#maybe i'll write it for her one of these days she's been really prodding at my brain worms lately

[fastcardotmp3]

forever thinking about the narrative we could've gotten if Kali had stuck around long-term and thinking about it specifically in conversation with the character arc of Abby in TLOU2, because like.

obviously the source materials are tonally different enough to not make it a clear-cut comparison, but there's something about the cycle of violence there and the desperation that comes with a years-long search for justice or revenge or closure, right?

these young women who were so deeply wronged by people more powerful than them, and so then run away and seek their own strength, seek out ways to use it. Abby gets this amazing storyline where we first see her exclusively from Ellie's perspective as the villain who killed this person she loved more than anyone, but who then becomes a person and who is given reasons and who is given a fullness of self that makes not just her more of a gut-punch to the world, but everyone around her too.

and I just keep thinking about what that sort of care could have done for a character like Kali who is so similarly caught in a cycle of violence in her search for closure, so similarly set in her pursuit of it, and what it might have been like to see her instead of seeing El's witnessing of her.

where are her hurts? what scars does she carry? whose death does she believe will be the one to make her feel okay again and when will she realize that none of them will?

Abby changes through relationships with people, through a relationship with a young boy who comes from such a different background to her but who has been hurt and who has lost in so many similar ways and Kali has that too.

Kali has El to show her a different perspective, to give her something worth loving again, to give her something to protect rather than something to fight.

I dunno where I'm going with this, I've had Kali on the mind lately and I'll always live on the Abby defense squad, but I really do mourn the direction the story could have gone if Kali had been offered the same level of personhood and depth by the narrative that Abby was.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hello lovie🫶🏻 as of the past mmm three days I’ve been coming back to your account and reading your tan fics, they’re just SO good!! I couldn’t help but maybe put in a request?? I’m not quite sure if you’ve done one of these before, but would it be too much trouble to do a sort of hurt/comfort type fic, where tan comes back from a mission absolutely tattered and beaten and reader instantly helps mend his wounds?? Idk what it is but I’m an absolute WHORE for these kind of fics. omg and reader uses rubbing alcohol on his cuts and stuff and he starts wincing and she goes “sorry, it’ll hurt” and he retorts with “really?? hadn’t noticed” or something like that HSJSKSN and throughout this WHOLEEE thing he’s just staring at her so lovingly and eventually they both lean in to kiss SJJWW IM SORRY BUT HES JUST SO AHHHHH😭🫶🏻🫶🏻lysm girlie, your writing makes me literally kick my feet, giggle and twirl my hair🫶🏻🫶🏻

hii omg omg thank you cutie!!!🤍 done a fair few of these but I love the wound cleaning trope ESPECIALLY with tan! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

CUTS AND SCRAPES.

tangerine x reader (gn) — fluff

word count. 790

!! blood mentions

No matter how late it would be when Tangerine returns home, you'd still wake to the sound of the front door softly closing - the sluggish footsteps of your lover creeping inside. And without fail, you would find yourself stepping down those stairs to greet him with a sweet, welcoming smile.

Though tonight —well, extremely early morning— when you heard him come through the front door, instead of hearing his usual exasperated sighs, you heard groans - like he was in pain. And without missing a beat, you followed that noise, feet cascading down the steps to check he was okay.

You find him in the kitchen, leaning over the island - dampening a cloth in the sink. 

"What happened to you?" you ask, voice quiet as you look over his face - taking note of the cuts, bruises and the crusted, dried-bloody state of a nose. "You okay?" 

"In fuckin' agony," he mumbles, wincing when he places the cloth to his forehead. 

You walk around to meet him behind the island and reach into the cupboard under the sink, picking up one of the many med-kits around the house. Collecting a bag of frozen peas, you nod Tangerine over to the kitchen table, gesturing for him to sit in front while you lay the kit and bag on the surface.

He follows suit - taking a seat and scooching the chair closer to you, placing the bag of peas over his knuckles.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, trying to ease him. You look up at him, turning your eyes away from the contents in the first aid kit - trying to gauge his response. "You don't have to... but it might help though."

He shakes his head faintly, sniffling in his usual mannish way. "No, I'm good, love," he dismisses.

You only nod, accepting that he'll come to you when he's ready. You slip on a pair of medical gloves and tear open an antiseptic wipe, hesitantly reaching for the cut on his forehead. "You ready?" you ask, pushing back a messy, unkempt curl with your free hand.

"Not particularly."

His apparent unease about the wound cleaning was almost endearing - it was oddly humanising to see the vulnerability in his usual cold assassin shell. Or the bravado he often puts on around others.

"I'll be gentle," you say, voice almost distracted as you carefully run the point of the cloth around the cut - cleaning it. 

His face grimaces, his features pulling together uncomfortably. 

"Sorry, this bit hurts," you try to comfort him, eyes glued on his forehead. 

He hums shortly, the noise like an unamused 'humph.' "Ya'think? Hadn't noticed— fuck."

"You moved, I'm sorry. Keep still." 

He exhales harshly, attempting to pull himself together. He prods the bag of peas with his other hand, trying to use it as a distraction as you finish up with his cut. 

"Nearly done," you say, laying a plaster flat over his wound - soothing the sticky edges over his skin. You press a kiss into your finger and stamp it onto the covered dressing. "There we go."

Without thinking otherwise, you move on and attend to the other mild injuries - his knuckles up next. You remove the peas, placing them on the table while you slip your hand under his beaten one, holding his palm in your hand. 

"Looks like you got a few licks in," you joke, nodding to his bruised, cut-up fist. 

"Just a few," he jests, mindlessly grazing his fingers over the back of your hand - caressing you. 

You laugh faintly, the sound amused. You run the damp cloth over his knuckles, cleaning up the residual flecks of red he tried to clean earlier.

Unbeknownst to you —your attention solely on his hand— he's looking at you, his expression like that of admiration. Half-lidded eyes scan you attentively, watching the way you care for him. 

"Thank you," he says, words gentle. 

You hum, peering up from his hand to look at him. 

"I mean it," he emphasises, holding onto your gaze when you try to glance back down. 

You squeeze his hand gently and press a kiss to his knuckles. Lips against his skin as you whisper. "I know."

And just as you're about to release his hand, his other moves to cup the side of your face - his grip light and tender as he pulls you in for a kiss. He lingers longer than necessary —longer than usual— as if to soak in the feeling of being back home and safe. 

You pull away first, resting your forehead against his brow bone. "I missed you."

He thumbs over your cheek, his hold still faint on your face. "Missed you."

[mashiraostail]

omg please please imagine of gale reading to tav please!!

gallleeeeee supremacy

It hadn't been a particularly difficult day, mostly traveling, seeking out merchants, supplies, and information. That being said, when it was time to wind down for the day, you were glad for it. You spent hours sitting around the fire with everyone, exchanging stories and plans for what is to come. You sat next to Gale, you found yourself usually sitting next to Gale, even before the nights you began to share, you were always drawn to him.

He seemed to have an unending wealth of knowledge to share with you, you were happy to hear it all. Glad to hear about the heavy tomes he kept with him, to pour over complicated scrolls with him, to listen to his voice, to watch his mouth when he spoke.

You leaned into his shoulder, you saw a smile tug at his profile. Halsin always had the most bizarre stories, you could listen to him talk for hours about the trouble he seemed to find so easily especially in his youth. You feel Gale's nose brush against your hairline, then he stands as Halsin's story ends.

"Before I get wrapped up in another tale of yours, I'm going to rest a bit." Gale always seemed so grateful to share in things with the lot of you, despite the death sentence in his chest. "Perhaps I'll see you all again before the night is out."

There's a chorus of send offs, and thank yous for dinner and then Gale is gone. Karlach begins to talk about her own youth and the mischief she caused. You see a bit of light flickering from inside Gale's tent, you figure he must be reading. You'd never been a strong reader, you were always so focused on fighting, it was the skill you had chosen to master, just as Gale had chosen the Weave. You wondered how he got to reading, did he imagine the stories in his head like a movie, did he just take in the words and their meanings? What sorts of books did he like to read? Romance maybe? You were sure he did. You excuse yourself to go to him. No one seemed upset by this, though Wyll prods at you a bit as you go pinching your arm and making a teasing sort of noise. Karlach laughs too but gives him a shove.

"They're in love, come off it." She snorts when she says it, just as teasing as he had been. He looks at her and you feel a knowing sort thing tug at your stomach. You save him the embarrassment though and trot off with a pointed 'hmpf' at them.

You poke your way into Gales tent, when he looks up he seems delighted to see you.

"Hello, I didn't think you would follow me." He closes the book he was reading and sits up a bit more, "I'm glad you did." He gestures for you come closer, to sit.

"I was curious." You sit with him and look at the book he had discarded.

"Curious, for what?" He always looks so intently at you when you speak, it makes you flutter.

"What you were...reading." You push the hardcover with your fingertip and he perks up at your interest.

"This is a history book, I was interested in learning more about this land. I tend to not travel this way. Honestly I don't much leave Waterdeep at all, I have plenty to learn."

"I see." The candle beside him flickered and lit his face up, his hair casting long shadows across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks. "Do you like to read history books the most?"

"Hm.." He ponders that, "no I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"I'm only curious." You continue to muddle around with the book, it looked heavy.

"Only curious? Would you like to read some? You probably know more about this area than I do though." He nudges the book towards you and you shake your head, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

"No....thank you." You shake your head and pull away from the book as if it had burned you. "What sorts of books are your favorite to read?"

"My favorite?" He wonders, "I like to read...poetry collections."

You recall him saying he does enjoy to write, "I suppose that makes sense."

"Though I won't turn my nose up at a good mystery, or even a love story."

"Really?"

Gale smiles at you his earring catches the light when he tilts his head with it, "of course. I'll enjoy any book if it's written well enough. Are you very picky then?"

"Me?" You flush, "no..no I.." You look away, "no I don't really..read much."

"I have noticed you don't bring a book, yes. Though I figured given the perils of our situation it wouldn't be abnormal to cast aside your typical hobbies." Gale is sitting across from you, your knees are touching. You know deep down he wouldn't truly care. He was a limp noodle on the battle field and he was never embarrassed to show you that. "You could have one of mine." Gale offers, "whatever you like, or we can find something more to your tastes on the road." Despite this knowing you still feel humiliated.

"No I couldn't.." You shake your head, 'these are yours, you must care deeply for them to take them along with you."

"Oh no," Gale takes your hands as they had been waving him away, "a good book is meant to be shared by all, the best service I could do a book I care for is to share it. Books are meant to be read. Whatever you like, consider it yours."

"I..." You feel his palms against your finger tips, "that's very kind of you Gale." You glance at the pile of books he kept with him, they looked equally large and intimidating.

"It's nothing, I'm glad to have somebody to share them with. Especially when that somebody is you. You don't even need to ask, take and enjoy whatever you like."

"Well.." You look away from his easy gaze and to the corner of his tent. "The thing is...I...can't....well not to say I can't I just-"

"Can't? What?" Gale sounds confused, "read?" His eyebrows shoot up, "surely you can read."

"I can read!' You shove him a bit, "just...not very well." You feel your face burning with embarrassment.

"What does it mean to read well? To read at all is good." Gale laughs a bit, perhaps at your fluster, "really, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. You've spent your whole life fighting, probably dealing with threats just as large as this one, who has time to read?" He turns to sit beside you, he leans against the back of his tent where it's propped against a rock.

"It would take me months to read one of these big books. I haven't got a brain like you Gale." You shake your head and lay back beside him. He seems to preen at the praise. You look up at him and he looks to you stammers for a moment, then laughs. You feel his eyes scan your face, and the heat radiating off his body. There's a silent command in the air between your that draws you closer to each other.

"Lately, it feels like I haven't got much knocking around up here at all." He taps his temple, "what have you done to me?" You smile, and give a small huff of a laugh as his hands cover your cheeks, holding your face gently and drawing you nearer. You share a kiss that's warming and kind, your hands hold onto Gale's wrists.

"I wouldn't mind, if you kept the book and took your time with it." He offers as he noses against your cheek, "they would be months well spent."

"I'm worried it would overwhelm me." You flatten the wrinkles in his shirt over his chest, "so many pages. I'd feel like I have no choice but to rush."

"You've no need to rush." He kisses you again then trails his lips to your cheek, then your temple. You rest your hand on the side of his neck, thumbing occasionally at the ends of his hair.

"Why don't you...read to me?" You pull away to look up at him, "I would love to hear what you think as we go anyway, you're much better for these sorts of things."

"Really?" He perks up again, "I fear you'll tire of my voice."

"No," you laugh a bit, "no Gale, never. Pick one, something interesting."

He goes for a moment, rummaging around his things before producing a hardcover book, he sets it on your lap.

"This one I like, it's a mystery, but there's a love story in there as well, and plenty of wonderful twists from beginning to end." He taps the cover as he settles next to you again.

"I think that will do well then." You look up at him, "you know I could not imagine doing this with anyone else. Telling you a thing like that was actually...difficult for me. I could not imagine opening up to anyone else like this."

"I should hope so." Gale replied easily, flipping open the book, "have you had other wizard callers?" He raises an eyebrow at you, "because if you have might I strongly recommend you throw them all to fire. Wizards make terrible lovers and are hardly commendable companions."

"Really?" You laugh, looking up at him. He just nods.

"They'll almost certainly take advantage of you. Truly conniving they are. Their noses are always stuck in a book, they'll jump at any attention at all. Give them an inch, they take a mile."

"Mhm...that does sound right." You agree, thumbing at the corner of the hard cover.

"Yes, truly a wretched kind that lot, certainly never to be trusted even at the worst of times."

"And what about you?" You lean against him, resting your head against him and pulling your legs up to your chest. "Would you take advantage of me? Are you to be trusted?"

"Oh," He sputters, "who, me?" He puts a hand on his chest, looking almost offended but his grin gave him away, "no not me, me so deeply devoted to you? Do you truly think so little of me?"

You snort and turn into his arm, "you're right. Are you going to read or just flirt with me all night?"

He laughs back at you, "come on then." His arm comes around your back and you peel open the book. He starts reading, his voice is quiet, as if you weren't the only two people in the room and he was trying to keep this story a secret.

It's a good story, or what you hear of it is, Gale interjects with a few anecdotes here and there but they only help the story along for you. You even interject with a few questions or shocked remarks here and there.

"No! How could he do that to her?" You cut Gale off with an offended gasp, "she loved him!"

"Wretched lot, Wizards." He taps the book laughing, "see I told you."

"You did..." You settle back into place against him. He makes it through a good deal of the first few chapters before you start to doze off.

"Your eyelids are looking particularly heavy." You feel his lips against your hairline when he says it, "are you falling asleep? Have I bored you so much?"

"No!" You try to muster the energy to sound offended, "it's good, I like it so far. Its just laying like this makes me doze off." You turn into his side, "keep going."

He hums, maybe he's considering a teasing remark about reading you to sleep, he must elect against it because he rests his chin against the crown of your head and then continues to read to you. He reads until you've fallen completely asleep, by then he's feeling heavy himself.

You vaguely sense him shifting you around to lay down, but you don't stir much, just settle into him once again.

[ssaeri]

for your eyes only

☆ tags: elliott x gn!reader, elliott and farmer are married, he writes love poems for his spouse and is told to monetize them, oh boy is he not happy about that ☆

You pat your pig's backside encouragingly and coo as it digs its snout into the ground, unearthing yet another truffle that you add to your basket. Can't believe you were worried about this one being the runt of its litter—it's quickly proving to be one of the fastest learners, taking to truffle hunting like a duck to water. It'll do just fine with the rest of the adult pigs.

Taking care of the farm by yourself has always been a gargantuan task, but as the years go by, everything grows bigger—the coops, the barns, the ponds, the crops, the expectations—and exhaustion wears you down to the bone. You sigh and push to your feet, ready to head into the nearest coop to collect more eggs. Collect animal products, drop them into churning machines, harvest and sell. It feels like the cycle never ends. Against your neck, the small mermaid's pendant slides on its chain, another reminder of your absent husband. An extra pair of helping hands made the daily work light; you wonder if it's selfish to ask him to stay home more often.

"I know, I know," you say to your angry chickens once you open the door. You miss your husband, but these girls like to remind you that they miss him more. "He'll be home soon. Bear with me, okay?"

