#might only do five out of the available seven

[winter-parrot]

making my official entrance into the 911 fandom / bucktommy with a fic for #bucktommyhiatusevent week one: home.

buck looks for home in the aftermath of season 8. | 2.5k

now on ao3 as well!

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

Turns out living in your car is not like riding a bicycle. His body does not magically remember how to fold up into the back seat of his Jeep and fall asleep. If anything, it feels like the space has somehow shrunk since the last time he’s done this. Although, that might have something to do with how much he’s bulked up in the last seven years since he settled in LA and became a firefighter.

It’s alright. It’s not like he’d really expected better. He’d hoped, sure. He’d hoped for a lot of things, things that did not include sleeping in his car. But hope is in short supply these days, and it’s not about to make a surprise appearance for anything so trivial as Buck’s apartment hunting woes.

It was only supposed to be for a day or two, is the thing. Just until he could find a new place to move into. But one day stretched into two into three, and somehow he’s already in his second week of car-living. His bad leg started protesting on day five, and now his back is joining in. He suspects every muscle in his body will rebel against him, one by one by one, within the next week.

The problem is, he has nowhere else to go. Nowhere has felt right. It’s not like he hasn’t tried, either. He’s been doing nothing but apartment hunting in his free time—not like there’s a whole lot else to do, living in his car—and the real estate agent helping him seems increasingly ready to stab him just to get this endless search over with. He doesn’t blame her, at this point. It feels like he’s seen every available apartment within a two-hour radius of the station house.

And yet, not a single one has felt right. Has felt like a place he could call his own, a place that might become home.

Maybe the problem is actually bigger than an apartment. Maybe the problem is just him, all of him and the hopeless needy wanting thing in his chest. Maybe he’s just Bucking it up, like always. Maybe there’s actually no right place for him in LA, and he’s just an idiot chasing a pipe dream.

It’s not so far fetched a thought, really. He keeps finding himself wanting things he’s never going to find. Things that would be hard enough to get one of, never mind all together—and that’s even before he considers LA real estate and his own less-than-impressive budget.

Knowing it’s unrealistic doesn’t stop him from wanting, as always. He longs for exposed beams and brick walls and a long dark dining table, like the firehouse. Wonders briefly if that’s why he liked his old place; the layout vaguely resembled the firehouse, with the open plan and the loft. Has to stop himself before he gets maudlin about missing the loft, on top of everything else. He pictures a big back yard with a grill, like Bo— like Athena’s old place. Makes himself stop imagining before his thoughts can stray to Bobby, to all the times he stood in that familiar space, cooking or hosting a party or manning the grill like he never will again. Thinks instead of a bright sunny living room and a big garage for his bike and his jeep and his side projects, like he’d seen at… well. Like he’d seen in someone else’s house a few times, months ago.

Those months ago feels like a different lifetime, now. Back then, he had a loft he liked well enough. He had a job he loved. He had Bobby and backyard barbecues and shared dinners. He had a family in the 118. He had a best friend whom he could always turn to, whose child he loved like his own. He had a boyfriend he could envision an actual future with.

Now, he’s got no solid roof over his head; a job he’s still debating transferring out of, never mind his cancelled transfer request; no Bobby, no backyard barbecues, no family dinners; no family that needs him or even wants him around; a best friend who maybe hates him for making things about himself, again; and no boyfriend. It’d almost be funny, how fast and hard everything fell apart, if it wasn’t his own life he had to live through every day.

He considers, vaguely, the possibility that Maddie may have accidentally cursed him, back when she told him he had to learn to be alone. Here he is, all alone now, and learning that same lesson again for the thousandth time. You’d think it would get easier over time, but somehow each review seems to make it worse and worse. It’s also possible he accidentally cursed himself, when he complained to Eddie about everything falling apart. If only he’d known back then just how far away rock bottom still was. Or it could be that he was simply cursed from birth. Couldn’t save Daniel, couldn’t do the one thing he was literally born to do; couldn’t ever make his parents happy, no matter how much he tried; couldn’t get Maddie to come with him, when he was running towards freedom and wanted her at his side; couldn’t ever stop a partner from leaving him behind, no matter how much he loved them and loved them and loved them.

