#its kind of a pain to set up unfortunately but i forgot how fun it was

[rottingraisins]

2 more old man drawings (+ a speedpaint) if u want

[theoreticslut]

"Why do they hate me so much?”

pairing: fred weasley x reader x george weasley (*might change)

requested: no

word count: 3k

warnings: mentions of cheating, SFW

A/N: i’m attempting an enemies to lovers kind of story, but i’m not sure if it’ll really come across as that. if you haven’t noticed i kinda just write and whatever comes out, comes out. As i mentioned above the pairing of the story might change as I’m still working on it. right now its heading in the direction of both the twins, but that’s not how i originally wanted it to go, so we’ll see. I hope you guys like what I have so far, I do want to make this into  a small series so if you have any comments and/or suggestions please let me know - i would love hearing your thoughts! Xx

Taglist: @justmesadgirl @xuckduck @yikesyikesyikes95 @filipi-yes @aestheticwh0r3 @siredkai @matsuno-nadeshiko @msmarklee1213 @immajustreadwritereblog

 ^ let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

“You pig-headed prats!” You holler, huffing as the infamous weasley twins ‘successfully’ pull off another prank, you as their target yet again.

“Oi, sweetheart. That’s a bit harsh for such a pretty lady.” Fred smirks.

“Shove off, weasley.” You hiss as you push through the two who were standing in front of you.

If you spent another minute near them you feared you’d find yourself in detention for a month. The two redheads had a way of thoroughly getting under your skin.

You’re not entirely sure what you’d done to them, but for the better part of two years now you had been the butt of many of their pranks. You’ve had everything from an itching charm put on your robes to mini fireworks exploding out of your books to the most recent of having your wand tampered with to cover you in slime instead of whatever spell you were trying to cast.

Besides that, the two had been beyond irritating to talk to. You could always find them laughing and joking with others, but they seemed much kinder than they were to you. That’s not to say that they were rude or mean to you in anyway, but their jokes and smart replies were definitely not what you needed after having been pranked.

“Y/n! Ohhh, what happened?” Your friend hermione called as you entered the common room, immediately sensing how pissed you were.

“The twins happened.” You grumble, gritting your teeth.

“I don’t know why they keep pranking you! I’ve talked them multiple times about it and I thought they had finally gotten it through their heads that it wasn’t funny.”

“Don’t worry about it, hermione. I think they were just born bloody annoying. It’s what they do and they know they’re good at it, so why stop? It’s not like we plan to be friends or anything any time soon anyway.” You huff, making your way up to your dorm.

“I know, y/n. I know. Just....let me talk to them again. I’ll make sure they stop. It’s not fair to you. Even harry and Ron get annoyed at them for it.”

“You don’t have to do that, ‘mione. I’ll just...start ignoring them, maybe that’ll get them to stop. They’re not worth my time of day anyway.”

“Alright, y/n. Well, let’s get you cleaned up. You are going to need help getting this out of your hair.”

~.~

“You two need to stop this prank thing against y/n. I’ve told you over and over, it’s not funny anymore. Do you know that it took at least five washings to get that slime out of her hair? Five!”

“Oh stop harping us, hermione. It’s not like we’re hurting her any.” Fred says, dismissing her disapproval.

“You’re not hurting her, but you’re certainly annoying all of us.” Ron says through a mouthful of breakfast.

“Why should we stop? It’s fun and honestly pretty great to get a rise out of her.” George smiles.

“Don’t you think she wonders why she’s being targeted? She is our friend, too, and you hardly prank any of us. Don’t you think she might feel a bit frustrated? Don’t you think she wonders why you two have such a vendetta against her?” Hermione pushes, becoming annoyed herself with them.

“We’ll bring it in a bit, but we’re not stopping. She’s just too easy to prank.” Fred finally offers.

“I wish you would stop completely. It’s honestly not fair to her in the slightest.” Hermione sighs, giving up for the time being.

The twins are stubborn and she knows she better take what they give her for now before they revoke their compromise to bring it back completely.

~.~

You groan to yourself as you listen to Professor Binns drone on about history. This was by far your least favourite class, even more so when you’ve had the week you’ve had.

It started monday when you woke up to a surprise visit from Aunt Flo to which you were very unprepared for. You had been meaning to get some more pads and tampons but had been so busy it had left your mind. Not only did it inconveniently arrive, it was also being a major witch this month. As soon as it hit you felt you were going to be sick. The amount of nausea you felt on top of how crampy and achy you were. You honestly felt like you had been run over by the hogwarts express.

Tuesday you had been surprised by a last minute exam that Snape decided to give out. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, except this really was not your week and hadn’t been able to remember the potions you were being quizzed on. You had just barely passed when you normally received the higher marks that snape rarely gave out.

Wednesday you had just had a very rough day. Everything you had tried to do backfired and you ended up creating more hassle for the professors and your friends than would normally be expected. You spent the day just feeling completely useless, which continued into thursday.

Then, so far today, you woke up late and forgot your tie which earned a deduction of house points. You had spilled a bunch of ingredients in potions which earned even more deducted house points and complete embarrassment. You felt completely disgusting today even though you’ve showered and still looked put together. And most recently, just after lunch you had found your boyfriend has been cheating on you.

To put it lightly, this was just a really bad day at the end of a very rough week. The only thing you’ve been able to be grateful for is that the twins have seemingly stopped pranking you.

They still made smart remarks that you were trying your best to ignore, but for the time being you haven’t found yourself in the middle of one of their pranks.

You’re not sure why, but at least you haven’t had to deal with them on top of everything else this week.

You had managed to get all the way through to dinner where you sat very tiredly. Hermione knew you’ve been having a rough week as you were roommates, but she wasn’t sure what exactly had been happening. You hadn’t been wanting to talk about it. Harry and Ron, however, could tell you were in no mood for anything else even without knowing you’ve had a rough week.

Unfortunately, the twins did not get the memo that this was not your best week and had decided today was the day they’d prank you after leaving you alone for a couple weeks. 

they had been planning out how to do so for a few days now and were proud of what they had come with. therefore, It came as quite a surprise to the both of them when you broke out crying after setting a smoke bomb to go off when you lifted your fork.

The food had just been revealed to start dinner when you picked up your fork to grab a piece of ham from the platter in front of you.

Before you could realize what happened, the smoke bomb went off, completely covering you in soot and catching the attention of many of the students in the great hall.

Without being able to hold it in, you had started crying as Fred and George were laughing.

“What have I ever done to you? I’ve tried being nice and it always blows up in my face, quite literally right now.” You sigh, choking on your tears as you stand up from the table to leave.

Fred and George stop laughing when they hear you, their smiles dropping when they realize you had been crying. They watch as you hurry off, hoping to Merlin this encounter wasn’t being listened to and watched by everyone.

“Look what you two have done now! I told you to knock it off with all these pranks. You can’t ever listen though, can you Fred. George.” Hermione states, fuming at the red-headed twins as she gets up and follows after you.

“Oh bloody hell.” They both sigh in unison, slumping into the table.

“Bloody hell is right.” Ron says. “You really don’t want Hermione mad at you.”

“We’re not worried about hermione, mate.” Fred says, keeping his eyes on the door that y/n had left through.

“We just wanted to get her to smile.” George sighs sadly.

~.~

“Y/n!” Hermione calls as she catches up with you in the hall back to the common room.

“Please go, hermione.” You sniffle, wiping at your eyes.

“I’m not leaving my best friend out here crying all alone.” She huffs, crossing her arms as she looks at you.

“I know you had a bad week, but what’s happened? It must’ve been real bad if you break out crying like this, y/n.” She says after a minute or two.

“I’m just so tired, ‘mione.” You cry, shrinking into yourself in front of her.

you felt pathetic yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop crying. you had been hiding it away all week and you just couldn’t do it anymore.

“Tell me what’s happened.” She urges, pulling you into a hug, her heart breaking for you. she cared for her friends more than anything, but it really broke her seeing you so upset. you were usually such a literal ray of sunshine to everyone around you, that it was painful to see you carrying so much pain.

“I’m so tired and achy and nauseous. All because I’m a bloody woman. I’ve been so unfocused that I’ve lost us so many house points. Well, more than I ever have,” you sob as hermione leads you over to a bench by the window.

“I practically failed that exam snape gave us this week and I made such a mess of his ingredients. He was so furious, hermione.” you whisper, your terrified eyes meeting hers as you recall the way he fumed over your mishap.

“I was so embarrassed. I’ve never done that terribly in his class.” you mumble.

“I’ve been nothing but a hassle to everyone around me this week and I just - I feel so bloody disgusting. It’s honestly no surprise I found my boyfriend cheating on me.” You sigh, crying more.

“He did what?!” Hermione gasped, sighing as you cry harder.

“He’s been cheating on me, ‘mione. For like two months at least! I feel so dumb and used. I really liked him, ‘mione, and he just....he just used me!”

“Take a breath, y/n. We don’t need you getting sick.” hermione urges, noticing how you’re choking for air through your sobs.

“A-and now I’m covered in soot all because the twins have something against me. I don’t know what I could have done! Why do they hate me so much?” You cry.

Fred and George frown as they hear you recount your week, having left dinner to come after you and apologize. They truly had no idea. If they did they wouldn’t have set up that smoke bomb.

“We really messed up, Fred.” George sighs, not being able to take his eyes off you as you cry in hermione’s arms.

“Yeah, we have. Come on, let’s go apologize and try to fix this.”

They make their way over to you and hermione who shoots daggers at them.

“Y/n, we’re sorry. We-“

“Would you two get out of here? You’re some of the last people she wants to see right now.” Hermione states, knowing that the twins are beyond sorry and just want to make sure you’re all right, but taking your emotional needs as her priority.

she knew that they had a bit of a crush on you even though they had never said a thing on the topic. it wasn’t hard to miss, however, when she noticed how often they’d stare at you from across the room, smiling dumbly to themselves and zoning out. it was quite adorable, actually, but she did wonder how they ever thought pranking you was the way to your heart.

“We didn’t know you’ve had such a bad week.” Fred sighs, ignoring hermione.

You start crying harder at the mention of your week. You just wanted it to end. you wanted to curl up in your bed, tucked tightly into the blankets and listen to some comforting sad songs while you cry.

“Fred, George, go back to dinner. I’m taking y/n to our room. She needs to be left alone for awhile.” hermione orders, helping you to stand even though you don’t want to. all your energy has been drained from your body so even lifting an arm to wipe at your tears felt like it was the most difficult task in the world.

The twins sigh, but nod, knowing it’s the truth. Having them around wouldn’t help anything, but they felt so guilty. they just wanted you to understand that they don’t hate you, but rather the complete opposite.

They had never wanted to upset you when they started pranking you. In fact they both saw you as a friend and had a bit of a crush on you that they couldn’t understand. Sure you were beautiful, beyond kind, and a little bit of a fireball, but you were just a girl. neither of them were quite sure when they had started feeling and thinking it, but even though they tried to tell themselves that you were, they knew deep down you weren’t just some girl.

They really aren’t the greatest with their feelings though, especially when their beyond confused with them, and decided pranking you was the best way to show that they liked you. They never prank you to be mean, they just want to make you laugh and see you smile.

~.~

Hermione had gotten you into bed after having you shower and change into some comfy clothes.

She had left to go get herself some dinner and promised she’d be back soon to see how you were holding up.

You had told her not to worry about bringing anything back for you. Instead you were just going to curl up and go to sleep.

You heard a knock on your door and sighed. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone, even hermione. You hummed out however to notify the person on the other side of the door that you were listening.

You hear your door creak open a bit and hear some footsteps enter.

“Y/n? Uh, Fred and I brought you some dinner. Hermione said you didn’t want anything, but you can’t just not eat.” You hear George say, cautiously stepping over to your bed. his voice was filled with concern which you thought odd, but couldn’t care enough to think about too long.

You hear Fred shut the door but you don’t bother looking at either of them. You’re far too numb to care at this moment.

“Y/n?” George asks after not getting a response. he didn’t think you were sleeping, but he wasn’t sure.

“Thanks. Just, set it on my trunk. Or my night table. I’m not really hungry right now.” You mumble, still not bothering to look at either of them.

“H-how are you holding up?” Fred asks, fidgeting in his place.

“Why do you care? You’ve never cared before. Either of you.”

Both the twins sigh, looking at the other with guilt written all over their faces. they’re well aware how they come across to you, but it was truly a complete misunderstanding.

“We know we made you the target of our pranks more often than not, but we weren’t trying to be mean. We just, we really wanted to make you smile. Make you laugh.” Fred sighs.

“Did quite a job at it, huh?” You ask, still staring straight ahead. You don’t have the energy to turn to look at them. And truthfully, you didn’t really want to.

“We-we’re sorry. We had no idea how bad of a week you’ve had. We, uh, we heard you tell hermione everything.” George states, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It doesn’t matter that it was this week.” you deadpan, “It’s the fact that I’ve never once enjoyed your pranks on me. It was pretty obvious, so why would you continue?” You ask, getting a bit irritated at the two twins.

“Well, uh. I-I don’t know. We’re dumb.” Fred answers.

“No, you’re not. You both are so brilliant that I’ve been jealous of you at times, but you just don’t care about school. You’d rather use all your brilliance on tormenting poor classmates or make a girl cry than apply yourselves to classes.”

You knew you weren’t being fair, but you were fed up with everything. You wanted to be left alone. you couldn’t handle socializing, much less able to handle these two trying to make up for what they’d done for years only after you broke down crying.

“No, we never wanted to make you cry. Merlin we feel so guilty that we did.” Fred tries to argue, but is promptly cut off.

“So you really don’t care, do you? You’re just trying to make yourselves feel better.” You say, finally looking over at them, a fire blazing behind your eyes. Both of them look like deer caught in headlights, not sure whether to stay put or run and in which direction if they did.

You watch as Fred gulps nervously as George opens and closes his mouth trying to find the words to not make things worse.

Even though they can’t meet your eyes, mainly because they’re scared of the anger within them, they notice just how awful you look. Not in the sense that you’re unattractive, because Merlin even now you were gorgeous, but awful in the sense of how absolutely heartbroken you look. It truly looks like your soul has been ripped from your body and your heart crushed to pieces.

Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy, your nose red from blowing it into the rough tissues on your bedside table, tear tracks etched into your cheeks almost looking like spilled ink that had run across a piece of parchment.

They can see how tired you are, and how much sadness you’re still holding in. They wish more than anything that they could comfort you, but you were making it very clear that you didn’t want them here.

“Can you please just go? I don’t really feel like keeping company.” You sigh, turning back away from them.

They both nod, even though you can’t see them. Turning to walk away, they stop to look over your form once again. They’ve never seen you so heartbroken and it scared them. You had been a light in their lives, happiness radiating from inside you  constantly spreading warm that reached deep into their souls. it hurt seeing that light extinguished.

“We’re really sorry, y/n. For everything.” George sighs, him and fred leaving you to yourself.

[unbridgeabledistances]

a ✨drunk and clingy ian✨ one-shot

okay so we all know that saint patrick’s day is a very arbitrary and somewhat meaningless holiday (at least in the u.s. lol)- but we also know that the gallaghers are incredibly fucking irish, so i am using this as an excuse to write some drunk and clingy gallavich fluff (bc i think we all need it!! or at least i do!!!!)

hope y’all enjoy<3

--

Mickey and Ian came in the door from their final weed security run of a way-too-chilly and grey March afternoon, kicking the slush off of their lace-up boots in a tired but comfortable silence. Mickey had been fantasizing for a good part of the afternoon about his usual afternoon ritual of collapsing onto the couch with a cold beer in his hand, and taking a long lazy nap while shitty game shows played on the TV in the background— but unfortunately, Debbie had other plans. Or so he realized when he turned the corner and his eyes were met with a forest of green and white streamers blanketing the living room, with Debbie determinedly balancing on a kitchen chair to hang them in the doorway.

Mickey did a double-take, shooting a glance at Ian and then back at the festive room again. What the fuck? He quickly racked his brain— there was no way he’d could’ve forgotten Franny’s birthday, that was in the summer—and he was pretty sure that Liam’s birthday was in the winter sometime; so whose the fuck was it? Too many goddamn Gallaghers to keep track of. Finally, Mickey admitted his own defeat.

“Is it someone’s fuckin’ birthday or something?”

Mickey flashed another gaze to Ian in confusion as he said it, hoping that Ian would silently mouth whatever the occasion was to him, or at the very least raise his eyebrows and goad Mickey enough to jog his memory to remember whatever the fuck today was— but Ian just gave an easygoing grin as he took in the room’s decor and let out a laugh.

“Debbie, isn’t this kind of going overboard?”

Debbie looked over her shoulder from where she was now taping a crudely scribbled picture of a shamrock, most likely drawn by Franny, up onto the wall.

“What? If it’s our last Saint Patrick’s Day in the house, the least we can do is go out with a bang,” she answered nonchalantly, and continued fixating on hanging up Franny’s drawing.

Mickey inadvertently let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. Fucking Gallaghers.

“I’m sorry, fucking Saint Patrick’s Day?”

Ian’s lips formed a playful smile and he elbowed Mickey between the ribs. “Yeah, Mick, Saint Patrick’s Day— also known as the unironically most important day of the Gallagher family calendar year. I can’t believe I forgot it was today, with all the work stuff we had going on.”

At first Mickey couldn’t tell if Ian was actually being serious— but in the same second he decided that it didn’t really matter, since Ian’s eyes were bright and shining and there was this weird giddy grin he was sporting from ear to ear, like he was absolutely fucking delighted that it was Saint Patrick’s Day, instead of just a normal goddamn Wednesday. Fucking softie.

And as endearing as that was, Mickey still couldn’t let him off that easily. “There’s no way I’m celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day. It’s a fake holiday for yuppie rich kids to go bar hopping—I’m not getting involved in any of your Gallagher bullshit.”

Ian’s grin just grew, like he knew exactly what Mickey was doing. “Hey, you married into this family. If anything, this is your own fault.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes, then continued to unlace his boots and throw them by the doorway.

“The fuck do you do anyways, aside from getting trashed?”

Ian put a hand on Mickey’s upper back to steady himself as he pulled his own shoes off. “I think getting trashed pretty much sums up the festivities. Today’s practically a holy day of observance for Frank, and I’m assuming Debbie’s also just gonna use today as an excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday.”

“Hell yeah I am!” Debbie called from where she was putting the chair back in the kitchen.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “I knew Gallaghers were white trash, but I had no idea you were this bad.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have any Ukranian white trash holidays or whatever?”

Mickey held back a bitter laugh. Yeah, they had “holidays,” in the form of days when Terry was celebratorily drunk enough to leave them the fuck alone for 24 hours, rare occasions when his looming shadow was out of the house and a festive lightness bled in in its place. They sort of celebrated Christmas, which was mostly just associated with too many painful memories of Terry ripping open the presents before he or his brothers had the chance, and too many painful stings associated with him having one too many drinks as they sat quietly inside the sagging house and pretended to be a big happy family for one night a year.

But never anything as gaudy and deliberate and ridiculous as observing a C-list, Irish-American holiday just for the hell of it, just for fun—which yes, was probably fueled by Frank’s alcoholism more than anything else, but also made something swell in Mickey’s insides that he didn’t quite know how to place.

And Mickey didn’t know how to let out that entire internal monologue to Ian while Debbie was standing within earshot. “Nah, man. Milkoviches don’t really do… holidays.”

Ian snaked a hand around Mickey’s back, giving his shoulder a squeeze, a grounding touch. He gets it.

“Well, get ready to have your mind blown, Mr. Gallavich, because we’re about to celebrate this hallowed occasion Gallagher style.”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, but let himself lean into Ian’s touch, lean his weight ever-so-slightly against Ian’s chest that was pressed behind him by the doorway. And, okay— as stupid as this was, maybe there was something sort of warm and solid about tradition, about hand-scribbled shamrocks and streamers on the wall, about having days to celebrate just because you wanted to, just because you could…

Just then Franny came hurdling into the room, wearing a baggy green t-shirt and a face-painted shamrock adorning her cheek.

Ian’s face lit up when she stopped in front of them. “Hey Franny! Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!”

Franny held out two bottles of beer to Ian and Mickey from where she had been hiding them behind her back.

“Mommy said I should give these to you when you came home!”

Mickey smirked, carefully taking the bottles from Franny’s outstretched hands. “Thanks, kiddo.”

And if all celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day took was knocking down a few beers on a weekday afternoon��well, Mickey wasn’t going to complain about that.

**

Of course, hours later Mickey realized how severely he’d underestimated Debbie’s enthusiasm— after lounging around the house waiting for the stream of Gallaghers to trickle in from their various daily activities, Debbie had rounded everyone up and they migrated to the Alibi as the sun was setting, where they’d met up with Kev and V and Lip and Tami, who (thank fucking god) looked as vaguely confused and fully apathetic about this whole “Saint Patrick’s Day” situation as Mickey did.

Now it was late, and Mickey was leaning against the bartop of the Alibi sipping a thick, foamy glass of Guinness, which was as close to embracing whatever-the-fuck Irish heritage his husband had as he was possibly going to get.

All of the Gallaghers were here, swirling around the room—Debbie had put on some sort of peppy music as Kev poured everyone drinks, and a couple of other Southside neighbors had heard the bass thrumming and joined the ruckus. The room wasn’t too crowded, but it was pleasantly full of bodies and chatter— Kev had bought bunches of shiny, tacky green mardi gras beads for everyone to wear, and the air in the room was festive and bordering on sloppy in a way that felt very different from how Mickey had envisioned this evening would go.

Mickey was pacing himself, because it was a Wednesday for fuck’s sake— but his husband was an entirely different story. Between the beers at home and the various drinks Debbie had been siphoning into his hands all night, Ian was teetering on the drunkest Mickey had seen him in years—which partially made the tiniest spark of trepidation start to creep into Mickey’s bloodstream, a spark that he immediately extinguished. It was one night, the first in a long time— Ian deserved to have some fun.

And he definitely, definitely was having fun— casually dancing with Debbie and Sandy and whoever else would humor him, grinning with red-hot cheeks and bright eyes— from across the room Mickey could tell how warm his skin would be if he pressed a hand against it, how flushed. Mickey wasn’t really in the mood for dancing, or whatever the fuck stumbling around and chatting and making friends Drunk Ian was up to for the evening, and he was perfectly content to nurse his drink at the bar— which is why it surprised him when Ian pulled himself out of the crowd, slightly stumbling over his own feet, and made the way across the room to where Mickey was leaning at the bar, immediately boxing him in and putting his hands square on Mickey’s waist. Mickey almost imperceptibly let in a sharp breath.

Ian looked down at him, all smiles and shiny eyes— when he spoke the scent of sweet, hot liquor danced on Mickey’s face and all he wanted was to be closer, to breathe it in.

“Are you having fun?” Ian’s right hand traced up Mickey’s side, then back down to its hold on his hipbone.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “You and your leprechaun family don’t mess around, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled a lazy, tipsy smile, and pecked Mickey’s cheek before Mickey could be embarrassed about it.

“D’you wanna dance with me?”

Ian’s hands slid off of his hips and entangled with Mickey’s hands that had been hanging limply at his sides, walking backwards so their fingers were laced together an arm’s distance apart.

Mickey shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll leave showing the Irish pride to you and the rest of the drunken Gallaghers.”

Ian registered Mickey’s words and opened his mouth to reply, just as Debbie pulled Ian over by the arm.

“Stop sulking with Mickey and do more shots with me!”

Jesus Christ. Ian was going to be wrecked when their alarm went off for work in the morning, and Mickey was starting to debate if he was going to need to have a talking-to with Debbie about the appropriate amount of “Saint Patrick’s Day fun” they were allowed to partake in next year— but for now Ian was happy, and he could stomach one night of hardcore festivities.

Mickey stood at the bar for a while, watching Ian and Debbie get progressively more flushed as they bobbed through the crowd— and then, when Debbie had found some other victim in their mid-twenties to get even more shitfaced with, Ian made his way across the room to Mickey again, plopping onto the barstool beside him and heaving his bodyweight onto Mickey’s left side, burying his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck. Mickey wrapped a tentative arm around Ian’s waist, trying to hold him up from slouching off of the barstool.

“M’tired.” Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath dancing on his collarbone as he slurred out the words, and felt Ian’s eyelids flutter shut against the side of his neck.

Ian was always giving Mickey measured casual touches, wherever they were—but it was so exceedingly rare that Ian fully let himself go like this, let himself be drunk and happy and just crumple into Mickey, without worrying about holding anyone else up. It felt new, but it felt good— Mickey let the solid weight of his husband’s body leaning against his press him down, rooting him into the Alibi’s sticky floors, feeling the clammy skin of Ian’s forehead that was solidly lodged into the side of Mickey’s neck.

He hated to admit it, but in that moment, something in Mickey was also frozen solid— as much as Mickey had grown in the past few years, something about these situations, about PDA or whatever, still made Mickey feel like he was treading water—like he was fighting to stay afloat while everyone’s eyes were on him, and the strong current was only lifted when he and Ian were in the dark safety of their bedroom. If Mickey was drunk at a bar and sloppily leaning onto Ian, there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that Ian would hold him, would gingerly touch him and caress him and do more to him than just prop him up— but something in Mickey still hesitated and flashed with warning signs in a crowded room full of people.

But Ian was still breathing hot on Mickey’s neck— so Mickey thought about what Ian would do, if it was Mickey who was tipsy and slumped on his shoulder. He tentatively raised his arm from where it was lying limply by his side, and started to run soothing circles onto Ian’s t-shirt, just above his hipbone where Mickey’s hand was holding Ian up by his waist.

Ian hummed in acknowledgement of the touch— and then he pressed a tender kiss to the crook of Mickey’s neck, where his face was buried. Fuck. Mickey just pulled him in closer, gently tugging Ian’s torso in by his belt loop to hold him steady.

Ian hummed again, then started to press kisses up and down Mickey’s neck. “You smell good.”

Mickey’s heart started to beat a little quicker, his blood running hotter than usual—and Ian couldn’t fucking do this now, while the rest of his family was milling around and dancing and wearing fucking mardi gras beads while flaunting their Gallagher pride.

Ian lifted his forehead off of Mickey’s shoulder, and gently bit at the underside of Mickey’s jaw—and Mickey thought he was going to combust right there, on the spot, in a room full of Gallaghers pressed against the bartop at the Alibi by his very drunk husband.

And in an act of excruciatingly inconvenient timing, Lip sidled up to the bar and sat on the barstool on Mickey’s other side, nursing what Mickey assumed (and hoped) was a diet Coke in a beer glass.

“Hey there, Mick. And, uh, Ian.”

Ian looked up from where he was very engrossed in continuing to nuzzle the opposite side of Mickey’s neck, and glared at Lip from across Mickey’s chest.

“Go away, Lip.” Ian collapsed his head back onto Mickey’s shoulder and closed his eyes again, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s neck like a fucking boa constrictor. Mickey snaked an arm up around Ian’s back, holding him steady on the wobbly barstool.

Lip held back a laugh as he sipped his drink, then took a drag of the cigarette he was holding. “Seems like Ian’s done enough drinking to make our ancestors proud.”

Mickey took a sip of his own beer with his free hand. “Debbie made sure of that.”

Lip raised his eyebrows. “Damn. Guess we’d better keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t also have the Frank gene.”

Mickey grunted in acknowledgement, then took another sip of his beer, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. Ian’s head shifted slightly on his shoulder— and Mickey realized he probably needed to haul Ian home ASAP, before he was even more sleepy and incoherent and unable to lug down the street.

Lip noticed Ian’s movement on Mickey’s shoulder and smirked. “I’ve gotta say, I’ve never seen Ian being this clingy before. Even with other guys—no offense, Mick— he usually stayed pretty contained. And you guys aren’t usually too into the PDA department.”

Mickey shrugged, trying not to jostle the heavy weight of where Ian’s head was hanging. Lip was right—he and Ian never really were all over each other, especially not like this, outside of the context of their room, when they were very much always all over each other.

Lip kept studying them, and the corner of his mouth eventually ticked upward. “It’s good. He’s definitely not this… comfortable with anyone else. Including me, which is definitely saying something.”

It felt weird, to get something like what felt like Lip’s full blessing at a raunchy Gallagher party months after he and Ian had gotten married—but that was also exactly what it felt like was happening.

Lip’s eyes suddenly darted across the room, to where Tami was holding up his coat and gesturing to the door. Lip rose from the barstool, stubbed out his cigarette, and put out a hand to clap Mickey on the shoulder as a goodbye.

“Catch up with you later, Mick.” Lip reached out and jokingly tousled Ian’s hair. “Make sure this one doesn’t hate himself too much tomorrow morning.”

Mickey smirked. Ian was practically asleep and drooling on his shoulder, his breathing turned steady—Mickey reached a hand up to card through his hair, then gently shrugged his shoulder to get Ian’s head to rise from where it was jammed on his neck.

Ian raised his head, his eyes bleary and confused at first, then softening around the edges when he met Mickey’s gaze.

“Alright, let’s get you home, carrottop.”

[obislittleone]

Have you recently shifted????

YES OKAY STORYTIME:

Y’all gonna go a little wild for this but…

I SHIFTED BACK TO MY HOM DR AND I FINALLY MET MY OBI

So like since it follows the events of HoM i didn’t get much time with him before the big mission on ryloth and unfortunately that meant there was a kidnapping involved…. Tbh kinda regretting all these dangerous plot points because in my head and on paper they sound like a good build up for my own personal development, but they can actually be very traumatizing and painful… who knew.

I haven’t shifted back to my HoM dr since, as i think I just need to cool off from the last time. I scripted in my dr that I can’t feel physical pain, but i forgot to script emotional pain out, and tbh i think the physical pain would’ve been better.