After giving each of them pats on the head, a motion they accept with reluctance, you dig around the hay for eggs. The large chicken and dinosaur eggs are easy to spot, but for the delicate duck eggs, you prod every corner with your fingers until you come across something warm and smooth. You push away your hens as they peck at your hands. The ducks are fine with you. The chickens, however...how in the world did Elliott win them over?

Outside, your dog barks. A single warning to the intruder before the tone shifts into excitement. Someone familiar, then. Maybe Marnie is stopping by to give you some hay like she mentioned last night. With winter approaching, any addition to your reserves is appreciated, and you're already wiping your hands on your overalls to greet her.

"Hey, Marnie! I'm just in here—"

You stop in your tracks when the visitor raises his head, though he's not exactly a visitor. Elliott smiles as you draw close, ignoring the horde of chickens now lining the fence for his attention. Their wings flap, clucking loudly as they hit each other.

"Good morning, my love," he says over the noise, as if it really is the start to a normal day. His thumb reaches out to rub at a dirt smudge on your cheek. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Just some leftovers and coffee," you reply, dazed. Your husband tends to have that effect, and after two weeks apart, you feel it more than ever. You lean into his touch, comforting against your wind-blown skin. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow?"

"I decided to come back early. The office didn't need me today, anyway."

"You should've messaged me! I would've picked you up at the train station," you say. Behind him sits his traveling suitcase, the wheels speckled with mud from being dragged through the road. He steps in front of it. "Why don't you go get unpacked? I'll be done soon."

He leans his elbows onto the fence, tilting his head until his fiery hair spills over one shoulder. "You're rather quick to dismiss my presence. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're unhappy to see me," he says, though his words hold no accusation. It's merely a way to boost his ego when you reassure him. After all, you practically radiate by his side. "Would you like me to help?"

You glance at the dress shoes, the slacks, the spotless cardigan that he's already shrugging off to reveal a clean pressed button-down. Not exactly farm-friendly attire. "No, I'll be alright by myself."

"I could go change really quickly," he offers in a suspicious rush.

You search his expression then, and underneath the joy of being back, there's...something. You squint, unable to make it out. Sure, he must've missed you, but this feels like it runs deeper than that. When you give him a nod, he hurries towards the house, your dog chasing and barking at his heels. True to his word, he's back in minutes.

The chickens are much more cooperative now, and you roll your eyes at how they parade around your husband. They even hop around the coop, showing him where they've hidden their eggs from your intrusive searching.

"Thank you, dearies," he says to the hens. You swear they swoon.

"A real heart breaker," you deadpan. "Have you told them you're married?"

He chuckles, taking your hand as you move into the barns next door. While you lay out new hay on the feeding bench, he unhooks the stools and milk pails and sets them on either side of the door. It's hard to believe that just a few months ago he barely knew how to approach your animals, let alone help you with the chores.

He whistles lowly, and the first cow trudges to his station, ready to be milked. You get settled at your own station. One of the newer goats skids to the front of the line, eager to be let outside. It's not quiet in the barn—it never is, not with twelve grown animals waiting for their turn—but when you call Elliott's name, he looks at you. His ponytail needs to be retied.

"So why'd you come home early?" The young adult goats don't have much milk, just enough for a small container. You pat its hind leg, and it runs into the crisp autumn air with an excited bleat.

"I missed the atmosphere of our farm. The fresh air of the valley is good for my creative soul, unlike the bustle of Zuzu City."

You only raise your eyebrows, and he sighs from your all-knowing gaze.

"You read me a little too well, my love."

"I sure hope so, after all this time together. Did something happen at the office?"

Since the release of his last collection of short stories, he's been invited to the city more often for author-related events. This latest stint, running a series of writing workshops in partnership with Zuzu University and the local community, was organized by his agent in hopes of bigger opportunities. Maybe even a guest lecturer contract, they've said on more than one occasion, though Elliott refuses to be apart from you for too long.

Elliott gives another sigh. "Something like that. I just...it was admittedly negligence on my part. I was in the middle of writing you another letter when someone required my presence down the hall. I thought that it'd be a quick matter, so I didn't clear my desk. But apparently one of the secretaries came looking for me while I was out."

"Did they read...?" You wrinkle your nose, knowing how private Elliott is about his unpolished work. He's even more private about what he writes for your eyes only. "I'm sure they were embarrassed."

"That's what bothers me the most! She had the audacity to bring it up in front of everyone when we had a meeting, even quoted a few lines—"

The cow groans as he moves particularly rough. He gives it an apologetic scratch under the chin.

"So for the past two days, everyone has been trying to talk me into releasing a collection of love poems, which I would have no issues with if it didn't stem from such a personal...I mean, the poems were addressed to my muse, and when I explained that it was you, they said that was even better. Something about how the romance will really sell." He frowns. "I like being able to support myself—contribute to our funds, you know—with my writing, but it's not...a commodity. I'm allowed to make art for the sake of making art."

His forehead is furrowed, and you would reach out to ease the frustration if your hands weren't busy.

"What's your plan now?"

He scoffs. "There's no plan regarding that. I completely refuse. It's quite insulting, in fact, the idea that I'd put my love on display for a paycheck."

It's relieving, you have to admit. Even after getting a taste of success, your husband remains the same person you said your vows to. The same romantic who holds you in such high esteem. There's so many emotions—namely affection—swirling in your chest, but you're not the writer so all you manage is a simple Okay.

"Okay," you say again for good measure, but he must understand you because his expression smooths. "So what do you want for lunch?"

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.2 (Anemone) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 4,218

Notes: I don't feel like the summary completely matches this story anymore. I'm also not really satisfied with this chapter, but I'm too tired to really get into a whole bunch of drafts and edits, I've just really been feeling poorly lately. The archive is for writing progress anyways, it's fine. I'll probably rewrite this whole chapter if I ever get to where I'd be comfortable posting finished versions to Ao3. I'm also just not fond of my writing style somehow. It feels too formal, doesn't flow enough. Problem is that I really talk like that lmao. Idk, I'll figure it out.

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part

Bangchan clambered into the van behind Felix, Minho and Jisung loading into the row in front of them. It always felt a bit weird to not spend some time swapping seatmates around based on who was clinging to who at the moment, but on days like today it was easier to just board the vehicles as quick as possible.

He's ended up with a relatively quite combination of their cluster today, and Chan was grateful for it as he settled into his seat with a pained grimace.

He wasn’t sure when it had started, but a persistent on-and-off pain had been roaming around his back for the last twenty minutes as they’d said goodbye to Stays and prepared to leave the venue. He’d be more worried about it, except the sharp, needle-like, pains would settle into a gentler ache before kicking back up again.

As it was, Chan was pretty sure he’d pinched a nerve or strained something and would simply rest when he got back to the hotel. Maybe call up the PT. For now, as three of his soulmates settled in around him, Chan was content to leave it be.

Well, almost. Another twinge of pain makes him wince as he twists to buckle in, and Chan decides that maybe it’d be a good idea to know what he was working with. For comfort’s sake, if nothing else.

“Felix,” He prods the blond next to him, “Can you look at my back for me? I think I pinched something.” He motions toward his lower back, where the majority of the pain had been accumulating.

Felix immediately nods his acceptance, their group’s resident massage expert always willing to lend a hand. Especially if it let him lay hands on his very well built soulmates.

Chan scooches forward and rotates around, balancing with his hand on the headrest of the seat in front of him. He helps Felix shimmy his shirt upwards, struggling with it where it gets caught in the seat-belt.

Chan ends up stuck struggling on his own as Felix chooses that moment to direct his eyes and hands to the afflicted area.

“There’s your first issue,” Felix tuts, “You’ve left your concealment tape on. You’ll give yourself a rash one of these days, hyung.”

Chan gives a sheepish smile from where he’s managed to trap himself in a cloth prison. His head is free, and the shirt his appropriately bunched up over his shoulders and around his neck. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to free his hands, so he’s got a bit of a t-Rex thing going on right now. It’s fine.

“I forget it’s there,” he confesses with a whine, “I can’t see my own back, y’know?”

Felix rolls his eyes at their oh-so-glorious leader, carefully peeling the thin material away from Chan’s skin as he scolds, “You still need to take it off. We sweat way too much to not at least change it after a performance.”

He’s bunching up the extra-strength tape to maybe toss at Jisung in the front seat (maybe Minho, if he’s feeling very brave), when he spots something off.

More than half a decade into having found each other, the members of Stray Kids were intimately familiar with each other’s soulmarks. Every drop of color, every line, every curve.

So when Felix looks at the freshly uncovered canvas on Chan’s back, familiar trees, bushes, and rocks painting a forested landscape that describes their impact on their eldest, something new immediately catches his eye.

There, on the fallen log that bridged two banks of a crystal-clear creek, was a moss blanket and a cluster little shelf mushrooms. They added life to the previously defunct object, a little bit of color that couldn’t have been said to be missing until it wasn’t.

The closer Felix looked, the more he saw. A mushroom here, a mossy patch there. Little signs of life and decay that he could have sworn weren’t there the last time he looked.

He looks to Jisung, who’s blissfully unaware.

As the first of their cluster to paint Chan’s skin with color, he was the most familiar with their leader’s mark. Jisung had been too young for his own mark to have appeared when he’d met Chan, but that didn’t stop him from influencing their eldest’s. They all knew he’d spent a lot of time studying Chan’s mark (and Changbin’s when it had appeared, already partially colored in) while waiting for his own.

If there was anyone who’d be more than certain of a change in their soulmarks, it’d be Jisung.

Felix swiftly removes his hands from Chan’s back, earning him a little noise of confusion from the prone man, and reaches over to poke Jisung harshly in the side.

Jisung immediately flinches away from the offending fingers with a loud yelp, attracting the attention of Minho, who’d been peacefully scrolling on his phone. Jisung swiftly fixes Felix with an offended glare, ready to retaliate, but is cut off before he can even try.

“Look at Chan’s mark for me.” Felix demands.

“My mark?” Chan echoes, baffled and alarmed. “What’s wrong with my mark?”

“Nothing, hyung,” Felix assures, “I just need to check I’m not seeing things.”

A series of furtive, silent, and, on Felix’s part, urgent, gestures are exchanged before Jisung finally relents and leans around the back of his seat, grabbing Minho’s for balance as the van departs.

Jisung lazily traces his eyes over Chan’s soulmark. All of Stray Kids had huge marks, but Jisung privately thought that Chan had them all beat. His mark spanned his entire back, not an inch untouched by the image. From shoulder to hip was an oil painting of a mark, filled in from what used to be a desolate landscape to what was now a thriving forest.

Jisung used to think it was so overwhelming to be part of such a mark. To be loved so much, and so deeply. It was evident in every brushstroke of the image on Chan’s skin, and in every action of the man himself.

These days, he found great comfort in it.

He’d gotten so lost in thought as he studied his soulmate’s mark that Jisung had almost missed what had caught Felix’s attention in the first place. But sure enough, his eyes catch on the same log that Felix’s had.

“Oh.” He whispers to himself. “Oh.” He says again, as Minho shoves his head under Jisung’s arm to look himself.

“No, yeah, that’s different.” He confirms, Minho nodding against him, having already spotted it for himself. The two of them find their eyes glued to tiny mushrooms, only sparing a moment to glance at each other before returning their gaze to Chan’s skin, each with their own racing thoughts.

“I thought so.” Felix nods to himself.

“What?” Chan questions, becoming more alarmed by the second, “What’s going on? What’s happened? What’s wrong with my mark?”

Felix lays his palms flat on Chan’s back and begins to rub gentle, soothing, circles. Any changes to a soulmark were stressful at the best of times, and they all knew how much Chan treasured his.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Felix soothes, letting the warmth of Chan’s mark resonating with his touch calm them both as he searches for gentle words.

“It’s just,” He begins hesitantly, “Well, the good news is that you haven’t pinched or strained anything.”

“Good news?” Chan echoes, “Is there bad news?” He lets a nervous giggle fall from his lips even as he relaxes into Felix’s hands.

“Not necessarily?” Felix says uncertainly, “It’s just. Well. Your mark has changed.” He pauses a second and pulls out his phone, quickly snapping a picture and then passing it around so Chan can see. “Something’s been added.”

Felix lets the implication of his words sit untouched in the air as the three of them wait for Chan to process what this means.

Ironically, Chan was the least familiar with his own mark out of all of them. His and Minho’s both resided on their backs so it stood to reason that the two of them didn’t see their marks very often. So it was no surprise that it took Chan several, very long, moments to spot the tiny changes.

When he does, Chan pulls in a deep, stuttering breath. The pain is already fading out to an ache now that it’s been acknowledged and Chan isn’t sure how he feels about the extra confirmation.

He carefully pulls his shirt back down, breaking his soulmate’s line of sight like they hadn’t already burned the image onto their retinas. He doesn’t remove his eyes from Felix’s phone.

“I...” He trails off, “I have another soulmate?” His voice is filled with wonder as he marvels at the picture of his mark. He looks up at the rest of his soulmates currently in the van with awe. “We have another soulmate?”

“Yeah,” Minho whispers, voice choked with emotion, “Yeah it looks like it.”

Felix doesn’t wait for Chan to fully turn around before he’s pulling their leader into a bone-crushing hug, giddy, disbelieving, laughter spilling out of him even as tears prick at his eyes.

“Oh my god!” Felix celebrates quietly as Chan wiggles to return his hug just as tightly. “Oh my god.” The other man agrees.

Even as his soulmates celebrate around him, each feeling their own storm of emotions, Chan can’t quite grasp the reality of the situation.

Stray Kids was a uniquely large soul cluster. From the beginning, when it had become evident that Hannie wasn’t his only soulmate, it had caused issues. Then came Bin, and the rest had followed like dominos. Each time their circle expanded he’d thought “this has to be it, right?” and each time there was a little voice in the back of his mind saying, “No, not yet.”

The issue was that that feeling, that little voice saying ”not yet”, the knowledge that they weren’t complete, had never gone away.

By the time they had all met, none of them could spot anything obviously missing from their marks. All of them were completely colored, lines drawn, images complete. And yet, every one of them felt that hollowness of an incomplete bond.

They’d talked about it a lot. Individually, as a group, in pairs and in quartets and seemingly endless combinations. It was hard, as the years went by, to ignore that nagging feeling.

Chan would always remember Jeongin crawling into his bed in the middle of the night, crying and apologizing for not being enough. Could never forget taking Jisung to a rage room so they could both break down their feelings or drinking with Changbin and wondering if it was wrong for them to be so greedy as to want more when they already had so much.

After so many years, they’d begun to wonder if they were just broken. If they didn’t have another soulmate out there after all, and it was all in their heads.

It had been hard. It was hard.

And now that little blank space in his soul was painted with someone else’s colors and Chan felt whole in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever experience.

It kind of made him want to cry.

He wanted to cry even more when Felix innocently asks, “So what were they like?” An unmatched eagerness in his eyes as Chan pulled away.

That one guileless question triggers a realization in Chan that has his groaning in despair and slumping forward back onto Felix’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.” Chan mumbles into the shoulder of the slighter man.

“What was that?” Jisung questions from where he and Minho were still turned toward him, obviously as curious as Felix.

“I said I don’t know!” Chan wails, wilting further into Felix’s frame.

“How do you not know?” Minho questions incredulously. Felix gasps as he connects dots he’d been too excited to before.

“I didn’t even know my mark had changed before now,” Chan explains miserably, “I don’t even know exactly when the pain started.”

Jisung sucks in a hiss of air, sympathy splashed across his face. “Oh geeze,” he breathes out, “How many people have we met today alone?”

“Ok, well,” Felix interjects, “Not ideal, but we’ll figure it out!”

Minho turns his incredulous stare onto the optimistic man.

"How are we going to figure it out?" He demands, "Because there were tens of thousands of people in that stadium and I know every single one of us shook dozens of hands tonight."

Felix wilts a little bit even as Jisung comes to his defense, "We kind of have to figure it out, hyung," he points out, "And soon. We're back to Seoul soon."

"Okay but how?" Minho challenges, "And don't give me any 'with the power of love and fate' crap."

"We might have to rely on fate." Chan shrugs, dejected. "It's not like I have a description or anything to give out."

"It'll be okay Channie hyung," Felix pats Chan's back lightly from where they're still entangled together, "It'll have to be."

The van descends into silence as the four of them contemplate their new situation. After a few minutes Chan leverages himself up and out of Felix's embrace to frown aimlessly at his knees.

"Well," Felix breaks the silence, "We don’t have any more shows after this, and we have some days of break time, right?”

