#like I have two months of way worse during spring

[onlythebravest]

.

[hedgehog-moss]

Good news! I managed to find the last dandelions of the season :) I really thought I'd missed the window to harvest them this year; it's usually a late-April activity for me but it rained so much in the past couple of months, it just ruined my flower-harvest schedule.

The only dandelions left where I live are all in their wish-granting puffball phase, but I thought I'd try my luck at higher elevations—yesterday I called a neighbour who lives 150 metres higher, it went something like "Hello I would like to inquire about your dandelions and what stage of their life cycle they have reached." Neighbour told me if I hadn't introduced myself first she would have assumed I was a salesperson cold-calling to pitch a product ("You sounded so professional.") But she confirmed that she saw a few still-yellow dandelions during her last walk! Pandolf and I were immediately on our way.

Neighbour also told me that the cows were out in one of the pastures I was about to cross, but I didn't tell Pan, it was a surprise. He was so happy! Look at him bouncing his way towards them:

I was ready to call him back if the cows looked nervous, but instead more cows arrived to meet this visitor, to Pandolf's extreme delight (I had to call him twice before he deigned to stop greeting cows and join me on my dandelion search.)

Usually I just sit in a pasture covered with thousands of dandelions and I barely have to move to fill my basket, but in late May the harvestable dandelions are few and far between, so I had to walk long distances to find a couple here, a couple there—and I had to really inspect the tall grass, where they are much better-hidden than in April grass.

And guess what else I found in the tall grass?

A lion!

Worse! it's Texas :) I guess he is officially a recurring character. (Here's Texas' memorable introduction, for those who missed it.)

He makes Pandolf look small and scrawny!

I went to say hello to his owner but she wasn't home, so we returned to our dandelion field, followed closely by a suspicious Texas.

Sure, I'd scritched his ears and it was nice, but he's a diligent guard dog and unlike Pandolf he doesn't think friendly ear-scratching and malicious intent are two circles that can't overlap. But once I showed him my harvest he lost interest in us. Catching dandelion thieves is not in his job description.

Another animal I had to negotiate with were pollinators, who were clinging to the last few dandelions even though there were other wildflowers for them to feed from. They probably thought I was being similarly unreasonable with my single-minded focus.

I also found an adorable tiny spider in my harvest—she was dandelion-yellow and perfectly camouflaged to hunt insects in there! Here she is giving me a tiny spider high-five (or maybe angrily shaking her fist at me as I deprived her of this ideal hunting ground)

I let the llamas out to eat the weeds in my (still not planted) vegetable garden, like last week, as I started the long and meticulous process of destemming 400 dandelion flowers one by one. It started raining at some point but I had to stay outside to keep an eye on Pampe—it wasn't cold at all, and after the initial "oh no! rain" reaction, it started feeling pretty nice and meditative, sitting outside in the soft spring rain with the animals while preparing flowers.

I proudly told my mother that despite being one month late I managed to make 5 jars of dandelion honey just like last year, and she complained about shrinkflation seeing as I used significantly smaller jars than last year. I'm sorry but that's just called making clever use of packaging to meet unreasonable customer expectations in difficult times. Plus, I used 1 more lemon than usual in my recipe, so what this product lost in quantity it gained in quality. ("That's what they all say," she tutted)

(If my hen looks grumpy it's because she was sheltering from the rain under the table and I unceremoniously caught her and dropped her on top of it to enliven my photo. Not only did she get wet but she felt used, like a mere prop. She's back in her sheltered spot and it's been over 10min but you can still hear muffled resentful clucks when you walk past the table.)

[roosterforme]

It Won't Be Long | Rooster x Reader

Summary: How are you supposed to tell your family that you have to leave? Especially when everything still feels new and flawless and beautiful? Bradley knows it will be rough to break the news to you, but telling Everett will be so much worse.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, adult language

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

This is a Batting Practice one-shot but can be read alone! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Oh, shit."

Bradley's heart sank as he read the paperwork that Maverick just handed to him. "Fuck," he groaned, fighting the urge to crumple up the pages. The sounds of conversation buzzing around him in the rec room faded to a dull noise that set his teeth on edge as he thought about how he was going to explain this to you. And even worse....how he would tell Everett. 

"Sorry, Rooster," Maverick replied, cuffing him on the shoulder, but Bradley didn't move except to shake his head a fraction of an inch. He should have known this was coming. He should have been prepared for this, but it felt like a slap in the face. You and he had only been married for less than six months, and he still felt like this was very much the honeymoon phase. How the hell was he supposed to spend a single day without you and Everett, let alone one hundred of them?

He'd been planning to take the three of you up to Disneyland for a little overnight trip during spring break. Kind of a precursor to a longer vacation to Disney World in Orlando in the summer. Well, now he'd be missing all of spring break. And he was going to miss opening day at Petco Park, too.

He vaguely registered that Maverick dismissed him early, and he heard Bob calling his name as he headed for the door. He stopped but didn't turn around as he told his future brother-in-law, "I'll call you later." He'd have to tell Bob and Molly soon, because you and Everett would need them if anything happened while Bradley was deployed, but he didn't want to talk about it with anyone until he told you himself. 

When he got home before you, it gave him plenty of time to mope while he got dinner in the oven. He decided to take a long shower, suddenly wanting nothing more than to change out of his fucking uniform. The Valentine's Day card he gave you a few days ago was still propped up on your dresser, and he sighed when he looked at the pretty flowers still blooming beautifully in the vase next to it. When he opened the card and read what he'd written, he wasn't surprised to find that he had it practically memorized after spending hours agonizing about what to say to his wife on a day dedicated to being in love.

Kitten, 

You changed my life and everything in it for the better last spring, and not a minute goes by that I'm not thinking about you. I hope you'll let me love you every Valentine's Day for the rest of my life. I hope you'll love me back for all of them. I'm so happy you're my wife.

Love,

Bradley

P.S.- How do you feel about wearing your collar, leash and your bodysuit tonight?

He set the card down again with a soft groan and stripped out of his uniform. The shower felt amazing, and he treated himself to your expensive body wash before he rinsed himself off. When he put on his sweatpants and started looking for a tee shirt, everything in his drawer seemed to have Top Gun or Navy Waves printed on it. He just wasn't in the mood for any of it since he knew he was about to have two conversations he'd really rather skip, so he pulled on the Phillies shirt that he got for Christmas from you and Everett.

The kitchen timer started going off at the same time he heard your car in the driveway, and Bradley ran back downstairs to get dinner out of the oven. "You're home early!" you said, bursting through the front door with Everett by your side, and for the first time since this morning, everything seemed more colorful and loud in a good way.

"Dad! I aced my math test!" Everett said as he came running into the kitchen, waving a sheet of paper in the air. "A hundred percent!"

Bradley's heart clenched as he picked Everett up in a hug and buried his face against him. "I'm proud of you, kiddo. That's what happens when you stop rushing through your homework."

He held onto his son a little longer than he normally would before kissing his cheek and setting him down. You eyed him closely as you dumped your work stuff on one of the chairs. He must have done something to give himself away, because a second later, you said, "Ev, you promised you'd take ten minutes to clean your room before dinner."

"Fine," he replied, his voice right on the edge of whining. Normally Bradley would remind him not to talk to you that way, but he let it slide right now. Everett headed for the stairs, and once he was out of sight, you were in Bradley's arms. 

"What's wrong, Coach?" you asked, running your fingers along his cheek before pushing them through his damp hair. "What's bothering you?"

When you gently kissed him, he didn't stop you. And when it took him a minute to reply, you didn't rush him. "Baby... I'm being deployed."

Your grip on him grew incrementally tighter as you whispered, "Oh. When?" 

His forehead met yours as he forced out the sentence, "I have to leave mid March, and I'm due back on Ev's birthday."

When you nodded, he could tell you were still letting his words settle in your mind. You took a deep breath and huffed out a little laugh as you whispered, "That's a long time."

Bradley swallowed down his guilt. "It's too damn long. I don't want to go fourteen weeks without you and Ev. I don't even like going a whole day when I can help it. I'm supposed to be here with you."

You nodded, and when you spoke, he could hear the tears in your voice. "We managed without you before, we can do it again. At least you'll get home on his birthday."

He collected you tighter against his body as he groaned. He would rather do almost anything other than miss his son's eighth birthday. "Kitten. Sometimes the dates aren't accurate. Sometimes the carriers run behind schedule. One time I returned a week later than I anticipated." 

You made a soft sound that left him reeling. "Well, if that happens, then I'll explain it to him. And we'll deal with it."

"Fuck," he grunted, slipping out of your grasp and gripping the edge of the countertop with both hands as his anger flared. "I don't want the two of you to have to deal with me missing out on celebrations. I already bought tickets for Ev and I to go to see the Padres on opening day! I was going to let him skip school! If I miss his birthday, I swear I'll be fucking sick, Kitten! And if Molly doesn't have the baby before March fifteenth, then I won't get to meet him until he's three months old!"

"Bradley," you whispered, ducking under his arm so you were right there between him and the counter. "Listen to me," you said, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. "This is why we love you so much. Because you love us so much."

You had tears in your eyes that matched his as he muttered, "I still feel like we just got married. Like every day with you is so exciting. And Ev didn't grow up with a military dad. He's not used to my lifestyle. I..." Bradley paused and dipped his head down, staring at your work shoes as he said, "I feel important every day because both of you rely on me for things around here. More than just my income. Ev and I do his homework together, and I like helping you cook meals. And I live for taking him to the park to play baseball. I live for it, Kitten."

With two firm hands under his chin, you shifted him so he was looking at you. "I said we would be able to manage without you because we did it before. We know how to do it. Not that we would enjoy ourselves, Bradley. My heart will hurt with worry every day that you're gone, and Everett will miss you because you're essential to his happiness. But this is part of your career, and you're very good at it."

Bradley knew he was crying now as he said, "I'll miss the beginning of his baseball season. He's the only one from his old team who is going to play real ball again this spring instead of tee ball."

You smiled and kissed his cheek. "All thanks to you. And I'll take a million videos for you to watch. I'll email them so you can scrutinize his technique, and then I'll help him improve. I mean, look how much more I know about baseball since I first met you."

Of course your words made him feel a little better. They always did. You always validated his place in this family when he started to doubt himself. "You've come a long way, Kitten. And it's a good thing, too, because I don't think Ev is going to lose interest in baseball any time soon."

You smiled as your lips skimmed his. "I really hope not since the two of you turned the extra bedroom into a Phillies shrine."

"Why are you both crying?"

Bradley's gaze snapped toward Everett who was halfway between the bottom of the stairs and the kitchen with a concerned look on his face. "Ev," he started, unsure how to handle this conversation. Part of him wanted to wait until after the three of you had eaten dinner, but right now, he looked very upset.

"Is Aunt Molly okay?" he asked softly. "She was crying the other day when she said the baby was hurting her back."

When Bradley still hesitated, you said, "Aunt Molly is fine. She texted me a picture of her swollen feet at lunchtime." Then you leaned in closer and whispered, "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No," Bradley replied immediately. "No, I'll do it." But it was harder than he thought it would be to get the words out in a way that would make sense to a seven year old. Why had he convinced himself that he'd be good at this parenting thing? He didn't even know what the hell to say right now. "Grab our gloves," he told his son. "Let's go out back and toss a ball around before we eat dinner."

Everett perked up immediately and ran off, only to return with two well worn baseball gloves and a baseball. "Okay."

Bradley slipped on a pair of shoes. "Okay."

Wordlessly, they threw the ball around for a bit, the quiet space soothing the part of Bradley that was terrified of fucking this up. "Hey, Kiddo?"

"Yeah, Dad?" Everett asked as he threw a scorcher to Bradley.

"You remember how we talked about deployments before?"

"Yeah." His voice was softer this time, and his face fell a little bit. "I remember. It's when you have to go way out into the ocean and fly off of an aircraft carrier."

"Yeah," Bradley croaked, squeezing the ball as hard as he could in his right hand. "I'm going to have to leave to do that in a few weeks."

He watched as his son tried to be strong and keep it together, but then Everett's face crumpled as he started crying. "But you said that lasts for months," he said as he looked at the ground, and Bradley rushed toward him. "And I heard Jayden in my class say deployments are really dangerous."

"Ev," he replied, dropping the ball and his glove and kneeling right in front of him. He swiped at the tears with his fingers as he said, "I can't stand it when you cry. It breaks my heart." 

But Everett just cried more. "I don't want you to leave now. You just got here!"

"Kiddo," he whispered, wrapping him up in a hug. "I'll be back soon. It won't be long. Nothing we can't handle."

"But what if something happens to you?" 

Bradley's heart shattered and was immediately put back together. He hated making you and Everett worry about him, but the fact that you both loved him enough to care made him feel whole. He kissed his son's tear streaked cheeks and said, "The only thing that's going to happen is me flying around in my jet for a few weeks before I come right back home. Sounds pretty boring, right?"

He nodded against Bradley's shoulder. "Yeah, I guess so."

Bradley kissed his forehead and whispered, "I'll be so bored without you. I'm going to need you and Mom to take a bunch of photos and videos and email them to me all day long. And I'll need you to ace all your school assignments and be well behaved for everyone except your Aunt Molly. You think you can do that?"

Everett shrugged, but when his glove slipped off of his hand, he hugged Bradley around the neck. "I'll try, Dad. But I'll miss you."

A tear slipped down Bradley's cheek as he managed to say, "I'll miss you, too."

-------------------------

"It's not time yet," you told Everett as he sat on the couch with the iPad on his lap, staring at it longingly. "Ten more minutes. Why don't you finish your math homework while you wait?"

"Because I like doing my math homework with Dad," Everett explained as he looked at you like you were absolutely ridiculous for even suggesting such a thing. "I want to solve the problem with him."

Even though it meant you would have less time to talk to your husband about other things, you'd let Everett do math homework with him over FaceTime. It wasn't like Bradley was going to complain. They were two peas in a pod. Everett even had the Phillies current pitching stats printed out and ready to share. 

"You'll have to show him your countdown, too. We're getting closer."

Before Bradley left, he and Everett cut up countless strips of paper and wrote numbers on them so Everett could conduct a countdown until his eighth birthday. Until the day Bradley was supposed to return home. There had been a gigantic paper chain snaking through the house, but now you were down to your final ten loops. Just ten more days without Bradley.

When the iPad rang, Everett nearly dropped it in his excitement, and you ran in from the kitchen. "Dad!" he said as Bradley's handsome face filled the screen.

"Hey, Ev," he said, sounding exhausted and relieved. "I miss you, Kiddo. Where's Mom?" 

"She's right here." 

Your son tilted the screen, and Bradley sighed. "Kitten."

"Bradley! We miss you. Ten more days!"

A crooked smile broke out on his face, and he kept his eyes on you for a beat longer while Everett started telling him all about baseball practice with his new coach and how his baby cousin Charlie threw up yesterday and about how the Phillies won three games in a row. You lost him to your son just like you knew you would as soon as Everett asked him for help with his homework. 

You sat quietly on the couch while Bradley looked at the math sheet and helped him work through the problem. Then Everett showed him the remaining length of the paper chain countdown, and as soon as that was finished, Bradley said, "Great job, Kiddo. Now why don't you go clean your room up before bed while I talk to Mom?"

"Okay. Love you, Dad!"

"I love you, too," he promised. "And I'll see you on your birthday."

Everett handed you the iPad and ran upstairs to his bedroom. "After all that, I only get three minutes alone with my husband this week," you said with a little smirk.

Bradley groaned and shook his head. "I can guarantee when I get home, I'll be on you nonstop. Don't worry about that, Baby. We won't sleep for days."

You bit your lip and laughed as he groaned. "What do you want for your birthday, Coach?"

He glanced around the small room where he was sitting before he said, "You can find that information written in your Valentine's Day card. Maybe throw in some vanilla frosting, and I'll be all set."

"Sounds good," you replied, and his smile grew. "We'll count down to Ev's birthday, and then we'll count down to yours."

"Speaking of which, did you get his present ready? All wrapped up in a box?"

You nodded as your heart fluttered. "Exactly to your specifications," you promised, picturing the package you had stashed in the linen closet.

"Perfect. I need to make it up to him for missing opening day for the Padres. I hated disappointing him."

As you glanced around your living room at the remaining countdown numbers and Everett's completed math homework, you said, "Something tells me you could never truly disappoint him. See you in ten days, my love."

-------------------------

"Dad!"

Bradley rushed through the crowd on the dock and headed for his family. You looked beautiful, and somehow Everett looked like he grew six inches in three months, but everything was perfect again once he had an arm wrapped around each of you. He kissed your lips and squeezed you to his side. "I missed you, Kitten," he murmured, knowing you wouldn't be too mad if you weren't his main focus until later tonight. "Happy birthday, Kiddo," he said with a smile as he released you to hug his son. "I missed you, too."

Everett clung to him when Bradley knelt down, and he stood up again with him in his arms. "Last week, my new coach said I have a heck of an arm. And school's already over. Mom took a video of my last day on Friday. You have to watch seventeen new videos from last week. We can watch them together tomorrow before we go out for pizza with baby Charlie and Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob."

Bradley buried his face against Everett's shoulder, excited to hear him talking a mile a minute in person. "Absolutely. But first, let's get home and open your birthday present."

The ride in your car was filled with your voice and Everett's, and Bradley sat back with a smile on his face and his fingers laced with yours. "How was the aircraft carrier?" Everett asked.

"Boring, loud and uncomfortable. And they never showed the Phillies games on TV."

"We can watch the game recaps!"

Bradley was already daydreaming about taking a few days off work, lounging on the couch with Everett until lunchtime, going to the park to play baseball, and then making love to you all night.

"We can definitely watch the game recaps," he promised as you pulled into the driveway next to Bradley's prized Bronco. "But first, I really want you to open your birthday present."

He didn't change out of his uniform. He didn't even remove his boots. He just gave Everett the box wrapped in red and white paper after you handed it to him, and he watched his son tear into the paper while your hands came to rest on his chest. "You are the only birthday present that kid wanted," you whispered.

Bradley felt the flush rising in his cheeks as you kissed his neck, but Everett had the lid off the box now. "I don't know about that, Kitten. I think he'll like this one," Bradley replied as Everett put the Phillie Phanatic hat on his head and read the paper he found in the box out loud.

"Three tickets for the Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park! On the Fourth of July! Behind the dugout! That's where the Phanatic dances! We can see the Phanatic for real! In Philadelphia!"

"Told you," Bradley whispered against your lips as Everett ran around the living room, already thrilled for his first trip to Philly.

But you were shaking your head and looking up at him with the most sincere expression as you said, "Just wait for it."

And you were right. A few minutes later, after Everett's excitement for his Phillies tickets tapered off a bit, he asked, "Dad, can we build a blanket tent and watch Toy Story and eat popcorn?"

Bradley paused where he was unlacing his boots and smiled. "Under one condition."

Everett smiled back and shrugged. "Okay. What is it?"

Bradley tossed his boots aside and said, "We change into our matching baseball pajamas and grab the stuffed Phanatic from your bedroom. And Mom gets to join us, too."

"Deal."

An hour and a half later, Bradley was watching one of his favorite movies with two of his favorite people. You were feeding him popcorn and teasing his hair as you lay with your head on his shoulder in the blanket fort. Everett was sound asleep, draped across Bradley's chest, and it felt so good to be home, he almost started crying. 

"I missed this so much," he whispered, kissing Everett's forehead. "Missed my family."

You hummed softly as you raked your fingers through his hair. "Like I said, going to the Phillies game will be great and all, but having you home today was the only thing he really needed for his birthday."

Bradley grinned and asked, "And does my Kitten need me, too?"

You popped up from his shoulder and whispered, "Why don't you carry Ev up to his bed, and then I'll let you find out."

-------------------------

I love emo Coach Bradley, and it was definitely time to check in with the three of them. He never wants to be the reason Everett cries, but that kid loves him so much, it's unavoidable. Let's check back in with them again soon. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[cultofdixon]

Stress is a silent killer

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Don’t get me wrong, mothers are strong motherfuckers. But that doesn’t mean you can abuse an expecting mother’s abilities. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Pregnancy / Pre-Term Labor Anxieties / Anxiety

Requested by: Anon

Daryl silently returns his home he shares with Y/N who was currently seated in the living room wide awake. She was decked out to go outside the walls and search for him after the news but thankfully he came back in time before she risked herself at the hour it was.

“I’m sorry”

Y/N didn’t say anything, all she did was let the tears that build up roll off her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I walked away when yea first told me” His voice broke as he brought himself to kneel in front of her resting his hands on her thighs watching her tearful expression meet his gaze.

