#job searches were disheartening but then I found THE ONE I WANTED

[demonslayedher]

I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 9

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, poor military references, references to cancer and chemotherapy, cursing, preteen shenanigans, anxiety

32nd Street Naval Station, 13 years ago

Jake’s gulp was the only movement he made as he lined up amongst the other aviators and sailors, on solid ground again for the first time in six months. It was sweltering hot in San Diego and even the lightweight material of his khaki uniform did nothing to prevent the sweat from dripping down his neck. All he wanted was to get changed into some shorts and a t-shirt and grab a beer at the Hard Deck, knowing he would be reuniting with the other members of Dagger Squad after half a year away.

He, Javy, Bob and Phoenix had been deployed together, thank god, but he was anxious to see everyone else, a thought that would have rocked him back on his heels even a year ago. He still wasn’t known as the greatest team player they had, but he had surprised even himself when he had bonded with the other aviators he was stationed at Top Gun with. Payback’s wife had been expecting when they left, Fanboy’s mom going through chemo, while Rooster was left to run training simulations with Maverick, and Jake wanted to hear about all of it.

Yet, he was left standing in formation as those around him started to disperse, their family members and friends tapping them out. Jake allowed himself a little sigh as he saw people searching left and right for their loved ones. Once upon a time, his parents would have made the journey out to release him from his duties, but they were older and more hesitant to fly now. He knew his grandfather would have made the trip from Texas, but he hadn’t even mentioned it to the man. Jake straightened his shoulders. Hopefully, Javy’s mama had made the trip. Auntie Thea loved Jake almost as much as he loved her, and he knew that she would tap him out if she saw him standing there.

His shoulders almost drooped when Stella, the tattoo artist Javy had been seeing for a few weeks before deployment, approached and nearly tackled his best friend. Shit. There went that plan. Natasha’s sister had already tapped her out, the two of them smiling back at him teasingly as they strolled away, leaving Jake and Bob standing there amongst the other crewmen who hadn’t been found by their loved ones. While it wasn’t necessarily a big deal, and while he knew that Nat would feel like shit and apologize if she found out he was the last one standing there on the tarmac, a heavy weight settled over his heart. There was nothing more disheartening than to realize you had nobody to welcome you home after six months at sea.

“Bobby!”

Jake almost winced. Even shy, quiet Bob Floyd had someone there who cared about him. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the woman—the beautiful woman, too beautiful for Baby On Board Floyd to be able to pull—hugged the WSO tightly, officially releasing him from his duties.

“Hey kiddo,” he heard Bob say softly, hugging the woman gently. “How’ve you been?”

“Excited to have finally finished my masters,” she shrugged. “And looking forward to getting to spend some time with my big brother before diving into the post-grad job search. So, how was it? I know you can’t tell me much, but how was it?”

Bob chuckled softly. “Let’s just say, I’m glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re back too,” she replied, giving him a slight nudge as he bent to pick up his gear. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

“I think the squad is planning on getting drinks tonight at the Hard Deck,” he offered as he shuffled his bag onto his shoulder. “They’re probably already there. Well, most of them, anyway.”

“Why most of them?” she asked as they slowly started to walk away. “Did some of your other friends get deployed too?”

Bob shook his head as they passed in front of Jake, lowering his voice. “I don’t think so. Some of us are still waiting to get tapped out, though.” Bob shot Jake an apologetic glance, and his friend followed his gaze.

“Is he one of your friends?” she asked quietly. Jake’s eyes strained against the sunlight as he stared dead ahead, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as the tarmac grew more and more empty.

“I guess you could say that,” Bob murmured. “That’s Hangman.”

“Ohhh…” Jake could almost imagine the dawning of realization on the woman’s face as she remembered the less than flattering stories Bob had undoubtedly shared with her. “I’ll be right back.”

Jake blinked as the woman appeared right in front of him, smiling softly. “Do you not have anyone to tap you out, Hangman?” she asked quietly, eyes soft and bright. Jake couldn’t bring himself to look away. “Oh right, you’re not supposed to break formation or talk or anything until you’re tapped out, right?” She placed a warm hand on Jake’s shoulder, and he allowed himself to relax. “There. That’s better.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he murmured, bending to grab his bag.

Bob stepped closer. “Hangman, this is my sister.”

She rolled her eyes and offered him her hand, stating her name with a smile. “I’m pretty sure introducing me as his sister was supposed to be some sort of warning for you not to mess with me,” she whispered slyly to him, sticking her tongue out at her brother as he sighed.

“I would never, ma’am,” he smirked over at Bob and lowered his head over her hand, kissing the warm, silky skin softly.

“I already regret everything,” Bob muttered as the three started walking towards the parking lot.

She grinned at him, and Jake felt something inside himself stir. It wasn’t often that the mere sight of a pretty smile gave him that feeling in his chest, but something about Bob Floyd’s sister smiling at him made his heart feel like he had just run back-to-back marathons.

“So, Hangman, do you have a ride to this Hard Deck place?” she asked as they approached a rental convertible.

He found himself smiling back at her. Not his signature smirk or his flirty grin, but an actual Seresin Smile. “No, ma’am, I don’t. And please, call me Jake.”

“Jake…” the sound of his name on her lips made something in his brain short out, and he found himself wanting to get to know everything he could about this woman beside him.

The dopey smile on his face must have given him away because Bob groaned again. “I really regret everything.”

Hotel Zaza, Downtown Austin, Texas, Now

The days after their Zoom call had been hectic, to say the least. Bob had been able to coordinate flights that would put them in Austin Friday night, so they could be ready for their meeting on Saturday afternoon. Rooster had kept in contact with Natasha and given her the name of the hotel that Savannah had insisted they stay at, because it was her number one choice for a wedding venue. Buttercup’s agent had been able to get them adjoining rooms in the hotel, pulling the ‘fairly famous and well-off author’ card when the hotel had balked at the last-minute reservation.

Charlie was immensely grateful for her aunt and uncle organizing their trip, because she had spent the days between the call and the flight getting to know her mother, as Charlie this time, not as Abby. It was even more wonderful than getting to know her the first time, and she felt a bit silly about her fears that her mother wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t Abby. If anything, Buttercup’s adoration for her had only grown once Charlie had started acting more like herself. They had spent the whole flight to Texas chatting and giggling, watching old movies and sharing stories about their lives. By the time they disembarked in Texas, Charlie felt even closer to her mother than she had before.

Now, however, she was seeing a brand-new side to her mother, one that she wasn’t even sure Abby had seen before.

Buttercup’s hands were folded tightly under her chin as she surveyed the contents of her suitcase, her weight was shifting back and forth, and her breath was coming in short gasps.

“I-I don’t see why it matters what I wear, Nat,” she murmured, her wide eyes scanning over the clothes that had been neatly tucked into her rose gold case. “It’s just my ex-husband, his new fiancée, and my daughter.”

“Because it’s your ex-husband,” Nat replied with an eye roll. “Pull a Princess Di and revenge dress the shit out of him!”

“Language,” Buttercup murmured, though there was no real heat behind the warning. “It doesn’t matter anyway, Nat.”

“Then why’re you shaking in your boots?”

Buttercup backed up and slumped into one of the armchairs in the suite. The room was sheer opulence, large and clean and beautiful in a way that Charlie had never seen before. She had to hand it to her, Savannah sure knew how to pick her potential venues.

“Because I haven’t seen him for over a decade and he stopped answering my calls about the custody arrangement and now he’s getting married to someone who is arguably way too young for him and here I am, still single and unable to recognize that our daughters swapped places!”

Natasha sighed, but Charlie stepped in front of her mother before her aunt could say anything. “It’s going to be okay, mom,” she said. “Abby and I will be there, and so will Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat, and Uncle Roo and Uncle Javy.”

Buttercup chuckled tearily. “Look at you, Charlie. Talking me down.” She sniffled. “I’m sorry, honey. I need to pull myself together. You don’t need to be parenting me.”

Charlie giggled. “I’m not. I’m just telling you what you told me when I was freaking out about the lecture I’m probably gonna get from Dad.”

Buttercup giggled and pulled Charlie into a hug. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, mom,” Charlie pulled away. “Why don’t you pick something that makes you feel good to wear? That way you feel confident when you see dad again?”

Buttercup grinned. “I like the way you think, honey.”

Standing up, Buttercup moved to her suitcase and dug around, eventually pulling out a lacy green dress with a gold chain belt.

“I wore this to my first book signing,” Buttercup grinned. “Forest Windows won a Women’s Prize for Fiction that year, and I’ve considered it my lucky dress ever since.”

“I think it’s perfect,” Charlie smiled.

Nat grinned. “It’s no LBD, but you look hot in it, and that’s all that matters.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes and stepped into the bathroom. “Thanks, Nat. I’m going to shower and get dressed. Did your father text you to say that he had arrived yet?”

Charlie shook her head. “No…he didn’t. I’ll check in with Abby and see what their ETA is.”

“Sounds good,” Buttercup smiled, the tug of her lips still strained but not as stressed. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

Once the door had clicked shut and they could hear the water running, Natasha turned on her.

“Your dad still has no idea, right?”

Charlie nodded quickly. “Abby, Javy, and Rooster have kept him and Savannah in the dark. Dad still thinks he’s with me, and he has no idea that we’re waiting for him here.”

Natasha nodded grimly. “Your mom’s gonna be in there for a bit, hyping herself up. What’s Abby’s ETA?”

“They’re five minutes out,” Charlie confirmed, checking her phone again to check Abby’s shared location.

“Okay. You go down and meet up with Abby, away from where your dad can see you, okay?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know, Auntie Nat. That was my part of the plan.”

Natasha playfully shuddered. “You’ve got so much of Hangman’s attitude in you, it’s spooky sometimes. I’ll go let your uncle know to keep your mom occupied in the room until we give him the signal, then I’ll head down and be ready to run interference if I have to. Ready?”

Charlie’s heart leapt. “Ready.”

“…and then we have a meeting with the florist at 4 pm, and they’re a high-class place, so no mucky cowboy boots and jeans, okay, Jakey?”

Abby held back her gag as Savannah droned on about her wedding itinerary. She had been talking about it since they left the ranch over 3 hours ago. What should have been a 2-hour drive at most had stretched on because Savannah had to keep getting out and taking pictures to ‘document the experience’, and each time, Abby had to control her eye roll. It wasn’t worth it, and, besides, there were three things keeping her Zen.

1. She’d promised her dad that she would try to be accepting of Savannah. As upset as she and Charlie were about how he had handled things, and as much as Savannah turned her stomach, she wanted her dad to be happy, so she had agreed to grin and bear it for the duration of the visit.

2. Rooster and Javy were there, and while Rooster might have fallen asleep within minutes of hitting the road, Javy was awake and keeping her entertained with dramatic eye rolls and faux gagging every time Savannah opened her mouth. She wasn’t sure if her father had caught on to their antics or not, but Abby was sure having a good time.

And, most importantly, 3. Her family was waiting for them at the hotel. She would finally get to hug her mother and tease her aunt and uncle about all the stories Javy and Rooster had filled her in on.

Jake sighed and pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. “Yes, Savannah. I promise I will be dressed appropriately.”

“Thank you, sugar,” Savannah flounced and exited the car, leaving her two suitcases for her fiancé to unload.

“Dude, I—”

“I know what you’re about to say, Coyote, but don’t. Okay? Just…don’t start.”

Rooster yawned and sat up. “Sure, Hangman. Whatever you say. C’mon, kid. Let’s let your dad and Javy deal with the suitcases while we go check out the pool.”

“Is that okay, dad?”

Jake smiled tiredly and waved his hand at them. “Yeah, you two go have fun. I’ll catch you for dinner, which we are having with Savannah’s parents, okay?”

Abby smiled through her held back groan. “You got it, dad. See you in a bit!”

Grabbing Rooster’s hand, Abby practically dragged him through the lobby and into the elevator.

“Abby says they’re in room 513,” she said excitedly, and watched as her uncle jabbed the round elevator button with an elegant 5 painted on it.

“Are you sure Javy will be able to keep it together?” he asked her as the glass elevator sped upwards. “Dude’s been acting jumpy since we left.”

“He wouldn’t dare tell dad anything! He was trained just the same as you were, Uncle Roo. I’m sure he can keep it together for a little longer.”

The elevator came to a rest on the fifth floor and Abby practically sprinted through the slowly opening doors, hanging a right and skidding to a stop at room 513.

“Here goes!” Abby chirped as she knocked on the door. Her heart leapt as the door creaked open, revealing Bob, his phone pressed to his ear.

He smiled brightly when he saw her, and held up a long finger. “Yeah…yeah, I’ll call you back when I can, okay? Okay…me too. Bye.” He tapped the red button and crouched, Abby falling into his arms. “Hey kiddo.”

Abby’s chest expanded as she clutched her uncle. “Uncle Bob, I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, kiddo.”

He stood, Abby still hanging onto his neck as he nodded over her shoulder at Rooster.

“Bradshaw.”

Rooster nodded back. “How’s it going, Bob? Where’s Nat and Charlie?”

“Downstairs, keeping a lookout for you.”

Rooster nodded as Bob finally put Abby down and reached out to shake his hand.

“We must’ve just missed ‘em,” Rooster mused, watching Abby as she ducked around Bob to glance around the room.

“Where’s Mum?”

“She’s in the adjoining room, kiddo. She might be having a bit of a panic attack right now, but I’m sure the sight of you will calm her down.”

Abby grinned up at the two men and bolted over to the door, tearing it open with a loud call of “Mum! It’s me!”

Bob chuckled as Rooster shook his head. “And I thought Charlie was high energy.”

Bob nodded as he pocketed his phone. “She is. I guess they both are.”

Rooster nodded and leaned back against the closed door, a heavy silence weighing over the two men. Once upon a time, they had been friends, allies, partners. Now, they were little more than strangers, two people roped into a scheme by two preteens.

“So, Nat’s downstairs?”

Bob nodded. “She and Charlie are trying to find a way to separate Hangman from this fiancée of his. Is she really as bad as Abby is making it out to be?”

Rooster shuddered. “Remember all the girls who would hang around the Hard Deck and try to flirt with anyone in a uniform?”

Bob nodded gravely, his skin crawling at the memory. “I do.”

“Savannah is about twenty times worse than that. Javy can’t stand her either.”

Bob blinked. “Is Javy downstairs too?”

Rooster nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to have him and Nat bump into each other downstairs?”

Rooster’s eyes widened, but, before he could speak, Abby raced back into the room. “Uncle Bob, Mum’s not in there.”

Bob blinked again. “Are you sure?”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m sure, Uncle Bob.”

Bob’s cellphone was back in his hand, pressed to his ear after a quick dial. “Yeah, it’s me. Where are you? I thought you were still getting ready?...Really? Buttercup—” Bob pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “She hung up on me.”

“What did she say?”

“She went to go get a steamer from the lobby for her dress. She didn’t want to wear something wrinkled.”

“And she couldn’t have gotten someone to deliver it to the room?”

Bob shrugged at Rooster’s question. “She probably needed some air.”

It was Abby’s turn to dig her phone out of her pocket and dial. “Charlie? Yes, we’re here with Uncle Bob, but Mum is heading down to the lobby right now! You and Auntie Nat need to run interference!”