“Right,” Chan confirms, “We have tomorrow off and then we’re returning to Seoul to start working on the next album.”

“But officially,” Felix hedges, “We have, like, an entire week off, don’t we?”

“Not quite, but sure,” Chan hesitantly agrees.

“Well, we know they were in town for the concert at least,” Felix continues, “So as long as they didn’t leave the city immediately after, I mean, there's seven more first contacts to go, right?”

“Are you saying we should spend our break wandering around trying for first contacts?” Jisung asks, “Because I’m all for searching for them, but I don’t know that aimless wandering is gonna help.”

Chan holds up his hands to halt that conversation before it could devolve into a bigger debate.

“Let’s shelve that for now, and meet up with the others at the hotel,” He suggests, “We should discuss this as a group anyways.”

He receives a variety of agreements and the four of them settle in for the short remaining drive back to their hotel. He absently hands Felix’s phone back to him and retrieves his own from his pocket to ask the others to meet them in his room.

Chan looks out the window, post-concert fatigue all but a memory. As the buildings pass by, he can’t help but hope that their mystery soulmate was looking for them too.

You reaffirm your decision to never ever meet your soulmates as Taylor loads you into the car, arm wrapped protectively around your shoulder the whole way.

It was one thing when your stupidly large soul cluster was just an idea. Knowledge you held, but unactionable in any way.

It was another when you had evidence, in the form of little white flowers burning with warmth on your skin, that they were real, physical, people.

Even worse when you knew that they were a group of very famous musicians.

You hadn’t actually been sick when you’d texted Taylor, who’d thankfully managed to get all of the autographs he’d wanted before he’d checked his phone to try to find you, but you were getting there. Anxiety had nausea creeping up your throat like molasses.

You’re beyond grateful when your roommate doesn’t question your sudden illness, the both of you well aware that you were hale and hearty when you’d left the house.

Taylor just buckles you in like you’re something precious and fragile and takes the wheel.

The two of you drive in silence the entire way home. It’s not awkward, but you can’t deny the weight of something heavy in the air. The buzz of the concert still lingered between the two of you, and it only made the silence stifling and itchy.

When you pull into your apartment complex neither of you speak for a long moment.

“Sorry for ruining the day.” You murmur to the air in front of you. Taylor just reaches over to pat your thigh and unclip your seatbelt.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” He assures, “Don’t sweat it.” He hesitates a moment before continuing.

“I’m not gonna push,” Taylor begins gently, “But you know you can talk to me, right? Whatever happened, I’m not gonna judge. I just wanna be here for you.”

“What makes you think something happened?” You mutter mulishly. Taylor just gives you a look that has you sinking into your seat.

“It’s nothing. I’m just being dramatic.” You admit. He bumps your shoulder with his and climbs out of the car.

“It’s not nothing if it makes you feel something.” He tells you as he goes. The two of you walk up to the apartment in silence, contemplative this time.

You think about telling him as the two of you separate to wash the concert off of yourselves. You think about it as you take turns using the bathroom and as you make dinner side by side. You think about it as you settle in front of the couch at his feet as his hands automatically pull your head to his knees, his fingers digging into your hair just how you like.

You want to tell him, you decide. You do. It's just that. Well...

Your sister was right, in a way. You’d known Taylor for over a year now, but the two of you didn’t really know much about each other. You really were just roommates.

You didn’t know what his favorite color was. You didn’t know the names of his parents, or if he had any siblings. You barely knew what he did for a living. He’d only ended up your roommate by virtue of you responding to his “roommate wanted” ad with full willingness to be murdered on the spot.

At the same time, the two of you knew everything about each other. You knew how he took his coffee in the morning, that he preferred his eggs dry and over-seasoned. You knew the bands he liked and the games he played. You knew his hobbies better than you knew your own sometimes, and more about his friend’s drama that you ever wanted to.

You know the important things, you think.

You know that every word you tell him in confidence will be clutched tightly all the way to the grave.

“I met my soulmate today.” You confess, your cheek pressed to his knee, half-asleep.

The words somehow feel like they were snatched from the darkest depths of your soul as they spill from your lips. You make no move to take them back.

Taylor’s hand, to his credit, only pauses for a moment. Then he treats your hushed admission like any other comment made while you nod off to dramas the both of you know you only watch for him, resuming the soothing movement of his hand and humming lightly to acknowledge you.

You think it’s that casual treatment that lets you find the courage to continue.

“Well, one of them anyway.” You mumble. Taylor hums his interest, but doesn't take his eyes off of the screen and doesn’t stop petting your hair.

“I don’t want to meet them. There’s so many of them and only one of me, y'know? I don’t even know how to love myself, how am I supposed to love eight other people?” Taylor says nothing still, his eyes glued to an episode of a drama you know the two of you have already finished three times over.

“I’m scared I’ll fuck it up. I’m scared they’ll fuck me up.” Your voice cracks as you breathe life into one of your deepest fears. You realize as you say it that you’ve never voiced these thoughts aloud before, even to yourself.

Tears prick at the back of your eyes when you admit, “I’m not ready for them. I don’t think I can be.”

Taylor finally gives in to the seriousness of the conversation and hauls you bodily up onto the couch. You go willingly, but with rag-doll limpness. He rearranges you to his liking and you find yourself in Gossip Position, sitting criss-cross facing him.

“First of all,” He starts in, his usual levity giving way to a seriousness you rarely see from him, “Don’t be mean to my best friend. I’ll hit you.” You ignore his threat in favor of the warm feeling in chest at hearing him call you his best friend.

Take THAT Ma! No friends your glorious behind.

“Secondly, you are literally the most loving person I have ever met in my life. You would fit the entire world in there if you could,” He pokes your chest, right above your heart, for emphasis, “So I’m not that surprised you have more than one soulmate.”

“I have eight though,” You argue, “Isn’t that weird?”

Taylor just shrugs. “I mean, yeah. But weird is basically your brand, so...” He trails off with a teasing smirk.

You shove him a bit in retaliation, but he just grabs your wrists to still you and continues speaking before you can argue.

“I don’t think eight soulmates is enough for you, honestly,” He muses, “I mean it when I say you’re the most loving person I know. I think you’d even try to take care of Danny if he needed you to.” The mention of Taylor’s very creepy second cousin sends a shiver down both of your spines.

The worst part is that you can’t even argue with him.

“But you know, even with eight soulmates, you don’t have to be with them.” Taylor suddenly switches tracks to reassure you, “They’re your soulmates sure, but you’re your own person. They’re for you, it’s not like they are you. You can live without, if you really want to.”

The two of you let that statement settle for a moment. He’s right, you know all too well. Still, the thought leaves a wad of uncomfortable and complicated feelings lodged in your throat.

After a moment’s pause, you break the silence.

“I have too many years of trauma and not enough therapy money to unpack everything I’m feeling right now.”

Taylor cracks first, and giggles come pouring out of the two of you. The joke wasn’t even funny, but you guessed the two of you had been serious for far too long.

Some minutes later, when the giggles finally die down and you return to watching Taylor’s show, you find yourself with your head on his shoulder.

“Whatever you decide, you know I’m here for you, right?” Taylor quietly picks up where the conversation had left off.

“Sure,” you agree, “Like I was there for you when you cried over a boy I told you wasn’t shit.” You completely deserve the elbow to the side you receive for that comment.

“Shut up, I’m being cheesy!” Taylor scolds with a laugh.

“I’m lactose intolerant!” You complain, but obligingly fall silent.

“Seriously,” Taylor insists, “I’ll be here every step of the way. Whatever you need.”

You wrap your arms around the one of his that you’re leaning on and give a gentle squeeze to show your appreciation. “Thanks Tay.” you murmur.

“Of course. You got me front row tickets to a SKZ concert, we’re ride or die whether you like it for not!” You poke his side to scold him for not being serious after just insisting that you be, but end up having to fight for your life when he immediately retaliates by trying to tickle you.

It takes the two of you quite a while to calm down again, Taylor smug in his victory. He holds your ankles in his lap like trophies of war as you stare at the ceiling. The quiet creeps back in quickly, so you speak.

“I’m just not sure what I want, I think.” You tell him, “I don’t want to meet them. But at the same time, I really do, y’know?”

Taylor nods, “Just let the universe do its thing.” he suggests, “If you’re meant to meet them now, you’ll meet them regardless of what you want. But after you meet them, it’s all up to you.”

You nod along, humming your acceptance of his advice. He’s right, again. You can’t really fight fate, even if you desperately want to. But even within that large restraint, you’re a human being with free will. The world is your oyster and all that.

You let your thoughts fade out and just listen to Taylor yap about the drama on the TV as he finally tunes back into it.

It’s nearly dawn when the two of you decide to turn in, post-concert jitters having deserted you and heavy conversations having taken their toll.

“Did you manage to get their name before you bolted?” Taylor asks out of nowhere as you’re walking to your respective rooms. “Your soulmate’s” He clarifies at your confused look.

“Oh, I didn’t need to.” You answer absentmindedly, already opening your door and dreaming of your cozy sheets. “It was Bangchan.”

You close your door on his gawping face, blissfully unaware of the crisis you’d just sent him into.

Perma Tag List: @Mbioooo0000

[libraryofneith]

Out of Mind - Chapter 9 (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

@hiroikegawa @evyiione @orcasoul @taz-97

*mrs weasley voice* Where HAVE you been?!!!! I know I know I'm sorry for my prolonged absence. I'm in my last year of uni, applying for post grads when all I really wanna do is write about our fav baby girl Joel Miller. If ever this happens again, which it probably will, worst luck I promise I've not abandoned you! I'm loving writing this fic and have big plans for new ones. Huge thank you to everyone who has liked and messaged me, assuring me that I have not been forgotten.

If anyone else wants to be the first to know when this fic is updated let me know and I'll add you to the taglist.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Summary: As you and Joel make the trade, your trust in him is stretched to its limits.

Warnings: [whole fic is 18+ minors DNI], it puts its age in the bio or it gets the block button, cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, attempted sexual assault, i'm going to put *** at the beginning and ending of any descriptions of sexual violence so you can avoid if necessary, Joel is still a dick, not me getting mad at him for things I made him do.

"you know I'd never let them hurt you."

"Do I?"

You

An icy wind startled you awake. The tip of your nose and cheeks had frozen where they'd been poking out of your sleeping bag in the night. You blew into your hands and tried to rub some warmth back into them, careful not to move the rest of your body or you'd wake Joel who was pressed up behind you.

You'd split the first few nights out of Boston, one of you resting while the other kept watch, but soon exposure to the elements had rendered caution impossible and you'd been forced to sleep at the same time, swaddled under both of your sleeping bags, desperate bodies clinging onto each other for warmth. Most nights you could feel Joel fighting to stay awake, body tensing up every time you started to relax until you hissed at him to quit it. Whether it was for fear of being attacked or refusal to accept any comfort from you was hard to tell.

Your body stilled as Joel shifted against you and you felt a familiar poke in your lower back. It had become something of a wake-up call recently, gently poking you awake on the rare occasions that Joel slept longer than you. It was a sensation with which you were familiar and you kept reminding yourself that it happened to a lot of people in your current situation and it didn't mean anything. Still, as a long, low moan rumbled in your ear you couldn't help but wonder which mystery woman was plaguing Joel's dreams currently. Tess? A ghostly apparition from his past? Or maybe, just maybe, you'd managed to worm your way into his sub-conscious. But you quickly scoffed at the thought. If Joel had any dreams involving you they probably involved wringing your neck.

Joel

She was in his dreams. Again. He always clutched her to him as if he already knew how she would slip away when he woke up. That was the worst part - spending his dreams coiled around her, nose in her hair, arms wrapped around her body, thrusting his hips, searching desperately for release - then waking up still embracing her but having to tear himself away, thanking whatever heartless God existed that she was such a heavy sleeper.

He pried himself away from her warmth, trying not to notice the way she immediately started shivering without him, prodding her until she woke.

"Time to get up."

"Mfff" was all the response he got.

"C'mon move your lazy ass."

"Go away."

"God, you would sleep all day if I let you. Gotta be the worst smuggler I ever seen." That got her up.

"How much further?"

"Not long, we should be able to reach em before sundown. Now remember when we're in negotiations…"

"You do the talking, I decorate the background."

"I know, Tess told me." Joel grimaced.

"What you do is try to be invisible. These folk don't play nice."

He would've much rather done this on his own but Tess insisted he needed back-up. He'd told her before that Ciara was her responsibility, not his, that she would be the only person to blame if she got hurt, but they both knew that was bullshit.

"You ready?" If she was rattled, she didn't show it, just nodded.

Unfortunately for them, Joel's estimations were exact: it was barely afternoon by the time they got to Marcus's camp. Guards frisked them at the perimeter, he noticed that one of them lingered a little longer than was necessary over her and he had to resist the urge to punch him.

"Let's go."

You

As you made your way through the camp, you had a distinct feeling of de ja vu. You hadn't encountered a group like this since before you came to Boston, after which you swore you'd never put your fate in someone else's hands again, fat lot of good that did. Now you felt like a fish swimming into a net.

This Marcus reminded you too much of Robert, except while Robert needed to hire bruisers to do his punching, this guy looked more than capable of striking his own blows. He gave a curt nod to Joel then his eyes turned to you and there was a cruel glint.

"See you've traded Tess in for a younger model." Joel cast you a furtive glance, but said nothing.

"You got what's ours?"

"We have what we promised" Joel responded, producing the collection of guns and ammo you and Tess had filched from the FEDRA base. At the time you'd been pleased to put your skills in climbing and creeping to use but now you didn't like the idea of giving this guy weapons. When you'd asked Tess what he was going to do with it, she rolled her eyes and said "Some light gardening. What do you think?"

"It's still mine till I decide otherwise." But he opened the trunk at his feet revealing a treasure trove of tea, coffee and batteries. You struggled to keep the greed off your face and you could see that Joel was doing the same.

You'd told yourself that everyone needed tools to survive and it was up to him what he used them for, not you. But now, as you looked at Marcus, you could see the faces of everyone you'd ever lost flashing before your eyes.

"It's all there" Joel said as Marcus rifled through the assortment of weaponry.

"Sure seems that way, but now I'm wondering if this is an entirely fair trade."

"It's not. We're giving you FEDRA level weapons in return for batteries n bullshit. You know as well as I do Marcus, that you're robbin' us blind."

"Might seem that way to you, all tucked away in that cosy QZ, but what's the feeling of a gun at your side compared to the feeling of a woman underneath?" Suddenly, you could feel the eyes of every man in the camp on you.

"What're you suggesting?"

"Give me n' my boys a turn with your slice and we'll walk away happy customers."

"C'mon Miller, don't be greedy. We ain't seen a woman in months."

There was a horrible silence. You couldn't hear anything but the ringing in your ears. Finally, Joel replied: "I don't share."

"Probably cos you scared em all away."

"Listen, I promise we'll give her back the same way we found her, more or less. I'll even throw in a few packs of cigarettes we got off a trespasser a while back. Been saving them for a special occasion."

The men were closing in on all sides now, like walls sealing themselves.

"How many packs?" Your stomach dropped.

"Three."

"Show me." Marcus produced the cigarettes with a flourish.

"J-Joel" you managed to stammer out.

"Shut up" Joel glared at you. "Unless you want a repeat of what happened in Austin."

Austin. That was his signal. Loosely translated, it meant trust me, even though things seem shit at the moment, I've got a plan. You have to trust me. And you did. At least, you thought you did.

Joel turned back to Marcus as you cowered behind him.

"At least lemme look at the merchandise."

Marcus beckoned him forward as you could feel his men shepherding you to their side of the camp. You felt a brush on the small of your back and you flinched, looking behind you, but all you could see was a sea of smirking faces.

You watched carefully as Joel went through the trunk. In a flash, you could see a glint of metal. Bullets. Joel must've stashed some in his coat pocket or sleeve. You glanced around, waiting for shouts of alarm or gunfire, but none came. Then Joel was looking at you, just for a second then back at Marcus, and you could see what he saw: under his jacket, a knife strapped to his belt, and a pretty hefty one. Could tear you a new one, or him.

Joel shut the trunk and stood.

"It's all here. I'll be back for her at midnight?"

"Done."

"You two boys escort our friend out of camp, I get first go."

"Right well, enjoy."

You cast one last glance over your shoulder as two huge men prodded Joel with their guns, leading him away from you, as Marcus placed a beefy hand on your shoulder and led you away from him.