Doesn’t really matter why or how, really. Point is, he’s pretty sure there has to be some kind of curse upon him. Everyone else seems to have somebody, but he’s always the one left behind. Left alone. Sleeping in his car, because he doesn’t even have a couch he can reliably crash on.

He can’t go to Maddie and Chimney; they have a newborn infant at home, on top of Chimney’s soon-to-be captaincy, and recovering from Maddie’s kidnapping barely rhree months ago. Can’t go to Athena, can’t intrude on her and May and Harry’s grief, not when they lost the most out of them all. Can’t go to Hen, barging in on her and her family when Mara’s still settling in and everyone is fragile. Can’t go to Eddie, can’t… well. Can’t do much with Eddie at all, right now. Can’t go to Ravi, because they might be friends but they’re not that kind of friends, not yet, and maybe not for years yet while the grief sits between them looming larger than their friendship. Can’t go to Tommy, because Buck’s not his problem anymore—anyway he’s done more than enough for Buck already, what with stealing a helicopter to piss off the Army and bearing Bobby’s casket with them.

Can’t go to the firehouse, because for all that it felt like home, he can’t actually live there. Besides, it doesn’t really feel like home anymore. Not with Gerrard in the captain’s office, and no family dinners, and a cavernous yawning chasm cutting through everything that no one will talk about. Not without Bobby.

So he’s stuck in the car. He could shell out for a hotel room for a few nights, probably, but that’s expensive. And it just feels stupid, too. Like admitting defeat. He used to do this all the time, in that stretch of time between driving away from Maddie and ending up at the fire academy. Being a failed Navy SEAL or ranch hand-ing or bartending in Peru was all fun and good, he doesn’t regret it, but it hadn’t exactly left him flush with cash. Hadn’t been very stable or reliable, for that matter. He’d thought he’d left that part of his life behind him, when he finally settled at the fire academy and settled into his own skin, but well. Life’s full circle, or something like that.

Buck drives aimlessly, letting the hour turn late in the hopes that sheer exhaustion will overcome the mounting discomfort of not sleeping in a bed. Or maybe not so aimlessly; the clock is just ticking over midnight when he looks around to realize habit or fate or his goddamn curse has brought him to a familiar neighbourhood.

Stupid. This was such a bad idea. This wasn’t the kind of neighbourhood where you could get away with just parking on the side of the street in a strange car and sleeping the night. Someone was going to call the cops on him, if he tried that. He should drive away, leave it behind, and find a parking lot or something.

But now that he’s here, now that he’s so close, the hopeless needy wanting thing in his chest is clawing at the insides of his ribs like a caged beast. He can’t stop himself from driving on instead of turning around like he most definitely should. He doesn’t have it in him to resist, is worn too paper-thin in and threadbare to put up any more of a fight than a wet paper bag. Isn’t even sure he wants to, really, even if he is sure that he should.

The lights are dark in the house, because it’s getting on 12:30 now and sane people have gone to bed. He really should leave, now. Shouldn’t interrupt the peace of this night, crashing into it like a wrecking ball. Shouldn’t disturb Tommy and bleed his petty troubles all over him, any more than he should bother Chim or Maddie or Hen or Athena with it. All the reasons why he can’t go to Tommy haven’t magically disappeared just because he’s somehow ended up in front of Tommy’s house.

But the hopeless needy wanting thing in Buck’s chest is holding the reins, now. It kinda feels like he’s watching someone else move, like that hopeless needy wanting thing has taken over his body. Hopeless-needy-wanting-Buck pulls the Jeep right up into the driveway. Kills the engine and locks the door behind him once he gets out. Walks up to the door on legs that are only slightly unsteady. Knocks.

There’s no answer, because duh. It’s 12:30 at night. Tommy might not even be home, might be on shift at Harbour. Or on a romantic date with someone that ends up at their house, not his. Or watching Buck through a gap in the curtains somewhere, wondering why the hell his ex won’t leave him the fuck alone and hoping Buck just goes away.

The thought hurts, but he wouldn’t blame Tommy for it. Not after what he said in that kitchen, setting his second—third?—chance ablaze faster than an uncontrolled wildfire in the peak of August heat. Even if the idea of Eddie being competition is more ridiculous than ever, and hurts in a whole new way now.

