likely have had several hair colour phases.

A slut for doritos.

You ate glue once as a kid and it was kinda okay and that fact still haunts you.

Tanaka:

Listen to rap more than any other genre and ur playlist is fire

Punched dry wall that one time

Probably have several piercings and plan on getting more

Prefer sports bras to regular ones.

Intimidates outsiders but your friends don’t take you seriously in the slightest lmaoaoaooa

Ppl find it hard to approach you but you’re actually super chill so you get sad 

Definition of that Kanye meme “before you talk to me” >:( “after you talk to me” :)

Probably don’t trust people easily

Type of person that once you’re challenged/dared to do something they WILL do it regardless of how stupid bc you hate being called a pussy.

Went through a phase where you only listened to Eminem.

Probably is/was the class clown or wished they were.

You have virtually no patience and a pretty short temper lmao.

You’re a go-getter and hate being told you can’t do something

Definitely snuck out the house several times as a teen.

Walks barefoot outside a lot bc fuck shoes lol

The pairs of shoes you do own are mostly worn down sneakers you refuse to swap out.

You’re that asshole that wears socks with holes in for the sport of it and it doesn’t phase you in the slightest. (dw I do too lmaooao)

Could probably bench press someone’s dad

Enjoy’s drinking coffee.

Kageyama:

Such a picky eater bitch god damn.

Usually hella hydrated and judge people that don’t drink enough water.

Eats spoonfuls of chocolate nesquik powder when no one is looking I said what I said

You like stoic and Tsundere guys who have the outer emotional capacity of a brick wall.

You’re probably the same in that sense and don’t enjoy letting people know what you’re thinking/feeling

Poker face 90% of the time

Type of person to pretend not to find a joke funny but then crumble and start crying with laughter.

Probs an introvert

Once when someone asked you what you wanted for Christmas you responded “to be left the fuck alone” and it still applies to this day.

like fr you just wanna be left alone man but ppl keep bothering you.

You HATE it when people tell you to smile and quite literally take it as an insult.

Your bedtime is 9pm and you stick by it religiously 

Always smell really good like damn what you got on??

The most you do with your hair if it’s long enough is throw it in a pony tail and call it a day.

Either have really nicely manicured nails or you’v chewed them down to the nub no in between.

You hate to admit it but you doubt yourself a lot and it really frustrates you.

Probably wet the bed a lot as a kid and you’re still salty about it.

lololol bed-wetter Kags lover

Audibly snorted typing that I’m sorry.

Probably had a ._. face reading that since ur usually hella unamused.

Cute awkward dork though behind that facade it’s just most people don’t see it.

So critical of yourself like chill

An earth sign or an Aquarius idc.

Do not know how to reciprocate a hug but desperately need one

When people flirt with you you somehow manage to make them intimidated with your responses and scare them off.

You called your teacher “mum/dad” once and you get Vietnam flashbacks to this day.

Daichi:

You probably have a daddy kink and lowkey daddy issues with it

Very supportive friend who has a lotta patience

Hella determined and humble.

Mostly wear black because it’s just much easier than colour coordinating and plus you just prefer the simplicity, but you’re pretty vibrant as a person.

The one who stays sober at parties to drive the others home.

Probably haven’t been in many relationships but still do enjoy romance.

seems stern but is actually very friendly and enjoy company bc you don’t like spending too much time by yourself.

Honestly just wants to chill out, go to bed and read a book.

A coffee connessieur but mostly just drinks instant bc ur too lazy to make it properly and just drink it black.

Very reliable.

Often get stuck with most of the work during group projects lololol

People frequently ask you for the answers to the homework/assignment and it really depends on your mood and how charitable you’re feeling as to whether you’ll lend it to them

Low-key a sadist.

100% Old soul

Despite this you are a fuckin dork and have quite an immature but really funny sense of humour.

You have a thigh kink. 

Def grew up reading wattpad smut and most of ur sexual knowledge stems from that

probably prefer manga to animated versions

Absolute pro at winged eyeliner and looks v good in it.

Probably give lectures even without realising it.

Shamelessly watches the nature channel for hours on end and what of it.

Honestly just done with everyone’s shit lmao

Sugawara:

Either are the mom friend or the one the mom friend has to look after.

You vibe with pastel colours

Your fav season is either spring or autumn.

oversized hoodies and knitted sweaters are your vibe.

Enjoy drinking herbal tea

Likes the smell of rain and will purposely step outside after a storm and S N O R T the smell of damp concrete. (srry if ur from some dry ass place like nevada lmao it rains alot in the UK soooOOOoO)

Quiet but have a really creative imagination and has one HELL of a loud voice when they’re pissed off

like,, I wouldn’t dare get on ur nerves ion want my ear drums bursting damn.

Hoards flavoured chapsticks and scented lip gloss

Either did or still have your Harry Potter house in your bio and it was probably Hufflepuff.

Gives people advice that they are fully aware also applies to themselves but doesn’t follow it LMAO.

Listens to K-pop and several Korean and Japanese genres.

Played a dating sim once and you enjoyed it but ur still ashamed and refuse to ever talk about it.

Smells like lavender or something hella floral

Probably reads a lot of Yaoi and no one else knows but you.

Would 100% own a chinchilla

Read Killing Stalking and it messed you up for weeks.

Asahi:

The one who was trying to flirt for months and the other person never got the hint

Probably a really pretty crier and vibe with the mascara running aesthetic.

You tear up easily lol.

Probably a water sign.

Low-key a bad bitch though 

Looks really good in red lipstick

That one person who’s v attractive but completely unaware and v insecure.

That one friend who seems so soft and innocent but can turn into a banshee when need be.

Crying is your therapy.