*** You swallowed your tears, refusing to give this man the credit of seeing you cry, repeating to yourself, please help me to be brave, please help me to be brave.

"Alright sweetcheeks that's far enough." Bile rose in your throat as his hand forced your head down, pushing you onto your knees. You didn't want to look at him but he grabbed your chin, tilting your head up.

"This'll go a lot easier for you if you don't fight back. I'd hate to return you broken to my associate. That's just bad business."

His shout was cut off by you sticking your fist in his mouth. Teeth pierced your skin but you didn't flinch. You just grinned and said

You said nothing, just nodded and started to unbuckle his belt. You ignored his hand stroking your hair in a disgusting display of tenderness and focused on your task until it came loose. You met his eyes one last time, smiled, then stuck his knife into his groin.

Marcus groaned pitifully and collapsed. Before you could finish the job, you heard the rattling of gunfire and you took off back towards the camp where you could see Joel, having grabbed one of the men's guns, shooting his way through Marcus's men. Unfortunately one man he hadn't accounted for was sneaking up on his left side. Not his left side.

"this'll go a lot easier for you if you don't fight back", sticking the knife into his side.***

The man barrelled into him and had his hands around his throat.

"Let go asshole!" You screamed, plunging the knife into his throat before he had a chance to obey your order.

Joel stared up at you with bulging eyes as you pulled him up, then you both dove behind a crate as shots rang out all around.

"You go left, I go right."

"Real smart thinking giving these douchebags guns" you quipped, but Joel ignored you, responding:

*** You nodded, then edged to your left as Joel drew their gunfire away. It was criminally easy to put your knife through the first two guys but as you grabbed the third one and slit the blade across his throat, you felt a fist closing in your hair and yanking you back. You tried to scream for Joel but another hand clamped over your mouth. You thrashed wildly but to no avail, whoever it was had you in a complete grip. Then you were going flying, hitting the ground with a grunt and feeling your arms and legs pinned as you stared, in horror, at the face of Marcus, covered in blood but still very much alive.

"Guess you shoulda finished me when you had the chance instead of running to help your boyfriend."

"Get off me!" You yelled, turning your face away, the only part of your body you could still move.

Then a single shot tore through the air and Marcus let out a gut wrenching roar above you. Two hands appeared on his arms, ripping him off of you. You remained on the ground, gazing up at the tree tops until a familiar face came into view, tufts of grey and black beard matted with blood.

"I'm gonna enjoy this so much more." You looked around wildly. The sound of gunfire had stopped but you couldn't see Joel, just trees above you.***

"Joel." He helped you up, keeping a firm but not ungentle grip as you swayed in the breeze. The sound of a groan brought you back to reality. Marcus was squirming on the ground like a fish on dry land. A gun was pressed into your hand.

"He's all yours." Marcus whined as you approached.

"No wait, please I didn't mean it, take what you want, let me go, I'm sorry, I won't ever do it again, please…"

You steadied your hand and aimed for his forehead.

"This'll go a lot easier for you if you don't fight back" and you pulled the trigger.

"Are you hurt?" You gazed at Joel who was looking at you with concern. You threw your head back and laughed.

"Am I HURT?!" With a scream that you didn't even realise you were capable of making, you launched yourself at Joel, punching and kicking blindly, shouting "are you hurt? Are you hurt? ARE YOU HURT?"

Joel caught your fists.

"I'm sorry, it was the only thing I could think of." You kept kicking him. "I had to get their guard down and get them separated from their leader." You kicked him doubly hard in the shin. "Ow, stop, you know I'd never let them hurt you."

"Do I?" You screamed, "DO I KNOW THAT?"

Joel held your gaze as your voice echoed throughout the forest. You were suddenly, painfully aware of the death that surrounded you.

"We need to get out of here." You tore yourself away from him and started searching blindly for your pack."

Joel jumped, then followed you as you ran out of the camp.

"Ciara…"

"NOW!"

[ampedupkaon]

August Writing Challenge Day 31: Galand/Melascula

AN: I randomised the order... and these two were last again! Set during the Holy War 3000 years ago; the night after the bit where Mons and Deri have been Indura. Melascula and Galand both escape and... she has questions for him.

“Melascula, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She glared at Galand for his tone. She'd gone looking for him, annoyed when she couldn't find him. She'd ended up having to go to his room, which was not the image she wanted to portray when she was angry with him. And of course, the lug was lounging in bed, seemingly without a care.

“What were you playing at?” His eyes widened a little.

“I'm not sure what you're getting at.”

“You grabbed hold of me and dragged me out of danger. I'm perfectly capable of saving myself you know!”

“Wait, you're getting angry with me for saving you? Really?”

“I could have saved myself!” She snapped, bristling in annoyance. He shrugged.

“I am aware of that!” Galand snapped back; getting annoyed because he was being told off for being a good team mate.

“Then why did you grab hold of me?”

“Is it really so strange to think I might actually care about you?” Melascula looked shocked by the words; knowing them to be true. He couldn't lie, after all. She also wasn't touching them with her whip fully extended.

“You should have let me handle things on my own!” He looked hurt by the words; good.

“If it bothers you that much... take a free hit.” She boggled at him. Really? He was going to let her hit him?

“Anywhere?” She smirked; knowing exactly where she wanted to hit. It was nasty and he wouldn't be expecting it. He didn't answer, so she formed her darkness, taking aim. Galand squawked, hands darting to cover between his legs.

“You said I can have a free hit.”

“That does not mean you can try to crack my nuts!” He remarked, sounding rather worried.

“Fine. I won't hit you down there. Roll over.” He whined, but did as she asked, lowering his head and lifting his rear.

“Who says I want to...?”

“Melascula, if you want to smack me between the legs... you're definitely going to smack my arse like I'm a naughty brat.” She grinned; he wasn't wrong. She quickly lashed the whip down, delighting in the squawk of pain this earned. She readied the whip again and he rolled back over.

“One free hit. Put that away.” She whined, but did as he asked.

“Did it hurt?” She asked. He lay slightly differently, possibly because his backside was still sore.

“Like a damn, you sadistic brat.” She laughed, amused by his complaining. It trailed off into a yawn and she'd swear his look softened, just a little.

“Do you want to stay the night?” She wondered where that had come from.

“You look tired and... I'm willing if you are. Even you are sadistic.” She grinned; pleased he was still whining. It might make him think twice about doubting her capabilities.

“Are you getting sappy there? Want to cuddle, just in case it's the last time?” Melascula's tone was mocking. Either Galand didn't notice or he didn't care.

“Call it being sappy if you want. Maybe I want something warm in my bed. Maybe I'm a little sweet on you.” The maybes bothered her. He couldn't lie; but suggestions like that were open to interpretation. And she was not going to ask whether he did or didn't. That wasn't nice. And the thought of him being sweet on her was... sort of appealing. Only sort of; he wasn't her type.

“I'll stay the night. Just this once. To please a sappy old man.” She floated over to the bed. He didn't appear annoyed by her statement, instead rolling a little. Making space for her to lie with him. She lowered down, right on top of his side.

“What do you think you're doing?” He asked. She fidgeted a little, trying to bully him into rolling back on to his back.

“You're being my bed.”

“I'm not sure that would be very comfortable for you. The space I've left would be... hey!” She started prodding between gaps in the armour plates, making him shudder.

“Do it or I'll get the whip back out.” He whined.

“Get off then... you are quite the demanding bed mate.” She ignored the jibe, lifting up so he could roll. Once he had, she lowered back down on top of him.

“Finished bullying me now?” She laughed, Galand sounded fed up as opposed to annoyed. She saw him yawn, and realised he was just as tired as she was.

“For tonight. Your tummy is more comfortable than you think.” She settled down, seeing him do the same.

“Good night, sweetheart.” Her cheeks heated, just a little, at the pet name. She would ask if he meant it in the morning, but was sure it had slipped out without him thinking. She decided there might be a tiny bit of stock in the 'I'm sweet on you' he'd told her before. Melascula waited a moment, before whispering to him.

“Night Galand. Sweet dreams.” She brushed her lips to his tummy, before dozing off. She didn't see the grin on his face after she'd done it. She didn't feel his arms slide around her back either. She knew about it in the morning though.

AN: Melascula wakes up first in the morning and gets annoyed by him holding her the way he is. She wakes him up and asks what he's playing at. Galand then tells her she suggested last night that he was going to cuddle with her. He just decided to do so.

[not-terezi-pyrope]

FIPTION: There Is A Crack In The World (Review)

So, I finally finished "There Is A Crack In The World", the largest part of my fiction reading trade with @fipindustries. It's taken me a while, and I haven't spoken about it much here as I read, sending my in the moment thoughts to Fip directly, instead. Part of the reason I didn't finish it sooner was because I am abroad, and I've been distracted by not being in my own home, hanging out with my boyfriend, actually hanging out with Fip in person, but regardless; I am done now and here are my thoughts.

Crack in the World is a really interesting book for a lot of reasons. There are a bunch of things I didn't like about it, and a bunch of things I really did like about it, and it's fascinating for me how those things intersect. I'll start with my biggest criticisms; the writing itself is very one-and-done, unedited prose, which, combined with this being a novel written in a second language, results in text that feels fairly sloppy in parts, spattered with spelling and syntactic errors, odd sentence phrasing that needs a second eye making adjustments. There are some moments where I can feel the author had a clear picture in her head, but where the details didn't come out as clearly as might have been liked to the reader. These issues would be the biggest barrier to this getting published properly one day, but it's also arguably the most straightforward to fix; the book just needs a thorough editing pass, either by Fip or another editor. The intent is clear enough that I think someone could fix up these issues without any author input, and indeed I found myself doing so in my head as I read. The core meaning is solid, and so when thinking about the book I am going to largely ignore the typographical stuff, the narrative now feels fairly accurately transcribed into my head where I can prod at it as a consolidated story, and it is that story that I'll be reviewing.

The important context for CitW is that it was written when the author was, per her description, dealing with having been in a pretty bad place, and so the tone that the novel seeks to strike is a pretty grimdark one. According to the aftermath post linked at the end, parts of it were an exercise at writing "unrepentant misery porn". Maybe I am desensitised to dark fiction, but a lot of the book didn't really come off that way to me, but in a way that's almost to Fip's credit; even when she's trying to write a dark and miserable story, Fip's delight in writing about whacky characters playing out dynamic adventure narratives comes through in many places, and so the book's dystopic setting feels more Mad Max than 1984. The setting is dark and grim, but it's a cartoonish kind of grim that is, to be frank, mostly just sort of fun. There's a teenage edginess to a lot of it, which Fip has talked about being an accurate description of the mindset for some scenes. The times when that edginess doesn't work are, ironically, when the book really tries to be dark but in a way that pushes into being too crass to be endearing. There's a lot of blood and gore, which I appreciate, but then there are anal rape and shit jokes, which I do not, it feels a little bit too immature and too aspirationally edgy. I think some of that is regretted in retrospect. It doesn't detract too much from the overall feel, though.

The plot is also surprisingly straightforward, not as labyrinthine as I had expected at its core, a fairly conventional dual-protagonist adventure arc culminating in crossed paths (with several side-vignettes, as I discuss later). The ending is dark and follows up on the themes of hopelessness the most effectively of anything in the novel. After the entire book, I think that the background thematic radiation has built up enough for it to be earned, by that point. The final chapter and epilogues are a little fast and blunt, but not unworkably so.

There are two big strengths to the book, two things that I really liked. The first is the characters; Fip is primarily a visual/comics artist and you can really tell, even via writing alone, that she really likes coming up with cool characters with their own specific emotional vibe, and setting them off to interact with each other. These are guys who all feel like they should come with their own splash screen, tag line and iconic halloween costume. There's something almost superhero comic strip about the iconic identities of the characters, about their specific skills and motivations, true even for those that don't actually have their own "superpowers". But don't get me wrong, there's plenty of superhuman individuals on display, here; we have impossibly tenacious gun-wielding assassins, murderous, practically invulnerable clown girls, jungle mercenaries using anti-air rifles as a personal pogo stick, Russian mobster types, a literal dark lord... It's very whacky and fun when you get down to it, which is what really tempers the intended grimdark tone. You might fear that there's some dissonance there but it merges into something unique and interesting. That said, perhaps a more tightly edited version could change some passages with that in mind.

The second thing I really liked was that the story is used as a sort of... Stage setting for a bunch of smaller, more contained narratives, almost smaller parables (sometimes literal parables) that slot into the story. These are clearly separate ideas that were floating around in the author's head, and a lot of them are more tightly written than parts of the main narrative, more fully formed from the start. The two interlude chapters are the clear standouts in the whole work, and both are examples of writing in the style of these little vignettes. I do almost wish that the rest of the story was more integrated to match, there is a risk a few times of the non-sequitur insertions coming across as a little piecemeal, but this becomes less of an issue near the end - the second interlude is at once its own thing but is deeply connected to the rest of the story, and it makes absolute sense that it comes when it does.

One thing that the vignettes also highlight is the difference between pre-planned narrative trajectory/pacing and the "write on the fly" nature of the rest of the novel. There are some times where, in comparison, the "standard" chapters are at risk of tripping off required plot occurrences by rote without dwelling on them, and it's most notable by contrast. Keeping the little sub-stories in the novel is well with it though, and the pacing issue could be fixed with editing.

Other little things I liked: the bounce back and forth between protagonists in alternating chapters was very fun, and helped keep the pace up. I liked seeing the world from different perspectives, and from characters with very different roles in the world. For that matter, I liked the world itself; the worldbuilding was fun, if a little tropey, and I enjoyed trying to dissect the lore. There were a few things that didn't hold up to scrutiny lore-wise in retrospect, but that's understandable given the serial publishing. On the other hand, there was a lot of cool thematic stuff and character foreshadowing that was clearly planned well in advance and paid off really well. I'm avoiding specifics due to spoilers, but there are a lot of fun surprises in this novel!

So that is There Is A Crack In The World. Not a perfect book by any means, but a lot of fun and vibrant ideas. Fip has been sending me her excellent artwork for the story, which really adds a lot, and that compounds my desire to see this adapted as a sort of pulp graphic novel, given an ideal world. At it is, if there is future development of the story to be had it would be in a thorough editing pass. This is not required, however; the story is a fine artefact as it exists on its own, as rough around the edges as it may be, it tells an interesting and satisfying tale of some very cool characters. It's a shame I didn't get through it faster, but I'm very glad I took the time.

Great job Fip. Next up I read The Milkman (although that may also be slow coming; my preemptive apologies).

[seethesunny]

whumptober 2023 tessjoel version

Following the official prompt list—but with my own twist—for 31 days, I'll be writing pieces inspired by them focused on Tess and Joel (with some limited appearance of other characters) (mostly Ellie bc I love her) (not bc I like it when she suffers).

I don't really do challenges, so be patient, that's all! Enjoy the pain and suffering, and let me know your thoughts I pour my heart onto the angst <3 fics are under the cut:

Day 1:What am I missing?

Maybe it's bad luck, but between their streak of good days, something awful was bound to happen.

¹-.“But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

[safety net | swooning | “how many fingers am I holding up?”]

Day 2: know it's for the better

Maybe marriage wasn't for them.

²-. [Aftermath of failure]

Day 3: still, there's this horror at being left behind

It's been so long since Tess last saw Joel; didn’t even know what happened to Ellie.

³-.“Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

[journal | solitary confinement | “make it stop.”]

Day 4:I'll meet judgment by the hounds

During their roadtrip, Tess gets sick.

⁴-.“I see the danger, it’s written there in your eyes”

[cattle prod | shock | “you in there?”]

Day 5: so terrified of the road that takes you

Unlucky bastards, they'd always tricked death, dangling on the dangers of this world. But not today, the horses' hooves resonated in the asphalt, not today.

⁵-.“You better pray I don’t get up this time around.”

[Debris | Pinned Down | “It’s broken.”]

Day 6: favorite crime

A wonderful future mother, a father sinking down from his past actions, a chain of events.

An eye for an eye.

⁶-.“Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

[Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”]

Day 7: wished that I could kill that thing that kills us first (and twists the way we love)

She looks down at her hand, the fingernails that got broken, and she fears what she will discover once their clothes are off.

⁷-.[examination]

Day 19: Cool About It

There’s a darkness that prickles her at night, sometimes. A raw, devastating feeling carving itself on her, and she’s clueless of where it comes from.