A/N: Oooh, a cliffhanger! Maybe I'll be able to get the next chapter done in one week instead of two. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Tags List: @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @waltermis @buckysteveloki-me @allepaula @yuckosworld @bradshawssugarbaby @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @kim-stark @high-speed-r @starsrfun @tomanyfandomstrash @averyhotchner @the-blueatlas @dashes-dizzydisaster @a-girl-who-loves-disney @boiolay @djs8891 @tgmreader @kmc1989 @landpiranha-blog @sydthekid1518 @lynnevanss @mackenzieblair @minejungwoo @starset21 @tgmavericklover @dempy @starkleila @magical-spit @whatislovevavy @simplyreading96 @vivalas-vega @itsdesiree86 @inky-sun @books-are-escapes @abaker74 @mrs-perfectly-fine @inthestars-underthesun

[diazsdimples]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you to everyone who tagged me for Sunday and Tuesday, I've been really struggling with writing lately and it's been extremely disheartening but this morning I had A Singular Bean for Frostpunk AU and milked it for all it's worth! This snippet comes immediately after the Buck and Eddie POVs of being found in the cold. Please enjoy!

He suddenly feels responsible for their wellbeing, and maybe that’s why he refuses to leave the kid’s – Christopher’s – side until the rest of the team arrives, Eli carrying the heavy med kit on his back. “I’ll get the man, Eli check the kid,” Bobby instructs, sinking to his knees beside Buck. “What’s the story with them, Buck?” “I got here just a couple minutes before the guy passed out. Didn’t say his name but his kid is called Christopher. He looked super weak, a-and they’re both freezing.” Bobby and Eli share a look over Buck’s shoulder and Eli gets to work on Christopher, checking his vital signs and most importantly, his temperature. Bobby repeats the same process on the father, while Tommy and Sal rifle through the backpack on the sled, checking for any useful information on where they’d come from. “Found the guy’s papers, Cap,” says Sal, walking towards Bobby with a flimsy leaflet in his hand. “Say’s the guy’s called Edmundo Diaz, from Sector 126. He’s ex-military but his most recent job was in a sawmill, he might be useful.” “We don’t save people based on use, Sal,” Bobby responds, his eyes not leaving Edmundo as he speaks. “He’s damn cold, temp sitting around 90 and his heart rate and respiratory rate are a little more elevated than I’d like. Eli, how’s the kid?” “Looking fairly rough, Bobby, we’re going to have to hustle to get them back in time. His temp is at 91 so he’ll be looking at pretty severe hypothermia if we don’t warm him up soon.” Bobby sucks air through his teeth, clearly thinking hard. “We’re a good 16 hours out from the city, 17 or 18 with these two and their gear. Think they’ve got it in them to make it that long?” Eli makes a face. “I really don’t know, Cap. The kid, maybe, but the guy’s temp is a little too low for my liking. Maybe if we warmed them up a little, they’d have a better chance. Did Maddie say anything about being able get the snowmobile team out here?” Buck perks up at the mention of the snowmobiles. The team was sent out a day before Buck’s team was, off on a search for supplies a few hundred miles away but were always on call in case a rescue was needed. Getting them to help would cut their travel time almost in half, giving Christopher and Edmundo the precious hours needed to save their lives. “I- I could ride one back with the kid, if they didn’t want to spare a man, Bobby?” he asks hopefully. Sal snorts from his position by the sled. Buck’s love for the snowmobiles is no secret and Bobby’s spent many a mission patiently explaining why it wouldn’t be safe or necessary and otherwise spoiling Buck’s fun. However, this situation calls for haste and Buck is nothing if not an – ah – efficient driver. Bobby looks thoughtful, before standing up and brushing the snow off his pants. “I’ll give dispatch a call and see if she can reroute them to us,” he says, continuing quickly as he watches Buck light up, “but I will be driving. You need to look after the kid, okay?” Buck deflates a little, but something in him stirs as he turns to look at the little figure in the snow next to him. He’s so young, probably no older than 7, and Buck’s heart breaks for him. He’s too young to be experiencing the hardships of the Winter, too innocent to have to watch his father weaken as they journey to a safer home. It’s like a small fire has been kindled in the pit of Buck’s belly as he shuffles closer to the boy and snakes an arm under his neck and the other under his legs, pulling his tiny frame up so he’s in Buck’s lap. Buck is going to protect this boy with his life.

No pressure tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @tizniz @watchyourbuck @wikiangela @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @pirrusstuff @cal-daisies-and-briars @kitteneddiediaz @spotsandsocks @jesuisici33 @rainbow-nerdss @wildlife4life @puppyboybuckley @smilingbuckley @disasterbuckdiaz @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @housewifebuck @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @elvensorceress @babytrapperdiaz @ci5mates @hermscat (let me know if you want to be added or removed from this)

[luxiomahariel]

Remembering the victims: Torrence Hill

Torrence Hill, 35, was the founder and owner of Evollusion, a hairstyling and beauty salon in Atlanta. “Hill’s salon offered a much-needed safe space for the Black, LGBTQIA+ residents of Atlanta and its surrounding areas,” Gaye Magazine reports. Hill “wanted to cultivate a space of safety where you can also get the affirming look and style you want, and he did exactly that,” Mathieu-East wrote on Instagram, noting that Black barbershop culture can sometimes be homophobic, and Hill provided an alternative. And his friend Derek Baugh told the Human Rights Campaign, "The loss of Chevy is devastating to not only the Atlanta trans community and his family but to the world. Chevy was a bright light whose mission it was to help others shine on their own. I met Chevy when I founded my organization Ubuntu that focuses on serving Black transgender men. Chevy was one of the first people to ever support me and the organization. He faithfully attended our group, even on weeks when there were two participants-he always showed up. He was well known for his skill as a barber and for welcoming people of all genders and sexual orientations into his barbershop, Evollusion. He was such a good guy with a big heart and he deserved better than this. I will miss seeing him. I want people to understand that gender-based violence affects trans men in a despairing way too. Although he is now a risen ancestor, we must continue to lift his name & others in the struggle against gender-based violence." Another friend, Sylvester XX, told HRC, "Chevy’s memory will be forever etched in my mind, heart and spirit. I met this amazingly caring and head strong human many years ago on his search for affirming resources. His ability to motivate, protect and take care of those he loved was evident from the first time we spoke. Familial support was so paramount to Chevy. So for his life to be taken this way is very disheartening. Some of the larger conversations we have to have are about mental health in Black communities, how rampant gun violence is in this nation, the heightened violence BIPOC TGNC (transgender and gender nonconforming) masculine people endure and how Black communities of marginalized people face overlapping social and economic determinants that no other communities have to navigate. Society learns to devalue Black and trans people’s lives through the many false narratives that have been created and spread by those who oppose LGBTQ+ equality. So, it is important to remind society that we all are human, we all deserve protection and policies in place to keep us safe. Chevy may not have known his true impact, but his legacy and the way he showed up for his community will continue to inspire and change the lives of people who look like him."

https://www.advocate.com/crime/black-trans-man-killed-atlanta

Verna Hill Wilcox, Chevy's mother, told GLAAD her son had let his cousin Jaylen, who was going through some difficulties, stay at his home but that Jaylen had begun to abuse Chevy's generosity. “TK had apparently purchased him uniforms and shoes to start another job,” Wilcox said. “TK had finally reached a point where it was like, no matter what we do for you, you still have a sense of entitlement, and you’re not showing us the respect and love we’re showing you.” “TK got into a verbal altercation with Jaylen,” she continued. “He was chastising him for using their stuff. Terri let them use their vehicle, and he stayed gone for four hours. When he came back, he had an attitude about somebody else’s merchandise, and TK reprimanded him for that and told him to leave.” She believes that led to the shooting.

[ohbo-ohno]

Bo, I had a dark au idea that I really love but I’m too shy to post it on my main so I’m sending it to you because I think you might like it.

Soap and Ghost who are ready for the next stage in their lives now that they’re retired from the military. Setting up a nursery in the new house they bought and filling it with all sorts of cute toys and plush blankets to welcome a sweet little baby into their lives.

But there are so many problems that arise from this because of the fact that Ghost is, technically, dead. They can’t really adopt and it’s hard to find a surrogate who is willing to carry for them discreetly, even when they’re offering more then the usual prices. And even when they do, they have an even harder time finding one that they actually like. They can’t have just anyone carry their baby!

So they’re disheartened after months of searching and Soap is starting to think that it may never happen when Ghost comes home from the store one day and says that he thinks he found the perfect girl to carry their baby. Reader. Soap is immediately excited, he can’t wait to meet this mystery person. The overworked and run down cashier that rang Ghost out earlier that day. Younger then both of them and, as they were soon to find out through a little research (*coughstalkingcough*), struggling horribly. A shitty apartment in the bad side of town, little to no furniture, and working double shifts at at least 2 jobs just to make ends meet. It hurts Soap to see the future carrier of their child (because he decided the second that Ghost said he wanted you that you would be their surrogate) in such bad condition. He wants to take you home with them the minute he sees your horrible living conditions and Ghost has to physically hold him back by the scruff of his neck to keep him from ruining his plan.

His plan being to sabotage your whole life. Call and write in several complaints to your jobs from numerous phone numbers and email addresses, making up scandalous rumors to get you fired and pretending to be your previous bosses when you try to find new ones, ensuring that you can no longer even try to sustain yourself. And all of it will peak when you’re three months behind on your rent and your landlord finally evicts you. With nowhere to go, you’re forced to live in homeless shelters, crying your eyes out when Ghost finally lets Soap approach you.

And he’s so nice to you, pretending to be a volunteer at the shelter, offering you a warm meal with him tonight, a better bed to sleep in, a hot shower. It sounds like heaven to you, you can’t help but agree. Even smile when Soap says his husband will probably be there to meet you in the morning.

And met him you did, several hours later, waking up to his cock filling you, Soap’s hands on your belly, cooing to you that it would all be fine. They’ll take care of you, keep you safe and warm and happy, they just need a little something in return. This is the least you could for for them, isn’t it? They’ll get you anything you could ever need or want.

Anddddddd then they end up never letting you go, even after a baby is born ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️. Sorry I got a bit carried away, but I’m going feral over this idea - 🕸

sorry for the semi late response spiderweb!!! this is such a cool idea, tysm for sending it to me! i really don't have anything much to add, but i want everyone else to get to see it too lol

[thegreatduggo]

Dispatching from the Edge

Summer 1982, we'd upped sticks from our halcyon hangout in Topsham and shut up shop on our dog day afternoons. It was a bit of a sad goodbye as we'd had a great few months doing nothing but go to the local pubs, play darts and hang out. We were on social security and our rent was paid for, hell we even had our own housekeeper!

One time Mark looked up out our French doors onto the palatial garden and saw an old guy mowing our lawn. Chuckling and mystified, he asked who it was. We had no idea. It turned we also had our own gardener! They both got a bit ticked off about how damn lazy we were, sometimes leaving a whole week of dishes for our housekeeper.

At the end of the summer, the crew split off to our separate corners. Some went back home and others headed off elsewhere.

Me, I headed off to London to try my hand at dispatch riding in London on my trusty RD400.

Julian, kept signing on as if he was still living there and he used to go back, let himself in the front door and pick up his DHSS check. He let himself in one time and a voice came from the living room "Alan, is that you?" He picked up his check and very quietly retreated.

It was reputed that you could make a tidy sum as a dispatch rider in London, so I decided to head up to London and give it a shot. The truth was that it was not as easy as it seemed.

I was staying in the comfortable enclave of Barnes at the time - just a block away from where Marc Bolan had died after crashing his Mini into a tree.

I found a motorcycle courier firm nearby and they agreed to let me join their roster. You get paid by the job and most of the jobs go to the top riders but the company was quite fair in giving a slice of the jobs to novices like me. I wasn't making a lot of money but I felt it would get better if I stuck with it.

Navigation was by A-Z map book and I often got lost. One time I got badly lost and missed a deadline. One of the other riders found me and took the rest of my deliveries off me. She apologized but said that's just the way it goes. It was disheartening.

The only way to make it work well was to really know your way around London - akin to the black cab drivers with "The Knowledge".

I was more or less keeping afloat and I was hoping to get better at it until I was handling my jobs competently and earning trust.

However, after only 2 weeks, I was heading back to base, up Putney Hill towards Putney Heath at around 40 mph. There was 2 lanes of stopped traffic to my right and unbeknownst to me, the cars had made a gap for a car to turn right in front of me. Being a motorcycle, I'd got away from the lights ahead of the cars and this guy must have not looked and just assumed the road was clear on my side.

Before I could do anything, he was already full length broadside to me. All I could do was brake as hard as I could and then at the last instant, I decided to jump up off the pegs to help clear the car and avoid the handlebars.

I careened into the side of the car and catapulted over the roof. I felt a brutal impact as my legs got crushed into the handlebars from to the top of my thighs all the way down to my ankles. I flipped head over heels, over the top of the car and miraculously landed on my feet on the far side.

Why did I land on my feet? Well, when you've been in a major smash, you want to be able to tell yourself quickly that you're actually alright - it's basically a denial of what just happened - so in that moment, I searched for my feet and thus landed upright.

I recently saw a video of a Russian soldier being blown up inside a tank. He managed to crawl out the turret and then roll off down the side of the tank and land on his feet, before crumpling to the ground. He then proceeded to crawl away. He made it a few feet, before his legs ended up just paddling against the soil and he wasn't moving anywhere. He was probably thinking to himself "If I can just get away from here, I'll be ok" when in fact these were probably his last moments. It doesn't bear thinking about.

I stood by the side of the car and then hobbled round to the pavement and sat down. After I sat down, the pain overwhelmed me and I lay back on the pavement and gritted my teeth.

The petite girl dispatch rider who helped me out before, happened to be passing by and she stopped - a lovely little thing - and she took my deliveries. She said she'd contact HQ for me when she got to the next delivery. That's what we'd do, we'd call in from the reception of the drop-off for our next instruction.

While this was happening, a guy from across the street came over and he said he'd seen the whole thing. He gave me his name and number and said he would be a witness. He paused for a minute and then said "Don't mind me saying this, but that was very acrobatic how you flipped over the entire car and landed on your feet!"

The cops showed up and they insisted that I go to hospital. An ambulance turned up and took me down there. I got checked up and nothing was broken so they let me go.

A van driver from the Courier company came to get me and then pick up the bike.

He was a lovely fella and he was avuncular and comforting. When we got back to the bike, we manhandled it into the back of the van. I was in pain but I was able to limp my way thru it.

After we were done, he said that we should get a cup of tea. I demurred but then realized I could do with the comfort.

He took me up to Putney Heath where they had one of those hackney carriage comfort stations. These are those green shacks that you used to see round London and they have a long history.

He got me a big mug of tea and we stood outside the shack under the awning in the afternoon sun and I felt quite forlorn and lost but he really comforted me. And then on the radio, they played Margaritaville. I'd never heard it before and it seemed to sum up the moment: melancholy and poignant but a little hopeful too.

I didn't know the record and pre-internet, such things often remained mysteries and it wasn't till many years later, in the US, that I heard it again and was able to identify it. Great record with a special meaning to me.

Pete Dixon and Phil Purver's had a place in Ealing which I knew had had an accessible backyard so we dropped the bike off there and I left an explanatory note on it.

At the time, I was staying in a flop-house up the road for 35 quid a week. It was truly disgusting. I was in a room with 3 others. There was no place to lock your stuff up so it was blind faith that your stuff would not go missing.

The next day, I showed up at Phil and Pete's to explain the situation. Pete took one look at me and said "Doug, you look like shit! What's going on?"

I hadn't showered for days and I was covered in road dirt and I was staggering around like a drunkard on my battered legs. It just so happened that Phil had just gone away for 2 weeks and Pete offered me to to stay there. Oh my, was that ever a relief!