Anyway i know y’all are probably just dying to know about Obi so here are some things I can tell you from both my DR memories, and face to face experience from having gained actual consciousness in my DR:

He smells really good, like when he sat down next to me on our flight i could not pay attention to anything he said because he just smelled really nice. I don’t even really know how to explain it. It was kinda like how when you wash a set of sheets then put them in the dryer and they come out all warm and smell fresh and summery and omg idek what else but he also smelled kinda earthy, very rich with like nature type shit idek…

His voice is a little lower sounding when your hear it in real life, and like listening to him speak was already getting me in places I didn’t wanna be especially on a mission like that i think i was probably kinda reckless, which i didn’t exactly write/script, but whatever.

HE IS SO STRONG like this man could strong arm me from the ground and toss me into a wall and I’m 5’7 in my DR so i’m not exactly tiny.

AND YES HE CALLS ME LITTLE ONE more often than my actual name, which is Avynn. He’s so attentive, and like his relationship with me at this point in time reminds me of Qui Gon with him… like even tho i can be a hot head he’s so patient, and tries to hard to be calm even when i’m just straight up yelling. He���s literally so kind to me I don’t know what else to say. Like he’s so sassy and sometimes a little mean to everyone else (not really including anakin he loves anakin, even if he’s a little harder on him) but then if i talk to him he just kinda flips ig idk… he’s a little bit different in the way he thinks than what I imagined, and like he and I do have a force bond so a lot of the time I’ll just be standing there and accidentally hear what he’s thinking.

He’s a lot more cheeky and mischievous than people think he is. He’s the type of teacher that would loudly proclaim ‘do as i say, not as i do’ and tbh thats an interesting characteristic I didn’t think he’d have but i’m glad he does because it makes things mores fun.

Also this isn’t exactly an important detail, but I know some of you might go crazy to know he has a beauty mark on his shoulder that I saw one time when sparring and like its been in my head ever since so take that as you will.

Anyways I don’t really have anything else to add to that for now, as I only shifted back there once, then came back after the *trauma* so i’m just a little scared to go back because i think about it here, but I think about it way more when I’m actually there and idk its just kinda scary

In conclusion i firmly believe Obi-Wan Kenobi is the loml and i’m so damn mad my soulmate is in another reality even tho we aint together or anything like just being around him makes me feel so good I can’t rlly explain it.

ANYWAY

I also shifted three times to my accidental/unscripted stranger things dr and there’s so much drama i don’t even know where to begin but lemee sum it up rlly quick and if people have questions they can ask:

Okay so my dr is set in 1983 at the moment and i have this massive crush on steve, and i tried to talk to him in the hallway and stupid fkn Carol came and made fun of me, and i know steve probably didn’t wanna be mean to my face, but he kinda just let his friends pick on me ab it and i swear this mf knows i like him and he’s being a dick and also carol’s hair isn’t really red she dyes it, just wanted to expose a bitch… and like the last time i shifted it was around February and its still really cold so there’s not much to do which is why I haven’t gone back yet BUT my mom got me an Atari for my birthday and like my friends were in on it and got a bunch of games for it so thats cool. I’m now the proud owner of frogger, indy 500, and outlaw.

THERE HAVE BEEN SOME COMPLICATIONS WITH A CLOSE FRIEND OF MINE AND NO I WILL NOT NAME WHO JUST KNOW THAT I GOT SHOTGUNNED BY GARETH AT A PARTY *WINK WINK* and some stuff happened after that.

Also i finally remade another dnd character sheet and like I’m gonna try and remember the details about it because i lowkey wanna use it in my CR its rlly good.

Alright thats all the tea i have rn but if anyone has questions feel free to ask bc so much stuff went down and I might try for my ST DR again this week just because i need to feel secure after the week i’ve had tbh

[ducknotinarow]

[Big Mama + Raph]

“Oh you poor unfortunately soul, it must be so exhausting, looking after those siblings of yours,” Big Mama starts, coming from a place of kind understanding, “I understand the pressure; running so much, looking after so many people, never having even the smallest tickety of a second to yourself,” She claims, “Poor turtley-boo...I wish there was something I could do to help.” 

Big Mama tapped a finger to her chin, as if in thought. She soon smiles, glimmer to her eyes,

“Hm...there might be one thing,” Big Mama claims, “Tell me, Raphie-Taffy, if there was a way I could ensure your brothers were safe, forever, and you’d never have a frivolous worry about them again - what would you do to get it?” 

|Muse interactions He loved his brothers he did but as he stood off to the side watching them wrangling around in some of Big Mama's webbing and it fell apart so fast. Raph thought as he stood off to the side pinching at the space between his eyes. He could feel his head throbbing in pain. He was so sure this plan of his would work, yet one slip and now?

" I love my brothers, they are doing thier best, I need to get better so they can be better" he began to speak to himself under his breath as he was repeating this over well trying to relax his breathing, hands set before him as he talks to himself as he kept repeating this all to himself not even all that aware that Big mama has moved to his to speak up now, taking advantage of the stand still of their fumbling right now.

“Oh you poor unfortunately soul, it must be so exhausting, looking after those siblings of yours,”

Raph answered by nodding his head, eyes closing as he sighed out now “It really is ya know? I mean I try so hard to make sure we’re ready to go out to do these missions. I make up trialing plans, and keep tracks of missions. Make sure we go out at night just too look out for anger keep us on our toes ya know?” The large snapper began to vent on still unaware he was talking to Big Mama herself as he was going on and on “I even try making it fun so they will want to participate! Like training exercises as games or a star chat! ‘Cept I got the most stars on the chat.”

“I understand the pressure; running so much, looking after so many people, never having even the smallest tickety of a second to yourself,”

The tone was so nice and clam under standing even, maybe its why he seemed to forget his own surroundings just taking in the comfort of the voice that seemed to understand his plight. “I don’t I can’t cause if I ain’t watching them, anything could happen!” Not to mention his own intense fear of being alone played a bit of a factor there. “Everything I do I do it for them! I gotta get better cause then I can help them be better too. It’s a lot sometimes.” He near tears up his body was just so, so tried out from the stress set over his shoulders.

“Poor turtley-boo...I wish there was something I could do to help.” 

“Ah nah talkin’ is enough-“ finally opening his as he turned to face her now, “Big Mama?” Oh right they were trying to sneak in and steal more of her webs for those damn bugs still out and about in the city. Somehow he forgot in the midst of everything falling apart on them the very second they got into her hotel to even make the attempt at it. Watching how the Yokai went about tapping a finger to her chin you could just see the wheels in the womens mind start to turn and work. And Raph wasn’t sure if he should be twice as worried right now as she had a sparkle come to her eyes.

“Hm...there might be one thing,”

Did he trust her? no hell no at that. Big Mama has given many reasons why not to after all. He was only listening now out of mere curiosity if anything because of how she presented this idea to him. Letting his arms cross over in front of his plastron as she went to speak. “Tell me, Raphie-Taffy, if there was a way I could ensure your brothers were safe, forever, and you’d never have a frivolous worry about them again - what would you do to get it?” 

"no offenses ma'am but also FULL offense but I trust you far less than I can throw Mikey and trust me that's far. Every time we cross paths you give me a lot of reason to know not ta ever trust ya again. So how exactly do you think I can now? I know ya game Big Mama, you make deals then change them so they suit you in the end at the last second. Even if I were dumb enough to make a deal I know you'd double-cross me at the end." Now moving so he was between her and his brothers. Shielding them from here "So why would I even try and listen to you uh?"

[suntrastar]

sink or swim

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

summary: you first meet ransom when meg drags you along to a party. everything somehow spirals from there.

warnings: swearing, smut (but like very vague smut, nothing super explicit), ransom’s general assholery

word count: 9.3k

author’s note: i hate ransom drysdale! he is a shit character! if he existed irl i would whoop his ass with NO hesitation. but i still wrote this fic because ... a bitch gets thirsty okay?? okay. and ik this is very long BUT a lot of it is dialogue so it should flow pretty fast!!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!! ily now enjoy!!! you can also read this on ao3 :)

There’s something fun about being somewhere where no one wants you, and then something shameful. 

Meg isn’t touching you, but as she drags you around her famous grandfather’s mansion in search of people to bother, it feels like she has you on an invisible leash, fastened tight over your neck. To keep you tethered to her- like a fucking dog. 

The leash hurts like it is not made of plastic or metal but instead two hands squeezing tight, wringing you dry, choking you harder and harder and bruising you purple with no remorse.

Now, she’s debating political theory with her douchebag fuck of an uncle, who almost hits you once- almost hits you twice with his cane while waving it around as he quotes Fox News-

Their voices rise. You’re the only one that flinches.

Standing awkwardly on the edge, you wonder why you are the only guest at this terrible party that looks so lost. Meg gives you a covert this-is-total-bullshit glance, and a small, pained, rehearsed smile, both of which you have to return- that’s the real reason you’re here, after all- and her uncle rants on, wholly oblivious.

You look past them both, to where one man stands by himself.

He’s leaning against the far wall, and while Meg retaliates with some of her favorite words, including audacity and bigoted and problematic, you take a sudden, intense interest in the wallpaper pattern, sweeping your eyes over the span of it, looking over the man just once.

He is staring right back at you.

All it takes is his eyes- he’s just staring, but you’re absolutely embarrassed. 

He looks rich, with too much product in his hair and a coat that looks like it cost more than your rent, with loafers that expose an uncomfortable amount of ankle and an expression that morphs into something wolfish as he starts towards you-

Before you can think, he’s joined your little circle- Meg prefers standing, so of course, everyone stands- and smiles when she glares at him. 

He isn’t looking at you anymore.

“So,” he interrupts, and his voice is so dark, “what riveting political topic are we debating tonight?”

You should call an Uber. Why did you accept Meg’s offer of a ride?

“Ransom,” Meg says sweetly, “could you just, like, fucking not?”

This is supposed to be a Christmas party, but none of these people seem to be in the Christmas spirit. Including her uncle, with his stuffy sweater set and clunky-as-hell shoes. He sputters something about young people and their profanity, and then hastily leaves. 

Without thinking, you breathe out a heavy sigh of relief. 

The man smiles wider. Unfortunately, it makes him look very handsome.

”Ouch,” he says lightly, to Meg, and turns to you.

A shiver runs down your spine. 

You hate him immediately. 

“Who are you?” he asks.

For whatever reason, the question makes Meg scoff. She shakes her head at you- a warning. Her hair flounces with the movement.

Because she doesn’t want you to, you give him your name. And then add, because your name alone seems like a title too stripped down, “I’m Meg’s friend.”

It’s hard to convince yourself to be polite, when you don’t like how he’s been looking at you- with his eyes narrowed and brown furrowed and lips parted. He gives an insufferable nod.

“Right,” he says. “The one she’s been showing off all evening.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Ransom-” Meg starts, and suddenly you are so angry, at this man for confirming what you thought was all in your head, at Meg for suddenly swooping in to save you, like she’s been waiting for it-

“I guess,” you say, and smile a little, and regret everything.

“That’s pathetic,” he says, and looks at you kindly.

 Apparently, Meg is the only one allowed to be self-righteous in her annoyance, or anger, or any other mildly passionate emotion. She doesn’t return your covert this-is-total-bullshit glance. 

So you fend for yourself.

“Well, so is this fucking party, so-”

He interrupts you with a laugh. 

It’s loud and arrogant and mirthless, and you’ll climb out of a window, find a way to walk through the walls, if it means that you’ll escape it.

“I’m just joking,” he says, pursing his lips, and the hands on your neck, ever-present, nearly crush the breath out of you. “Don’t get your panties all in a twist.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh,” you say, and instead of replying, he just looks at you.

He looks at you slowly, like he has nothing better to do, like he has time to waste. You can smell him- some cologne that’s spicy, and expensive, and Meg is staring at you in shock, like you’ve committed a crime. 

But she’s quiet.

“I’m Ransom,” he says, and raises his hands to make little air quotes, which is weirdly adorable in a way that you hate, “Meg’s ‘asshole cousin’”

“Weird name,” you say. 

You’ve changed your mind- you’re not even going to attempt to be nice.

For a second, he looks furious.

It’s attractive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Anyways, I’m about to ditch. Do you want a ride?”

How does he know you came here with Meg?

He was staring at you from the wall-

From his butterscotch-colored coat with its awful, ostensible lapels, he pulls out his car keys. The BMW logo flashes silver and blue, clashing against the gold of his pinky ring, clinking against the metal as he twirls the key ring around his finger-

For a second, you think that he’s about to toss the keys across the room and command you to fetch.

“Um,” you say, uncertainly, irritated with your own restraint, “Thanks, but Meg will-”

“Meg will what?”

He’s mocking you, and there is no one to come to your rescue. 

Hesitantly, like she has to think twice about it, Meg opens her mouth to say something. What is her problem? What is your problem? Why are you treating her like she is your saving grace? 

You talk before she gets the chance. “Okay, yeah. A ride would be great.”

***

Ransom offers because he likes your face.

You’re better-looking than the girls that Meg usually brings along to these parties, or maybe his standards have fallen- he isn't sure. Does it really matter? Even though he’s been looking at you all night, even though he’s positively thrilled to have you in his car, he’s not going to try anything.

There’s something desperate in your eyes that compels him against it.

You inhale sharply when he turns left. 

“You forgot your turn signal,” you say, and he kind of likes how you chastise him, not angrily or even upset, but just exasperated-

How is someone like you friends with someone like Meg?

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, and the tired glare you give him is enough to make his entire week.

Now that he thinks about it, his mother is always on his case about things like this- compassion and civility and basic human decency, and how he lacks it all, but what about now? He’s taking a miserable girl to her home, simply from the goodness of his own heart, with no strings attached. 

This is such a good deed- this is like charity.

His mother is also always telling him that he’s severely, almost clinically narcissistic.

He definitely is, but again, does it matter?

“So, what do you think about my family?” he asks, making a big, dramatic show of using his turn signal before swerving right, feeling too pleased when you smile. 

He steals a glance at your knees and somehow feels guilty.

He’ll have to do something about that.

“They’re pretty... lively,” you say hesitantly, and he’s suddenly hating the dark, this stupid fucking night- he’d like to see you better.

“Lively,” he repeats, and barks out a laugh. “They’re fucking crazy.”

You laugh, too, a real one- off-kilter, and too loud- none of that artificial shit he heard at the party. Nothing meant to please.

“I was definitely thinking that,” you say. He catches you looking at his hands, but boldly, you don’t look away. “I just didn’t want to be rude.”

“Now you’re worried about being rude?”

“I’m in a car with a strange guy I’ve never met before, so yeah.”

You’re smiling but look uncomfortable, and then afraid.

All bark and no bite- you’ve been talking all this talk, when really, he realizes, you’re so washed-out, so faint, like the bare sliver of moon out in the sky, the same weak moon he’s been cursing out. The same stars, too- you are just as scattered.

You look pretty.

“Are you scared?”

He keeps his eyes on the road because he thinks you’ll snap at him if he doesn’t. Not like anyone drives out here anyway- not like he can’t pay off a ticket or two or five-

“Should I be?”

There is something so delicious about this moment, with you starting to worry- he can’t look at the road anymore, not when he can watch your throat bob as you swallow instead, and it still feels so violating, but so good. 

“Nope,” he says, and you startle when you hear him say it, and he has to bite his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “No need.”

“Great,” you say, and go quiet. 

When he pulls up to your apartment complex, not too far from where he lives, he holds his mouth in check. He could say so many things right now, but for you, he restrains himself.

You have your bag in hand, seatbelt off. From the streetlight, the planes of your face look waxy yellow.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say. 

Your hand is on the door handle, nails glittering. He can’t make out the color of the polish.

While looking at it, a sudden urge overcomes him.

And he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he wants to, so bad. It’s borderline frantic, the desire- it’s necessary and all-important and crucial, for him and his basic peace of mind, and maybe for you, too-

Who is he to deny himself?

“Wait,” he says, even though the door is open and you have half of yourself out the door. 

The cold is slowly seeping in, bone-chilling.

You wait.

“Let me just,” he says, and can’t bring himself to say anything else.

He reaches out for your waxen face with one hand and presses it firmly against your cheek.

Under his touch, you shiver. He fans out his fingers to hold you better. 

Your eyes are wide. He thinks you look a bit horrified- horrified with yourself for not resisting, maybe.

But he closes his eyes as he leans in, so it doesn’t matter.

He turns your head for you, a bit forcefully. You don’t protest.

He kisses your cheek.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, you’re staring at him with your mouth in a perfect circle.

“Uh,” you say, and suddenly look away and out into the night, and it makes him angry, even though it should be flattering, “Merry Christmas.”

*** 

You don’t think about Ransom as much as he probably would have wanted- life picks up too fast.

In the last days of the year, Meg calls you and texts you and even goes so far as to send a few emails, but finally, you seem to have found the self-respect to not respond- consider that ridiculously wealthy bridge burned. 

In January, your brother leaves to study for a semester abroad. All the walls in your small apartment are suddenly looming, standing high over you, standing empty. You try to shove off the loneliness by studying harder, by staying distracted.

In February, you have the same dream nearly every night- you’re sitting outside on a porch in the sun and for some reason there’s a bird on your head, and in your lap there’s a clock whose hands don’t work, and you’re wearing a heavy necklace made of gold links that jingle, and you’re so happy. 

Does the bird count as company?

In early March, while you’re watering your plants, your phone rings with an unknown number. 

You shouldn’t pick up unknown numbers.

You pick up.

“Hello?”

“Remember me?” 

His voice nearly gives you whiplash.

It’s dark and harsh, faceless and yet as arrogant as ever. 

“Hi, Ransom,” you say, and think of the night in the car for the first time since, think of how he gripped your face so hard that his ring left an imprint. “How the hell do you have my number?”

“Meg gave it to me,” he says smugly. “She says hi.”

You wonder what Meg thinks you did to her. It’s obviously something bad, something terrible, if she so willingly gave your number to this pretty-faced, pretty-voiced, ugly-coat-wearing asshole-

“Awesome,” you say plainly. You don’t want to talk about her. “Do you, like, need something, or-”

“I want to take you out,” he says.

You laugh and your grip on your pitcher slips, sloshing water over the edge.

“You’re joking.”

He is, right? 

He takes an impatient breath that, for some reason, sounds inappropriate. “I’m serious.”

“Ransom,” you say, slowly, “I don’t even know you.”

“Then get to know me,” he says testily, and you can perfectly picture him, sitting in some colossal brownstone his parents bought him, while a butler daintily dabs the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “Tonight.”

You’ve overwatered your marigolds. 

Has his voice really swept you this far away?

“No,” you say, and shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “No fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “You have anything better to do?”

You don’t, but you take a deep breath and prepare yourself to lie-

“I’ll treat you good,” he suddenly says, and his voice is low and sticky-sweet, dripping with honey. “I promise.”

He says it in a way that makes your knees weak.

You physically have to sit down- he knows how to get what he wants.

Could you actually do this?

Could you go out on a date with a crude, pretentious, trust-fund piece of trash, who probably thinks you’re easy, who’s only calling you because he’s bored, who has already subtly insulted you twice in this conversation alone-

-who got your number from his cousin that you both decidedly dislike, who kissed your cheek like you were pretty in the dark of the night, in his cold car?

“Fine,” you say. “Take me out.”

***

He doesn’t tell you that you look nice- he just stares.

There is something predatory in his eyes.

You’re out on a Wednesday night with a bad man, wasting your time, trying to get something out of nothing, smiling a fake smile when he orders you a drink you don’t like, already irritated with him, and trying too hard to stop looking at his face.

How are you actually interested?

You tell him that you’re in medical school.

“Really,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you. “You don’t strike me as that kind of girl.”

Underneath the table, you clench your hands for some sense of control, but still feel like you’re spinning. “What kind of girl?”

“Smart,” he says, and picks up his drink. The glass sweats beads of condensation, wetting the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t know you were smart.”

You shouldn’t dignify his flimsy insult with a response- he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, trying to make you roll your eyes or scowl or shiver. He wants you unsettled. 

But the moral high ground is, unfortunately, too high.

“And I didn’t know that you’re such a terrible date.”

His teeth gleam white when he smiles. He knows.

He knows that he can say whatever the hell he wants, because he has money, and those eyes, and that insufferably nice rich-boy hair, and that sweater with its charmingly frayed hems, and that voice- he has everything, and then some, and he’s about to have you, too, if he keeps on looking at you like he already does.

“You’re so sweet,” he says. 

“Fuck off.”

He winks and you could cry, you’re so fucking bothered-

You’re not usually this uptight, but he has you so drastically wound up that every little thing he does, even how he’s sitting- body sprawled, manspreading- is fire licking up on your skin, scorching-hot and ruining you with no remorse, like you have done something to deserve it.

When his eyes trail down, from your eyes to your mouth to your neck to below, you are so acutely aware of wanting him that you feel guilty. Like it’s a crime.

***

You don’t seem like the type of girl to fuck on the first date. 

So, of course, Ransom tries to fuck on the first date.

As you stand outside the restaurant, in your dress and strappy sandals, you look so tense that he wants to laugh.

 He can’t help it, because this whole thing you have going on- this weariness you approach everything with, this attitude- is so funny. Maybe, in any other situation, it would be irritating, but he’s been so bored lately that it’s stirring.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asks, quietly, taking a step closer to you so that at this very moment, under the waning sun, you should be able to just lean up and kiss him-

You blink slowly and keep your silence.

This is fucking tedious.

This should be so easy- all he has to do is settle his hands somewhere soft and let time pass, and then before he knows it you’re there and under and begging. But he can’t bring himself to touch you just yet, not when his head is calling you pathetic, and his heart calls you-

His heart just calls you.

You start to answer, and then hesitate. All five stages of grief flicker over your face at once- denial to acceptance in the same breath. 

“Sure,” you say, unevenly, desperately-

When you step inside his house, your eyes go wide. As you take it in- the decor, the windows, the excess, he locks the door behind him and takes you in.

You step further inside, and he thinks of where it would be best, but then your eyes crease as you smile- it’s impossible to wait when your smile looks like that- and so he backs you right into the closest wall, cups your face with both of his hands and kisses you.

He kisses you and you curl your hands over his shoulders and immediately kiss back, and he is taken aback and delighted. 

And he knew- the entire time at dinner when you were making eyes at him like you couldn’t believe that you were actually sitting there, present in that moment- he knew that secretly, you’re a freak. He knew it- he knows it.

He hopes it.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispers, right into your mouth, when your heart has been beating right into his for a while, “Let me fuck you right here.”

You bite his lip.

He takes a hand away from your face and reaches under your dress fast, rucking it all the way up your thighs, trailing up to touch you-

“Fuck,” you gasp, and arch your back up against the wall, and he grips you a little tighter-

He presses a finger into you- pushing aside your underwear and, good grief, you’re already wet- harshly, and pulls away from your mouth, so he can watch your face. 

The lines creasing your forehead look like poetry.

He thinks he likes you. It’s a shame he had to meet you through Meg- it would be nice if he had met you somewhere else, on his own. 

That way, he’d be able to waltz in one day, to another insipid family gathering, with you tucked under his arm. You, with your promise of a medical degree and your strappy sandals, and your iron grip on his shoulders and your drawn out breath of a moan-

The looks on their faces would be priceless.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and he’s a little irritated at how cracked his voice sounds, but it’s the right thing to say- you swear again and he picks up his pace, pressing hard on your clit. “If you’ll be good to me.”

“I’ll-” you say, and you’re actually stuttering, and breaking out into a lovely sweat, still forced back into the wall with his hand and body. He leans closer, so he can’t tell where you and him and the wall start and end. “I’ll be- fuck, Ransom-”

You still have your arms wrapped around him, like an embrace. He keeps one hand between your thighs, your dress pooling over his arm like water, and uses his other to work at his belt buckle.

This is also funny- you stay exactly how you are, even though at that moment, there is nothing holding you back.

***

The world is begging for you to consider your actions.

But you don’t. You know that when he offers, you’ll meet him again.

It should be too late. You’re exhausted, from a day full of lectures and an evening spent in a lab, working as a professor’s research assistant, and then studying for a few hours in the library- all you really want to do is sleep. 

But then he calls.

The night is suddenly brimming with possibility, and you’ve never been more awake.

On a whim, Ransom suggests ice cream, and because you can’t bring yourself to deny him, you end up at a place that you would never go for- where everything is handmade and served in thick paper cups with multicolored plastic spoons, but he pays, because of his stupid ego or fragile masculinity or whatever the hell, so you don’t care.

He stands next to you as you order, and his shoulder keeps on brushing into yours. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. In the glass shield that the tubs of ice cream sit behind, you’re both reflected, your body warped and tall, his body warped and taller. In the glass, his eyes meet yours.

The tension is strong- it’s only a matter of time.

Your heart flutters.

When you sit, he bumps his knees against yours- you’re sure it’s on purpose, now, but you don’t say anything. What even is there to say? 

That you like it? 

When he digs into his ice cream, the plastic spoon- a green one- snaps in his hand.

 And because you’re so caught up in your own ridiculous thoughts, before he can go back up to get another, you pull your own from your mouth- a pink one- and offer it to him.

The proposition makes him smile.

Why does he smile like that? Each movement, each twitch of muscle is so perfectly detached and coordinated- it’s violent. 

But he still takes the spoon from you gently, with a soft hand. 

He’s too pretty to be mean, you think, but against any type of judgement- not just the better kind- you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You let yourself laugh and he scowls. 

“This place sucks,” he says, like he isn’t the one who chose it.

He adjusts the womens’ scarf he’s always wearing, carefully arranging it over himself so it looks like it was carelessly thrown on. The blue in the paisley print brings out his eyes- it makes him look so stupidly hot that you start to get angry.

You just shrug. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

He puts your spoon in his mouth and looks at you.

Again, the night ends at his place- this time on an actual bed, because you ask for it, and you think he likes how you look when you ask for things in the current state state you’re in-

He fucks you in the dark, and swears into your ear, and is not kind or soft in any way, but after he finishes, he takes the time to kiss the spot in between your breasts, and you think that maybe he isn’t entirely horrible. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, and his mouth is always hot.

You leave without a word.

***

He takes you out this time, in a real, urgent show of wealth- he picks you up in his fancy car, takes you to a fancy restaurant where the numbers next to the fancy menu items are all appalling, where he spends the whole time making these awful, unfunny innuendos that still manage to rile you up, because they’re coming from his mouth-

On the way back, while waiting at a stoplight, you take a deep breath and brace yourself before looking at him.

He really is gorgeous- all lazy grace and harsh angles. The light colors his face red, red in his eyes and in the plane of his cheekbone and in the slope of his mouth- like a beautiful warning sign. His hands are carelessly draped over the steering wheel and, despite the warning, you reach out and trace a finger over his knuckles. 

His whole body jerks.

You quickly draw your hand back.

“What?” he asks sharply. He’s staring at you like you’re crazy.

You don’t know why this is suddenly so fucking embarrassing, all you did was touch him- but you suddenly feel terrible, and-

“Nothing,” you say, with the same tone, and whip your head away from him to the window, where you smolder in the dark and furiously stare at nothing.

The light turns green. He takes his foot off the break and all but slams it on the gas pedal, driving as atrociously as ever, looking over at you for a split second when you don’t protest. The blood rushing in your ears is too loud for you to think- you can’t form any words.

Once it subsides, marginally, you add, “Sorry.”

His jaw tenses.

You look back over at him, at his ring, and imagine it pressing into your neck.

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” he suddenly asks- suddenly demands, with a blazing authority that makes your stomach do flips.

You don’t know what answer he wants. “Um, one time I snuck out of-“

“Let’s do something crazier.”

On an abandoned road, he pulls over, and then you’re under him in the backseat- doing something crazier. 

You might have some type of psychic tendencies, because his ring presses heavy into your neck as he pushes himself inside you, starting at a bruising pace, and then he says your name in the dark, and he looks so beautifully flushed, startling when you grab his hair, laughing when your hand accidentally skims his thigh, smiling when you come-

You wish you had the resolve to put an end to this.

You wish you could stay when it’s over.

***

You don’t like his house.

It’s not the brownstone you imagined, but rather a huge, minimalistic box, with too many windows and spotless paint and modern wood fixtures. Ransom has all of these customary rich-person things, including stately furniture and eclectic art pieces and tall shelves stuffed with books, but owning any actual personality has escaped him.

Standing in his house feels like standing in an empty room- it’s all so apathetic.

Still, you show up when he calls.

You haven’t done anything this bad before. 

But there’s a first time for everything, right? First time for enjoying bruises and biting and an unwavering grip on your neck or hips or waist or thighs, first time leaving something so intense so awkwardly.

Each time is worse than the last, with the awkwardness spiraling, accruing beyond reason, and each time you struggle with what to say- even now, you just do your best to stay quiet as you start to get up, reaching for your clothes-

Ransom drapes a heavy arm over you before you have the chance.

“You can stay,” he says flippantly, and then shifts to pull you close to him, so that you are suddenly lying bare-backed against his chest, so that his sweat-slick body and heartbeat imprints itself on your skin.

Is he asking?

You crane your head over your shoulder to get a look at him.

He returns your stare like he’s been waiting for it. 

His face is still flushed pink and a lock of hair hangs low over his forehead, and if you were any braver, you would comb a hand through it, gently, with no real intentions. He’s breathtaking. Even the new, foreign purple under his eyes is a sight- pretty like something you would want to kiss.

“You want me to stay?”

He rolls his eyes and tilts his head back. You would lick the sweat from the divots of his neck, if he asked you to.