Buck stands there, blank in the throbbing ache of his heart and his body. Could’ve been for thirty seconds or thirty minutes, he’s not sure. Time’s been getting a little hazy at the edges, these past weeks, and the simple act of digging out his phone to check feels like an insurmountable effort. It’s like all the exhaustion has caught up to him, all at once. He debates the merits of just going to sleep right there, curled up on Tommy’s front steps like a stray cat.

The door opens. Buck doesn’t register it for a second, not until a sleep-rough voice is saying his name. “Evan?”

Adrenaline spikes through his veins, wakes him right back up and deposits him rudely back into his body. Oh God, he’s really doing this. He’s really done this, shown up at Tommy’s door in the dead of night like the world’s worst uninvited houseguest. “T-tommy, I’m sorry. I just, I-I- I should go, I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

There’s a hand on his arm, a touch so gentle he can barely feel it. It shuts him right up anyway. There’s no room in Buck’s brain for anything other than the warmth and strength of Tommy’s big hand, palpable even through his shirt.

“Do you want to come inside?” Tommy asks, searching Buck’s face. “You look like you could use some sleep. And maybe a friendly face.” Tommy’s lips press shut after that, pinched at the corners like he didn’t mean to say that. He swallows tightly and looks away, avoiding Buck’s eyes.

Buck is fascinated by the click of his throat, but not more than he’s enraged by the uncertainty behind the motion. Tommy, who showed up for him and for Chim in defiance of the Army and the FBI and Incident Command. Tommy, who flew the most insane evasive maneuvers like it was nothing, and then almost got himself arrested for it. Tommy, who made him a feast for breakfast and bought a bottle of hopeful champagne that went to his waste after that single, beautiful night at the house that was never Buck’s. Tommy should never sound so uncertain. And Buck is the one who put that hesitation there, with his stupid words that mornin after. Maybe not all of it, maybe some of it predates his own mistakes, but enough.

The anger unsticks his mouth long enough to say, “You’re the friendliest face I’ve seen in weeks.” Means it, too. Except maybe Christopher, but thinking about him leads to Eddie, and he can’t. He just can’t, not right now.

Tommy looks back up at him, a glimmer in his eyes that fades into concern. He looks at Buck, really looks at Buck; Buck feels seen for maybe the first time since… since the lab. He’s terrified that Tommy will see all the ugly parts, the rotting grief and the worn-down useless bits of him that can’t even do the one thing Bobby asked him to. Can’t keep them together, can’t help anyone, can’t be needed. Can’t be enough for anybody.

Tommy finishes his assessment. Steps back. Speaks, before Buck can fully begin to panic about having the door slammed shut in his face. “Tell me about it?” He takes another step back, pulling the door open wider. Inviting Buck into his life, his heart, his home.

Buck takes the invitation, and walks in.

[wbbgetsmewetter]

PARTY 4 U

SYNOPSIS: i was hoping you would come through, i only threw this party 4 u

NOTES: wrote this on a whim right after the draft and was too scared to post it at the time and also took a break from tumblr. but HEYYY look i am back 😛

WARNINGS: rejection?, unrequited love

“no! no, that needs to be on the other side of the room,” you ordered the crowd, already feeling the weight of frustration settling in as you realised you were technically running late.

you had sacrificed the chance to be with paige as she got drafted, prioritizing her draft party above all else. yet, here you were, stuck in the eye of a chaotic storm. the decorators you hired seemed utterly lost, the caterers were chronically late, the lighting remained stubbornly dim, and the dj was spinning tracks that felt entirely out of place. as one of the servers passed by with a tray full of tequila shots, you seized two, knowing that if you didn’t relax in the next five minutes, you might just implode.

those two shots quickly multiplied, and you lost count after seven. while the tequila may have been a temporary relief, the venue was finally beginning to take shape. the energy started to shift as the music syncopated with the burgeoning excitement around you. then, a voice cut through the chatter, announcing that the draft was about to begin. everyone clustered around the projector, brimming with anticipation for cathy to deliver the news we all already knew.