I'd spent only a few days in the flop-house and I really felt for those poor fuckers who had no other choice but to stay there - how soul destroying that must be and this was far from the worst of the worst. You see a place like this and see why people might choose the streets instead. We have to do better. The homeless situation is insane.

Without a bike, I had no obvious means of employment. I went to interview with a guy who claimed to be a diamond courier. Sounded like a fun job, right!

He interviewed me and the diamond courier option quickly receded. He tried to make out that he was an international man of mystery, but what he did do was a bit of motorcycle courier work some mini-cab work. He was a major bullshitter - one of many that I've met over the years.

He did have a Bentley and he would do chauffeured wedding work with it. He also had a Yamaha 100 which he would lend to me to do courier work. Most of my time was spent waiting for a job to come in, sitting in his living room, bored to tears.

The bike wasn't taxed or MOTed - which was nothing new to me - I would try to make sure that cop cars couldn't see the missing tax disk by staying in the blind spot.

One day, a passing cop car spotted the expired tax disk and I got pulled. I don't remember what happened about the expired tax, maybe Bob just renewed it, but the MOT didn't exist. Bob got all irate about it and said something along the lines of "I'm an upstanding businessman - how dare you suggest that my vehicles that are not fully legal!" Eventually he got a duplicate MOT - I think he knew the guy at the garage and got a forged one.

Bob was a total bullshit artist and a fraud - a Walter Mitty type who made up outrageous and far-fetched stories. He had a photo up on his wall in the living room which was his pride and joy, of him standing next to his Bentley. It was a professionally taken photo.

One day when I was waiting woefully for the next job to come in, the photographer showed up at the door. Apparently - and not all surprisingly - Bob had never paid for the photo. Soon it escalated it into a full-on shouting match, with Bob claiming that his impeccable business bon fides were being assaulted and how dare he impugn him!

The feisty little photographer managed to work his way round Bob, and into the living room where he grabbed the photo off the wall and headed out. Bob was a big guy, so it was quite brave of the little fella to hold his ground. He left Bob huffing and puffing about how outrageous the photographer had been. Lots of bluster in the aftermath.

There was another guy who working for Bob who drove a Ford Granada for Bob's car service. Let's call him Raj. We spent hours a day just hanging out waiting for work. The guy had a Kawasaki Z1000, which, aside from exotics, was the best and most powerful motorcycle generally available.

One day a dispatch job came in. Raj was bored and he said "Hey, let's do it on my bike!" I was like "Great - let's go!" So, we were riding along and the bike felt mean and powerful - champing at the bit. I kept saying "Let's give it a bit if stick!" And he was saying "Look there's no point. As soon as we speed up we'll have to slow back down again." And admittedly there was a lot of traffic around.

I had a large package under my arm and I could only hold on with one hand but once we'd delivered it, I could hold the grab rail tightly with both hands. We were heading towards Kingston Bridge and the bridge was wide and clear. I urged him again to give it some stick. There was a pause and then he decided to go for it. I leaned forward against the acceleration but as he opened it up more, I was inexorably pushed backwards, until I hit the point of no return and started to topple backwards off the bike. I was getting ready to kiss the tarmac, but as my feet came up off the pegs and got level with his elbows, i wrapped my legs round his waist and we went across the bridge with me lying horizontally - it must've looked pretty funny.

Fucker didn't slow down until we reached the other side. He made out that he hadn't noticed my legs round his waist, but he had tears running down running down his cheeks when we finally slowed down.

He was a funny guy. He claimed that he didn't slow down for roundabouts (meaning the big ones) - he would just drive onto them at 60 mph and he reckoned that because he was going faster than the traffic already on them, he could just slot in wherever he wanted.

Bob's wife was quite a cutie but he was sometimes a bully and would belittle her. He got uppity when I defended her when he'd been particularly unreasonable.

She recalled a time when he'd been trying to change a tire on the side of the road on a cold, rainy night. He wasn't very practical and as he kicked down on the tire iron, his foot slipped off, he lost his balance and fell into the puddles. She said that he looked like a hippopotamus, rolling around on his back trying to get back up. She fucking loved it and she was convulsed with laughter as she remembered it.

Eventually, I found a full set of RD400 forks on Motorcycle News including the headlight. When I went to pick them up, I couldn't help but notice that the VIN on the host motorcycle had been ground off. But it was 35 quid and I needed to get my bike fixed and get it out of Phil's garden, so I just let it go.

My bike wasn't taxed, MOTed or insured, but the cops let it go - I guess they felt sorry for me because of the accident. I took the damages up with a lawyer under legal aid and ended up getting 600 quid, which was a pretty damn good result. It wasn't a lot considering the injury but taking my circumstances into account, it was a good result. The bike had cost me 420 quid originally to give it some perspective.

My knees hurt for months afterwards. If I couldn't stretch my legs out for too long, like when sitting in the back seat of a car, I'd end up in a lot of pain. I couldn't get down on my haunches for even longer but eventually I think I more or less got completely back to normal. But I smacked up my knees numerous times thereafter so it's somewhat of an academic position as to how much was due to that accident!

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​ server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog​ <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

 --->--->--->--->--->

 “Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”  

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->---> 

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

[luminois]

･:*✧ 𝗷𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻;

𝗳𝗼𝗿 @blueprint-han 𝗮𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 💌

𝘄: 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝘅 𝗶𝘀 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝘄𝗶𝗰𝗲.

𝟭𝟰𝟴𝟰 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀, 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘂𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗹.

“i want nurse innie!”

you watch the little girl’s chubby face turn red as tears start sliding down her cheeks, and you feel hopeless. she looks so small in the hospital bed, the sight disheartening despite the colorful toys and gifts her loved ones have surrounded her space with. she’s exhausted and distressed, and you’re afraid the other little patients in the room are going to get upset as well.

this is your third night shift of the week, you’re tired and your scrubs are starting to feel dirty and itchy. you’re about three minutes away from curling down on the floor and joining the little girl as she sobs her fragile heart out. however, you force yourself to smile at her reassuringly.

“i’m sorry sarang, nurse innie isn’t here right now,” you say, your tone gentle. “is it alright if i help you instead? i promise nurse innie is going to come to you as soon as possible.”

her sobs turn into soft sniffles for a couple seconds, as if she was weighing your words and deciding if she should accept your offer or not. to your chagrin she shakes her head, her curls bouncing around as she starts weeping again.

you hush sarang softly, and when it doesn’t seem to work you call over another nurse to watch over the little girl. there’s only one thing you can do.

you walk out of the room so fast you’re almost running, careful of the people around you as you reach the duty roster at the end of the hallway. your eyes check the board quickly, and you let out a relieved sigh. jeongin should clock in half an hour, and there’s only one place he could be at the moment.

the section of the hospital reserved to the medical personnel is quiet, as the only people who weren’t working were sleeping, trying to gather a couple hours of rest before wearing their scrubs again. with 28 hours of wakefulness on your shoulders, your body is aching for a soft mattress and your eyes are begging for some rest, but you ignore your screaming muscles and push the changing room’s door open. you’re met with the broad expanse of jeongin’s back and shoulders, and you realize you should’ve knocked before coming in.

it hadn’t taken you long to develop a crush on the new male nurse who had joined the hospital a couple months prior. not only jeongin had an unbelievably handsome face and the most charming smile, he was also funny, amazing with children and passionate about his job, and that was all kind of sexy. the natural consequence of getting coffee at 5 a.m. after a particularly harsh shift had been going out for drinks late at night. and the natural consequence of “stopping by” at jeongin’s place after going out for drinks had been getting tangled in his bedsheets after passionately making out against his front door.

he’d made you breakfast in the morning and insisted on driving you to the hospital despite it being his free day, and you were sold. the sex had been mind blowing, and so it had been all the other times after that first night. he cared for your needs before even thinking about his own pleasure, and with every encounter he just got better and better at making you feel good as he started to know your body like the back of his hand.

you two weren’t dating, not yet. you’d gone on dates, some of which hadn’t even ended in the bedroom. at first you’d been afraid all jeongin wanted was some fun, but he’d proved you wrong times and times again. but, despite being on the verge of becoming a real couple, the lack of an official label hadn’t been enough to stop your desire for one another. his kitchen, your bathtub, both of your beds, this same changing room, they all had something in common. all of those places had been witnesses of the unstoppable passion that pulled you and jeongin towards each other, no matter how much you tried to resist against it.

you spot the red tracks your nails had scratched on jeongin’s back that same day and you hold the door’s frame so tight your knuckles turn white. this isn’t the time to get carried away, it really isn’t, but your brain doesn’t seem to remember why you came here in the first place.

“honey, at least close the door if you want to look at me while i change,” jeongin says, flashing you a smile over his shoulder, “this show isn’t for anyone but you.”

you comply quickly, knowing that you would seriously get jealous if anybody else were to see him like this.

“ever thought of becoming a stripper? you’d be a natural,” you play along, a smile growing on your lips as you lean against the closed door.

he laughs, finally putting his shirt on. “but i would only accept you as my client, that wouldn’t be good for the business.”

it’s your turn to laugh, and by the time jeongin has reached you, his arms hugging your waist right away, it has simmered down to a comfortable smile. you place your head on his shoulder, and you could fall asleep right there.

“hey,” he says quietly, resting his cheek against your hair. “you’re tired, mhh?”

you nod, your eyes fluttering closed as jeongin kisses your temple ever so softly. “my shift ends in an hour, i can make it.”

“you should rest, honey, i can clock in early and cover for you. how does that sound?”

his lips move down to your cheek and you want to accept, professionalism be damned. but you shake your head and stand up straight, sleepy eyes locking with jeongin’s enamored ones.

“i just have a couple check ups left to do, i’ll be alright.”

jeongin nods and his eyes move down to your lips. you know what that look means and you want to tell him he really shouldn’t do it but then he’s kissing you and you don’t have the willpower to stop him. your hands get tangled in his hair on their own accord, the traitors. his lips are slow on yours but they still make your knees buckle, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are touching everywhere.

“jeongin,” you sigh as he moves to kiss and suck on your neck, his hands subtly sneaking under your shirt. they’re cold and the contact with your warm skin makes you whimper.

he hums to let you know he’s listening. he’s found that spot behind your ear that he knows drives you crazy, and a couple seconds pass until your brain focuses enough to let out some coherent words.

“baby, we can’t right now.”

“why not?” he asks, and you giggle at the puppy eyes he gives you. he’s the only one who could look that adorable while asking for sex.

you already knew that, but it’s moments like this when you realize just how in love with him you are. and just like that you remember the reason why you came searching for him before you got distracted by the intoxicating feeling being with him gives you.

“sarang won’t let anyone help her but you, she hasn’t stopped crying since she woke up.”

jeongin’s expression grows concerned and he nods quickly, kissing you one last time before you both get out of the room. you’ll be back in each other’s arms once your little patients will be taken care of.

sarang’s eyes light up as soon as they land on jeongin and her tears stop falling almost instantly, as if his mere presence was enough to make her feel better.

“why is princess sarang crying?” he coos, and a toothy smile replaces the little girl’s pout.

while you visit the other children in the room your eyes can’t help but fall on jeongin from time to time. he manages to visit sarang without making her nervous, playing with her and making her laugh like nobody else can, and she’s not the only kid in the hospital who relies on him like that. you’ve gone to toys stores to buy teddy bears with him more than once, because he gifts them to the kids to make them feel less lonely while their parents aren’t there. and you’ve caught him reading stories and singing lullabies to help them sleep once too many times, the sight of the little patients curled up against him after struggling to sleep so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat every time.

despite the attraction and all the excitement being with jeongin brings you, you know this is the reason you’ve fallen for him so hard so fast. he cares for others like nobody else does, and you want to be the one to take care of him in return.

———

do you want to read more?

[boxofbadaddiction]

Thinking about...

How Ron started working for George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

My theory, or headcanon (however you'd like to look at it), is that Molly proposed the idea...and George absolutely hated that suggestion.

But not because it's Ron.

He hated it because never in his life would George have imagined himself doing what he does without his Twin, and the thought of 'replacing him' causes bile to rise in his throat.

It would take many days of denial, small arguments and George finally reaching his breaking point to consider the idea that: perhaps Ron wouldn't be such a bad addition to the team...

I imagine it's sometime after the War and George has finally brought himself to reopen the store. Maybe it's only been back in business a couple weeks or for a few months now, but he's struggling a little bit. Because he doesn't want to admit he needs another worker around to take some of the load off his shoulders. And a little more than that: he just doesn't want to do it with anyone other than Fred.

Meanwhile, Ron is struggling to find work or get placement in Auror training. Because let's face it: even though he is Harry Potter's right hand man and helped win a War; his grades were...unideal.

I see Ron venting to Molly one day in the kitchen, perhaps after receiving another rejection letter, and she's running a loving hand in comforting circles over his shoulders while he's slumped over a hot chocolate. She's telling him to hang in there and that these things take time, offering that perhaps he should look into a part-time role with his Father within the Ministry. Or reminding him that Percy offered him an internship in his office.

But Ron hates both those ideas.

At this point George walks through the door looking exhausted. Greets the pair casually as he shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of a chair. He places a quick kiss to Molly's cheek and ruffles Ronniekin's hair as he moves to make himself a hot drink to wind down after a busy day.

"Hello Dear, busy day?" Molly smiles somewhat sadly, taking in her son's tired figure.

"Extremely." George huffs as he sits down across from the pair with slumped posture. "What's wrong with you, Ronnie?"

"Another rejection letter." Ron replies sadly as he annoyedly flicks the cause of his dejection to the centre of the table and drops himself against the backrest of his chair, taking up a similar slouched position to his older brother.

That's when Molly's struck by the idea. As she looks between her two boys and wishes she had a solution for them...the answer so simply presents itself. But she doesn't say anything.

Not yet.

She doesn't want to get Ron's hopes up if that's something he'd be interested in, and she knows he would be given how much he loves the Twins Shop. But more than that, she doesn't want to just spring the thought onto George because she knows how touchy the topic is going to be.

And it was.

A few days after this thought comes to her she gets her opportunity to run the idea past George. The two of them are alone doing a mindless task together, like washing the dishes. George scrubbing as Molly dries.

They've worked in comfortable silence thus far, but that's because Molly's too busy running a million different ways she can bring this up to George, through her mind, and which is the least likely way to upset him. George meanwhile is just enjoying the time with his Mother and the familiarity the task at hand brings. A strange sort of nostalgia washing over him, one which he'd never consider to be as therapeutic as it was.

But there's something nagging at the back of George's mind. And it has everything to do with the fact his Mother has been dutifully drying the same glass for 5 minutes now.

"Mum..." his voice snaps Molly out of her daze, drawing a surprised hum of acknowledgement from her throat. "I'd say that glass is dry by now." George joked with a crooked smile. "Oh, yes, I suppose you're right."

Molly's slightly flustered and places the cup down. But her expression remains rather vacant, mildly discontent. This finally prompts George to ask what's on her mind. Molly decides to simply go for it. There's no easy way to bring this up around George and she's really just stalling to forgo an uncomfortable conversation.

"George, I've been thinking..."

"Not good."

"I'm serious right now."

"So am I. You thinking never means anything good for me and-...for me."

"It's about Ron and finding him a suitable job, until he's accepted into training..."

And that's how it begins. She cushions the conversation considerably before asking the question she's been stewing over for days. She talks about how disheartened Ron has been in his misfortune, how desperately he wants to be apart of the work force. She talks about how tired George has been the last few months trying to run the shop by himself and how she just wants to be able to help the two of them get on their feet.