“Or leave, if you want. I could care less.”

He cares

You know it because his grip is unwavering, because the terseness in his eyes is enough to make you look away.

Eventually, you settle a hand over his arm and try your best not to tremble. Ransom mumbles something under your breath- you can’t make any of it out, but you don’t ask him to repeat it, for the fear that it’ll upset this fragile bedroom balance you’ve so painstakingly built yourself into-

He wants you to stay. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, because you don’t think he is.

He inhales. You feel his chest against you; it’s shaky. You wonder, for a second, about who he might actually be, underneath the arrogance and egotism and constant need to be an asshole- is he someone you could like without feeling bad about it?

“Yeah,” he says, and throws his other arm over you, so that he is holding you. “Why?”

There isn’t a genuine bone in this man’s body, but he genuinely sounds confused.

It’s possible that you’re the one who isn’t okay.

“Because,” you say, and take a great leap of faith- holding your bare heart in your hands, you turn to face him.

You’re fully exposed and subjected to his gaze- it’s nearly eviscerating. His eyes dip down to your chest and something like insecurity flares in your chest. It’s awful and terrible and you urgently want to kiss him on the lips.

He always kisses you first. You don’t know if you have it in you to kiss him yet. 

You wouldn’t ever try, in case you don’t.

“You look kind of tired,” you say, and his eyes bore into you with a sinking weight, threatening to drown. One of his hands finds a blooming bruise on your skin and lightly presses. He doesn’t react when you wince. The action is still kind- almost tender.

He sighs, and it is such a delicate breath, fanning hot over your skin. 

“I’m not tired,” he says, almost childishly.

You might be overstepping. But you don’t even know where the lines have been drawn. 

“Okay,” you say, and because you would not dare kiss his lips, you lean close and kiss his jaw instead.

He startles and then gives you a crooked, lazy smile. He is everything good, you think- for this one moment. Pretty and soft-handed and made of glass and honey and all other lovely things.

You tuck your head in the crook of his neck and wrap an arm over his, tight, so he knows you are there, and hope for the best.

***

In your spare moments, you’re always thinking.

Ransom knows this because of how you look when you do it- your brow furrows and your eyes go glassy, and you frown with an intensity that he has never seen on anyone else.

It happens when you finish a sentence, when you have no response for him, when he is still talking but you’ve stopped listening. When you think it’s quiet.

It never happens during sex- is it pathetic to take pride in that?

As he stands in your apartment for the first time ever, you look like you’re in near-despair, like your thoughts are wreaking havoc on your mind, destructive and distressing. You wear basketball shorts and a college sweatshirt and glasses.

He didn’t know you wore glasses, and that you looked like this in them- he’s been missing out.

“Hi,” you say, and stare at him with troubled eyes.

Your apartment is so small. He almost feels claustrophobic, standing in here. When was the last time he willingly stood somewhere so small?

The lengths he’ll go to, for… 

For you, he supposes.

“Hi,” he says, and wonders, also for the first time ever, what it is that you’re always thinking. “Why do you have so many plants?”

On the windowsill, with even spacing in between, sits an entire row of glass jars housing plants- all singular flower stems, some budding, some in bloom. The petals of a marigold brush against the window, orange against the grey outside. It’s cute, he absently thinks, in a struggling, shabby type of way.

“It’s just something I do for fun,” you say, sounding irritated. “Like, a hobby.” 

Infringing on the living room space is a small table, cluttered with textbooks and pens and an open laptop with its screen dark.

It still baffles him that you’re smart.

“So,” you start, and cross your arms over your chest. He feels kind of offended, because he’s just realized that he really only knows a handful of things about you, and even that handful is sparse, slipping through his fingers. “Why’d you want to see me?”

He called on impulse. 

He’s just- he’s in what someone could call a mood, where he hates everything and has the intense desire to ruin something, and while he was thinking of how to fix it- beyond just getting wasted- he thought of you.

And when he called, you were sounding so tired and so he even said he could just meet you here, so you wouldn’t have to drive, so you could squeeze in a few more minutes of studying before he inevitably invades your mind-

Easily, he deflects. Nearby, there’s a hallway with two doors, one of which is tightly closed shut.

“What’s in there?” he asks, and points towards it.

You relax, slightly.

He wants to gather you up in his arms, but he doesn’t know for whose sake- his or yours?

“That’s my brother’s room,” you say, and your shoulders slump, and he resists the urge to pull you upright, and the urge to gawk. Brother? “He lives with me. But he’s studying abroad this semester.”

“Where?”

“Prague.”

He nods. This is a stiff, perfect, shocking distraction. “Nice city.”

You nod distantly and head back to the table to put your things away.

“Yeah,” you say, after too long of a pause, as you start to cap pens and set them aside. You look at him as you do it, and so you miss a few times, accidentally drawing dark lines of ink all over your fingers. “I’m glad he got to go. When we were kids, he was obsessed with wanting to travel- he had this entire map in our room, and he would draw stars over every country he wanted to visit, and there were, like, a hundred of them, and he could list every single one, in the exact order he wanted to visit, and he could even list the capitals- I’m sorry. You probably don’t care about any of this.”

He doesn’t.

Or, he shouldn’t, but your eyes are clearer, and as you neatly stack your textbooks in an order only known to you, he is almost intrigued.

He’s longing for you- when you are right there.

He feels like a person outside of himself, when you look at him and smile tiredly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

There’s a cheesy ‘90s horror movie you find after a few minutes of channel surfing, complete with terrible special effects and edited-out profanity. The days are longer, now, and to stop the sun from casting a glare over the screen, you close all the blinds. It adds to the atmosphere, you say lightly, fully phased out of whatever just possessed you, and his hands are so itchy- itching to do something.

He sits. Patience is a virtue, but he is not virtuous, and so when you sit next to him and bring your knees to your chest, making yourself small, he goes to-

Something in his stomach stops him. 

It’s butterflies- is he actually nervous?

This is so fucking infuriating.

You’ve got him trapped in some type of pain-and-power-play, some type of unassuming purgatory, and all he can bring himself to do is lightly brush a hand against your shoulder. You smile at his touch and his heart fucking breaks.

As the second boy in the friend group gets murdered onscreen, you close your eyes and duck your head into your knees.

“Tell me when it’s over,” you say, voice muffled.

“Scaredy-cat,” he says, even though this is no time for jokes. 

You crack one eye open, looking only at him, and give him the finger.

Come here, he almost demands. The butterflies protest- he holds his tongue.

The dance continues. When the sun sets, everything darkens, settling into a dim blue. You look like something out of a painting. Faintly sad, unusually serene. The skin around your eyes has smoothened- you’ve stopped thinking so hard and he can suddenly breathe easier because of it-

And then there’s a jumpscare, and he shouts, “Jesus!”

The murderer has broken down a door, and all of the remaining characters are screaming, and you burst out laughing.

He’s in the middle of a crisis, and you’re laughing.

You lean into him as you laugh, with your head turned away from the screen and your eyes open, looking at him so fondly that he suddenly feels violated, and you let your shoulder brush against his.

“Scaredy-cat” you tease, and it’s absolutely now or never-

You’re making him weak- it takes too much time and effort for him to draw an arm over you.

You don’t flinch, but he is sure that you can hear his heart beating dangerously fast, without abandon, like it's trying to break free of his ribcage. He almost gasps when you come even closer and lightly kiss his cheek, wrapping your arms around him, and his head is just saying yes yes yes-

Your mouth goes over his ear, lips ghosting over skin. He waits, more scared than he’s ever been in his entire life, for what you have to say. 

***

So this is Ransom’s deep, dark, ugly secret.

He likes to be cuddled.

If it were anyone else, you would laugh.

But it’s Ransom, and so you just take it in stride, as part of his extremely fucked-up psyche that is probably a result of a hundred things he’ll never tell you- childhood trauma and neglect and the consequences that come with having more money than you need or deserve.

He’s always talking, always talking shit, always talking over you and over everyone else, and you realize, one day, that he really only is treading water- he’s only focused on staying afloat, speaking whatever he wants, but never actually saying anything.

He’s responsible for his faults, of course. But still, when he smiles in low light or curls his hands over yours so viciously, you don’t know if you should leave, or if you should just stay and pity him quietly.

You’re starting to like him too much to even care.

He starts coming around more. And he actually stays, and starts leaving pieces of himself behind. He has a toothbrush next to yours and a phone charger on his side of the bed and imported, undoubtedly expensive snacks in the kitchen.

He leaves clothes, too- you wash them with yours and keep them, neatly folded, in your closet.

On a warm day in May, he meets you at a cafe.

He does most of the talking, like always. It’s been months, already, but you still find it difficult to start conversations.

You still have trouble telling him certain things without feeling like you have to defend yourself, and he still rarely deviates from being a total dick, even when you hold him or have his head in your lap, when you make him laugh or when you kiss him.

Or when you put your hands in the sleeves of his sweaters and rub your palms against his forearms, because he’s always running warm and your hands are always cold. 

He always acts like it annoys him, jumps when your hands meet his skin- but you know he secretly likes it, because whenever you’re done he pulls the hems all the way over his hands and looks at you with something amazed in his eyes.

With the weather warming up, he’s ditched the sweaters and taken to wearing these awful fucking short-sleeved button-downs, all unnecessarily tight and showing way too much collarbone. He’s making you sweat.

“You’re staring,” he says, and smiles, self-satisfied.

You bring your straw to your lips and shake your head. “I’m not.”

He knows that you can’t help it- he is always so gorgeous. He’s infuriatingly pretty.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, and nudges your foot under the table, voice suddenly low, and it’s like, holy shit-

You bring your drink down and lean over the table, careful to avoid knocking anything over, and kiss him quickly.

He tastes like bitter coffee.

You’re sad, all of a sudden.

When you settle back in your seat, you clear your throat like nothing happened. You want to lean in again and button up the rest of his shirt, and kiss him again. You want to come so close that your noses touch, and then yell at him, just for being him.

He looks appalled

“What was that for?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever done this.

“No reason,” you say. “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like it,” he repeats, and it’s like the same reaction from the night at the stoplight, and you realize-

He’s dumbstruck.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it disappears. He sets his jaw like he’s about to get up and leave. You try not to scowl, even though you feel like you’re drifting, tide carrying you away, sand clean and smooth on where your body once was-

It gets to you.

“Can I not just kiss you?” you snap harshly, glaring at him with a ferocity you don’t think he’s ever seen.

It’s inevitable- the result of months of frustration. You can only suppress yourself for so long. Why, you want to ask, why are you not entitled to him the way he is to you and everything else? Can you not ask for him so wholly?

He flinches.

Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire, flinches.

It brings a small sliver of satisfaction with it. There’s some nerve you’ve struck, and the discontent on his face is steadily growing- 

You pay it no mind, drinking the rest of your iced coffee in calm silence. 

Outside, the day is vaguely summery, where the sun is out and strong, but still too cold in the shade. You stare past his head, towards the door. How quickly can you leave?

“You can,” he says quietly, when you’re rising to throw your cup in the trash. “Whenever you want.”

His eyelashes are so long- they command a moment of attention all on their own when he blinks- soft and slow and gazing at you from underneath them. You wonder if he is doing this for the same reason you are. If he’s lonely, too.

When was the last time you had the dream with the bird?

You smirk. “Whenever?”

He is forlorn. 

You like him better in the spring.

“Whenever.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, and make your voice low, since two can play at that game.

He considerably perks up. 

*** 

When you wake up, he’s still in your bed.

Lately, he’s been spending more time at your place than his. You think that all those windows are finally starting to get to him.

Ransom always holds you fiercely in his sleep. You break free as gently as you can and take him in for a brief moment- you like how he looks when he’s asleep. Unconcerned, chest rising slow with each breath, hair splayed over the pillow in nearly every direction. He almost looks innocent.

You get up quietly, even though there’s no chance he’ll stir- he sleeps like the dead.

Daylight filters through the blinds in white-yellow streams, dappling him golden. 

You almost take a picture, but regretfully leave the room for other tasks- you stretch and water your plants and check your email, and then sit down at the table to Skype your brother.

He picks up fast.

“Hey!” you say, and at once feel so much relief, to see his grainy, smiling face on your laptop screen.

Europe has done him good- he’s grown out his hair, and his skin is glowing, and he looks so happy.

He tells you about what he’s been doing lately, studying architecture. It makes you so proud, this fact alone- that unlike you, he can do whatever he wants and doesn’t have the looming promises of debt and academic burnout and crushing, ever-present stress hovering over his shoulders. It is so good to see him, and you are so grateful that he can be who he wants to be, do what he wants to do-

“Holy shit, who is that?”

He’s looking past you. You turn around and almost jump- 

Ransom stands in the kitchen, shirtless and rummaging through the cupboards. He waves at you.

You would think that someone like Ransom would exclusively sleep in, like, silk pajama sets, or something, but at least he’s in sweatpants- however low-rise they might be, however loosely knotted the drawstring is. It’s better than nothing, at least- what if he had walked out in nothing?

When you turn back to the screen, you catch a glimpse of yourself in your camera feed- you look absolutely mortified.

You are absolutely mortified. This is the start of what can only be a nightmare.

“Are you dating that guy?” your brother asks incredulously. He’s still staring at Ransom with his jaw hanging loose. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” you say forcefully, without thinking. “That’s, um... “

Hopelessly, you gesture back towards him, trying to come up with the words. Nothing feels right in your mouth- every title you can come up with is too consequential, too heavy.

“...That’s Ransom.”

“Weird name,” your brother says, and grins.

You take a breath that feels more like a gasp. “I know.”

“Hey,” Ransom says, from the back, and continues to loudly open and close the cupboards- what the fuck is he even looking for? You don’t keep enough shit in there to warrant this much noise- he’s doing this for theatrics.

“I think I’m going to go,” you say loudly. “Love you.”

“Bye,” your brother says, and he’s grinning stupidly, like a madman.

You disconnect and feel like you might faint.

Not your boyfriend, right?

“Was that your brother?” Ransom asks, casually, finally finding what he was looking for- two mugs. There is no way that he didn’t come across them earlier. 

“Yeah- yes,” you say shakily. It feels like someone has filled your brain with fizzy water.

There’s a few boys your brother has met over the years, but you’ve always been careful. Because an introduction is like making a statement- it’s like saying that this person you’re with is important enough to you that they’re going to overlap, exist in more than just one part of your life.

But Ransom is a catastrophe of a person- you can barely handle him as he is. How could you ever have him as anything more?

He goes through the cupboards, again, and finds a box of teabags. “The one studying abroad?”

“I only have one brother,” you snap.

“Okay,” he says, totally unbothered, surprising you. He’s not a morning person in the slightest- why is he being so cordial? “Where do you keep your kettle?”

“Second cupboard on the right,” you say, and bury your head in your hands.

He looks at you. He is so many things, but never kind, until now. His hair, in its adorable bedhead, flops over his eyes. Before, it was only almost, but now, you think, he looks completely innocent, like the type of guy you could give kisses without feeling nervous, the type of guy you wouldn’t deny as your boyfriend.

What is wrong with him?

What is wrong with you?

At the end of the day, he’s always there- you’re exclusive, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough to deserve a title?

He finds the kettle, and then sifts through the box. He sorts through different flavors with a gentle precision you’ve never seen before- is this really him? Is he the type of person that is gentle and precise?

The uneven smattering of blue-black bruises on your thighs say no.

You’re so confused that your head hurts.

“None of these flavors are any good,” Ransom says, and shakes his head. His hair shines in the morning light. “Earl Grey- who the hell drinks Earl Grey?”

“Don’t insult my tea like that,” you say, and he looks back at you and gives you a brilliant flash of a smile.

If he’s bothered at all by your denial, he never brings it up.

*** He’s too far gone.

He’s in freefall, feeling weak- he’s fucking succumbed.

To you. To your comebacks and the world-weary gaze you have of everything, to your nonsensical collection of plants and your painfully unattractive basketball shorts, to the way you laugh too loud and too little, to the way you say his name, where he can never tell if you’re happy with him or exasperated-

It’s wrong. 

But, he thinks, so are all of these other things, like drugs and alcohol and blowing money on shit he doesn’t need- and you make him feel better than any of those things ever have, so why should anybody have a problem with it? A week goes by after you tell your brother that he isn’t your boyfriend- and it doesn’t bother him, because he’s never wanted that title in the first place, never has- but it obviously bothers you. 

You’re disappointed in yourself, because you think you’re supposed to be better than him, because you’re so smart and he is so terrible.

He hopes that that’s not how you actually think. It hurts him to0 much to even consider it, and so he doesn’t, and so he thinks of how to keep his hold on you, and then he thinks of why he even wants to-

The truth is too apparent to deny.

After a week, he calls.

***

He’s very slow.

Not tired- just consumed with the sudden need to savor things. When you let yourself into his arms, Ransom treats you like you’re fragile.

“What’s up with you?” you ask, and as he stares, your voice reduces to something small. You go timid when his eyes are on yours, he realizes, and the thought sends a thrill through his body- he slowly rocks you, to calm himself.

Your shirt is off and you wear a bra with a small lace trim- not racy, but very cute- and he just keeps on staring.  

Wow, he thinks. He fucked up good.

“Nothing,” he says, and moves one hand from your waist- he has you in his lap, straddling him- up to the top of your neck. He trails down and over to your collarbone, hooking a finger into your bra strap.

You laugh, breathy and indecent.

He lifts it, subtly, and you whine, and he bites back his own.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, and kisses your neck. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Ransom,” you gasp, with your hands splayed over his back. He slowly skims his hand over, to your back, feeling every little thing, dip and contour and curve, everything- and then unhooks it, and you are bared to him and he is breathless.

He takes you by the shoulders and twists, to bring you down, to pin you against the bed. Your comforter is dark blue, like ocean water.

Your eyes are endless, like ocean water.

“Are you upset about something?” 

Your chest rises and falls and he almost reaches for the waistband of your underwear, but stops himself. He presses a wet kiss to one of your breasts, and you arch into his mouth. He feels like you know every single secret of his, when he has told you none.

You know by accident that he’s ticklish. That’s it.

“I’m not,” he says. “I promise.”

He bends low to kiss down the length of your body, repositions his hands to hold your waist. He thinks that this is more intense- it is just his mouth and your skin and the sound of your breath hitching.

He still has it put together, remarkably well- unfathomably well.

“I feel like there’s something you’re- ah- not telling me, honey.”

That does it.

He grips your waist harder, in the way he knows you always like, so that tomorrow he will be able to retrace his steps, follow the blue-

“Say that again,” he says, and presses a soft kiss over you- even through your underwear, with its delicate lace trim, he can feel how wet and wanting and ready you are for him.

“Say- fuck- say what?”

Your hand flails, for a second, before you thread it through his hair, and yank. It hurts, pleasantly.

He hooks his fingers into your waistband and shimmies it down your thighs, and you instinctively spread your legs. He puts his mouth to your slit, slicker than he imagined, and the heady arousal rushing through his mind- and everywhere else- is nearly enough to make him forget what you even said-

He is quite possibly drunk off of you alone, and he wants to slap himself, and, like, press you so close into him that you forget your way out.

With the spare glow of one lamp, you look like you’re made of gold.

He breaks away from you for a terrible moment to strip, and with one hand he teases your clit, and with the other he pumps himself, hard, once, twice, three times in anticipation-

“Don’t make me ask again,” he says, and comes back up to cup your face once more, and slips his hand back down into you at the same time, with his cock hard against your thigh- this is all quite slippery- the game you’re playing at and the risk he’s trying to take-

“Honey,” you say, and you’re smiling deliriously, but shakily. “Honey honey honey.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, and his voice, in a moment of terrible, vulnerable, unspeakable betrayal, cracks. 

“Good,” you say, but your voice is all wobbly as he lines himself up and roughly pushes into you, holding you a little tighter to keep you steady. “You deserve it.”

He kisses you openmouthed, with his teeth scraping- it’s rough and jarring, the way you always take it. Against his mouth, you swear incoherently, stringing together a litany of curses with his name thrown in between, and goddamn him- it makes him smile.

He wastes no time- he can’t be patient any longer, not when he has you under him like this, and so he goes fast, snapping into you at a bruising pace and keeping his mouth close, and rubbing at your clit, to overstimulate you and make everything faster, harsher, more immediate-

When you come you always say his name, thickly with gravel in your voice, and gasp like the breath has been stolen from your lungs. This time, when you are so far gone that he thinks you’re beyond the realms of sound, and sight, too, with your eyes tightly screwed shut, he says it, for the sake of himself.

“I think I love you-”

[ignitification]

at this point d.ku saving shiggy would just feel hollow. of all these 10 solo d.ku chapters he hasn't had any emotional or mental development/understanding. Like d.ku just isn't where HK's writing shines. Not giving him any tragic backstory may have seemed like good subversion at the start but rn my emotional attachment to his growth/lack of it is just at an all time low. And yass way to make another pro hero look infantile due to MC-armour. Istg as soon as any character interacts with either en.dv or d.ku they take negative infinity in power, potential and likeability. Even the vestiges went down on the likeable scale. Also, these chapters were deserved more by literally any other character.

I'd begin addressing your last point anon, and by saying that while on one hand I agree with you, on the other I really understand that on some level (except physical) these chapters are needed for two reasons. First of all, because BNHA has picked up at ‘intense pace’ which translates into a lot of stuff happening all at once (It took us 285 chapters for Bakugou to admit that he cares about Izuku, and then we got in the span of 20 chapters Touya’s reveal, Mr. Compress face reveal, Mirio is back, BJ is alive, Todoroki’s backstory, Tartarus breakout, the name of the 1st OfA User, Izuku dropping out of UA, Overhaul and Lady N - just to name a few), which consequently means that we are fast approaching the final battle (excluding the Traitor affair, the grounds for the last arc are all already in place) of AfO against Midoriya, which bring me to the second point being Izuku, as also confirmed by himself, would not be able to save Shigaraki and also destroy AfO in the shape he is (or rather was, when leaving the hospital), meaning that he needs an upgrade of his abilities, and he needs it quickly. These chapters, unfortunately, are exactly that: a boring build-up needed in order to show us Izuku’s progress in managing OfA. Therefore, while I do agree that it would be nice to have other characters (from which we haven’t heard from in ages, like Toga and Bakugou), I also sadly understand why exactly we are at a halt in terms of ‘story progress’. And this is mainly due, as you pointed out, to the fact that Izuku is definitely not where HK’s writing shines, not in the slightest. 

Izuku’s main flaw is that he does lack some sort of baseline growth which in his case should translate into less hero worshipping and more concentration into his rightful mission of wanting to change the status quo (by saving the villain). HK planted the seed, and at some point it feels like he forgot to water it, and while still holding the principle (on some level, as we saw in his fight with Muscular), it still feels very superficial for something that should be the main goal and more interesting lapel of the manga? I totally understand how someone would feel dejected when faced with this characterisation, especially if the character in question is the Main Character, the story is ending and he STILL appeals to the only thing which caused the entire problem. 

As for me personally, I am still very much attached to Izuku and the Vestiges (because nowadays they represent an interesting development in the Quirk area, in a scientific and symbolic aspect, which I’d like to be explained and explored more, but let’s be realistic - this is a shounen and fans eat this content like famished lions just because it is content, with no critical thinking whatsoever), but I do admit that sometimes I feel frustrated because my main issue with BNHA is how is actually treats its victims and the way people feel attached to toxic traditions (and in particular Izuku’s attachment to the notions of hero as represented by AM, and his will to copy him in the slightest detail). This is even more evident for Endeavour, who seems a catalysis for bad decisions and just a cluster of condoning actions which would not be accepted if done by anyone else, and a lot of crap justifications about themes like violence and abuse, and the implicit lack of consequences each of these actions have in the manga (because preoccupied with more important things, sure - but I think a line would be enough).

Nonetheless, yeah - Izuku should have shown some kind of advancement (not Quirk-wise), but instead in a way to contrast Gran Torino’s view and the example set by older heroes, but instead we get a team up with those same heroes, with Izuku as a bait (which, very much is a problem for both him because he still disregards himself, and the heroes who accept this condition voluntarily) and now that they get separated and Izuku is fighting the possibly only threat (besides the remaining villain at large - and because I really cannot define Lady Nagant as a villain, more like an anti-hero) and he is still winning? Where is the realisation that maybe, even with his Quirk - what Izuku is missing is actually the experience of the pain and grief of this world, which he should have acquired since he appositely left UA? I would agree that until Izuku reaches a level in which he can admit to himself that heroes are not what this world needs, but instead a more inclusive and less-Quirk based society (and the fun fact here, is that he himself is a victim of that and instead he just lets it happen because he is selfless that way) which does not allow loopholes in terms of bad behaviour and where villains are not villains by default when they spur on a bad action, but instead can be guided on a different path - since no such injustices exist in the first place, it would feel very superficial and forced for him to save Shigaraki. It would be seen as a duty, he is forcing himself to make because he consider himself a hero, instead of the contrary and that he is a hero because he decided to save Shigaraki. I hope this can change in the next few weeks, and a good first step would be to have Izuku being overpowered by Lady Nagant - finally showing Izuku that weaknesses are real and that he is still human, and that there is no concrete rule by which someone could be judged as weak or strong (especially if we talk Quirks), and then finally brought forward to AfO, so we can see how he reacts to a. Overhaul; b. AfO; c. ShigarAfO. 

I do not want to hope too much, but at the same time there are reasons for which I am still holding a candle for that. I hope this helps believing, even a little, that hope for a better narrative is still possible. Thank you for the question and thank you for reading.

[m-y-fandoms]

Vampire Nagito Komaeda x Ultimate Monster Hunter reader - Part 2 (Supernatural AU)

Part 1 

WARNINGS: Blood Drinking, Vampire Bites

Please excuse any grammar mistakes. I think I got most but I edited this at 5 A.M. ... I will go back over it and scan for errors soon.

- Admin Kokichi

     Hours passed since your unfortunate encounter, and your heart and mind had finally shaken off the creeps. After finishing your little self-guided tour of campus, you headed to the Main Course dorms to find your room. Your luggage was arranged to come later that evening, but you wanted to see the dorms for yourself now with little else to do. 

      Once you shut the door, the warmth of the sunlight gave way to a wave of the best air conditioning money could buy. The place looked very clean and tidy, with nothing out of place save for a few displaced balls and plastic cups atop a pool table and what appeared to be forgotten lecture notes on a shelf above a central fireplace. This must be the common area, a lounge for the most deserving students in the world!

     Behind the fireplace on either side were two sets of pretentious-looking stairs that led up to what you assumed were the actual dorm rooms. You searched your pocket for your student key card. You flipped it around over and over again in your hand, searching.

     “What?” You weren’t going crazy, were you? Neither floor nor room number were indicated on your card. You pulled your phone out, quickly sifting through emails and texts. Nope. Nowhere, at any point, had the housing department told you exactly what room was yours. Way to drop the ball, Kirigiri… you sighed, finding this situation both a bit humorous and exasperating considering the status of the school.

     Well, you were a last minute transfer. There were bound to be slip-ups.

     Sighing, you resigned to sit, relax for a few minutes, then call the housing department, or simply walk over to the main office building if it was still open.

      "Maybe I'll just..." you decided you'd earned the two minute break and walked leisurely over to one of the beige leather seats. Sitting, you set your chin into your hand propped up by your elbow on the arm of the chair, and began to think of how much you missed your tools. School regulations didn’t allow poisons, crossbows, guns and silver bullets inside the dorms... for obvious reasons. Even students of the blade or other offensive disciplines had to keep all sharp and lethal objects in their practice rooms and out of the dorms (not that all of them followed these rules). Students were allowed to customize and adjust their uniforms according to their talent, but you couldn’t even do that, what with all of the tools of your trade being lethal or unexplainable to the ignorant masses.

     It felt weird, not having a wooden stake strapped to your ankle, not having wolfsbane hidden away in a compartment on your belt. You felt out of place, without knives and rune-inlaid whips hidden on your person... uncomfortable. This school really wasn’t for you.

     "Ah, it’s you!" A voice came from behind.

     "Huh?" You gasped, flying up from your seat, thoroughly startled. Your knee banged off of the coffee table in front of it, leaving you feeling like an absolute buffoon. Your hand instantly flew to your leg, and you hissed softly in pain.

     “Whoops! Didn’t mean to startle you, sorry!”

     Your eyes followed the voice all the way up the stairs to its owner. Nagito was scrambling down the stairs toward you apologetically, feeling responsible for your blunder. He reached his hands out as of to offer you his aid, but froze upon seeing you take a step backward. He stopped directly in front of you, clearing his throat before continuing.

     “What are you doing here? You don’t have to start classes yet?” You stared into his eyes, and a tremble ran up your spine. The greenish-grey, glistening spheres appeared icy and far away. “Well?" When you didn't respond, he spoke up again.

     "I uh... um..."

     "You have a way with words, I see, just like when we met earlier today." He teased, laughing warmly. He had one of those genuine smiles, where the eyes exude friendliness just as much as the mouth, and their misty shine entranced you deeply. He laughed again, a bit awkwardly as you merely gawked at him. A light blush formed on his cheeks and he swept some of his cloud-like hair away from his forehead. He held the eye contact, though, searching your mind for something, anything to tell him more about you. You felt a stinging begin, like a migraine forming in the depths of your brain.

      You shook your head roughly, tearing your eyes away from his gaze. How could you have fallen for that one? 

     Vampires could very easily compel the mortal mind, put one in a mind-hazing trance with direct eye contact alone. Being the offspring of one of the best hunters ever born, you were trained to notice when the bloodsuckers made their attempts to ensnare your mind or read it like a book. That headache was your warning sign, the last defense of a disciplined mind, but it shouldn’t have even of gotten that far. 