“I’m scared, Dar…”

“I know, me too. Cuz I want this. I want this with yea and I’m afraid of losing you…like Lori…or like…the others. I can’t lose yea to anythin’ or anyone.”

“You can’t…you can’t walk out like the way you did” She choked out through her sobbing as Daryl brought his hands onto her cheeks wiping away them while they fell. “Please…if you do that again, I’m only going to think the worse possible things”

“I’m stayin’ right here, sunshine. I’m never leaving again.” Daryl pushed himself forward and wrapping his arms around her as she did the same gripping onto his vest. “I’m never leaving you and this baby, I promise”

~

7 1/2 months later…

Another cold spring morning comes through causing the somewhat irritable not-a-morning person Y/N to bring herself to sit up the best she could given her “natural” circumference was different compared to the first and second trimester.

“Did you leave the window open?” She tiredly asks her husband who had sat up when she did, given the closer they get to 9 months the more he’ll be up and at it for anything.

“It was stuffy last night, yea asked me too” Daryl yawns stretching out his back hearing his partner hiss when she heard the occasional stretch out crack. “I’m good”

“Working on the wall repair does you no good…and I think I just forgot I asked you to open it” Y/N frowns bringing herself to the edge of the bed causing Daryl to get up in his shirtless glory about to close the window. “What are you doing?”

“I told yea you don’t have to get up and close it”

“I gotta get up and pee cuz a certain someone is stepping on my bladder.”

“So is that a no on me closing it for yea, love?”

“Can you please close it and help me stand up?” Y/N gave him a tired smile as he did exactly what was asked and while Daryl helped her up she couldn’t help but grab his face to bring him to her level to kiss him before separating to do what she needed.

“Are you sure you don’t need me or want me this morning? Rick completely understands why I can stay here” Daryl started to remind Y/N about the run he was asked to go on that involved stopping at the Hilltop to drop off supplies and go pick up more from the Kingdom.

“You pawned it off to somebody for the past two weeks. I’m not going to go into labor the second you leave. I’m not 8 months yet”

“Pre-term shit. You were put on bedrest during the second tri—whatever it’s called because your stress wasn’t helpin’” Daryl states slipping off his sweats to put jeans on when Y/N stepped out of the bathroom. “It’s easy for yea to stress out and back in the prison you passed out once cuz of it. Now you’re pregnant and Siddiq said it could cause more harm than good”

“Are you trying to stress me out now?”

“No, I’m just telling—-“

“It’s only for half the day. Both Maggie and Ezekiel know who you have to come back home to, they won’t hold you up and we also know Carol will shut Ezekiel up if he does start another endless conversation with you. You’ll be back before nightfall and I’ll be here waiting for my husband to come back”

The archer only gave her a worried expression because of how calm she was being, since a month ago she’d scream at him for just leaving the house. He brought himself over kissing her lovingly and holding her for as long as she let him, which could be hours and he’ll not be able to go anymore. But Y/N knew this trick.

“You seriously walking me out to make sure I actually go?” Daryl smiles walking his bike with his pregnant wife on the other side of such still wearing her sweats and one of his shirts.

“Did you forget about the morning and evening walks we do?”

“Nah I did not. Which reminds me to tell yea to wait for me for the night one. Take it easy walking back home and stay away from the new infusions”

Y/N whistled for Daryl to stop given she can’t maneuver fast enough to grab his arm. “Stay away from the new infusions?”

“Rick let in more ex-saviors to help around here. They are staying in the apartment looking houses” Daryl parked his bike a moment bringing himself to rest his hands on her belly. “Two of them are annoying shit stains of humanity. I don’t know the other one’s name but one of’em is Bryan and they’d much rather pawn their work off to somebody else”

“Daryl. I doubt they’d make a pregnant woman do shit”

“Well. I told Aaron to check on yea if he sees you doing anything sketchy”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Rick is at Oceanside, Michonne is watching a sick Judith, and the others are working on the bridge repair. You won’t let me stay to make sure you don’t over exert yourself. Somebody’s gotta check on yea and since he’s takin’ care of a baby girl at the moment? He’s more than happy to check up on you when Gracie is napping”

“You really have everything planned. Even have a radio?” Y/N smiles crossing her arms as he took out said device to show her resulting in a playful eye roll. “I’ll do my best, my love. But I’ve never seen those individuals before…you can’t blame me if something happened”

“Yeah, but I sure as hell can kill a man if he harms my wife and baby” Daryl states, sneaking in a kiss before getting his bike back up and heading toward the gates.

“I promise nothing will happen, Dar”

What was meant to be an easy day, turned into a weird one.

When the gates closed, Y/N held her belly for a moment feeling the shifting baby inside her make it a bit difficult to go immediately back to her home. She decided to take a longer walk around Alexandria, stopping occasionally to talk to her friends and see what they were up to improve their community. Then on her way back there were two Alexandrians carrying a few boxes to the pantry and infirmary. Both looked at her with curious expressions…

“Yo!”

Y/N ignored it at first until she flinched to the sound of the box dropping beside her.

“You’re Y/N right? The other Dixon in this place”

“Yes…? And you are?” She frowns, not liking the feeling the atmosphere gave when the individual didn’t share his name right away.

“I’m new here. Do you mind helping us with something?”

“Uhm I’m not exactly supposed to be…lifting anything heavy” Y/N gestures a bit on the obvious side about her pregnant belly as they both still gave stone cold stares.

“We’ll carry it to the pantry and infirmary. Just could use somebody to put it away while we bring the rest”

“Is Siddiq not her—-“

“Seriously, Dixon. You’re just pregnant not incompetent” one of them stated only for Y/N’s expression to go south as she supported her belly telling them that she’ll meet them in the pantry first to unload the boxes.

Once she stepped far enough, one of them couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips.

“Cant believe that worked”

“Can it Bryan. We still gotta bring the boxes over then we can go fuck off for the rest of the day” The other scoffs picking up and the box carrying it to where it needed to be.

It had been a couple hours of putting supplies away in their perspective areas, thankfully Y/N has worked with Siddiq before so she knows where he likes everything to be. The doctor just didn’t expect to come back from checking on the little ones of Alexandria after lunch time to find Y/N standing on a stool putting away spare gauze in a tub that Siddiq put them in.

“Are you crazy?” Siddiq frowns watching Y/N stumble a bit unexpected as he quickly drop his medical bag to help his friend off the stool. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you in here?”

“Because I have to be useful!”

“Y/N what the hell do you mean?!” Siddiq frowns watching the discomfort grow on her face along with the tears forming. “Okay, come on. Sit down and tell me what happened” he made her sit on the gurney sitting with her.

“My husband—-“

“Did Daryl get hurt?!”

“No! He warned me about some slackers and I just. I didn’t think I was this stupid enough to fall for their shit” Y/N frowns wiping away her tears before wincing and holding her belly instantly. Siddiq pulled away to get the portable machine helping her lay down onto the gurney adjusting it for her to sit up. “It was just one damn conversation and I felt like I was being useless. We won that stupid fucking war. Lost a lot of people. Then this happened and it’s the best thing but all my hormones are all over the place—-“

“And that’s normal! It’s normal for hormones to take over control with all your other emotions.” Siddiq carefully rolled her shirt up to apply a bit of the gel and gently place the wand to check on the heartbeat. “Can you tell me your pain level? And I’m talking from the moment you’ve felt uncomfortable”

“A six…”

“Are you lying?” Siddiq stated watching the tears build up more. “Y/N how long have you been working today?”

“About an hour after Daryl left”

The look on Siddiq’s face only grew even more worried for his friend as he cleaned her up and before she even tried to get up, he carefully helped her back down grabbing a blanket to cover her.

“Siddiq—-“

“You’re having contractions and I don’t want you to force this baby out from your stress because it’s too early and while I think we can…handle that intense situation…I don’t want you to lose this baby if it goes south.” Siddiq frowns covering her more in the blanket and putting the gurney in the trendelenburg position to have gravity help slow the contractions. Before he pulled away to grab a few things that will help, Y/N grabbed his arm. “You stay here and I’ll get someone to radio Daryl to come back a bit early”

“You think he’ll…uh…y-you think he’ll be mad at me?” Her voice broke as Siddiq took her hand into both of his shaking his head.

“No. But when he finds out about who made you overwork, they aren’t going to see the next day”

By the time Siddiq got Daryl on the line, he was already making his way back to Alexandria and when he heard about his wife he was speeding even faster. Daryl parked in front of the infirmary, dropping his bike without another thought as he enters the building bringing himself to her side resting his hand on her belly.

“How are yea feeling?”

“I’m sorry—-“

“Love, please—-“

“I’m really sorry” Y/N broke down in a sob making her husband out of instinct gently wipe away her tears. “I’m really sorry I didn’t take it easy—“

“Y/N. I’m serious when I say this. You don’t have to apologize.” Daryl frowns rubbing circles on her belly watching her bring her hand over his. “Did Siddiq tell yea how long you’d have to be—-“

“She can go back down.” Siddiq interrupts the two coming down from his flat above the infirmary with a filled canteen for Y/N. “You can take her back to your home to be more comfortable in her bed but again, bed rest—-“

“Fuck” Y/N sobbed hating it already and she’s not in her own bed.

“Just for a week until your stress levels and blood pressure go down. Thankfully trendelenburg worked with the contractions but don’t want you, again, to overwork yourself” Siddiq set the canteen down to help Daryl get Y/N on her feet before giving her the filled bottle. “Don’t let her leave the house, then maybe nobody would abuse your hormones” he stated letting them be to finish what Y/N started before he made her rest.

After getting Y/N back home and in their bed, Daryl stuck by her side thinking of the words Siddiq had said before they left. But he wasn’t going to address it when she was still experiencing a bit of discomfort.

“You want another pillow?”

“Then what are you going to sleep on?”

“A mattress? I don’t need a pillow, just need my woman comfortable while she’s a human incubator” He jokes getting a short lived laugh out of her as he moves the extra blankets and his pillows to support her back and belly. When she first started getting uncomfortable, he tried looking for one of those pregnancy pillows that Carol had told him about but it was a lot of work and he didn’t want to leave her at all. Like he promised and is semi-regretting given he left to take care of business and some assholes were pushing her limits with emotional abuse.

“Daryl…?” Y/N tiredly calls out for him as he returns with her canteen filled for a fourth time since being home as he brought himself to sit on the edge of the bed setting her bottle on the nightstand.

“Yes, sunshine?”

“You still love me right…?” Y/N pouted only for Daryl to scoff at such a ridiculous question, leaning over to shower her in kisses making her bring her arms around his neck to keep him close for the moment. “Dar…”

“I’ll always love you. Even when yea risk yourself. But, imma stick by yea for the rest of this.” Daryl states. “No more tellin’ me I gotta go cuz I promised somebody. Someone else will get the work done, doesn’t have to be me and definitely doesn’t have to be you”

“Can you hold me tonight?”

“As long as you don’t kick me out of the bed when it got too hot” he laughs softly, bringing his lips to hers for a few short soft kisses before pulling away to get into comfortable clothing to sleep in and hold her.

The second Y/N fell asleep and was in deep enough sleep for the archer to slip away to check on a familiar hiding spot in Alexandria. Said hiding spot would have those who didn’t want others to notice they were smoking. Knowing damn well he’ll find the right men that have been bothering his partner.

“Ayo the other Dixon has retur—-“ Bryan immediately shut up when Daryl grabbed him by the collar forcing him against the walls of the community.

“You talk to my wife today? Mess with her and had your buddy over here help?”

“Dude I have no idea—-“

“Don’t lie. Don’t even try, or I will fucking end you right here and now” Daryl hissed shoving him harshly against the wall letting go of his shirt. He quickly turned to his buddy who put out his cigarette before holding his hands up defensively. “If I see you and or this son of a bitch near my wife or even hear about it, I’ll feed you both to the walkers after I’ve knocked the living shit out of you both. And don’t yea worry…I’ve got friends to let me know if yea fuck with the love of my life and soon to be mother of my child” and with that he took his leave letting the two regret their decisions and contemplate being moved to a different community to avoid the harsher Dixon. But even then, he’d tear them apart anywhere.

Y/N shifted slightly when the bed moved behind her, she relaxed instantly feeling her husband bring his arm around her pulling her into him.

“Where’d you go?”

“Got yea more water, and heard somethin’ outside”

“Another possum?”

“A pest that’s for sure”

“Mmm…” Y/N snuggles into his embrace getting comfortable as Daryl kissed her temple. “Nothing you can’t handle right?”

Right.

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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“heyo heyo ✌🏾 congrats on 500! so, for my order, it'll be for alhaitham, size medium, with a cappuccino, soy milk, and foam please, and thank you!!!”

alhaitham x gn!reader | fluff, college!au + established relationship | 1.1k words notes. thank you so much !! i hope you enjoy your order (it should be mentioned that alhaitham despite being a previous main of mine is not one of my strong suits so i apologise if it's bad...) <3

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with finals week drawing ever closer, it can sometimes feel like you're going insane with the repetitive revision and those god awful prep talks from your professors but adding onto that to make things worse, the most (seemingly) sane person in your circle really doesn't help the looming feeling of insanity. he seems to have no qualms with the endless academic revision thrown onto you for the sake of grades, his head always buried deep in a textbook that keeps him occupied whilst your friend circle do what they're best at… procrastinating.

"i'm really starting to think college isn't worth it," you mumble, highlighting another line in your notes - you're hoping the pretty colours will attract your attention more, "when am i ever going to use this in the 'real' world?"

your boyfriend makes an evidently amused noise from where he sits opposite you, his slim fingers working diligently at typing on his laptop; the one that you had snuck a cat meme sticker onto, much to his dismay but he is still yet to remove it. it is silent for a few moments save for the exceptionally fast clicking of laptop keys before your boyfriend presses the enter key, his turquoise eyes flickering up to meet your already staring gaze. you smile sheepishly and he rolls his eyes, a crack of a smile on the corners of his lips.

"we're almost finished and you're giving up now?" he mumbles back into the quiet of the library, almost filled to the brink with students and their numerous cups of coffee. you recognise that alhaitham has a point but all of this seems excessive when you glance around at all the dark circles under people's eyes, hair tied up in messy buns and stomachs full of leftover food because they're lacking time to cook. a frown adorns your face and alhaitham is quick to pick up on it, clearing his throat as he fixes his posture, sitting straight.

"it's all we've done for weeks now, haitham," you pout, jutting your lower lip out. without realising, you'd just made your boyfriend keen in a matter of seconds, his eyes quick to look away before he's caught slacking, "can we go for a walk? anywhere but… here."

alhaitham can't deny that the pair of you had locked yourselves away in the library for far too long to the point where his limbs have gone stiff and he's sure his knees might sound like he's aged beyond his years when he stands up. this means - much to his disliking - that he also cannot deny you, his darling partner, this walk you're requesting.

"alright, fine," he groans, slamming his laptop shut before he turns his body to slip the piece of technology into his worn leather satchel. he doesn't miss the way your face he adores so much lights up almost instantly, your eyes twinkling and wide, "but you have to promise to finish this chapter tonight."

you don't even reply to him under the premise that it'd be unwise for you to make a promise you may not be able to keep, not that it would be your fault. your friend group had tendencies to rope you into unwise things, to say the least. it could be any of them; kaveh, nilou, cyno, dehya… you have the inability to say no unless alhaitham is there to beat you to it. you're thankful for his input when it keeps you on the right track throughout college.

with your fingers laced with alhaitham's own, the two of you begin to make your way out of the jail that is the campus library. the spring sun beams down a hug of warmth on sumeru during these months, slightly sticky with humidity. alhaitham is always less than pleased about the heat, more so when he has tasks to do that require him leaving his accommodation. to quote your boyfriend, this weather in his eyes is good for nothing at all but here you was, removing him from the safe confides of an air conditioned building that was nonetheless silent - that's his idea of perfection! he bites back saying his complaints out loud, only because it's you.

"do we have a destination to this walk?" alhaitham breaks the silence first, slightly out of character for your boyfriend and it shows when you glance over at him in mild surprise, your eyebrows raised. he scoffs, looking away. you take this moment to trail your eyes over the beloved features of your partner from his silver locks and the pair of white bluetooth headphones that hang around his neck at all times. he never parted from them, almost like how he never parted from you.

you shake your head when you realise you never answered him, clicking your tongue to your teeth as you admire the bustle of the college campus - usually a little too crowded for your own liking but today it seemed to be just perfect, at least it lacked to feel like a sweaty tin of sardines, "nowhere in particular."

alhaitham appears to nod out of the corner of your eyes, his own gaze falling to a patch of empty grass on the green in the middle of campus. he squeezes your hand to catch your attention, beginning to lead you silently as you weave through the aforementioned crowds you'd been mindlessly watching prior. you didn't question his sudden change in directions, knowing alhaitham there was always a possibility the man had gotten overwhelmed in the current situation. he settles onto the lush grass first, pulling you down at his side due to your joined hands which only earns him a yelp of shock and a glare.

"that was unnecessary." you comment stubbornly and a small noise comes from your boyfriend as he watches you finally settle down, resting your head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"this walk was unnecessary." he retorts, earning him a slap on his leg that curls his lips as he looks away, squinting to watch other students.

"it's good to get outside and feel the fresh air, haitham," you muse as your eyelashes flutter shut, relaxing as you feel alhaitham's thumb brushing over your knuckles subconsciously - this is just one of his many habits he does without realising but you most definitely notice every single one, "y'know… photosynthesis."

alhaitham scoffs, suddenly turning his attention back to you as he glances over your face while your eyes are shut. he takes in the way you styled your hair today and the minor details of your face you think nobody notices. seconds pass with no more words said before alhaitham leans to press his lips to you, catching you off guard as your eyes widen. pleased with your reaction, he pulls away with the faintest of a smug expression on his face as he dares to utter a response to your earlier comment, "love, we're not plants."

© https-furina 2023 | please do not copy, re-upload or translate my works on any form of media. heart banner by @/cafekitsune.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

I am returned! Crazy things happened on hiatus, and here is a play-by-play:

Spent the bulk of September with our dogs at my great-aunt's lake cottage (which is a 15-hr drive from here), due to the abundance of birthdays this month.

Shortly after arriving, I got a cold from my sister, which as per usual, turned into bronchitis, which lasted the entirety of the vacation (I still have the cough).

Around midnight on the eve of our departure, I had a gallbladder attack (first one since early spring).

Except it was way worse. Like, I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't even cry.

Called 911, got in the ambulance, and the pain suddenly vanished in the space of a minute.

The wee mountain hospital didn't have imaging equipment beyond a CT scan and the Dr. was like "If the pain is gone, you shouldn't expose yourself to that much radiation" (which I appreciated)

My labs were normal, so we conclude this must've been the passing of the gallstone. Big, if true.

I take hydrocodone and we all go to sleep.

In the morning, my mom and sister pack my stuff for me and my parents and I drive the 15 hours back home so that dad can make it to a job interview the next day.

During the last 45 minutes of the journey, my mom's very very old & frail chihuahua experiences a sharp decline in his already poor constitution.

I'm knocked out on hydrocodone, but my dad is up all night with the dog, and in the morning, he takes him to the vet to be put down.

My mom is devastated, this dog was adopted to be her bedside companion during chemo twelve years ago.

My dad's interview goes well.

I still have bronchitis.

Two days later, my sister (who stayed longer at the lake house to clean up) drives back to her home in Southern GA, but for hurricane Helene reasons, the highway is closed and she gets lost.

She finally makes it home to find her power is out, for hurricane Helene reasons (it's still out)

Three days later (last night), I have another brutally painful attack (clearly I'd NOT passed the stone), so my parents drive me to the ER.

Am able to get an ultrasound there, which confirms I still have either many gallstones or one huge one, but my labs are still normal.

Unfortunately, this makes sense because I underwent some rapid drastic weight loss after my attack in the spring.

ER Dr. thinks my pain is instead being caused by gastritis for genetic reasons (which reminded my mom that as a teenager she passed out at work from gastritis).

He prescribes me a trio of gastritis drugs.

I'll be going to a trusted functional medicine doctor next month because my dad got the job (an amazingly good job, praise God) and we can afford it at last. My hope is that this Dr. can point to causes beyond genetics for the gastritis and also get rid of the stones once and for all, even if that means going on Ursodiol.

My dad's new job requires him to move to the Middle East in three weeks.

Oh, and my personal Instagram account (which was about to become the cornerstone of my small business) was inexplicably terminated during my hiatus and I have no means of getting it back besides writing to the state Attorney General.

[obsessedelusional]

Oblivious

paring ✦ Bella Ramsey x fem!reader

summary ✦ Bella and you have been friends for a few years now. Didn’t take long for them to a form a crush on you. While visiting after not seeing you for a while, they decide it’s time to come clean about their feeling. Too afraid, they keep dropping hints. What happens when Bella finally finds the courage to tell you?

word count ✦ 2,000ish

authors note ✦ THANKS for all the love <33

masterlist

FEEDBACK AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!!