“with the first round pick in the 2025 wnba draft, the dallas wings select: paige bueckers, university of connecticut.”

the crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers, people jumping up and down, embracing one another. you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes, as the camera followed paige’s every move. the first person she hugged was azzi, and you couldn’t shake the pang of longing—you wished that was you. stephanie, the event coordinator, broke your spell by enveloping you in a tight hug, her enthusiasm ringing in your ear. you managed a smile before quickly excusing yourself to the bathroom.

locking the door behind you, you leaned against it, chest heaving as emotions surged. a scream erupted from deep within you, fueled by the overwhelming sense of disappointment. you were supposed to be there, right alongside her—supporting her every step, not organizing this chaotic event filled with people who barely listened to you. your hair was a tangled mess, your makeup nonexistent, and let’s not even get started on your outfit, which resembled pajamas more than anything party-worthy.

you had no idea how much time slipped away while you cried in that bathroom, completely losing track of everything until stephanie's concerned knocking broke through your haze. you hastily wiped away your tears, attempting to restore some semblance of composure before finally opening the door with a facade of a bright smile.

an hour passed in a blur, and the final touches of the setup were underway. you stood back, admiring the fruits of your labor, hoping paige would appreciate your vision as much as you did. stephanie sidled up next to you, her face aglow with excitement. “doesn’t it just look amazing?” she gushed. you nodded in silence, captivated by your handiwork.

“shouldn’t you... go get ready?” she suggested, her gaze shifting toward the clock. “paige is doing pressers right now and could be here any minute.”

your heart sank at her words; you had completely lost track of time. only an hour and a half left to dash to the hotel, get ready, and return before the guest of honor arrived.

you rushed out of the room, frantically dialing the designated driver for the week. the ride to the hotel felt agonizingly long as you remained on the phone with brittany, hoping she had set aside your outfit and that people were still available to work on your hair and makeup.

when the seemingly endless ride finally came to a halt as the driver pulled up to the hotel entrance, you rushed out, grabbing your belongings with urgency, making sure you had your phone and key card at the ready. standing impatiently in front of the elevator, the only thought racing through your mind was how you were going to juggle hair, makeup, and wardrobe simultaneously while still leaving the room looking absolutely stunning.

once you stepped into the hotel room, chaos greeted you. dresses lay strewn across the floor, accessories cluttered every available surface, and polaroids were scattered across the bed. most of the photos featured paige and azzi, with a few others including their teammates. a wave of jealousy washed over you as you picked up one of the pictures; it captured an intimate moment between them, their hands tangled together in a way that felt far too familiar.

“great! you’re here! what are you doing just standing there? come on, we don’t have much time!” the makeup artist called out from the bathroom, snapping you out of your daze. you stumbled your way across the room, tripping over the mess in your path.

after what felt like an eternity, you were finally ready. your outfit was a dazzling blend of what both paige and azzi had chosen—a fitted white mini dress adorned with shimmering rhinestones and a plunging neckline that highlighted your features. your hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, giving you a polished appearance. a deep sigh of relief escaped your lips as you took in your reflection, feeling a surge of confidence. the bedazzled watch on your wrist sparkled as you glanced at the time, only to be interrupted by a notification on your phone. it was brittany, asking where you were; everyone was already at the draft party, and you were missing in action.

panic quickly set in again as you fumbled to secure your strappy heels while making your way out the door, racing down to the lobby and then back downstairs.

luckily, this time the car was waiting for you instead of the other way around. just when you thought things were finally going your way, traffic hit like a wall, leaving you stuck in the never-ending congestion of new york while your friends reveled in the festivities you had painstakingly planned.

helplessly, you sat in the car, scrolling through everyone’s instagram and snapchat stories from the event. azzi had sent you a couple of messages, including voice notes filled with concern for your whereabouts. that made you feel even worse; you had spent the entire day harboring resentment toward her, all while she genuinely wished for you to be beside her and the others, celebrating paige’s momentous achievement.

tears began to well in your eyes, so you set your phone aside and focused on the ceiling of the car, hoping your eyes would absorb the excess moisture. after what felt like an eternity, the cadillac finally pulled into the parking lot of the venue you had rented out for the evening. yet excitement eluded you; this day had only left a trail of disappointments in its wake. still, you managed to muster a smile, determined to put on a brave face.

you finally made it inside, the music blasting through the speakers a physical force propelling people into a frenzy of bouncing bodies. you desperately scanned the crowd, searching for paige. the last time you'd seen her was this morning, when the world had barely started turning and neither of you were functioning properly. but she was nowhere to be found.