¹⁹-.“I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

[Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”]

[galaxae]

hi adrian :3 🔎📄and 🤬 for the ask game mwah ily

mwahhh ly2 thankyou for the ask for real

(my lovely mutual green is referencing this post here)

🔍Give a clue (a picture, emoji, a word, etc) and let your followers guess what a WIP is about.

hmm which wip to do... ok no i got it i'm gonna do a quote. the quote is not actually in the story but it's a shorthand thematic description i use

"never give nukes to a teenager"

🤬Is there a WIP that you hate?

i don't really *hate* any of my creations. they're all very special to me! that said, honestly, the one i like the least right now is my short story "one good day" about a lesbian supervillain, her backstory, and her "redemption" if you want to call it that. i havent touched that story in a while because i wrote it when i was in a very dark place (last october-ish?) and my writing class' reaction to it was mixed, which makes sense obviously it's a first draft, but i was still hurt bc i was in a sensitive spot emotionally. my professor really liked my revisions of it for the end of the semester, but still. i'll return to it when i've healed more from my parents' bullshit, maybe. that story very much explores a toxic, complicated parent-child relationship in depth and idk how much i can handle that right now!

📝Share a snippet of an unposted WIP, with or without context.

oh naur not this one....... i suppose i will tho. putting this one last so i can do a readmore. enjoy

There’s a name that haunts me. Azalea.

I heard it once, years ago, while my dad was talking about a family friend. That name has lingered like a ghost behind me ever since. Sometimes, it tugs on my shoulders, or says something in my ear that I can’t make out, or clings to my back like a desperate child. I’ll be in the middle of something — a meeting at work, a drawing, my boss calling me into his office — something important, something I need to give my full attention — and I struggle, already, with paying attention to things — and Azalea makes it worse. Azalea, Azalea, Azalea.

The same name as a genus of flowers, or the common name for that genus, at least, because Rhododendron is more likely to make your eyes glaze over when you read it. That one wouldn’t make a great human name. They’re pretty, used widely in decorations for people’s lawns, so much so that it’s hard to find info about how they actually originated and evolved, or what purpose they serve in the natural environment, separate from humans. And insects thrive in their presence. But they are toxic, highly toxic for humans. Even for frogs, too. Dangerous, angry, and deadly, but still so beloved by everyone, somehow.

I don’t even remember anything about the family friend my dad mentioned. He hasn’t brought her up in years. But Azalea, not the person, but the name, she is still there. Pulling at my hair from behind, shaking me awake from a drunk stupor, poking and prodding me. I wanted her to go away at first. I don’t know why she’s there or what she wants from me. But she’s around, either way. She has been for years, maybe a decade or longer. I’ve grown accustomed to it.

The last thing I remember is this. A white blur in front of my windshield. A steering wheel in my hand, shifting of its own accord, its cold fake leather running through my palms. A skid. A voice, possibly mine, saying, “Oh god!” A loud crack. Then, silence. Silence, save for Azalea’s frantic whispers.

And now I'm here.

This is some imitation of the bedroom of my childhood. The one I stay in now, too, of course — I'm not going to deny that I moved back in with my dad. But this one looks like it did when I was young: a mattress that could soak me up like a towel on a spill if I wanted it to. A stripe of frog and swamp wallpaper across the wall opposite me, surrounded by those animal fun fact posters, with a few comic posters scattered through those. A tall dresser in the corner, the old one my dad grabbed from a yard sale, that looks like it survived an apocalypse or something.

I sit up. I try to sit up. My hands feel like static. When they push me up, everything blurs.

I really miss that frog wallpaper.

My sight evens out pretty quickly. Looking at the posters again, now that my eyes are more on their level, they look torn. Some corners are missing. The words on them are made of symbols I don't recognize, maybe another language, maybe Samoan. I know that’s the language of half of my blood. Does Samoan use different symbols than English? I don't actually know. I kind of wish I did.

The posters switch places with each other. They cover and uncover the frogs. There are more of the posters and then less of them. My head hurts all of a sudden.

My nightstand, down and to my left, could be a saving grace, something that doesn't hurt to look at. That plain, dark wood, with the alarm clock on it that didn't work (my dad always had to wake me up himself, even when I was a teenager). Usually it was covered in pencils, sticky notes full of my sketches, empty wrappers, dirty plates, the original nightstand mostly obscured. When I look this time, the only thing atop it is a piece of paper. I reach for it.

Dear Carter Gaumond,

We regret to inform you that as of Monday, October 28, you will no longer be employed wi

The paper dissolves in my hands. Crumbling to dust. That poor stranger. This guy got fired.

Oh, no. Hold on. That guy is me. That's my name.

I'd almost forgotten.

That was four months ago, I think, this letter in the mail. And now I'm here, wherever I am. Feeling like I'm about to throw up.

--

i'd love to give context if anyone wants it but that right there is a revision of my novel's first draft that i wrote in 2020, unsure if or when i will publish it but yknow, it's there

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Hi! Would it be alright if I requested Leo/need tickles? I don’t really have a solid idea but maybe Saki or Shiho or someone is overworking themself/getting frustrated with a song and need to relax and take a break. I’m sorry that it’s vague! You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Thank you so much for everything you do! I adore your writing!

Take a break

Bro are you kidding?! I'm a sucker for leo/need so feel free to request them anytime!

And thank you for the kind words at the end! So glad you enjoy my writing ^^

Hope you enjoy X3

___________________________________________

Saki x Shiho (interpret as you wish)

Lee: Shiho

Ler: Saki

Warnings: Tickles!

___________________________________________

It was one of those days were Saki happily went over to Shiho's house in order to drag her out and go do something fun. When she arrived she was greet by a joyful Shizuku, telling her that Shi-chan was in her room. Saki went on over to her partner's room, and to her disappointment Shiho was swamped working on a new song by her desk.

"Shiho what are you doing?? I thought we were gonna hang out!" Saki exclaimed all pouty.

"Not now, I'm busy..." Shiho quickly dismissed her, all of her attention focused on her song. Saki looked down all dramatically and dragged her mopey self over to the Hinomoris living room, where Shizuku was seated at, trying to figure out how to send Airi a gif through her phone.

"Saki-chan, what's wrong?" asked the elder one, patting the seat next for her.

Saki sat down and let out a sigh "I wanted to hang out with Shiho but she rather spend her time working instead of being with me!".

"Aah poor Shi-chan has been cooped up in her room working hard these past few days, I was hoping she'd atleast take a break today...".

Both girls sighed over the actions of the hardworking yet stubborn girl. Suddenly, Shizuku sprung up with a great idea "Hmm... maybe you could use a different method to get her out of her room".

"Oh yeah? Like what??" Saki's attention perked up as Shizuku gave her a teasy smirk, whispering her silly and yet effective plan into the blonde's ear. Saki grinned from ear to ear with the information Shizuku provided her. She waltzed back over to Shiho's room "Shiho-chan!! This is your final warning!" she declared as she stomped over to her partner, spinning her chair around to force her to look at her.

"I already told you I'm busy, now leave me alone" Shiho tried to spin her chair back around but was surprised when Saki took a seat on her lap, keeping her trapped in her chair. "S-Saki?! What are you doing?!" the stoic girl exclaimed a bit embarrassed and confused.

"I told you this was your final warning, now I'll have to persuade you through other means~".

"Huh- Pfft! Ahahahaha! S-Saki dohohon't!" Shiho squealed and bursted out in bright laughter when Saki dug her small fingers into her ribs, prodding and squeezing at the ticklish bones.

"Hehe~ Coochi coochi coo~!" Saki teased as she kept playfully tickling her partner's ribs, tapping along as if she were playing a melody in her keyboard. The blonde hummed along to one of Leo/Need's songs as she tickled her, Shiho's laughter seeming like music to her ears.

"Sahahaki stahaHAP!" Shiho weakly held onto Saki's wrists, her cheeks fully red and her laughter echoing off in her room. Shizuku listening in and giggling to herself from the living room.

Saki noticed the higher she went up her ribs the more desperate her laugh sounded, and that's when she remembered an important piece of information Shizuku gave her. She slipped her fingers under Shiho's arms, softly wiggling her fingers against the tickle spot.

"WaHAHAIT! NAHAHAHAHA!" Shiho threw her head back as she screamed in laughter, clamping her arms down as tightly as she could, but that didn't stop her partner from tickling her silly.

"Who knew someone so grumpy could be so ticklish~" Saki teased her, earning a flustered squeal through her bouts of laughter. Shiho had her eyes squeezed shut, her face fully red and her smile was so big it was unrecognizeable, but it definitely suited her.

Once Shiho started hiccuping through her laughter, Saki slowed her fingers down to a stop, getting off of her. Shiho panted in her chair completely out of breath, a big smile left across her lips.

"So... ready to go out now~?" Saki gave her a sheepish grin before going wide-eyed at Shiho's mischevious grin.

.

.

.

"WAHAHAIT SHIHO! WE CAN TALK THIS OUT!".

Shizuku suddenly perked up from her seat to see what the commotion was about, only to find Shi-chan chasing Saki around their house, revenge written all over her face. Shizuku smiled, glad that Shi-chan had such great friends to rely on and have some silly fun once in a while.

___________________________________________

Can I just say that Shiho's alt cover of Stage of Sekai is actually the best thing ever?! It's like a drug for me, I can't stop listening to it XD

She is one of my favorite singers in the game, next to Rui and Akito 💖

[crater-lake]

91

3/30/24

This is not my choice.

In order to get anything (phone had to change it haunting) out I have to speak about my right pointer finger which feels too warmly against the back of my phone, my upper right trap aching along its ridge, the back of my head wet with itching, my face twinkling with itches. As I write this, I am defying the sensations: small, restless needles prodding my face.

Outside of my window: outer Amsterdam. The metro line is elevated and runs sleek trains littered with graffiti to and fro, like Gotham City. A big bus depot takes most of the view. Buses return, say "geen dienst" and go to sleep, like I should be doing. Light is starting to warp into summer. Primordial indigo, shattered gold, industrial silver reek from the landscape. Canals tesselate blocks into chunks of city. Wine dark water laps like a thirsty dog at the artificial wall. Inches above where the water purrs, a faint green glows, showcasing the precision of sun and water in harboring life. Bikes are not even chained to fences. A big building on the left holds big windows, most dimly lit. Staircases slither up the right hand side. The road opposite the depot carries nervous cars and drunk bikers to and fro. There is not really a sense of danger. I write about these things to express gratitude for the present tense. My god, there is no greater gift: this voice, these letters, sit in a room in Amsterdam.

This is the furthest away I've ever been. I also write because I dislike sitting idly and getting revved up by my phone. I deleted the app (it is clear which one). I am trying to rock the frustration into understanding and save some important conceptions for later, for when I'll need them.

Just yesterday it was Molly Brodak's birthday. (A subway train just rushed by.) I am also done with Molly, the book, which documents the nature of her suicide. I have been puzzling at her death for some months in close reading her poetry. I need to be patient for whatever voice feels next. I also need to read more often. To understand her better.

Her poetry feels like a dissection: like body parts, also beating and pulsing, but unable to work together. Her enjambment (this was autocorrected stupidly) invoked broken metal ripped out of concrete foundations. A broken jaw slobbering over mute syllables. And ice pack freezing tense into singularity. The lurid metal juts out sharply like broken limbs. It feels warlike. Mollys poetry is barraged by various griefs. And neglect. How grief manifests around absence over and over. I understand why she cheated for example. The poetry is an assessment about the nature of not having a story, really. I think her voice maybe drove her to suicide. The conclusion of it. I wonder if she hadn't written, she wouldn't have died. I maybe worry that whatever I conclude from building poetry in myself will kill me.

I know it is not just writing that did it (car whooshes from far away. It is not just the quietness of distance, but the muteness, like speaking underwater. The way your eyes see through the gauze of light. The skin bright as summer. And young.)

Molly's writing is surgically precise and disjunct. I think her syntax is incant and brilliant. I am plagued by too many words. I don't know which words to trust. I'll have more to say about this later.

The writing did not just do it. But making sense of her gravity. I do wonder if she enjoyed feeling cleverer than others, through the severity of her judging other people. I fear the ways I connect with her. I feel jealous of her having such conviction and fierce analytical skills. She just understood things and announced it. I wish deeply to read "Folk Physics." When I one day feel brave, I am going to be a poet too. But this version of me, probably not. But I am proud of who's next.

I read through the suicide this morning. She ate halloumi. It was pretty heavy. Though it feels good to do non phone related things, and to keep the poetry spinning around, for fear it hardens into a nothing thing, and to keep finding ways to have good conversations. To just be more conscious when it is possible. Conscious and reasonable, and even empathetic.

The industrial allure of outside my window arouses my longing for summer. I have inchoate visions of falling through an amber city 100 of layers deep. Of capsizing. Of collecting distances from rooftops and fire escapes and high windows and blowing smoke out of me into any captivating wind. The way it comes out of you for good. I am trying to remember well the good TikTok I saw about the seasons and wrap myself into the flavor of that nostalgia. If I were younger, I wonder how all of this would change my life.

Another reason I write this is that what once broke me does not break me. I move between beautiful places mostly unscathed and not feeling battered and feverishly lonely, after the fact. I leave and the whole of me goes. The more I have experienced and written and love lets me be stronger. And I know how to enter and leave experiences. I can touch men, smoke, find the good flowers, book a tour. But I write in honor of the boy I used to be who would marvel at the joy and quality and impermanence of my life. I feel remarkably safe.

I was just in Brussels and the family friend I used to feel limerence for used to live there (I do not want to check Grindr). I was prowling those streets minutely curious about how growing up there was. Zach seems to have no connection for Belgium. He just was in Europe at an age when my whole life was confined to Metuchen. My suburban American house. I didn't know the glory and safety of it: the reality that my world was my world. I didn't know how to feel important or heard yet. I am making efforts to be heard, not just by others, but by myself, above all else.

I writhed then, in my room, on July 22, 2013, and cried into my diary. Because why did I have to suffer like that, and then? Because, he who I am. Who I am, loves exactly like this. I mean it and try to mean it. I let beauty disarm me. I pretend fight with him with giant metal spoons to make the smile in his eyes even softer. He was soft and caramel brunette and horribly ephemeral. His precious body was around for a few hours. I used to dream of the weeks and feel thrilled by the anticipation. This was the only sort of love I had then, because I wanted out from my loneliness, and when you are younger, such feelings are the only conceivable experiences larger than the loneliness. Not larger, but more real. As a child, I called my solitude loneliness and said that is that. Back then, I let my loneliness make me more real. Loving Zachary helped tend the fire of that feeling. I wept with the chains of despair, and it felt good to point at something that would envelop you.

Hours after he left. My basement was more than empty. My body disturbed the spatial silence. I felt shifted: my childhood black and white game, where inversion allowed you to traverse levels in totally different ways, getting from one door to the next. I went down there and my story detached from me. The loneliness of that basement. I went to the blue leather sofa, with the cigarette holes from my dead aunt, and sniffed the seat where he had been sitting. It was hypnotic, saccharine, lovely. It welled my eyes like a bee sting, or stabbing your toes. I wrapped myself in whatever it was. I felt connected to all of the other selves that longer for him in that loneliness shawl. I don't know anything we would ever talk about it. In that part of my life, it was difficult that things happened at all. Now things happen all the time, and I don't feel anything. I was late to this party of unfeeling. Kylie Roesler didn't feel grave in Eighth grade like me and would go to barbecues or something and was just cool. But I was nervous and lonely and felt excluded by beauty and beheld it for too too long all the time. And I like pleasure too much to be swayed to ignore it in most instances.

I thought of this self when I was in the Magritte museum looking at his progression as an artist and reading French quotes on the wall. I saw "the Explanation" by Magritte, the wine bottle, and the carrot, and how explanation is a type of transformation that weaves contest between two arbitrary things. Context can be connected between anything and doesn't need to be. Magritte contended with the wordiness of words. The infernal nature of conceptualizing the world at large. He made superficial commentary about modernity, consumption, linguistic conception, and epistemology. I wonder what drove him to keep making art despite not being so good at it initially. He called his art visual poems and I don't know if I fully agree. I am trying to connect this to Zach. I think of the house in the tree stump and I understand because I have a Jose Tejas in a Christmas Tree under my nipple. I have a red shiny apple for a heart. I have a Wii remote. I bite into it and it gushes water. I have ideas that let me fly for a while. I ignore select important things in order to live and relish the ability to do so.

Magritte understood some concepts don't exist. Good artists respect the boundary of their arts meaning. And some like to make fun of it. And others feel very disturbed by it. Molly Brodak said that the facts leave her out all the time. I acknowledge meanings shore like Jasper, the annoying cat I live with.