When she finally does ask the question: "What if, Ron came and worked for you?" It doesn't go down well.

She watches how swiftly his body language changes. From his casual 'I'm listening' demeanour to instantly putting his walls up. She watches as the words cause him to freeze. Every muscle in his body turning ridged and defensive.

His response is near immediate: 'No'. And he returns to the task at hand, however, he's no longer so comfortable within the grown silence.

He holds zero care in the way he handles the dishes as he cleans them, though it's notable how hard he's trying to not take any of his frustration out on them.

The conversation doesn't stay civil for very long.

Molly falls immediately into a sort of plead as she questions why George won't even take the time to consider the idea. She points out every reason why it is the best possible solution to both his and Rons current situations.

George shuts down not really answering any of Mollys questions as she rambles. The words seemingly falling from her mouth faster than she can process them; working herself into a right fluster.

George warns her quite a few times to drop the subject, but she continues, and he finally snaps. Tossing whatever dish is in his hands down into the water and yelling for her to stop talking. To drop the conversation because it's not going to happen before storming off elsewhere to cool down.

They spent a couple days without speaking after that.

More weeks pass and Weasleys Wizard Wheezes only gets busier. George feels like he's drowning in paperwork and just can't seem to get ahead. He goes to work an hour early and comes home hours late. He's tired and just about had enough. He can't even begin to imagine how he and Fred ever found so much joy in the work as they had.

"It's not work if you love to do it." Is what Fred always used to say when people would ask how he could possibly be so happy while on the clock.

George couldn't do this much longer. Not without his brother.

After one particularly difficult day George arrives home after all other occupants of the Burrow had gone to bed...or so he thought.

Walking in through the back door to all the houses lights out, save for a single lamp in the sitting room which Arthur and Molly leave on for him, he collapses into one of the Armchairs, too tired to attempt the walk up stairs right now.

His palms dig into the sockets of his eyes, harshly rubbing at each lid, to try rid the sandy feeling in them brought on from lack of sleep, then his fingers draw down on his cheeks; pulling at the skin in frustration.

He doesn't know it but Ron is, at this point, looking at him from the staircase landing. He'd meant to come down for a cup of water but instead found himself faced with his Brother.

Or rather, the shell of his brother.

Ron's never seen him look so...hollow and lifeless. It's like a horrible flashback to those months following the loss of Fred and it makes his stomach turn.

Ron comes over and sits on the sofa opposite George, a look of sympathy and concern on his face. George tries to joke and make light of his current situation but the humour and light doesn't come close to reaching his eyes and the smile he paints on looks painful.

After a little while of trying to get George to open up, and receiving quite the snap of attitude Ron concedes. He very well would have left for bed if the hanging silence hadn't made George feel enough guilt to attempt a change in conversation.

Soon though, after the initial awkwardness subsided, they get lost in talk.

It had started as a question of how Ron's job search were going but somehow ended with the pair laughing over silly childhood memories. Something George hadn't been able to do in a while.

Something changed between both brothers that night. They'd bonded in a new way and were much closer than they likely ever had been before. Ron had even managed to spark some product inspiration in George, and over the next couple days as he tries to perfect the concept they spend more time together.

From then on, George can feel a shift in the way he views Ron and in the possibility of him working at WWW. The idea of hiring him doesn't bring that bile feeling to his throat as it does with any other name or applicant who is suggested to him.

So, when George believes he's finally perfected the new product and takes it home to show Ron, that's the day he asks Oh, Dear Ronniekin's to work for him at the shop.

Which he of course agrees to.

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Thirteen: A Simple Lover’s Quarrel

AN: Can’t believe I abandoned this story for two, three months. Then again, I only got three notes on the last chapter so that was a little disheartening which made me want to take a break. But I’m back now and slightly reinvigorated to write again.

Word Count: 4.0k

Trigger Warnings: offensive language, racial slurs, racism

Taglist: @nerds4life246, @leahnicole1219​

Chapter Fourteen: Welcome Home, Sabine Freemen

"Really Miss Jones, you didn't have to go out of your way to check on Mama," Emile stated.

In all her years, Sabine had carried out worse plans before than the one she hastily concocted last night in bed.

Sabine smiled a little, "I was concerned, your mother seemed so wound up yesterday and I felt obligated to check on her well being," she explained.

"How did you find our home?" Emile asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Well, your mother had said your first name and then your surname. I put two and two together and... " Sabine answered, before trailing off as Emile raised her eyebrows in anticipation. "Let's just say I'm an extremely determined young woman," she finished, with a nod and smiling slightly.

Just then, a maid entered the parlor room holding a silver tray in her hands. Another maid followed behind her, with saucers for milk and sugar. Emile had them place the trays on the table and dismissed them with a gracious smile.

"Miss Jones, would you care for tea?" she asked, taking the teapot in her hands.

"Yes, please," Sabine responded.

She looked around the sitting room, the home seemed quite similar to their hideout in some aspects. And in others, well, it was quite clear the immortals didn't have a decorator come in and acquire furniture in some expensive European store in Philadelphia.

"You have a lovely home Miss Freemen," Sabine commented, bringing her attention back to her older sister.

"Actually, it's Mrs. Freemen," she corrected, a soft chuckle escaping her. "You wouldn't believe how many other Freemen's you'll meet in New York," she added, as she finished pouring the amber liquid into their cups. "Thank you though, this home is big enough for Mama, Papa, and my family," Emile stated.

"Your father?" Sabine questioned, trying to keep her best poker face at the revelation.

"Mhmm," Emile hummed, stirring her sugar and milk into the tea. "It is quite an improvement from a raggedy slave shack, wouldn't you say?" she asked, lifting her cup to her lips and Sabine could only nod. "Papa didn't think he would live to see the day that colored folks would be able to live as dignified citizens of this country, and hold a dignified job being dressmakers," Emile explained, bringing her cup down.

"And here you are,"

"And here we are,"

"Do you have any more family?" Sabine asked curiously, as if Emile wasn't literally talking to her sister.

"I have a husband named Lee, he's out of state on a business trip. I have two sons, Jimmy and Phillip. My oldest, Phillip, lives in Chicago and practices medicine. Jimmy, he's about your age. He's down in D.C. studying at Howard University, he'll be home soon. Lastly, I have...had a..." Emile said, her voice lowering.

"A younger sister?" Sabine supplied quietly.

"Yes," she whispered, placing her teacup and saucer down onto the table with a soft clack. "Sabine, she was only five when she was taken from us, Mama never forgave herself," Emile stated.

"But why? Your mother can't possibly blame herself for her child being ripped away from her," Sabine said.

"You see, the day that Sabine was taken, we were supposed to runaway at night and go up North," Emile explained. "Mama has agonized over the question of 'what if we left the night before?' ever since," she finished, her mouth drawn into a thin line.

"I'm sorry about your sister," Sabine said softly. "Do you think she's alive still?" she questioned, trying to gauge Emile's reaction.

"In my heart, I want to believe that's she still here, that she escaped. But, my mind is also telling me to be logical, and that is no, little Sabine didn't survive enslavement," she replied. "She could be a feisty five year old, you know?" Emile said, a watery smile on her face. "And feisty slaves don't last long on plantations," she reminded grimly.

It was quiet after Emile's haunting statement, Sabine felt as though she lost her appetite. A feisty slave she was, and Emile was right, they don't last long. Sabine knew from firsthand experience. Suddenly, the door opened and Emile and Sabine both jumped back from the table slightly.

"Mrs. Freemen—"

"Goodness gracious," Emile breathed, placing her hand on her chest. "You scared the living daylights out of us," she laughed, and shook head.

"A'm sorry ma'am, but there's an ofay-I mean, white man at the door," the maid announced. "He said he's here to collect Miss Jones and return her home," she continued, glancing over at Sabine.

"Thank you, I'll see my guest to the door," Emile responded, the girl bowed her head and left the room again.

"I presume that this is the same ofay from yesterday?" Emile questioned, a knowing smirk on her lips.

Sabine laughed softly, "Yes, it is," she admitted. "But in his defense, Mr. Greene is alright for an ofay," she joked, standing up from her seat.

"Is he your husband?" Emile inquired, lifting her brow as stood as well.

"No," Sabine answered quickly, a nervous chuckle coming from her. "Thank you for hosting me Mrs. Freeman-"

"Pfft," Emile said, waving her hand. "Please, call me Emile,"

She smiled, "I know I showed up to your home uninvited and completely unexpected," Sabine stated, offering her hand for Emile to take.

Sabine waited for the woman to take her hand, but instead Emile softly grabbed her by the shoulders and kept her at an arms length.

"You know, I can see why Mama could mistake for you for our Sabine," Emile commented, tilting her head to the side. "You do have my sister's eyes," she mused, sighing wistfully. "Do come back and visit us again Miss Jones. I would love for you to meet the rest of my family and reintroduce to Mama when she's less hysterical," Emile joked, removing her hands from Sabine.

"I would like that, very much!" Sabine stated, vigorously nodding her head. "And please, you can call me Edith,"

~~~x~~~

Josef and Sabine strolled through Central Park arm in arm, passing a duck pond as they went. The park was fluttering with life: little girls playing hopscotch, children rolling hoops, nannies pushing baby carriages, couples walking together, and a policeman patrolling the area. Silently, he sent Josef and Sabine a pointed looked as if to wordlessly say, he's watching them.

"How did it go yesterday?" Josef asked, directing his attention towards Sabine. "Was it bad? You practically locked yourself in your room once you got back," he pointed out.

Sabine twirled her parasol, "No, actually it all went really splendid," she answered, smiling wistfully. "It was just a little overwhelming, as one could imagine. I needed some time to myself, that's all,"

"And did you tell Booker about your plan before you took off yesterday morning?"

Sabine shook her head, "Look, I came back in the afternoon and he wasn't there-" she started.

"Yes, because he was searching like a madman to find where you gone," Josef cut in, lightly chuckling.

The sound of a crack of the bat could be heard far off in the distance, a game of baseball was being played as spectators cheered in encouragement.

"I wrote down my sister's address and handed it to Nicky for when Bastien inevitably came back home," Sabine continued, tilting the parasol to shield her eyes more. "And he did," she finished.

"That must of been an interesting walk back home," he commented, with a grin.

"I told him, if he had nothing nice to say then I rather not hear him say anything," she replied. "I suggested he air his grievances elsewhere," she said.

"Oh, he did," Josef smiled, nodding his head.

"What did he say about me?"

"In short, he said what you did was rash, irresponsible, and above all else," he listed, lifting a finger in the air. "He was afraid that your expectations were set too high and that you would be heavily disappointed with what you found,"

"Aww," Sabine smiled. "Even when Bastien is angry with me, he still looks out for my best interests. It warms the heart," she said, giving her parasol another twirl.

"Of course he would, he does love you, you know," Josef replied.

"Yes, I know," she laughed softly.

"Now, I'm going to go that ice vendor to see if I can convince him to let me buy two lemon ices," Josef stated.

Sabine followed his stare to a plump, middle-aged man that had a straw boater on top of his dark hair. A handlebar mustache adorned his face and was waxed to perfection.

She looked back at Josef, "I bid thee good luck then," Sabine joked, as she unlinked her arm for his.

Shooting her a grin, he tilted his brown hat towards her before walking off to the vendor leaving her to her own devices. Sabine subtly rocked and forth on her feet, watching people moseying about on the promenade. She made the unfortunate mistake of making eye contact with an older woman who scowled at her almost instantly. Sabine averted hers eyes away and in the direction of little boys playing marbles, the last thing she needed was some old, white woman making a scene over a supposed slight against her.

Suddenly, a grimy hand gripped Sabine by the wrist and she whipped her head around.

It was a haggard man dressed in a tattered Union army uniform, his hair matted and she could see a wild look in his eyes.

"Spare a penny for a vet ma'am?" he asked, his gray irises boring into her.

Sabine glanced around in a futile effort for help, even if "help" did come, she would not be on the receiving end of it. She returned her stare towards the vet, her eyes widening when she realized the left sleeve to his soiled jacket did not house an arm in it, he was an amputee.

"I-I uh, don't have anything to spare, I'm sorry sir," Sabine said, trying to wrestle her wrist from his grip.

His grip tightened, "What do you mean you don't have change to spare?" he questioned, growing angry. "I fought for your people to be free and this is how you repay me!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry sir but I don't have anything to give," Sabine repeated, successfully snatching her wrist away.

The vet sneered, "Uppity negro bitch!" he spat, before hobbling away to beg elsewhere.

Sabine placed her hand on her chest to still her pounding heart, briefly closing her eyes and exhaling deeply.

"Look at what I got!" Josef cheered happily, his voice approaching her. "Two lemon ices, I think my Italian impressed the vendor, he's probably never seen a colored man that spoke the language fluently," he chuckled, as Sabine reopened her eyes. "It's not Delmonico's, the lucky bastards," Josef continued, referring to Nicky, Andy, and Bastien who were meeting someone that had work for them. "Sabine, are you alright?"

"Better now, I was accosted by a man-"

"Where is he?" Josef cut in, his expression turning serious.

Sabine closed her parasol and hanged it from her wrist, "Don't," she warned, taking the frozen treat from him and linking arms. "He's a homeless war vet and white, you're not going to win this fight," Sabine stated, patting his bicep.

"I was just goin-"

"No, what we're going to do is imagine all the meals we would be eating right now if we were allowed into Delmonico's," Sabine corrected, looking up at him expectantly. "I'll start, I want lamb chops, whole plates of them,"

Josef turned away from her and looked down the path in hopes of finding the assailant, but he was long gone, lost within the crowd of people.

Sabine tugged on his arm, "Indulge me, please," she said softly.

He sighed heavily and began leading her away, "I want a steak," he stated, making Sabine giggle. "A big, juicy steak,"

"And what would you have with that steak of yours?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, the creamiest mashed potatoes one could dream of,"

~~~x~~~

Within the time frame of less than a week, this evening marked the night that Sabine was going to meet the rest of her family. During her afternoon tea with her sister yesterday, Emile had told Sabine that her husband and son were both coming home today and she wanted her to meet them. Not to mention, Emile had also believed that enough time had passed that Mama had recovered from the shock of seeing Sabine, and they could be properly introduced now.

"Can you tie this?" Sabine asked, looking over her shoulder.

Her bedroom was illuminated by the few kerosene lamps that sat on top of her dressers. Sabine heard movement behind her before feeling fingers slowly trail down her back and began to lace up her corset.

"You never dress this way for me," Bastien complained.

She chuckled softly, "We don't go anywhere that I'd have to," Sabine pointed out, feeling him tug on her from behind. "Plus, you're dressed to the nines yourself," she reminded, glancing over her shoulder. "You never dress this way for me either," she added, wincing a bit when Bastien pulled the laces tight around her torso.

"Sorry," he apologized immediately, noticing her body tense. "I wish we could dress up more like this," Bastien stated, finishing his work.

"Technically, we could," Sabine responded, affixing a bustle to herself.

Bastien made his way towards her bed where her evening gown was laid out. The dress was green and made of silk taffeta, the neckline was round and the sleeves short. Making his way back towards her, Sabine raised her hands in the air as Bastien lifted it over her head, careful not to mess up her elegant updo. The dress slid on easily and a vast of silk fell onto the floor, covering her feet and trailing behind her.

"Yes, but I want to actually take you somewhere," Bastien said, buttoning the back of her dress. "I want to take you somewhere special, to show you off to the world, without all the stares and scowls," he finished, kissing Sabine's neck.