⊹ ꙳ ✦ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹

“So who’s your celebrity crush then?” Bella asks her best friend of years, intentionally after talking openly about their celebrity crush. You share a striking resemblance too, hoping maybe this information would spark something in you. Your too oblivious to connect the dots.

“Hmm…. Right now?” You pause in a attempt to shuffle through all the random celebrities you’ve found attractive.

“Probably Kristen Stewart.” Bella is surprised by you answer.

“Kristen Stewart?” They ask, slack jawed.

“Yeah I rewatched all the twilight movies last week. I used to be team Edward but now I think I’m team Bella. It’s actually absurd that we let those men get away with everything they did.” You explain, going off on a tangent about Twilight. Bella half listens, trying to understand if you said Kristen because you might be gay or because you liked twilight.

“She has a whole ass fiancé, I’m shit out of luck.” You sigh dramatically before going back to your phone. Bella forces a laugh, more confused than when they started this conversation.

“But doesn’t matter, I got my own Bella.” You tease with a wink unknowingly adding to Bella’s distress.

“Edward was a creep, a whole ass stalker. Imagine if she woke up when Edward broke in to bedroom to watch her sleep. If my boyfriend did that shit, he’d get kicked to the curb so quick.” Bella groans out loud on accident causing you to look up from your phone.

“Okay I know you don’t like him but-“ You speak quickly interrupted.

“Yeah cause he’s a dick. Way worse than Edward Cullen ever was.”

“First of all, you’ve never seen twilight. Second of all, I don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone I’ve ever dated.” You respond, your tone sassy. Bella doesn’t respond only because she cannot pretend why she’s never liked your new boyfriends. Your “love” for them never lasted long, moving onto the next one with ease. They wished desperately you’d forget about the male population as a whole.

“It’s because I like you.” Bella says, not entirely registering the words as they come out.

“I like care about you, you deserve someone better.” Nice save, Bella thinks. Internally screaming to themself you deserve them.

“Aww I like care about you,” you respond sarcasm heavy on your voice, eyes on your phone. Bella rolls her eyes in response. That’s one thing Bella loved so badly about you, you were just as sarcastic and could always banter with you. More often than not they couldn’t keep up with your attitude.

Bella was in town for a few weeks, break between their filming. She had missed you so much the l last few months, promising her self she was gonna do something about it this time. When it’s time for the two of you to part, Bella steals on you hoodies.

“Where the fuck are you going with that?” You ask mostly joking, when you notice.

“I want it,” Bella argues. Not wanting to admit that she’s been stealing from you on the low. Just taking little things, now and then. Nothing you’d ever miss but it means everything to Bella. To have a piece of you while she’s off on her job related adventures. Sometimes even using your shirt as a pillow case when they really miss you.

—

Bella had a plan to tell you how they felt the next day. Before you spring going to a party’s with you. Bella was older than you, you just graduated high school. Still caught up in the high school bullshit. Thankfully they were visiting during your summer vacation before you headed off to university.

“These are for you.” Bella barley whispers, handing you the bouquet of flowers. Your favorite ones. After you sprung the party on them, they decided they’d just do it before. Maybe it would be enough to convince you to stay in with them instead.

“Thanks bestie,” you respond. Bestie? Bella groans internally, discouraged by your friendly pet name. Chickening out on their original plans, mentally throwing out the monologue they had planned for you.

“I saw them and thought of you.” Bella admits.

Once in Bella’s car, they purposefully play Jenny by Studio Killers. Signing along passionately, hoping maybe you’d hear the lyrics and they’d resonate with you. The songs about a girl having a crush on her best friend. You just nod along, never commenting on the subject of it. Bella doesn’t show it but they irritation is growing. Wanting nothing more than to spill their feelings for you, always coming up short when it’s time to do so.

—

“Do we really have to go?” Bella whines only to stop when you grab their hand and pull them closer to the door. Once at the door, you face Bella your back to the door.

“It’s just a little kickback, maybe 20 people tops. You’ll be okay! I’ll be by your side the whole time. I promise.” You reassure Bella and they let out a defeated sigh. A small laugh leaves your mouth bringing a smile to Bellas. The door swings open, some dude from your school attempting to leave. He pushes past the two of you, not saying a single word.

“Rude.” You mutter under you breath, leading Bella inside. Finding some of your friends, introducing them to Bella. Bella’s wondering what the fuck she’s doing here? Oh yeah because you asked and that’s all it took. They couldn’t say no especially when you start pouting, eyes staring directly into Bella’s.

“Sorry I really thought it’d be smaller.” You apologize to Bella some time later, the two of you sat in a group of friends and strangers. Bella doesn’t drink so you don’t either, watching everyone get drunk without the two of you.

“We should do something. Play a game.” Someone suggests, everyone agrees.

“We should play spin the bottle.” Some suggests, most people agree. You look over to Bella who’s shaking their head no.

“I think I’ll sit this one out.” Bella says, standing up going to sit out of the group. Still close enough to be part of the conversation but not in the immediate circle.

“You playing?” Some drunk dude asks you. You look over to Bella who just gives you a smile.

“I guess so.” You say, thinking it’ll be a funny story to tell someday.

“Fuck yeah,” he responds. You sit and wait as one of your friends finds a bottle lays in the center of the group all while explains the rules. A player spins the bottle, and must kiss the person to whom the bottle points when it stops spinning. You watch as people take turns, watching as people kiss. Most kisses only last a few seconds. It’s almost your turn, the girl before you spins the bottle. Landing on the boy next to you, she giggles before reaching over you to kiss him. Their kiss is more aggressive than the others, lasting much longer. People cheering them on as they continue.

“I don’t think I’m gonna live up to that performance.” You joke, as they pull away from each other. Nervously you spin the bottle, following it with your eyes as it spins in a circle. It lands on a girl, you barley know. Before you can say anything people are chanting for y’all to just do it.

“I mean if she’s down I’m down.” The girl shrugs her shoulders, looking at you for a response.

“Sure?” you say and for whatever reason it comes out as a question. She starts crawling towards you, when she’s only a few inches away from your face a voice interrupts the moment.

“What about your boyfriend?” It’s Bella speaking. She didn’t care about your boyfriend, using that as an excuse to make you not want to participate in this game anymore.

“What about him? Like you said he’s a dick.” You respond, looking back at the girl sat in front of you waiting for a kiss. Cheering resumes as you two get closer.

“Absolutely not.” Bella speaks over the loud noises, pulling you from the floor with a strength you didn’t know existed. Dragging you through the crowd, straight out the front door. Sounds of booing is all you can hear as you leave.

“What the fuck was that?” You ask, once Bella lets go of you hand. Bella paces back and forth, it’s obvious they want to say something but can’t get it out.

“You’re my best friend. I couldn’t let you do that.” Bella speaks, pacing coming to a stop to face you.

“Actually I don’t want to be your friend anymore.” Bella says, breaking your heart.

“All because I was going to kiss that girl?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.

“Oh my fucking god. Do you listen like ever? How much more obvious do I have to be?” They ask, louder than before.

“What-“ Your cut off by Bella’s hands cupping your face in swift motion affectionately placing their lips on yours, you move your lips with theirs. Letting your arms fall to your sides. You’re the one to pull away, overwhelmed by all the feelings that came out in that moment.

“I understand if you’re mad at me. But I would of rather died than watch you have your first kiss with a woman not be me.” Bella says before you can fully process what just happened.

“I ruined our friendship.” They say, attempting to read your reaction but your speechless unable to comprehend.

“No you didn’t,” you respond.

“I want to ruin our friendship. I like you.” Bella speaks.

“I like you too.”

“No I like like like you.” Bella says, emphasizing on the last two likes.

“Do you listen like ever?” You ask, mocking their tone when they said that you moments ago.

“I like you.” You say again, emphasis on like. Bella’s eyes narrow on you, looking you in your eyes.

“So if I kissed you again? You wouldn’t stop?” They smirk.

“I don’t know, try me.” You tease, chewing on your lip. They do exactly that, pulling you into their embrace before kissing you for the second time.

—

After a heavy make out session, in the front lawn of that party you guys head back to Bella’s car. This time they open your door, something Bella has never done before. Stealing a kiss in the process then making their way to the drivers side. Once in there’s a silence between you two, sinking in what just happened. They make the drive home, no words are exchanged. Half way there, their hand rests on your thigh giving it a squeeze before going back to driving. You don’t even realize until it’s too late to turn back but Bella’s pulling into their apartment. This was not the original plan but plans change. Parking in their normal parking space.

“How long have you had feelings?” You ask as soon as the car shuts off.

“Oof,” they think out loud.

“Since forever basically.” They admit.

“Same.” You admit causing Bella’s jaw to drop.

“There’s absolutely no way that is possible.” Bella says, not believing you in the slightest.

“We met right before your career really started to take off. I didn’t think it was right to throw that on you while you were out there living your best life.” You explain.

“My best life would of been you by my side, I can’t believe we wasted so many years.” Bella sighs, frustrated.

“We’ll I guess we’re just gonna have to make up for lost time,” You smile, intertwining your fingers with theirs. Playing with the rings they always wore, something you loved about them.

“We better get started, only have two weeks and six days to make up for three years.” Bella grins before instructing you to get out of the car. You do so and Bella meets you outside of the passenger door. Pushing you softly into the side of the car, kissing you in the process. Hands waisting no time explore your body, taking you by surprise. You had never imagined Bella being so forward.

“Where’s this boldness coming from?” You ask when you pull away to breath.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said, we need to make up for all those lost years.” They grin, leading you towards their front door. Your excitement grows as they lead you toward their bedroom, ready to let Bella do whatever they want.

[lucabyte]

Your gender thought type essays have made me curious about what your oc creation/development process is like! It seems to be something you put a lot of thought into and that’s very interesting (especially cause my circles don’t often go into detail in that area)

I'm delighted to hear you're curious!! I'll give as thorough an answer as I can manage, though it'll likely be a bit disorganised. Okay, so... I'm gonna use a couple examples for this, and since you specified gender stuff I'm gonna go for some where gender/sexuality are integral, even if in seemingly counterproducive ways (but that'll be the last few...)

So. The first character that comes to mind here for me in terms of like... A lot of thought going into their gender is Lavender.

So going all the way back... Lavender was made in 2015.

Spreadsheet puts her at the 13th character in the setting, creation-date ways! So she's Been around a while.

Part 1: A Core Idea

Now, why was Lavender made? This is the first step of character creation. Well, she was made to tick a bit of a box. I realised my only girls at the time were all tomboyish so I needed a cute girl. And this was 2015, so she arose in the form of a Waifu Joke. She was intended to be a side-character with no real plot ties, so I just designed a character as cute as possible, named her simply (Lavender Wafeu == literally Colour and Waifu) and was basically done? 7 months later I would make Mafioso to slightly further the joke, in that giving Lavender a girlfriend makes her unpursuable* as a waifu. This also gave me a stark butch/femme pair, and I recall around this era there was a joke going around on tumblr of 'Indestructable Lesbians' as opposed to buried gays. This kinda became their thing. Two lesbians the plot wouldn't touch and they wouldn't be endangered.

.... And then that was kinda it. She was a cute girl who was fun to draw, shy, and reserved in nature. An opposition to Mafioso's brash (but secretly a little nervous) demeanor. I would literally just liken this to flutterdash outright. I was basically just doing flutterdash in terms of their personalities.

SO: This is the first step to all my characters. Find a core concept, or more likely, a core joke. Lavender's core joke is a very rough and (frankly unfunny) "your waifu isn't going to fuck you" joke. But you can see how she was built out of it. And we'll get to how that building happened next.

(^ Weird 2015 era lavender with her total lack of emotive range and flat characterisation)

Part 2: Dormancy

Lavender stayed unchanged for quite a while, in this flat state. She picked up a few things, mostly little 'twists' to her character. ie. she could hold her own in a fight, is surprisingly quick to jump to (cartoonish) violence, and likes a good steak. All very basic little things, obvious "oh bet you didn't expect That" contradictions.

She didn't recieve much attention during this time despite me really liking her design still. Mafioso languished even worse in this era, with her mother Omerta picking up most of the development instead. Overall, these two were very, very boring. No amount of little superficial additions could save them from this.

But it... hints at something, right? It hints that maybe there's a facade somewhere, that maybe the perfect-cute-girl thing might actually take a little bit of effort to upkeep...? Hrm...

Part 3: A Fresh Perspective

So, sometime in 2020, I was finally remaking my 2016-era spreadsheet of all my characters from the ground up, since I needed to remove a lot of ms excel specific formatting it had in it.

And while going through, I was being helped by @samhainian, who I had befriended in the years between. And they remarked that I didn't have enough directly trans characters in the cast, to which I agreed. I had a handful of tokens at the time (Adder and Angel spring to mind?) but not many more, so we literally just went down the list with suggestions. And when Sam suggested Lavender, I reacted with confusion. Because... Wait. Is she not trans? But she's so feminine? All of my characters lean extremely gender-neutral in presentation unless they're trying to do gender on purpose...?

And this just, unlocked her whole character like a skeleton key.

I was making her do her gender on purpose. The reason she had those contradictions is because she's putting in the effort to appear like this perfect, girl-next-door, waifu type. Something that doesn't really work if she doesn't have girlhood to prove.

From here, her coy 'maybe she has more to her than cute girl' hints were instantly recontextualised as a thing She was Doing. And instead of being random superficial tidbits, they were Depth. And her cartoonish 'extremely mild-mannered and polite persona' suddenly became a very human facade.

So, she had a new core to build around. And her lack of anything going on before in terms of backstory suddenly felt contextual? She's clearly fresh new to this. She had already had the backstory of being a very young (about 19~21) person who had moved to a new town to live on her own-- Suddenly that makes sense. She's forging a whole new identity. Her polite 'never really talking about herself because she's an object for the audience to desire' quietness becomes intentional evasion. She doesn't have a backstory, because she doesn't want it to be any of your business.

And ironically, this immediately Gave Her the backstory she had been missing. Her wiles and hidden 'smarter than she looks' becomes so relevant as to be real character traits...

I already somewhat went over this (and a number of other gender thoughts, including my thoughts on my myriad 'cis but not' or 'nb in a specific direction') in a thing I wrote, woof, 2 years ago: (LINK) which was a ramble about a lot of my character's genders... In that I summarised Lavender's gender as such:

Part 4: In practice

Okay so it's all well and good that I realised Lavender is Trans Gemder. But that's not where it ends, because she finally became refined and polished to the point of um. Quadrupling her image count on toyhouse. because of Purrgatorio.

See, the other reason I was getting my spreadsheets in order was for Purrgatorio (the original flavour of it, the visual novel) and I needed to just do some general housekeeping.

Lavender, Mafioso and Ess shared a route in VN!Purrgatorio, being that I saw them as a triad of characters. While this characterisation of her basically did nothing interesting, aside from showing her fiery side, this would later become the basis for her being one of the first characters met in actual purrgatorio, where she, being polite and nice, and established back in 2016ish to be one of the few characters Chrome isn't a total asshole to--- She gets to meet Ali.

Now this is where I would say a lot of the real development happened. Right there, in action, in putting her to the test of real writing. All of her characterisation stops being hypothetical, and instead something I have to portray. And I found as I wrote, she grew more deep simply by giving her such an odd situation to be in. And of note, by having Ali be intimidated by talking to cute girls, it gave her the upper hand in the dynamic-- Really allowing me to show off her ability to lead a conversation, and her quiet confidence in herself-- as well as hinting at the thing she isn't quite so confident with.

It's also allowed me to start thinking about her sexuality, too. This is another thing that goes back to her flimsy core concept. The Waifu is generally a sexless being in their own right, having sexuality projected onto them by the narrative or audience. In fact, a lot of shounen girls don't get to be romantically forward-- both because it risks alienating the intended selfshipper-audience, and also because showing too much confidence and autonomy in their sexuality can be too threatening for the chuunibyo audience, who aren't yet comfortable with their own sexuality and-- wait! Look at that! Another part of the core concept I can toy with! Wouldn't it make sense, if she's meant to be a deconstruction of The Waifu Archetype, for her to have that confidence and autonomy? This is what 2015-me was clumsily trying to grasp with the whole lesbian thing... So why not just re-angle that into her being confident and forward. It fits with her new personality, so it works!

*oh hey there's that asterisk. I also realised she had chemistry with Ali! Given the way she is level-headed and rather logical deep down, her curiosity drives this. She's not going to pass up a chance to know a literal Alien... But it also further illustrates how badly Mafioso has been left in the dust by her. (She's been quietly tinkered with behind the scenes ready for her reintrodcution, but for a while, I was really struggling!! Like, considering overhauling her character levels of struggling!! But, we managed, I think. She's yet to be introduced and put into practice yet, but it's upcoming.) To the point where I've broken them up! At least for now. Mafioso needs to prove herself I think, since now she can't rely on Lavender being waifish and easily won over.

TO SUMMARISE THE MAJOR POINTS THERE:

Any joke/idea can be a suitable core, even if flimsy, you just need to find which parts are interesting to either double down on or deconstruct

It's okay for characters to take a long time to form! If you don't feel connected to a character they might need a shake up, but also YOU might need a shake up. Lavender needed a new perspective from someone with a different approach to gender as me, and for I myself to become more comfortable with Real Sexuality (ive literally just aged nearly 10 years itll happen) before she could really shine.

Following on from the above you basically never need to throw a character out completely. You should try and find what it is you like about them, or consider core, and perhaps try and reframe or refract those elements. A character might get demoted to non-main status sometimes, but why throw away that depth? They can hang out on the sidelines if that's better for them.

Sometimes a character won't feel done until you write them! You can do this with RP if you have the ability, but I wrote Purrgatorio instead, which is intentionally low-stakes and non-canon so I don't get too freaked out about writing it. It's a playground for testing characterisaton, and putting characters in weird pairings they otherwise wouldn't to see if something interesting arises.

SOME OTHER EXAMPLES FROM MY BACK CATALOGUE:

Lavender is a bit of a daunting pick, given that she's spent nearly 10 years slowly rotating in my brain, only to finally become realised in the last 3-4 or so. But I do have some more recent quick examples, as well as another giant thing you can read if you want to.

GIANT THING TO READ IF YOU WANT IT: I've posted abt this before way ages ago but I wrote up a whole gigantic thing on my probably 2 most in depth characters. It can be found here (LINK) and also has a longass diatribe about their genders, sexualities, and the core thing they were originally riffing on. (Which was like. a specific type of anime boy ship i was a sucker for, that I eventually realised I was making way more interesting than most anime i was into was bothered to do)

It's a very thorough look into my thought process, including ANOTHER diatribe on purrgatorio granting me some good boons of character.

OTHER EXAMPLE 1: ALI

Okay Ali is too complicated to get into thoroughly here, but they're another good example of a core idea spiralling out.

Core idea: Blank slate visual novel protagonist, so gender neutral and a bit of a flimsy everyman. No real name, only a default name if you left the entry blank. (Ali, a shortening of the canon surname). #FFFFFF skin to keep the jokey ambiguity and pink hair to reference Dante's silly red hat.

Twists: Canon assigned surname of Alighieri, implying them to be some descendent of The Real Dante. And they're in a VN so there's a spooky easter egg where you can roll a death screen that shows them as an ominous demonic Thing instead of a regular human.

The, VN!Purrgatorio got shelved, and because they were human instead of a furry they got shuffled into other projects. A furry version of them showed up in a different project riffing on the demon thing, making them a child-friendly antichrist with 2 siblings based on the tragicomedy masks. Then that furry version's stuff got shoved onto the human version who was just a half-demon kid in Creature Feature. THEN we decided they'd be half-succubus to keep the ability to shift between the sexes (referencing the blank slate gender ambiguity of the VN). THEN that became 'nerd who is freaked out by being a sex demon and doesn't like the ethical implications of their existance but is still kinda miffed that they arent Getting Any' who STILL HAD the antichrist stuff from the furry version....

(^ technically a completely seperate ali ive not done anything with in years lol)

Like you get it. It's a giant katamari of STUFF from all different settings. This is what I mean by 'you never really need to scrap a character'. Because after all this shoving them around into different projects and them accruing things (the 'guy who is really concerned with informed consent is a succubus/incubus' angle really informed them here, as well as deciding that they're apathetic about the magic sex characteristic changes.) we threw them right back into the original setting of Purrgatorio and it went WAY BETTER once they actually had some character traits!