after a while, you gave up the search and decided to surrender. letting yourself go, you joined kk, ice, and morgan on the dance floor. their moves were a chaotic blur of energy, a reckless dance-off you knew would result in cringe-worthy social media posts tomorrow morning. but that was a concern for hangover you; tonight you were going to let loose. more shots kept coming, and at some point you had settled into a booth, your usual type A, responsible personality had vanished as you giggled at every word you heard. soon, the shots and cocktails caught up to you, and you felt the urge to pee. you excused yourself to the bathroom.

as you carefully studied your steps, hoping not to trip and faceplant, you spotted her. or rather, them. paige and azzi were snuggled up in a corner, their hands all over each other. they too had blurred out the crowd the couple seemingly in their own world. 

your heart skipped a beat as you stood frozen, the noise of the prty fading into a hollow echo. 

paige’s laughter rang out, bright and infectious as azzi whispered something into her ear. the way they leaned into each other, sharing secrets and inside jokes, made the jealousy rise like a bitter tide in your throat. you felt the familiar ache of longing, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you were just a spectator to their little bubble. 

you blinked back the sting in your eyes, forcing a breath past the lump lodged in your throat. everything inside you screamed to look away, to retreat into the safety of ignorance. but your body betrayed you, keeping you rooted in place, caught in the rawness of it all.

the change in songs snapped you out of your daze. 

this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

you threw this party for her. 

the heavy bass melted into a glittering, synthy beat as the next song bled through the speakers.

“only threw this party for you…”

your head snapped to the dj booth instinctively, recognizing the opening notes of party 4 u — the very song you had requested weeks ago for this exact moment. it was supposed to play when paige arrived, when you would have wrapped her up in a hug and whispered congratulations into her ear, hearts beating in tandem under the soft pulse of the lights.

instead, you stood alone at the edge of the dance floor, clutching your drink like a lifeline, your heart aching so loudly it drowned out the music.

“i was hopin' you'd come through…”

your body swayed, but it wasn't dancing — it was the tequila, the exhaustion, the sheer weight of the night tilting the room. you laughed bitterly under your breath, blinking up at the strobe lights like they might burn the sadness right out of you.

around you, the crowd twisted and spun in slow motion, their faces blurring into streaks of neon and glitter.

“i just wanted you to show up…”

your vision snagged on a familiar blonde head weaving through the bodies. paige.

she was searching. eyes darting, scanning — frantic in a way you hadn’t expected.

for a second, your heart lifted, naive and desperate. but then you saw azzi trailing behind her, hand brushing lightly at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd.

whatever fragile hope you had splintered in two.

you turned before she could spot you, slipping past a group of people taking selfies, ignoring the way your head spun from the sudden movement. you pushed open the door to the balcony, gulping down the cold, crisp air like it might erase the taste of regret on your tongue.

the night outside was quieter, but not enough to drown out the music seeping through the walls. you leaned heavily against the railing, head bowed, letting the tears drip onto your dress, unnoticed under the low, purple glow of the city lights.

inside, party 4 u played on, the beat shimmering like shattered glass.

and for the first time that night, you allowed yourself to admit it: this party wasn’t really for paige. it was for you. for the part of you that still believed there was an us to celebrate.

k. bye - tini

[magicalrocketships]

Oh, Mog. I often think of you and hope you have energy enough to do the things you want to do, and if that happens to be writing amazing fic, what a cherry on the top of the cake.

HOWEVER! It is hard to be so altruistic when you dangle a little nugget of fic that is Sugar Baby Daniel au. I neeeeeeed it like Max needs sim racing, like Daniel needs his emotional support athletes. I am never going to get over this idea - I hope you manage to write it one day!

Thank you, my lovely. Fatigue is the worst. It's the worst. I'm so exhausted all the time, so thank you for thinking of me <3

I do have more energy to think about fic than I do to write it, but I did write a LITTLE bit of sugar baby Daniel fic, and here's what I have (it might never be more than this, but I plan on thinking about it a lot). it's 2022, Daniel never got to F1 - backstory available upon application - and Daniel and Max met on holiday in Ibiza during at the start of Max's summer break.