You overthink a LOT and it often stops you from achieving what you want.

Actually have a lot of willpower despite ur sensitivity.

Was def a pushover as a kid and still have a chip on your shoulder about it.

Hella artsy and day dreams a lot.

You attract broken souls and often get turned to when people’s problems need fixing yet you’re a total mess yourself

Listens to Girl in red while questioning your sexuality

which you do a lot.

You hate being put in a box or labelled.

Gave up on that hobby that one time and you really wanna get back into it.

Always have at least one hair tie on your wrist that’s basically an accessory at this point.

Own a phat ass fish tank with hella pretty fishes bro it’s such a vibe say hi to Nemo for me.

Yamaguchi:

Too scared to ask for extra ketchup packets so you get your friend to ask instead.

Probably have anxiety.

The time you stuttered once when introducing yourself frequently gives you cringe attacks.

Major animal lover and prefers them to people.

Talked to a tree once and it was a pretty cool experience.

Wear a lot of pink or cute colours and radiate babi energy.

Likely wear skirts 

Wear those aesthetic planets necklaces and your tumblr is filled with space related art and themes.

Enjoy staring up at the clouds and figuring out what animal they are.

Has a lot of secrets that they probably tell to their cat.

dw ur cat isn’t a snitch they got you covered.

“meow”

yeah they definitely didn’t just try to reveal ur deepest traumas to your cousin.

If you don’t have a cat you probably would want one and would call it Mittens or sumn.

You’re whipped for freckles and anyone that has them instantly becomes 1000x more attractive to you

Either like 5′2″ or 5′10″ no middle ground

Definitely own a turtle or rabbit and if you don’t then you should.

Forgets your assignments but the professor lets you off because you’re so nervous they can’t scold you.

Oversleeps at least 2 times a week

Will not get up before 1pm on a weekend

Wall flower at parties but people still approach you bc you are so friendly and kind.

Social anxiety intensifies.

Always get’s called on in class when you haven’t been paying attention and it really troubles you.

Has a minimum of 3 blankets on your bed that you cocoon yourself in.

Tsukishima:

Your attracted to snarky assholes.

Sarcasm and insults are your form of flirtation and you get immediately turned off if they can’t take it or get upset.

Probably shy away from your feelings

Random flashbacks to embarrassing events frequently keep you up at night

Judge peoples fashion choices as they walk past you but actually have a really good eye for what works and what doesn’t.

You look like you have your shit together and you kinda do for the most part.

The quiet kid in class that’s listening to some loud ass screamo or rock n roll’ but ppl have no idea.

Definition of the glinting anime glasses pushed up your nose bridge cliche.

When you make a mistake you question all your knowledge and abilities but no one else knows that about you

Refuses to cry since you view your emotions as a personal weakness

If someone hugged you you’d get VERY uncomfortable.

Physical contact is not your forte

Probably a 5′0″ demon.

Would peg a man to assert dominance but you’re actually a lil bitch.

Knows the answer to the question they can’t solve.

Doesn’t study as much as they should but somehow still gets good grades.

Really likes french fries and the taste of strawberries.

Just wants to be left alone

Ennoshita:

The one friend that gets talked over and it really pisses you off but you’re too nice to say anything.

Seems really passive but can actually be hella confrontational when they wanna be

No tolerance for peoples bullshit 

Really stable and just an overall reliable person.

People often forget you’re in the room lmao but it’s okay you’d rather listen anyway.

Actually has a really interesting mind and a lot to say but mostly keep it to yourself unless they’re your friend

Answered for someone else in attendance a few years ago and it still bothers you.

People often come to you to vent and you’re chill with it

Don’t stand out much but honestly it doesn’t bother you

Can and will get through an entire book/series in a matter of 3 days.

Quite a minimalist and organised for the most part

You look like you have your shit together and you def do.

Have a controversial taste in pizza.

You have more acquaintances than friends but the ones you do are a v tight knit circle.

Will re take a quiz several times till you get the character you wanted

Radiate Virgo and Libra energy.

Kiyoko:

Type of person to say “step on me” as a way of complimenting and you mean it literally.

Both a sadist and masochist

When someone tells you their not interested it just makes you want them 100x more and it frustrates you why are you like this.

Doesn’t compliment often but when you do it’s really heartfelt.

Looks like your silently judging people but in reality you really couldn’t care.

Just kidding you low-key judge them anyway.

Very picky when it comes to partners.

Independent but has random hella clingy moments.

Despite being quiet, you are capable of roasting a bitch alive if they test your patience.

Like I would NOT wanna get on your bad side

You could deadass send them to therapy, their emotions fenna need some aloe vera for that burn.

Just really calm and relaxed tbh so people enjoy being in your company even though you don’t talk much.

When you do though it’s usually something really interesting or funny.

You just don’t see the point in talking if what your saying doesn’t hold any value??

You hate small talk and would rather slingshot yourself off a skyscraper than partake in it.

Your face is easy to read and you make no effort to hide it.

If your in a bad mood they WILL know.

Look like your plotting someones demise or questioning life’s theories but in reality you’re really just thinking bout what you want for dinner.

Honestly just a sweetheart tbh.

Low-key have a staring problem.

Has really neat and cursive handwriting like who tf taught you that.

Yachi:

Frequently says something then panics that it could be misinterpreted 

You overthink literally everything you have ever said and the actions you haven’t even committed yet

Really likes the taste of sherbet 

Could cut a bitch if they needed to

You spend most of your money at Urban Outfitters and don’t regret it.

have an assortment of colouring pencils that ppl always try and borrow and never give them back.

You highlight the shit outta your papers and never read them again.

Really like the smell of peaches

Probably have a v interesting earring collection.