But that core idea still stands a little. Not in them being an everyman, but in prompting them to become an altersex character when fleshed out, and in the way that they're distinctly still tied to that second-person-narration that VNs have, and the eventual 4th wall break they got in the VN informed their powerset as 'narrative manipulator'.

also as a note here: DON'T BE AFRAID TO PLAY WHILE YOUR SETTING ISN'T DONE!

VN!Purrgatorio got shelved because I redid a bunch of MYMK's setting when I was finishing it up. But It was worth it even unfinished.

Ali themselves when in Current!Purrgatorio has spent, up until very recently, their whole time with their home setting (Creature Feature) in a state of being deeply unfinished and in need of a reshake. It's finally getting that now, but it was still fine for me to reference what I knew likely wouldn't be changing! They were able to function just fine without their home setting being solid for upwards of 2-3 years. Obviously this shouldn't be done for *finished* works, but when you're just playing, like I am with Purrgatorio, it's okay to keep things fluid and effectively quietly retcon things later.

OTHER EXAMPLE 2: PEACH TRACY

Peach tracy is an actually recent character, and is under @samhainian's purview, as with the rest of Moraine. Now, she was made with a very distinct gender/sexuality in mind, unlike a lot of my characters who stumble ass-backwards into one.

Peach is the 'token girl' of her group (the other two being Red, a closeted and unaware transfem, and Toyon a he/him butch.) and well, her gender is basically "tik tok girlie", as is her core concept. She only works if she's a pampered cisgender straight girl from a rich background. She's nice! But she's privileged.

Her twist however, is that she is wracked by the guilt of her and her group letting a friend take the fall for an Illegal Youtube Prank to save their own skin, and as such her entire character unravels from there.

Because she has all this guilt, it stands that her Girliepop Persona must be somewhat constructed. She's leaning in to the femininity as a shield and a deflector. She's, y'know, a white girl.

So her gender ends up being overperformed, and she's petrified of expressing her sexuality due to it being tied up in this image of purity. She's the exact type of person to psyche herself out into believing those 'having a crush on your friend is problematic' tumblr posts.

But none of this would really work if she did not start as a (white) girl, able to use that shield. If she were a dude or nonwhite-coded she would not have the ability to react to her situation that way. Ergo, she is actually built out of her identity this way.

(As for her sexuality, she is unhealthily self-flagellating about it, so it ends up just being unpleasant. This was a genuine surprise to myself and @samhainian when we were discussing it. We hadn't thought about it prior to starting some lighthearted riffing about assigning characters kinks literally bc we were bored when we had the horrifying realisation that Peach would not be safe about this shit AT ALL due to a lack of self preservation and way more ambient suicidality than we realised she had until we dug here. We quickly resurfaced from the joke conversation into an actual deconstruction of how she's internalised a lot of blame and decided to go distinctly carceral with it for herself. so there's another tip: Even if you aren't making nsfw content, poking around a character's sexuality will sometimes reveal raw truths that come from sexuality being very vulnerable by default.)

Peach is overall an interesting contrast to Lavender, since they're both Girls Being Feminine On Purpose, but one is transfem and one is. Well god idk what peach will end up but she'll need to unpack it.

(I note that peach is white also, since while I rarely intentionally racially code my characters, sometimes i SUPER do.)

OTHER EXAMPLE 3: VIRGIL MALACODA

Okay because I've talked about a number of girls so far lets be brief about a fuckin Dude.

Virgil is like, some real toxic masculinity shit. He would probably be fucked up in some different way if he were born a girl, but he's distinctly falling into a lot of traps due to his upbringing as "A dude who was promised he'd get power when he grew up".

His dude-ness is a very flat fact to me in that way, and he's similar to Tabitha in that regard since it's one of the ways they're meant to reflect each other. Dudes who's place as patriarch-to-be saved them from being pawned off as a wife, but is still responsible for a lot of their misery. Certainly the better of the two options, but could still be better!

Virgil's themes of masculinity being a simultaneous shield and blinder is a simple one but I go back to it a lot because it can be true a lot of the time in antiquated social situations like, say, the upper class. So, being a villain, he does end up being a condemnation of the structures that disincentivise healthy masculinity. He's necessarily amab because he is the result of how particularly regressive views of masculinity can shape a child into a repressed and miserable adult.

Whether or not virgil stays a dude or not if he ever figures out his way of viewing power structures was Fucked Up and Bad is anybody's guess. It's not really Masculinity that was hurting him, so much as a rich asshole's narrow view of it. So there's no real reason for him to reject a healthier version of it outright, it's just whether he'll ever get there...

CLOSING REMARKS:

Okay writing in the tumblr post editor is starting to scare me with errors so I should probably close this out. But yeah this is a little bit of a run down of where my head is usually at when making characters. A lot of it is just batting jokes back and forth until they become something more solid, which I don't know that I really got across here.

Like, a lot a lot of my characters are built around a core joke. Usually what-ifs like.

"What if a shounen-type card game anime protagonist was just as brash and head-full-of-air as the rest of the, but a girl"

"What if Ed Sheeran had a cheating scandal with two tboys and it made the radio fucking horrible to listen to"

"What if a wrestler was really, really wide and also clearly into rubber"

"What if somebody took the 'blonde anime boy who barely shows emotion' trope seriously because that kind of repression can't be good"

"What if a guy was specifically interested in becoming a Soil Scientist from like, age 4, and never gave up that dream"

^ If you can figure out who's who then you win a prize (a kiss)

But yeah. Jokes upon jokes upon jokes. Assign them classpects and pokemon and put them into speed/power/fly formation and just joke for as long as you possibly can until you hit on something. And if a joke feels really right, or completely off the mark, try and dig in and find why.

Like. I joke about the sexuality thing but it does help since it's so disarming and immediately a bit childishly funny often. Sometimes you'll end up with say, something as serious as "Despite being friends with The Fence, Selene probably shouldn't be left unsupurvised in kink spaces because she ABSOLUTELY does not have the ability to restrain herself and not take her anger issues out on strangers" and sometimes its as silly as "even outside of being asexual, ess is never jackin that shit because if he got caught in any kind of mildly embarrasing scenario it'd ruin his whole year so the cost/benefit analysis of that really doesn't work out"

Because like. both tell you about the characters, and you can also read them more broadly now. Selene ruins relationships by letting anger at unrelated things get in the way, Ess keeps himself from doing even utterly harmless things out of deep social anxiety.

Like yeah, i got to them via goofing about sex but it's still character analysis at the end of the day so long as you put The Reading first*

*DISCLAIMER: im asexual im only ever doing stuff for the read lol . it might be more difficult if youre allosexual . or maybe itll be easier. i dont know just dont get too lost in the sauce. think with ur brain not ur other parts

ALSO gender and sexualty often end up linked so it makes sense to end up at one from the other a lot of the time. It happens.

And as an addendum if you wonder where i tend to literally Design characters? Like visually? It's usually at some point between the first few jokes and before naming them. Though sometimes names come first.

OVERALL: A character should have a core concept to them to start with. This core concept CAN SUCK and be flimsy, or a joke, or even a joke you no longer find funny. But you can always refer back to it when building a character up. If you want to capture the concept, work toward it, if you want to deconstruct or mock the concept, then do that instead. If you sour on a joke, maybe find a way to satirise or deconstruct what you're no longer finding funny.

Sometimes this core concept is steeped in a specific cultural thing, be it race, gender, sexuality, ect, and those necessitate thinking about. Sometimes it's not and those things can practically be an afterthought, but once you lock it in it's likely to begin informing the later choices as it becomes part of the scaffolding.

(To hop back to why you even asked this Q: I so thoroughly read Siffrin as amab BECAUSE they had so many themes about Not Having Changed and clinging to what they knew, and so working backwards from that it only made sense to me that they mustn't've done a big overhaul YET or made any big decisions about that YET by the time we see them in game, because that's what gels best with their themes of being Too Afraid To Change and being a contrast to Isa who has changed a bunch, and a comfort to Mira who hasn't changed at all in their gender. Then it was a case of looking through the game for more evidence either for or against this reading, and I found a lot of evidence for it, in my opinion. But I did so Because I noticed that the themes were Stronger if read this way, and because I conceptualise characters as themes and concepts FIRST it made sense to try and work back to those themes.)

But yeah. TL;DR:

Ground yourself with a Hook for the character, sometimes making it sillier makes it easier to think about.

Try and think about how they would be formed by the world around them, or what their behaviour says about how they must've been formed

Don't worry about things taking a long time. Sometimes a character needs someone else to make a suggestion, or for you to grow and change a little before they click

Putting it into action helps a lot, even if its just roleplay or short snippets. If you can't 'feel out' what a character would do in a situation, that's when it's time to think about their goals for how they want to be seen as a person (including, if they don't want to be seen at all...!) and what hard boundaries they have say, morally.

I am by no means a like. Expert on any of this. I'm fumbling through it all just as much as the next guy (AND... I'M ACTUALLY SOMEWHAT OF A HYPOCRITE. I THINK CHARACTERS ARE BEST SEEN AS 'NARRATIVE CONSTRUCTS' RATHER THAN 'PEOPLE', SO ALL THIS ADVICE BEING SO CHARACTER FOCUSED RATHER THAN NARRATIVE FOCUSED IS MISSING THE FOREST FOR THE TREES LOL....) but apparently people do Like my characters? So, what do I know i suppose LMAO

[brewsterispunkk]

marriage of convenience: part 5

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

WC: 10.1k (longest part yet!)

summary: reader’s relationship w/tovar develops. she and lisbeth dare an adventure.

a/n: thank you to everyone who has stuck with this. it has been months (!!) since I updated this story so if you’re still here—thank you. i hope u enjoy this extra long update :)

series masterlist

PART FIVE

“My love,” your mother called as you made your way to the door, rushing. Tovar was already annoyed at how late you were running, waiting outside, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting for long. He was already unpleasant enough.

“Yes?” You threw over your shoulder, already halfway out the door. 

“Will you see Lisbeth today?”

“I expect so.”

“Give these to her for me,” she handed you a bundle wrapped in linen–herbs, of course. Your mother was practically an apothecary at this point. “They’re for her mother’s headaches. And when you stop by Olga’s today, see if she has any of the lemon-honey concoction she uses during the cold months.”

You puzzled. It was late May–your family would not be in need of such a thing until mid-autumn at the latest. 

“Why? Will she even have some? It is early summer.”

“I expect she will,” Your mother walks in from the kitchen. “She always has some reserves for the occasional late spring cold. It is for your father. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Your stomach turns to stone, but you force yourself to nod as you take your basket and leave through the rickety front door.

Of course. Of course it was for your father. You silently said a prayer to whatever god was listening for his recovery, like you always did whenever he took a turn for the worse. 

He had always had issues with his health, ever since he came back from the war when you were twelve. 

It began with a leg injury that never really recovered–he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder and fallen off his horse, breaking his leg in the process. If your mother had been there, he would have healed almost completely and even been able to walk again, but the encampment he had been in had no one with healing knowledge. The wound had festered, according to your mother, and your father was lucky to be alive. He hadn’t walked fully since. 

The injury had caused your father to have to sell his blacksmith’s shop in town–the one Tovar apprenticed at now. 

His health had been slowly declining ever since. Last winter, he suffered a chill and a bout of a coughing illness that took his ability to breath unencumbered, the winter before that, he’d suffered fainting spells and lost feeling in his injured leg. Until recently, he’d been able to hobble down the stairs with the help of your mother, but in the past weeks, he has been too weak to even make it downstairs for supper. You feared the worst, as you always did. 

Graciela and James, your two siblings with enough sense to know something was wrong, were more hopeful than you. 

“He will recover soon. He always does.”

Grace had told you the night before, over mending by the fire. Your mother was so weary these days that the two of you had to do much of the household chores. “Womens’ work,’ Petyr called it. You dreaded it and found it odious, but it was your duty. You would not let it fall to your mother, who had enough on her plate keeping the family afloat.

You wished you could believe your sister, but you were always the more cynical one. 

You’d spent the better part of your life waiting for the next hammer to fall; waiting for the day when your father didn’t recover and the family was left in the care of the next male relative in line. Petyr. The very thought made your blood turn cold. 

If Petyr treated you the way he did now, when your father was alive and coherent, you had no desire to discover what horrors would await you when your father departed from this world. 

There had been a time when you dreamed of marriage; yearned for it, even. There had been years when you and Lisbeth, on May Day, had gathered ten different kinds of wildflowers and put them under your pillow to dream of your true love, a practice your mother swore led her parents to find each other. 

But as you grew older, more well-versed in the ways of the world, it dawned on you that real life was rarely like the tales that bards sang of. At least, for people like you. You also knew that if you ever dreamed of escaping your village, of seeing all the world had to offer, marriage would end all aspirations of that. 

You squared your shoulders as you stepped out into the fresh morning air in front of your family’s small home, urging all thoughts of your father’s illness to the back of your head. 

“Took you long enough,” Tovar grunted from where he leaned on the small wooden fence meant to keep the family goat in. “We will be late. The blacksmith will not like it.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the gate and walking past him onto the small road that led through the forest and into town. 

“Then remind him who it is you live with. He will have no qualms.” 

It was one of the things you hated most about him; his tendency to take everything so seriously. 

“Just because your father trained him does not mean he will extend me grace,” Tovar grumbled from behind you. You could hear the buckles bump against the metal of his armor. 

That was something that puzzled you; you didn’t know why he still wore it—he wasn’t at war, and nothing so exciting as a sword fight ever happened in your village. 

“And why not?” You asked, entering the treeline. The trees cast shadows on the dirt road in the early morning light. “He would do so with William or any one of my brothers if they expressed interest in the family trade.”

Tovar huffed in annoyance from behind you and your lips curled into a smirk. It had become one of your pastimes in the weeks that he’d been escorting you to and from the market. You liked to see how annoyed he could get. 

“I am not like your brothers,” he said. “Or William for that matter.”

You chuckled—that much was obvious. Your brothers and your cousin were much more open, more kind than Tovar, who barely expressed any emotion besides annoyance and occasional anger. 

“That I know,” you threw back at him. “No one would ever accuse you of being as sunny as them.”

“That is not what I meant.”

You puzzled and turned behind you, realizing what he was implying. 

“You think it is because you are foreign?” You asked in disbelief. “From another kingdom?”

Tovar kept walking, face impassive, not betraying any emotion but annoyance. 

“It is the same in this part of the world as it is in others,” he says like it’s nothing. “They need but look at me for a moment to tell that I am unlike them.”

You rolled your eyes. So dramatic. 

“This village is used to foreigners,” you said matter-of-factly. “We see strange people from strange places every day. People trade everything from silk from the far east to salt from the continent to the south. You aren’t so special.”

Tovar just leveled you with a dry look, and you took it as a sign to keep talking. 

“Your scowl and that armor don’t help,” you added with a smirk, swinging your basket back and forth beside you as you walked. 

“What is wrong with my armor?” Tovar sounded puzzled. You stifled a laugh.

“Really?” You turned your head to stare at him, but found his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. You sighed. “You walk into the village everyday in full armor. Like you expect someone to put a dagger in your side at any moment. You do not smile, do not try to speak with anyone unless it is for trade. You should not be surprised people are wary of you.”

“I wear my armor everywhere except when I sleep. It is—”

“A habit, I’m sure,” you finished for him. “But still, this is a peaceful village. The most violence we see is from a brawl at the tavern or a rowdy group of traders on leave. Wearing full battle armor sends the message that you don’t trust us. And that makes people nervous.”

It was true—there hadn’t been even a skirmish on your lands in years. Not since the war, when the old Lord died and power passed to his son. Since then, your land had known peace. 

Tovar huffed what you almost thought was a laugh, but when you looked back at him, his mouth was downturned and his eyes were narrow. 

“I don’t trust you.”  

At that, you laughed, a deep thing from deep in your stomach. If someone told you Tovar slept with a knife beneath his head, you’d believe them. You weren’t even sure he trusted William.

“That I believe,” you shook your head and continued down the dirt road to town, leaving a grumbling Tovar trudging behind you. 

—-

In the recent weeks, you and Tovar had begun to form a kind of begrudging companionship.

You still didn’t like him–not in the least. He was uncouth and rude. He never exchanged pleasantries with anyone at the market and you were sure you’d never seen him smile. Not even once. And the two of you often bickered. So much so that your mother had taken to seating you on opposite sides of the table at dinner to avoid as much conflict as possible. 

Hence, the begrudging part. The companionship merely meant that you had begun to be able to tolerate his presence. Barely. 

Your brother hadn’t reared his ugly head in the recent weeks either, being either too drunk or preoccupied with other things to notice you. That was a blessing in and of itself. You still hadn’t really gotten over the embarrassment that had come over you at Tovar seeing your bruises. You knew it was what caused him to volunteer to escort you to town daily and still, you hadn’t addressed it with him. 

Still, as May slogged into June, you were stuck with him. Unless you wanted your drunk, unpredictable, brute of a brother to accompany you to the townsquare every other morning, you had to learn to endure the company of the quiet Spaniard. 

And endure you did.

You’d learned not to ask questions; whenever you did, you were either met with silence, or a stilted, annoyed response. In fact, the conversation you’d shared this morning was the longest conversation you’d had with him.

That was just one thing that set Tovar apart from your cousin, William. Both men had seen so much of the world, lived so many different lives, and while William spoke of his time abroad with bright eyed and excited words, Tovar’s past hung over him like a heavy cloud. You didn’t know what the grizzled mercenary had experienced during his time traveling, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it. 

Which was difficult for you—you could listen to William talk for hours about his time on the road. But, you’d heard all of William’s stories. Tovar kept whatever tales of his travels closer to his chest than his armor. And you resented him for it. 

You resented that with all the freedom in the world, with a lifetime of stories and lived experiences under his belt, with the blessing of being born as a man in this world, he had the nerve to act the way he did: angry at the world, scowling at every kind face. 

The absence of that—of freedom—pulsed and throbbed deep in your chest. And all you could feel was anger.

The sights and smells of the town’s center flooded your senses when you reached the market. You took a deep breath and tried to savor it: the aroma of spices from far-off places, the sharp smell of lemons from Arabia, the colorful hues of silk and fabric, the bustle of business and trade. It was as much of the wide world you were afforded, so you took it in with wide eyes and a smile. 

You looked down to your basket, mentally going over the deliveries and trades you had to make before meeting with Lisbeth by the bakery. You were fingering a sprig of stray lavender when Tovar nudged your shoulder, breaking your train of thought. You turned and glared at him. 

“I will leave you here,” he mumbled, looking around you and scanning the faces of the people bustling by. “You will meet me at the blacksmith’s when you are finished.”

“I will, will I?” You asked, feeling your temper flare. You hated when he gave you orders–like you were an animal and not a person. 

Tovar leveled you with a dry look, before rolling his eyes himself. 

“Do not be late,” he said, before adjusting his satchel and walking away. 

You glared at his back as he went, cursing the broad expanse of his shoulders. Not only was he an ass, but he was a handsome ass. That was even worse.

With a sigh, you set about making your first delivery, already planning on being late to meet Tovar later in the day.

- - 

By the time you’d completed your second delivery, the sun was high in the sky and strong. You could feel the back of your neck glisten and knew that when you looked in the mirror at the end of the day, there would be freckles dusted across your cheeks. 

You’d already delivered one order of tea to the miller’s wife, who promised you a satchel of grain in return by week’s end, and traded the town seamstress for some new thread. Your stomach buzzed with excitement at the news you’d heard as you left the seamstress’s parlor. 

It had been a normal business dealing: the seamstress, an elderly woman who had been a friend of your grandmother, had long been a customer of your mother’s. You knew her well. Your mother had sent you to get new thread for mending, but you always stayed for a cup of tea whenever the seamstress, Agnetha, whenever you traded with her.

“You look more like your grandmother every time I see you,” she said, sitting down gingerly on a stool behind the wooden counter at the front of the shop. 

You smiled at her. You’d never met your paternal grandmother, but you had always been told that you resembled her—the same facial structure, the same hair, the same stubborn spirit. It warmed you to hear it from someone who knew her so well. 

“Thank you,” you said, finishing the cup of herbal tea and setting it down. “And thank you for the thread. My mother sends her regards. She apologizes that she can’t be here to see you in person.”

“Oh, pay it no mind dear,” Agnetha’s gnarled hand pats yours. “With a household to run and that business with your father, god only knows how she can manage it all.”

You clench your teeth at the mention of your father. That was what it was like living in a village of this size: no one’s business was private. 

“I was sorry to hear about your father, dear,” Agnetha continued. “Do let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Thank you,” your lips spread into a tight-lipped smile. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the sentiment–you did—it was just that you had grown tired of hearing the same sentiments from everyone. It was suffocating, having everyone know the trials of your family. 

“I must take my leave, I’m afraid,” you said after a beat. “I must make haste if I am to finish all my business by day’s end.”