When I keep the door open, Jasper runs in and eats any of the food I have on my desk. And he sits on my lap, just to bite my arm hard for petting him. And every time I go to the kitchen, he waits patiently at the door for food. Vulnera is how he asks, every time, for the food. It makes me frustrated but not insane. I am pretty alright that the words fail like lantern light retreating inside phantom dark. I am pretty reasonable about what we can agree on. Poets try to be really weird and that is just good advice.

The last concept I want to think about here is the supposed conflict between meaning and feeling. Because I am spending a whole lot of time discussing feelings and then ask, but what does it mean? That I am a lover or doomed or chronically sad or defeated? That ... anything? I think because language teaches us explanation exists, that cause and effect are valid modes of slicing reality into easier bits, that we encounter flavors of feeling all day and through heuristics at them. But in par with this metaphor, you cannot use science to taste, you have to live. Molly writes very abstrusely. The images seem random, unorganized, fringe. This is the very point of their mentioning.

Charlie, my good friend, said putting objects in a room is a good way of writing an effective poem. Molly takes the room away. And just throws object. Maybe Magritte puts objects in a room and asks if these are really the things he put there or what you think is there, or what you think the room is. A feeling is the last apple on a table, in the nighttime, one day before it overripens, it's soft skin fallow yellow, squirmish. I don't agree that it is powerful not explaining the absurdity of that movement inside- but I do revel the awe of responding to anything and asking everybody else except knowledge what they think about this living. If there are siblings to languages, they are not speaking with logic. Faith, maybe, speaks with credibility or feeling. Other rhetorical forms maybe offer insights into different meaning systems. Meaning is not absolute and it is horrible stretching out words in poems all the time to throw strange linguistic shadows in the mind eyes to simulate living. It's dreaming of a four dimensional word by ciphering two dimensional shadows on a walk that doesn't even exist.

I will spend time soon collecting objects and self fix instances for a room I call my own. And not even to avoid suffering. And not even to relish the transformative nature of writing, which I most look forwards to. But just as a practice in present tense, in self respect, in being conscious, analytical, and empathetic. The joy of learning.

I have reached just the end of what I am actually thinking about. Before this, I was in Grindr for a while wanting to be wanted for an hour or so. I am pointing at myself pretending it is enough. I accept how it is not enough and don't let it burn, though it is uncomfortable. I scrolled through TikTok not having talked about this with anyone. Even though Emily is here, and we've had a great time, this sort of regurgitation didn't seem appropriate for her or the friendship, which I don't mind. Some people just wait for people to draw things out of them.

[ftmerriweather]

You ever just write 600 words because you're furstrated with your identity? I know it can't be just me.

Anyway, here's the draft of something I wrote in bed this morning, characters made up on the spot. Maybe I'll take this up for NaNoWriMo, maybe I'll never touch it again. Who knows

~*~

Sylvia was feeling a bit impulsive as fae kicked the stack of crates.  It was ridiculous.  It certainly didn’t help anything.  It barely even made faer feel better.  Faer choices were either pointless destruction or letting faer rage turn to sadness, which fae had no intention of doing.

Eventually, a good three or four solid kicks later, fae stood back, breathing hard.

“Better?” faer friend, Ryanne asked.

Sylvia shook faer head.  It wasn’t any better. The world was the same.  The only difference between a few minutes ago and now was the cracked wood of the crates.

Ryanne frowned. She was a pretty enough girl, Sylvia supposed, with dark hair past her shoulders and more money than faerself.  Fae wasn’t even sure what color her hair was naturally, if that nearly-black color was hers or if it came from a box.  That mattered even less than the toppled stack of crates.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Ryanne aske cautiously, sitting on a crate that was on it’s side.  It looked stable at least.

Sylvia shook faer head again.

“Is this one of your silent moments?” she prodded.

“I can still talk,” Sylvia snapped.  There's just no point in it.”

“Syl…”

“Don’t Syl me,” fae replied, even more annoyed.

“Then talk to me.  You’ve been upset for days and I’m starting to get worried.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvia insisted.

“Babe, you just took out an entire stack of crates.  Something’s eating at you.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

Ryanne looked hurt.  Sylvia almost felt bad for it. Fae wanted to, at least, but everything was still so highly emotional it wasn’t working.

“Alright, sure,” she said.  “No problem.”

Sylvia took a deep breath.  Ryanne was faer friend and fae was supposed to trust and confide in faer friends.  But it was so much easier to swallow everything down into the pit of faer stomach instead.

“I’m just frustrated.  Everything is so isolating and I can’t fix it.  I can’t make people care because it effects such a small group.”

“What are you frustrated about?”

“Being aromantic.”

“I thought you’d accepted that?”

Sylvia huffed, tugging faer pigtails tight against faer skull.  Fae hated when they were loose.

“I have.  Which is why I said I felt isolated.”

“You’re not isolated,” Ryanne said. 

She leaned forward as she spoke, like she wanted to catch Sylvia’s hands, like she wanted to comfort faer.  Even her tone was soft and cloying in a way that made Sylvia want to take another round out of the crates.

“Easy for you to say,” Sylvia snarled.  “With your girlfriend to lean on.”

Ryanne pulled back.  “Wh--why are you bringing her into this?”

“She trumps me,” Sylvia said, aware this wasn’t the way to explain what fae was feeling, but unable to stop.  “Everyone gets a partner and that’ll trump me every time.  I never get that failsafe.  I never get someone who will drop everything for me.  I will always be the second choice because romance is more important.”

Ryanne looked hurt, like she wanted to cry.  “Not true.”

“Really?” Sylvia stepped close, crouching until fae was inches away from Ryanne’s face.  To her credit, she didn’t pull back.  “Are you telling me that if she called you at the same time I did and we were both panicking, you’d pick me?”

“I…”

“Exactly.”  Fae stepped back.  Tomorrow fae’d apologize, would admit fae’d taken it too far.  It wasn’t Ryanne’s fault she’d been raised in a society that saw friendship as secondary.  “It’s just the way the world works and no matter how hard I rail against it, I can’t change it.”

[colourful-void]

it's been one of my believes for over a year now, and many others feel the same!

there's a few good geeta fics that make reference to this, with varying degrees of application to her team, in how it manifests in the story, one example had geeta use a purposfully weak team since while she Couldn't hold back in terms of skill in battle she could put a severe disadvantage upon herself by ways of a weak team, and team order.

You can even see that in regards to the dlc, as when fighting geeta, she has a varied team in terms of a new starter mon replacing an old mon, (rip gogoat in the dlc... bring my boy back) ((this isn't exclusive to her)), and changes her team arrangement. ((this IS exclusive to her as of writing this, afaik.)). Specfically, putting glimmora in front, and kingambit in back, which in terms of abilities is stronger, though slightly less fun in terms of themeing. take that as evidence as you will.

back to fan interpretations, I've seen some suggesting that geeta's phrasing there is just an outright lie for the sake of boosting confidence in trainers, an exaggeration or part of her theming, or just disregard it entirely. I'll switch my interpretation to whatever feels most fun at the moment, but often I just shrug and call it a day. Geeta is, within the story, a very strong trainer who can't hold back, and the player winning just speaks to their skill. Geeta the Npc is, within the gameplay, not anywhere near your final boss (not even including clavel penny arven) and thus must be scaled down as an opponent. If i can pretend I'm not clipping through the wall i can pretend Geeta is hard to fight.

My personal favourite thought there is that Geeta is a very very strong tactical thinker, but ensures her Pokemon have no held items, no battle items, and are stuctured in order disadventaging herself, as well as a weaker team for the sake of balence. Ultimately, if she believed someone was Not Fit for champ rank but had made it here somehow regardless, she'd switch the team up enough to ensure they lost. This is my headcanon.

One of the things I think is over looked a lot is that the line directly following the whole "i am incapable of holding back in battles line" is “Maybe that’s why nobody’s passed this test recently. It’s a bit of a problem, to be honest.”

The league needs people to pass it, Geeta knows you are qualified and that you are growing quickly, so it's in her best interest for you to win.

Regarding Nemona, they are close! Nemona really looks up to Geeta, but Geeta is fond of her as well. The first time we even SEE Geeta is when she's asking Nemona to do her a favour. (implied to be her gym challange x2). While nothing crazy solid happens, the implication is that they have an ongoing relationship beyond 'person who runs that thing i like' and 'challenger of the league'.

I don't really need to prove Nemona's gushing and affection for Geeta, so here's Geeta's thoughts on Nemo.

There's more examples, but here's the thing of note,imo. These lines of dialouge are not impersonal. Geeta speaks of Nemona as, at the least, someone she's familiar with. There's quite a few instances of Geeta giving her support of Nemona, like telling you she thinks Nemona would be happy if you join the ace tourney, and saying that if you beat the league, you might "manage something wonderful, like Champion Nemona did.” In the dlc, there's a conversation between rika and geeta while they're discussing the player, and rika tells geeta not to steal you away from nemona, or else she 'throw a fit', to which geeta laughs at says she doesn't want that. that's a) establishing this casual relationship they have, and b) a light prod, though ultimately geeta says she doesn't want to upset nemona.

Their relationship is implied, and very subtle, but if you're looking for it, it's there!

The common interpretations I see are - Geeta is training Nemona (formally or informally) to become next top champ - Nemona is Geeta's apprentice (formally or informally) - Nemona, as champion rank, hangs around the league a lot - it's some kind of student council pres thing.

my personal favourite is the idea that it's an unspoken informal thing based on Nemona trying to rechallenge the league out of boredom.

Another fun point for teh Geeta Nemona friendship is this one recurring line "Champions have to be understanding". Nemona's the first one to say it, when she says she'd like to battle you again after you finish one, but she won't on that basis. ("I'd challenge you again literally right now...but Champions have to be understanding. So I'll hang back and respect your time!") Then Geeta says, after you finish her battle but before nemona's "“Champions must be understanding toward their opponents.”, when Nemona tries to battle you right out of finishing the assessment. afaik no one else ever says anything to this effect, so i interpret it as something Nemona's picked up from Geeta, as something she's been told before.

Ultimately, with my dear Geeta, there is very very little provided to us in the story that is very explicit. She doesn't get the attention or full devlopment shared by other champs or other sv characters. what geeta lacks there, however, she makes up for in implication, subtext, and vibes.

I love Geeta a lot. there's a lot of interesting things about the way she behaves, what she repersents and what she could stand to do as a character. a lot of potential that i don't see used in sv base game or dlc (unless the epilouge goes buckwild tomorrow). which... it kinda sucks a little, i wish there was more of her. but I take joy in finding all the different ways we can go about interpreting her. bcs she's such a mysterious character vibes wise, there's so much room to explore her ties to the crater, and her airheaded obliousness, how much she wants the league to succeed!

I am seriously the only one who is thinking Geeta actually went easy on us during the Champion Battle because she wants to have more people have the champion rank?

I mean one of the reasons I like her is because despite how serious and aloof she may look, she is kind of dumb and oblivious, (which is an hilarious contrast if you ask me,) but I do believe she is capable of giving a good battle and knows strategy.

I know it sounds counterproductive considering she is looking for strong trainers (something you can see in the DLC,) but I think she may be able to see MC defeat the gym leaders, the staff, and be like "yeah they seem like a good fit," and go on the easier side.

[mxssromanoff]

i. butterflies

part two

prompt; in which the reader and isabela have no idea that they were set up as each others' secret admirers by your brother and her cousin.

pairing; isabela x afrolatina!reader

warning; a curse word, ooc camilo?, kinda angsty

wordcount; 3.4k

a/n; finally got around to writing this after exam week! unfortunately, i ran out of brain juice and this was the thing i came up with. this was also requested so i hope i didn't mess anything up ajdhadgh (and sorry for the long wait!)

also, reader and isa are kinda bi/pan coded? or maybe they have comphet, idk it's up for interpretation

"Are you not going to open that, hermana?" your younger brother asked.

You didn't need to turn away from your work to know that he was talking about the untouched package on your desk paired with an unopened letter.

“I'm not in a hurry, Matías," you said as you cut up butterfly pieces from an empty iridescent sheet, careful not to make their edges jagged—although splotches of paint on your desk did threaten to destroy them.

“But look at it!" he prodded. “Someone actually took the time and effort to give you something like that.”

You spared a glance at the neatly wrapped gift, complete with a perfectly tied f/c bow and you swore you could catch the smell of flowers wafting from the letter.

“I wouldn't be doing this right now if I'm not in a rush,” you said before pausing to add, “You haven't seen any butterfly ornaments lying around, have you?”

To say that Matías looked suspiciously nervous by that question was an understatement, but your exhausted brain couldn't quite register that.

After all, you had been working all night for a client, as evident by the random splotches of boldly colored paint against your clothes and your darker skin—you were pretty sure there were some in your curls too, although you hoped not.

“Come on, would it kill you to take a break?” he said.

“And how do I know that this isn't merely one of your schemes?” you asked, raising a brow as you finally dropped the scissors in your hands and leaned back against the upholstery of your chair.

“Just give it a try,” he said, pushing the gifts in front of you.

“Fine,” you said, finally relenting. “But if I find out that this is one of your pranks, you're eating raw cabbages for a month.”

“Isabela, my favorite prima!”

“No,” Isabela said as she walked past her cousin, immediately greeting him with vibrantly colored flowers hitting him in the face—he was lucky they weren't poison ivies.

“I haven't even said anyth—”

“Not interested.”

Her foot was already on the staircase when Camilo blocked her path.

“What do you want?” she seethed, not in the particular mood to deal with any of her cousin's schemes. All she wanted was to lay in bed and rest for the day. Was that too much to ask for?

“So you know about that secret admirer of yours—eek!”

Isabela rolled her eyes and pushed him aside, not wanting to hear yet another word from Camilo's mouth, as she continued ascending the stairs.

“Did you even give it a read?” he asked.

She did not. Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have a mountain of confessional letters rotting away in some corner of her room.

It was quite flattering, really, that people still liked her even after she came out of her phase of perfection, but someone like Isabela had no time for romance. Not yet anyway, at least.

“If you have nothing else better to do, just go bother your hermana or anybody else.”

"I would buuut...this is for you," Camilo insisted. "And Dolores is already with Mariano."

"Then tell the guy that I'm not interested!"

"Actually—"

Isabela sharply turned on her heels and glared down at her cousin who nearly stumbled backwards with her abrupt halting. She crossed her arms against her chest, clear exasperation written all over her features.

"Actually what?"

"Actuallyyy..." Camilo trailed off, looking away before shoving the letter into Isabela's hands and running away. "I think it's best if you just figure it out yourself! Bye!

"Camilo!"

"I'll come back for your response later!"

Isabela stared at her primo's retreating figure in utter disbelief and if looks could kill he would have dropped dead then.

Groaning, Isabela clutched the piece of paper in her hand and stomped off towards her room, fuming. Well, there's another letter to her trash collection.

Except the moment Isabela entered her room, she turned to look at the letter in her hand and only then did she realize that her secret admirer hadn't even bothered choosing a clean paper. It was covered with splatters of ink and paint, very much unlike the previous ones she'd gotten.

It was a tiny detail, yet one that piqued Isabela's interest. She went through all that headache with Camilo so she might as well read it.

With a sigh, Isabela carefully opened the piece of parchment, expecting cheesy lines or some letter of adoration...only to be met by a single sentence.

Please scream if you're being held captive.

She snorted at that. What kind of secret admirer would write that just because she hadn't responded back?

Yet Isabela couldn't help the amused smile growing from the corners of her lips and with a roll of her eyes, she finally slid in front of her desk to write a returning letter.

If I was held against my will, I don't think I'd be able to scream...although, I must say that you aren't completely wrong in that aspect.

You had been reluctant to open the letter just moments before, unwilling to fall for whatever schemes your brother had in that head of his, but since you actually had nothing better to do that day, you decided to just go with it.

You thought about throwing the letter away and just leave the conversation at that. However, the second you picked up your pencil it wasn't a sketch that you came up with, but another note addressed to this "secret admirer" of yours.

Wrong in what aspect? That you've been caught by my "irresistible charms"? You flatter me.

Isabela nearly laughed at that. Her? Caught by her secret admirer's irresistible charms? It was laughable. She didn't even know what he looked like.

She glanced at the vibrant blue butterfly ornament seating on her desk, its iridescent wings glowing in a myriad of colors as it bathed in the golden light of the sun spilling through her window.