Hoard water bottles in your room and you feel majorly guilty about it.

The taste of honey disgusts you but you eat it anyway for some reason.

Somehow managed to burn rice and solidify soup.

You shouldn’t be trusted in the kitchen but you try your best regardless.

I feel like that applies to most things in your life

Like yeah you fucked it up but like you’re trying your best lol cmon

V tolerant of people but have zero time for fuckboys and shut them down instantly.

You frequently get the shakes from caffeine or anxiety

Or both.

You give really encouraging hugs.

Have no clue what you wanna do in life but it’s ok bby it’ll work out.

Takeda:

You’re a very underappreciated and underrated person and I love u

Probably an English/languages major

Really kind and outgoing but high-key mysterious

Actually has a phat fucking temper like damn where did that come from.

Won’t take no for an answer when you want to achieve something.

That one person people don’t realise is there listening to your conversations but you definitely are and now know Becky’s deepest darkest secret.

Fuck you, becky.

Wore contacts once and forgot to take them out for 3 days.

You wondered why your eyes were so itchy.

Your music taste does not match your appearance.

Probably watch a lot of crime shows and imagine you’re an investigator

Aced physics and chemistry.

More than likely an introvert with extrovert tendencies when you feel like it.

Actually quite temperamental but it’s okay since you’re a v genuine person.

Often debate getting a sugar daddy bc that income looking real tempting rn.

Honest to a fault at times but it’s something people come to appreciate about you.

Just really wanna sleep for 15 hours and sit in front of your laptop with some hot coco.

Ukai:

You like older men

The smell of tobacco and coffee low-key comforts you for some reason.

Peed in a bottle that one time while on a road trip and forgot to throw it out until you found it a week later.

You’re a slut for dyed hair and dudes with piercings.

You once got drunk and passed out on a spinning round-a-bout in a park and your friend still has pictures that you refuse to acknowledge.

Bi-curious and just radiate big Bi energy

Would experiment but you’re too hesitant.

Hates the taste of beer but drinks it anyway.

Just wants to be loved man I stg is that too much to ask.

Often wonder if your friends actually like you then realise you don’t really care anyway lmao.

You still love them though.

Tired of working over time and just wanna catch a break.

Amazon Prime is your best friend.

Random ass parcels comin thru’ each day and it feels like Christmas.

A very lonely and one-man party Christmas.

Stop spending your fucking paycheck.

Have a pretty dark/cynical but really funny sense of humour and you often make people laugh.

Have a big ass temper and people KNOW it.

Often fantasised about dropping out and becoming a stripper bc your patience was being TESTED.

Really likes money but who doesn’t tbh.

You radiate Chaotic Evil but keep it under wraps.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @maggieroseevans​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”                

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.                              

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.  

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.  

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.  

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.  

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

[purplesurveys]

1277

Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to?  Ooooh moving forward, probably Angela hahahaha I have no idea how I’d break it to her if ever I do start seeing somebody again. She’s well aware of all the shit that I let slide so she might get intense with the scrutineering.

What is the most exciting thing about your life right now?  Just the fact that I feel on top of the world these days. My days of being depressed and picking at my insecurities seem to be far behind me and the change has looked to be apparent coming from friends who’ve told me I seem happier, louder these days.

What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school?  To not be scared to fight harder for the things you believe in or what make up your identity, coming from having to hide a same-sex relationship during that period. That feeling of being constricted and having to hide to stay on some conservative seniors’ good graces really pissed me off so high school was really crucial in letting me discover just how much I’d be willing to fight and test the waters to be able to live as me.

Have you ever had a job that deeply affected your personal life? How so and do you still work there?  Hmm no, not really. If anything my job is one of the things that helped make me a lot livelier and happier.

Do you have a “one who got away”?  It felt that way at the start when my view was still skewed, but it didn’t take long until I realized she was not a loss at all.

If you were in a superhero movie, would you be the hero or the villain? Hero.

If you found a mouse in your house, would you be frightened?  Mice or rats are the literal worst fucking thing I could see in my house. I definitely see myself making a big deal out of it lmao, especially rats.

Have you ever tried to perform magic tricks?  Nobody ever taught me, so no.

Can you do more with a yo-yo than just "go up and down"? Nah, which kinda makes me feel ashamed because considering it was a Filipino who invented the modern yo-yo, I feel like it should be my responsibility to know a few tricks LOL.

What is one form of technology that you wouldn't be able to live without?  Instant messenger.

Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not?  Starting high school. Before that I was living in our family’s duplex, so my grandma could make packed meals for all of us – not to mention the fact that my parents were also still on their way to establishing themselves at their respective workplaces so we weren’t all that well-off yet. 

When we moved into our own place, we started with my mom making our meals but eventually it just proved to be time-consuming and a lot of work considering she also had a job to go to. With that and the fact that both my parents at that point already got a couple of promotions, we switched to allowance.

Would you rather go to a water park or an amusement park? Why?  Amusement parks though I would only probably head to the safer rides and food stalls with all the deep-fried offerings haha. I cannot handle more intense rides. On the other hand, water parks have always sounded nasty to me.

What is one instrument you wouldn't mind learning how to play?  Piano.

What's the longest amount of time you've had to wait in line for something?  The stupid LTO, because you can never count on government agencies to be efficient. Technically my whole time in there took a couple of stages, but all in all I spent eight hours there.

What is something that you would like to learn more about?  Korean. I just graduated from my Basic Korean 1 class but I already have plans to enroll in the following course, since I seemed to do well and I want to keep the momentum going.

What is something that one of your family member collects?  Mom has a large collection of chef-themed figurines and other sorts of trinkets like a chef timer, shot glasses, etc - but mostly the figurines - that she has displayed in a glass case. I should keep that in mind for when I start Christmas shopping, actually...she hasn’t updated that collection in a long time. Thanks for the idea!

Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel?  No, not in the middle of the same period since I went to the same school from kinder to high school for 14 years. I only “moved” when I started college. Like I’ve said in previous surveys, it felt freeing to finally not under be the hands of an environment ran by...well, Catholics. It was a culture shock to see rallies everywhere, to find out I could wear short shorts or even go to school naked if I wanted to, and to see boys in my class (I went to an all-girls), but it was all the good kind of shock.

Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework?  Always, because I never wrote them down.

Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why?  I experience neither season.

Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Typhoon.

If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Melanie Hamilton from Gone with the World.

What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city?  I rarely see foreigners here since my area isn’t particularly known for tourism; most go to the island provinces like Cebu, Aklan, Palawan, etc. If I had to recommend spots here, I’d tell them to go for Pinto and maybe the rooftop bars that offer a view of Manila’s skyline. 

What's one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult?  Chicken curry, which I used to dread.

Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy's wings or a unicorn's horn? I guess the wings just because I feel like it’s the only practical one.

What is an animal that you'd like to have as a pet but it's not allowed?  I don’t think that way about animals I can’t keep as pets anyway.

What are some things that you do to make the world a better place?  I always clean up at restaurants (my mom doesn’t understand why I do it because “the servers are here for a reason, Robyn”) but I always see the relief on their faces when they see I’ve stacked up the plates and cups so I don’t see a reason to stop doing it. I keep the door open for people who happen to enter/exit a building the same time as me, share dog adoption posts, don’t make a fuss about or towards a shop staff who messes up...things like that. I hope it’s able to help, even if just in a small way.

Has the last person you had sex with ever had sex with someone besides you?  I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has already.

What’s your favorite store at your mall?  We have several malls within the vicinity but I like frequenting NCAT.

Have you ever done a workout DVD?  No but my mom is fond of those.

Who usually takes out the trash in your family?  Either of my parents.

What song are you currently obsessed with?  My Universe is soooooo good. It’s Coldplay’s classic sound but they somehow managed to perfectly blend in BTS’ style as well, so I love how it turned out.

When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook?  I've never gone fishing.

Do you take any prescription meds?  Nope.

What happens if you don’t take them?  Who was the last person you dreamt about?  My dad.

Do you prefer your tea sweetened or unsweetened?  Sweetened, though I don’t usually actively look for iced tea. I’d have it if it was served, but I don’t typically order it for myself.

How often do you honk your horn?  As long as I am annoyed, which gives my mom a mini heart attack every time because she insists I just let people have their way to avoid getting into fights. Sometimes when she’s driving and someone’s being stupid on the road I lurch forward to do the honking for her and it pisses her off soooooooooo much but it also gets the job done so *shrug*

Do you have any children? If so, names and ages? I don’t.

Have your parents ever witnessed you doing something inappropriate? What?  TMI but I almost got caught doing the m-word once but my reflexes were at lightning speed that day so when my door opened I was able to fix myself up and appear as though nothing was happening lol. My mom also saw a hickey on me once but I was able to veer the conversation away when she started inquiring.

Did you get babysat a lot as a kid?  No, I did the babysitting.

If you were the principal of a school, what would you do differently? Actually deal with teachers who mistreat or make issues towards their students. I had several teachers I know didn’t like me but I could never do anything about it because there was no way in hell the school was going to take my side.

Are you doing anything fun tomorrow?  Continued from yesterday. If I took this question yesterday to refer to today I would’ve answered yes because we actually have a really fun PR stunt scheduled for execution today, wherein we get to sponsor someone’s whole wedding from food to flowers to the host and fillm crew :D :D But tomorrow is just Monday so the real answer to this is no.

What is something you'd like to receive as a housewarming gift?  I dunno the usual housewarming gifts, but I would appreciate anything practical, or anything that you’ll need at the least expected times, like batteries or even like Sticky Tack.

How old were you when you first experienced the effects of puberty?  Oooh I was an early bird – I was 9 when I could first tell my first period was on its way; it came a month after I turned 10.

What is your least favorite holiday, and why?  I don’t dislike any holiday because they all mean a day off work lol.

What were some outdoor games you played as a child?  We usually played piko (hopscotch), our local version of freeze tag that we dubbed “Ice ice water” for whatever reason, and a garter game that we call 10-20. Dodgeball was a favorite during recess and lunch, too.

Did you accompany your parents on "Take Your Child to Work" Day? That’s not observed here, but my mom did use to take me and my siblings to her first workplace. Are cemeteries peaceful to you, or do they freak you out?  They’re actually more interesting to me than anything else. I like learning about the different lives of many different people, even if I only technically know them by their birthday and date of death. Sometimes the inscriptions would be more detailed and tell more about their life, sometimes I’d come across babies who only lived a few days...and it’s just interesting to have those glimpses into life.

Which ancient civilization would you be interested in learning more about?  Filipino, because Western colonization destroyed proof of most of it. 

Do you have better long-term memory or short-term memory?  Long.

What was the last situation that made you cry? Describe.  I cried this morning. Nothing bad or heavy, I just found myself thinking again about my mental state last year.

Which forest animal would you be most afraid to encounter?  Anything that wouldn’t hesitate to tear my limbs apart.

Do you believe in anything supernatural? (ie: spirits, etc)  No.

Has anyone close to you ever gone to war?  No. The closest link I have to the military, other than my dead great-grandfather, is Angela’s uncle who’s like a general or like a colonel or something, idk titles.

Have you ever experienced altitude sickness?  Yeah, occasionally. Pressure in the ear is a bigger nuisance to me, though.

Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly?  The last time I saw my grandfather. My only clear memory of him that day was stepping out of the house to leave (my mom and I were visiting) and him sending me off with the message to always be kind and good. If I had known I would never see him again, I never would’ve left.

Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet?  Hmm no, not that I can recall.

If you had to get advice from someone of the opposite sex, who would you go to?  I’d go to Hans for certain advice, but not for every single situation. He’s the only person that comes to mind.

What was the last new food/drink that you tried?  So last Wednesday I finally got to try this Instagram-based doughnut shop that I’ve been eyeing since August and it turned out to be even MUCH BETTER THAN EXPECTEDDDDDD. Like yeah their photos were always mouthwatering but I didn’t expect it to taste as good as it looks, since most pretty food I’ve encountered usually end up just tasting meh. Anywho, I got two orders of their sampler box and they served me their specialty bacon doughnut, signature brown butter, and a bunch of their chocolate and peanut butter variants and I loved every single fucking thing.

Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better?  Oh it’s hard to tell, it’s only 9:05 AM. Both days might be uneventful, though.

Have you ever played Sudoku?  I don’t actually get how to play it hahaha. I feel like I’m too stupid for sudoku.

Do you ever take surveys for money?  I tried it last year when applying for jobs was still a bitch for me, but the thing is most of those surveys look for employed participants so there was rarely ever a survey that fit me anyway.

Do you like Barbie or Bratz better?  Bratz.

Do you prefer purple or green grapes?  I don’t like grapes.

Who was the last person that made you laugh?  Idk, probs one of the boys since I was watching videos of them earlier today.

Where does your best friend live?  A nearby city.

Who did you last confide in?  Angela.

Does your car have an alarm?  Sure.

Where was your mom born?  Somewhere in Metro Manila.

What can always make you feel better no matter what?  My dogs.

What is something you’ll never eat again? Why?  I don’t think there is anything. I feel like I’m always bound to retry things and that I would be open to doing so, even fruits. One thing I’m firm about never drinking again, though, is coconut water. Get that SHIT away from me.

What is currently happening that is scaring you?  I’m not feeling scared these days.

Have you ever found a stranger’s note somewhere? If so, what did it say?  Probably. But nothing sticks out.

[litcratura]

WITHIN KINGDOMS COLLIDE—prologue

Author note: Hello there! This story is entirely created by me. It is inspired by GOT and ACOTAR. It is based on a story my best friend and I created and Calum and Arya belong entirely to her. As well as Silas and Riley. I hope you will all enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Trigger warnings: none, can contain heavy language

Wordcount: 1503 words

@drxmaqceen

Allison hated the way the corset dug into her skin. The way it only felt like the burden she would soon carry. The titles she would have to carry. Wife, mother, healer. Witch. The last title was the title she was most used to. She had been called a witch often enough. It was after all what she was. The blouse she wore had a small floral pattern yet covered her welly marked skin. Lily, the girl her mother was busy brushing her daughter’s thick and fire orange curls. “Can’t I just remain here, with you and father?” Allison questioned. She had been asking tis ever since she had bled the first time. Knowing she would have to go to Castle Loaghaire in the south. She didn’t want to go to castle Laoghaire; as she knew that Sebastian was told to not be the best man. Actually he was known to have turned his two eldest and only sons into werewolves. To make them stronger and faster. She didn’t know if it was true but it seemed to be. “We have talked about this, Allison” Lily said. As she grabbed some silver ropes. She braided the ropes into the curls and took care her daughter looked ready. “I just don’t get why” “so you can become a true healer of course. Madam Agnes is an amazing healer. She has taught me and has taught other girls. She bought your brothers into the world.” She explained to her daughter with a sweetness in her tone. “And all girls that are ripe and pure will travel, my love and you know Calum and Tristan” know, she hardly knew them. She seen them during parties and important meetings. But aside from some waves they didn’t know one another. Not as much as she had once known them. When she was four and the twins were seven, they were close. But then their mother died. And their father hadn’t been around anymore.

The skirts she wore were heavy. It was always cold where they lived, but Allison seemed almost immune to the cold. But the thick skirts kept her protected and took care no one could stare. They couldn’t see her curves as well as many men had hoped. The way her chest was covered her breasts were barely visible. As she got to the carriage her brother was already waiting. He gave a nod to her. And opened the door. He saw that in a way she seemed nervous. She seemed unready. Her cloak was blue and laid with the thickest wool. She wouldn’t need it in the south at all and yet she wore it. With a pride. The wolf pins on her shoulders. “Are you ready sister?” He asked. His tone was chilling, but she faced him and nodded. “More ready than I will every be” she lied through her teeth. Yet she moved up her skirt, just revealing the dagger she had carried around ever since she had only been 12. She knew how to move it fast and swiftly. “That is my sister” he said approving and helped her into the carriage.

The travel was extremely long. Though the roads were beautiful; Allison still wondered why it was even worth it. “What is it like in the south, Riley?” “Has mom never told you any stories?” Allison shook her head. “I felt the stories made her uncomfortable. If you even mentioned sir Laoghaire or his armies she shut off. All she talked about is Tristan and Calum. And how sometimes they were more behaved then you and the others.” She chuckled. “Did he really turn his sons into werewolves, Riley?” “So the stories go, Allison. Nobody is entirely sure.” Riley his tone got lower. As he looked at his youngest sister. “The south is warm. And its overgrown with the most beautiful greens. There are loads of woods and berries. And they are known for their silk.” He explained. “But I should warn you for sir Laoghaire. He is mean. And cunning.” He spoke. Looking into his sisters golden eyes. “I will be able to protect myself Riles” she assured him she knew she could. But she would have to treat the man with respect. He was said to be a king after all. And even a princess wouldn’t be a fool to mess with him. Especially a princess that was still ‘of age’.