“Of course,” Agnetha waved you off, but then held one finger up, turning back to the back room of her shop. “But give me one moment! I had forgotten—I have something for you.”

You puzzled but obeyed, your interest piqued. What could she possibly have for you?

After a moment, the white-haired woman reappeared with a bushel of flowers with small, white petals: yarrow. She held them out to you. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. 

“What is–”

“For tonight, my dear,” she leaned in and smiled at you like you were in on some secret. Your confusion grew.

Nothing save for seasonal festivals and feasts ever happened in your village. Besides, if there was anything happening tonight, you were sure you’d know about it. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”

“Oh, hush,” Agnetha cackled. “I remember it all too well when I was your age. Your grandmother and I snuck off to Geris many a time when we were girls. These are for your hair. It is said they will bring you good fortune and a happy husband if worn on the feast of Saint Julia.”

“Geris,” you mumbled, all of it clicking into place.

Geris was a neighboring village—a town really—nearly an hour walk north of your own. It was larger and a bigger hub for trade than your own home, as it bordered the sea. Petyr would often go there to drink or gamble with his friends, sometimes not returning for days on end. You had never been. 

“There is a festival in Geris today?” You asked Agnetha, who now looked as confused as you had been moments ago.

“Why yes,” she laughs. “The largest one of the year—Saint Julia is the patron saint of Geris. I–did you not know?”

“No,” you laughed, suddenly giddy with excitement, already plotting in your head how you could sneak off to experience it for yourself.

“How the times have changed,” Agnetha hummed. “When I was young, it was every mama’s worst nightmare for her daughter to sneak off to the festival of Saint Julia.”

“Is it still as grand as you remember it?” 

“I imagine so,” she smiled. “The dancing is what I loved the most.”

“Well then,” you smiled at her. “I believe I shall have to dance, won’t I?” You took the flowers from her. “With flowers in my hair.”

Agnetha smiled a secretive grin and patted your hand. 

“Do, dear. Twirl a little extra for me,” she said. “Now, be on your way—and be safe!”

You thanked her and left, walking out into the balmy warmth of mid-morning, feeling all-of-a-sudden more hopeful than you had that morning.

- 

You met Lisbeth by the miller’s pond just before noon, like you’d planned. It had been your meeting place whenever the two of you were in town for years. Growing up, since your father’s property bordered here, you’d often meet in the forest. But, once you’d become old enough to do some of the household work trading in the village, you’d had to find a place to meet during the day. 

Now, you buzzed with excitement, the news of the festival on the tip of your tongue. 

Recently, you’d been itching to do anything to distract yourself from the monotony of life in your village. As the days got warmer, more and more traders passed through, bringing with them goods and stories from far-away lands. Lands you longed to see, but knew you never would. You longed to stretch your wings, if only a little. Sneaking off to Geris would be the perfect opportunity to do that. Now the only issue was convincing Lisbeth.

You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you saw her approach, eager what you’d heard back to her. You just hoped she would be willing to go with you. 

While Lisbeth understood your desires to leave, explore, and see the world, they were not desires she shared. She had always, ever since you could remember, wanted to be married. She sighed at tales of princesses and knights, longed to fall in love and have children. And you knew that when she did that, it would be beautiful. Still, a small part of you envied her for her dreams. You wished that that could be enough for you. 

As she approached you, Lisbeth rooted through her basket, looking for something buried in its depths. 

“Please tell me you have the herbs for my mother’s headaches,” she groaned as she came to stand beside you, leaning on the wooden fence by the pond. “If I have to listen to her moaning for one more day, I will bash my skull against the wall.”

You grinned at her. 

“What?” She asked, finally looking at you. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do you have that look—”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh dear God,” she sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Before I begin, you must promise to at least consider my proposition,” you raised your eyebrows. Lisbeth sighed your name. “Promise.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll consider it. Now tell me, I am withering away in suspense.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “We always complain that nothing ever happens here, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we moan about wanting to see more of the rest of the world, of the rest of the country—”

“I would say you complain more than I—”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” you waved her away, causing her to laugh. “Tonight, there is to be a festival in Geris. If we leave after sunset, when our families go to sleep, we can be home before dawn—”

“Geris?” Lisbeth’s eyes widened. “That is madness—”

“It isn’t!” You assured her. “We have walked further distances many times to trade before. The only difference is—”

“It will be night!” Lisbeth shook her head. “After reports of criminals in the woods in the surrounding villages, do you really think it smart to go venturing to Geris after dark?”

You sighed. 

“No,” she raised her hand. “Do not try to argue. You have a chaperone now because of the dangers. Even your father can see we are at risk.”

Your heart sank. 

“Lisbeth,” you reasoned. “That happened weeks ago. Nothing more has happened–it was likely ruffians passing through. Traders, nothing more.”

“You are mistaken,” she folded her arms. “I heard tell this morning of another attack on a young couple. At a village only a few leagues away.”

“What?”

“It was a farmer’s daughter from Frayley,” she elaborated. “She snuck away in the night to meet with a boy from the village. Her lover was killed, and the girl was ruined. Her honor sullied, barely living.”

Your breath left your chest, a familiar clamminess taking over your hands. 

This story was nothing new; when you were younger, before the new Lord of your county had taken power, such attacks were commonplace. The forests around your village had been infested for a time—small bands of ruffians and criminals who would carry maidens away in the night and burn houses to the ground after looting them. There were several girls in your village who had been abducted and held for ransom, and one who had even been forcibly taken to wife. By the time the Lord of the county had gotten word, they had already been married in the eyes of god. There was nothing to be done. 

It had been something that had enraged your mother. You were too young to worry about such things, but you have vivid memories of the doors being always bolted shut, your mother sleeping with a dagger beneath her pillow. 

The thought of such uncertainty and violence returning to your land made your stomach turn. 

“I see,” you said. 

“Yes,” Lisbeth sighed. “I wish to explore, but not at the risk of our lives and honor.”

You smiled at her sadly and nodded. 

“Two women alone in the wood at night is a recipe for disaster anyway,” she continued. “How I envy men.”

You threw your head back and laughed at that, having had the same thought multiple times.

You wondered often what navigating the world would be like if you weren’t seen as a target simply for your sex. You would ponder what the world would look like if you could walk alone, unaccompanied, how different your life would be if you were able to work, own land, travel alone. If you had the liberties afforded to the likes of William, of Tovar. The very thought of it made your stomach turn with envy.

That’s when it hit you: William. Tovar. And you knew what you had to do.

- - 

When you arrived at Olga’s little stone cottage at the edge of the village, your brow was damp with perspiration. 

The sun was high, well past mid-day, and you knew you had to meet Tovar soon. You would be late, just like you’d planned. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d kept him waiting and you knew that he’d be in a sour mood for the rest of the day–well, sourer than usual–and that was detrimental to your plan. You needed him agreeable if it was to work. 

You sighed as you made your way up the dusty road to her door. 

Olga was someone who you held fondness for. She was an old woman, a widow with white hair and a thick accent. Her husband was a merchant who left her a reasonable sum of money when he died, so she lived comfortably and alone, something you’d never seen a woman do before her. She was from a country from the far South, Aragon, and she had forsaken her homeland for her husband. For love. It all sounded so romantic to you that you almost forgot your own personal objections to marriage. 

You have memories from your younger years of your mother and her exchanging herbal wisdom over tea. She educated your mother on the herbal remedies of her homeland and in exchange,  your mother shared her knowledge of the plants native to your own kingdom.

As you approached her cottage, you heard the faint sound of voices conversing inside made you puzzle. Olga was a generally reclusive woman–it was rare for her to have visitors. 

You approached her door and knocked gently, calling inside. 

“Olga?” You called, hoping your voice would carry through the open window. 

“Ah, yes! Come in, come in,” she called back, voice painted with laughter. 

You nudged open the door and took in the small sitting room in her cottage. On the wooden table in the center there was a clay bowl filled with oranges, no doubt traded from a merchant. Your mouth watered. You knew oranges were commonplace in the South, but here they were a luxury few could afford, including yourself. 

“In here,” Olga’s voice called, louder now, from the adjoining room which served as a kitchen. 

What you saw made you stop in your tracks. 

There, standing in Olga’s well-furnished kitchen, leaning against the worn brick of her stove, stood Tovar, arms folded in front of him, across his face a genuine smile. A smile. It was the first time you saw one cross his face. Your breath left your chest. 

Of course he’d have a gorgeous smile, you thought spitefully. 

You hadn’t realized you were frozen until a warm hand on your shoulder startled you. 

Olga looked at you expectantly, the lines on her face graceful in the early afternoon light. You blinked.

“What?”

“I said, have you met Pero, mi amor?” She smiled at you softly. “He is a blacksmith’s apprentice in town. New.”

You stumble over your words for a moment, tongue like lead in your mouth. 

“Si, Doña.” Tovar–Pero’s–eyes caught yours from across the room. “We are acquainted.”

“Ha!” Olga laughed, throwing her head back. “Doña he calls me. You flatter me, caballero. I am no Doña.”

You smiled at them, shifting on your feet. You knew nothing save a word or two of the strange language they spoke. Castillian, you thought. 

“He speaks to me as if I am a high-born lady, child,” Olga said, sensing your confusion. 

“You are mistaken,” Pero smiled slightly at the older woman. “I know una mujer honrada when I see one, Doña.”

Olga leveled him with a wry smile and held up a finger, wagging it at him. 

“You watch out for this one,” she looked over to you. “He is a charmer.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. Of all the words you would use to describe your surly bodyguard, a charmer was not one of them. Pero shoots you a withering glare at your laugh. 

“What is so humorous?” He tilted his head.

“Forgive me,” you smirked, sensing his wounded pride. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘charmer’ to describe your countenance.”

Olga tilted her head, hands finding her hips. 

“How exactly do the two of you know each other?”

“I am a companion of her cousin’s,” Pero’s gaze moved to the woman in between you. “We have traveled together for… too long. Her family is providing us with lodging until we are able to find work and continue on.”

“Well, a small world indeed,” she smiled. “How have you found our village, then? Quite different than Toledo, no?”

Pero chuckled, shaking his head and looking down. 

“Quite,” he said. “In truth, it has been a long time since I have journeyed home. But compared to other places my trade has brought me, it is not so different. Though I have found the people of this kingdom more skeptical of outsiders than my own homeland.”

The admission surprised you; you had spent months trying to pry any bit of information out of Tovar you could to no avail. And now, with Olga, he was an open book. It made you wonder: was it just you that he had an aversion to sharing with? You bristled at the thought. 

“Yes, it is something to adjust to,” Olga patted Pero on his shoulder. “They are not used to Southerners here. We must stick together.”

Olga turned to you. 

“What brings you here, child? Do you bring me more concoctions from your mother?”

Your smile thinned and you clasped your hands in front of you. 

“No,” you admitted. “It’s my father. I was sent to see if you have any of your lemon-honey tonic left from the cold months. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Olga’s lips pressed together in a sympathetic smile. 

“Of course,” she said. “I keep some reserves in the cellar. I’ll go get them now, and I’ll have another batch brewed specially for him in a fortnight.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself–”

“Hush, it is no trouble at all.” She walked over to you and grabbed your shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she regarded you. “With my Louis gone, there is no one for me to look after. I daresay I have missed it. Besides,” she placed a soft palm on your cheek. “Your family has shown me true kindness in the years I have known you.”

You smiled a tear-filled smile at her. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

“Think nothing of it,” she patted your cheek. “It seems your family has a habit of adopting strays.” 

With a wink, Olga flitted away to the wooden door that led to the cellar, leaving you and Pero standing awkwardly in her kitchen. 

“So,” you began before an awkward silence could settle. “What brings you here?”

“A delivery,” he huffed. “A new lock for her door.”

“I didn’t know Colm has you running deliveries now,” you picked at a fingernail. “I thought the whole point of being an apprentice was to learn.”

Pero rolled his eyes at you, annoyance clouding his features. He leveled you with a glare. 

“I know my way around a forge better than that man,” he hissed at you. 

You smirked. You always knew how to set him off—how to wound his pride just enough that he would lash out. 

“I have been an apprentice since I could walk. I have nothing to learn. It is only an easy way to earn coin.”

“Your father was a blacksmith, then?”

Pero’s eyes narrowed at you before he sighed, seemingly tired of your antics. 

“Yes,” he said. “He taught me his trade before I took up my sword.”

“Hm,” you said. “I always wished I would’ve learned the trade. But no, it was too unladylike for me. My mother forbade it.”

Pero snorted at that. You bristled again and shot him a venomous look. 

“What? You think it silly for a girl to want to learn something other than sewing or weaving?”

“I think it silly that people in your kingdom think that is all a girl is good for,” he countered. “A waste. My father made sure my sisters knew a trade before he died.”

You blinked.

His response surprised you. A sentiment like his was rare, especially in a place like here. But more than that, it was the first time he’d said something remotely kind to you. In your mind, he was a brute, with no compassion or regard for others.

“You have sisters?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasn’t often you could squeeze information out of him; you wanted to see how much you could get before his mood turned sour again. 

“So many questions,” he shook his head. 

“Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” you replied dryly. 

“It does not matter,” he huffed after a moment. “They are gone now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Olga’s footsteps nearing the kitchen stopped you. 

“Here we go,” she said kindly, handing you a clay jar sealed shut. “This will help. Come back next week for another batch, or come tell me if it gets worse.”

You smiled at her kindness. 

“Thank you, Olga.” You said. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, Doña, for your hospitality. But I’m afraid we must be going if we are to make it back in time for supper.”

“Of course, of course.” Olga waved her hands, ushering you to the front door. “Be safe. I’ve heard tell of bands of criminals in the woods as of late.”

“We will,” you waved as you left her house, basket in one hand and the tonic for your father in the other. 

“No preocupes, we will be home before dark,” Tovar said over your shoulder from where he walked in front of you. 

He seemed more chipper as he walked down the dirt road, beginning the journey home. You silently thanked the gods for it–you’d need him in a good mood for your plan to work. Even though you knew the deciding factor would come down to William, you still needed Tovar to be there in order for Lisbeth to feel safe enough to journey to Geris. You would be futile in convincing him, you knew; he hated you. But, though he put up a front, you knew that William could convince Pero of anything. 

As the two of you walked home, you silently hoped that your plan would work. 

- - 

“You are out of your mind,” Pero’s eyes were wide as he regarded William, hands on his hips in front of the fire. 

It was well past sundown, and your family had gone to bed already. You hid in the loft, peeking down into the large room below where William stood speaking in hushed tones with Pero.

You’d pulled him aside before dinner with your proposal: to sneak off to Geris in the night for the festival and be back before dawn tomorrow.

You knew he was your best chance. You’d begun to recognize the signs of restlessness in him–the twitching of his fingers, the brainstorming with Pero about where they would go after the harvest ended in the autumn. He and you were alike in that way: always longing for adventure. The only difference was that he actually had the freedom to seek what he longed for. 

Either way, after some badgering, he’d agreed. You always had that effect on him–he couldn’t ever say no to you, even as a child. Besides, you’d already told Lisbeth to meet you after dark in front of your family’s house, with the promise that the two mercenaries would be there to protect you on the road. 

Now, the only one left to convince was Pero. 

“Come, brother.” William reasoned. “We have had nothing but work for weeks. Don’t you fancy a drink in a tavern? A change of scenery?”

“There is a tavern here,” Pero ground out, throwing up his hands. “There is no need to traipse through dark woods in the dead of night for an ale. I have spent my day laboring in front of a hot forge and acting as a sworn sword to your child of a cousin. All I wanted was to come home, fill my belly, and sleep. Now you ask this of me.”

You felt a pang of hurt at the belittlement, and a surge of resentment toward the Spaniard. You were not a child; you hadn’t been for quite some time. You’d practically had to be the man of the house in the months before William arrived, with your mother so preoccupied with your father’s help and Petyr drowning in his cups. That was a responsibility you suspected Pero would never have to shoulder. 

William’s voice called your attention back to the men by the fire. 

Pero had moved, sitting in the wicker chair to the left of the kitchen, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. His eyes looked deadly trained on the blade. William stood with his arms crossed next to him.

“She is a woman grown and you know that,” William said, sighing. “I do not know why you dislike her so. She is a fine young lady.”

“You watch her then.”

“Really, Pero. Why do you let her affect you in such a way? You can face the enemy’s sword without so much as a flinch, but put you in the presence of a maiden and you tremble like a leaf.”

“I do not tremble,” you heard Pero seethe. “She is insolent and foolish, and cannot follow a schedule. I am always late because of her.”

William laughed at that. 

“You are bothered too easily, friend.” 

Pero grumbled in response, eyes still focused on sharpening his longsword. You heard a rustle from outside the opened window and realized with a start—it must be Lisbeth. 

You hurried over to the window and peeked out, catching a glimpse of Lisbeth’s auburn hair in the light of the fire that showed through the downstairs window. She was hidden by a long dark cloak, no doubt belonging to one of her brothers. 

A surge of pride shot through you at the sight of her. You knew she was risking a lot–much more than you–by sneaking off into the night like this. She was of a higher station than you, and would soon be wed to some far flung lord, or even a duke. She risked her reputation being tarnished. And yet, here she was, brave as ever. 

“If you do not agree, you will force my hand,” you heard William’s voice. You hurried back to the loft to spy yet again, knowing that soon you’d have to go fetch your friend who watched from the downstairs window. 

You saw that now, William stood in front of the fire, blocking the line of light Pero needed to sharpen his sword. 

“Move, amigo. I’m not in the mood.”

“And I lament that, but you are coming with us.”

“Us?”

“Yes—”

“I should have known she was behind this. No. If my mind wasn’t made up before, it is now. I will not go with her—”

Your laugh interrupted him, and gave away your hiding place. Pero’s eyes, full of ire, snapped to you. You stood up and raced down the stairs, conscious to not make too much noise, lest you be discovered by your family. 

“Oh, please Tovar,” you said, approaching where he sat. “It will be fun.”

He looked at you with a dry expression. 

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” He gritted his teeth, standing up to come and stand toe-to-toe with you. You flushed at how close he was—you could see every wrinkle, every freckle, every dimension of his scar. It made your throat dry. 

“Why?” You asked, voice packed with as much irritation as his.

“I am driving myself mad escorting you to and from town every day, Señora.” He spat the word, making you blink. “I will not spend another moment more than necessary in your presence. Not unless forced.” 

“I’ll call in my favor, then.” William drawled amusedly from in front of you. 

You started, having forgotten that he was there. You took a step back from his counterpart. 

“Pardon?” Pero turned to William. 

“My favor,” William smirked and tilted his head. “You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing—”

“Remember Vienna, Pero?” William’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already–”

“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Pero’s glare would scare even the fiercest of knights, but William didn’t even look phased by it.

“Then it’s settled,” William clapped his hands together. “We will leave immediately. We’re losing moonlight already.”

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” you piped up, already pulling your satchel over your shoulder. 

Pero looked like a deer caught in the headlights. William moved to follow you, picking up his sword from where it was leaned against the brick of the fireplace. 

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” he repeated after you, smiling at his companion, who glared into the side of his head. You giggled. 

“Make haste, Pero,” you called over your shoulder. “Or we’ll miss the festivities.”

Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword and stood, glaring at you. The glare didn’t scare you though. You knew it was one of annoyance—one you often drew from Pero. 

He grumbled to himself before shouldering his sword and following you out the door.

- - 

William had convinced Pero that the horses could handle two riders, with the distance being so small between your village and Geris. Besides, the two mares had gotten little to no excitement since the two mercenaries made their way into your small village. William reasoned it would do them well to stretch their legs. 

So, you were two to a horse each. And since Pero intimidated Lisbeth, you were stuck with him while Lisbeth rode comfortably with your cousin. The two made small-talk as you trotted through the kingsroad by moonlight. You gazed over at their shadowy figures as they talked, Lisbeth sidled up to William comfortably in the saddle behind him. You smirked. She had always thought he was handsome, ever since you were children. She was quite at her leisure. In contrast to you, who was trying to sit as far away from the grumpy man steering the horse in front of you. 

You jostled as the horse trotted over a bump in the road, yelping and grabbing roughly onto Pero’s waist. 

“Alright there?” William called from a few steps away. You nodded a yes. 

“Hold on,” Pero grumbled. “You’ll break your neck, and your mother will have mine.”

You had no quick-witted response to that. If there was anything in this world that could cause an experienced mercenary to tremble in fear, it was your mother. So, you simply tightened your grip around his waist, locking your hands together. He stiffened as you did. 

You hated how comfortable his broad back felt pressed into your front, how his scent overtook you. He smelled of fire, the forge, sandalwood, and leather. It was a far-cry from the rank stench that followed him and William when they arrived.