Sabine turned around and faced Bastien, "Like the two of us being able to sit together in box seats at the opera?" she hinted, with a slight chuckle as she smoothed the dress down around her undergarments.

"Sabine if I could, you know I would," he insisted, grasping her waist.

"I know, I know," Sabine replied, nodding her head understandingly. "This job is a 'whites only' type of a job, meaning Josef and I are out commission. While you three get to infiltrate high society and all the luxuries that come with it," she continued, lightly gripping onto the lapels of his tailcoat. "Have fun with all those stuffy, rich ofays," she wished, a smile peeking from her lips. "Josef and I will enjoy dinner with my family," she finished.

"About this dinner..."

Sabine looked downward, "You don't agree, I know," she said, finishing his sentence with a sigh.

"It's not that," Bastien corrected, lifting her chin to look at him. "I'm worried you're moving too fast, that you're losing yourself in the moment," he explained, enclosing his fingers around her biceps.

"Well of course I am," she agreed. "This is a second chance at being a family-"

"Sabine you're immortal," he interrupted softly, Sabine's mouth opened to argue. "Please let me finish," he requested. "You cannot recreate or rebuild the relationship you once had with your family," Bastien stated firmly, shaking his head.

She looked away from him, biting down her lip. Sabine felt her nose burn with the tears she was holding back from Bastien's bluntness.

"I can try," she countered, her voice cracking.

Bastien took her chin in his hand again and turned her face to him, "I'm sorry, Sabine. I'm so, so sorry, but you can't," he said, cupping her cheeks in both his palms.

"It's not fair," she choked, tears threatening to fall.

Bastien wrapped his arms around her, holding her head to his chest while he stroked her back.

"I know you want this reunion to be like a fairy tale, where you get your happily ever after," he began. "But we don't get those, and I'm sorry fate has chosen this path for you, because you don't deserve it Sabine. You don't," he finished, looking at her sadly.

Tears that she promised herself wouldn't show start to flow down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his thumbs. Sabine let her forehead rest against Bastien as he held her. She was sure Bastien could feel her crying. They stood in silence for several minutes, save for the occasional sniffle from her. When she shed her last tears, she removed her head from his chest slightly.

"I just want this so badly, Bastien," Sabine said, her voice above a whisper. "It's a bittersweet dream come true,"

"I know," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

Sabine sighed, resting her head on Bastien's heart, her grip tightening a little around him.

"I know I don't express my love verbally," she began, slowly bringing her gaze upwards to Bastien. "But I do love you, Bastien," Sabine stated. "And I'm grateful that you're being supportive towards me, even if you disagree," she finished.

Bastien let out a soft exhale, his eyes shining in such a way that Sabine never seen before. Cupping the back of her neck with his other hand, Bastien leaned down and placed a light kiss on Sabine's lips, so tender. The kiss was not deep, they only moved their lips against each other’s slowly. After a few more sweet kisses he pulled back once again to rest his forehead against hers.

He smiled warmly, "Say it again," Bastien said.

"I love you Bastien," Sabine repeated, softly grinning. She kissed him again on the lips. "I love you," she kissed him on his right cheek. "I love you," she kissed him on his left cheek. "I love you," Sabine stood on her tiptoes, kissing his nose and forehead. "I love you..." she whispered, capturing Bastien's lips once more.

Tilting her head, Sabine deepened the kiss and Bastien returned the gesture in equal vigor. His hand traveled from her neck and down to her waist, lightly wrapping around it. Slowly, they parted from one another and she stared into his blue orbs, seeing them gleam. Sabine wondered what it was about Bastien that made her feel this way, was it his loyalty, his compassion, or his devotion. Whatever it was, Sabine hoped that it would last forever for she had never been so happy, content, and in love than ever before.

"I will never get enough of you," Sabine said, nudging her nose against his with a contented hum.