At least he had some interesting talent.

"Don't forget the flowers," Camilo whispered. Isabela glared at her cousin over her shoulder.

"Why would I give him flowers? He's the one courting me!"

"For their...butterfly collection?"

Isabela stared at him, and it took a lot of back and forth's before she was finally convinced—or rather, annoyed to the point that the headache was too much to bear—to send her secret admirer...some flowers.

Obviously. We wouldn't be talking right now if you weren't so worthy of a swoon. Anyway, I might be wrong but a source told me that you liked butterflies, so perhaps some marigolds and celosias to enhance your collection?

You held the bouquet close to your chest. You had seen a lot of colors in your lifetime, mixed a few more for your canvas, but none ever came close to the vibrancy as the ones you held in your arms.

As an artist, it was something that you could truly admire for hours. The arrangement itself was already an art of its own.

Though, of course, you wouldn't let yourself be swayed so easily.

As you set the bouquet aside, you sat down to write yet another response.

"Someone is happy," your hermano commented with a grin to match your own.

"Shut up," you said, giving him a playful nudge with your arm before turning to look back at your handiwork. A bracelet made out of butterfly sequins and some chains.

It wasn't anything special. You just enjoyed making simple jewelry out of butterfly sequins in your spare time.

“You know, I could already hear abuela from the grave.”

“Oh, really?” you said, amused. “What is she saying?”

“Y/N, why are you staying in here and not chasing after the love of your life!” he said with an attempt to imitate your abuela's voice.

You laughed and rolled your eyes at your brother. It wasn't like you knew who your secret admirer was. During the month of you two exchanging gifts and letters, his name never even came up and though you've enjoyed the intrigue of the anonymity of it all, you did wonder just who this mystery person was.

“Well, abuela,” you started. “There is no love of my life."

"You say that but you couldn't wait for the next letter," your brother teased. "Oh! And those dreamy sighs and faraway look you get whenever you think about—mhpmf!"

You picked up a pan de queso on your table and shoved it into his mouth.

"I can't call him that when I don't even know his name, Matías," you said. "Or what he looks like."

"...He?" your brother asked as he swallowed a piece of the bread.

"Yes, he, my secret admirer," you sighed, cutting up another cardboard. "For all I know you could have just picked up a random old man off the streets of the encanto to fill up the void that's supposed to be my love life."

Your brother laughed awkwardly. "Err...About that....I think I have something to tell you—"

"Ah, crap, I ran out of glue again," you said as you started to stand up from your seat. "I'll be back. Don't touch anything."

"Wait, Y/N—"

You turned to him. "Do you want me to buy you anything?"

"Um, no, I just—you know what? Some more pan de queso would be nice."

It was a lovely day out in the village. All sunshine, no rain, people going about their day with smiles plastered on their faces. Best of it all?

Isabela wasn't forced to sprout flowers every second of the day.

"You should get him this," Mirabel said, grabbing a ridiculously colored poncho from some random stall in the market.

Isabela rolled her eyes playfully. At that point, everyone knew about Isabela's secret admirer. Camilo just couldn't simply keep a secret for the life of him if it meant teasing his eldest prima.

"Funny, Mirabel," she said sarcastically. "Now go get what you came here for so we can get home faster."

"What, so you can write letters to your super secret lover?" her younger sister teased. Isabela stared at her, unamused. "Alright, alright, I'll go get the fabric—but I'm not wrong, am I?"

Isabela flicked a flower at her sister's face, although a smile was present on her lips. She wasn't wrong. Writing letters to her secret admirer had become the highlight of her days.

From sarcastic flirtations to talking about your days to telling each other about their secrets nobody else could have possibly known, it was something that Isabela slowly grew to cherish in her heart. In fact, the mere thought of it was enough to make her heart flutter.

Though, there was still the problem that she still had zero clue on who had been sending her the notes and gifts.

"I'm gonna go buy mama's ingredients," Isabela said as the flower finally fell from her sister's face to reveal a shit-eating grin. "Don't go causing trouble anywhere."

"Don't worry, we'll be home before you get to see your next letter."

Isabela rolled her eyes with a sigh but said nothing more as she turned to walk away, only to bump into someone else.

She stumbled forward, being caught off-balance then whirled around to see another person on the ground and a bunch of bags lying around.

She immediately went on her knees to help.

"Are you okay?" Isabela asked, gathering some glue, some iridescent sheets of paper, some bread—okay, maybe not the bread. Those were no longer edible.

"Yes and I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you," the other person said as she quickly bundled up all her belongings while mumbling something about Matías probably not minding dirty bread. "Are you okay?"

"Well, yes I'm—" Isabela froze when she finally looked up to turn to the most beautiful person she's ever laid her eyes on. Y/N Muñoz.

And it felt like seeing you for the first time again. The sun casted over your figure, giving a golden ethereal glow to the absolute goddess that you were and Isabela swore she was hearing angels sing.

"...Isabela?" you said.

"Fine!" she blurted out, startling you and herself. "I mean I'm fine, are you? No wait, I just asked that."

Laughter bubbled up from your throat, a sound that was a blessing to her ears, before you pointed at her head. "You have flowers on your head."

Isabela felt her cheeks growing warmer as her hand shot up to remove them.

"Here, let me," you said, stopping her as you grew closer to remove the flowers on her hair. She actually felt like fainting there and then, suddenly forgetting everything that happened in the past month she hadn't actively sought out to catch the briefest glimpse of you. "...and I think that's it."

"Th-Thank you," Isabela managed to sputter out before remembering that both of you were still on the ground...or that she still held your belongings. "Oh! These are yours."

You took the items in her hand, your fingers briefly brushing against hers. Isabela nearly melted but she had to remind herself that there was someone else in her life now.

Besides, everyone knew that you were unattainable with how you brushed off every single suitor in the village, including Mariano himself before being set up with Isabela.

"Thank you," you said as you stood up from the ground, brushing away the dust from your skirt.

Isabela did the same, although she couldn't help but admire how you decided to dress yourself, the colors of your clothes perfect matching your dark skin.

Then her eyes caught a glint on your chest. Wait, that looked familiar.

“Where did you get that?” she asked, staring at the dried flower pendant hanging around your neck.

“Oh, this?” you said, grabbing the object of interest. Isabela had failed to notice the way your eyes lit up. “It was given to me by someone.”

“Who?”

“I...actually don't know his name.”

Isabela pursed her lips.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“I need to have a talk with Camilo,” she said before turning on her heels and walking away, leaving you confused.

“Hey, Isa—”

“Not now Mirabel!”

“Where is Camilo!?” Isabela burst through the doors of casita and had it been possible, there would be steam coming out of her ears in that moment.

“He's...in the kitchen...? Isa, are you okay?”

“No!" she answered as she stormed past Luisa and as soon as she got to the kitchen, she grabbed her cousin's arm and dragged him over the nearest room. She shoved him inside before locking him with her, blocking off the only exit with her vines.

“Uh...what did I do?"

“What did you do?” she repeated through gritted teeth. “I don't know, Camilo. What did you do!?”

“Yes...that's what I'm asking?” her primo laughed awkwardly, shrinking away from the fuming Isabela.

“Who's my secret admirer?” she asked.

“About that—”

“Just give me a name!”

“It's Y/N!” he squeaked out. “Matías's sister.”

Isabela's face fell.

No, that...that wasn't right. She thought it was just some guy deciding to play with both of your feelings but—no, that can't be.

All this time, she was talking to you and Isabela didn't know what to make of that. Some part of her felt giddy with happiness yet another was just a whirlwind of emotions that partly wanted to kill her cousin.

“You're lying,” she accused.

“I'm not, I swear it's Y/N!” Camilo insisted. “I just thought that maybe you'd finally have the confidence to talk to her if we pushed her to send you letters, and you did! I'm just trying to help!”

And there she thought she was being subtle especially since she's always had a crush on you for years, and for Camilo, out of everyone in her family, to notice that...

“Since when did you know?”

“So remember that time after casita was rebuilt?” he laughed sheepishly and Isabela blinked, suddenly remembering things.

She definitely just talked to Camilo disguised as Dolores who was only trying to get seconds—and neither of them had even told her.

Isabela slapped her forehead.

“Does Y/N know?”

“Well...” he trailed off. “Matías never mentioned anything.”

Cacti appeared on the ground, standing dangerously close to Camilo's feet.

“She called me a 'he'!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, you talked to her—”

“Does she even like girls!?”

“That's up for debate—eep!” a cactus appeared beside his head. “Matías said that he thinks she does!”

“Dios mío...” Isabela said. “You two are basing off of assumptions!?”

“You like her, she likes you, I don't see the problem here—”

“Camilo, you can't just assume what and who people are into!” she said.

“She's into you.”

“Yes, because she thinks I'm a guy! How am I going to tell her that I'm not!?”

“Walk up to her and—”

“It's not that simple! Have you thought about how abuela would react? How her family would react? How everyone else would react? How she would react!?” her voice grew increasingly louder with every question when a knock came on the door.

“What!?”

“I'm just...trying to check in if you two are okay?” came the worried voice of her sister, Luisa. “Is Camilo still breathing?”

Isabela sighed and removed the vines before she opened her door.

“Do not talk to me.” She glared at Camilo before storming off.

Over the course of the next few days, there were no new notes or gifts, or even any news about your secret admirer and you had grown increasingly worried.

Everyday that you waited, your brother would be empty-handed as you handed him yours to be sent out to the mystery guy of your affections.

“Still nothing?” you asked.

Matías would shake his head, an apologetic smile on his face.

And you'd nod your head in understanding. Maybe he was just busy.

The first few notes you sent out were normal, though making sure to ask if your secret admirer was doing okay and telling him that you were always there if he needed anything at all.

Then it grew increasingly worried as you tried to desperately reach out, yet you'd receive nothing in turn.

“Did something happen?” you asked your brother one day.

He'd pause, thinking about his answer carefully. “Just give it some time.”

You'd stare at the ceiling every time, trying to remember what you could have possibly done wrong. Did you say something he didn't like? Did he see you do something that he hated?

All of those would lead to late nights pouring all your emotions into long letters that you never got to send for the most part.

You watched as the flowers in your collection wilted with nothing else to replace them, leaving a rather depressing view of your once lively butterfly collection.

Sometimes you'd cry, though you still hanged onto that sliver of hope that maybe he'd return again.

The lack of response had left you heart broken and hurt after a while, a little bitter even.

Was I only a game?

You'd write to him.

Was I only some other girl to add to your collection?

Some days, you won't even eat, preferring to lock yourself up in your studio to drown yourself with work. Sometimes, it worked. Sometimes, it didn't.

Are you happy now that you've conquered my heart and left it in pieces?

“I don't think you should write anymore,” Matías said one day as you handed him a piece of paper, looking at you in worry.

“One last letter,” you said, sounding tired. “And I'll forget about him.”

“Hermana—”

“Please,” you pleaded. “For me?”

Matías stared at you before he finally nodded his head. “Fine, but no more after this.”

If you ever cared about me, meet me in front of the chapel at 10PM tomorrow night. I'll be waiting.

Isabela turned to look at the clock on her desk. 1AM. Guilt pooled at her stomach.

She's read every letter you've sent, felt the weight of every word you wrote yet nothing was enough to overpower her fear of how you'd react or what everyone else's reactions would be.

Her abuela might have accepted the fact that she didn't want to be with Mariano, but she was still expected to be with a man.

And Isabela still had the lingering fear of disappointing her abuela and her family. It wasn't something that could be taken out of her system easily.

She thought about going to you and explaining herself, but...it was better that way.

You'd forget about her and move on, maybe find some nice guy who won't be forced by his cousin to mislead you.

And maybe someday, she'd find the same thing too.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Hi, Maddy! I hope i'm doing this right. I was torn between two ideas, actually. But i'll stick with just one. I really enjoy your parenthood AU! So i was wondering if you could write something about Akiko getting her first partner or crush and then Shin would get brotherly protective and such. And maybe Shinobu would poke and prod at said partner/crush a bit too much because Akikos her little baby and she needs to know if this person is right for her. So I guess there would be some arguing in between..? I hope this okay! Have a great day <3

Parenthood Prt.4

Shinobu Kochou x She/ Her Reader (But it’s mostly about Akiko)

A/N: Prt3 Thank you! I hope you like how it came out. Reading this back, maybe college seems late for a first crush but you know what? Attraction hits people differently or sometimes not at all. I couldn’t decide on a sexuality/ romantic attraction for my girl, but I’m feeling some flavor of demi possibly. I don’t think even she really knows. Anyway, thanks for the request! Word Count: 4,141

Akiko handed in her last test and quietly thanked the professor. It took all of her self control not to sprint out of the lecture hall. She grabbed her bag and confidently strolled outside, her breath turning into a visible cloud in the cold. It had started snowing while she had been cooped inside for hours.

Her first semester of college was finally over. Now she would get to go home to celebrate the holidays with her parents and her brother. She could not wait to have a home cooked meal again. She wasn’t a very good cook herself, having almost set the communal kitchen on fire trying to make omurice one morning. She had been too embarrassed to set foot in there again after that.

She sent a quick text to the family group chat to share that she had finished her last test and let them know that she’d be on the first train home the next day.

Her heart warmed at the array of happy faces and heart emojis her mothers sent, then scoffed and rolled her eyes at the simple thumbs up Shin sent her.

Shinobu followed up asking her how she thought her tests went and (Y/n) asked her what she’d like for dinner tomorrow. Akiko took a moment to look around. The campus was nearly deserted this late in the evening. She decided she could walk and text at the same time to get back to her dorm as soon as possible so she could get out of the cold.

As she walked, she answered her parents seemingly never ending queries. She was reading Shinobu’s latest message when her foot slipped off of the curb and threw her off balance.

“Oh shit!”

What was strange about hissing that expletive, was that she hadn’t been the only one to utter it. As she fell, she realized she was falling into the bike lane and someone was screeching to a halt right in front of her.

They managed to plant their feet on the ground and stop mere centimeters away. Then they tilted their bike to the side, reached over their handle bars and actually caught Akiko before she hit the asphalt.

“That was close, are you okay?” They asked, looking very alert after nearly running Akiko over.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Akiko swallowed, finding her footing again. “The only thing bruised is my ego. Thanks for catching me, and for not running me over with your bike.”

“Lucky it worked out that way. I’m usually not so coordinated… hey, wait, Kochou-san?”

Akiko looked up and she found herself wanting to dig a hole to burry herself in. This hadn’t been a simple stranger, they were one of her group partners for her lab course. Ogawa Masami.

“Yeah, that’s me unfortunately. Sorry Ogawa-san.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Akiko could feel the blood rushing to her face with tsunami like intensity.

Masami, how to describe Masami… one of the first things Akiko noticed about them was how genuine they were. They were kind, funny, seemed to know how to talk to everyone and anyone. They were smart too, hardworking. They had really pretty eyes and strong leg muscles… not that Akiko noticed! She had never noticed or cared about such things before, so why would she do so now?

“So, all done for the semester?” Masami asked, helping Akiko back onto the sidewalk.

“Yup! You?”

“Just one more test! On my way right now.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I got in your way! You should go, I would hate to know I sabotaged you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m actually pretty early so I’ve got time.” They smiled and rubbed the back of their neck.

“So, do you know what classes you’re taking next semester?”

“Mhm, mostly science track courses.”

“That’s right, you’re the bug girl.” Masami chuckled, sitting back on the seat of their bike.

Akiko rolled her eyes playfully and crossed her arms, “Actually, I prefer the term ‘future doctor of entomology’.”

“Alright, Dr. Bug it is.” Masami grinned when Akiko scoffed, then turned their head to the opposite side of the street to watch a person walk by with their dog. “Bugs kinda give me the heebie-jeebies, that’s why I like birds so much, but maybe we’ll be in some of the same pre-requisite classes. You’ve been an awesome person to work with.”

“You think so? I enjoyed working with you too.” Akiko fidgeted with the insides of her coat pockets. She could feel her phone buzz with another text.

Masami dug into their own coat pocket and pulled out their phone, turning it over in their hands a few times. They had wanted to ask Akiko for her number after the last day of class, but they had chickened out. Running into her now, almost literally, it had to be a sign from the universe to go for it.

“Would it be okay if I asked for your number? I’d like to text you my classes for next semester to see if we match up anywhere.”

“Sure!” Akiko wanted to bang her head against the street light posted nearby with how overly eager she had sounded.