     You were slipping… why did this vampire feel… different?

     More importantly, you forced your mind to change the subject, how long had he been trancing other students? Was he doing this on purpose? Some vampires simply forgot their own strengths at times. Did Kirigiri know? Is this dangerous creature simply going around unchecked... doing whatever the hell he likes?!

     He coughed, his eyebrows furrowing with a sudden seriousness. He’d been searching your mind, looking around desperately for a clue, a story, a hint, and just as soon as he thought he’d found an interesting page to start reading, the book was snapped close in front of him. He was pushed out in an effort that seemed practiced, skillful. You saw the discontent lining his features, and decided you needed you stop this. You two needed to be on the same page, before he tried anything else on you; something stupid, or more bold. You couldn’t keep up this charade any longer. You had a feeling he was feeling the same way.

     "Stop that.” You spoke sternly, concisely, confidently. He needed to know not to try that shit again, that you would not simply be prey like others, not mentally nor physically. His mouth formed a smirk, one of relief and something like acknowledging the other player in a game.

     “Ahh~ so I see that I was correct after all. Are we done playing pretend now? Awww, I was actually having a lot of fun! It was quite stimulating, actually.” He frowned, pouting like a child called home at dusk after playing outside all day.

     “I’m afraid so. Sorry to disappoint you,” you crossed your arms over your chest defiantly,” and I don’t appreciate my mind being picked and prodded at. That’s extremely disrespectful, you know? That’s none of your business. If you’re doing that to people on the regular around campus, I will inform the headmaster.” You held a finger out, poking his chest firmly and with aplomb, and he only smiled in response, finding this attempt to intimidate him rather adorable. He held in a giggle behind his hand, not wanting to anger you. “Am I amusing to you?” You threw him a cross look, and he held his hands up in surrender.

     “No, of course not! I was just thinking, well... how do you know? About me, I mean?”

     You face went blank. You weren’t expecting this question, though you probably should have been. There was no possible way to answer this honestly. What were you supposed to say? The headmaster forbade you from telling anyone of your true talent. Disregarding that point, what would this vampire do to you once he found out you were one of those sworn to kill his kind? You didn’t have any means of defending yourself at present. You couldn’t outrun him, or fight back with raw strength. He couldn’t do anything right? He wouldn’t… if he were that brash, there’s no way Kirigiri would’ve let him enroll here in the first place. He has to be on excellent behavior to attend Hope’s Peak, right?

     You blinked once, twice. He was waiting for a response, staring patiently. You needed a response, and quickly.

     “W-what are you doing here?” Nice. Perfect.

     “Huh?” His head tilted, taken aback by the curveball you threw his way.

     “W-well you asked what I’m doing here, and you’re right, if I were starting classes today, I would be in one right now. We have the same core classes outside of the individualized training of our talent specialization. I saw the class rosters and schedules! I know you should be in class right now as well!” You were getting louder with every word, feeling very cornered and vulnerable at the moment. If you had just even one weapon on you… just one…

     “Well, uh…” now you had him. You smirked, feeling pretty clever at the moment. “I forgot my books... just my luck haha,” he countered, “So I came back to my room to get them!”

     “Then where are they?” And sure enough, he had nothing on him but the clothes on his back.

     “Hmm… well I came through the second floor entrance,” he gestured over his back “...and I was about to head to my room but I got uhhh… distracted I guess you could say. I really am hopeless.” There was that big, dumb, goofy grin again. Your mind took a second, but then it clicked.

     “...You smelled me…” you spoke slowly, cautiously.

      “Uh… I guess yeah. You could say that. Well that’s exactly what happened, really. I suppose I am glad we ended our little farce! Would’ve been hard to explain that one...” his index finger reached up, scratching at the side of his mouth pensively.

     “You really are a creep!”

     “Yeah, I’m the worst, I know...” Why was he smiling while saying this? “I’m sorry, again. Usually, it’s not like this. Of course I admire our talented peers and am drawn to them as they are pinnacles of hope and the building blocks of the future, but...” he pantomimed through the air grandly, “ I am very conditioned to the human scent. It doesn’t usually alert me nowadays. I dunno… guess the... tantalizing smell of a particularly interesting human was enough to… stir me.” He smirked almost tauntingly. Your eyes widened, but narrowed again immediately. You would not show him weakness. 

     “Stop that.” You scowled.

     “Apologies, (Y/N). Just speaking my mind. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just sort of a disgusting waste of space.” Your scowl melted into a sort of sympathetic frown despite yourself. Did he really mean that? Why would he say that about himself? Vampires were usually more vain on the spectrum of supernatural beings. “I just hold Main Course students in really high esteem, and you’re no exception... actually, far from it. Ever since I met you this morning, you’ve been on my mind more then most mortals… strange...” he seemed lost in his own little world. What? What the hell was going on in his crazy little head? The silence caught his attention, and he seemed to remember you were there as well, looking into your eyes again. He caught himself, making sure to not to make such direct eye contact with you. When he was in these weird moods, he never could quite control his more passive abilities and instincts. “Anyway... yeah, it’s unfortunate that I’m going to be missing part of class now… not that I don’t enjoy the pleasant surprise! I knew there was something special about you right off the bat!" Would he still think that after he knew your true calling? You looked to your right, thankful for the large staircase to escape to. He was giving you unsettling vibes once again. 

     Supernatural beings were known to imprint easily on mortals. Some saw them as beautiful, perplexing, ethereal in their impermanence. Some killed and ate them just because devouring humans, or torturing them until the panicked aura of their tiny, weak souls radiated around the room and feeling that temporary fragility, that adrenaline, was the only way they themselves could feel human. This urge to feel close to humanity was only doubled, dangerously so, in supernaturals who were once human themselves. It was an insatiable need to return to that normalcy, that frailty. 

     Swiftly, you scampered over to the bottom step to put some distance between you and the increasingly imposing immortal before you.

     "Ah, I see. Well, anyway, thanks I suppose. I uh..." you grinned clumsily. “I was just looking for my room, albeit unsuccessfully. You can go ahead and get your books now! I don’t want to hold you up any longer!”

      "I can help! It’s no big deal. The way they get students moved in here can sometimes be confusing. Actually, they put your room number on the student portal, not your card or paperwork, heh! And they don’t even tell you, leave you to find out yourself!” He pulled a large, black rectangle from his pocket, crossing the distance to wave it in front of you like a treat.

     What the...? You patted down your shirt and bottoms alike.

     “Is that my phone? How the hell-?!”

     “Ah, yeah, sorry about that! I swiped it from you when I first came downstairs! I thought it’d help me get to know you better, had you not been willing to divulge the knowledge you have of my kind’s existence.” Once again he was calm, cool and casual whilst in the midst of saying such unusual words. What was this guy’s deal? “Here, you can have it back!”

     “Yeah, I should hope so!” You reached out to snatch your phone from his hand, and it was like time froze.

     The moment your fingertips touched his own in the exchange, your indignant eyes met his, and saw something feral flicker in them. The phone switched hands, and a spark of sorts traveled through your skin and into his. As you pulled back, his hand shot out, taking a tight grip around your wrist.

     Your cheeks warmed up, at once flustered when the atmosphere changed drastically. Your eyes dilated in panic and his lips moved forward, resting upon your hand. He seemed to tense up, a rigidness taking up his entire body. His closed eyes opened wide to match your own and he inhaled deeply of the skin of your knuckles. You pulled away quickly, spooked.

     "S-something wrong? Why are you so weird? I’ve never met any of your kind quite like you." You rubbed your hand curiously.

     “So, you’ve met others?” It was clear he was trying to hold back something deep inside of him that begged to crawl out, his eye twitching slightly.

     “Answer my question.”

     "No, of course not... you just smell... nice, as I said before." He looked away from you, hand extending to guide you upstairs and in the right direction, but your brain was telling you not to go anywhere with him in tow.

     “I- I can find my way myself, but thanks!” You began logging into the Hope’s Peak student portal through your phone’s browser, and quickly looking through your profile to find your room code and number.

     “I insist!” He followed you up the stairs, trailing after your scent like a starved hound. Why couldn't he just get lost? Your thoughts raced anxiously. If you’d had your equipment on you, he would’ve been long dead. He was exhausting, and he didn't feel… safe. “Found it?” he inquired over your shoulder. As you reached the top of the steps, you began to feel your blood boil, but you knew not the true cause of this involuntary reaction.

     Your last little exchange left you feeling foolish and naive. How could you have let a vampire get that close? Why would you let him indulge in the scent of you knowing how easy it was for them to take advantage of humans? You were royally pissed off, and looking for a way to expel that rage, to hurt someone or something the way you were hurting inside.

     “I know you’re a vampire because I kill them. My whole family does. It’s essential to be able to identify one in my line of work. I’d be a pretty shitty hunter if I couldn’t do even that, and you aren’t exactly good at hiding it.” You found your door, swiping your keycard into the extremely sleek, high-tech lock system, and forcing it open a bit too harshly. The frustration you tried to hide in your voice was evident in your actions. Nagito halted, stilled stiff by your suddenly bitter words.

     “Ah,” he cleared his throat, also hiding emotions of his own, “The Ultimate Hunter... it makes sense now.” He recalled seeing your title along with your name on his own school portal. How did he miss that one?

     “Yeah, so maybe you should get lost.” Heartlessly, you began to close the door on him, now fully inside the spacey room that was bare save for a luxurious bed and some basic, modern furniture. “Hn?” A soft gasp left your throat when a polished shoe wedged itself inside the door, stopping you. You looked up, your body filling the crack in the door, and met Nagito’s eyes. There was that far away look again. His eyes were cloudy, tameless, wild.

     “Why must you be so harsh?” His eyes bore into your own now, all inflection and kindness gone from his tone. “I understand you must hate my kind, and now I can appreciate why you reacted so aversely to my voice, my touch, my presence before, but have I done anything to harm you?” You were beginning to get scared now, reaching instinctively for your belt and finding it absent from your pristine uniform.

     “I think you should leave. We obviously aren’t meant to be acquaintances.” You refused to let your voice shake. This might be a turning point, a critical moment. Vampires were never so dangerous as when they knew their prey was afraid.

     “It’s your turn to answer me, now~” Nagito forced himself in the doorway nonchalantly, approaching your slowly retreating form into the middle of your room. You backed away, with him meeting every step.

     “If you must know, you have offended me, yes. Trying to read my mind-”

     “An accident.”

     “Stealing my phone-”

     “A precaution.”

     “Smelling my blood like a pervert, twice!” He smirked.

     “A natural, harmless instinct.” 

     “Even so...” Your eyes were on his own, obviously not focused on his body, and he took this opportunity to reach down, grasping lightly at your hand once again.

     “Even so, what? Those are all petty misunderstandings. Ahhh~” his cold, pointed nose skimmed across the back of your hand once again as he brought it to his face. This time, when you tried to pull away, he held fast, and warning signals flashed in your mind. “Just as I thought! Your scent appeals to me so because you are a shining beacon of hope! I see it now! It’s all coming to me! You protect the world from those of my kind who would seek to destroy it! How wonderful!” His cheek bumped across your knuckles, and you failed once again to pull away.

     “N-Nagito. Stop. This is.... you must consider context. If we weren’t in school right now, if we were just on the street meeting like this-”

     “You wouldn’t do anything~ because I’m allied and protected~” He sung, his eyes twitching again, lids fluttering softly. Your heart dropped into your stomach. He was right. 

     You were trying to resist, but he was making it so damn hard. It shouldn’t be this hard. You found supernatural beings repulsive. Your father did as well. And his father did! They weren’t trustworthy. Their words were always the lies of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. They could charm and glamour weaker mortals with ease and enjoyed it! And you certainly were not a weaker mortal! You found joy in killing them... didn’t you?

     “What you’re doing now is-”

     “It’s strange, hah~ so strange~ I haven’t felt this inspired, this jittery about a mortal in such a long time... haha~ this excitement! I knew it! I knew you were special! You’re the true hope I’ve been looking for! The Ultimate of all Ultimates that will guide our classmates into their roles as the protectors and leaders that will inherit this earth!” He was manic now, inhaling deeply, raggedly onto your skin. One hand crushed your wrist into his own chest, the other held your hand so that it stayed splayed out flat for his access. There was something primal in his eyes. He was quickly becoming unstable. It was a perilous state so common to his kind, but yet it felt still so incredibly unique to Nagito himself, like it was not his immortality but his own character that caused this sudden shift in behavior.

     “Nagito! You sound like a lunatic! Let go, you’re hurting me!” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You were strong, usually able to ignore some measure of physical pain, but the way his fingers dug into your wrist coupled with the consternation you felt at the situation set your nerves aflame. Once again you reached instinctively for a weapon or poison you did not have.

     “Am I? I’m sorry. It’s just... I wonder...” You didn’t like where this was going at all. His chest shook with arousal , a bit of drool dripping from the fangs now on display in his mouth, which hung open in his state of reverie. “I wonder what this this hope tastes like... this pure, concentrated source of unbridled hope!” His voice shook, and you pushed at his chest with your free hand. He didn’t budge an inch. It was like he didn’t even notice your actions. “I know I’m unworthy, that a piece of trash like me doesn’t deserve to taste you... but I feel like now that I’m this close, haha~ I can’t stop myself! Truly, truly it’s a grand misfortune that a talentless, meaningless, soulless abomination like myself even dares to take part in such a feast! But...” He lowered his lips to your wrist.

     “Nagito, stop! You can’t do this!” You began to kick and struggle, to scratch and tear at his clothes, to claw at any exposed skin, leaving marks across his cheek and arms. “If you do this, you’ll lose your protection!” His top lip pulled back, something like a snarl emanating from his throat. Clearly that approach wouldn’t work. “You’ll be expelled!” You tried the next deterrent on your mind. Wow, you must’ve been the worst Super High-School Level Monster Hunter in history. Day 1: fooled into a vampire’s clutches. His inhumanely sharp canines grazed the skin of your wrist, feeling your pulse race beneath the surface. He was entranced; there was no stopping this now. A human, without weapons, without enchantments or defenses, without repellants, bombs, herbs, poisons, silver, or means of healing, was no match for a supernatural being. “Please! Please, you- don’t do this!” a last effort. Why did you even try? These savages never sympathized with begging and pleading. They were killers. You were an imbecile to let your guard down around Komaeda for even a second.

     His fangs sunk deeply into your skin, piercing a vein. You yelped out in pain, pulling at his hair and tugging your wrist back, which only nestled his fangs in deeper. You whimpered, little rivulets of your vital fluid running out of his mouth and down to your elbow. He was moaning in delirium, enraptured in the sensation of your blood running down his throat. You wanted to yell, to scream for help, but something inside you was hesitant and holding you back. Something inside you didn’t want anyone to find out about this, to find you two like this.

     “Mmmh~” Nagito’s tongue swirled around the puncture wounds, his lips latched on like a leech. He drank freely, deeply, seemingly careless of how much blood he was taking. It’d been a long time since he’d felt the exhilaration of feeding from true prey. These days they had him on willing donors and blood bags. Nothing compared to the flavor of adrenaline and fear in the bloodstream, no matter how much he hated himself for indulging in it.

     “Naaagi-t-” You stumbled backwards a step, wishing so desperately that you weren’t such an obedient student, that you’d deemed it justified to slip a stake, a knife, anything under your shirt. Your punches, your willful attacks on his abdomen, and the kicks to his knees began to slow down. They were losing the fight behind them, and yet, you would not give up. “St-tt-oo-” He continued to slurp and suck at your wrist, taking no note of the way you slowly were slipping to your knees. 

     The corners of your vision began to cloud and darken. Your head was ringing, much like a time you’d been left concussed after one of your first hunts. This might as well have been one of your first encounters with the supernatural world, with how badly you’d blundered every step.

     Now on your knees, your head hanging limply down into your chest with your arm raised and pulled taut, trailing up to the vampire’s mouth, you felt yourself slipping. Finally, your vision began to fade for the last time, and you fell unconscious. The last thing your mind registered was the sound of Nagito sighing blissfully as he finally detached from your flesh, followed by the sound of frenzied laughter.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Cheryl//she means everything to me

Request: Can I request a Cheryl Blossom request where the reader is Archie's twin (a girl) and a super close with her brother and his friends so she doesn't like Cheryl but one day she finds Cheryl crying over Jason and comforts her so Cheryl falls for her and becomes like her best friends has her join the vixens constantly by her side and eventually the reader falls for her and like a super fluffy ending please ps I really love everything you write

hey! i had so much fun writing this, you have no idea! its also super gay!

“Well would you look at that, the sad breakfast club have reunited at lunch.” Cheryl’s cheery voice stops all conversations happening and everyone turns to look at her, her red hair blows softly in slight breeze and her eyes twinkle with whatever chaos she’s going to cause today. 

“What do you want Cheryl?” Betty is the first to speak, dropping her fork on her tray as you all wait for her to start her insults. 

“Well, cousin, I actually wanted to see how you were. But however, if you’re going to be like that.” She clears her throat before narrowing her eyes. “Betty, your ponytail is wonky and that sweater really washes you out, your hobo of a boyfriend really needs a bath because well, I can smell him from here, or maybe thats just the ridiculously childish hat he refuses to take off. Archie, you’re hair is so ridiculously bright today, its actually blinding me, and it looks like you’ve put enough product in to drown all the little lice that lives in it, Veronica that dress was popular last season, and the shoes a decade ago, and Y/n, I actually didn’t realize you were here. Like I kind of forgot that you existed for a few minutes. What’s it like in your brothers shadow?” She finishes her little speech with a bright smile and the five of you sigh before starting to eat again. You can never read Cheryl, one day she can be sweet and lovely and want to help, the next she’s the worst person you’ll ever meet. 

“Probably a lot nicer than being in yours...I can imagine Jason’s shadow is particularly cold.” Veronica retorts and your eyes widen in surprise...that was cold, even for Veronica. Archie smiles proudly at his girlfriend and presses a soft kiss to her head while the rest of the table laugh, including yourself, all 5 of you ignoring Cheryl as she turns on her heel and storms off. 

“Lovely talking to you!” Jughead calls after her causing you all to laugh even louder. 

“Will she ever stop being a bitch?” You wonder aloud and the laughing pauses, giving everyone a chance to look at each other for a few seconds before you start giggling again. 

“I don’t think its possible for Cheryl to be anything other.” Your brother replies through a mouthful of sandwich and you nod in reply. 

-----

“Do you wanna ride Y/n?” Archie shouts across the parking lot as he gestures to the truck behind him. Veronica is already in the passenger seat scrolling through her phone and you so desperately want to go with them, even if they’ll do gross things in Archie’s room until your mom gets back from work, but today apparently is not your day,

“If I’m not back when mom gets home tell her that I haven’t been kidnapped or murdered, I’m just going to be late because Cheryl set her Vixens out for revenge and they’ve stolen my bag so I get to play a fun game of hide-and-seek with all my stuff.” You huff, blowing a piece of hair from your face as your shoulder slump in defeat. The fact that you could be spending up to a few hours extra at this stupid school actually hitting you, and Archie gives you a sympathetic look in response to your frown. 

“Do you need some help?” He offers but you shake your head. You don’t want to drag him into this, plus you can imagine the Vixens are already planning what they’re going to do to him and the rest of your friends, so you may-as-well give him some peace while he can get it. 

“Nah, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I was always the best at finding things when we were younger.” You shrug. “Plus, you don’t want to keep your girlfriend waiting.” You nod towards Veronica who’s hanging her head out the passenger window. 

“I suppose not.” He replies, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks back at his girlfriend and you can’t help but feel a little sad. You’re glad Archie and Veronica have finally worked everything out and are madly in love, but a small part of you feels left behind. 

Practically all of your friends are in relationships or are dating, leaving you to be the odd one out at literally any get together. However you have very limited options when it comes to dating, there’s not a lot of queer girls in Riverdale, or even the surrounding towns, at least not a lot of them are out and the ones that are you don’t really like that much. *cough* Cheryl *cough*. And no matter how hard your friends try to set you up with someone, they always seems to pick the worst people. No matter how many times you tell them what your type is. 

Three weeks ago Veronica set you up with a girl who came into Pop’s a lot and the only reason she went on a date with you is because she liked Veronica and wanted to know her ‘deal’. Which you can imagine she was very surprised when you told her she was dating your twin brother...yikes. 

Maybe you should join a convent. Or get one of those apps that Kevin uses, but only weirdos...and Kevin are on those types of apps. And do they even have them for gay girls. 

You ponder your options as you walk behind the bleachers, humming a song you heard in the car this morning as you go. You’re also trying to figure out how to get back at Cheryl and her minions when you hear sniffling coming from a little further ahead of you. Stopping in your tracks you look up and towards the noise to see none other than Cheryl Blossom crying by herself. Thankfully she hasn’t seen you yet and and you quickly look around to see how far your escape is. You're about to turn on your heels when the nice side of you decides to show up, unfortunately. 

God, why do I have to have a conscious.  

You take a deep breath and send a prayer to literally anybody listening that she doesn’t bite your head off, before you slowly make your way towards the red-head. 

“Cheryl?” Your voice shakes with uncertainty and as soon as she hears someone say her name her head lifts up and she’s wiping the tears from her eyes, a look of distain taking over the previous sad expression. 

“What do you want Andrews?” She spits and looks you up and down.

You decided to ignore her tone, and try to keep your nice one as you continue your conversation. “Are you okay?” 

“Just fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest and her jaw locks as she looks away from you. 

“Are you sure?” You ask and sit on the floor a few feet away from her. “Because, you don’t seem it.” 

“What’s it to you anyway?” She snaps and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re right. It is none of my business.” You sigh and stand up, dusting your jeans off once your stood. “I hope you feel better soon.” 

“Y/n?” She calls after you and you huff before turning around. “I’m sorry.” Your eyes widen at the words thats just come of of her mouth and you need to sit down.

“What?!” Your jaw drops and she rolls her eyes at you. “Did you actually just apologize to me?” 

“Yes, but I can take it back if you want.” She mutters and you force a smile away as you sit down beside her again, this time a tiny bit closer to her than before but she doesn’t seem to mind, instead your pretty sure she shuffles a little closer to you too. 

“Sorry.” You mumble and a small smile appears on her face. 

“Did you just apologize?” She mocks and you giggle a little. 

“Okay, I deserved that.” You nod. “Do you want to talk about why you’re sat on the floor behind the bleachers after everyone has gone home, crying?” 

“Well, when you put it so delicately, sure.” She replies and you send her a look. “I miss Jason.” 

“Oh.” You say and look at the your hands. You’re not really sure what to say to that. It’s not like you can bring him back, or even take away her pain. As much as you don’t like her, Cheryl’s been through an awful lot. Far more than anybody else and you can’t help but feel slightly sorry for her. 

“Yep.” She take a quick glance at you before deciding to look straight ahead. An idea pops into your head and you sit up a little before looking at her. 

“What do you miss about him?” 

“What?” She furrows her brows as she looks at you and you take a deep breath before explaining. 

“Well, in my experience...it kind of helps to talk about what you miss about them. Because it doesn’t push away the fact that they’re gone, and it also helps me remember the best bits about them. So even though it always stings, overall it makes me feel a little better. If that makes sense?” 

“Yeah.” She nods and you can tell she’s thinking about what you’ve just said. “I get that. That was surprisingly insightful for you.” 

“Thanks.” You laugh and she giggles a little. “So what do you miss about him?” 

“I miss...how he always used to tell me stupid jokes whenever mom or dad had been mean to me or if they’d argued.” She smiles a little at the memory, despite the sad undertones and you can’t help but think how brave Cheryl actually is. “And how when we were younger we used to share a room and he would always tell me bedtime stories. Usually after my mom had come in and told us scary ones. As soon as he’d hear her walk down the stairs he would slip out of his bed and climb into mine and tell me magical stories, usually involving the two of us. We’d be superheroes or we’d live in a caste and we’d be happy.” 

“Thats sweet.” 

“Yeah. He was. He was just the best. He always looked after me, no matter what. None of his friends were aloud to make fun of me no matter how old we were, and when I didn’t have many friends when I was younger he’d make sure I never felt lonely...he was a good person.” 

“He was yeah.” You nod in agreement. “When I was about ten, he was playing football with a bunch of his friends and I was walking past them, trying to get away from them as soon as possible. He ended up throwing the ball and it hit me right in the end making me fall over. And instead of laughing, he ran over to me and he said sorry while helping me up. Then he took me to the nurses office and waited with me until my dad picked me up.” You smile flickers for a moment at the mention of your father and Cheryl seems to pick up on it, placing a gentle hand on your arm making you smile a little. “If that was any other boy, they would have laughed. But no, he helped me and I think that sums up Jason perfectly.” 

“Yeah. It really does.” She looks at you properly, for what is probably the first time ever and she feels her breathing quicken. How was she ever mean to you? Your eyes are sparkling in the sunlight as you talk about the very few memories of Jason, and she has to fight the urge to cry. Nobody apart from her brother has ever been this nice to her, and after Jason’s death, nobody really said anything nice about him, they usually just talked about the theories surrounding his murder. 

A soft smile dances across your lips, the corners of your lips curled upwards and she feels herself mirroring it. Your hair blows a little in the slight breeze and you tuck the stray bits behind your ear, leaving the rest to fall around your face. She giggles when your nose scrunches up at a particularly gross part of a story involving puke and a swimming pool and she frowns when you stop laughing, due to a sad part in a story that also involves your father. She just wants to wrap her arms around you and forget about the entire world and all of the horrible things in it. 

“Did that help?” You ask and she nods, a sweet smile on her lips as she looks at you. 

“Yeah...thanks.” 

“No problem!” You reply, a bright grin on your face and she feels her heart flutter at the sight. She’s never really seen you smile like this, and even if she has caught a glimpse of it, its never directed at her. She feels like she needs to go back in time and right all of those wrongs because she needs to see you smile like that more often. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly were you skulking around the bleachers in the first place?” 

“Oh. I was looking for my bag.” 

“How’d you lose a whole bag?” She laughs but when she notices you looking at her, your eyebrows raised, she remembers how you could lose a whole bag. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” 

“You can make it up to me by telling me where it is.” You nudge her shoulder and she grimaces. 

“Yeahhh. About that. You’re not going to like where they put it.” 

“Where did they put it?” You narrow your eyes at her. 

“The bin...in the cafeteria.” 

“Damn.” You sigh. “Well, I suppose it needed a wash anyway.” 

“Sorry.” She sighs, looking at the floor. 

“Its fine.” You grab her hand and she looks at you surprised making you pull your hand away (much to her disappointment). “I kind of deserved it. What Veronica said was pretty harsh and I didn’t say anything.” 

“No, no. You didn’t say it, you didn’t say anything actually. I was really mean to you and you just took it. I’m so sorry.” 

“If it makes you feel any better I did call you a bitch after you left.” You shrug and she looks at your surprised. 

“You know.” She stands up and dusts her skirt off, offering you a hand afterwards. “That does kind of make me feel a little better.” 

“I’m glad.” You grin and let her pull you up. 

“I can help you find your bag and then give you a lift home...thats if you want to.” She trails off at the end, she never feels nervous, but suddenly you’re making her more nervous than she’s ever felt before. 

“Sure.” You nod. “You can tell me more stories about Jason if you want.” You ask and its only now that you realize you’re still holding her hand. You mumble a quick sorry and let go before starting to walk away. “You coming?” You look back at her and she swears her heart actually skips a beat as she stares at you, the sun behind you makes you look ethereal, and she’s always believed in angels, but its only now that she’s actually seen one. 

“Yeah.” She nods. “Y/n?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think anybody could forget that you existed.” 

especially not me...not now

-----

“Did you find your bag honey?” Your mom asks as you walk into the kitchen. 

“Mom. You’re back early.” You smile awkwardly at her and then to Archie, who’s stood on the other end of the kitchen with a worried expression on his face. It doesn’t take you a minute to figure out Veronica is upstairs and he’s trying to sneak her out. 

“Well, yeah.” She nods and takes a sip of coffee. “I was finished my work and I wanted to spend time with my babies.” She pinches your cheek softly making you roll your eyes. Archie is still looking towards the door and you can hear the slight creaks of the floorboards as Veronica tries to sneak down the stairs. 

“I-” Archie is about to practically shout over the noise but your mom puts her hand up in the air, effectively stopping him. 

“Just tell her to come down. She can stay for dinner if she wants.” She shakes her head and sends you a quick smile making you giggle. 

“Right. Yes. Okay.” He nods and quickly makes his way to the stairs. There’s quiet mumbling before Veronica appears by his side in the doorway of the kitchen, both of them with sweet smiles as they look at your mom. 

“Hi, Mrs Andrews.” Veronica waves. “Hey Y/n. Did you find your bag?” 

“Yeah. It was in a bin.” You shrug and they all look at you. 

“Honey, why would someone do that? Do you want me to call the school?” 

“Its fine mom.” You shake your head. “Its just Cheryl and her friends.” 

“Well we should talk to someone. They can’t go around putting people’s belongings in the bin. The law clearly state-” 

“Mom.” You interrupt her as you sit at the table. “Its fine. She was actually very sorry about it.” 

“What!?!” Both Veronica and Archie’s jaws drop while they look at you wide-eyed. 

“Cheryl was sorry?” Veronica asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah.” You shrug. “She helped me look for it.” 

“Yeah. I don’t believe that in the slightest.” She replies. 

“Definitely. She’s got something planned. And its big.” Archie agrees. 

“Or she could just be being nice. That does actually happen you know.” You reply and he laughs sarcastically. 

“Yeah, I don’t think she knows how to be nice. Why are you even defending her? Earlier today you asked if she would ever stop being a bitch.” 