The sun started to set and Allison drew her cloak closer to herself. The nights were cold no matter what. “You should get some sleep. We are not even on the half of our travel” Riley spoke and got besides his little sister. Putting her head onto his shoulder so she could fall asleep. Allison sighed deeply. “Will they like me there?” She asked worriedly. What if the king or his sons would hate her. If she wouldn’t fit in how could she become a proper healer. “You shouldn’t worry about that now, Allison. Now come on, you get annoying when you didn’t sleep enough” and with that she closed her eyes.

The sun shone brightly into her eyes as she moved herself up. The carriage was already getting warmer and she removed her thick cloak. Looking around as it was already greener here. Though it seemed like fall around here, not like summer nor spring. “We are almost there, carrot” “I almost forgot you had that nickname for me” she said to her brother. Allison had always been a redhead. And her brother had always kindly referred to her as carrot when she was a kid. Especially when she was scared and nothing seemed to calm her. “Its fucking hot already couldn’t you at least have warned me about it” she complained. Riley chuckled cockily. “And have less fun? No no I like making sure my little sister finds things out herself” Riley said. She rolled her eyes and removed her under skirt. It was maid out of wool and only trapped in the heat this way she felt some of the breeze as she grabbed one piece of bread from her bag. Eating it as she looked outside. “Are all parts of the country connected to seasons brother? Is it magic?” Riley chuckled. “In your eyes everything is magic. But in a way you are right. We are connected to winter, and this is Jefferson his land. He is connected to autumn” “The king’s brother” Allison asked, getting a confirming nod as an answer. As they passed the castle they saw bodies hanging on wood. Nails in their hands keeping them on the wood. Two females and a male. Allison turned away as they were naked and the stench made her stomach turn. “God…he is an awful man too isn’t he” she asked as they got further away. Riley nodded. “Unfortunately” he said.

After another twenty minutes they finally saw the big castle. Flowers and plants growing on the side. Outside there was a girl waiting. Wearing a silk white dress. And a maid besides her.”who is that?” Allison asked. Riley shrugged. As the carriage stopped she looked around more. The armies weren’t even here. As she got out of the carriage she looked at the woman nd realised she mustn’t be much older than her. Probably 19 or almost 20. She made her way to Allison and bowed. Allison returned the curtsy and looked around. “May I ask your name?” Allison asked. “I am Arya Laoghaire, formerly Antoine.” “The princess?” Allison curtsied again. “My father used to see your father as his equal. That makes you a princess too, Allison Chevron. Come let me take you inside. Riley you know the way right?” She asked him. Not in an unkind manner. Riley just gave a nod and replied with “aye my lady.”

The castle was a lot darker then she had expected. It was lit by candles. “The king is in bed. Drunk. And the healer is currently resting so you can unpack calmly. Take some rest maybe” Allison nodded in agreement. The travel had exhausted her. And starved her. They walked up a set of stairs before turning to a room. There were three other rooms. “Calum sleeps up here too. And his office is opposite to your rom. The brothers always want to make sure female guests are safe.” Arya explained. Opening the room. Allison her room had a kingsized bed and a desk in the corner. Stacked with a few books about healing already. As well as some parchment and quills. “Where are the brothers right now, my lady?” “Just call me Arya. And they are currently busy. Its not a talk for now Allison. Get some rest. I will send the maid up with some bread and meats.. as well as some salt, they say that Chevron’s enjoy salt.” “that’s an odd saying but it is true. My father said that it will cleanse our souls for the gods” she explained. Arya nodded as she got to the door. “rest.”

[contrabbandiera-di-elia]

So here’s part one of my upcoming fic (which will probably take me months to finish looking at my current progress). Keep in mind that it’s more of a teaser. It’s unbeted and just a 1/5 of the actual fic, which I’m gonna publish on AO3 with the rest and the introduction. So far, please enjoy this little story straight from Radio Osvaldo, set somewhere around October, a few months before the first episode of Season 4. It’s Elia-centered and very one-sided, but I kind of like the idea of Elia helplessly crushing on Sana and being all awkward around her, so it was fun to write.

It was surprising how much Martino cared for the radio thing he was basically forced into in his fourth year. The boys were surprised after the first few months, but they decided it’s only because of the weed he was supposed to get back from Sana. But then months passed. The fourth year ended. The fifth started and they were sure that’s when Martino’s radio career will end. But it continued. Asked why exactly he’s doing it, he would just shrug saying that it’s not as bad as he thought. And he probably grew used to it. Of course, he would ditch it every now and then, mostly to meet Nico, but he was surprisingly devoted nevertheless.

And Elia had to admit that at some point he started to appreciate it. After all, Martino being part of a radio group meant his friends hanging out there every now and then. At first it was just to wait for him or Niccolo to finish their shift or fool around when they had too much free time. During the fifth year, they’d come there more often. Luca would use every and each occasion to see Silvia, so Elia and Gio would naturally accompany him. As good friends they were. Although every now and then Martino would joke that Elia goes there just to gaze at Sana. He didn’t really mean it, it was just a running joke after one or two times when he noticed Elia throwing glances at Sana more often than he should be. He didn’t realize how close to the truth he was and Elia decided not to tell him. He was just ducking his head with a half-hearted “fuck off, Marti”. But of course he was. This radio thing was the simplest and least suspicious way to be around Sana, even though most of the time they wouldn’t even talk to each other.