Lisbeth laughed from her place on the road beside you while William regaled her of stories from his travels. You frowned at the grumpy man in front of you, silent save for the way he mumbled under his breath to the horse  in his mother tongue. 

“Does your horse have a name?” You asked. 

“Hmm?” He grunted, turning his head a bit to face you. 

“The mare. What is her name?”

“Horse,” he replied shortly. 

“Horse?” You asked incredulously. “Her name is horse?”

“She has never needed a name,” he said.

“All animals need names,” you sighed. “All of mine do.”

“Hm,” he hummed, not unkindly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know what to name her even if I desired to.”

You paused and thought for a moment. This was perhaps the most civil conversation you had ever had, and it was about a horse. Still, you were loath to see it end. 

“She is quite fond of the clovers that grow by the barn. I often see her grazing there. What about clover?”

“Clover,” he repeats, turning the words over in his mouth. He hums. “It is better than Horse, I suppose.”

After that, the rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence save for the sound of the hum of conversation from the couple on horseback beside you. Despite yourself, you smile. Perhaps you and the Spaniard could find middle ground after all. 

- 

The festival was like something from a fairy story. And as you stood there, even Lisbeth, who had grown up surrounded by nobles and visits to court was in wonder at the gaiety of it all. 

As soon as your group had approached the city gates, you could hear the music—upbeat and lilting, with clapping and voices singing accompanying it. Your heart had leapt at the sound.

Dancing. There was little in life you enjoyed more than letting the music take you and spinning away. 

As you took in the city, you didn’t know where to look. There was light everywhere: torches and lamps making the streets seem like they were glowing. You could hear strange languages on the tongues of passersby as you walked, making sure to keep close to your group. The smell of the sea breeze lingered in the air, telling you you were close to the sea. You smiled at it. You’d never seen the ocean, and though you knew you wouldn’t tonight, the smell of it awakened something in you. Above the thatched roofs above your head, you could make out the shadowy figures of the tops of sails—boats, resting in the harbor.

You and Lisbeth followed William and Pero to a stable near the heart of the city, where William payed to have the two mares quartered for the few hours that you planned to be there. 

When you reached what must’ve been the town square, Lisbeth gripped your arm tightly, face beaming as she took in the grandeur of it all.

There were countless stalls set up around the perimeter of the cobbled town-center, tents and poorly-built shacks selling all manner of trinkets and gifts. There were food-stalls, jewelry, flowers, tapestries—too much for you to fully take in. In front of one of the taverns that bordered the town center, there was a group of people, sitting in rickety wooden chairs and stools, playing music. There was an old man with a mandolin, hair graying and beard long, a young woman with a lute, a lumbering man sitting behind them playing a violin with startling precision. 

In the center of the square, countless couples danced in tune with each other. It was a popular dance in your part of the world—an upbeat ballad about a hare and a tortoise, one you’d been dancing at harvest and midsummer festivals since you were a child. 

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. 

“Look!” Lisbeth cried, turning to you, grip still on your arm. “Do you remember when were ten and you had to dance with—”

“Eldon!” You winced, remembering the handsy youth only a few years older than you that you’d been forced to dance with by your mother. There had been a time that she was hopeful for a match between the two of you, but he’d ended up marrying a girl in a neighboring village and moving there to take over her father’s house. You were glad of it; he’d been an unpleasant boy.

“The candle-maker’s son?” William smirked from the other side of Lisbeth. 

“The very same,” you groaned. 

“Oh, he was the most odious boy,” Lisbeth added. 

“Really?” William asked. “I remember him being quite shy, if a bit ill-,mannered.”

“Ill-mannered doesn’t even begin to describe him,” you countered, remembering his wandering hands and leering gaze. “I don’t know if I can remember someone else whose face was so vile.”

“Are we remembering the same boy?” William asked. Beside him, Pero’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking bored with the conversation. “I remember him differently.”

“Because he wanted to be you, cousin,” you smiled at him. “He was positively disgusting.”

“He had a scar that cut across his forehead,” Lisbeth added. “From a riding accident.”

At that, Pero stiffened and his jaw clenched, his eyes finding you as William and Lisbeth continued talking. 

“Yes, that’s the boy,” William nodded. “Was he truly so bad?”

You opened your mouth to respond before being interrupted.

“Ah yes,” Pero snapped, surprising you. The sharpness of this tone was something you were unused to. His lip curled as he addressed you. “Because a scar is truly what makes a man’s character. How unfortunate for you that you had to look upon the face of someone so…what did you say, Senora? Disgusting.”

He spit the word at you like it was poison. You gawked at his tone, at the malice in his voice, before feeling your own ire bubble in your gut. William and Lisbeth stood perplexed between you. 

“He was disgusting,” you countered, taking a step toward Pero. “Because of his untoward behavior and hands that had a habit of wandering up ladies’ skirts. The scar had nothing to do with it. Though how good it is to finally know your opinion of me, Tovar.” 

He just opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, before you grabbed Lisbeth’s hand and began to walk toward the crowd. 

A new, more slow, group number had begun to play, and you and Lisbeth fell in line with the masses enjoying the festival. From behind you, you could faintly hear the sound of William scolding his companion. 

“I see what you mean,” Lisbeth said to you after a moment. 

You looked at her in confusion, before turning into the next step of the dance. 

“He is unpleasant,” she elaborated. “And rude. No matter how handsome he is. I am sorry for ever thinking otherwise.”

You sighed and linked your arm with hers, as the dance called for. 

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “You couldn’t have known.”

She returned your smile and squeezed your arm. 

“I wonder why he is so…”

“So…uncaring? Aloof? Unkind?”

“...melancholy.” She finished, and you started. 

Of all the words you would use to describe Pero Tovar, melancholy was not one of them.

“What?” She asked, noticing your confused look. “You cannot deny he has a sad air about him. Besides, to think someone so cruel as to call a young boy disgusting because of his scar? To think that you could be that cruel? He must have a sad outlook on life indeed.”

You hummed, reflecting on her words.

Lisbeth was right—as she so often was. It hadn’t been a point of view you considered before. Perhaps the reason why Pero’s countenance was so impatient and dreary was because of something else, something out of your control. As soldiers, he and William had seen the worst of mankind. You remembered what he’d said to you earlier that day, about his sisters. It doesn’t matter, they’re all gone. Perhaps there was a reason he didn’t wish to discuss his travels.

You rid all thoughts of the Spaniard from your mind as you finished the dance; you didn’t want your one night of freedom ruined. 

As you and Lisbeth exited the center of the town square, you spotted Pero, sulking and leaning up against a wooden beam that supported the awning to a tavern. You suppressed a smirk at the glowering look on his face. William must have scolded him for speaking to you how he did. 

Good, you thought.

“Pero,” Lisbeth called cheerily once you got close enough. “Where has William got to?”

Pero’s eyes flickered to you for a moment, clouded with something you didn’t understand. He opened his mouth to say something, deep, dark eyes still trained on you, when William’s booming voice interrupted you. 

“Cousin!” He called jovially, four frothing metal cups in his hands. They were overflowing with an amber-colored liquid. 

“That had better not be beer,” you wrinkled your nose, always having hated the grainy-tasting drink. 

“Mead, cousin. Come! Let us make merry while we can,” William looked as if he’d had a drink himself already. “I would beg of you both one dance before the night is through. I cannot bring the most beautiful women in the land to a festival and not demand a dance.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at your cousin’s silver tongue. Beside you, Lisbeth blushed behind her cup. You took your own drink, the metal cool beneath your fingers, and relished in the sweet, honey-flavor of the fermented drink. Mead was a delicacy to you. Your family was rarely rich enough to afford more than ale, and you had long been wary of it, not wanting to fall prey to the cup like your brother. Tonight, though, you drank eagerly. Behind his own cup, Pero’s eyes remained trained on you, full of an emotion you couldn't place. 

- - 

After her dance with William, Lisbeth pulled you aside. 

Her pale cheeks were rosy with exertion and with drink, her breath sweet and smelling of mead. You smiled at her, glad to see your often high-strung best friend relaxed for once. 

She stepped on an uneven stone and lost her footing, stumbling into you with a giggle.

“Oh!” She exclaimed through a laugh, leaning into you. “If my mother could only see me now. She would be aghast.” 

You giggled with her, pushing a stray auburn hair away from her eyes.

“Her high-born lady, absolutely ruined,” you teased. 

“And dancing with a mercenary, can you imagine?” 

“What ever shall we do with you?”

Lisbeth just laughed. It was a deep laugh, coming from her belly. One you didn’t hear often. Once she caught her breath, Lisbeth sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. The two of you watched as the people danced in the square, content.

“Thank you,” she mumbled after a moment. “I have had a wonderful time. I am glad to have had at least one night like this before—”

Lisbeth stopped herself, clamping her lips shut. You paused. 

“Before what?” You asked. 

Lisbeth pulled away from you, wringing her hands together in front of her, gaze trained on the cobblestones below your feet. 

“Before what, Lisbeth?” You asked again.

When she looked up at you, her eyes were teary. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth before she spoke. 

“I am to be wed,” she said, voice warbling. “Before midsummer. My father just told me this morning.”

“What?” you asked, all breath leaving your chest. 

“I wanted to tell you right away,” she said, a tear streaming down her face now. “But when I tried, I just couldn’t. Then, I wanted to enjoy tonight. I thought if I’m to move away and become a wife, I’ll at least have tonight.”

You blinked, processing what exactly this meant. 

Of course, she’s to be married, you thought. It was strange enough that she wasn’t betrothed at the age of ten and nine. Her father had finally made his decision. She was a lady of high station, the daughter of a Lord—this was her duty. One she was excited for, even. She had always wanted to be the mistress of her own house. You should be happy for her. 

So why did you feel so sad?

“Who,” you croaked, before clearing your throat. “Who is he?”

Lisbeth smiled weakly. 

“A Lord,” she said, laughing a little. “He lives a two-days ride to the North. My father says he is kind.”

“Have you met him?” You asked.

“Once,” she smiled. “But I was little more than a girl, and I barely remember.”

“Will you have time to…be acquainted before…”

Before the wedding. The words hang in the air between you. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “He will come visit in a fortnight.”

You nodded dumbly, realizing the reality that faced you: your best friend would be leaving you to begin her life, and you would be left behind. The thought brought tears to your eyes. 

“And he’s not…old, is he?”

It had long been one of Lisbeth’s fears that her father would wed her to a man too many years her senior—an old, country lord who she could never grow to love. If she was to be sold off like a broodmare to a man old enough to be her grandsire, you didn’t think you could stand it. 

“No,” she smiled shakily. “He is young—only nine years my senior.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at that. Little mercies. You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, willing the moisture to leave your eyes. You would not cry in front of her. 

“And, are you happy with the arrangement?”

Lisbeth considered it a moment. 

“I am… relieved he is not old. It is too soon to tell without actually meeting him, but I trust my father’s judgment. I am his only daughter. I do not believe he would part with me for someone unworthy.”

You smiled at your best friend–your ever constant, loyal companion. Her auburn hair shone around her head in the yellow light of the evening. Her eyes shone with hope. She was ready for this, you knew it. You ignored the pang of melancholy in your stomach and squeezed her arms. For now, you would be happy for her. You would save your tears for later. 

“No, I daresay he wouldn’t.”

 You pulled her into a hug. She sighed against you. 

“You shall be at my wedding,” she declared once she pulled back. “I will refuse to be wed without you.”

You laughed at her. 

“Me, surrounded by lords and ladies,” you snorted at the idea.

“Hush,” she smacked your arm. “We are not so different from you lot. Besides, I much prefer your company to theirs any day.”

You smiled at her, linking your arm with hers as you ventured into the square to find your companions. 

“Come, let us enjoy the rest of the night,” you said. 

“Let us,” she replied jovially. 

As the two of you continued on, you ignored the pit in your stomach at the idea of Lisbeth’s impending nuptials. 

- -

Your group departed with hours left until sunrise—plenty of time to return to your beds without your families noticing. 

The hopeless feeling that struck you at the revelation of Lisbeth’s engagement stuck with you, though, even after you bridled your horses and began your trek home. 

Beside you, William hummed a tune while Lisbeth dozed off behind him. Your arms were loosely wrapped around Pero’s waist as he rode silently. The two of you still hadn’t exchanged a word since the tense encounter in Geris’s town square. Still, you hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of his glares for the rest of the evening. 

You pondered what your life would look like after Lisbeth left. You couldn’t help it. For as long as you could remember, it was you and her. Your mother has acted as midwife in Lisbeth’s birth, and ever since, her mother had been a loyal patron of your mother’s herbal remedies. You and her had been friends since infancy. And now, she was leaving. Entering and finding her place in the wide, expansive world. And you were going to be stuck where you’d always been: caring after your ailing father and serving as a punching bag for your drunken brother. 

The thought of Lisbeth’s absence from your life made your eyes fill with tears, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks. 

You turned your head away from William, knowing if he saw you cry, he’d make a fuss. You took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself, but failed. Before you knew it, you were shaking with tears against Pero’s back. 

You knew he could feel your sobs, but couldn’t find it in you to care. He was going to judge you no matter what you did—he’d made that much clear tonight. You might as well let yourself weep. 

After a moment, though, he surprised you. You heard Pero breathe your name, so quietly you scarcely heard it. 

You sniffled, trying to cover the sounds of your tears. You mumbled an apology, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. But instead of pestering or making fun of you, Pero only hummed in acknowledgement, before wrapping a rough palm around your own and squeezing. 

His hand remained wrapped in yours the rest of the way home, a silent show of support. It baffled you, but you didn’t have time to even begin to question it. Instead, you just let yourself cry, leaning against the Spaniard for support. The rest could wait til the morning.

[booasaur]

Not a surprise or a coincidence that two show with lesbian couple have been cancelled S19 and NCIS, almost in the same month and now on lesbian visibility week, they really hate us!

And another anon:

gahhh so sad ncis Hawaii was cancelled 😢 I really thought they had the green light for a fourth season. Feels really bleak for a show doing so well to be cancelled. Was it really just the wlw rep that killed it?

It really is upsetting. And I WAS surprised, anon! Not so much by S19, seven years is a long time and with 9-1-1 moving to ABC, it was a long shot they would keep both. But NCIS were supposed to be safe! All through the rest of the cancelations these last couple years, I'd think, well, at least NCIS Hawai'i will be fine. Look at the longevity of these series (cancelled in red):

It was a baby! It didn't even get a proper season 3, with the strike.

And to be replaced with what? The conservative safety of an origin story of the franchise's first main white guy and a show with also a long-running popular m/f couple, where one lead's a Mossad agent and the other's played by an abuser?

As with the BYG trend, it's not just the loss of representation that's so unsettling, it's the awareness that this is a bellwether for society at large. If there's no longer the same safety in writing us in as there's been in even these last few years, which hadn't reached any kind of parity, that's kind of worrying.

As for whether they hate us or if these were cancelled because of the wlw rep? While these last few years have given us an especially intimate look into the kind of openly terrible men in all kinds of powerful positions, from Elon to Zaslav, I think at this level this is mostly a business decision, which is almost worse? In the same way that a bunch of corporations decided it was good business to start marketing to us during Pride was, pulling back also indicates how they think things are going.

And how they think things are going is also pretty crucial here, because there are a lot of biases at play too. During the 2016 BYGs, it wasn't so much a matter of bad trends for us at large (at the time, lol, the bulk of them happened in spring and summer), it was more a culmination of a bunch of writers going "I have no use for this wlw character and can create drama from a death", more a disinterest than an actual hate. While I don't think networks are cancelling whole shows based on f/f ships not even involving leads, I think there are still some things to consider here:

First, it's simply more likely that significant wlw rep will be on a show that's more diverse in general. THAT might get a target on their back in this climate. It's not just queer rep but POC-led shows getting cancelled in high numbers too.

Secondly, that disinterest in queer rep means there's no real buy-in or championing of these shows, you know? Where an exec might have fought for another show, really believed in it, they're okay with letting this one go. Like, that's not where they see a big success.

There suddenly seem to be so few ongoing shows in general, I think any kind of course correction will have to take that into account, but hopefully it's sooner rather than later.

[afewproblems]

and there you go hurtin' me so good again with the continuation of your cheating!Eddie steddie fic.. thank you! <3

Based on Part One, and this Ask here,

I was chatting with @samcoxramblings yesterday about this and I think maybe there should be some Steve POV, as a treat.

If Steve thought about the last few weeks of his life alongside every other instant of sorrow and pain he'd experienced, his relationship with Nancy, the Upside Down, the death of Barb, his parents, he'd say he should be used to this sort of thing by now.

But perhaps he'd been spoiled.

He'd had more than twenty years of happiness, contentedness, with Eddie and their life together. He'd relaxed too much, and here was the other shoe crashing down.

The home phone line in their apartment has been ringing off the hook, reporters have been trying to get ahold of him to see his side of things, leaving messages and one bold enough to come to their apartment leaves a letter taped to their door.

Steve disconnectes the phone and installs another lock after that.

And speaking of letters, there have been a mix delivered to their shared PO Box, some in support of Steve, sympathetic to the situation, others are ecstatic --seeing it as their chance to wedge their way into his marriage just like the last person, that they've always hated Steve and can't wait to see him gone.

He only reads a few letters before letting them pile up on the side table by the door.

All because of that stupid photo.

There was no discernable face in the photo, or photos, that ended up online.

Just Eddie talking animatedly to someone facing away from the camera view. It pieces together the evening, a meet cute, a conversation, walking out of the bar together, and a passionate kiss before getting into a taxi.

Eddie confirms it, and it's like his heart breaks in two.

There are a million questions rattling around in his head.

How many times has this happened? How long has Eddie been lying to him, was this a one time thing or have they been secretly meeting one another for multiple tours? Does the band know? Have they been lying to his face as well?

Steve feels as though he's been on autopilot, walking around in a fog while at home, and mechanically moving through his lesson plans while at school.

To make matters worse, his principal calls him at home after the news breaks.

"Steve, how are you doing? I'm so sorry to hear," she tells him solemnly over the line, "if there is anything we can do please let us know".

"Thank you Liz, I, I really appreciate it," Steve hums, his voice much more level than it has been in awhile, "I'll take Spring break to finish up my marking and get my head on straight before we're back--"

"Steve, I'm sorry, I think," she hesitates, Steve can hear her pace around her office, her signature kitten heels click against the tiled floor, "I think it would be best if you take a little longer than Spring Break".

He feels his stomach drop into his shoes, no, no, they can't...

"What, what are you talking about, are you--"

"No, no, of course not," her voice shrill, panicked and tinny, over the line as she backpeddles, "no, we just think it would be better for you and the kids if you took some time away. We have a sub lined up and this wouldn't be permanent, just until it dies down".

"You can't be serious Liz, come on, their finals are coming up at the end of the month and I've never let my personal life affect my job before and I'm not about to start now, I don't need a leave of absence, I'm fine," he lies.

It has been difficult to get through class, to ignore the whispers from the kids during break or while they work in groups. He can feel curious eyes follow him in between the desks as he walks around for questions.

Liz sighs into the line and all at once knows the conversation is over, that it was never a conversation to begin with.

"Look, you're the best department head we've had in a long time Steve, and I want you back, fresh, for the kids. I can't imagine how you're feeling right now and I know this isn't what you wanted but I think it will be for the best".

"How long?" Steve manages to say, so softly that Liz asks him to repeat himself.

"Excluding the break, I'll say three weeks, so you can be back to see them through their exams," she sighs again, "the school year isn't over yet Steve, you'll still have lots of time with them".

Steve raises a shaking hand to his hair, running his fingers through it from root to tip. It could be good to take that time, Robin had asked him if he would when they initially spoke. It could give him a chance to think about what to do.

But, at this point, he worries if he stops moving, if he slows down, he won't be able to stop the grief he can feel, knocking at his window.

"Okay, okay, Liz, I'll take some time".

***

Steve finishes his marking in record time, but perhaps it's easy when one doesn't sleep.

He reorganizes the pantry twice, deep cleans all the storage closets, he throws every piece of clothing in the house into the laundry, including Eddie's, drops off the dry cleaning, and washes the walls.

He moves the furniture around and finds himself looking at rentable scaffolding to see about finally starting that painting project he's been thinking about.

It's only Wednesday.

One by one his family begin to reach out as the news begins to circulate more prominently in the regular entertainment news outlets. Hopper and Joyce call, Joyce asks Steve if he wants to come back to Hawkins for a bit, that their door is always open for him, just as it was when he was in his twenties. Hopper tells him all Steve needs to do is give him the word and he'll be in Chicago with a shovel, no questions asked.

Steve thanks Joyce and gives Hopper an emphatic, 'NO,' but he appreciates them all the same.