“Archie! Language!” Your mom scolds and the two of your roll your eyes. 

“That was before I had an actual conversation with her instead of insulting her. Which is what you do.” 

“I don’t insult her, Veronica insults her.” He replies.

“Archie!” Veronica slaps him arm lightly and he mumbles a quick apology. 

“Yeah, but you don’t do anything to stop the insults.” 

“Neither do you.” He retorts and you cross your arms. 

“Well, I’m doing it right now s-” 

“Okay!” Your mom shouts instantly shutting everyone up. “Thats enough. We’re going to have a nice family dinner and we’re going to enjoy each others company. Now stop shouting at each other. And say sorry.” 

It takes a few seconds and a lot of glares and huffs but eventually you say sorry to each other and Archie sits on the opposite side of the table of you, followed quickly by Veronica. 

“Do you like Cheryl?” He mouths while your mom is plating up the food and when she isn’t looking you make sure to kick him under the table, earning a death glare from him. 

“God no.” You huff, scrunching your face up which makes him laugh. 

maybe a little

-----

“Here comes the she-devil.” Jughead mumbles quietly and you all look in the direction that he was nodding to. Cheryl is walking towards your table, with a look you’ve never really seen before. Not one thats directed at your friends anyway. She looks happy. A lot different to how you found her yesterday and you’re glad she’s not as sad, a smile really suits her. 

“Oh god.” Veronica mumbles as she takes a sip from her drink. “Hey, did we tell you where she hid Y/n’s bag yesterday?” She asks, lowering her voice as Cheryl gets closer and Betty and Jughead shake their heads, leaning further towards her. “In the cafeteria bin.” 

“Gross.” Betty scrunches her face up. 

“Thats just unhygienic.” Jughead adds.

“You’re telling me.” Veronica replies. “Mrs Andrews had to wash it three times to get the smell of the soup out.” 

“Ewww.” They laugh and you send them a quick glare before looking at Cheryl. 

“Greetings fellow students.” Cheryl stops in front or your table and the laughter stops. You swear you can see a flicker of sadness flash through her eyes and you decide to quickly change the subject. 

“Cheryl!” You smile brightly at her and the sadness you thought you saw disappears completely. Its not everyday that somebody has been this happy to see her and she decides to grab it with both hands. 

All night she was up thinking about you, thinking about how she could have gone so long not noticing you, and how she needs to make sure everybody notices you. Everyone needs to know about you. Y/n Andrews, the girl who could take some of Cheryl Blossom’s sadness away, something that has never been done before. 

“Hi Cheryl.” Betty greets her and she forces a polite smile to look at your friends, making it a little bigger as she looks at your brother. 

“Hi.” She replies. “Can I sit?” She’s now looking back at you, pointing to the seat beside you and you nod, quickly moving down so she can sit beside you. Archie huffs as he’s pushed off the end of the table and he quickly grabs a seat so he can sit back down. 

“Are you feeling any better today?” You voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as you ask her a question and she can’t help but fall a little more for you, because you didn’t shout her business, not like everybody else does. You made sure only she could hear you. 

“Yeah.” She nods. “Much better. I still miss him, but it doesn’t hurt as much.” 

“I’m glad.” You smile. “Anyway.” Your voice is louder and the quiet mumbles from your friends have stopped. “Can we help you with anything?” 

“Yes actually! Y/n, how would you feel about joining the Vixens?” Her smile is warm and kind but the words that have just come from her lips make your bold run cold. Your friends look at each other before looking back at you and you can feel yourself getting hotter and hotter. 

“I don’t know Cheryl.” You start, your voice nervous as you try and find the best way to let her down gently. She’s only started being nice to you but you’d rather stick forks in your eyes than be a cheerleader, not with them anyway. They’re mean and rude and they think they’re better than everyone...but you’re not going to say that to Cheryl, so instead you decide on something a little nicer. “It’s just not really my type of thing. Plus, I don’t think they really like me.” 

“Can you imagine, Y/n as a cheerleader.” Archie chuckles making you and Cheryl roll your eyes. 

“Whats wrong with being a cheerleader?” Cheryl asks and crosses her arms. 

“Yeah, Archie. Or are you forgetting that your girlfriend is a Vixen?” You add and Cheryl sends you a small smile which makes your head feel a little fuzzy. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being a Vixen. But Y/n being a Vixen is just funny.” 

“And why is that dear brother?” You raise an eyebrow and he gulps. He mumbles a quick ‘nothing’, before going back to eating. 

“I really do think you should at least try-out. I think you’ll be great. Plus, if any of the girls say anything, which they won’t, they’ll have me to answer to.” She explains and you think about it for a minute. Would it be really bad to be part of the school’s cheerleading squad. The reasonable part of your brain is saying, more like screaming, yes its the worst idea in the world. But the slightly less reasonable and the slightly more gay part is screaming hell yeah. Surrounded by wonderful, smart if not slightly intimidating girls...plus, Cheryl!

“Fine.” You give in. “I’ll try out.” 

“Yay!” She claps her hands excitedly before standing up and brushing her hair over her shoulder. The small gesture has you mesmerized and you have to force yourself to remember where you are in order to regain all your thoughts, the number one being, ‘what the hell was that about?’ “I’ll see you after school! Goodbye Y/n.” She waves at you before starting to walk away and its only when Betty clears her throat that she turns around again to wave everybody else off. 

Your brother decides to wait until she’s out of earshot until he starts talking again, and the first thing he says is something that doesn’t really surprise you. 

“Y/n and Cheryl, kissing in a tree.” He teases, making a kissy face and you throw a handful of food at him. The rest of your friends let out the laughter they’ve been holding in and you roll your eyes so hard you swear they’re going to fall out. 

“How old are you?” You huff. 

“Old enough to see that Cheryl fancies you.”  

“Shut up!” 

-----

Cheryl didn’t just fancy you. 

She liked you. 

Actually she was head over heels, doodling your initials in a heart, mind goes fuzzy anytime she sees you, in love with you. 

And you? Well, you were none the wiser. 

You just thought she was being friendly. Maybe more than the average person but Cheryl hasn’t had many close friends so maybe this is the only way she knows how to keep them. 

She’s holding your hand? She just wants to make sure you know you’re not alone. Her hugs are a bit longer than normal? Come on, the girl deserves a long hug. She always finds a way to include you in conversation? She’s just being sweet. 

Yes, Cheryl Blossom was becoming a slightly more bearable person, and it only seemed to happen when you were around. Leaving everyone to have their own conspiracies. 

Archie’s was of course that she was in love with you. “Yeah right. Like that would happen Archie.” 

Veronica’s was that it was one long prank to get back at everyone who’d hurt her. “Veronica, thats just sociopathic.” 

Betty’s was slightly less weird, that she probably just wants to make a friend and so she’s being overly nice to fool people into thinking she hasn’t got a heart made of ice. “Thats just mean.” 

And Jughead’s was that she’d either been possessed by a poltergeist. “Aren’t they supposed to be mean?” Or, that she’d been taken over by aliens. “I think they’d have better things to do than make Cheryl nice.” 

Plus there was all of the other ridiculous rumors flying around school, but she either seemed to not hear or just ignore them. 

“Y/n. Are you even listening to me?” You’re pulled back down to earth by Cheryl waving her hands in front of your face. 

“What? Yeah. Huh?” You ask and she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I was talking you through the routine for Friday. You know the whole reason why we’re in the gym after school.” 

“Yes. Yes. I remember.” You stand and she shakes her head, despite the smile thats threatening to ruin her facade. 

“Okay.” She stands beside you. “Are you watching?” She asks and glances at you, a smile making its way onto her face as she watches you go over the steps in your head. Your frowning slightly at you try to remember the steps and she can’t help but giggle a little as your arms start to move to. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Ready?” 

“Ye-” 

“Good.” She nods. The music starts and she begins to go through the steps, you following a step behind her. However half way through you get distracted by the way she’s moving and then it hits you. 

I’m in love with with Cheryl Blossom. 

“Shit.” You mumble and she turns around quickly. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I erm. I just got a bit distracted. Sorry.” 

“Its fine.” She smiles brightly. “Lets go again, I’ll help you this time.” 

“You’re already helping me.” You reply and she rolls her eyes. 

“I’ll help you even more.” She hits your arm lightly and your heart goes hay-wire at the small interaction. “Stand there.” You do as she says and the next thing you know she’s stood behind you were her hands on your hips. 

“Wha-at, are you doing?” You stutter, your breathing getting quicker with each second. Her perfume is suffocating you, but in the best way and her breath is hot on your neck as she leans over you a little. 

“He-helping.” She replies, also stuttering a bit and your swear you hear her breath hitch when you move your head to look at her. Your lips are millimeters away from hers, and if you leaned in just a little more you’d be kissing her, something you really want to do right now. You wonder what her lips would feel like against yours, how soft they’d be and if her lipstick would stain you, forever leaving a mark on you. “Y/n?” 

“Yeah?” Your eyes flicker up to meet hers and it feels like she’s staring directly into your soul. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Absolutely.” You reply and within seconds her lips are on yours, her hands gripping your waist tightly to turn you around. What you thought kissing Cheryl would be like, and actually kissing Cheryl, are completely different. Her lips are softer than you could ever imagine. Her lipstick tastes like cherries with a hint of maple syrup and you don’t think pancakes are ever going to taste the same again. 

You both pull away, a bright blush on both of your faces and she giggles a little as she wipes the lipstick from the side of your face. But it doesn’t matter, she left a mark on you that day behind the bleachers, and you don’t think you’re ever going to be the same again...not that you’d really want to be. 

[cosmiclatte28]

Pretty Boy (KaiSoo)

Kaisoo one shot! 

Based on this pic 

"Get out Kim Jongin! For the last time, I warn you to run before you regret not doing so," a man in his sixties stresses each warning while swinging his golf drivers. Kim Jongin sinks to his knees, he begs with all his might for his father's forgiveness while praying with all his might he can dodge the strong swing his father did. His face has had enough bruises from the painful strong punches his father flew to him earlier. He has to admit, as his father gets older his punches got stronger and his ring stings more. Jongin closes his eyes before he got lucky, the powerful blow missed and hit mother's favorite flower vase. The young boy closes his eyes when he sees the glass shatters along with his last hopes of staying in this house as the second child of the wealthy Kim family.

His brother, Kim Junmyeon, is trying his best to stand still behind his father; though his heart is screaming 'stop' and as much as he wants to jump and protect his brother, Junmyeon knows better to never interfere his mad father. Junmyeon saw the puppy stare from his little brother and for the first time he has to let Kai fight for himself.

"Leave now! You are no longer a part of this family. Take only what you are wearing and leave!" His father screams on the top of his lungs. His breaths are short and his eyes are bloodshot.

Jongin for the last time gestures his apologies and pleads. What else can he do to make his father forgive him? Going low as kneeling down didn't shake father's final choice.

Jongin looks around the big living room for help. He feels humiliated from the cold stare from his father's bodyguards. Mother is running into the room from her shopping and she is more than surprised to see the chaos. Her husband is swinging his golf driver, slamming everything in his vision field, on the other hand Junmyeon is busy signaling Jongin to leave.

"Yeobbo, what is happening? Calm down... your blood pressure will kill." the beauty in the house runs to her husband's side. Her eyes widen when she saw the bruises on her son's pretty face.

Mr. Kim brushes her soft hand away and walks towards his second son, who has his eyes on the floors.

"Why is Kai kneeling for you on the ground? Stand up honey," the sweet voice instructs her son to stand. Kai smiles sadly at the realization that his mother is still calling him Kai, his sweet name.

"No! Let him beg. He has caused too much trouble. Today we got another call from the police informing us this person here—" Mr.Kim points disgustingly at Jongin, "—he was called for a privacy harassment case. This guy here is not my child; my child will never bring disgrace to the family. He won't stalk on some random kindergarten student and make her uncomfortable!"

Mrs. Kim seems baffled, she knew Kai isn't as bright as Junmyeon, but Mrs.Kim knows her child is not into younger girls; moreover she loves Kai a tad bit more than anyone else in the house.

"Yeobbo, maybe the people are only trying to get money from the case... I'm sure our Kai will never do that," Mrs. Kim turns her head to see her son, "Right Kai?"

Kai quickly raises his head and furiously nod, "Yes, mother is right. Please dad, believe me... I am not into young girls! They are only playing tricks..."

His father's anger has resided down, thanks to his wife.

"Right dad, we can always take control of the problems Jongin have." Junmyeon takes a deep breath, "Let me handle him. I'll clear his name."

Mr. Kim starts to swing his stick again; he walks to the kneeling man and arrogantly smacks his lips, "Out. Junmyeon will clean your name for the last time—" Kai jumps to his feet and holds his father's hands

"Thank you... thank you so much dad." Kai flashes his grateful smile.

His father glances at him and throws his hands away, "Who said I forgive you? You're still leaving the house now!" He screams to the boy with bruised face.

Kai is stunned and surprised. His dad is not changing his mind about kicking him out.

Mrs. Kim looks at her husband in disbelief when the bodyguards forcefully drag a kicking and begging Kai out of the room and to the gate.

"Take his wallet and phone. It's still nice I let him keep his clothes he has." Mr. Kim instructs his men to take all of Jongin's belongings.

"Yeobbo, you're too hard on him." Mrs. Kim pleads him with tears in her eyes.

"He needs to learn it the hard way." Mr. Kim stares at the closed gate.

"Whoever dares to help Kim Jongin, will not live in peace. Leave that boy alone. How embarrassing." Mr. Kim stomps and turns to head to his office.

"Junmyeon-a," mother cries when she finds her oldest son standing in the living room heartlessly.

"Why didn't you stop your father? Isn't kicking Kai out of this house with nothing except clothes a bit too harsh?" Mrs. Kim rants her frustration into her oldest son.

Junmyeon brings her mother to his warm embrace, "I'm sorry... father is a hard man."

"Will he be alright?" Mrs. Kim wonders. The wind blows softly and her designer perfume fills the air. She secretly lets a tear out, Kai didn't even have the chance to say goodbye. He only has his denim jacket and jeans in the middle of autumn. The wind gushes once more and Mrs. Kim tightens her expensive coat.

"Mother, let's go in, the wind is getting stronger." Junmyeon leads his mother back into the warmth of the Kim's mansion.

Kai was forced out of his mansion only with a jacket and a hungry stomach. He winces at the pain his body felt. His face aches from the punches, his body hurts from the strong grip and forced dragging earlier, his heart broke when he realizes he lost all of the love in his life.

He walks and walks with no direction; the taxis are tempting, but his wallet was confiscated. Kai pays attention to his steps, he hopes someone left a dollar bill on the road, or maybe he is lucky enough to find some coins. He doesn't know what time it is, but he knows it must be close to dinner time as he sees the sun sets and his stomach grumbling harder.

Kai tightens his denim jacket and pulls his hoodie. He walks quietly and aimlessly to wherever his feet lead. He tries his best to remember where his friends live, so maybe he can come and tell them what happen. Maybe they will feel sorry and invite Jongin for dinner and offer a room. Right, Kai feels warm from imagining a nice warm dinner and a comfortable bed.

Countless names run in his mind, he mumbles to himself "Sehun? No too far... Baekhyun?" he thinks for a moment, "Ah a different province. Chanyeol?? Where's his house again???" Kai stops and squeezes his eyes.

He thinks and thinks, "Ah! Right, Chanyeol has just left to America... Yixing is in China."

Kai continues walking under the full moon. He reaches a small mini market with chairs in the sidewalk. His smile pops and his aching feet make its way to the empty chair. He drops his butt and stretches "Aigoo how nice it is to sit." He yawns, "Ah I'm hungry."

Kai fishes his pockets, biting his lips when he finds out nothing is popping up magically in his empty pockets.

Kai buries his face into his hand and reflects on the unfortunate events that happened to him.

The pretty boy is a second child to the Kim family, the richest man in Entertainment industry. Kim Junmyeon is older by three years. Junmyeon was always the brighter one, the one with medals and trophies, the one who wins thousand of girl's hearts, and who always succeeded in love stories; while Jongin is none of that. He is clumsy and innocuous. Jongin enjoys having fun and living his days to the fullest. He did admit he made a lot of problems since young, but they were nothing big. For example, young Jongin loves animal so much that he secretly opened the cage for dogs that were about to be sold to the black market. He did that out of kindness towards dogs. He once punches a kid bullying a blind girl, and he went home beaten and reported for starting fight. Jongin actually did nothing bad, he's just unlucky that people can turn the table over; moreover when they knew He is That Kim's child.

"I'm so unlucky. How can all of my friends live away from me?" Jongin pulls at his hairs frustrated. He comes to a conclusion he has no help today. He slams his head to the table, which was unfortunate since he forgot he has bruises there.

"Ouch!" he wipes the painful area, his hand punches angrily at the table, "How can I forget I'm already beaten up."

"Excuse me, you're not allowed to sit here." A hoarse voice surprises Jongin. Jongin jumps from his seat then looks around confused.

"Where am I? Jongin wipes his sleepy eyes.

The part time worker rolls his eyes, "You're in front of K mart, asleep for a good one and a half hour."

"What? Asleep?!"

"Yes, and please leave now."

"But this seat is not occupied and there are more chairs over there. Why can't I sit here?" Jongin questions the man in uniform.

"It's written there that these seats are only for our customer. We noticed you haven't bought anything and you've occupied the seat for half an hour." The man points at the sign and towards the other tables which are occupied by people who purchased something.

Jongin's eyes double in size, heol he never know the world is this cruel. All his life he only knows what it's like to have power in the house, to not move a finger and still get anything he wants.

"So, please leave before our boss sees you," the man forces a smile and shows Jongin the way out.

Kai changes his sour face and leaves his chair. He takes one last glance and taunted at the store. Jongin has lost his sense of time and direction. After some steps over the houses, he finally reach a district.He mumbles the street sign, "Hongdae"

Kai walks through the outskirt of Hongdae, he is far from the student-life parties and he is far from the festival lights. He's not going to Hondae without money, heol what will his image be.

The tanned man tirelessly keeps his head down as he traces the outskirt of Hongdae. There are small pubs and bars here, but their signs are not flashy and Jongin felt eerie walking here alone. He paces up his steps and keeps his eyes forward. It's not a good idea to walk here alone; although Kai is a man he still feels his body shakes when passing the cold alley.

Between the absent street lights, another young man sways on the road and stops when he found an unoccupied seat on a closed café. He looks around and giggles when he found no one in sight. While mumbling a happy song and smiling, the man with short hair fishes his box of cigarette from his pocket and flicks the lighters on. He bites the stick between his plump heart lips and skillfully lights the small burning cig. He inhales the burning sensation in his lung and blows out the smoke playfully to thin air.

The world belongs to him only for a moment when he adores the street light which he mistaken as the moon.

"The moon is bright tonight, so bright that my eyes are blinded." The man giggles at his own exaggerated words, "How I wish I have a companion tonight." He huffs out a blow of thick smoke and gets into a fit of coughs when he saw a figure walking over him.

He holds his cough and clears his throat once in a cool way, which successfully caught the passer's attention.

"Hey pretty boy," his deep honey voice did make the passing man's shoulder jump, "It's dangerous to walk alone at night."

Jongin looks right and left and saw no one is there except him, he questions himself, did he hear it right? Pretty boy? Surely that's not him right? But there's no one else except him and that guy who called him.

"Yes you man in hoodie." The caller brings his cig away from his lips.

Jongin points at himself, "Me?"

The tipsy man rolls his eyes and smile. Jongin notes how sweet that smile is under the moonlight. How unfortunate it is that he is drunk and smoking buds.

"You're alone sweetie?" he runs his eyes through the bruised man here, from the clothes and the smell of perfume he sure comes from a wealthy family, but why is he here alone, beaten up, and looked lost.

"You smell funny." Jongin closes his nose; even from this distance it is noticeable. He hates the smell of alcohol and smoke. Voila this man here has both smells.

"I'm sorry, you're drunk. I shall go." Jongin runs his eyes to the road. Why is there nobody in sight... he steps back and gets ready to continue his journey, or run for his life.

"I'm tipsy. Don't be afraid... I'm just telling you it is dangerous for pretty boys like you to walk alone." The man with heart lips shrugs his shoulder and ignores Jongin. He returns to his activity earlier blowing smokes and giggling by himself.

Jongin looks at him in horror, his neck is stiff and his hairs stand. Jongin quickly hugs himself and continues his walk, ignoring the calls.

"Hufth! How creepy! I should've never trust strangers." Jongin keeps his eyes on his feet.

Just then he saw three pairs of shoes in his eye sight and he gulps when he slowly raises his head.

Jongin is a tall man, but right in front of him are three taller and bigger men. All wearing black and looking tough. Jongin takes a step to the side and keeps his head down, but one of the man stops him.

"Where do you think you're going pretty boy?" Jongin curses in his heart, why is everyone calling him pretty boy tonight and why is he so unlucky today!

He slowly meets the big man's gaze when he pushed Jongin's chin up.

Jongin notices these three are no good. They were definitely here to disturb him.

"I have nothing." Jongin makes his voice sounds miserable.

The three men laughs and Jongin forces a confused smile, "Can I go? I have nothing." The three men laughs harder and Jongin is left confused.

"Well, if you don't have money... we're always welcome with services honey." The tallest man with big dark tattoos on his body grabs his chin and stares into his eyes.

Jongin gulps when he feels the other two touching his body, "He really doesn't have anything."

"That means we'll leave you after a good service." The man with golden tooth smirks.

Jongin is tongue tied. He doesn't know what will happen to him... he really hopes someone will help him.

Just when one of them pulls Jongin for a kiss, a loud voice roars and footsteps are heard.

"Go! Leave that man alone. He's mine." Upon that word, Jongin felt the grip lose and the three men runs in panic. Jongin still has his eyes shut in fear.

"Open your eyes. They're gone." A strange but familiar voice greets Kai.

Jongin opens his eyes slowly and finds the heart shaped man with round eyes earlier.

"What are you going to do to me?"

The man chuckles, "Told you it wasn't save to walk here alone."

"What's your name?"

"Kyungsoo," he smiles. Jongin notes how sweet that name is.

"Thank you... for saving me." Jongin bows.

Kyungsoo shakes his hand, "No problem, I just happen to pass by."

"You... how did you make them go?" Jongin sounds confused and curious... he was sure Kyungsoo only yelled some dialect words and they ran for their life.

"Nothing you should know, want a stick?" Kyungsoo offers him a stick when he sees Kai shaking. 

"No thanks, I don't smoke."

"Ah, cliché..." Kyungsoo bites a new stick.

"Why did you smoke? It's not good for you." Out of the blue Kai feels like this man here is too cute to die fast.

Kyungsoo raises his brow, well no one has ever cared to ask him that and this stranger right here does.

"Because that's the only way to remember the taste of her kiss that night," Kyungsoo gives Kai a sad smile.

Jongin's surprised, wow that's dramatic. He thought he was the only one who doesn't feel love right now. Turns out there are people like him too.

"I'm sorry... anyways... let me thank you for helping me," Kai pauses when he remembers he has no money at all right now.

Kyungsoo judges the man in front of him, sweet personality, pretty face, slender body, pure heart, he looks lost.

"Do you want money? Car? House?" Jongin offers his life saver these things.

Kyungsoo giggles, Jongin melts upon hearing that cute laugh and the glowing cheeks. Hell, how can someone looks so scary and tough but with just one laugh he's a teddy bear.

Jongin finds himself drowned in Kyungsoo's deep eyes and squishy cheeks, plus tempting lips.

"Sorry, but you have no money right now... how will you give me those things?" Kyungsoo offers his trademark questioning cute look.

Jongin blushes, he thinks for a moment and impulsively pulls the half finished stick between Kyungsoo's heart lips and he boldly presses their lips together. There's a pungent smell of smoke and alcohol, but Kai is not stopping until the only thing he can taste is something new.

Kyungsoo was taken aback by the sudden action, but instead of pulling or pushing, Kyungsoo runs his hand to play with the taller man's hair. This pretty boy who is kissing him right now is the first person who makes his heart beats faster, butterflies swarming his stomach, and the world once again is pink.

Kai deepens the kiss, he pours his emotion in it and the other man plays along well. Their kiss ends when Kyungsoo hits him to breathe.

Their chests are still heaving up and down from the sudden crazy activity they did. Their hearts are still pumping bloods to their shaking bodies; their brains drown them in Oxytocin and Adrenaline.

They both drown themselves in each other's warmth and comfort.

Kai looks at his shoes and a sudden feel of embarrassment takes over him. He is back to the Kim Jongin mode.

"Right, I don't have the money to give you that..." Jongin rubs his nape.

Kyungsoo smiles, "It's okay... I don't want that."

Jongin confusedly waits for his next request.

"Just give me your name," Kyungsoo smirks.

Jongin laughs, "Kim Jongin, anything else?"

Kyungsoo puts his hands inside his pocket, "Kim Jongin, follow me home tonight. Let me take care of your wounds."

Kyungsoo turns his body and walks first leaving Jongin squealing behind his back. He finally found his guardian angel or maybe his significant other!

"Are you coming or not?" Kyungsoo turns to look at Jongin who's still frozen in his place.

Jongin quickly runs to catch his steps.

"Thank you! What else can I give in return of your kindness?" Jongin asks when they reach Kyungsoo's comfortable and tidy small house. Kyungsoo takes care of his bruises and wounds meticulously like a nurse, and Jongin feels burdened to return his generosity.

Kyungsoo sits beside him with a mug of coffee, he tosses his glance to Jongin and calmly leans in closer, "You can give me your family name later, but for now..." Kyungsoo leans in for a quick kiss.

"Please help me learn the new taste of your lips." Kyungsoo whispers.

Jongin smiles and hugs the man beside him, he thanks Heaven he finds Kyungsoo in the middle of his chaos life, and Kyungsoo thanks the universe for sending him Jongin before he totally lost himself in the dark world.

Jongin learns a good meal doesn't have to come from an expensive kitchen, a good sleep doesn't have to come from an imported mattress, mostly he learns love doesn't have to come from someone in the same league. He learns love can be found even in the darkest and smallest place, only when one remembers to feel it carefully.

In the end, if they were meant to be, fate will find its way to bring them together; no matter what.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 10

An Asha’man contemplates personhood and Perrin finally has a meeting.

Chapter 10: After the Taint

Back to Perrin, who’s talking with Elyas and Grady and walking through camp and still not meeting Galad. His last chapter seemed like the last few moments before such a meeting, but I guess we’re drawing this out a bit more?

Ah, a fallen statue with a sword. Well, now I know generally where we are in the timeline, at least. That’s the statue Rand mentioned to Nynaeve (when he told her to dream on my behalf, Nynaeve; and yes, that still hurts).

Perrin’s second-guessing all his life choices—okay, in fairness, mostly just his recent strategic choices—and Elyas, voice of reason, is making the very good point that you can’t actually anticipate every eventuality. Or, as Lan might say, “You can never know everything, and part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps even the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that.”

Lan may not be there, but I’m glad Perrin has both Elyas and Tam with him. Both of them are good… not just grounding influences but I guess… steadying ones. They’re people who have gone through quite a lot of Life Experience, not all of it pleasant, and have emerged from it with a clear sense of who they are, and how they fit into the world around them. And Perrin needs people like that with him now; Rand needs people who help remind him he’s human, Mat needs his Greek chorus, and Perrin needs… people who have found that kind of balance within themselves, to show him it’s possible. Elyas, who has found his balance between man and wolf. Tam, the farmer and soldier, and neither of those lessening the other. In a way, I think they’re both not unlike the sort of person Perrin himself might be when he’s older.

I suppose what I’m getting at here is, it’s good for Perrin to have some role models.

Ugh, apparently the Two Rivers people are still judging Perrin for that time they think he slept with Berelain. Don’t slutshame the wolfboy, people; for all you know he has an open marriage!

…Okay anyone who’s met Faile could likely guess that’s not the case. But they should know better than to trust so much to rumour, especially when they know Perrin. Unfortunately, though, people are people. Also, you know, Wheel Of Absolutely No Communication and all that. Sigh.

Perrin wants to sneak into the Whitecloaks’ camp for a rescue mission, and Grady just wants to go Dumai’s Wells on their asses. Not…sure either of those is exactly a great solution here, boys. Have you considered talking? Oh, wait, no, forgot what series I’m reading.

He hated the idea of letting the Asha’man loose with impunity. The scent of burned flesh in the air, the earth ripped apart and broken. The scents of Dumai’s Wells. However, he couldn’t afford another distraction like Malden. If there were no other choice, he’d give the order.

And now he knows how Rand felt, when he did give that order.

Still, this could be taken as a small moment of growth for Perrin, to acknowledge—hating the idea but not letting it drag him fully into a crisis of self-hatred—that he could do this, will do this if he has to. That this is an option available to him, and that if it is necessary, he’ll do it. And being able to do that not in the moment (the way he sort of did with the Shaido prisoners, for example), and not in that desperate single-minded focus on finding Faile, but as a simple evaluation of the options available to him, in anticipation of what might be needed for this next task.

Still, for all their sakes, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Not yet, though. There are no coincidences with ta’veren. The wolves, the Whitecloaks. Things he had been outrunning for some time were returning to hunt him.

Wow that sounds almost like self-awareness! And lack of denial! Again, to Perrin’s credit, he’s been alright at that for a little while now, but it’s still a big enough achievement that I’ll celebrate it whenever it happens with these boys.

But yes, Perrin. It’s the endgame of an epic fantasy series; there are no coincidences here.

The Whitecloaks had haunted him since his early days out of the Two Rivers. Dealing with them had never been simple.