She carefully took Masami’s phone, added her contact information, and handed it back to them.

“Your hand is freezing.” Masami commented. “Wait a second,” they dug in their opposite pocket and produced a disposable hand warmer to give to Akiko, “here.”

“That’s okay, I’m only a few more minutes away. You keep that, I’m sure it’s only going to be colder after you finish your test.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got more in my bag. Take it.” Masami reached over and put the packet into Akiko’s pocket.

Before Akiko could dig it out and give it back, Masami kicked their bike into motion and resumed their trek to campus. They threw one of their hands up and waved, keeping their eyes on the path before them as they called out,

“Bye Kochou-san! Have a good break!”

Akiko quickly gave up trying to fish the hand warmer from her pocket. There was no way she was going to run after them on foot.

“You too! Good luck with your test, Ogawa-san!”

“Thank you!”

Akiko watched them peddle away and her phone buzzed again. She pulled it out and read through the messages and answered them accordingly without walking this time. Then she put her phone back in her pocket and set off again.

She felt the hand warmer and smiled to herself. What a great way to end the semester.

***

“My baby’s home!” (Y/n) enthusiastically, and rather embarrassingly, called as soon as Akiko stepped off of the train.

“Hi, mom.” Akiko hugged her tightly before moving to Shinobu next, “Hi, Kaasan. Where’s Shin?”

“He decided to wait at home. Too cold he said.” Shinobu shared.

“Boo.”

“Well he did have a point. Come on, it’s freezing. Give me a bag, honey.”

Akiko gave (Y/n) her duffle bag and they started walking home, catching up on the goings on at home while she had been away.

When they got home, Shin was right where she had expected him to be, nearly swallowed whole by the kotatsu while reading manga.

He glanced over to Akiko, adjusted his glasses and tipped his book in her direction.

“Welcome home.”

“Is that all I get?”

“I’m too comfy. You come over here.”

“No, you come over here.”

Shin tapped the edge of the kotatsu with the spine of his book, bringing attention to the plate on the table.

“Mitsuri-obachan brought cookies over yesterday.”

Akiko dropped her bags and slid across the floor, snatching a cookie. She took a bite and moaned. Mitsuri always made the best sweets. Akiko would kill a man for her cookies.

Shinobu came over and took the plate, but not before Akiko swiped another cookie. Shinobu batted her hand away when she attempted to grab another.

“You two will spoil your appetites.”

“Kaasan, I’m not five. I could probably eat everything in this house.”

“Are you still having a hard time cooking at school?”

“Ehhh…”

“Akiko, you can’t eat convenience store food all the time. Do you need me to give you a refresher?” (Y/n) asked.

“No, no. I’m good.”

“I think you should come help us make dinner.” Shinobu said.

“But—“

“Come on, to the kitchen.”

Akiko looked to the kotatsu longingly then stood up. She glared at Shin’s little smirk, but quickly gained one of her own when Shinobu called on him to help with dinner as well. He marked his page and got to his feet, startling Akiko.

“When did you get so tall? This isn’t right!”

“Maybe you just shrank.”

“Hey, you may be taller, but I could still have you begging for mercy.”

They playfully shoved each other as they followed their parents into the kitchen.

When dinner was made and mostly eaten, Akiko received a text from an unknown number. She opened it and smiled. It was from Masami.

Hi Kochou-san! Fingers crossed for at least one class together next semester. If we don’t we should still find time to study together or meet up sometime!

Attached was a screenshot of Masami’s schedule and Akiko scanned over it eagerly.

“What has you all lit up all of the sudden?” Shinobu asked curiously from across the table.

“Nothing.” Akiko winced internally over how quickly she spoke.

Shinobu cocked her head to the side and gave her daughter a dangerous look. One she knew well. The, I know you are hiding something from me but I’ll bide my time, look. It would be better to confess now then to have Shinobu’s watchful eyes magnified upon her.

“Well, not nothing. It’s just a friend I made in lab. They texted me their schedule for next semester to see if we have any over lapping classes.”

“That’s nice. I’m glad you’re making friends.” (Y/n) smiled warmly, but Shinobu still looked skeptical.

“They must be something special to have you smiling over a simple text like that.”

“Shinobu.” (Y/n) lightly admonished.

“What’s their name? What are they studying?” Shinobu asked, casually taking a sip from her mug, her eyes never leaving Akiko’s over the rim.

“You don’t need to interrogate her about them. Their just friends.” (Y/n) placed a hand over Shinobu’s thigh, trying to get her to drop the subject for the time being.

“They’re reasonable questions.” Shinobu defended.

“Their name is Ogawa Masami. They’re also into the sciences. I met them in my lab course. I think they want to specialize in ornithology.” Akiko answered confidently. She had nothing to hide. It wasn’t like they were dating or anything.

“Hm. That will do for now.” Shinobu decided.

That’s probably what scared Akiko most about her Kaasan. She never forgets, but she’s super covert about it. She lulls her victims into a false sense of security and then, bam! She somehow gets all the information she wants through seemingly innocuous means.

Akiko, Shin, and even (Y/n) had fallen victim to her tactics numerous times over the years. She was definitely someone who you wanted on your team, not as an adversary.

“If everyone’s done, let’s get this cleaned all cleaned up and take this party to the living room.”

The family cleaned up and piled in under the kotatsu. Shin passed around the switch controllers and a family friendly game of Mario Party commenced.

“You cunt.”

“Shinobu,” (Y/n) gasped, “the children!”

“Oh they’re practically adults. I’m sure they’ve said similar things.” Shinobu griped, glaring at the screen as Lakitu handed her hard earned star to her wife.

“Besides, I said it with love in my heart.” She added, trying not to seethe so obviously.

“You did not!”

“Why didn’t you take one from Shin? He’s winning!” Akiko was still reeling from losing a duel against her brother that took away nearly all of her coins.

“I can’t hurt my boy like that.”

“Thanks mom.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

“Akiko, alliance.” Shinobu demanded.

“This is what I was saying when I wanted to work together three turns ago, but no. You just had to make it day time!”

“If I had gone the other way I wouldn’t have gotten a star!”

“And look where it is now!”

“Agh!”

Shin predictably won. Akiko managed to swipe second from (Y/n) thanks to a bonus star, and wallowing in last place was Shinobu.

As chaotic as their games were, it was exactly what Akiko had been missing. She texted Masami, letting them know they shared two classes next semester. They texted back a few minutes later, happy to hear the news. Akiko slept very well that night.

***

Over the next couple weeks, Akiko had been regularly texting with Masami. They had been getting to know each other better, sharing random bits from their day, sending quality memes, it was going very well! Akiko had just finished wishing them a Happy New Year when (Y/n) knocked on her door.

“Need any help getting ready, honey?”

“I could use some help with my obi, thanks.”

(Y/n) came in, already dressed and eager to enjoy the festivities.

“You look so pretty. Seems like just yesterday you only came up to my hip all sticky with mochi residue.”

“You say that every year.” Akiko laughed.

When she was all straightened out, they exited her room and out to the living room. Shinobu was also traditionally dressed for the occasion, but Shin was wearing regular street clothes under his heavy coat and wool hat.

“Hey! Why aren’t you wearing your kimono?” Akiko pouted.

“People don’t really wear traditional clothes for this stuff anymore. Besides, there’s snow.”

“Yeah, like a centimeter.”

Shin shrugged and Akiko huffed.

“Alright, everybody ready to head out?” Shinobu asked.

She got a round of affirmatives and then they were out the door.

Akiko loved the bustle of New Years. The warmth and tasty smells of nearby booths, the spooky trek up the hill to the shrine and cemetery… well, it would be spooky without all the people around.

She strayed from her family momentarily to buy some savory dango. She paid the man and thanked him, and upon turning around she was faced with someone she most certainly hadn’t expected to see.

“Ogawa-san?”

Masami blinked out of the spaced out waiting in line look they had and peered down at Akiko with delighted surprise.

“Kochou-san? What are the odds? And wow, you look great by the way!”

Akiko felt her face warm, suddenly very self conscious of her choice of clothing. Masami was wearing street clothes, as were most of the surrounding people near the booth.

“Thanks, it’s pretty much a family tradition, that’s all…”

“Well I mean it. You look really nice. I was looking around for one for myself but I just couldn’t find a cut and design I felt comfortable in.”

“Maybe we could try looking together sometime.” Akiko was surprised by her own casualness of her suggestion, but it seemed to go over well.

“I’d like that.”

“What’s the hold up, Onee-san?”

Shin had come up, looming over the both of them. He stood just a hair between them, looking down on Masami in particular. Akiko subtly elbowed him in his side.

“I’m talking to my friend from college.”

“Oh, the one you were talking about with Kaasan?”

No tact this boy.

“Aw, you talk about me?” Masami teased, though they looked a little pinker and not from the chill of the air.

“Yeah, all good things...” Akiko was going to beat Shin with his telescope once he fell asleep tonight.

Masami beamed, “So you’re Kochou-san’s brother?”

“Yeah. Who are you?”

Akiko elbowed him again.

“Ogawa Masami, nice to meet you.”

“Kochou Shin… nice to meet you.”

Masami turned their eyes back on Akiko, “I better keep this line moving, but I’d love to talk some more if you have time to spare.”

“Sure! We can meet at the base of the hill later.”

“Sounds good!”

When Akiko and Shin were far enough away, she hissed,

“What is your problem?”

“What?”

“You were being weird.”

“You like them. I want to see that they’re good for you.”

“I can decide that for myself thanks. You may have gotten taller than me, you might even have more relationship experience than me, but you’re still the baby of the family.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“If I do then you’ll be there for me like I was for your first break up. But we aren’t even dating and I don’t know if we will ever get that far so cool it.”

“Fine.” Shin snatched a dango from Akiko’s skewer and popped it into his mouth.

“Hey! Get your own!”

“I only wanted one.”

“Even a vulture would have the decency to wait until I had the first bite, jerk.”

“There you two are. What took so long?” (Y/n) asked. She and Shinobu stood from the bench they had found and met their children at the base of the hill to begin their ascent.

“That person Akiko likes is here.”

“Shin!”

“Oh are they? What a coincidence.” Shinobu smirked. “You’ll have to get us all aquatinted later. Maybe we can all go for hot pot when we’re done here.”

“Mmm hot pot.” (Y/n) and Shin hummed together.

“I don’t think they have time for that. We were just going to talk a little bit.” Akiko tried to dissuade.

“No harm in asking.” Shinobu countered.

For Akiko’s New Years wish, she prayed that her family would not embarrass her or scare Masami away.

***

Akiko smiled tensely upon descending the hill. Masami was waiting on a bench near the base and when they saw her coming they stood up and waved.

“Is that them?” (Y/n) asked. “They’re cute.”

“Mom, please.” Akiko whined quietly.

“Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Kochou Shinobu, Akiko’s mother.”

Akiko hadn’t even seen her mom pass her down the steps she was so quiet and quick. She took the steps as fast as her kimono would allow. The Gods were not on her side tonight.

“It’s very nice to meet you! Guess I’m meeting the whole Kochou family tonight.” Masami chuckled.

“Yes, we’re very tightly knit.” Which in Shinobu’s own special way meant, ‘so you better behave yourself or there will be problems.’

“Hi, Kochou (Y/n), the other mother.” (Y/n) greeted kindly.

“A pleasure.” Masami smiled.

“Do you have any plans? We were all just going to see about warming up with some hot pot and you’re welcome to join us.” Shinobu invited before Akiko could try to command the line of conversation.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t at all. We’d be happy to treat you.” Shinobu assured with an almost wicked grin. “I’d love to hear more about that lab course you and Akiko took.”

“If you really don’t mind, I’d be honored to be included.”

“Wonderful!”

Akiko could feel herself sweating despite the frigid temperatures and it only got worse when they found a crowded restaurant to eat in. It was hot and loud, but maybe that would make it harder for Shinobu to work her usual tactics.

Akiko missed her opportunity to sit next to Masami when Shinobu and (Y/n) filled in the booth beside them and she almost missed out on sitting across from them because of Shin, but she managed to shove him out of the way long enough to slip in before him.

“Were you out celebrating with anyone earlier? I just realized I forgot to ask. I’d hate to hear we abducted you from any prior engagements.” Shinobu spoke with convincing contriteness.

“Nope, I’m totally free. I was hanging out with some friends earlier, but we hadn’t planned to be out all night. Most of them are probably home by now, but I like the ambiance so I decided to stay out longer.”

“Me too. The streets are usually so sad and empty when it’s winter, but everything really comes alive again on New Years.” Akiko agreed.

“So how’s school? Akiko says you’re interested in Ornithology?” (Y/n) prompted, for which Akiko was at least mildly grateful. She could at least trust that her mom’s interest was genuine and not a ploy to search for anything deeper.

“Mhm. I haven’t fully committed yet because I’m stuck between that and marine biology. It’s hard to choose between having a raptor on your arm or swimming with whales.”

“That is quite the decision to make. Shinobu also loves the ocean, don’t you dear?”

“Yes, I do enjoy the ocean.” Shinobu replied, warmed by the way her wife’s face lit up at the connection. “Though I much prefer the tide pools to the open water.”

“Tide pools are so cool!” Masami agreed. “One time when I was little my dad and I even found an octopus.”

“That sounds like quite the find.” Shinobu said, intrigued.

Yes mom! Force Kaasan to acknowledge Whatever similarities you can find! Akiko internally cheered. If Shinobu and Shin could stop seeing Masami as a possible threat to her happiness and as an actual person instead, that would help a lot.

The hot pot of deliciously stewed ingredients was sat before them and everyone dug in. They still conversed between bites and sips, but Akiko felt like the atmospheres around her mother and brother were more relaxed or at least not as on guard as they had been.

When the food was eaten and there was a lull in the conversation, Masami checked the time.

“Wow, it’s getting late. I should be getting to the train station. Thank you all so much for this, I had a really nice time.”

“Likewise, thank you for humoring us.” Shinobu nodded, following (Y/n) out of the booth.

They exited the restaurant and said their goodbyes. While (Y/n), Shinobu and Shin began walking in the direction of home, Akiko slunk off to accompany Masami for the short walk to the train station. She’d probably get teased or scolded when she rejoined them, but she had to make sure her and Masami were still good.

“Your parents are very nice.” Masami said, burying their hands in their pockets.

“They’re alright.” Akiko shrugged. “Did you really have a good time or…”

“Oh yeah! I really did, it was nice.” They smiled softly, “To tell you the truth, I was kind of bummed out. My dad had to leave for a business trip overseas a few days ago so it’s just been me holding down the fort. It was nice to get to celebrate the New Year like this rather than sitting at home eating ten oranges by myself while watching tv.”

“If you’re ever feeling lonely, text me.” Akiko offered. “I’ll text you my address and you can come play Mario party with Shin and I.”

“Now that sounds like a fun time.”

“Only if you promise to form an alliance with me because he never loses unless everyone works against him.”

Masami laughed and held out their hand, “It’s a deal.”

Akiko mirrored the grin and shook their hand.

“Kochou-san, your hands are cold again.” Masami tisked teasingly. They dug in their pocket and took out another disposable hand warmer and handed it to her as the train rolled into the station.

“Thanks.” Akiko smiled and took the offering.

“You’re welcome,” they stepped up into the train, “text me when you get home.”

“Right back at you.”

“You got it.” Masami nodded and stepped fully inside the train car.

Akiko waved at the train window Masami appeared through and when the train departed she held the hand warmer to her chest and sighed pleasantly.

“They’re very nice, Shinobu.”

“Yes, but I’m still going to keep an eye on them.”

“Can we go home now? I’m freezing.”

“Did you guys really follow me?!” Akiko yelled, turning to see her family waiting nearby.

“It’s late, we aren’t going to let you wander around alone at two in the morning on New Years.” Shinobu reasoned. “Who knows what weirdos are out and about.”

“She has a point.” (Y/n) agreed.

“Fine, fine! The only weirdos out here are you three! Let’s go home already.” Akiko shook her head in disbelief and shoved at her parents backs in the direction of home. All the while she lectured them about personal space and eavesdropping.

When they got home, Akiko said good night to Shin and her parents and closed herself into her room. She wiggled out of her kimono and changed into more comfortable pajamas. Then she rocketed into her bed and turned on her phone to let Masami know that she had made it home safely and about twenty minutes later she received a text stating the same in return and wishing her sweet dreams.

Akiko placed her phone beside the two hand warmers on her bedside table and silently squealed into her pillow.