"Neither will I," Bastien whispered, almost non-audible. "Now, go enjoy your dinner,"

~~~x~~~

Hearty laughter echoed in the dining room along with the clinking of utensils on dinner plates.

The first course, a soup of creamed mushroom, had been served and conversation at the Freemen table had flowed pleasantly, giving controversial topics a wide berth. Thankfully, Sabine and Josef were seated next to each other, putting her at ease that she was close to a familiar face. On her left, sat Jimmy, a charming young man. Sabine could tell he was a bit of a rake due to his constant double entendres that were just enough to remain both humorous and respectful. Despite all of that, she found herself feeling refreshed at his conversation. He talked of his various travels and the people he met with great excitement.

"Miss Jones," a booming voice called, causing Sabine to look up from the rim of her wine glass.

She met the eyes of her father, who sat at the head of the table. Fine, gray hair haloed his head, instead of the thick curls he had passed down to her. His face was lined with heavy wrinkles, an indicator of the hard life he had been through, but there was one thing about him that hadn't changed. It was his eyes. Those same kind eyes sparkled with spirit even though forty-four years had passed since she last seen them.

"Emile has been telling me that you're a ward to a white woman," he stated, just as the second course was being served.

A hush fell across the room, everyone's attention turned towards her awaiting her response.

Sabine briefly glanced at Josef, "Please, call me Edith, Mr. Freemen," Sabine said, placing her glass down onto the table. "And yes, it's true, I'm Mrs. Scott's charge," she answered.

Emile's husband, Lee, raised his eyebrows. "I'm curious as to why she would take a colored girl into her care," he said.

"Maybe she wants to relive the glory days," Jimmy suggested, before sipping from his wine.

"Jimmy!" Emile admonished, glaring at her son.

Sabine shook her head, "It's fine Emile, I wasn't offended," she reassured. "My parents died when I was very young, I believe sickness took them both," Sabine said.

"You poor child," Mama commented softly.

"I was in a orphanage when she found me," Sabine informed. "She was a lonely, childless, war widow and wanted a companion. I don't know what made her go to a colored orphanage, but I suppose it was just luck of the draw for me," she recounted. "She has treated me as if I were one of her own ever since, and for that I am grateful," Sabine finished, telling her "life story" to everyone.

"Quite the life you have lived," Papa said, Sabine only nodded in agreement. "What about you, Mr. Campbell?" He asked, turning his attention to Josef. "How did you come to meet Edith here?" he questioned.

"I'm the family doctor," Josef replied, sitting up in his chair. "Mrs. Scott knew how white doctors would treat Edith, or should I say, wouldn't treat her. So, Mrs. Scott employed me for my services," he explained.

"An excellent profession Mr. Campbell!" Jimmy cheered, sending a smile his way. "We need more colored doctors in America," he added.

"I've been meaning to ask Mr. Campbell," Emile began. "Are you from this country? I've seen hundreds of colored men and none look quite like you," she pointed out.

"No," Josef responded, shaking his head. "I'm from Africa,"

"The Motherland," Mama hummed, her lips curving upwards.

"What about that man you left with Edith? One of the maids noted he had a slight accent," Emile recalled.

"Oh, that's Mr. Greene," Sabine named. "He's French,"

"You have a white butler?" Jimmy asked, chuckling in amusement.

"Now that, would be a sight to see, but no, Mr. Greene is not our butler," Sabine clarified, laughing herself. "He's my guardian, a second pair of eyes for Mrs. Scott, if you will. He makes sure that I don't get myself into trouble," she explained, which wasn't a complete lie.

"You keep quite the company, don't you?" Lee asked, with a smile. "Anyone else noteworthy?"

"Well there's an Italian," Josef chimed in.

A slight laugh escaped Lee, "My god, all you need is a Chinaman and you all would make quite the colorful party," he said.

"We would, wouldn't we?" Sabine responded, joining in with his laughter. "That's actually why we moved from our previous home to New York," she stated. "Less stares here and easier to get lost in the crowd,"

"How long do you all plan on staying here?" Mama asked curiously.

"Just until the beginning of next year," Sabine answered. "Mrs. Scott wants to go Europe,"

"It seems we have no choice but to treasure every second we spend with you, Edith," Mama declared, smiling warmly at her.

Sabine grinned back, "I wouldn't have it any other way," she agreed.

"Plus, it would do you some good wouldn't it Edith?" Jimmy began. "Spending time with folks who look like you,"

"We'll be your home, away from home," Emile said. "A second family," she finished.

"Oh, if they only knew," Sabine thought.

Sabine picked up her wine glass, "Emile, words cannot describe how happy that would make me," she grinned, before raising her glass. "To the Freemen's!" she cheered.

"To the Freemen's!"

Chapter Fifteen: A Journey’s End

[halcyonstorm]

my contest submission for LH drabble week! @levihan-drabbles

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoë, Kuchel Ackerman Additional Tags: Sick Levi Ackerman, Leukemia, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Accidents, Doctor Hange Zoë, Angst, Slight OOC, sorry Series: Part 9 of Short Fics Summary:

Hange and Levi were separated for several years for reason they couldn't help. They finally found each other.

At just 18 years old, Levi received the worst news of his life. He was sick. Extremely sick. If someone even coughed or breathed on him, he could die. He had leukemia, a disease which attacks the body’s white blood cells. Our white blood cells are our guardians, protecting us from any infection that dares to enter. He had one friend he wanted to tell the most: his best friend Hange. She had been his friend since the beginning of high school. He didn’t like her at first, but she kept showing up, eager to be his friend. He eventually warmed up to her, allowing her to sit with him at lunch, hang out after class; soon, they were inseparable.

Levi’s heart was in his throat as he mentally prepared to present the life-changing news to his best friend. “Hange, I have to tell you something,” he said, his voice trembling. Hange looked at him funny. He never spoke in such a strange manner before. Hange hesitantly sat in front of him at the empty desk, turning around in the chair to face him.

“What is it?” She asked, concerned. She was starting to get nervous.

“I’m sick,” he began, almost inaudibly. “I have leukemia… I am gonna have to leave school to be in the hospital. I get so weak, and my immune system is absolute shit… I can’t even risk getting a cold, otherwise I can die.”

Hange’s heart sunk into her stomach. She took a deep breath and looked into her lap. She had to be strong for Levi, and she knew that. 

“I’ll be here with you. We can text, call, facetime…”

“Yeah, we can,” he replied.

“We will! I’m your friend,” Hange said, grabbing his hand. “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you behind.”

-

At first, Levi thought he’d be strong enough to withstand the chemotherapy. That he’d be the rare case to have no side effects. Boy, was Levi wrong. After his first two weeks, his health was tanking. It tanked so bad, in fact, that no one was allowed in the room except the doctors and nurses. Hange was one of the only people to call him daily besides his mom. Hange would Facetime him after class, telling him all about her day. Levi never had much to share from his monotonous days of drug infusions and immobilizing fatigue, but he enjoyed listening to Hange’s voice. Over time, Hange began to notice her friend change: His skin became ghostly pale and his words were mumbled. She would show him the blooming flowers in the spring, the fallen leaves in the autumn, the snow in the winter. She would show him anything to distract him from the excruciating pain he suffered each day. 

After a year of chemotherapy treatments, the toxins started to take a toll on his body. He’d find clumps of black hair on his pillow every morning, until one night he insisted his mother shave it all off. Each clump of hair reminded him of the life he should’ve had. Going to class in-person instead of online for the rest of the semester, graduating through a computer screen. He fucking hated it. His physical and mental state began to worsen each week. He was like a walking corpse, sleeping about 16 hours each day. When he was awake, he was wishing he was asleep. Each day he withered away in the hospital bed. He would miss Hange’s calls frequently due to his concerningly deep slumbers. If he managed to pick up, he would fall asleep on the phone with her. Despite her busy school schedule, she found time to text him every day. That is what kept him going.

Every day turned into once a week, which turned into once a month, and soon not at all. He had officially lost touch with the only friend in his life. He felt it was his fault: he had no energy to ever respond to her texts. He couldn’t blame her. She did try. Alone in his hospital room staring at his old texts from her, his heart ached and tears spilled down his face.

Another year had passed when his doctor came into his shabby hospital room with a look of hope. Levi felt his heart begin to race. 

“Levi, we have some good news and some bad news,” He began, shutting the door behind him. He wore a bright yellow gown with a blue face mask and latex gloves. “The good news is, your white blood cell levels are elevated. This is an improvement compared to last month’s tests. Since they’re higher, you’re well enough to receive a bone marrow transfusion from your mother, who’s a perfect match. The bad news is, there are many risks to having this transfusion. Your body can reject the bone marrow, which may cause massive complications. However, I think it is best for you to get the transplant. It is your best hope for overcoming this disease.”

With no hesitation, Levi agreed. Let’s do this thing.

He tried to reach out to Hange to tell her the news, but after a week with no response, he was disheartened. A part of him hoped she would respond. He had his family, and for that he was forever grateful, but who would he have once he left the hospital? Who would he talk to? Who would he be? He completely lost the miniscule amount of social skills he had. He did make friends with some of the patients on his floor. Unfortunately, he outlived most of them. 

Fortunately for Levi, the transplant was a success. Within the next few months, he began to regain the color in his face, and hair started to sprout on his head again. He was sleeping less frequently, he was finally able to do a lap around the hospital floor without getting too tired. He was still on chemotherapy, but he was regaining his strength, and more importantly, he was getting his life back.

Levi was in (and rarely out of) the hospital almost four years. The day he was discharged for good was a beautiful spring day. The stale air became fresh as he exited the hospital in a wheelchair. He heard the bright green trees rustling and saw some beautiful pink flowers that reminded him of Hange. He took everything for granted until he was cooped up in a hospital room for years. He was grateful to Hange for being his eyes to the outside world. He felt a breeze run through his buzz cut. He took a deep breath, tears helplessly streaming down his face. He was finally free. 

It wasn’t long before Levi started searching for his long lost friend. He hated himself for forgetting how to spell her name. Was it Hanje, Hangi, or Hange? He couldn’t quite remember. He searched her name and was shocked to find out Hange was a medical student practicing at Shinganshina General Hospital. Shinganshina General wasn’t far, so she must still live in the area. He couldn’t, however, find any of her social media accounts. She was off-the-grid. Great… he thought. She was always difficult. He was one to talk, though. He hasn't used social media in years.

Throughout the summer, Levi was able to land a job as a mechanic and he worked endlessly. He had to repay the debt he placed his parents in. His mother especially hated the idea of him working just as he finished his treatments, but Levi was persistent. Eventually, he saved enough money to send monthly deposits to his mom and move out. He couldn’t have his mom taking care of him anymore after all she sacrificed for him. He had made enough money on his own to afford a cheap apartment two blocks away from her house. 

After getting settled, Levi told himself he couldn’t begin college without knowing about Hange’s whereabouts. He decided maybe if he drove to Shinganshina city, he would be able to find her somehow. Someone ought to know her… He got in his car one evening, punched in a diner’s address in Shinganshina, and started to drive. As he drove, he started to realize his plan was stupid. What, am I gonna stalk her at the hospital?

 After finishing a 10-hour shift at the shop, he impulsively drove past his block and hit the highway. The highways were ruthless that Friday night. He had never been to Shinganshina before on his own. He drove, hovering his head over the steering wheel with his elbows tightly tucked to his sides. The speed limit signs read “65 MPH''; however, everyone was quickly steering around him, going way over 75. He was very tempted to turn around in spite of his impetuous road trip; but he couldn’t find an opportunity to do so.

On the other side of the road, the two lines merged into one. One of the drivers did not recognize this, and suddenly swerved onto the other side of the road where Levi was driving. Perhaps if Levi didn’t work so hard that day, there was a slight chance it could’ve been avoidable. The last thing he saw were bright fluorescent headlights before he was knocked unconscious.

-

“We checked his driver’s license. His name is Levi Ackerman, age 22, victim of a head-on vehicle collision. He was wearing his seatbelt and had an airbag. He may have suffered a SCI and concussion. His heart and lung sounds are normal although his sternum and ribs may be broken,” A paramedic announced as they wheeled the unconscious man through the glass doors of the emergency room. 

“Get him up to imaging. We need to do a MRI, CAT scan, and x-ray STAT!” the doctor replied, taking her stethoscope to listen to his chest. She recognized the man right away but allowed her feelings to be suppressed for that crucial moment. Of course she recognized this man. He was her long lost friend, after all.

After finishing the tests, Levi was brought to a hospital room where he was changed into a hospital gown. Dr. Hange Zoe and Dr. Erwin Smith discussed the results: MRI showed signs of a concussion; CAT scan showed no signs of hemorrhaging; x-ray showed a cracked sternum and ribs 4 and 5 were broken. No signs of broken extremities, however he presented with ecchymosis on the bony prominences, such as his hips, knees, and collarbones.

As Levi awoke about two hours later, groaning loudly.

“My chest!” he complained, finding it hard to move. The two doctors turned around to find the patient had regained consciousness.

“Hello, Levi,” Dr. Smith began. “You were in a car accident. You’re at Shinganshina General Hospital. I am Dr. Erwin Smith, and this is my intern, Dr. Hange Zoe.” Levi’s eyes widened when he announced her name. 

“H-Hange…” he whispered, attempting to sit up but failing. Dr. Smith placed his hand gingerly on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to sit up. Just relax. How is your pain? We can give you some medication.”

“It’s fucking horrible. Please,” He whimpered, grimacing. Dr. Smith nodded, leaving the room. Hange immediately grabbed a chair, sitting next to her patient, but more importantly her friend.

“Levi, dammit what happened?” She said softly, looking at him. His face was not scratched, it was just the rest of his body that was injured.

“What happened to you?!” He retorted, looking her in the eyes. She could tell he was hurt, not just physically. “So much for not losing you...” 

“I was texting you as much as I could, Levi,” she explained, feeling guilty. “I had lost my phone and got a new one, but I couldn’t remember your number. I tried to find you online but I couldn’t… I am so sorry.” She hesitantly grabbed his hand. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but he squeezed her hand.

“I was too sick to reply,” he said. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s not-” A knock rang on the door and Hange stood up almost on cue. 

“On a scale of 0-10, 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt, how would you rate your pain?” She asked, switching the topic.

“A big fat 10,” he groaned. Dr. Smith wheeled in an electronic machine with a wire and handle attached.

“This is a patient-controlled analgesia pump. You can push it as many times as you’d like to help alleviate your pain. You will not overdose since it has a set amount of medication you can receive per hour. Also, we have some acetaminophen for you.” Levi downed the pills as soon as it was handed to him. Dr. Smith hooked the tubing up to his IV and handed him the button.

“Hange, gather your information on your patient and then meet with me in the conference room.” Dr. Smith left the room, Hange hesitantly looking at her friend again.

“Let me just do a quick physical assessment,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her pen light. As she did her assessment, he admired her. Being a doctor really did suit her. She was wearing a white lab coat with her name embroidered into it. As she would move his gown around to assess his heart and lung sounds, his breath hitched when he felt the tips of her fingers touch his bruised chest. He looked at her face as she worked. She simultaneously looked the same and different. Different in how she wore her hair, in the shape of her glasses, and she stood taller, more confidently. Same in her eyes never losing their sparkle, her focused pouty face, as well as her smile. That breathtaking smile never changed.

Once she finished, she cleaned off her materials and tucked them away.

“Levi, you’ll be kept at the hospital overnight to monitor your heart on the EKG. If you are able to walk in the morning, you will be discharged. Do you have anyone you can call?”

He thought of his mother. He thought of the burden he crushed her with. He decided to deal with this on his own.

“I live alone,” he replied, looking towards the foot of the bed.

“I can stay with you,” She offered instantly. Levi’s face flushed as he met her eyes. “I-I mean… if you want! You have a concussion. You can’t drive yourself or be left alone.”

“Isn’t that like… against the rules?”

“...I am not working tomorrow. I can pick you up and we’ll go from there. Since you won’t be in the hospital for long, I don’t think it’ll be an issue.” The corners of Levi’s mouth curled upwards.

“That is fine with me. Let’s do it.”

The next day, Levi was able to do a lap around the hospital floor. He walked around with one of the nurses to make sure he didn’t collapse. He was ready to go home. Correction: He was ready to go home with Hange.

Hange went to his hospital room in her normal clothes. Her style changed. She used to wear baggy t-shirts and jeans. She looked more mature in her white button-up top and black slacks. He had to prevent his mouth from opening when he saw her. She was beautiful, but of course he would never mention it. Hange walked down to the entrance of the hospital with the nurse and Levi. She went to get her car. A few minutes later, she arrived in her dark red Honda.

“Levi, you just have to direct me to your house…” She began, tapping at the car’s GPS. He gave the address and she punched it in.

“Hange? Why are you doing this for me?” He asked, almost by accident. She shifted the car into Drive.

“I… never stopped thinking about you, you know,” She began, driving away from the hospital. “Even though we lost touch, I still hoped to meet you again someday. You are the reason I wanted to be a doctor… and whenever I lost hope, I thought of you. Whether you know it or not, you pushed me to keep going.” He looked at her blushing face.

He was shocked by what she said. He felt the same. “Me too,” he confessed, looking in his lap. “Your calls saved my life. You were the only one who stuck around. I will never forget that.”

He was never one to say what he meant, but knowing he had the courage to speak those words to her, Hange felt a strong urge to kiss his lips. She always had feelings for him. Her feelings never changed, despite their time apart. In fact, it only confirmed her feelings for him even more.

“Even before I was hospitalized, I took everything for granted…” Levi said. “I have been wanting to tell you something ever since my diagnosis…” Hange felt her heart skip a beat as he spoke. 

“Thank you for being there for me.”

At the red light, Hange looked at him and squeezed his hand firmly. She noticed his cheeks were dusted with a red blush. 

“I’ll always be here for you.” 

He met her eyes, those radiant hazel eyes. He took advantage of the long stoplight to kiss the woman’s lips. He couldn’t contain his feelings anymore. He swore he’d tell her how much he meant to him one of these days. And God, her lips were soft and velvety and everything he’d imagined they’d be, but ten times better. She was shocked at first, but kissed him back. His lips were a little chapped from his rough night, but they were warm. She dreamt of this moment for years (as did he). It was better than how she thought it’d be too. She was intrigued by the quiet boy in school ever since she met him. Maybe she thought he’d lack passion, but it was the opposite. The kiss was full of passion and relief; after years of being in love with each other from a distance, they melted into each other. Suddenly, there was a beep behind her; the light had turned green. Hange chuckled, starting to drive again.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

[cognacdelights]

steamboat springs

my outer banks masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

summary: after coming into a large sum of money, two teens in the midst of riding the wave of young love decide to blow their fortune on a once in a lifetime trip to the mountain winter resort of steamboat springs, colorado. 

warnings: swearing. angst. fluff. slight indication of sexual content. 

The tips of her scarlet-painted toes skimmed the lukewarm bubbles of the hot tub as her petite, bikini-clad frame perched on the varnished, wooden edge. Her rose gold, star charm anklet glistened under the dimmed, romantic fairy lights that encompassed the tall, pine wood canopy as her contemplating, chartreuse eyes observed the picturesque scenery before her; the towering, snow-topped peaks that entrapped the quaint, expensive mountain resort were breath-taking. Lined with an army of ancient, snow-sprinkled evergreens and littered with miles of meandering, frozen streams, the Colorado Mountains were truly a sight to behold. Yet, there was a relentless, incessant niggle that plagued her pensive mind - refusing to allow her peace and tranquility in possibly the most calming and serene of locations.

“What you thinking ‘bout, pretty girl?” the low, husky voice of her sandy-locked, indigo-eyed boyfriend drew her out of her pondering, wistful daze. His toned, half-naked body waded through the tepid, jet-powered waves as he demanded the attention of his long-term girlfriend. His warm, paw-like palms settled on the tops of her droplet-covered thighs - his slightly calloused thumbs tracing delicate, tender circles against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs - as he came to rest between her parted legs. He left a gentle, adoration-filled kiss against the hickey-marked skin of her inner thigh, ensuring that he had captured her whole, undivided attention.