It felt like the time had come. Time to make an end to his troubles with them, one way or another.

That, basically. Coming full circle and getting closure to an arc and all that fun stuff.

Which is another reason why this shouldn’t end in violence, perhaps. Because that’s what started all of this: Perrin fought the Whitecloaks, and killed two of them (and then several more, with Gaul, for old times’ sake), and had to Deal With That, both in his own mind acknowledging himself as a killer and with the consequences of it. And at every stage of this he’s been in conflict with the Whitecloaks. Fighting them directly, or at odds with them in the Two Rivers.

(They make such a good point of conflict for him too, especially when you set the Tuatha’an on the other side, because together they kind of represent an extreme version of some of the sides of Perrin’s own conflict within himself. The Tuatha’an as an extreme version of his wish for peace and his fear of the violence he carries within himself; the Whitecloaks as an extreme version of a determination to do the right thing.)

But now the Whitecloaks are being set up for a kind of redemption via Galad, and Perrin’s arc is drawing to a close for the endgame, and so it would fit both sides for this long-running conflict, which challenges the fundamentals of who they are, to come to a close not in violence but in alliance. To recognise in each other something to be admired rather than only something to be feared or hated. To see points of similarity rather than just irreconcilable difference. Because to do so would also, I think, mean accepting some of those things in themselves, so that they can all move forwards.

And on the subject of alliance where once was enmity, the Asha’man and Aes Sedai with Perrin have figured out linking. Well, Neald has, and Grady seems keen to get on board. Cooperation! Overcoming millennia-long barriers! Being stronger together!

“Light! It’s wonderful. We should have done this months ago.”

Or centuries, but it’s all relative, right?

I do love, though, that at almost every turn, once this kind of cooperation happens, it’s seen by those involved as something positive, treated with this kind of joyous amazement. Like Nynaeve’s first time as part of a circle, or this, or affirmations of friendship, or those moments when characters finally decide to be open or honest with one another. It’s almost always rewarded; it takes a hell of a lot of work and time and pain to get there, but once they do, it’s something good.

“I was wondering if I might…” [Grady] seemed hesitant. “Well, if I might have leave to slip over to the Black Tower for an afternoon, to see my family.”

Oh. Oh man. Okay I think I see where this is going. (The importance of having family, to keep him grounded, as Rand recognised so long ago when he first started gathering men who could channel, before he all but lost sight of his own anchors. And the taint is gone now so it’s safe, or at least safer…).

Also, please let Grady or someone go to the Black Tower because I need a Black Tower interlude. It has been far too long and there have been far too few in the first place. What is happening there. I need to know. Because of reasons.

Damn it Perrin let him go see his family! I mean okay fair, there’s a clear threat ahead and a possible threat behind so tactically yeah, not a great time. And he does agree to let Grady go at some point soon.

“You never worried about this before, Grady,” Perrin said. “Has something changed?”

“Everything,” Grady said softly. Perrin got a whiff of his scent. Hopeful. “It changed a few weeks back. But of course you don’t know. Nobody knows. Fager and I weren’t certain at first, and we weren’t sure if we should tell anyone for fear of sounding delusional.”

“Know what?”

“My Lord, the taint. It’s gone.”

And with it, the certain death sentence they’ve all been living under. It does change everything: once, they were weapons, because that was all they could hope to be in their brief time of power before madness. Once, all they could do in the end was die for this cause. Now, there’s a chance they can live for it. Can let themselves be more than weapons again, can hope for something more.

In its own way it’s yet another version of Rand’s realisation on Dragonmount, for all that this comes earlier chronologically (and for all that we’ve seen it happen already for some of the characters who were closer to the cleansing). This idea that there might be more to the future than death, more to give than a last stand and despair, more to be than a weapon.

The timing of this does seem kind of weird, given that the cleansing was several books ago now, and the explanation that they were waiting to be sure… eh, I suppose no one ever tells anyone anything in this series so it doesn’t strain suspension of disbelief too far. I suppose it just feels weird because everything about Perrin’s chapters up until now has felt like a building up of tension before his inevitable meeting with Galad, and this feels like a kind of random digression.

Not an unimportant one—this is lovely, and fits well in terms of where we are in the overall story in the sense of realisation of hope once thought lost—but just… somewhat oddly placed.

“Seems the sort of thing Rand might have been about,” Perrin said.

Which might just be the most chill reaction to hearing about the cleansing of saidin we’ve seen from anyone. Oh, a miracle? The removal of a three-thousand-year-old evil that has gradually destroyed so much of society and thrown the world out of balance? Yeah, that sounds like something Rand would do, cool, fair enough.

It probably helps that Perrin himself can’t channel, so all of this would feel a bit more… abstract, maybe? Which might make it easier to accept than it would be for someone to whom this is an integral part of their lives. Still, it makes me laugh.

“When I joined the Lord Dragon, I knew what would happen to me. A few more years and I’d be gone. Might as well spend them fighting. The Lord Dragon told me I was a soldier, and a soldier can’t leave his duty. So I haven’t asked to go back before now. You needed me.”

“That’s changed?”

“My Lord, the taint is gone. I’m not going to go mad. That means… well, I’ve always had a reason to fight. But now I’ve got a reason to live, too.”

This, exactly. The difference between having something to die for and having something to live for; dying for a cause and living for one. It’s adjacent to Rand’s own why do you fight question and realisation, but it’s also the realisation that there is something more than death ahead.

There’s a kind of honour, certainly, in knowing he’s going to die and deciding to at least make that death worth something—give that brief time before madness to some kind of cause, use this power that damns him to serve some goal. But now that’s not the only choice. Now he can decide to fight, still, but also to live, and to hope for something else; to be a soldier, yes, but not merely a weapon.

It’s one of those shifts in perspective that from one angle looks so slight but that actually means everything, that changes everything.

And again, while the specific timing in this chapter is a little weird, it otherwise is such a fitting realisation; sure, it’s technically before Dragonmount, but narratively it’s during this time when this kind of shifting perspective is spreading across the world from its epicentre: the mountain where hope first seemed to die and now at last has been restored. This realisation that there’s more than just a dark inevitability to the future; that instead there are choices and things to live for and possibilities and second chances.

(There’s one rather prominent character who still has yet to come to his own version of this realisation, but he’s riding towards it now, unless I am very much mistaken).

That was what Perrin had sensed in the Asha’man all along, the reason they held themselves apart, often seeming so sombre. Everyone else fought for life. The Asha’man… they’d fought to die.

That’s how Rand feels, Perrin thought.

Indeed. And almost surprisingly perceptive of Perrin; for a while in the middle he sort of… didn’t quite allow himself to see Rand’s despair and sadness. But he’s absolutely right, in this.

And he touches on another key part of this change, in that thought of the Asha’man holding themselves apart. Not quite letting themselves be part of the world in the same way as others, not allowing themselves connections and friendships and anchors; turning themselves to weapons (or, in Rand’s case, to steel, to cuendillar). Which then leads to a kind of apathy or despair, to no longer having anything to live for, because they allow themselves nothing, because they don’t allow themselves to be people. But now they can, and so Grady is reaching back out to those things that mattered, back when he was a person and not a weapon (like the veins of gold). Drawing on them once more to pull himself back, to let himself be himself again.

I suppose in a way this ties into where Perrin is in his own story as well, now that he has found Faile and come out of the other side of that single-minded despair in which nothing else mattered. Because he, too, is finding his footing again after that. Finding some kind of purpose. It’s not like-for-like, but it all ties together.

Grady laughed. It felt odd, but good, to hear that from the man.

Laughter and tears.

Oh, are we actually going to get the meeting with Galad now?

“There is a stranger riding along the road towards camp. He flies a flag of peace, but he wears the clothing of these Children of the Light.”

FINALLY.

Oh good Tam is here. Tam is a good person to have around when everything’s likely to go to shit.

Ah it’s Dain Bornhald rather than Galad. That’s… not exactly ideal. He and Perrin didn’t precisely part on the best of terms. Or meet on the best of terms. Or ever interact on anything but the worst of terms, really.

Anyway Bornhald opens by calling Perrin a criminal so we’re off to a great start.

“It is you. The Light has delivered you to us.”

“Unless it has also delivered you an army three or four times the size of the one you have now,” Perrin called, “then I doubt very much that it will matter.”

I’m always here for Perrin’s backtalk, of course, but I’m pretty sure an outright threat isn’t going to help this situation any. Then again, it was more or less a lost cause as soon as Bornhald showed up, given I don’t think anything but a severe concussion and possibly amnesia is going to change his opinion of Perrin, so.

Perrin’s attempting something vaguely resembling diplomacy, in that he’s basically saying ‘why don’t we just ignore each other until we’re out of sight’, but Bornhald’s not so keen on that option. Unsurprisingly.

“But I will leave that for the Lord Captain Commander to explain. He wishes to see you for himself.”

YES. FINALLY.

Though Perrin’s not so keen on walking into what could very likely be a trap, and Tam’s thinking much the same thing… but hey, he’s ta’veren; what could possibly go wrong? When has knowing they’re walking into a trap ever gone anything but perfectly well for any of these characters? (Don’t answer that).

“Burn me, Tam. I have to at least try before attacking them.”

That’s… a fair point, at least given Perrin’s own sense of honour and morality. It’s part of his ongoing conflict with the Whitecloaks as well, really: at none of their encounters has he actually wanted to kill them, or to attack first. He’s not out hunting them, and while he does sort of bear a grudge against them now, it wasn’t always that way. It’s just that there’s quite a lot of bad blood there, and even in the early days things went south quickly, and so it inevitably ended in bloodshed.

The six of them broke away from camp, and blessedly, Faile didn’t seem to have heard what was happening. Perrin would bring her if there was a longer parley or discussion, but he intended this trip to be quick, and he needed to be able to move without worrying about her.

Kind of a shame, given that she could be an asset in a discussion or negotiation. But at least he knows that well enough to be thinking of bringing her along if there’s going to be extended talking, I suppose. Would Galad know her? Maybe not on sight, but I’d imagine he might know her name, and certainly would know her father’s… that could help. Or not; who knows.

HI GALAD.

The tall man had fine features and short, dark hair. Most women would probably call him handsome. He smelled… better than the other Whitecloaks.

This description is just trying way too hard to emphasise the ‘no homo’ that it pretty much runs screaming in the other direction, and I’m laughing.

“Goldeneyes,” the man said. “So it is true.”

“You’re the Lord Captain Commander?” Perrin asked.

“I am.”

Oh, of course we’re doing this without Perrin ever getting his name. Of course. I can’t quite decide if that strains my suspension of disbelief or not, but either way: ARGH. Then again, Perrin’s never actually met Galad and doesn’t know that Maighdin is Morgase, and barely even knows Elayne, so knowing Galad’s identity might not actually help him all that much.

“What will it take for you to release the people of mine you’re holding?”

“My men tell me they tried such an exchange once,” the Whitecloak leader said. “And that you deceived them and betrayed them.”

Well, yes, they would say that. But Galad, you of all people should know that there are probably more sides to that particular story, especially given you’re not getting it from an unbiased source.

Galad keeps listing out Perrin’s alleged crimes, some of which could be argued to be true (killing Whitecloaks); some of which are bullshit (leading Trollocs to attack his own village), but none of which he has any actual evidence for, beyond the word of his own men. Their word against Perrin’s, and it seems like Galad should also know that just because he’s the Lord Captain Commander now, and trying to drag this organisation kicking and screaming into some kind of redemption, doesn’t mean everyone in it is suddenly noble and honourable and not lying outright to him.

Or even that they’re mistaken. That, as is so often the case, there’s just more to the story. That maybe the people whose information he’s relying on didn’t know everything that was actually happening. Which is closer to the truth, really; Bornhald genuinely believes Perrin is evil, and so everything else gets filtered through that lens of confirmation bias.

“I want a more formal parley, where we can sit down and discuss. Not something improvised like this.”

“I doubt that will be needed,” the Whitecloak leader said. “I am not here to bargain. I merely wanted to see you for myself. You wish your people freed? Meet my army on the field of battle. Do this, and I will release the captives, regardless of the outcome.”

I am a little surprised Galad outright refuses Perrin’s request to sit down and talk about this like adults. Because sure, he’s seen Perrin now, but what information does that tell him? It’s a perfectly reasonable request, and nothing Perrin’s said to him has been particularly unreasonable, and again, Galad should know better than to just take as absolute truth everything he’s been told.

Then again, Bornhald told him the truth about Valda and Morgase, so maybe that’s earned him Galad’s trust? Still, it seems odd that he wouldn’t give Perrin some kind of chance—a trial, or a conversation—to defend himself, before challenging him to a battle, where so many more people could die.

I just don’t get Galad sometimes, but what else is new.

“Your force will face ours under the Light,” the Whitecloak leader said. “Those are our terms.”

So you’re just going to sentence some of your own people to death in order to determine this, rather than… talk? Sure. Okay. Trial by combat by proxy; why the hell not.

I’m still guessing it’s not actually going to come to that, somehow, though I can’t quite see how. Unless Galad sees Morgase. That’s the only thing I can think of that could potentially stop this from turning into the mess it’s currently heading for.

He could take the Whitecloak leader captive right here, with barely a thought.

Perrin was tempted. But they had come under the Whitecloak’s oath of safety. He would not break the peace.

That’s some rather weird logic, if you’re intending to then meet him on the field of battle. Capture one person, and the cost is breaking an oath of peace. Keep that oath of peace, and the cost is, very probably, the lives of some of the people following you.

I mean okay, I get it, truce flags should be honoured because otherwise Bad Things Happen, but… eh. Like with a lot of the ‘rules’ of warfare, sometimes thinking about it too hard gets a bit weird.

***

Oh we get a Galad POV now, so maybe his thinking will make more sense. Though admittedly I don’t hold out a great deal of hope for that, because again, Galad’s thought process just baffles me sometimes.

Those golden eyes were unsettling. He had discounted Byar’s insistence that this man was not merely a Darkfriend, but Shadowspawn. However, looking into those eyes, Galad was no longer certain he could dismiss those claims.

Come on, Galad, did no one ever teach you not to judge people by their appearance?

Like, on the one hand… okay, people he trusts have told him some pretty terrible thing about this guy, and he does have (apparently) unsettling eyes, and he didn’t deny any of the accusations Galad listed out. And confirmation bias, again, is a strong thing. It does make sense that he would be wary of Perrin, and expect him to be an enemy, to potentially be evil, and to see that at least his physical description matches what he was told so maybe the rest does, too.

It’s just frustrating.

“They would not have harmed me,” Galad said.

So you’ll believe he’s a monster, but also that you were safe?

To be fair, his reasoning for why he was safe does make sense, more or less, given what he knows and (mostly) what he assumes.

“If he is as you and Child Byar say, then he worries greatly about his image. He didn’t lead Trollocs against the Two Rivers directly. He pretended to defend them.” Such a man would act with subtlety. Galad had been safe.

Well, it makes sense if you partially discard Occam’s Razor and also fail to account for the possibility that he’s not as Bornhald and Child Byar say. Then again, if that’s true, then Galad was also safe, because Perrin’s not a monster or a threat.

Alright, fine, Galad, I’ll give you that one.

Those eyes… they were almost a condemnation by themselves.

Seriously, people, what is it with determining a person’s morality by their eye colour? You live in a world with literal magic! Sometimes weird shit happens!

And Aybara had reacted to the mention of the murdered Whitecloaks, stiffening. Beyond that, there was the talk his people gave of him in alliance with the Seanchan and having with him men who could channel.

Again, I can just about see where Galad’s coming from, and how he’s putting the pieces together, but I wish he’d stop for just a moment to consider that maybe there’s more to the story. But then, he’s hardly the only person in this series to come to not-entirely-accurate conclusions based on flawed or incomplete information. They’re all just working with what they have, and sometimes what they have is wrong, but… well, if I gave Lan’s a portion of wisdom quote to Perrin earlier, I suppose it’s only fair I grant Galad the same courtesy now. He doesn’t have perfect evidence that what he’s been told is right, but it paints a compelling enough picture, and he doesn’t have much evidence to the contrary, either.

Better to defeat this Aybara now, than to wait and face him at the Last Battle. As quickly as that, he made his decision. The right decision. They would fight.

Morgase, get over here; we need you.  

Previous (ToM ch 9)

[phantoms-rain]

Fun-shot Friday!

Howdy! (As you can see by the title this was supposed to be done yesterday but I kind of forgot >.>) This is just a little idea that I think I’m gonna (try to) pick up here. Posting a new little drabble exclusively here once a week. Prompts will vary. Canon to AU and all that fun stuff. Hopefully it’ll keep myself fresh and writing and it’ll be a good read for anyone interested :)

Just Breathe—Hospital AU

Her throat is dry and she feels as if her heart is going to beat right out of her chest. She stares down at her hands, gloved and stained red. The sight in itself makes her dizzy. The anvil that has settled in the pit of her stomach only seems like it’s increasing in weight by the second. The feeling in itself makes her want to throw up.

She only blinks once, looking up from her hands to meet the eyes of those surrounding the table. Each look is the same. Grave and somber. She wishes for a second she could turn to ash, so she wouldn’t have to bare the weight of those looks as they surround her. She can only imagine how fearful she must look staring back at them.

“Um...” the single uttering reverberates behind her mask, and she drops her gaze to her hands again. This time, she catches a glimpse of her watch and squeezes her eyes shut.  

“Call.”

“Time of death: 11:39 PM.”

When she opens her eyes again, her world is glassy. She doesn’t look up at the eyes around the table. Instead, she can only stare at the still form below her. She slowly shakes her head, the act in itself is enough to have her succumbing to the dizziness. She even finds herself having to firmly grip the table for extra support.

“Doctor...”

Her head slowly lifts. Everyone is masked, but she knows where, or rather who, the voice came from. Her hazel eyes lock with brown at the very end of the table. In those eyes she can see something that matches her own. The disbelief. The uncertainty. The fear.

Clearing her throat, she takes a step away from the table. “We’ll get cleaned up here and contact the coroner. Make sure everything is marked down as accurately stated. From there we will...I will notify the family.”

That last phrase draws a collective flinch from the group. It’s subtle, but noticeable, even as everyone around her shuffles to begin taking care of the tasks she has set before them. She remains frozen and rooted to the spot. She finds her gaze unblinking and she is unable to look away from the body laying before her on her table.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Following the grave affairs of the events prior, its approximately 3:45 AM by the time Becky drags herself back into her office. Her limbs feel heavy and she finds herself leaning against the door for support from the very moment she closed it. Her head falls back against the wood, leaving behind a thud that sounds like it should be painful, but she doesn’t feel it. She’s far too numb from the tips of her ears down to the tips of her toes.

Everything is cold. Freezing almost. Her eyes immediately slam shut at the thought. The thought of someone now lying frozen when they didn’t have to. When they shouldn’t have to.

‘We did everything we could...’

‘You killed him!’

Gasping harshly, her eyes fly open as the shrill screams continue echo in her mind. She could only empathize as best she could, offering a solemn apology for the tragedy that she was tasked with preventing, and failed to do so. That lasting thought has her feeling like a can that’s being slowly crushed between two semis.

It takes a moment for her to force her feet to move. Ultimately, she’s left to slump across her office wherein each step she takes, she feels as if her desk is moving further and further away. Eventually though, she does reach her chair. She takes a moment to shrug off her coat, carefully folding it once the chair’s back before she’s sinking solemnly into the plush leather. She scoots in as close as possible, propping her elbows up in polished wood as she digs her palms into her eyes.

‘Clear!’

‘Come on, man!’

‘Clear!’

‘Don’t you give up on me!’

A timid knock on her door has her jolting in her spot. For a long time she doesn’t move. She simply stares at the door as if staring at it long enough will be enough for her to see directly through it. Such a thing, proves to be impossible, and even after a lengthy silence, she calls out a rough ‘it’s open’ on the off chance that whoever is on the other side of the door is still there.

The door opens only a hair. Just enough for the mystery visitor to poke their head inside as if gauging the full parameters of the invite. The young woman eventually shuffles into the room, and even as she softly closes the door behind her, she opts to linger.

Becky feels her shoulders relax just a fraction. Even though she didn’t have a single idea as to who was on the other side of her door, but she’s so glad it’s her. Even though her outward expressions only presently display the same sentiments.

Across the room, the younger woman shuffles her feet as if nervous. Her hands are clasped tightly in front, and her gaze momentarily drops to the floor as she appears to be trying to gather her words.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” Her voice is quiet as she speaks.

Becky responds with a short laugh. It’s neither humorous nor mirthless. It’s simply colorless.

“I guess I could say the same about you.”

The young woman, Sasha, simply shrugs as she begins to absently play with her fingers. “I was shadowing Carmella while she finished up some of the paperwork for tonight. She was showing me how to get everything properly filled out. I also...I didn’t want to head home just yet.”

Becky only hums.

Worrying her bottom lip, Sasha slowly crosses the room until she’s founding the desk. Her hand hesitates for a fraction of a second as she reaches out, but ultimately she ends up gently resting it in the other woman’s shoulder. Becky eventually leans into the touch, reaching up to cover Sasha’s hand with her own as she gives a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she mumbles lowly.

The truth of the matter is, when you’ve been doing this as long as she has, it’s going to happen. This isn’t the first and unfortunately it won’t be the last. That’s often the risk in coming with working in trauma. Everything is a race against fate and sometimes, no matter how hard they fight, fate is the ultimate decider.  

“It’s okay I—“ Sasha’s voice gets caught in her throat.

When Becky looks up, she finds her staring away, almost absently. Eventually, Sasha shakes her head as if clearing the muddy waters in her thoughts.

“No...it’s not okay.” she eventually says, dropping her gaze to her hands once more. “I’ve never seen someone die before.”

Becky had figured as much from the way Sasha had quietly spoken in the operating room. Even behind the mask and protective garb, Becky could see the haunting in the woman’s eyes and she wanted nothing more than to gather her right then and there to shield her away from the sudden tribulation. But she couldn’t at the time, because that would have been exceedingly unprofessional.

Sighing quietly, Becky pushes away from her desk just enough to turn her chair. She removes Sasha’s hand from her shoulder, this time interlacing their figures as she carefully guides her into her lap. She’s met with no resistance as Sasha comfortably straddles her thighs and she reaches up to gently take her face in her hands. The kiss that soon follows is gentle but meaningful as she does her best to use her actions to translate the words she currently can’t say.

The affair had started not even a month into Sasha’s internship. At first it was just glances that just happened to linger a few seconds too long. Soft smiles that could be interpreted as polite, but something a bit more if one were to look just close enough. Brushes of fingers. Coincidental run-ins that could be described as later turning intentional on both parties.

It was a particularly late night where it was past the time when the buses stopped running.  Becky wouldn’t hear it as Sasha had laughed and tried to explain she was fine calling a ride share. Becky had insisted on driving her, citing it was much too late for anyone to be trusting a ride share alone and Sasha’s apartment was on the way she was headed anyway. She hadn’t missed the way Sasha gently bit her bottom lip, before eventually coming to agreement.

It was that night that Becky found herself invited into the intern’s apartment. She hadn’t imagined the way Sasha’s eyes had burned as she politely extended the offer. Despite the alarm bells going off in the back of Becky’s mind, she agreed. Eventually, she found herself allowing to be led by the hand as Sasha opened the door for the both of them. They hadn’t even bothered with the lights as they were on one another within a fraction of a second, pawing and tugging at any piece of fabric they could get their hands on.

It was a one time thing that turned into two. Two that turned into many. Many that turned into frequent. Frequent that turned into a continuous secret that may very well remain just that, as it should.

“I’ve lost people before, but...” Becky finds herself swallowing thickly, momentarily getting lost in a haze as she continues to absently stroke her thumb across Sasha’s cheek. “It doesn’t make it any easier. I’m supposed to do the job, you know? Feeling like I didn’t...it always hits hardest at the beginning.”

“And after?” Sasha implores carefully. “Does it ever go away?”

Becky frowns slightly as she appears to be pondering herself for the answer. “Truthfully? It doesn’t, but after a while you just...you’ll become numb to it. Unfortunately, you have to.  You won’t be able to do the job if you don’t.”

Sasha bites her lip again, glancing down at her hands that have been resting at Becky’s shoulders. She hadn’t realized how her grip only appeared to tighten over time. Almost like Becky was the one thing grounding her at this moment.

“How do you do it? Why?”

“Why?” Becky echoes, reaching up to gently brush away a stray strand of Sasha’s hair. “For the ones I can save. For the ones I’m able to give a second chance. That’s why I do it.”

Sasha’s jaw trembles slightly and she drops her head. “I don’t know if I can...” she whispers uncertainly.

“You can.” Becky has no idea where the firmness comes from, but she means it as she guides Sasha’s gaze to her own once more. “I see it in you. You care about people. You want to help them. That’s your passion.”

In response, Sasha only shakes her head. “I’m not sure if I’m ready...”

Becky smiles, only slightly amused by the nostalgia of Sasha’s nerves. She remembers being in that exact same position. Fresh and green. Wide eyed and dumb to the morality and immoralities of the world she sought to enter. It reminds her too much of herself and perhaps...perhaps that’s why she knows it all so well.

“Not yet,” Becky responds honestly before nodding. “But you will be.”

The extra assurance is tacked on followed by another kiss, this one much deeper than the first.

The the dim lighting of her office, Becky tightens her arms around the woman in her lap, holding her close as possible. She feels Sasha eventually relax into her hold, and for a split second she allows herself to feel again. The numbness fades and the warmth that surrounds her should be enough to carry her through on to morning.  

If you made it to the end thanks for reading :) you can find more of my works at my AO3: phantom_rain 

[clementineesotsm]

THE KING: ETERNAL MONARCH EP 13, My Appreciation and How It Made Me Feel

This scene kind of hurting me. Luna going around Korea living JTE live which is a total opposite of hers. Her curiosity led her to kiss KSJ, left the boy in riddle. But they are from the same “dimension” so its kind of giving us a glimpse of their possible romance if they will be there in their own world

Then poor boy has to see real JTE immeditely and looking a bit startled but still manage to keep his mind working. I love KKN acting here, he is good to keep control of the mood. Also again KGE, i definitely can differ which Luna which JTE just by looking. Luna said she is after JTE not the people around her, makes Luna a villain with an interesting character. Seems like she plays her own role and not following LR.

Move on to Corea, Gon knows how to act reckless to stop PM. I like how the story progress is fast here, he expected danger, he overcome it. This secretary of KU is scary, he knew how to make a deal. I kind of wish this drama was super popular so that they can make spin off of Corea versus KU later 🥺 but not in this timeline, no.

PM is now broken and exposed. I really feel bad for PM Koo, as a character she is interesting, and there is so much more the writer can explore. But it is what it is, im quite satistfied but for a selfish reason i wish to see more to her character. I love how she took the shoes only and go pretty much still with confidence. Im hoping she will be more evil because now we know where she will walk with that shoes. Buttt, again, nobody wants to explore her character more 😭

I love JES reuniom with his family and friend. He is so precious. His been trough a lot and has play important part in Corea, it think much better that JY while in Korea 😅 And i love JES for saying “all the reason for not trading places with him are here” while looking at his people 🥺

We saw Luna in pain, i love this scene because it added well to Luna character. Makes us understand better about her choices of action later on. Also both JTE and Luna have Gemini constelation attached on the wall but them being in a different circumstances still breaks me. I love KES that makes them a Gemini. It was deep.

Some draggy thing but kind of sweet lays in this scene, i mean i know getting to your gf parents is important, but me as a viewer wants to know the tragedy soon. Just a selfish wish. If this happens later i will be extremely swoon over this, but put it here, kind of wasting time. Anyhow, i love the script. Natural. Seeing JTE act direct but shy at the same time and showing her biggest smile is another satisfaction. Best part was when his father asking Gon identity and JTE answer that he is a decent guy 🥺🥺 im soft

Gon is the man with his words, he really not going when JTE ask him not too. And i love both love birds acting here, because Gon being all soft tilting his head after JTE say “if i stop you will you stay?” and Gon say “are you sincere?” and JTE happy he stays another night. I can feel them. JTE buys him a black jacket. BLACK JACKET.

JTE and KSJ coming to investigate PM doppelganger, and coming to know that she is dead and her body found at the Yangsun Care Center and KSJ also going inside 1 room, misterious one.

Gon is alone after JY go to buy Soju, he wish to inform Gon about her mom doppelganger. Also probably he will ask Gon to go back and forget JTE instead of going on with this weird realtionship. But damn all black outfit must have remind the audience (who pays attention to detail) of his savior. Then bell rings, we saw JTE at the door.

This night is a big revelation. Gon realized that the one coming is not JTE but Luna. I love how his eyes cannot leave Luna face, because its has a look of anxiety. And yes we can see the difference. Also i love how they play with mirror here. The writer is so Consistent with Alice in Wonderland reference but in this scene its more to alice through the looking glass. You see yourself in a mirror, showing your trueself giving you revelation you are always been looking for. From Luna to Gon. And here Gon finally see himself as his own savior while revolving around mirror and actually all of this are set to happen as 25 years ago. I would say im amazed. Many people probably predicted who is the savior but how the revelation occurs i think is satisfying. But for me, who guessing that the savior is either KSJ or JY, was even more blown away by this. And got me thinking logically and yes its all make sense

LR also realizing Gon is the savior. I love their scene, they are not in 1 same place but them finishing each other sentences was satisfying. Also the fast pace and the music was great!