Dustin innocently brings up that he'll be in Chicago for a few days the following week, that Robin offered Steve's guest room to him, and Steve finds himself smiling while shaking his head at the co-conspirators.

All of the kids call at least once, but they are busy themselves, none of them are on a leave of absence after all, he thinks bitterly to himself.

Thursday afternoon there's a knock at his door, Steve is in the middle of changing out the old washer from the kitchen sink -finally getting around to fixing the small leak, he freezes at the sound.

He's not expecting anyone and even though he and Robin are nearly joined at the hip she still has the decency to call before showing up at his door.

Steve climbs out from under the sink and wipes his hands on the nearest towel before slowly walking towards the door. All the locks are still bolted from the night before, so he feels safer leaning in to peer through the peephole.

It's Wayne?

Steve feels his heart begin to race, what on earth was Wayne doing here? Was Eddie with him? Corroded Coffin was still on tour, he couldn't be.

He hazards another glance through the peephole but he can't tell if there is anyone else in the hall.

Wayne knocks again making Steve jump at the sudden noise.

Steve breathes in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth once, twice, before he unlocks both bolts and the chain with shaking hands, he opens the door a fraction.

"Wayne? What are you doing here?" Steve says softly, he steps aside to let the man through.

"I came to check on you," Wayne says after a beat, he wipes his feet on the second mat inside and shrugs off his red windbreaker. Steve tries to take the jacket to hang it up but raises his hands in surrender as Wayne waves him off and opens the closet to hang it up himself.

Steve takes him into the kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee, they never did invest in one of those single serve coffee machines, Eddie drank so much coffee when he was home that it made no sense and, 'brewed coffee just tates better Stevie'.

Steve shakes the memory away and grabs two mugs from the cupboard, "Just sugar right?"

He reaches for the empty sugar bowl as Wayne nods, he hovers awkwardly as Steve flits around the kitchen.

Steve grabs the sugar from their pantry and fills up the bowl before placing it on the table with a spoon.

"So," Steve sighs as he leans against the counter next to the coffee maker, it hisses and bubbles filling the air with the smell of brewing coffee, "Eddie put you up to this, huh?"

Wayne frowns but nods, "Call it the first good decision that dumb-ass has made in the last few weeks," he scratches the graying scruff on his cheeks and steps closer, "how are you doing son?

Steve wants to tell him about how he hasn't let himself even think about the future. How he told Eddie he couldn't come home yet, how he's so achingly lonely despite the number of people that have reached out. How he doesn't want to think about a life without Eddie, but that he also can't imagine being in the same room as him for more that a minute without wanting to just scream at him.

How, Steve firmly believed that he would lose the man standing in his doorway, how his friendship with Gareth and Chrissy would inevitably fracture over Eddie, and once again Steve would be alone, picking up the pieces of his life to start again.

Instead, he manages to say, "I'm so glad you're here," before stepping into Wayne's arms, and allowing himself to be held as he finally, finally cries.

Wayne's arms come around him firmly, he reaches one hand up to cradle Steve's head while the other rubs his back, "its okay son, I gotcha," he whispers as Steves shoulders shake and his chest stutters.

"I gotcha".

[muniimyg]

12 | three for three

series m.list

note: thank you all for all the love you send through interactions! it’s definitely been so fun talking and spending a few delulu moments with you <3 i hope you enj this written! we take a moment to dig deeper with the characters and their feelings... the fun truly begins after this! don’t forget to comment/reblog with your thoughts as i’d love to hear back from you! a special thank you to @floweryjeons for the mini concept !!! and @thealexalcala​ for “all i need is FLUFFFFFFFF” 😆 please forgive the minor typos/mistakes ... will be editing this when i have the time <3 

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “your universe” // please DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

taglist: @yukiehyukie @tarahardcore @bbsantc @jeonqkooks-main @whoa-jo @ellesalazar @exhibitachol @pamzn @floweryjeons @boraength @4ksj @joonsjuice @taegijns @avtrns @taegix94 @bloopkook @jihopesjoint @firesighgirl @vantxx95 @damn-u-min-yoongi @yoongukie-ff @hopeworldjimin @thisisaburnphone @pb-n-juju

If Yoongi had to sum up his feelings for you... Well, it wouldn’t be a very long list. 

It’s not because he dislikes you—no, he does like you! He just feels indifferent. Even if his friends are the definition of comfort and chaos, Yoongi remains indifferent. 

When you confessed for the first time, his immediate thought was that it was too early. You two were only 4 months into being friends. Besides, you were a little too tipsy. Though aware of your confession, you asked him for a clearer answer the following day. With a pounding headache, Yoongi’s words left you feeling even worse. 

“I think we would be better off as friends… We just met and I don’t want to ruin what we could be.”

What you could be?

Friends. That’s what.

By the second confession, a year or so passed. It was during a study session and you brought it up as casual as you could—too afraid of scaring him off but even more afraid of remaining friends with someone who you’ve completely fallen for. Yoongi was talking about the weather and the spring season transitioning in. You smiled in return before mentioning wanting to see the cherry blossoms. Before you could even finish your confession, Yoongi’s softened his gaze and sighed. 

“___, nothing changed. We’re better off as friends.. I hope you understand. But, hey, we can see the cherry blossoms with the others if you really want to.”

No. 

You didn’t really want to see the cherry blossoms. You just wanted to be with him. You just wanted to see something pretty with him.

Then, by the third confession… You couldn’t hold yourself together. You two were being teased at a party. Everyone was asking when Yoongi would finally ask you out. Everyone noted how often you two hung out or how clingy you were with him. Shoved closer and closer to him, he embraced you and laughed. To everyone, he professed; “I don’t like her that way. She’s just a friend. She’s my ace.”

That stung.

Even if everyone was piss drunk, you were completely sober and the feelings his words brought to you made you intoxicated with hurt.

That party was 3 days before the first game you didn’t attend. Yoongi clearly doesn’t remember it even though he walked you home. The confusing signals only made your heart ache and your head hurt. The following day, as you contemplated on going to his game; his words rang clear in your head. 

You just had to take the hint. 

You and Yoongi are friends. He wants to remain just friends... You rather not. In your heart, you can’t be friends with someone you’re in love with. It’s too messy. It’s too unfair. It’s too risky. 

Then, the game happened and you were no where to be seen. Yoongi had gone outside the court before the game even began to look for you in the crowd. You weren’t answering his texts and he found it odd. 

You never ignore him.. Even if you’re mad.

As time went by and Yoongi reflected on his feelings... He soon realized how his heart has begins to feel tight in his chest whenever you walk by. It has started to race and beat faster and faster every inch you get closer to him. How his hands would be sweaty all the time and maybe that’s why his handles when he plays are always on point… Because you were there making him nervous. 

That’s the funny thing.. After all this time, him rejecting you for the sake of preserving your friendship; Yoongi abandoned his own feelings for you. That’s the plain truth. Yoongi has never processed the thought of having a crush on you back. He always figured if the timing would be better.. If he wasn’t such a coward... If there was one more chance with you; you were worth the shot. 

It was love at first sight… On your end.

You caught feelings for Yoongi almost instantly. Within 1 month of knowing him, you couldn’t keep it together. Every slight touch, every time he said your name or walked you home… He had you. In every moment he tried and in every moment didn’t; he had continued to engrave himself into your heart.

You never tried to hide your feelings for him. If you were upset, annoyed, or in love with him more than ever—it was obvious. No one could read you better than him… But that was before.

Suddenly you don’t show up to their game.

Suddenly you’re ignoring him mentioning you in chats.

Suddenly you’re never around.

It’s so strange and frankly, it’s quite frustrating to Yoongi. He figured that if there was any time for you to feel offended or sensitive about him rejecting you.. It should’ve been the first time. Given that you’ve attempted 3 times in total—well, shouldn’t you be used to it by now? What were you expecting anyway? That one day, he would come to you? That one day, it would work out?

No.

There was so much pride you swallowed.

There were far too many nights where you lost sleep over him. Staying up with him to study, waking up early to walk to class to with him even when you didn’t have any scheduled… Not to mention taking care of the whole basketball team on his behalf. From baking cupcakes for their victory parties to helping them with car washes to help fundraise for their away games—sometimes, they were convinced you were the only reason Yoongi plays so well.

He plays well because he has you to take care of him.

He plays well because he has you to impress.

He plays well because he has you.

Had.

He had you.

To be fair, your sudden cold attitude from you took everyone by surprise as you have no problem expressing your sweetness through warm acts. Especially since Yoongi has always been your favourite... It was odd for you to pull away. Nevertheless, it was needed.

The truth is, no one has ever paid attention to Yoongi the way you do. 

He knows that—everyone knows that. You don’t. To you, you see him as this tender-hearted man that just needs a little goodness in his day. If you could be that, why not? 

Even if he can’t fully admit it now—let alone know it—you gave him a sense of peace and love. It’s something he has never gotten from others. It’s something that was only found in your presence and fades in your absence. 

It’s rest. 

In the same sense that you’re the first person to make him feel a sense of peace and love—you’re also the first person he is wildly unsure and unwaveringly certain of. 

It’s the scariest part of being around you. 

He’s afraid you’re a once in a lifetime kind of person. He’s afraid, he’s not that to you. Have you moved on already? The idea of loving you is natural. The idea of wanting to be good to you is second nature. The idea of you and him—is it inevitable?

“There you guys are!” Jungkook squeals from a far. 

The next thing you know, he’s running up to you and Yoongi along with the other guys. 

Yoongi, who has done nothing but stand by your side and make sad attempts of conversation with you since the bidding, smiles at his friends in relief. Was it that horrible being with you?

No.

He’s just nervous and you overthink.

You turn to Yoongi and pout. “What’s going on? I thought we were going to get cotton candy for Jungkook—”

Your crush shrugs as he shoves his hands inside his pocket. “Hmm.. Think this will be sweeter.”

Huh. 

Before you could question what he means, Jungkook greets you with an overwhelming bear hug. You laugh and Yoongi sends Jungkook a warning look. Jungkook sticks his tongue out at him. It’s blue from the cotton candy. 

As he pulls away, Jungkook immediately locks his arms with yours. 

“You wanna get married, ___?”

Your eyes widen. 

Never in a million years did you think you would end up friends with such out of pocket people. 

It’s important to note that when they all first met you, they thought your kindness would wear off and you would reveal your true self. Yet, 3 years have passed and you are just as angelic as the first day they met you. With your pleasant presence, it became a blur as to how you all got along or how the friend group came to be.

It just happened.

It was suddenly you and 7 overprotective friends. Some, however, are more protective and entitled than others. 

Therefore, their overprotectiveness, even towards Yoongi, was necessary. You felt secure with their love. Now, what’s happening? Are they supporting Yoongi? ... Since when?

“Pardon? To who? You?”

You love Jungkook and all.. But you’re loyal to the man who rejected you multiple times. 

“Ew! You’re pretty and all but God knows you wouldn’t be able to handle all this...” Jungkook gestures to himself. Yoongi rolls his eyes and you let out a small chuckle before sharing a look between the two.

“I’m so confused—”

Jungkook groans, tugging you. “Arghh, just come!”

Your eyebrows knit into a frown at Yoongi as Jungkook drags you away. You raise your voice to be heard; “I thought we were going to hang out?” 

Yoongi nods at you nonchalantly, heart melting from your words. Under his breath, he mutters: “silly girl, who do you think you’re marrying?”

The marriage booth is basically the new kissing booth. 

Your school’s facility only approved of it since it promotes healthy family relationships and blah blah blah. Truth be told, it’s just a booth where friends drag each other to expose their crushes. 

Hence, why your friends are doing what they’re doing. 

Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok are standing on your side as your bridesmaids. They’re holding cotton candy like bouquets. Meanwhile, Jin and Nam Joon stand on Yoongi’s side. Taehyung stands in the middle of you and Yoongi as the officiant. 

You have butterflies in your stomach but you’re doing everything to calm them down. Yoongi keeps looking forward, hardly even looking at you. It makes you nervous. 

What is he thinking?

Should you just run away?

Would it matter if you did?

Just do it. Would he even stop you?

You bite your bottom lip and look side to side. Taking a deep breath, you sneakily turn away. Hosoek catches your eyes and shakes his head, warning you to stay put. 

You don’t listen. 

Just as your feet are about to move, Yoongi tightens his grip with your hands and holds you still. 

You gulp. 

Even then, he doesn’t look at you. Instead, you notice his jaw tighten. You take the hint and stay put. 

Taehyung clears his throat before he wiggles his eyebrows at you. It’s obvious he is far too excited to be doing this. “Some say love is found in our every day. However, I believe it’s actually found once in a lifetime. With that being said, friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the once in a lifetime of Yoongi and ___. Should anyone present know of any reason why these two should not wed, speak now or forever hold your peace—”

“She’s too hot for him—”

Abruptly, you and Yoongi turn your head and see Hoseok and Jungkook covering a swimmer’s mouth and dragging him away from the crowd. Hoseok and Jungkook give innocent smiles as they take care of the interruption... 

“Anyone relevant? No? Okay… Yay! You may now kiss the bride!” Taehyung smiles proudly, gesturing for you two to stand closer together. He leans in between you to two and whispers loudly, “... I said kiss!”

You stand still, unsure of what to do. 

Kissing Yoongi—as silly as it sounds—never occurred to you. You’ve spent so much of your time falling for him emotionally—a kiss never crossed your mind. Now what? You’re supposed to kiss him in front of everyone?

Before you can say anything, Taehyung turns your body to face Yoongi. Yoongi takes a step forward and closes in on you. It’s then that you realize you’re still holding his hand and how… How nice it is to be doing so. 

“No vows?” You ask, trying to stall.

Taehyung shakes his head and smirks at you. “Nah. I don’t give a shit about I do’s. Just seal it with a kiss!”

You look at Taehyung with pleading eyes. “K-kiss? Y-you want us to kiss?”

Yoongi scoffs, taking your attention away from Taehyung. “Yah, ___... You’ve liked me for 3 years and suddenly you don’t want to kiss me?”

“What? S-shut up! No, it’s just—”

“Are you not ready?” Yoongi suggest, half teasing and half aware that this may be going too fast. “We don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable with doing so. You don’t need to act all tough to avoid embarrassing me.”

You let go of his hand and cross your arms at him. Lowering your gaze, you frown. “I am tough. I don’t care if you get embarrassed—”

“Why are you stalling?”

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

He glares at you. “I’m not asking a lot of questions.”

“Yes, you are!” 

Yoongi digresses. 

“You want a question? Fine. Can you whistle?”

“Excuse me? Of course, I can whistle. What does whistling have to do with any of this—”

“Do it,” Yoongi challenges you. “Whistle. I don’t think you can..” 

You give him a confused face for nth time today. He tilts his head at you and insists you prove him wrong. 

Rolling your eyes, you give in to his odd request.

As you pucker up your lips, Yoongi swiftly wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you towards him. As your bodies crash together, he places his other hand to cup your chin and even squishes your cheeks together with his thumb and index finger. 

His gaze softens as he looks into your eyes. 

You blink.

You panic as you suddenly register what he has just done. What he’s doing... In front of everyone. Before you can even decide if you should lean in or push him away, he decides for you. 

Yoongi lets you go and takes a step back. As you compose yourself, he purses his lips and nags, “you’re not ready. That’s okay. I’ll be right here when you are.”

By sunset, Jungkook’s sugar rush reaches it’s peak. 

He’s jumping off trash bins and talks everyones ears off. Jin insists on taking him home while Nam Joon, Hoseok, and Taehyung decide to stay to help Jimin and the student council clean up. 

That leaves you two. 

After the marriage booth, you and Yoongi avoid conversing. The rest of the day was filled with playing games and mostly watching over Jungkook. Honestly? There wasn’t much to say as you two were practically walking on eggshells. 

“Hey,” Yoongi approaches you shyly as the rest of the group goes disperse. 

“Hi.”

“Are you staying behind to help Jimin or are you heading home?”

You look around and notice all the people tearing down the equipment. There’s plenty of them and the mess isn’t that bad either. Could you think of an excuse to get out of whatever Yoongi is about to pitch? 

Or should you just face it? Feelings are feelings and people are people. You can’t keep avoiding him forever. Besides... He’s trying, isn’t he? 

You digress. 

“I might just head home unless the future president asks me to do something,” you nod in Jimin’s direction. “Let me go ask—”

As you’re about to leave his side, Yoongi catches the hood of your jacket and holds you still. You pretend to choke and even reach out your hands as if you need help. Turning to him, he lets go and you let out a small laugh to lighten the mood. 

“You don’t need to talk to him. It’s me,” he says so devastatingly—so pathetically—no, so desperately. “You need to talk to me. ___, can we please talk?”

You aren’t too sure if it’s the way he pleaded or because your heart completely betrayed what your mind has been trying to commit to. You can’t get over him.

“You going to confess to me or something?” you tease. 

Yoongi smiles at you softly in response. Then, he nods towards a direction before walking away. Sighing, you pick up your feet and follow him in silence. 

Yoongi leads you to the middle. 

It’s away from the crowd and near the beach side of campus. It’s not too far away from your place or Yoongi’s. You can hear the waves crashing from a distance and all your friends chatting on the other side. Sitting on the bench, you watch the sunset dissolve in the reflection of the water. As you swing your feet, you stay quiet and let this moment be it’s own. 

When the colours of the sky dim and the streets lights flicker to be more prominent, you decide to suck it up. You should confront your issues now. 

“So… What’s up?” You break the silence and it takes Yoongi a good minute to compose himself. 

This is it. 

This is his moment.

He shakily takes a deep breath before abruptly standing up. Yoongi has a bad habit of keeping his hands in his pocket... But who could blame him? It’s how he feels the most comfortable and truth be told; he needed something to keep him from going crazy.

Everything he feels for you is so new.. It’s unfamiliar. 

“I don’t think we can be friends,” Yoongi confesses. He feels like he could burst from the relief he instantly feels. “... I want to be with you. I want to be more than friends and I understand my realization is late and I don’t deserve another chance—but I’m asking for one anyway. I’ll be better this time.”

His promise sounds bittersweet to you.

“You didn’t want me before,” you remind him. “I was finally trying to get over you… And then you started to care when I wasn’t around. Do you miss me or do you miss me tending to your ego—”

“You.”

“Yoongi… You say it so easily.” You try to pass off the hurt with a laugh. It makes your heart clench. How could he be like this? All of the sudden, he was finally saying the right things. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear from him is finally being said… What are you doing fighting it? Perhaps you’re hurt. Perhaps you’re scared. Perhaps it finally feels difficult. “I don’t get it.. I’ve liked you for 3 years… Now? Now you want me? You lose a few games and suddenly you need me around?”

“Win or lose, it’s you,” Yoongi confesses. “I don’t get it either. It’s like… It hit me and once I accepted how I felt… It was the easiest thing to know. Ace, you need to know that I have always wanted you. I just… I didn’t want to ruin the friendship and the timing felt too off. You hardly knew me and I’ve always felt indifferent to so many things in life. You know me. You know the kind of person I am. You know the person I could be. I can be emotionally mature. I can be communicative. I can’t express myself as much as you do or as much as Hoseok can but I—”

“What?”

“Nevermind… That’s not the point. The point is; you know me better than anyone else. You know this is me trying. You know this is me being honest with my feelings for you. You believe in me more than anyone and now I’m believing in you.”

“Do you hear yourself? You rejected me.”

A beat. 

“And I regret it. I’m so sorry for everything but I also can’t apologize for not knowing any better… Now I do and now I will be better.”

“What are you saying?”

“___, please date me and dump me over and over again—I don’t care. I want you in any way you’ll let me have you.” 

You heart skips a beat. 

For the first time, it does so when it should. When Yoongi is finally saying the right things and you’re in a position that doesn’t make you feel pathetic and hopeless. 

Regardless, you need a moment to process it all. Yoongi takes your silence as just that. 

He waits. 

He wonders. 

Then, he hopes. 

You sit and contemplate everything. 

Your feelings for him never left. You tried to dim them but it was no use. Every message, every shared look, and every moment that fleets between you two only makes your heart grow fonder. 

But alas, you answer him. 

“Three for three.” 

Yoongi looks at you confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I confessed to you three times. You rejected me three times. I’m giving you three chances to confess to me which means I have three chances to reject or accept. If I accept, then we can be together. I’ll be your girlfriend since you want me so bad,” you tease. Yoongi rolls his eyes at you, trying to mask his hopeful feeling. “This counts as one. My answer tonight is no. You’re right... Back when you rejected me for the first time. It feels like we just met. I’ve never seen this side of you and I’d like to get to know you better. This also gives you the chance to get to know me... So, sucks to suck. Better luck next time, aki.”