“Maybe you should have paid off your restitution with that money, instead of blowing it all on this,” a heavily weighted exhale escaped her plump, rose-tinted lips - her glimmering, beryl eyes concentrating on his concern-laced features. Instinctively, she ran her dainty fingers through the damp, tousled tangles of his blonde, straw-like locks, pushing the unkempt waves from obstructing his chiselled face.

“What?” his anxious, sapphire orbs peered upwards through his fair, sparse eyelashes - his apprehensive heart anticipating the sickening plunge of disappointment into the deep, dark caverns of his stomach as he urged her to elaborate, “you don’t like it here?” All the fair-haired, cobalt-eyed boy yearned for was to see the beautiful, content smile - which he so very much adored - plastered across her sun-kissed features; everything he did was for the sake of her happiness - in all it’s purity, so the thought of her holding regrets towards their once-in-a-lifetime, never-be-able-to-afford-again trip pained him dearly.

“No, I do. I love it. It’s beautiful and I would give anything to leave the Outer Banks behind and stay here, forever, with you,” her voice softened at the heart-wrenching sight of anguish laced within the pearly, silver speckles of his eyes, “but I want you to be a free man more.” There was a negligible, minuscule sliver of her that resented him for taking the blame for the sinking of Topper’s boat; it had changed the course of their relationship entirely, and not particularly for the better. Not only had her strict, over-bearing parents proclaimed their disapproval of their relationship upon hearing tattling whispers of his arrest, but his selfless, fictitious confession meant that he would more than likely be sentenced to a stay in a juvenile corrections facility.

“It’s just a bit of debt, it doesn’t matter in the long run,” he half-heartedly attempted to dismiss her concerns - nonchalantly shrugging his broad, muscular shoulders as a disheartened breath escaped his nicotine-laced lungs.

“It’s a permanent charge on your record, JJ, and you could still face time in juvy for this,” she responded solemnly, “what am I supposed to do if you get locked up? Juvenile’s don’t get conjugal visits, you know?” The shaggy-haired blonde had neglected to think of the consequences of his actions upon declaring that he was the individual responsible for the Thornton’s boat shenanigans. However, the reality was, JJ Maybank had just checked off his third strike on his long, delinquency-filled wrap sheet - and the metaphorical book of justice was poised and ready to be launched in his direction as they spoke.

“And you’d rather that have been on Pope’s record, huh?” he countered opposingly - his usually loving, tender voice raised several decibels as he defended himself against his girlfriend’s disapproving tone, “it would ruin his life. Not to mention, we all know he would never survive inside. They’d fucking eat him alive.” The pleasant, endearing warmth she once felt where his wandering hands caressed the cellulite-plagued plains of her thighs dissipated into the brisk nipping of the bitter, wintry mountain breeze as he retreated from their intimate embrace.

“Pope’s the one who did it,” she mumbled in response, uncomfortable with the tone of their heated conversation. Unfortunately, this was just going to be one of those things that they would never agree on. She platonically adored Pope - truly, she did - but, of course, she loved her boyfriend more. It was inevitable that the selfish, pining sliver of her that believed Pope should take responsibility for his actions would rear it’s ill-timed head eventually. JJ didn’t deserve to be punished for a crime he, for once, had not committed - and neither did their already suffering relationship.

“Pope’s the one with the future. He’s got his scholarship, he’s got his whole life planned out, he has dreams that are actually within his reach. I couldn’t let that be taken away from him because of something I pushed him to do,” he continued to argue, his tone defensive and abrupt. As her crestfallen, veridian eyes attempted to meet with his, she recognised an unfamiliar emotion that had etched itself into the foundations of his chiselled, stubble-lined features: guilt. A conscience-eating tidal wave of remorse had overwhelmed his entire being, convincing his impressionable mind that the entirety of the situation was down to the shaggy-haired blonde. Perhaps he was right; perhaps Pope wouldn’t have acted so wildly out of character and pulled the plug from the extravagant 2019 Malibu without the misguided encouragement of his trouble-making best friend - but, simultaneously, she was right. At the end of the day, Pope was the one who ultimately committed the delinquent act, and Pope did that off his own culpable accord.

“What about your future?” she challenged him, the desperation evident within the subtle inflections of her almost pleading tone. Her tanned, petite shoulders slouched from their structured, upright position - as her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, her malachite doe eyes searching for his torment-filled pools of teal. Despite her best, relenting efforts, he refused the intimacy of eye contact.

“I don’t have a future,” his voice was quiet - almost weak - and barely audible above the ceaseless, mechanical humming of the hot tub jets, “not one like that.”

“Yes you do,” she told him tenaciously - adamant in her words as her tender, dainty palms embraced the defined contours of his pronounced cheek bones, her gentle thumbs affectionately grazing over the brittle stubble, “you have a future with me. I don’t know what that entails; whether it’s opening our own surf shop down in Yucatán, or having a log cabin in the Colorado Mountains, or living on a freaking boat in the harbour back in Kildare. Whatever it is, I don’t care as long as it’s me and you. It’s me and you, forever, J. It always has been and it always will be.”

“I’m gonna pay it all off, I promise, even if I have to get a third job,” his calloused, bear-like hands encaptured hers, giving her petite fingers a gentle, adoring squeeze, “then I’m gonna give you the life you fucking deserve. A ring, a big ass wedding at one of those fancy, country estates, a whole bunch of kids, even that damned pink Volkswagen Beetle with the flowers painted on the doors - whatever you want, I’m gonna make sure that you get it all.”

“To me and you,” he toasted meaningfully - his words exuding promise and assurance as his meaty, ring-clad fingers grasped the condensation-laced neck of the lavish, half-empty champagne bottle. Expectantly, he tilted the punt of the onyx-tinted, glass bottle towards the breath-taking, brunette beauty before him.

“To me and you,” she recited his endearing words fondly, an enamored, cordial smile curving the corners of her full, luscious lips upwards. She too grasped the neck of a chilled, vintage bottle of champagne - hers significantly fuller than his - before clinking the two aged bottled together in celebration of their future together. The two, slightly tipsy, teens each took a generous swig of the fruit-fragranced beverage, concluding the ritual.

A giddy, infatuated squeal surpassed her plump, champagne-drenched lips as his soaked, paw-like palms gripped her dainty ankles, proceeding to gently tug her scantily-clad silhouette into the depths of the heated, bubbling water. His brawny, exposed back pressed against the varnished pine wood of the hot tub bench - her already bruised knees falling either side of his swimsuit-clad lower half, straddling his tamed, semi-erect length. His loving, yet ravenous, lips found hers, molding together in a beautiful, melodic synchrony as his audacious, meandering fingers fumbled to untie the loose strings of her Aztec-printed bikini bottoms.

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons 1: Thresh

This is something that I did today. I plan to make this an on-going series (might even take it to YouTube someday if I get the nerve to share my voice), but for now have it as a tumblr post.))

The world of Runeterra is one of the most interesting and complex fantasy settings in modern gaming; a fictional realm bustling with fantastical beings, characters, and a wide variety of plot points offering near endless potential for story-telling. The story of League of Legends is not, in fact, a singular narrative, but rather a collection of different stories spread out across a variety of fictional countries, continents, and even dimensions.

Runeterra as we know it today wasn’t always like this, however; in 2015 Riot Games opted to effectively reboot the lore of their world to be rid of the more restrictive plot elements like Summoners and the Institute of War to allow themselves more wriggle room to tell the stories they wanted to tell. While the decision to effectively make League of Legends non-canon to its own story was initially controversial, the writers of Riot Games have effectively proven themselves extraordinarily capable of using this newfound freedom to its full potential… For the most part.

With a retconned world came the need to retcon characters; Riot has made a substantial effort in the last few years to reimagine and redefine the backstories of the iconic Champions to make them fit into the new narrative, albeit with mixed results. Let’s face it: no writer is perfect and hindsight is 20/20, so a number of characters throughout the years have been left with less-than-stellar backstories compared to most of the roster.

Welcome to Runeterra Retcons, a series in which I’ll be analyzing some of the more controversial champion bios in the game to pick apart the good, the bad, and the horribly missed opportunities. With all that out of the way, let’s begin, shall we?

Episode 1: Thresh

Thresh is at once both an interesting and a bland character. He’s arguably one of the more iconic characters in the game, to the point where he’s practically become the unofficial mascot for the Shadow Isles. In-spite of this, I’ve long felt that Thresh is one of the most awkward fits into the region; before we can discuss the problems with his current lore, however, we first need to address Thresh’s backstory pre-retcon and see if we can analyze the core of his character.

Insert original lore here

So, we can see the concept behind Thresh’s character pretty easily: he’s a jailor who loves tormenting his charges, so much so that he continues to do so even after death. If you were to describe Thresh in a single word, it would probably be “sadistic.” Unfortunately, the original lore doesn’t give a lot beyond that; not where he’s from, not when he died, not even where his prison was located. The bio itself literally says that no one knows the details, and while that does add a faint air of mystery to the character, it doesn’t do much to tie him into the faction he’s supposed to represent: The Shadow Isles.

With that out of the way, let’s now take a look at Thresh’s new bio and see how Riot decided to change him after the retcon.

Insert new lore here

Alright, so, there’s a lot to unpack here. Perhaps the most notable change is that Thresh went from tormenting people to… Tormenting “living relics.” The relics are offered no further explanation in the lore or given any prior context. There’s just… A mirror with a soul in it. There’s a sentient book hidden down in the vaults. For some reason, the monks of the Isles even decided to stash a living person down there because he infused his body with raw magic. Why? Who was this person? What did he do to end up in chains? If this was a dangerous mage, wouldn’t it be better to build a proper prison for him rather than stuff him in a vault full of powerful, dangerous artifacts?

There are so many mysteries here, but perhaps biggest one is this: why was Thresh changed from a warden of people to a warden of relics? Why did they feel the need to turn him from a jailor who enjoyed tormenting his inmates to a curator that was slowly corrupted by the very magics meant to help him do his job? Well, I believe that’s meant to tie into the change made to the Shadow Isles themselves, or rather, the Blessed Isles.

While we never had much info on what the Isles were like before becoming an undead haven, a lot of the lore suggests that they were effectively a paradise, hence the name “Blessed Isles.” This was a place without war, without starvation, without corruption. Naturally, there would be no criminals in paradise, and so this of course means that to make Thresh a warden of things that are inhuman… At least, this is the thought process one might have until they introduce the mysterious regenerating mage, but I guess he’s meant to be one bad egg amidst the crowd, assuming he even came from the Isles at all. Again, it’s never really elaborated on.

So, while the change does make a degree of sense, it kind of feels… Flat. I mean, a guy who enjoys tormenting prisoners in their cells to hear their screams sounds a lot more terrifying than a guy who just stops his sentences halfway through to spite a book. Also, the fact that his lantern just becomes a seemingly endless vessel for souls because of the Ruination is a little silly; like, I know the Black Mist does all sorts of nonsensical things to matter, but the fact that an ordinary lantern gets turned into a relic arguably far more dangerous than anything Thresh was ever guarding seems kind of backwards, at least in my opinion.

So, how can we change this? How would I, personally, retcon Thresh if given the chance? Well, there are a lot of base elements that I would keep, but also some key components I’d like to alter. I’ve written up a short bio of my own for you all to enjoy, so without further ado…

In an age all but forgotten to history, there existed a realm known as the Blessed Isles. Hidden away from the world by a veil of magical mist, the Isles were a place of peace and prosperity; a land free of war, corruption, plague and misery. This paradise was ruled by an order of sacred monks devoted to learning and enlightenment. It was within this paradise that Thresh was born and raised by a pair of humble farmers, growing up surrounded by nature’s bounty.

Though expected that he might follow in his fathers’ footsteps, Thresh showed an aptitude for learning from an early age. In-particular, Thresh seemed fascinated with matters of philosophy; the nature of the soul, morality, and other complex subjects were frequent on the boy’s mind. This attitude quickly earned Thresh the attention of the brotherhood, who invited him to join their order as soon as he was of age. Thresh agreed without hesitation, leaving the farm behind to study at the Isles’ monastery.

For many years, Thresh studied under the tutelage of the order, distinguishing himself from his peers for his ability to grasp complex philosophical issues. Though acknowledged by his teachers, Thresh was met with looks of envy and scorn from his fellow students; rather than let himself be disheartened, however, Thresh instead took an interest in the root of their envy in scorn. Upon approaching his elders with such questions, Thresh found himself being led to a secret chamber deep beneath the monastery, guarded by powerful wards and runes. It was here that Thresh learned the truth of the Blessed Isles.

Thresh watched as one of his fellow pupils stood surrounded by figured in ominous robes, chanting an ominous spell in unison. Thresh’s teacher explained to him that this was ritual had been used by the order for ages to ensure that the Isles flourished. Evil was present in all humans, and so the only way to ensure it did not corrupt their paradise was to extract it from the soul, and seal it away. As the ritual drew to a close, Thresh saw the essence of all the other student’s hatred, envy, malice and warped desire ripped from his body, and placed into a special lantern made to contain it.

Thresh was intrigued. He approached the lantern without hesitation as the other boy was escorted from the chamber, and to his surprise, he heard voice whispering to him from within. The monks explained that though the evils of humanity could be removed, they could not be truly discarded. They needed to be contained, and more than that, they needed a warden to watch over them. Thresh volunteered in a heartbeat, and the monks smiled, pleased by their pupils’ devotion.

What they did not know, however, was that the whispers in Thresh’s mind had already begun taken root. From that day forward, Thresh vigilantly stood guard over the lantern, watching each successive cleansing as it took place. Each time, the wicked essence in the lantern grew stronger, as did the whispers in Thresh’s mind. He began to dream of enacting twisted torments upon the monks, the other disciples, and even his own parents. Slowly but surely, the brotherhood noticed a change in Thresh’s behavior. Fearing that he himself would be subjected to their cleansing rite, Thresh stole the lantern and fled the monastery.

The monks chased Thresh for days, but their search was brought to an abrupt end when strange ships arrived on the Blessed Isles: something Thresh thought impossible. From the safety of the cliffs, Thresh watched in delight as a soldiers led by a foreign king massacred his fellow monks. Their screams were music to the warden’s ears, and as the chaos spread, Thresh found himself reveling in the suffering of all who fell to the foreigners’ blades. Even at the cost of his own life, Thresh dared to move about the battlefield, searching for survivors left in the king’s wake only that he may snuff out the remnants of their lives himself.

Finally, as the screams of his victims began to subside, Thresh turned his attention to the heart of the Isles. From there, he saw a cloud of pure darkness rushing to meet him, and opened his arms wide to embrace it. In that moment, all the wickedness trapped within Thresh’s lantern was freed, bound to his soul through the power of the Ruination. Thresh emerged a being of pure maliciousness, and his lantern, now empty, would serve as the perfect vessel to enact his twisted fantasies.

Thresh now roams Runeterra as an avatar of sadism, bringing pain and misery to all unfortunate enough to cross his path. He stalks his victims and torments them by slowly stripping them of their sanity, before finally prying their souls from their bodies with his wicked sickle. If you hear the sound of chains in the dead of night, run… Though it may already be far too late.

So, what did you think? Now, it’s at this point I feel I need to clarify something: I’m not trying to bash on Riot’s creative team, nor am I saying that I can definitely make a better version of someone else’s character. Hell, I’m not even really saying that my version of the story is flawless; it would probably need to go through several more rewrites before I’d ever consider publishing it as canon, not that I have the power to do so, of course.

Rather, I wanted to take a closer look at Thresh’s character and how well his current lore represents him. I said earlier that Thresh is at once and interesting and a bland character. I consider him a little bland because you can sum him up in a single word: “sadistic.” He has no goals and no motivation other than to cause pain and suffering. Even the other undead of the Shadow Isles typically have some kind of agenda, even if it’s only to spread the Black Mist’s influence. Thresh doesn’t care about that; he just wants to see you writhe in agony, both before and after death. I’d argue he has more in common in with League’s demons than the other specters of the Isles, but it’s BECAUSE Thresh is undead that he has so much potential for an interesting backstory.

The main points I wanted to emphasize in my rewrite are: expanding on the magics that corrupted Thresh into being so sadistic, giving his lantern some greater significance in the story, and replacing the vault full of otherwise pointless macguffins with something a little more sinister that gives the Blessed Isles a hint of dichotomy. Riot loves adding a little morally grey to all their characters and factions, after-all.

Anyways, what do you all think? Could Thresh’s lore be improved, or do you all like his story the way in currently is? Lemme know down below, and I’ll see you all next time!

[ephemeral-sorrow]

cyphers inside of me(series: Jennifer(1))

Dedicated to Duskwood and all people who love this incredible game and support it, creating their own unique and breath-taking content, which results in Duskwood fandom being the greatest one I`ve ever been in.

Please leave feedback if you like!    ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

Summary: Penetrated by these pensive, dreary eyes, she found it impossible to look away, as well as shake off a growing feeling of distress inside her chest.

Warning: angst, tension

                      “Sweetie, why aren`t you playing with anyone?”

Jennifer`s lips curled up into a fond smile, yet her gaze held a rather apologetic and compassionate expression. Her kind voice, latched with tenderness, didn`t make a girl sitting on the bed respond or even stir. Snow-white sheets emphasized her tiny repressed form, while she remained tight-lipped, absentmindedly scratching the floor with her shoe.

The sight was something Jennifer already had gotten used to. As an upcoming kindergartener, she was required to pass the 4-month practice course in the orphanage on the outskirts of Duskwood, where she recently has moved to in order to begin a new life in a small, cozy city. At first, settling down wasn`t easy due to the lack of knowledge about it but soon her carefree and friendly temper allowed Jennifer quickly find acquaintances and take a liking to the locals. 

Her job didn`t leave her listless as well. She really loved kids and that`s why she most likely was so deeply invested in it, giving her fullest. She couldn`t help that her heart bloomed with care every time she tended to a child or made it laugh so airily despite the terrible truth it was facing. Jennifer found it fascinating - the adults could never be like that even for a fleeting moment, burdened with materialistic problems, while all it took to make a child happy was to show a few colourful pencils and play hide-and-seek or tell a fairy-tale. Some would think that this kind of work was miserable and low-paid but once again, these were just gloomy lectures of other adult people who only cherished money instead.

That`s why Jennifer felt truly concerned when she couldn`t find appropriate approach to certain children, especially orphans. Usually she succeeded in conquering their trust and favour with various methods, whether it was an interesting hobby or a way to let them feel loose, but now the young woman was facing a serious challenge. It`s been a month but this particular girl never seemed to allow Jennifer into her private cirle, always keeping to herself and flat-out refusing any forms of affection. She wondered why. 

Maybe she did something to upset her? Incorrect choice of words? Perhaps the little girl didn`t like her new babysitter in the first place?

Jennifer squatted before her, searching for her eyes.

“You look bored. Do you want to have some excitement? I`ll show you a magic trick”, she smiled some more, trying to catch her attention.

No response.

But this time the girl shuddered a bit because some of her peers ran down the corridor with loud screams, earning an earful from the old grouchy cleaner. The frantic sounds of feet subsided, as they made for the common playing room, leaving only a screeching bucket and displeased murmurs behind. Jennifer chuckled and then turned to the girl again.