And after that we can see Gon in pain ! Apparently Luna put poison on the beer can ! Amazing scene, starting from Gon’s tears fell down and him feel down, parallel to what happen 25 years ago, they paused the music a bit and after we met Gon’s eyes, the music start ! 💯💯

Also the ending credit where we saw clocks going backwards on the King’s title kind of makes sense now!!!! Amazing

How it made me feel:

This episode makes you feel the calm before the storm. Because everything is so scary but still pretty much calm and seems like everything is in control. But the the big revelation shows up at the end. Amazing.

Satisfying emotion arc from the beginning until the end. I love how some issues have been solved some new issues occurs. I love now we got a glimpse of TIME TRAVEL will happen, and cannot wait maube another minute to know how could he can travel back to the past? Still so much riddle and a lot of fun guessing with my friends that day. The tragedy is happening and i really cannot wait to know which theory are true and how can they solve this catastrophe?! Many people complain their ability to communicate, because knowing Luna is here they should have told each other that thing first. But having to know many things happen while JTE gone, i kind of understand the misscomm. Everything might be happen in 1/2 days only and they have some things to do in mind they forgot the important thing. Very unfortunate. And also JTE will think that JY always stays with Gon, what bad could happen 😅

Anyway Kudos to all the actors, writers, but especially the production team. They can deliver all amazing act and emotion with their well thought expensive techniques!

[hoseoksuc]

Like What You See?

summary ➣ after several months of not being able to see your boyfriend yuto, you decide to surprise him at his dorm, and let’s just say he wasn’t the only one surprised when you got there

genre ➣ fluffyish

warnings ➣ weight loss??

“so are you sure it’s alright if i spend the weekend with you guys?” you nervously buckled your seatbelt as you listened to the drastic sigh that was released on the other end of the phone call. “yes Y/N, i’ve told you for the hundredth time that it’s ok. i checked with our manager and he said it’d be a great stress reliever for yuto.”

relaxing your muscles, you laid back on to the soft fabric of your drivers seat. it seems like you haven’t seen yuto for ages and to add on you’ve never been to the dorms without his guidance. the whole situation made you a nervous wreck but you really wanted to surprise him after such a long time.

“Y/N, are you still there?” hui’s voice echoed throughout the speakers within your car, “yeah yeah sorry, i’m still here hui.” your thoughts were so jambled you forgot you were still on the phone. with your startled response you could hear hui chuckle at you from the other side, “listen, he’s gonna love to see you, don’t even stress about it. it’ll be great i promise.” you and hui had been friends years before you and yuto even started dating. he was like an older brother you never had and he always knew the right words to say.

exchanging brief goodbyes you hung up the phone, pulled out of your driveway and began the dreaded 45 minute drive to cube entertainment. the entire ride there you had to constantly fight back your anxiety. why were you so anxious? you guys had been dating for more than a year and you’ve never been uptight about things like this, so why now?

trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself down, you began to quiet the rising anxiety that had been creeping on you for the past hour. to distract yourself even more you rolled down the windows and turned up the radio to drown out any wondering thoughts still left. focusing on your driving you realized you only had a little ways to go before you reached your final destination. the thought of being able to physically see yuto again immediately put a smile and your face and you returned to your bright and happy self. “it’s all gonna be alright” you thought to yourself, “it’s all gonna be alright...”

after about 50 minutes of traffic from hell, you were finally able to send hui the text telling him you arrived safely and were waiting for him in the parking lot. about six minutes passed before you saw the medium sized black haired man appear from a set of white double doors dressed in a jersey and blue jeans. if his outfit wasn’t enough to identify him, his smile would 100% give away that it was indeed Mr. Lee Hoetaek.

“well well well, if it isn’t the one and only Mrs. Adachi.” taking a low bow in front of you, you smacked the back of his head. “ah hui, what did i say about calling me that” you whined as he laughed and stood back up to your eye level. “cmon, i know you like it” you waved that little annoyance of a man off and ignored his teasing. “am i gonna have to deal with your teasing this entire weekend?” you asked as you already started to walk away.

“well, no, technically you’ll have to deal with...” he quickly counted a number out on his fingers before finishing his statement, “eight, eight people’s teasing this weekend”. you chuckled at hui’s words, damn, you really missed being around him and the boys. they were like family to you, it’s hard to believe how much they really meant to you.

“so i’ll take your bags, let the boys know you’re here, and you can go find yuto, sound good?” hui already began to strip the light luggage you brought from you and slyly leave you behind. “hey! can you at least tell me where he’s at?” you yelled at him from halfway down the hall, “now if i told you what’s the fun in that? plus i’m not really sure where he’s at.” hui then turned around and scattered along with your overnight clothes. “sometimes i just really really despise that man.”

the cube building was HUGE, even though you weren’t a huge fan of the company you had to admit it was really pretty on the inside. but with cube being such a big building it made navigating much harder. yet on the bright side, hui had you park on the dorm side so you had three basic places yuto could be: the small practice room, the gym, or genuinely just inside pentagons dorm.

before you set off on your little yuto scavenger hunt you went ahead and sent wooseok a text asking where yuto was. you knew he wouldn’t answer immediately so you wanted to give him enough response time so you weren’t just wondering every where on cube property. but your safest bet was that he was down a couple hallways in the practice room, he had been talking about how he kept messing some footwork up on their latest choreography and how he’d been spending extra time practicing. you were kinda hoping he wasn’t practicing right now, just because you thought he was starting to overwork himself these days. he always strives to make himself better which you loved and hated about him, just sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop.

just a few steps away from the room you could already see there were people inside the practice room whether one of them was yuto or not. putting your hand on the door knob you told yourself just to act normal just in case he wasn’t actually present in the room. when you turned the handle you made immediate eye contact with three guys, none of which were yuto. a sigh of relief exited your body and a loud scoff could be heard.

“well hell are you not surprised to see us or something?” you instantly matched the voice with shinwon and a smile stretched across your face. “yea what the hell Y/N”, the second voice could be matched up with kino who had his arms crossed in front of his chest. you turned around and closed the door but before you could even get a word out a pair of long dangly arms picked you up off the ground.

“AH Y/N ITS BEEN SO LONG, I THOUGHT HYUNG WAS KIDDING WHEN HE SAID YOU WERE VISITING!” and this happy boy can easily be recognized as wooseok. you laughed and patted for him to put you down which he did once his energy levels dropped a bit. “no, no, i’m happy to see you guys i really missed you all. i was just hoping yuto wasn’t in here overworking himself.” the three boys let out a long ahh and shook their heads in agreement.

“so you’re looking for king of japan huh?” shinwon slipped in while making his way to lean on a wall. you nodded in agreement and looked at wooseok and kino for their responses. “well i’m pretty sure he’s in the gym working out right now.” wooseok added, “he’s been working out recently so your best bet is there.” hmm so he has been overworking himself a bit...

you had light conversation with the three and thanked them before going to check the gym to see if yuto was there. you enjoyed being able to talk to them, they’re some of the members who are closest to your age so conversation and interests were easier to talk about.

the gym was only a hall and two rooms over from the practice room, hopefully he didn’t hear wooseoks loud ass from the practice room or else the surprise would be ruined. as you got closer to the door the pain in your chest started to rise and you tried your best to ignore it. instead you tried focusing on the booming music that was leaking from the blurry door leading into the gym.

you couldn’t recognize the music to be yutos but you didn’t exactly know what kind of music he listened to when he would work out. so slowly you cracked open the gym door, allowing the music to grow louder and make your thoughts incoherent. you looked around a little until you saw a shirtless guy with glistening honey skin curling some weights in the corner. making your way in fully and shutting the door you tried finding the source of the loud music to turn it off. unfortunately you were unable to find any noticeable off switches so you decided to just sneak up on him.

the closer you got, you realized how buff and toned this guy was. maybe it wasn’t yuto? your thoughts all started to doubt each other and now you had to decide whether or not you wanted to take the risk of embarrassing yourself because you thought some random trainee was your boyfriend.

but while your thoughts started eating each other up the music had stopped and the man had put down the weights. you immediately snapped out of your confusion and just waited for the man to notice your presence. that’s when he finally got up and turned around and at that moment you thought you were for sure going to pass out.

“Y/N?!” but at least your first instinct was right, it was indeed yuto, but a very toned, more muscular, sexier yuto... in that moment you forgot how to speak the only thing you were capable of was scanning every inch of yutos body.

“You like what you see?”

his deep cocky voice instantly flooded your cheeks bright red as he made his way over to you.

“s-surprise!” you managed to choke out before sweaty yuto enveloped you in a tight hug. all he did was chuckle at you as he placed a quick kiss to sit on your forehead. “why didn’t you tell me you were coming? i could’ve been ready and we could’ve went to go get lunch!” he let you go and pouted his lips at you.

being the dumbass you are, you still couldn’t bring yourself back to reality after seeing buffed up yuto. “hellooo, earth to Y/N, anyone home? don’t make me tickle you.” finally you snapped out of it and came face to face with your boyfriend. instinctively you hugged him again which jerked him backwards a little bit but he gladly hugged you back.

“ha well someone was dazed a little bit.” he chuckled while you continued to embrace him. “i’m sorry, i was just a little shocked.” he looked down at you and raised an eyebrow, “hell out of all the people here i should be the one shocked.” you both let out little laughs at each other before you loosened your grip and yuto moved just hands down to your waist.

“well i’m glad i surprised you, it’s what i wanted. but you just surprised me with all of, well you know, this.” you dragged your hand lightly down his chest, drawing a straight line down his toned abdomen. “you look like you’ve lost a lot of weight hun” yuto scrunched his nose and randomly kissed your cheek, “ive been working out for the past couple months baby, just trying to make myself look better”. you reached your arms up to yutos neck and looked at him in disbelief, “yuto you were already the hottest, sexiest most perfect man on the world. you didn’t need to change yourself.”

a small smile pricked his lips and he reached down to kiss yours. oh how you missed his gentle kisses and just the feeling of being close to him again. “do you not like how i look now?” he asked jokingly which earned him a light slap to the chest, “of course i like how you look now, you’ll always be perfect in my eyes. i just want you to stay healthy, i can’t monitor you all the time now yuto. i just worry about you overworking yourself.” you rubbed his cheek and gave him a small smile. “i promise you im fine, i just wanted to gain more muscle that’s all, i promise. i still eat all the cookies and goodie bags you send me.” you laughed at each other and it made you feel a little better knowing that he wasn’t trying to unhealthily force himself to workout.

after a small moment of silence yuto finally speaks out “i missed you Y/N” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours, “i missed you too yuto.” you connected the space and kissed him again but this time it lasted longer than the first, it was more passionate and deeper. when you both pulled away it caused you to laugh and fall into his arms. moments like these are what makes you miss him every time he goes away...

now that yuto knows you’re here, you both decide to make your way back to the dorm and get yuto all cleaned up and you must say, the man smells much better now. laying on his bed playing on your phone you waited for him to return from his brisk shower. suddenly without warning a big plop landed right next to you. the strong scent of old spice rolling off of him. you had never forgotten that distinct smell of body wash since you were the one to buy him that specific brand.

“im.so.glad.you.came.to.see.me” moving around, yuto placed kisses all over your face as he spoke to you which made you a giggling mess. once he stopped he calmed down and pulled you into his chest. of course he still had no shirt on, but you were never one to complain.

“yuto” you said which made the wet red striped haired boy look down at you. “Y/N” he replied sarcastically, “is it weird that on my way here i just had a nervous gut feeling that something was gonna go wrong today?” the little smile on your face turned to serious as you asked yuto the question you had been wanting the answer to all day.

even though you couldn’t recall the memory at the moment, yuto knew exactly why you were so anxious about seeing him after such a long time apart, “you know i would never do to you what he did to you, right?” he played with a strand of your hair while you tried processing what he had just said. and then it hit you.

your ex, he had cheated on you, after he went on vacation for awhile and met a foreign woman and slept with her... it was your last relationship before you dated yuto and it was something you always told him that bothered you. it explains why you were so anxious to go see him, you were just in terror that you’d find him cheating or find out he’s been cheating and half to drive 45 minutes back home all broken-hearted again.

you made eye contact with yuto and faintly smiled. he has made you realize that you can trust someone and fall in love again without having to second guess his every action. you really really loved him and you couldn’t ask for someone better.

“i know, i know you would never, i guess i just get paranoid sometimes.” he rubbed a little circle on your cheek and smiled, “i would never do anything to hurt you, i love you a lot Y/N, there’s no one in this world other than you that can make me feel like i own all the stars in the sky.” for a moment you felt tears prick your eyes but you held them back, this time you just dug your face into his chest and let him hold you. this is truly the thing you had missed the most, just being able to rest in each other’s presence.

[ellstersmash]

Three: Sixteen

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU)

Rating: overall E for Explicit | this chapter T for Teen

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--

Athi moves the rearview mirror a fraction of an inch. Returns it to its original position, then back. Tough to tell if her discomfort is due to a misjudged angle or the fact that it’s been more than a year since she’s driven anything other than her bike. Not as if she could have let him drive, though. Not in his current state.

“Take this to Saelac,” Solas murmurs. 

He has his eyes shut, but his thumb is still softly stroking hers the way it has been since she pulled onto the freeway. She expected him to pass out right away, but then this city’s policy on roadwork seems to be: Not if we can help it. Every street is scarred with what must be two decades’ worth of springtime patches, and if he couldn’t sleep through a little bit of air turbulence, he sure won’t manage it here.

“How was your week?” he asks, words quiet and slurring together. Enunciation is hard work.

So she tells him about the bar. About the missing, well, everything, and the cleaning list, and Tali’s prediction that Seggrit will be getting more involved with the day-to-day operations, and how for all that she gripes about it, his absence is what makes her job mostly tolerable. Solas nods where more or less appropriate, sometimes smiling sleepily at her tale from the passenger seat.

She tells him about the houseplant she bought. Remembers she forgot to water it today. Yesterday, too. Fuck.

And she tells him about Sera. About their argument and Dagna moving in, and how odd that will be. How sudden it all is, and maybe destined to be a disaster but worth a try, right? She gets the sudden urge to retreat. Three steps at least away from this talk of people moving in together, of possible futures that they’re far too brand new to traverse, even in conversation, even unrelated to either of them entirely. And maybe he feels it too, because he perks up only to fixate on the rally. Asks her when and where and what's it for and who's in charge and whether or not they got a permit and has the audacity to frown when she admits she won’t be there.

"How unfortunate," he says.

Athi groans."Not you, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Sera already gave me shit about it, so if that's your angle I don't want to hear it."

"I did not intend to ‘give you shit,’ no. I was hoping to invite myself along."

"Really?"

"Yes, it is a worthy cause. I had no idea Sera was such an advocate for social reform."

“Then you don’t know her very well.”

“Clearly I have misjudged her.”

“Why are you interested?”

“Why would I not be?”

She tries not to twist that into an accusation. "You just don't strike me as that kind of guy."

"The kind who cares, or the kind who takes action?"

Eyes on the road, it’s impossible to tell if he’s as offended as he sounds. She shrugs. "Both? Seems like you'd rather dig up the past than fix the future."

“Perhaps you have misjudged me, for I do not see the two as mutually exclusive. Take this next exit, then left at the light.”

The change in subject is a welcome one, but she needs her hand to downshift. Squeezes his before she lets go. Not an apology, not for that, but a no hard feelings. His house is only a few blocks away from here, but that’s as much as she remembers because the streets in this section are laid out in a grid and the corners are basically identical.

“Third one down, take a right.”

The yellow house with the overgrown garden jogs her memory. The plants are sad and brittle and dying now and the last time she passed it was early spring, so the perennials had not yet bloomed and the rest was only partially planted. But it must be a sight to behold in the throes of summer. The colorful pinwheels and kitschy glass butterflies sticking up from the withering stalks imply a love of whimsy, and there’s a small white bench surrounded by unlit lanterns under a nearby tree. She hopes she gets to sit there one day. Hopes the neighbors are friendly.

He has her park in his driveway, nose to the garage and she wonders if he’s filled it with more piles and boxes of dusty books or if he just doesn’t want to bother with the door.

Solas points out the house key for her, then grabs his luggage. Once she realizes the lock is upside-down and gets it open, she flicks the front hall lights on and it’s jarring. The house has that hush which places sometimes get after a prolonged vacancy—an absence of sound to soak up and spit out, and the jingle of his keys in her hand and the scrape of his suitcase on the doorframe are too loud. Like it forgot it was ever lived in. 

But nothing else has changed. Not the clutter in the office. Not the cobweb high in the corner. Not even the slight skew of the painting hanging in the living room. Maybe if they’d made these plans before he had left, he’d have tidied up . . . or maybe not. She doesn’t know him well enough to guess.

“If you do not mind, I have been looking forward to a shower all day,” he says and leans his bag against the wall. Starts down the hall toward the kitchen, then stops so abruptly she nearly runs into him.

“I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, half epiphany, half confession.

Athi threads her arms around him, pleased to discover the tension between them is gone. “I’m very aware.”

His gaze rests on her lips and he blinks slow, as if the effort to open them again is monumental. When he lowers his face to kiss her it is terribly gentle and maybe it’s not on purpose. Maybe it’s just because he’s tired, but it makes her melt. 

Without a reason not to, her hands wander. Slide over the row of tiny gray buttons on his shirt, push the boundaries of his collar. They graze along his throat and through the short dark hair on his scalp, barely there but for the way it catches on her fingerprints. She presses closer before they part, her dazed and him borderline delirious.

“Ok, go shower,” she urges him. “And don’t doze off in there. I’ll have to make fun of you.”

“After that? It is unlikely I’ll be able to sleep at all.” But his dopey grin belies the truth. “Though if you are concerned for my well-being, you are more than welcome to join me.”

Gods, she never sees it coming. He slides straight from stumbling and sleep-deprived to smooth insinuation like it’s his default setting and she wants to say yes. But she knows better. 

“See, that sounds sexy right up until you’re trying to get to sleep with my hair dripping cold water all over the both of us. Besides, I have some snooping to do.” Teasing, of course. She doesn’t care where he keeps his linens or what lies hidden under his socks.

“By all means, peek anywhere you like. Except the attic, which is strictly off-limits.”

Her eyes light up. “Why, what’s in the attic?”

But he only laughs and heads up the stairs. Pauses halfway up and calls down, “Do you need anything?”

Right on cue.

“I’m good,” she assures him. “Go.”

A sharp squeak is followed by the rush of water through old pipes as she skims the shit on his refrigerator. A coupon for an oil change and receipt from an art supply store. Nothing interesting in the least. His magnets are a confused but equally unenlightening collection of local restaurants’ takeout info and unused metal clips.

A few books sit on the island. Sundered: The Scientific Renaissance of Post-Veil Thedas; The Fade: Fact or Fiction?; and An Exhaustive Documentation of Suspected Elvhen Artifacts Destroyed in the Divine Age. She lifts the cover of the top one, flips pages until she comes to a black business card serving as a makeshift bookmark, scans a few lines:

After their own dark period, the Qunari appear to have focused their collective efforts toward adjusting to these new laws of nature. Extensive, detailed records show rapid technological advancement through experimentation and invention, much of which laid the foundation for generations’ worth of progress. Indeed, many modern conveniences can be traced back to their early successes.

Not exactly light reading. Though pretty typical for him, she suspects. What unsettles her is not the books or the boring refrigerator door. It’s the fact that in all of these rooms—the entryway, the study, the kitchen, the living room—all these living spaces, there are no pictures. Not of anyone. His home is steeped in history, but not his own. She's good at being alone, but at least when she inevitably uproots she takes the memories with her. He has nothing. No drawer full of snapshots to match hers, like some sort of trail to prove his existence.

Maybe they’re just very different people. Maybe he doesn’t feel the need to prove anything. Maybe he isn’t the type to take pictures. Or to keep them. Maybe his memories are painful. Maybe they were lost in some tragic accident that hasn’t come up in conversation yet.

Or maybe she’s reading into stuff she shouldn’t be. Again.

At the top of the stairs are two doors and two doorways. Bathroom’s straight ahead, shower still running. Next to that is a closed door, presumably the attic. The leftmost room is closed as well, but unlocked; there's nothing inside but a few file cabinets. The door to the right hangs open, revealing another bedroom. It is small and tidy with minimal furniture: a dresser and a full-length mirror, and a large bed flush with the corner, the thick crimson comforter slightly rumpled near the pillows on one side as if slept in, then hastily remade. A singular nightstand bears a simple swing-arm lamp.

She hunts through his dresser until she finds his T-shirts. Picks a white one with a logo on it from the middle, between freshly-washed and never-been-used. Not beloved—in case he cares—but not the crisp got-it-for-free-and-couldn’t-throw-it-out kind either. Sheds her clothes that smell like beer and citrus and bitters, all but her underwear and leaves them folded neatly on top of the dresser. Then she pulls on his shirt and knocks on the bathroom door frame.

“It’s open,” he yells, and she rolls her eyes. “Extra toothbrushes are in the lower right drawer, and the toothpaste is behind the mirror.”

“Uh huh,” she answers, but is beginning to regret turning down his offer. The shower curtain is nothing but a clear liner and with no door to keep it in, the steam does blessedly little to conceal his form. There’s still time; for more than a moment she contemplates stripping back down and slipping in, but then he shuts off the water and stretches a dripping arm out for his towel so she goes for the toothbrush instead.

By the time he emerges with that same towel wrapped around his hips, she’s finished and gives his reflection an appreciative glance.

He returns it and tugs on her sleeve. “The Lothering Museum of History will be thrilled to have your endorsement.”

“Why am I not surprised that you don’t have a real shower curtain?”

“This curtain is perfectly sufficient.”

“Hey.” Athi raises her hands and follows him into the bedroom. “Not complaining.”

She also doesn’t complain about the precious seconds between him losing the towel and gaining a pair of pajama pants. He’s fit. Cut, not bulky. Studying old stuff and reading books and attending conferences can’t possibly be a direct line to muscle definition and she wonders what he does to work out. If they could do it together. He doesn’t strike her as a runner, but he might enjoy climbing.

Solas interrupts her plans with a brief kiss, trades the overhead light for the bedside one. Four in the morning is hardly late by her standards, but she can tell as his head hits the pillow that he feels it. He tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles, sleepy and sideways.

“Thank you for coming over.”

Athi turns her head and kisses his fingers and whispers, “Thank you for getting naked.”

She’ll be the funny one forever if it means his nose will always crinkle like that.

“I am sorry that I am not—”

“No.” She presses a thumb to his lips to cut short his apology. “That’s not what I’m here for. Really enjoyed the view, though.”

His face is shadowed by the same light shining in her eyes, but the expression he wears is warm. He hits the switch and the room goes dark. She scoots in closer. Tangles their legs. Wriggles until she’s comfortable. It doesn’t take long, like a sign, or a nod from the universe.

We just fit.

Solas is asleep before she’s even ready to try. There are freckles scattered across his shoulders, constellations to trace while she waits. Tries to match his languid breathing. Thinks about where his pictures went. Almost there, then hits the last and loudest stop on her train of thought’s meandering track, and she’s jolted awake.

The bookmark. The business card. The cleaning and packing up. The answer has been stuffed into the back pocket of her least-favorite jeans for weeks.

Seggrit is selling the fucking bar.

--

She wakes up alone. Sprawled out in sheets that smell like him but without the him they belong to. Adjusting, she stares into the middle distance and listens to a faraway set of sounds—the fridge opens, then shuts, the clink of dishes and creak of the floor.

Seggrit is selling the bar. She has no idea what to do with that news except to tell Tali, have her check the books to confirm. They’ve been behind by at least a month for as long as Athi’s worked there, usually more, and if he’s really going to get rid of the place he’ll have had to catch up.

She rolls out of bed, digs her toes into the carpet. It could be nine or noon or later for all she knows. The sun here is strange, and there’s no clock in this room to tell her so she goes searching for one downstairs.

A mosaic-faced antique by the sliding door claims it’s noon.

“Good morning,” Solas says from the kitchen.

She mumbles something resembling words. Seven more steps and she hugs him from behind and they fit so well and his heart is beating fast and he stops whisking eggs to stand there with her all quiet and it’s not morning anymore and he should have stayed in bed and she needs to text Tali and��

“I want coffee,” she whines. Doesn’t mean to whine, but there it is. What if he doesn’t have any? What if he’s one of those people that doesn’t keep coffee in their house?

She might cry.

“There is a bag in the cupboard at the end there, next to the mugs. I was going to make it for you, but—”

“Say no more.”

Gods, she’s glad he didn’t. No one makes it strong enough, and he’s too cute to disappoint so she would have had to drink it anyway. Pretend that pisswater was fine.

Cupboard on the end, right where he said. She slides it off the shelf and can’t help but flutter as she examines the packaging. It’s the same as the ones she bought—or tried to buy then he bought for her—at the coffee shop last year. Or maybe he just asked for “something strong” at the shop and this happened to be what they gave him, but regardless, he thought of her and that feels good all on its own. Her butterflies settle as she opens the bag, breathes in deep. Pours a generous pile into a fresh filter and fills the reservoir with water.

“Roast date on this is yesterday. Did you really leave me sleeping alone in your house?” she teases and pushes the button to start the brew cycle. “What if I had woken up and you were gone?”

“I did consider that possibility, but weighed against the certainty of the alternative, it seemed the wisest course of action.” He arches an eyebrow. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” Athi revisits the cupboard to shuffle through his assortment of mismatched mugs. “And thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She selects one of the mugs, a pleasantly rounded stoneware dip-painted in orange and teal and gray. Her unofficial favorite. There is a newspaper, folded twice, laying on the counter between a plate covered in foil and two clean ones. Solas is reading rather than cooking. Maybe he’s fine with rubbery eggs, but she’s not so she leaves her mug to watch the coffee brew, plucks the spatula from his hand, takes over.

“Seggrit’s selling the bar,” she blurts out as she gently stirs, then scoops a heaping golden spoonful onto each plate. “I think.”

To his credit, Solas looks up from the article he’s so engrossed in. “Really?”

She nods.

“How do we feel about that?”

She shrugs.

“Perhaps you should buy it,” he says and moves his plate and his paper to the island. Yanks open the silverware drawer and hands her a fork. “You wanted to put your name on something, right?”

She snorts. “Didn’t mean literally.”

They eat breakfast right there in the kitchen. Hip to hip, or as close as she can get. Sausage from under the foil and rich maple syrup and toast and almost-perfect scrambled eggs and coffee he bought and didn’t make just for her.

Not a bad morning, truth be told.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Solas asks out of nowhere.

“Hmm?”

He is watching her intently and it occurs to her that she’s been grinning at empty space this whole time.

“Oh,” she says, “it’s nothing,” but her face won’t cooperate and Solas doesn’t buy it.

“It must be quite a pleasant piece of nothing to warrant such a smile. Are you sure it’s not something?” His voice drops low and he leans closer. “Perhaps even something you want to share with me?”

“They say 'bits' here, by the way. ‘Two bits for your thoughts.’ Just so you know.”

“Fascinating.” He doesn’t even pretend to sound sincere.

Oh, she wants to be brave. She makes him work a little harder for it. Keeps it locked up tight until he says please, then she scrunches her nose up where the honesty tickles, and spills even though it’s scary.

“I just . . . it’s nice waking up with you, and”—damn her burning cheeks—“I could get used to it. That’s all.”

Meeting his eyes afterward is a rush. Risk and reward all wrapped up in one because he is beaming right back at her.

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Fuck it. Athi polishes off her coffee. Slides her plate away and faces him fully. Fills her chest with air and bravado. “So what do you want?”

He looks at her quizzically.

“Yeah, context. Before we kissed—at my place, like for real—you asked what I wanted. I said I wanted you, which, I mean, I’ve wanted you since . . . ” She wants to say since the beginning but that’s so fucking cheesy. “Gods, since the coffee shop, I think. But when I asked what I meant to you, you deflected.”

Solas pauses. His gaze drifts, then snaps back. “You are right. I apologize.”

“Also not an answer.”

A full minute, or maybe an hour, passes as he percolates. She can almost see him directing his thoughts this way and that, organizing a response that shouldn’t be this complicated while her own mind skitters from one unsavory possibility to the next. 

“Should’ve sent my questions in ahead of time,” she jokes.

A brief, self-deprecating chuckle as he folds his fingers around hers. “In all fairness, your answer to the same question was efficient, but also vague. Is it so wrong of me to consider my own more carefully?”

“Got me there.”

“I was not trying to win. This conversation is an important one, and I feel it must be approached with both candor and subtlety.”

Candor and subtlety? Athi sighs. New tactic. “Listen, did you avoid the question on purpose?” 

She takes a steady breath—

“No.”

—and lets it out. “Well then, to be honest, I was kind of hoping we could make out at some point today so . . . how about we put the heavy conversation on hold, just for now, and I return the favor and make this easy for you?”

Solas’ smile is indulgent, if a bit weary. “That would be fine.”

“Good. Ok.” She leans her chin on one hand. “Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Like, not just sleeping over and having breakfast, even though we’re obviously really good at that. The whole deal.”

He smirks. “Yes.”

“Only me?”

“Yes.”

Athi claps her hands together. “Good! Excellent response time,” she says, satisfied. Stacks their dishes while she speaks. “Anything else to add?”

“That’s it? That is all you want to know?” A mixture of relief and disappointment is plain on his face.

“Ha! Cute. No, see, I want to hear that elaborate answer of yours, I do. I want to know absolutely every single thought you’ve had about me since day one. Also why you stopped coming to the bar”—she starts counting off on her fingers—“and how long you’ve felt this way, what you and Bull get up to at your secret little club meetings, about a zillion other things . . . But as I said,” and she shrugs, “I have plans.”

“I stopped coming to the bar because I already felt this way. Not”—he gestures between them—“exactly this way, of course, but the first stirrings of it. I had been alone a long time, and it frightened me. Next question.”