At some point Elia became mysteriously involved in the radio himself. He wasn’t an official member or anything, he was more of a substitute. It started when one time in the fourth year Martino was looking for someone to cover his shift when he was supposed to direct Silvia and Eva’s program, but no one from the radio would agree. He half asked half guilted Elia into it after a mess Elia had made in the radio room. Not the first and not the last one, but in his defense Elia had no idea that Osvaldo would be so inflammable. After this one time Elia was now and then dragged into replacing someone during the recordings, especially since with every and each time he knew the mechanics better and better, which worked as an argument against him. He was very reluctant at the beginning, but in the fifth year he would take every and each occasion to replace someone. Truth be told, he had no interest in school’s radio and it’s activities, hardly ever listened to it, but he knew it was impressive and looked good on him. And it was giving him more chances to talk to Sana, which was generally the whole point of it.

Sometimes he would be lucky enough to work on Sana and Martino’s recordings. But one time his luck went even beyond that. Martino basically begged him to substitute for him, because he was supposed to direct that day but something got in his way. Elia supposed this something was short, black-haired, and named Niccolo, but he didn’t say it out loud. He simply agreed. He was supposed to direct Eva and Silvia’s panel, which was probably something ridiculous like horoscope or autumn date ideas, which was always fun to do. Luchino always appreciated bits such as “Silvia said this and that” or “Silvia did this and that”.

What Elia didn’t expect was Sana sitting in the radio room, all alone, flipping through a textbook. He shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat to bring Sana’s attention.

“I thought it’s Eva and Silvia’s shift.”

“Well, it is. I’m here to direct,” Sana explained as if it was natural. Elia frowned.

“Wasn’t Martino supposed to direct today?”

“He was, but something came up and he can’t. So I’m substituting for him.”

“So am I.”

Sana looked confused, but only for a moment. “Oh, okay. He could tell me he had found somebody else. I wouldn’t have to change my plans last minute.”

Elia nearly breathed out with relief. For a second he was sure that Martino did it for purpose. Lead him into this situation just to mess with him. He couldn’t be sure how much of Martino’s talking was just joking and how much was an honesty. He could as well realize that Elia was truly really into Sana. Elia wasn’t sure if it’d be for better or worse.

He hesitated for a minute, but then he took a seat next to Sana, putting his backpack on the floor next to the chair. Sana looked at him skeptically. He tried to shrug it off, but he knew it didn’t really come out naturally.

“You don’t need to stay here, you know?” She asked. He knew it. But he hasn’t had that many chances to spend time with Sana like this. Just the two of them, with no one around that would judge Elia for gazing for too long or making a fool of himself.

“Yeah, but… I’m already here, so I can as well stay. Help out and stuff.”

“Since when you’re so eager to help out other people?”

“Oh, come on. I’m a nice person. You just don’t know me well enough.”

“And it’s for the better.”

He smiled, shaking his head a little. He probably should be offended, maybe even hurt. After all, the girl he was head over heels in love with just told him that she doesn’t even want to know him better. But he wasn’t. That was the Sana he fell in love with. Witty, sarcastic, unyielding. It was a challenge to get closer to her and gain her sympathy. A challenge Elia was more than willing to take.

“Where are they? Silvia and Eva, I mean,” he spoke up after a beat of silence. This time Sana didn’t even look up from her book, shrugging.

“They should be here soon. They are usually on time, especially Silvia.”

The silence felt again, but this time it was due to Elia’s hesitation. He sighed, probably too loudly as Sana shot him an unimpressed glance. That was the chance he was waiting for. They were alone, they had time, he had no excuses to offer himself. He looked at Sana, gathering all the confidence he could possibly find in himself, and finally spoke up.

“Do you… have any plans for the weekend?”

Sana looked at him confused and clearly surprised with his question. Elia wasn’t sure if she saw the not-so-hidden implication in his question, but even if she did, she definitely tried to look as if she didn’t. He expected to see her shocked, amused, maybe even disgusted, but she seemed to be simply confused. As if she was waiting for him to continue. He was determined to let her figure it out herself, to let her realize what he really meant and respond to it.

Unfortunately, after not even a minute of awkward and stressful silence, all his gathered confidence disappeared, making him go in a completely different direction. Definitely closer to what Sana probably expected.

“I mean, you and the girls,” he explained, and finally some understanding appeared on Sana’s face. It was safer but made him feel disappointed with himself. “Nico wanted to do a movie night or something and Marti was saying something about asking you all. Did he?”

He knew it was pretty cheap and if Sana dwelled on it for a second, she would probably figure out that there was something wrong. She seemingly decided not to. Elia wasn’t sure if Sana had ever tried to dwell on anything he said.

“No, he didn’t. But I’m gonna ask the others, we’ll probably be there. Who’s choosing the movies tho?”

“Nico, probably.”

“Eh… in this case I may need some time to reconsider.”

He laughed and took the pleasure of observing a small smile on Sana’s face. He hoped they could continue like that, maybe they could talk about how weird Nico’s movie tastes were, maybe he would make a joke and maybe she would laugh, or maybe she would at least smile and it would be good enough for him. But they didn’t. Before Elia managed to open his mouth, Eva and Silvia burst into the room, apologizing for being late, even though they weren’t. It successfully shut him up.

But he still took it as a small victory. Maybe he didn’t manage to ask her out, but he did manage to create an occasion for spending some time with her. And her friends. And his friends. And he knew the boys will most probably be mad at him, because yes, they were thinking about movie night, but nobody said a word about asking the girls to join. But it was a small price to pay for her presence.