“Okay”, Jennifer`s smile didn`t cease to be warm and patient. “tell me your name at least. We`ve never really introduced to each other. I am Jennifer but you can call me Jen. My hobby is crafting accessories”.

And at that exact moment she looked up an wordlessly stared at her. 

Jennifer felt a lump form in her throat, overehelmed by sudden emotions.

It was as if they looked at each other for the first time, revealing a tangled secret, for a brief second discovering innermost feelings, well-hidden undereneath the dark surface of the bottomless lake, full of cold quiet waters. This girl was odd. Jennifer surely has never experienced such confusion before - yes, with lightning speed she concluded that in fact she wasn't an ordinary kid; intelligent, albeit pensive eyes, faintly glimpsing with subdued pain, reminded of a puppy, abandoned in the middle of street. The girl's face was so sad, as if she understood way to much to enjoy childish thinking. She was desperately searching for the slightest change in Jennifer's expression, trying to detect lies or malicious intentions.

When she failed, she looked away, shyly clutching the ends of her shirt.

It felt disheartening. Jennifer got up with a little sigh.

"My name is MC. I like riddles".

[yanderecandystore]

Reader is alone in their room throwing a rubber ball against the wall which at one point rolls away but is returned to them. Looking up they see a single eye ball, Buddy is slowly making themselves visible again. Buddy is covered in healed scars and wound. A soft whine and a wag of a tail. Black and Red pop in for the daily check up and see whats going on Remeber self care is best care :o - Cold Anon

Thanks for caring for me Cold, but like- You really do be breaking my heart with these beautiful angst concepts ;^;

TW/Tags: Feels (angst lol) // mentions of animal abuse // d r a m a (also a little different from what you originally thought off-) // cursing // plot twist that was pulled straight out of my ass- (I can't blame y'all if this seem boring or uninteresting lol, but it was the only plot twist that I felt like it was fitting).

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Broken smile [Yandere!Among Us x Reader - Headcanon]:

Can you imagine your shock at seeing the familiar eyes looking at your own with nothing but relief and sorrow? Can you imagine seeing your little warrior walking inside your room slowly and clumsy due to his wounds.

You jump out of bed and go hug your best friend, despite knowing fully well that he hasn't recovered fully from whatever hell he clearly went through. He was anticipating the impact but it still hurts him despite his best efforts to hold it in-

You haven't come off of your bedroom that day, most of the crew was too busy to notice that you weren't doing your tasks, but of course they would notice before everyone else-

"- Babe, have you seen [Y/N] anywhere? I have a feeling we haven't talked much."

"- That's because we didn't. They haven't gotten out of their room ever since this morning-"

"- What?? Black, you should have told me sooner, come on, we need to see if they're okay- Wait!"

"- W-What is it??"

"- Where…. Black, where is M.Red?"

Instead of going straight to checking how you were they decided to search for their child since Mini Red just suddenly disappeared-

They eventually found him, and scolded the young child for giving both of his parents a heart attack, when asked where he was, M.Red said something quite surprising:

"- I was playing doctor with the doggie!"

You heard loud bagging on your door, you didn't really expect anyone to call you so late, they probably noticed you haven't attend to any of the tasks in the spaceship (although let's be honest, you're more surprised it took them 24 hours to notice that instead of realizing your lack of presence sooner-).

You recognized that friendly family that you have grown to appreciate over the past month, Red and Black has been nothing but sweet with you and M.Red is such a energetic kid-

You didn't want to get out of your room, so instead you welcomed them in, and as soon as their eyes looked at the medicines and the space canine laying on top of it all covered in wounds, they understood what happened.

He came back. The stupid dog came back, yet in their hearts there was nothing like hate or anger at the sight of the severely damaged dog.

No, on the contrary, there was pity inside them mixed with somewhat of a relief.

Well, don't get me wrong, they hate your dog still, he is nothing more than an immense rock in their path yet there is something so, well, "heartwarming" about seeing you reunited.

It's so fun to see their loved one so happy even if it's because of… That dog.

You didn't come out of your room at all that day, you just wanted to be with your friend and take care of him, you took first-aid kits on medbay to take care of his untreated wounds. Buddy came back all patched up yet whoever did it clearly didn't do a good job at it in the first place! You were glad someone at least tried to help, yet there was something very worrying about his condition-

If someone tried to fix him up, it was because he was hurt in the first place. Buddy is a smart boy yet he wouldn't be able to properly recover those wounds on his own.

So when you brought the topic to them, you didn't expect a small hand be raised in such a excited way- M.Red was so proud of his work despite the fact he doesn't know anything about treating a wounded space animal, and honestly he didn't care- He saw it all as a fun game, in his eyes finding the dog in such a small and convenient finding place was nothing but a fun game, he not only found a good hiding spot to play hide and seek with Black, but also the dog, which he only saw as a toy.

To put it promptly, Buddy was waiting to die by the hands of the gremlin child, yet he was delightfully surprised to see the child so excited about helping him get his wounds treated, despite the fact they did it for their own twisted little amusement. At least the kid liked him more than his parents did.

Both of his parents were hesitant in letting you know that their kid had found the dog before you did, since it could be considered kinda weird for their kid to be able to find your dog in a isolated tiny spot of the spaceship that was completely off the cameras view and only accessible by the ventilation system- They lied about their child randomly founding the dog walking around instead of actually founding the filthy thing's hiding place.

No one can go in the vents unless they were small or a shapeshifting monster, and their child just happened to be both at the same time-

Either way, after finally being reunited with your dog, everyone expected things to go back to normal, even Buddy seemed tired of this nonsense, yet things never did go back to the way they were.

It was interesting how much of an impact you had on your crew. People didn't give you that much attention, yet whenever you changed your behavior it seemed to take over the entire mood of the ship. You may be thinking I'm exaggerating, yet it's not hard to believe it, is it?

After all, think about it, your dog just came back hurt from something that has done a great deal of damage to him. Something or someone made him hide away from everyone else so he could catch a break.

Buddy was a brave boy yet he was careful enough to see when a fight wasn't worth fighting. Buddy ran away and managed to hide for so long, he must have seen something or someone that was capable of scaring him from even coming back unprepared.

You mentioned that at your meeting and everyone seemed shocked at your claims, and even more surprised by how you sounded so… Angry. You sounded like someone that was calm now, yet was holding enough anger to fight anyone if not everyone in the cafeteria if they gave you the smallest hints of being the one that has hurted your doggie.

Even though he was kinda weirded out by your demeanor, the poor thing thought that he had caused you so much pain that him coming back wasn't the best thing he should have done. You were the same person as when he ran away, yet you sounded so mad…

And you rightfully were. You have been beating yourself up and feeling depressed thinking your sweet boy has died and when he comes back he is wounded to the point of not being able to walk properly. You have every right to want to beat the shit of whoever did this, even if they weren't human to begin with.

You felt like you had every right to judge every single person sitting in front of you, anyone in this room could have hurted Buddy and you knew it. The arguing was so strong that you had to be calmed down by Red, Black and Buddy at the same time.

One person in particular seemed to be pointing you out as "obviously the killer" that has orchestrated this whole charade as a way to throw everyone off, you almost did slap a bitch that day-

Others seem to understand your condition. You literally just lost your dog and he came back all bloodied and wounded. You were hurt and pissed at whoever the culprit was, even if you weren't sure of who it was.

And there was a strong intuition indicating that maybe the culprit that hurted your dog, was also the monster going around killing your crewmates. But sadly, Buddy has also changed after the incident.

Buddy didn't seem to recognize who.was the culprit, and if he could have blamed Red and Black, he knew that it was neither of them that had attacked him. Someone else has taken him by surprise, and was smart enough to cover their scent and human disguise, so he wouldn't recognize them if he managed to get away. Which he is glad he did, yet he is afraid he won't be of any help this time around.

He could blame Red and Black, since clearly they were going around killing everyone, but he somehow knew that they weren't involved with his case. He felt like it would be unfair to put the blame on them for his case in particular, they should still be thrown off of the spaceship but not for him.

But for all the different people they killed along the way.

And also… Maybe he did feel pity for the child, maybe he just felt like he was in debt with the kid for helping him out- Maybe if the circumstances were different he could have been friends with the little rascal (if the child had also decent parents and a therapist-).

You seemed to have noticed how Buddy hasn't openly barked at anyone, how he hasn't pointed anyone out yet, which was a little disheartening since it meant that this would be a lot harder than expected, yet you hadn't given up yet, you were determined to make justice for your dog, for everyone that had died.

Some of your crew were with you, some weren't, yet you didn't care at all- You would make sure to take care of your boy with more love and affection, you won't let this happen to him ever again.

And while you had found some sort of hope from this situation, Red and Black were concerned if not freaked out at the idea that someone else had started a hunting spree, and apparently with you and your dog as their target.

Red had asked their son if he was the one to hurt the canine, yet he said that he found him like that, hurt and bleeding. Black was feeling anxious as he couldn't smell the scent of someone of his kind hiding in between them, I'd they were also disguising themselves, it meant that they were being extra careful by flooding themselves with extra scents to blend in with everyone else.

This was way more than concerning, it meant they were in danger, you were in danger! And the culprit was being one step ahead from everyone else, since they have probably already found out about Black being an alien that has also invaded the ship, and that Red and M.Red were involved with the killings.

There were apparently three imposters among your crewmates.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Okay sorry Cold, but now I noticed that although I tried to compile your both asks into one, it feels like I may have not done the best ;-; I'm sorry. I could totally redo it and make the Reader sick and all- If you wish boo

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[pastelsandpining]

All I Want for Christmas (Yearning)

The third prompt in 12 Days of Christmas by @zelink-prompts​

Prompt List

**Note: For the stories actually involving Christmas, I and a few other authors changed the holiday to Hylia’s Day (credit to @fatefulfaerie​ for this) so that it’s more relevant to Hyrule

Cover Art: @neezlebums​ be sure to show some love to the original here! I cannot stress this enough guys, PLEASE go like and reblog his work. He spends hours upon hours on every single cover drawing and it’s super disheartening that he’s getting 8 notes max on things he’s working really hard on. So please give his post as much love as you give mine! 

Words: 1956

Summary: Link takes Zelda out to the Festival of Hylia in the hopes that she can enjoy it as a normal kid, and they share a moment during the fireworks show.

BotW pre-calamity (not HWAOC related)

**If I don’t have explicit warnings, read with caution. It simply means there’s nothing I could think of that could be potentially triggering, but I could’ve just missed something. In that case, please let me know and I’ll be more than happy to put a warning!**

Zelink-mas 2020  l  Masterlist

The concept of soulmates is rather simple for something so deep. Whether it be one soul torn into two, or a red string of fate, or two souls that found comfort in one another, the premise was the same. Lifetime after lifetime, for the eternity that was to come and go, two hearts cried out for one another. They searched high and low, across continents and oceans, across timelines and ages, yearning for their partner—their lost piece.

Yet fate could be a cruel player in the game of existence. It could drive a stake in between a set of mates, or prevent their meeting entirely. It could taunt them with the prospect of forever, and take it away at twice the speed. 

It could take those souls and resurrect them only in times of destruction and decimation. 

How much could a soul handle? How much could it stretch and bend before it shattered? Was it still marked by trauma all those years later, when it was finally placed into a vessel and sent back into the world?

The soul of a hero, for instance, would be battered and bruised until fate decided there was no use for it. 

And until that decision was made, the hero’s soul would stay by the goddess’s side, even thousands upon thousands of years later. 

An impending war, what they referred to as a Calamity, was nothing new to the old souls. Yet they were filled with optimism, a sort of youthful comfort that wrapped like a blanket, and old souls did not entirely push away childish ideas and schemes.

Said hero was scampering through the streets, hand in hand with the young goddess, both tucked under cloaks that fared as a decent disguise given most participants were too drunk to think otherwise at this point in the night. 

“You cheated,” Zelda accused through a fit of giggles, but she made no move to drop the stuffed sand seal.

“I did not,” Link defended with a borderline emergent smile as he stole a glance towards the booth they’d run from. “I was just… a little better than their usual customers.”

“Yes, because their regular customers consist of skilled soldiers of Hyrule.”

“You don’t know that.”

Zelda pressed a hand over her mouth and laughed again. It got harder to suppress his smile. Something about the freedom that came with sneaking out, on top of the thrill of being where they weren’t supposed to be, left him feeling giddy and mischievous. It’d taken a while to convince Zelda to come with him, but attending the Festival of Hylia to only bestow a blessing over the kingdom wasn’t fair. They’d attended earlier in the day, with the princess wearing a grand, white dress to make her look like the goddess, and all he wanted to do was give her a chance to experience the festival as a normal kid. It was the least she deserved, after spending all of her time and effort focused on the Calamity. Of course, the only way they could actually get out was in a disguise, but Link trusted the cloaks would do their jobs so long as the late night attendees were drinking properly.

“You’re positive we won’t get caught?” she asked, for what had to be the hundredth time since they’d left the castle.

“Do you trust me?” he asked in response, fixing his eyes on hers. They were twinkling even in the darkness, and he could see the Castle Town lights reflected in her irises. When he looked at her like this, when there was no one watching them with attentive eyes, he found it hard to believe she was only Hylian. She radiated a light they couldn’t see, but he knew it was there because she was always so warm. Her eyes were always so bright.

“Yes,” she answered with a nod. Once again, Link almost smiled. But instead, he pulled her by the hand over to another booth. The worker looked too tired to care, so he didn’t have to take much caution in sliding over the rupees and asking for a soft pretzel, a caramel apple that had caught Zelda’s eye, and a set of drinks. It was just a shame they had to release hands to hold it all. 

“We used to come to the festivals all the time,” Zelda said after a few bites, letting her shoulder brush against his. “My mother would play the goddess and do the blessings, but after that, father would take me around to the different games and let me play. I was never any good at it, but they gave me prizes anyway. Mother was brilliant, though. She knew just how to get past the games’ rigging.  After her death, father didn’t let me stay out as long. Once I was twelve, my only purpose at the festival was to give the blessings. Did your family always come?”

“Almost every year. My father always took us the first night,” Link spoke with a nod. “Because he was on duty the other two. He tried getting my sister and I to play the games, but I was only interested in the food.”

Another giggle passed the princess’s lips. 

“It sounds like you haven’t changed at all,” she replied, nudging him again. 

“Except now I know how to win,” he said and gestured to the stuffed sand seal.

“I still think you cheated.”

“They cheated us first.”

Zelda had no argument to that one. Link tossed the paper from his pretzel into the trash, then adjusted the fasten on his cloak.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see the fireworks?” she asked. “I used to watch them from my window all the time.”

“I don’t know if it’s better than the view from your window, but I know a place,” he replied. Zelda slipped an arm around his, like she’d done it a thousand times before, and he ducked his head to hide his face from the overhanging light.

“I’ll have to see it in order to judge,” she said simply. He fought back a smile and pulled her through the streets of Castle Town once more, until they’d reached the outskirts. 

Link jumped up to grab the tree branch above them, then turned and held his hands out to her. Apparently his intentions were clear because even in the darkness, he could see that Zelda was appalled.

“We can’t climb on a random person’s house! Link! Get down!” she yelled in a whisper, but he just let the grin cover his face.

“It’s empty. For sale, I think,” he replied with a shrug. She looked around, as if she wanted to make sure they were really alone, before taking his hands. He pulled her into the tree effortlessly, then boosted her up onto the roof of a Castle Town house. “It’s no castle view, but you won’t be eye-level with the fireworks.”

“You can see the entire festival from here,” she spoke when he joined her at the top. “It’s not just lights. You can see everything. How did you..?”

“There was one year when my father had to attend all three nights, so it was just my sister and I. We ran out of rupees trying one of the games, and she was really upset, so I just.. snatched a prize and ran. We climbed onto a roof and stayed there for the rest of the festival, until I was sure he hadn’t sent any soldiers after us. It gave us a pretty good view.”

“You thief!” Zelda accused, giving him a shove. Link bit back a laugh.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever told. So now you’re the holder of some pretty powerful information.”

She hummed in thought and leaned her head against the plushie.

“I could do so much with this. I could tell everyone and finally have my freedom from you.”

“I don’t know if stealing a plushie from a festival booth ten years ago is enough to get me demoted.”

“It’s a serious crime,” but he could hear the laughter in Zelda’s voice. He turned to face her just as the first of the fireworks went off, drowning her in a soft yellow light. Even if he wanted to watch the fireworks, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was in a category all of her own, and the word beautiful couldn’t describe her in her entirety. 

He could call her hair golden, but it still didn’t capture her richness. He could compare her eyes to emeralds, and it still wouldn’t tell how precious they were. He could say her voice was a melody, and it still couldn’t describe how much he loved the song she sang each time she spoke. With every passing day, she grew more and more into the goddess whose blood she carried in her veins. She radiated a power and displayed a wisdom he’d never seen before, yet it felt so familiar to him that it never surprised him. He could watch her for hours, whether she was studying the Sheikah technology or praying at the foot of a goddess statue (not that he did, obviously, because that was sacred and private). It didn’t feel like a job--it never had. He’d give his life for her over and over again, like it was written into his blood and soul. Like he’d done it before. 

With how far they’d come, Link wondered just how much could one feel for a single person. If he could shield her from the world, he would. But she didn’t need that. Zelda was strong and independent, but what he wouldn’t give to remain by her side for as long as he could.

She took his arm again and rested her head against his shoulder. Her hold was as gentle as she. Her fingers intertwined with his and he gave her hand a small squeeze.

“Link?” 

He hummed to let her know he was listening and ready to answer any question she wanted to ask. 

“What do you want for Hylia’s Day?”

The gift giving tradition held true even to this year, but Link didn’t quite know how to answer her. What he really wanted was her. He wanted her to be happy and safe and secure. He wanted the goddess to respond, and for her powers to awaken so she could just enjoy whatever time they had left. 

Was there a stronger word that fit this feeling than yearning? Yearning for Zelda and her life and her future. 

He bit his cheek in thought, because none of that could be said aloud.

“I want a promise,” he replied at last. “that once this is all over, you’ll keep researching. And that maybe I can stay your knight attendant for as long as you can tolerate me.”

She almost laughed.

“Link.. I can’t promise anything. If I can’t awaken this power, then-“

“You will,” he said, holding her hand tighter. “I believe in you.”

Zelda smiled at him—weak and small, but it still filled him with a warmth that made him feel all the more confident.

“I want a day off to just relax with our friends,” she stated, returning her head to his shoulder.

“All of our friends?”

“Yes, even Revali.”

Link chuckled and shook his head, watching the last of the fireworks pop. He’d never felt more relaxed than he did then. It was like they belonged there. Something about her was so calming that he didn’t want to go back to the castle just yet. 

“Thank you,” she spoke softly into the quieting night. “For tonight.”

He wished he could kiss her.

Instead, he gave her hand a squeeze and said, “Anything you want, Princess. Just say the word.”