Yoongi sighs in defeat but accepts happily. Who is he to argue with you? You just granted him the best wish. He takes his hands out of his pockets and reaches out for you. You stare at it and look at him blankly. 

“Can I at least walk you home?”

The truth is, you have never considered yourself to be stubborn. You’ve always been forgiving and embracive with second chances. Maybe that’s why you give in to Yoongi’s request. Maybe that’s why you let your heart be it’s own and guide you once again...

Maybe that’s why under the cherry blossom trees, Yoongi holds your hand and walks you home.

[casualsnickers]

Month of Emmet Quick Write #9

Prompt #9: Accessories

It's finally the weekend and Emmet has set aside some time to do some spring cleaning. But it's been a while since he's cleaned out his closet and there just happens to be a certain piece of clothing buried in the dark for a good reason.

Read the whole thing below the cut.

               It was the early hours of the morning. So early that the sun had yet to rise and the Pidoves had yet to sing. And yet, Emmet carefully and quietly moved about the house, getting a head start on weekend chores so that he could enjoy a good chunk of his Saturday and Sunday relaxing while careful not to disturb any of his fellow inhabitants. He paid extra attention in ducking to avoid the little webs his Joltiks often left behind on the ceiling.

               Emmet had already moved back the curtains, his eyes tracing the faint light of dawn as he passed the living room window into the hall and up the stairs to his room, waving to Garbodor who had gone to the yard in search of early morning snacks. He had already set his linens in the wash, being forced to take two trips in order to fetch his laundry. And with spring arriving and the need of insulating clothes all but gone, Emmet had also decided to clean out his room and to that extent, his very much neglected wardrobe.

               Emmet sometimes had trouble focusing on certain things. Conversations with boring topics or just long conversations in general. To-do lists. Paperwork on his desk at the station. Cleaning out his closet. And so maybe it came as no surprise when amongst the numerous shoe boxes and ill-fitting slacks and ugly ties, a certain crate resurfaced. One covered in canvas cloth and tied shut with two rings of red twine having been shoved into the darkest corner of his top shelf.

               Maybe it’s tied shut for a reason? I don’t remember stationing this in here. Emmet frowned. I will return to this station later on. I need to attend to the bulk of this mess first. He moved the box over to his bed and sat it down on the bare mattress, figuring that the obvious oddity would get his attention later on in the cleaning process when he had the time to properly address it.

               Emmet knew that he tended to be a bit of a slob, especially on his worse days when he was stuck in a bad way and couldn’t right himself; it was a nasty habit from his childhood that he had never quite reformed. Socks were a big issue, constantly being found all over the house. He would sometimes leave his shoes downstairs and on rare occasions, his belt. Digging through his closet, Emmet found more than enough old, destroyed uniforms to toss. He compiled a trash bag full of frayed belts, singed ties, over and undersized clothes, and much more left to collect dust in a forlorn section of his closet.

               Emmet uncovered one of his more precious stowaways: boxes full of photo albums containing pictures from when he and Ingo were on their pokémon journey across Unova nearly an entire decade prior. Ones where Elesa was just shy from appearing in the frame. Ones where Emmet had taken before and after photos of Ingo during their gym leader trials. Ones during their late-night ventures exploring Chargestone Cave or getting into trouble in the cities. Ones taken from places up high like Celestial Tower and Victory Road. Documentations of how time had passed, completely forgotten but perfectly preserved.

               Emmet sighed, snapping the book shut. I need to focus. I can look through the pictures later. Emmet then blinked, rising and placing the crate beside the other tied-up one. A quiet reminder, one that made him want to wake up the entire house at the prospect. Ingo would love to see these! They could help with his amnesia!

               Emmet was about to turn back to his closet when he paused, his eyes catching on the tied-up crate once more. Fine. I will see what’s in here. He gently moved the album box away and untied the cords keeping the canvas cover held to the plastic mesh of the crate. With bated breath, Emmet gently pulled the canvas cloth away before dropping it onto the floor.

“…Oh…. Now I remember why this was tied-up.”

               On the very top of the crate, haphazardly folded with obvious burns and scuff marks, was an off-white jacket much like Emmet’s standard issued uniform jacket back at the station. But then, he remembered that the one he was holding in his hands was one specifically tailored for travelling. One that he had secretly commissioned Elesa to make a long, long time ago back when Ingo had first disappeared. Almost subconsciously, Emmet donned the jacket, a shiver of uncomfortable ease and safety wrapping around him as the furred inside of the jacket nested against his skin, reminding him of why the jacket had a fur-lining in the first place: enduring unpredictable weather. The thing had a slight putrid scent to it.

Emmet had worn the jacket like a second skin while he had been scouring the other regions for his brother after long months of being pushed to his limit by sympathetic passengers and pitying depot agents dogging him throughout his entire shift day after day after day. He recognized each mark and tear in the jacket. A tear in the hood where he had run into a pack of Mightyena in the Hoenn region, the leader catching the scruff of his hood instead of his throat. A burn mark on one of the sleeves, the only remnant of a run-in with a trainer and their unruly Salamence in the Alola region. Numerous tears and holes in the tail end of the coat where a Centiskorch had tried to use it as a nest back in Galar.

Each burn mark, tear, hole, and ripped seam was a reminder of the numerous months Emmet had spent turning over every stone searching for his lost twin, mindlessly fueled by anger and obsession and desperation. Emmet dug his hands into the pockets of the coat, pulling out ancient receipts from pokémon centers and hole-in-the-wall restaurants and emergency pokémart purchases. He pulled out bits of ripped paper, knowing that they came from the torn-off remnants of the picture of Ingo he used to haul around for identification.

It was bittersweet, wearing a jacket that had warmed him when he had been far from home on a fruitless task to find his twin who he only now realized had been unreachable in every sense of the word. It was only when Emmet had journeyed to Sinnoh had he been stopped dead in his tracks when he had stumbled upon a specific museum deep in the heart of Snowpoint City. He still remembered that infamous day as though it had happened the day before. The comically large Froslass near Mt Coronet. The feeling of something constantly walking behind him in the mountains. The silent call of the icelands. The accidental stumble into the local museum. And of course, the records section where Emmet had seen Ingo’s likeliness as clear as day plastered on the wall amidst numerous other oddly clothed strangers. Said to have been well-known and well-respected. Marked to have been long dead.

Emmet took a deep breath, realizing that his hands had been trembling all the while. He exhaled shakily and slowly got to his feet, wiping tears from his eyes. “Break time.”

Quietly, he started back down the hall, the faint but warm light of dawn reaching through the living room windows. Bells jangled. Excadrill and Durant had raided the fridge in the short time they had been awake, scuttling away once Emmet came back into view. Emmet only shook his head at his pokémon’s antics and began to make a pot of coffee, still wearing the old coat. Still pulling out old receipts. Still fiddling with the lapels and buttons and pocket flaps.

After a few minutes of waiting, Emmet had his coffee. He took a seat at the kitchen counter and sipped at his drink, lazily tracking Garbodor as they plucked a plastic bag from the backyard tree and swallowed it whole.

Footsteps sounded on the hall stairs. First came a tired groan. Then a scratching noise. Ingo shuffled into the kitchen, his eyes shut and his hands stuck in his disheveled hair. His pajamas wore him rather than the other way around, Chandelure having to pull him along with one metal arm curled around his forearm. Ingo cracked open one eye, blinking upon noticing that Emmet had been sitting silently only a pace away.

“…Good morning, Emmet,” Ingo rasped, yawning. He then blinked. “That is… an odd fashion choice for six in the morning. It’s not cold in here. Is that an alteration of our usual subway coat?”

“It is not. It’s… unique.”

“Ah.” Wordlessly, Ingo made his own mug of coffee, taking a minute or two to add in some creamer and a splash of honey before pulling up a seat directly beside Emmet. It was a comfortable silence. That was until Ingo suddenly rose from his chair. “That reminds me! I will return in just one moment.” He was up the stairs in one second and stumbling down them the next, wearing a coat much like Emmet’s own.

               Emmet raised an eyebrow. “You still have that beaten up thing?”

               Ingo shrugged, taking a seat as he pulled the fringes of his very old, very much destroyed subway coat around his torso, the faintest of smiles on his face. “I keep it tethered to me. It’s…”

“Comforting?” Emmet tried. He couldn’t quite piece together what he wanted to say. What emotion it was that Ingo’s battered coat reminded him of.

“That’s… that’s precisely it.” Ingo took another sip of his coffee. “There are quite a few memories attached to this coat of mine,” Ingo rambled. “Pleasant ones and… less than pleasant ones. And I find it interesting that despite our diverging rails, we both still ended up with destroyed coats.” Ingo smiled, lining up the sub-bleached edge of his coat with the hole-ridden edge of Emmet’s. Ingo met Emmet’s gaze, practically beaming. “Still matching.”

               Emmet grinned. “Nah. Yours is worse.”

[charcoalhawk]

The haunting of Masters’ Mansion

This is a backup truce gift for @shadowofaghost5 , hope to bring you some (very) belated Christmas cheer!

Prompt: Vlad & Danny bonding (by annoying each other? did they have to work together for something and accidentally started enjoying it? is Vlad being nice for once and teaching Danny stuff? How they bond is entirely up to you!)

Warnings: none

“-and Frankie said I could stay with them and their partner for the holidays. I think we may go to one of our other friends' houses on Christmas Day, but that’s still up in the air pending how many of his family is coming home.”

“That’s awesome Jazz”, Danny smiles at his sister over FaceTime, “so I’ll see you probably during spring break? Assuming no, uh, pit stops?”

“Yeah, spring break. And no Danny, no pit stops. Enjoy your last semester and your extracurriculars, we can call and text as much as you need.”

“I don’t know, if the house is still being fumigated after the new year I may just have to hide in your dorm for a few days just to get some sleep.”

Apparently using unstable ectoplasm for years and building much of their own home had caused the building not to be strictly up to code, and while they’re not having to rebuild any existing structures, the city had insisted on doing a through investigation, and then announced that the house would need to be thoroughly fumigated for at least a month, amongst other problems.

They’d been able to book a hotel for the first few nights, but as it grew closer to Christmas his parents had been informed they would need to find other lodgings as their rooms had already been booked starting the next two days all the way through the new year.

Luckily a family friend was willing to host them over the holidays, as after a frantic search it seemed like most hotels had already been bought out or were charging truly outrageous prices for the holidays.

Unluckily for Danny his parents insisted he stay with them for the Holidays, even after both Tucker and Sam had promised that either of their parents wouldn’t mind hosting Danny for a few weeks.

So they had shuffled themselves into the Fenton RV, suitcases and presents pressing into Danny from every angle from where they’re all crammed indiscriminately.

It has only taken an hour for his parents to restart the argument they had put on hold last night. At this point after almost eighteen years Danny thought he could recite both sides of his parents "is Santa real" argument from memory. Danny knows he had been lucky before that his parents had only had small arguments since Mariah Carey had started haunting every radio station since October.

“You know mom and dad just wanted one more Christmas with you before you go off to college.”

“I know.” He chances a glance at the front of the RV where even now his parents are in furious debate, “but knowing them they’re just going to spend the whole time arguing or trying to make me pick a side.”

Jazz tries to smile on video call, but they’re far enough out in the countryside that his phone’s connection is getting really spotty.

“I know. I tried when I called them last week to get them to understand how doing this was only going to drive you away” Danny can’t help but scrunch his nose in distaste, “don’t look at me like that Danny, you’re almost an adult. We can have these kinds of conversations, but I don’t think it quite stuck like I wanted it to.”

Jazz gives him a sympathetic look before her picture abruptly flips, and now Danny is staring at a slightly worse for wear Bearbert Einstein. Jazz waives one of his arms and puts on her most obnoxious, silly voice.

“But both me and Jazz want to wish you a very good new year,” her hand shifts so it seems Bearbert is nodding his head, “and Jazz would like to kindly request that you don’t try and murder Vlad unless he tries to get you first!”

Danny chokes on a laugh as the camera switches back to Jazz’s now beaming smile, and soon they’re saying their goodbyes as Jazz rushes to finish packing.

Once the call ends and the low arguing of his parents is now the only sound in the RV, Danny allows himself to scowl.

That was the other unfortunate thing, turns out they would be staring with Vlad over the holidays.

The only thing worse than Christmas time, and trust him there is not much worse than the Fenton’s at Christmas, is having to share that time with Uncle Vlad.

Danny can see his future now, Vlad will take his mom’s side, which in turn will make his dad turn to him.

The only silver lining in all this, and trust him it is a very slim silver lining, is that over the past four years he and Vlad have a more steady truce in place and neither goes out of his way to intentionally maim or attack the other.

When they finally pull up to Vlad’s gaudy home, nothing immediately strikes Danny as out of place, but he notices that his parents seem unnerved about something and that immediately sets him on edge.

As they all clamor out of the RV his ghost sense tells him Vlad is lurking nearby. No one exits to help them get their bags but the door swings open dramatically before his dad can start pounding on the door.

“Jack! Glad to see that you are well.” Vlad places a very reluctant hand on his Dad’s shoulder, which is all the prompting Dad needs to sweep Vlad into a truly impressive bear hug.

Vlad’s smile is carefully pinned in place, as he allows the extended contact with Jack before sweeping down to RV, likely to offer to carry his mom’s bags.

“Madeline! How good to see you!” His mom carefully steps out of Vlad’s way while keeping her own smile carefully on.

“It’s good to see you too Vlad, we really can’t thank you enough for agreeing to host us on such short notice.”

He and Vlad share a careful nod as Dad leads them all into the foyer, and Danny can only hope with such a big house it can actually allow him some peace and quiet.

“Yeah V-man, thanks for letting us stay here while the house is being checked out. But I gotta say Vladdie,” his dad gestures around the opulent foyer, “where’s all your Christmas stuff?”

His mom takes a careful look around and her eyes widen as she realizes what her husband says is true.

“Oh now that you mentioned it dear, it is odd,” she turns more fully towards Vlad, genuine interest in her tone and not the carefully cultivated fake interest Danny knows she holds whenever he’s seen her interact with Vlad in recent years.

“While Santa Claus obviously isn’t real, the story of Saint Nick should still be celebrated, and of course a chance to give gifts to our loved ones.”

His parents share a glare, but it’s clear they’re too shaken by Vlad’s lack of decorations to devolve back into spirited debate.

“We can take the RV into town right now!” His Dad makes an abrupt about face and starts tugging Vlad along with him, “bet they still have some real trees for sale, only real way to celebrate is with a real tree!”

“Oh good idea Jack! Vlad can show us where he stores his other decor and while you two are gone Danny and I can set up the lights.”

“Oh nonsense, we should all get the tree together!”

“I guess you're right Jack, that is a very important Christmas tradition. Then do you know where the nearest tree farm is Vlad? I’m sure we could find one but I’m sure you have your preferences.”

Vlad starts to look increasingly uncomfortable as his parents gang up on him.

“C’mon Vladdie! If we leave now we should still have time to set up the Christmas tree!”

Just as his Dad is about to pull Vlad past the threshold of the house, Vlad seems to snap out of his stupor and easily shakes off his Dad’s hand, backing up further into the house like he thinks Dad will lunge at him to pull him into the RV.

“That won’t be necessary. While I wouldn’t begrudge your family its traditions, I have no interest in spending multiple hours putting up frivolous decorations that are only going to live in boxes most of the year.”

“Oh bah, I’ve seen you spend weeks decorating this place for whenever the Packers play!”

“I don’t care, I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

It feels like the entire house freezes.

“I don’t have any particularly strong feelings around winter and Christmas time, and so to me they are just another few weeks of the year. I only even remember them because every store and TV station is decorated in red and green from November until the new year.”

It’s silly, but Danny had never realized that you could just, do that. He knows Sam and her family celebrate Hanukkah, hell even ghosts have the Truce, but he’d kinda been under the impression that everyone did something for the winter holidays.

The next few minutes are filled with his parents arguing the joys of Christmas time, while Vlad seems to grow increasingly more bored as the minutes tick by.

At some point his parents seem to realize they won’t get through to Vlad by simply arguing their case, so his Dad declares they will go out and vows that by the time they leave Vlad will be filled with the Christmas spirit.

With the slam of the RV door his parents are gone, leaving Danny and Vlad standing awkwardly in the now empty foyer.

“Well, that was a waste of my time.”

As the shadow of the RV disappears around the corner, Danny suddenly has an idea.

“Ok frootloop I’ve got a deal for you.” Vlad raises a single brow, at least he’s curious. “Neither of us wants this place to become infested with Christmas, so we work together and make my Mom and Dad think your house is haunted by some Christmas hating spectr, and then they’ll be so focused on hunting down the ghost they won’t have time to bother either of us.”

“Are you suggesting we make up a ghost to haunt your parents Daniel? My, that’s something I would usually think of.”

“Oh don’t give yourself that much credit. I’ve already been basically haunting my parents for the last four years.”

As so, an alliance is born.

The next two weeks Danny finds out he and Vlad make a startlingly efficient pair at tracking down and vanishing any extra Christmas decor his parents try to smuggle in the house.

Danny knows his parents have kept all their presents in the RV for fear of this new ‘Christmas ghoul’ stealing them, and honestly Danny is having the time of his life. His parents are united for once in their Christmas opinions, and they’re so busy trying to hunt this imaginary ghost that they forget to try and get Danny on either of their sides.

Christmas Day still passes in a flurry of activity, but this year it’s his parents camping out by the chimney all night waiting for a ghost, or Santa, to come sneaking into the house. They end up sleeping most of the next day, and by the time new year hits Danny hasn’t heard his parents argue about Santa being real in almost a week.

And if his friends ever question the morality of the situation Vlad is such an easy target he won’t even deny it.

[bullet-prooflove]

Life on the Ranch: Dan Miller x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Dan is a terrible rancher, he’s known it since he took that fence down and almost poisoned a bunch of horses by letting them eat hemlock. He’s an excellent rider but he doesn’t know the nuances of the land, how to manage something on this scale. He was a realtor before Bonham Walker had given him a few acres of land, managing a ranch, it isn’t in his skillset. He enjoys the life, the graft of it, being around the horses, but the rest he doesn’t have a fucking clue.

Thankfully you do.

Your daddy owns Rosewood Ranch up the way, you’ve been working the land since you were knee high. The two of you had got to talking one night in the Sidestep, he was recently divorced and you’d just returned to town after a stint up at the Four Sixes Ranch with Travis Wheatley. You’d been lending a hand for the past six months whilst he recovered from a liver transplant.

The first time he lays eyes on you, he thinks you’re just the prettiest damn thing. Glossy hair that falls over your shoulders, a red summer dress and worn cowboy boots. There’s a little wildling in you, he can tell from the way you hustle the boys at the bar whilst playing pool. That’s ok because before Denise, there was a little wilding in him too.

When he approaches you at the pool table, he isn’t looking for anything more than a game a pool. He’s bested most the people in this place so he’s looking forward to a new challenge. He thinks it’ll be just one game, at worse you’ll make a little money out of him, but one turns into three and before he knows it, the two of you are making out in the cab of his truck, his hands in your hair as your thighs straddle his waist. You’re both a little silly, a little tipsy. It doesn’t go any further than heavy petting but it’s still the most fun he’s had in years.  

The next morning you turn up at his ranch in worn jeans, a plaid shirt and those same cowboy boots from the night before.

“You said you needed a little help.” You say, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your jeans as your rock on your heels.

It’s you that ends up putting him to work. You spend the morning sipping coffee at his kitchen table, helping compile a list of the things Dan needs to do before the spring rolls in.

During the afternoon the two of you head out to check the pastures in order to work out which ones are suitable for grazing and which ones need a little time spending on them.

That night he cooks while you devise a business plan, he’ll rent out the additional land to other ranches that require grazing space. He has a small herd and a couple of horses, nowhere near enough animals for the space he has. That way he’ll make passive income while he’s still figuring his shit out. You’ve already got his first client lined up, your daddy’s livestock about to double in size during calving season and due to a clover problem he’s looking for a space to turn out a couple of his herds.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Dan tells you as he sets down a plate in front of you, you pick up your fork and begin to eat as he pours a glass of wine from one of the more expensive bottles he inherited in the divorce. “When I met you last night I didn’t expect any of this. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to repay you.”

“Cook for me again.” You request, gesturing at your almost empty plate. “This cowboy casserole is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

A blush creeps up his cheeks because it’s been a while since he’s been complimented, since he’s experienced any positivity. He’s used to being needled, spoken down to, he isn’t used to praise. It emboldens him. His fingertips trace along the line of your jaw, tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes.

“Stay the night.” He requests. “Help me break in the ranch a little.”

“Oh Danny boy.” You smile, your lips brushing over his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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