“Hold on. Same question. You’ve liked me that long?”

“Yes, though I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, did not notice. If anything, I have been too demonstrative of my feelings this past year. Given the circumstances, that is.”

“Too demonstra— Seriously?” Athi is at a loss. Frozen mid-bewildered-flailing, mouth agape like he’s just grown another pair of eyes right in front of her. “Maybe I, of all people, didn’t notice because we spent all that time together and you never said shit, and then—and then!— you invited me over to ask for dating advice which kind of cancelled out any prior feelings you may have demonstrated. I mean, what the fuck?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Solas sighs heavily. “I suppose we may as well sort this out now.”

“Yeah,” she hisses. “Let’s.” She props one elbow on the counter, rests her chin on her fist. Waits for an explanation.

“Athi,” and he scratches his jaw. “I do not know exactly how you remember that conversation going, but the subject of my inquiry—the woman I mentioned meeting—was you.”

Three beats to process, then: “What!?”

He winces—fair, it was piercing—and he half-hides his face in his hands before continuing. “I was attempting to casually express my interest and it did not occur to me that you’d misunderstood my meaning until recently. At the time, I assumed that you were simply not as interested as I had allowed myself to believe and therefore left before the situation became uncomfortable.”

“Well, I did do that.”

“Then, while I was away, I became convinced that a misunderstanding was possible if not probable, so I resolved to try again once I returned.”

“Oh no . . . ” she trails off and grimaces, and Solas just nods.

Such a mess, and for no fucking reason. They stand there in a dazed silence for a while, looking at anything but each other. Finally, Athi peeks over and Solas has his head hanging low like a puppy shamed for eating from the garbage. It’s so sad and so stupid and she can’t keep from laughing. First a little, then a lot, then he’s laughing right along with her.

“So you’re telling me,” she wheezes out between giggles. “We could have been banging for no less than six months already?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She’s swept away by another wave of laughter. When it finally subsides, she’s left with aching cheeks and tears in her eyes.

“Come on,” she says and grabs his hand, squeezes it tight, pulls him toward the stairs.

“What? Where are we going?”

“To make up for lost time.”

[libralita]

Truths and Roses have Thorns About Them | Chapter 12

Beginning | Previous Chapter

Summary: The Marchen Tavern draws in many strange characters from all across Angielle and beyond. While it may bring wonder and mystery to those who stop, it does make keeping staff members a challenge. However, Fella Treslyn is up to the task of being the Marchen’s new cook. But is really ready to deal with all the antics it has to offer?

It was the day for the Marchen team to storm the palace and everyone who was staying was seeing them off. Klaude had taken Fella to a private little corner of the Tavern; she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “Come back safe, okay?”

“I promise.” He whispered with his forehead pressed hers. She wrapped her arms around him for a hug before they heard Delora’s voice calling for him. “I love you, Fella.”

“I love you, too.” She said, it still felt strange to say. He seemed to relax a little when she said it. As if he was worried she had stopped in the very short time between seeing each other. “See you later.”

“See you—Fella.”

“What? I’m not going to say goodbye. That’s too final.”

Klaude chuckled as he kissed her forehead. “See you later.” He led her back to the kitchen before Delora could call for them again.

“I will pray for your safe return, Lucette.” Emelaigne’s sweet voice came from the sitting room. There was another soft voice that Fella could not quite make out.

Fella said goodbye to those who were leaving before coming to Lucette once she was done talking to her step-siblings. “Come back safe, Lucette.”

“I will.” She said sounding awkward.

Fella gently wrapped her into a hug. The princess made a surprised noise and awkwardly hugged her back. “I’ll be sure to prepare a meal for everyone!” Fella called.

Once they were gone, the Tavern felt quieter. Most of the boarders that Fella did not know went up to their rooms and there were no outside patrons tonight. The ones left that Fella did know were Chevalier, Annice, Parfait, Prince Rod, and Princess Emelaigne. Dion had also come to make sure Fella and rest were safe.

Fella felt someone tap her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I never got your name, Miss.”

Fella turned to face the voice. “It’s Fella. And you are Princess Emelaigne, correct?”

“Emelaigne is fine, really.” She said and then clasped Fella’s hands in hers. “Thank you so much for taking care of my sister.”

“Oh…you mean Lucette?” Emelaigne confirmed. Sometimes Fella forgot that Lucette was the true crown princess and probably shared a life with the royal family. She suspected that was part of the curse. “Really, I think you are giving me too much credit. I mostly just fed her.”

“But you two seem close and I am thankful that she has a friend.” She said, sweetly.

Fella decided to simply accept the compliment graciously. “So, you and your brother do not remember her at all?”

“Rod does but I do not, unfortunately.” She sounded genuinely sad.

“I’m sure you had a…”

“Don’t try to lie to her.” A young man’s voice came. “Lucette barely spoke to either of us.”

That made things a little bit awkward even though it was not surprising. Fella gently reached out and patted Emelaigne’s shoulder. “In my experience getting to know Lucette…she is a hard nut to crack. She takes time to warm up to people for some valid reasons. But I think she’s truly changed and I hope you can have a better relationship with her.”

Fella was nearly knocked over when Emelaigne hugged her. “That makes me so happy to hear! Thank you so much, Fella! I hope that all three of us can be good friends.”

“Cousin,” Fella heard Dion’s voice as the back door closed. “You certainly make friends fast.”

~

For that night, Fella had gained a shadow. A very chatty shadow.

Fella did not really mind Emelaigne, in fact, it was a little nostalgic. It reminded her of being back home with her older sister Namora. Fella would be preparing food and Namora would chat about anything under the sun.

Emelaigne stood to the side of the kitchen in a place she would not get in the way of Fella. She had tried to convince her brother Rod to come and cook with Fella. He's really such a good cook, Fella! I'm sure it would be a lot of fun! But Rod had declined and Fella did not push him to do something he did not want to do.

For this, Fella was solo. It was technically Annice’s day off and Fella had insisted she take it. However, I will probably need your help once everyone comes back.

“I can help carry that.” Emelaigne offered as Fella finished making dinner. It was just a simple soup, if the rest of the Marchen came back early enough then there would be a true feast. This was just something to hold them over until then. Because everyone is coming back.

Fella walked with a tray with Emelaigne behind. The Marchen still felt lonely without Delora, the knights, Lucette, and especially Klaude.

“So…” Fella said sitting down with her bowl and face the direction she thought Emelaigne and Rod were. “Going from normal life to royalty. What’s that like?”

“You’ll learn soon enough, won’t you?” Emelaigne asked. “You are in a relationship with the lost prince.”

Fella’s face went hot. It was not really for the fact that it was pointed out that she was in a relationship with Klaude. She had stopped getting flustered by that quickly because if she did not then Klaude's...lovey-dovey nature would have surely killed her. It was for her own survival. But the idea that she was in a relationship with a prince. Would she become…queen or a nation that she’s never set foot in, let alone barely knew anything about.

“Oh, no. Have I upset you, Fella?”

“My stress level just increased dramatically,” Fella said, taking a sip of her soup. “Now I really want to know what it’s like to prepare for what's to come.”

It was quiet for a moment before Emelaigne said. “I am grateful for the life we have been given. However, I will be honest, it is quite difficult being the crown—”

Suddenly Fella’s mind felt fuzzy. The soup that had just entered her stomach did not sit well for a second before the wave of nausea passed. Fella recalled the other time that this happened. She was with Klaude, Jurien, and Garlan. They were talking about the time at the toy shop where she had met Emelaigne, Rod and…and…

Lucette.

Lucette Riella Britton. The crown princess of Angielle.

“It appears that Princess Lucette has broken her curse.” Parfait’s gentle voice said.

Emelaigne let out a gasp and it sounded like she nearly knocked over her soup. “Oh my goodness, I remember her. I cannot believe I forgot my own sister.”

“Well…this is good, right?” Fella said. “I mean if Lucette broke her curse than surely that is good for everyone who is fighting?”

“I think you’re right,” Emelaigne said, ever the optimist.

You’re coming home Klaude. Fella told herself. I know it.

~

Once everyone had finished dinner, Fella started to clean up the kitchen. Fella went out to the back patio and placed a few empty crates to be replaced in the morning. She let out a sigh at releasing the weight and straightened up. Then she heard a cough from behind her and quickly spun around.

“I apologize for startling you.” Said an unfamiliar feminine voice through a fit.

“It’s alright,” Fella said, pressing a hand to heart to slow its rapid beating. She could not help but add, “I’m sorry but The Marchen is closed…but are you alright?”

The woman cleared her throat and spoke, it was a hard pin down how old this woman was just by the voice. “I am alright but…Miss, could you spare a meal?”

“Sure. Just wait here a moment.” I’ll just pay for it myself. Fella thought going in and leaving some money on the counter and then brought out a bowl and spoon of soup. Fella went to the fence and held it out for the woman.

“How kind.” The woman said, gently taking the bowl from her.

“Miss, you really shouldn’t be out at this hour by yourself. It’s not safe, especially all that has been going on.”

The woman let out an amused hum. “I will be alright but I thank you for your worry.” There was the soft sound of spoon on bowl. “You are Ophella Treslyn.”

“I…I am,” Fella said, even though the woman did not ask it but stated it.

There were a few clinks of the spoon. “Tell me, Ophella, have you ever done something out of anger and then immediately regretted it?”

Fella thought. “I probably have but I cannot think of it. I guess…I got into a fight with my…my lover recently and I was angry at him. It worked out in the end.” Hopefully. Klaude was still not back yet. No one was. “I am thankful that we moved passed it.”

“That makes me happy to hear. I know that a broken heart can be one of the most painful wounds imaginable.” The woman said and then added that she was finished with her soup. This woman was so strange. Fella went over to the fence to take back the bowl and spoon. When Fella took the bowl, she felt a hand placed overs and then one on her cheek. “I do so deeply regret what I did to Klaude.”

Fella’s eyes widened and she screamed at the realization at who this was. Immediately, she moved away, bowl and spoon clanking to the ground. As soon as the woman’s hands were off her, Fella suddenly felt incredibly dizzy, she staggered and fell on her backside to the ground. She held her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Then it was imprinted into her mind. An...image?

“I cannot cure your blindness, Ophella Treslyn. Perhaps the Witch Doctor could be even then there would be a steep price. And from what I’ve seen of you, I doubt you would make such a deal. However, I can leave you with a small gift.” The woman said as Fella clasped her hand over her mouth in shock, tears welling up in her eyes. The image still in her mind. “Thank you for righting my wrong.”

“Fella!” It was Dion’s voice who came rushing out. “Fella, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“That…that woman…?”

Dion put his hands on her forearms and shifted to look around. “There is no woman out there. Do you want me to look?”

“N-No…” She said, in a daze. “I just need to go sit down and clear my head…” She said, touching the ground and realized the bowl and spoon were placed right next to her.

~

Dion tried to get her to tell him what happened but Fella just asked him to give her a moment to process. She sat in the empty dining room.

When Fella sat down, she panicked for a moment, thinking the image had fled her memory before she could really “see” it. However, as she thought about it came into her mind’s eye as clear as it was first put there. As she thought about the image with a clear mind, soon words were starting to be placed into what she was seeing. It was like she was slowly being fed information about the image.

This is a man. He has hair that is long and it is red. His eyes are green. He wears a pin that is in the shape of a flower—no, no, no it is a yellow rose.

The colors of clothes that had once been just words now had more meaning to them. Once she felt like she finished “looking” at him, the man started moving. His mouth moved, the ends turning up. He was…smiling and then extended his hand and someone took it.

A girl, that’s a girl with curly hair tied with…two blue bows.

Fella’s eyes widened as she absently touched her own curls.

That’s me. Which means that’s…

Fella covered her mouth and began to cry just as the front door to the Marchen burst open.

~

Once the day had been saved—Lucette’s curse had been broken and power to King had been restored—Klaude sprinted back to the Marchen.

Klaude opened the door and was surprised to see Fella sitting there alone. And then he noticed her hand to her mouth and she was crying.

Klaude’s heart sunk at seeing this and quickly went over to her in the blink of an eye. She had a startled look when he gently took her arms. He gave her a once over. No, she did not seem to be hurt. “Fella, I’m here. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Fella’s mouth worked, tears still rolling down her round face. And then...she moved her arm and patted his head.

“Uh…?” He said, confused. This was not the welcome home he expected. He expected Fella to run into his arms and they would kiss and promise never to be away from each other again. Maybe she would call him brave and heroic instead of dramatic. Instead, she felt at his head until she found the base of his tail. Then her finger ran down the length of his hair.

She started crying hard and grinned. “You do have long hair.” And then she hugged him.

“Fella, I am very confused.”

“It’s really complicated.” She said, nuzzling her face into his coat and then raised her head to face him. Klaude was almost tricked into thinking she was fine when he saw that fierce determination. However, there was still that pit of worry. “Klaude, where is everyone else?”

“We won and everyone else is heading back. I rushed over to see you. But, Fella, please tell me what’s wrong.” Klaude said, his heart would not stop hurting until he knew what was wrong with Fella.

“Nothing is wrong. It’s…I don’t…it’s so complicated to explain.”

Klaude was about to ask for her to try when there were footsteps. “Well if it isn’t the love birds already—Fella, what happened?!” It was Jurien and she hurried over once noticing that Fella was still crying. Jurien looked like a concerned older sister, examining her and then glared at Klaude, putting her hands on her hips. “What did you do?”

He was taken aback by the accusation and glared back at her. “I didn’t do anything, I found her like this.”

“I’m fine,” Fella said.

“There was a woman outside.” Dion’s voice came from the doorway noticing the noise.

Before anyone could say anything else Fella stood up looking frustrated at the fact that she was being talked over. “I’m fine, everyone is heading back so I have to prepare the true dinner of the night.”

She started walking but Dion blocked her path. “Fella.”

Fella pouted. “Dion, if you do not get out of my way, I will hide under the table and never come back out.”

Jurien and Klaude glanced at each other in confusion. Dion looked at her for a moment, then shook his head and chuckled. This must have been a family joke. “You’re telling about this after the celebration.”

“I will. I promise. I just need to…calm down.”

~

Fella felt bad for keeping everyone in the dark about what was going on with her. She was just so overwhelmed with emotions. Not only did she have this…image, but everyone at the Marchen had returned safely. It was like a weight had been lifted off her chest knowing that all returned but then she was also thrust into a new bout of confusion.

Once she had fed what felt like all of Angielle, she was practically dragged by Delora out of the kitchen and into another room. Klaude, Delora, Parfait, and Dion were all there. “Okay, Fella, you need to talk about what happened. There’s something…strange about you. But I can’t put my finger on it.” Delora said, helping her sit down.

“She’s not cursed is she?” Klaude and Dion both asked at the same time.

“No, it’s not that,” Parfait said. “Fella, could you please tell us what happened.”

When Fella sat down and Klaude moved to sit close to her, gently taking her hand. Though by the way he was squeezing it, she could tell he was worried.

Fella summed the image and it came clear as day. It was…real. “I made some soup for everyone who was still at the Marchen, it was after the time that Lucette broke her curse. I was putting some crates outside to be picked up and I heard coughing. There was a woman and she asked for a meal.”

“Please tell me you gave her something,” Delora said.

“Of course, I did!” Even if she had known who this woman was, she wouldn’t have done it because she feared being cursed. The woman seemed to need it and wasn’t really troubling her. Now that she thought about it she should have tried to ask the witch some questions instead of screaming. “I gave it to her and she asked me about regrets. Whether I had done something out of anger and regretted it later. She said that a broken heart was the most painful wound.”

Fella took her free hand and placed it on her cheek where the woman had touched it. “When she gave me back the bowl she touched me. Then she said ‘I do so deeply regret what I did to Klaude.’ And then—”

Klaude let go of her hand and then cupped her face in his hands. “Did that witch hurt you?”

“Klaude, listen to me.” She said, hearing the panic ins his voice. “I…I don’t think she did. She truly sounded like she regretted what she did to you. She said that she could not cure my blindness however, she gave me a gift to thank me for righting her wrong. She gave me an image of you and me.”

The room was silent until Dion spoke up. “Are you two certain this is not some kind of trick? Is this truly a gift, Delora? Parfait?”

“Let me have a look at her,” Delora said and walked over. It seemed like Klaude reluctantly let go of her face but still held her hand. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.

Delora put a hand on top of her head. Fella summed the image. The image first of Klaude smiling and then him taking her hand.

“She is not cursed,” Delora said. “Witch magic is not purely curses. This truly is a gift.”

“Are you certain?” Klaude as, skeptically.

“I’m certain, Klaude.” Fella said, turning to face Klaude. “At least, I’m fairly certain.”

“Why don’t we give these two some alone time,” Parfait said.

“Oh no, I think this will be fairly entertaining—”

“Delora.”

The three left and Fella gently wrapped her arms around Klaude. “Klaude, as far as I know, I’m fine. She sounded genuinely sorry about what she did to you. And hasn’t Delora said that even the witch who cast the curse cannot undo it?”

Klaude was quiet for a moment. “If anything is wrong, tell me, okay?”

“I promise.”

Klaude was quiet for a moment and then let out a sigh. “When you broke my curse, I remember hearing something. I am fairly certain it was Agathe’s voice—the witch who cursed me—and she did not have any malice in her heart. Perhaps she truly was regretful.”

“I hope she has found peace.” Fella then leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m so happy everyone is back.”

They stayed in each other’s arms for a while, just hugging and savoring the moment. It was now finally time to enjoy each other’s company. After a while, Fella heard Klaude clear this throat and his voice was strange. “So…am I…?”

Fella frowned in confusion. “Are you…?”

“You know.”

“No, I do not.”

Klaude leaned his head back and sighed. “Am I handsome?”

Fella blinked and then started laughing. “Well, I don’t really have any point of comparison. So I can’t compare, now I can I?”

Klaude then started chuckling. “I guess not. And yet I can help but worry that you don’t find me attractive.”

“Pffft,” Fella shook her head before nestling into his chest. She raised her hand and felt for his rose pin, fingers tracing on it. “If I could ask to see anyone in the world, I am glad that it is you, Klaude. Your hair is warmer than the afternoon sun. I could get lost in your eyes for hours if I wanted to. Your smile makes my heart flutter.”

Fella felt a little embarrassed by saying this because she had tried to think of something that Klaude would say. That did not make her words a lie. She was being honest. It was just not something she was used to saying. And Klaude generally had a way with words.

And now, Klaude was reacting strangely. When she began speaking he had grown tense and while he traced his pin, she could feel his heart under the heel of her hand. It began to beat like a rabbit’s as she continued. When she finished he made a strange sound like he was about to say something but he pressed his lips together.

“Klaude…?” She asked, frowning. Then she reached up and felt his cheek. “Your cheek is warm…” Then she grinned at him. “Did I just make you flustered?”

Klaude moved one of his hands from her and to cover his mouth. “…Maybe.” His voice was muffled.

“I made you flustered! Finally! After you did that to me so many times!” Fella cheered.

“You’ve made me flustered before.” Klaude laughed.

Before Fella could ask when there was a knock at the door. Fella moved so he could get it. “Is that blind cook here?” Fella tried to place the voice. Prince Rod?

“Prince Rod? Why would you need Fella?” Klaude asked.

“That man who died during the mission in the castle—”

“Wait, Klaude, you said nobody from the Marchen died in the assault.”

“No one from the Marchen.” Prince Rod said, sounding annoyed that he was interrupted. “He was Lucette’s personal guard. Emelaigne tried to talk to her about it but she wouldn’t open her door for her.”

Fella stood up and Klaude went over to help her navigate to the door. Fella remembered who Rod was talking about. Lucette mentioned Fritz before and so had the guards that Fella had listened in on. “I can try to talk to her.”

“Rod really appreciates the help, Fella!”

Fella nearly fell over if it weren’t for Klaude keeping her upright. Who the hell was that?! “Sebby.”

“Who—never mind.” Tonight was not the night to unravel more mysteries of the Marchen. She turned to Klaude. “Stand by, okay?”

Klaude chuckled. “Remember that the princess is a delicate flower.”

“I will.”

~

Fella had not been in Lucette’s room before so Klaude had to take her to it. Fella stopped by her room to get her cane and he took her to Lucette’s door. Klaude pressed a kiss to her cheek before leaving. Fella carefully opened the door.

“Have you not heard of knocking?” Lucette’s voice came when Fella entered the room.

“Funny coming from you,” Fella said, extending her hand to her. “I heard about Fritz.”

Lucette did not respond nor did she take Fella's hand. However, Fella heard the creek of the bed.

Fella poked at the floor with her cane, going to sit down next to Lucette. “Ow,” Lucette complained Fella accidentally hit her with the cane.

“You should have taken my hand.” Fella teased sitting on the bed, and then gently patted her back. “I’m sorry.”

Fella felt Lucette shift in her spot. They were silent for a moment. Then Fella gently wrapped her arms around Lucette. The princess was stiff and it felt like she was waiting for something to happen before quietly saying. “I can’t believe Fritz is gone…”

“I know.” Fella said, quietly and continued to hug Lucette. The other woman was so tense until she finally let out a soft sob. Lucette put a hand onto Fella’s arm to hold onto it.

“I’m here.” Fella added, quietly. You’re not alone. It felt like the right thing to say. Fella could imagine a younger Lucette grieving over her mother. Had her own father even gone to comfort her? Who would go to comfort her when the evil witch was just killed?

Lucette hugged Fella back and they stayed like that for a long time.

~

“Fella, are you sure you don’t want to come to Brugantia with me?” Klaude asked. They were in his room as he was packing his things. Now that he was done, he had come up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Even for a short holiday? I would love nothing more than to introduce you to my family.” He nuzzled his face in her hair and tried to make his voice sound more enticing. “Mother will shower you with gifts. Father would…well, tease you, probably. He has your sense of humor so I’m sure you’ll get along swimmingly. And Llama…”

“Wait a minute. Llama?”

“My brother, Llama.”

“Karma and Llama. I’m starting to suspect that your parents actually hated you both.” Fella said, turning so she could wrap her arms around him.

Klaude chuckled softly, “As I said, my father likes to make jokes just like you. My brother’s real name is Lance.” He pulled her a little closer. “I will gladly introduce you two. And you can tell my little brother how charming I am.”

“Pffft!” Fella tried to tease him by attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. “Keep dreaming.”

“Oh come now.” He said, squeezing her. “I want to show you off to my little brother.”

He sounds...competitive. That must be interesting.

“Klaude,” she said, still hugging him. “As much as I would like to meet your family, I think it’s important that you let your family know you’re safe and alive.” Fella thought that this should be an intimate time for Klaude and his family. It was important to give them time to catch up without having Fella around. He needed to do this. “Besides, I still have some work to do at the Marchen.”

Klaude’s body sagged a little, seeming defeated. “But the thought of being separated from you…I’ll miss you far too much.”

Fella stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “I’ll miss you, too but we won’t be apart for long.”

Klaude kissed her back, running his hand through her curls. His long hair tickled her face and his kisses were gentle. I really will miss this.

“I’ll be back in time for Lucette’s birthday.” He promised and after another sweet kiss added. “I love you, Fella.”

“I love you, too.”

There was suddenly a hard knock at the door. “Klaude, your carriage is here!” Delora said, sounding annoyed. “Quit fooling around and hurry up.”

Fella giggled as she moved away. Fella helped bring down his bags to the carriage. “More bags?” The coachman said, sounding surprised.

“You certainly are good at taking up space, Klaude,” Delora said.

Klaude made an annoyed sound as he set the bag down and the ones Fella was carrying. “Parfait, Delora, thank you for all your help.” His genuine tone made Fella smile.

“You two will have to come back and visit,” Parfait said in her sweet, soft tone.

“Fella’s not leaving yet,” Delora said. “We still need to get all the meals we can out of her.”

Klaude chuckled and then went to Fella. “I will see you soon.”

Fella smiled. “See you soon.” They kissed before Klaude finally left.

~

Fella had never been so busy in her life. Not only did she have her regular meals to prepare nearly every day but she also had to teach Annice to take over as head cook and she had to prepare Lucette’s birthday menu.

Part of it energized her. It was pushing her to work harder and to become excellent at what she did. While she was exhausted at the end of every day, she still did it with a smile.

Another part of her really missed Klaude. He had sent a few letters telling her that he arrived safely. Along with very flowery descriptions of his love for her that made her blush as Dion read it to her. More so that her cousin was reading it than the actual content.

That day, Fella had finally finished the preparation for Lucette's birthday that would be in a few days. Once dinner at the Marchen was done she trudged up to her room and flopped on her bed. She almost fell asleep right then and there with her shoes and work clothes still on. She was so exhausted. If Klaude had been there then he would have taken off her shoes and cuddled with her until she did fall asleep. “I miss you, Klaude.” She muttered softly.

Vaguely as she drifted off to sleep she heard footsteps down the hall, she was almost going to ignore them when she heard her door start to open.

Fella sprang up, “Who’s there?”

“Ah, Fella, it’s so good to see that you’ve missed me.” Fella was shocked to hear Klaude’s voice. “Hello, my beautiful betrothed.”

Fella got out of bed and hurried toward the door and strong arms were wrapped around her. “Klaude!” She held him and then in a more sarcastic tone. “We aren’t engaged. And don’t you knock?”

“We might as well be.” He said, hugging her close.

“That still does not give you an excuse for not knocking.” She teased, moving to kiss him. “Why didn’t you write to say you’d be arriving soon?”

He cupped her face in his hands. “Don’t tell me you wanted me to stay out longer.”

She could hear the teasing in his voice. “No, I did not.”

“Good to hear.” He said, leading her back to bed. She kicked off her shoes as they sat in bed together. Fella curled up close to him and she felt his body relaxing. Was he…actually worried that I wouldn’t be glad to see him? “I knew I would miss you, but it really was terrible being away from you.”

“It’s the cooking, right?” She asked, closing her eyes.

“Fella how could you think so low of me? I missed your beautiful smile. The elegant way you walk. Your sense of humor. Your—”

“The cooking just wasn’t the same.”

Klaude laughed, hugging her close. “Yes, I will admit, it was hard going back to other people’s food. But I was not lying when I said I missed all you and your wonderful virtues.”

Fella snorted. “But did you enjoy the time with your family?”

“I did. And my brother was very frustrated that I spoke about you almost every hour of the day.”

Fella blushed but smiled. “Well. I’m pretty sure Delora was ready to kick me out because of how much I spoke about you.”

“We look like quite a pair, rosy-cheeked.” He teased, he moved so they were lying on the bed together. Fella moved her hand and felt for his rose pendant. She summoned the image of Klaude and smiled. Then Klaude’s voice grew more serious. “Going back home gave me time to think about how I acted in the past. I think that Agathe was right to curse me. I’ve always had everything handed to me on a silver platter.”

“Maybe you did deserve to be cursed. I can’t say because I did not know you before you, however, I still stand by what I said before. The curse was too vindictive. The Beast's curse was just what he needed to learn his lesson. Your curse was nearly impossible to break.”

Klaude let out a small sigh. “When I came to Angielle I believed that if it wasn’t going to help break my curse, it wasn’t important. At first, I didn’t really pay you much attention. I only thought Delora and Parfait were being ridiculous for hiring you.”

“I believe I have thoroughly proved you wrong.”

“As I said before, being wrong never tasted so delicious.” He joked but there was still that seriousness in his voice. “There...There was a part of me that wanted to win the heart of Lucette so she could break my curse on her birthday. Obviously, I did not pursue that plan as I spent more time with you and she spent more time with other people. But I truly was selfish.”

Fella let that all sink in. She supposed it wasn’t surprising. Lucette was supposed to become a powerful witch on her birthday. Delora and Parfait’s whole plan was to make sure that Lucette became a better person in time for her birthday.

“I think Lucette would sooner throw you out a window then to court you.”

There was silence and then Klaude burst out laughing. “Fella, I’m being serious.” He tried saying through the laughs. He calmed down a little and said. “You’re not allowed to make me laugh when I’m being serious.”

Fella smiled. “I’m sorry, but that’s the only thing I know what to say.”

“I suppose you are right.”

Fella thought for a moment. "Those may have been your intentions but there was still some goodness in you Klaude. You saved me that first night. You saved me a lot of nights. You became a better person."

"Thank you." He said and started running his fingers through her hair. “You are looking rather sleepy.”

Fella nodded her eyes slowly closing before an idea sprang into her mind. “Wait a minute, could you help me with something?”

“Anything for my love.”

“I’ve been so busy with training Annice and working on Lucette’s birthday menu that I haven’t had time to sit down with Dion to write a letter to my family about…well…you.”

“I’m sure that will be quite the story to tell,” Klaude said, moving to leave the bed. Fella told him where he could find paper and pen. She thought he would sit at her vanity to write it but instead came back to lay with her on the bed. He wrapped his left arm around and she cuddled close to him but still made sure he had room to write.

“Ready when you are.”

Fella was about to tell him not to add anything to what she said, however, she stopped herself. She knew her parents would do that to her letters to Dion. Dion usually did not do that but she had caught him a few times. She trusted Klaude to write only her words.

“Dearest, darlingest Mother and Father.” She began and a smile played on her lips. “Do I have a story to tell you…”

The End

Author’s Notes: Well, it’s finally done! If you made it this far then thank you so much for reading this! I had a lot of fun and I hope that you enjoyed it. I have some tentative plans to either writing a sequel fic. In late November the devs of this game are coming out with Evermore. I have seen that Lance will be in the game for Klaude’s route. I want to write Fella going to Brugantia, meeting his family, and learning to become the princess consort. However, I will wait until that game comes out so I can see Lance’s character (and his parents if they appear in the game.)

Until then, thanks again for reading!