[ames-69]

He didn’t even know him, not properly anyway. He knew his name, and had made up many nicknames for him. Sometimes he thought of writing them on his cup, but never quite dared. He knew his favourite drink and how he liked to make sure the surface where he sat was cleaned with his own little wipes before he did anything. He knew he often came in with a fiery haired girl who had even more freckles than he did. He also knew the boy enjoyed reading poetry books, specifically ‘milk and honey’. The last thing 17 year old Richie tozier with the coke bottle glasses knew was he would give anything to talk to the golden haired boy who he had spent every Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday staring at since he started his job 3 months ago. His best friend, Stanley uris (aka Stan the man to Richie), so helpfully suggested that he “Man up, grow a pair and talk to him, like a normel fucking human”

How did Richie ‘trashmouth’ tozier know all this information about Eddie ‘Eds’ kaspbrak? Well, he was a Starbucks barista of course! Not a stalker, like Stan had called him on many occasions.

—

“Ill take this one” Richie whisper to Stan with a wink just before the bell of the front door jangled to tell them another custom had arrived.

“Just ask him out, won’t you” Stan sighed, giving his raven haired friend and co-worker a small eye roll.

“What! What made you think i like him? What the fuck Stan!” Richie rushed in one nervous breath.

Stan laughed “dude, as your best friend i know when you like someone, its a given. And i think he likes you too, why else would he continue to come here after having you as a barista even once?” Stan joked and Richie laughed nervously.

“You really he thinks he likes me?” Richie asked in such a small voice it was like he didn’t even want to be heard at all.

“Definitely, he looks at you like you look at him” Stanley admitted.

“And how do i look at him?” Richie questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

‘Like he put the stars in the sky. Quick here he is!’ Stan pushed Richie, whose jaw was practically on the floor, towards the till and his crush.

“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you today?” Richie asked the small boy in front of him with a smile that he hoped looked confident and not like one of someone who just received the best news of his life but was still deep in shock.

The boy smiled back. “Can I have, um, a vanilla latte, please?” He asked, getting his wallet out from his pocket.

‘Sure thing! What name will I put on the cup?” Richie questioned without really needing an answer as he’d heard the name so often.

“Eddie” Eddie told him, now handing Richie 5 dollar bill. Richie took the money and opened the till. Without even looking, he placed the money in the till and removed eddies change, hanging it to him carefully, making sure no coins fell.

Richie glanced down at the 7 words written on the cup, trying to convince himself this was a good idea - though that was hard when there was already a feeling of regret settling in his gut. “Eddie!” He called out, now definitely unable to chicken out.

Eddie got up from his usual seat at the window and manoeuvred his way around the crowded cafe. It was always this busy on a Friday afternoon; mainly filled with teens and interns. Eddie approached the counter and richie gave him a half smile before handing him the cup that could potentially change his life. “Enjoy” he said automatically, but meant it. “Thanks” eddie whispered, not making eye contact. Richie watched him all the way to his seat, waiting for a reaction. But there was none.

Stan, who must’ve sensed richies anxiety whispered “he probably hasn’t seen it yet, that’s all” richie nodded. Probably.

After awhile, Richie had managed to push the thought of his note to the back of his mind as he busied himself serving other customers. Outside, the sun was beginning to set and richie watched the people walk back and forth outside the shop. It was currently the middle of autumn and the trees and had just about began to shed their leaves. Autumn was richies favourite season for many reasons; the warmer and quite frankly more stylish clothes, the darker nights, Halloween, and most importantly, the date ideas.

“Rich, will you take the trash out?” Stanleys question brought richie from his daze and he nodded, grabbing the two already tied trash bag from under the black counter. He made his way out back to the dumpsters and chucked the bags in with the rest of the rubbish.

Before heading back in he decided to have a cigarette, Stan wouldn’t mind. He fished the cigarette packet out out his pocket and his lighter. Once the cigarette was between his lips, he brought the black lighter up to it and with his free hand shielded it from the light breeze. Richie inhaled the familiar smoke, then lazily blew it out. Someone coughing made him jump and he spun around to look at the back door where the noise came from. The boy had expected to see Stanley, but instead was met with the same brown doe eyes he saw 4 times a week.

“Oh, hi” richie said before taking a second and final puff from the cigarette before dropping it on the ground and putting it out. “Hi” eddie said, wrapping his arms around himself. The two stood in a not completely uncomfortable silence for a while. Neither one moved so the medium sized gap stayed between the nervous teenagers.

Finally, eddie broke the silence. “I um, got your note” he explained. Oh god, this was it. He was gonna reject richie and then he would stop coming to the coffee shop because it was just too damn awkward and richie would never see his beautiful face again. “And my answer is yes”

“It fine, don’t um, don’t worry about it. I just had to shoot my shot i guess.” Richie mentally slapped himself for how bad that sounded, then once the realisation had dawned on him, “Wait what did you say?”

Eddie laughed gently, now moving closer to where richie stood stiffly. “I said” eddie drawled, “my answer is yes.”

“You’re serious?” Richie breathed, his eyes glued to eddie who was now right in-front of him.

Instead of answering, eddie stood on his toes and gently put his arms around richies neck, causing him to lean down, letting eddies lips attach onto his own. Richie noted that eddie still tasted like his vanilla latte. “I’m that serious.”

[gotatext]

 hello, its nora (she/her, gmt) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

『ELLE FANNING ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM is here for HER JUNIOR year as a CLASSICS student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be RESILIENT, MAGNETIC, CALLOUS & PROUD. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NORA. 24. GMT. SHE/HER.

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake. 

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form.

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into radcliffe but she made an impression.... like... super fast and in her sophomore year she was upgraded to perkins accomodation n a paid scholarship bcos i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live in perkins n feel like they r constantly competing with one another to keep their place as one of the #elite only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

A SECRET SOCIETY !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners OR alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

         the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

         if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

         at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

         your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

         language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

         fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

         the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to radcliffe. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.