&&&

"What do you want for Christmas?" Max asks, seven minutes into a phone call on Daniel's lunch break, where he's eaten half of a Sainsbury's meal deal sandwich he doesn't want and spent the other five minutes complaining to Max about how he fucking hates his fucking job. 

"Not to work here anymore," Daniel complains, opening a too-small box of tiny bits of chopped melon and squishy grapes and wishing he could afford the fancy packs of chopped mango from M&S. 

"Okay," Max says. "Where would you be instead?"

"Partying with you," Daniel grumbles, because the grape isn't nice and he's sick of working through his lunch and all the late nights in the factory and all for a racing team he's starting to hate. 

"Okay," Max says again. "What time do you finish on Friday?"

"It's supposed to be five," Daniel says, "but, like, it never fucking is anymore. You know it's supposed to be shorter hours when it isn't a fucking race weekend but if I'm out of here by seven then I'll be fucking lucky." He stabs a bit of melon with a wooden chopstick because the kitchen never has any forks and he doesn't like sticky fingers. He's cold and bad-tempered and he's had his Christmas extended leave turned down so he can't even go back to fucking Australia and see his parents. Fuck. The melon's on the turn too. It's not his fucking day. How can it be this fucking rainy in fucking August? This is supposed to be summer. 

"I'll send the car to pick you up at five," Max says, as if Daniel isn't midway through a whine. "It can wait until seven if you're still working. The jet will of course wait for you."

"Wait," Daniel says. "What?"

"You're coming to Monaco for the weekend," Max says. "And I'm going to fuck you in every room in my flat."

Daniel chokes on a going-off grape. "What the fuck."

"You didn't think we were not going to be fucking just because we're not in Ibiza anymore, did you?" Max asks. 

That's exactly what Daniel did think. One week in Ibiza fucking a partying racing driver and a few texts and two phone calls afterwards and he'd assumed this was one incredible, heady dream and not something that was ever going to continue beyond a holiday romance. Even this phone call seems improbable and made up. He's been limiting himself to a dream of just being a name Max remembers. 

"That's very stupid, Daniel," Max says, as if Daniel's the ridiculous one here. "I'll fly you back in time for work on Monday. Okay?"

"Okay," Daniel says, with a slightly embarrassing squeak. 

"Good," Max says in satisfaction. "I've missed being fucked by you."

&&&

Not only is there a car waiting for him on Friday after work, there's a private jet, there's fancy fucking snacks and nice gin and when he lands in Nice, there's a fucking helicopter waiting to fly him to Monte Fucking Carlo. Then there is World fucking Champion Max Verstappen waiting by a car that probably costs more than five times Daniel's annual fucking salary, followed by World fucking Champion Max Verstappen kissing him in the front seat of a supercar and depositing a gift bag in Daniel's lap like it's nothing but a bag of pickled onion Monster Munch. 

"We're going for dinner," Max says, starting the engine. "You can wear that."

Inside is a dark blue Tag Heuer watch. Daniel looks at it. "Are you lending me it?"

"I bought it for you," Max says, as the engine roars and Daniel gets hard. "I jerked off thinking about you in it."

"Fuck," Daniel says succinctly. He puts it on.

[cozycottagetarot]

Your First 'Argument' With Them

Notes:

This rather light hearted (save one pile) reading explores the cause and resolution of your first significant argument/fight/tiff with your person.

The energies for you and your person could be potentially switched. For a few piles it felt like the reaction could belong to swapped between the two of you.

This was one of those readings where a lot of info only sorted itself out as I did each section so you really have to stick with me on this one haha.

There's some brief language in pile 3 & 4.

This reading is for entertainment purposes only! ✨

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Paid Readings — Open 🫧

Pile 1

The Incident/Cause 

Cards: Two of Swords, The World, Queen of Swords, The Chariot 

Your first argument with your person is around a significant and potentially life changing decision that needs to be made. The decision can shape how you two move forward and close out a cycle but the conflict arises because you two have two opposing opinions or desires. There are a lot of different scenarios here however, so keep in mind the details will vary greatly from person to person. It could also be that one person is hesitant while the other is more self-assured. The other scenario I’m picking up on is maybe you (could be them) feel pressured by a time frame in what the decision needs to be made. Another situation that comes to me is being given an ultimatum. In general there’s an energy of stalling and needing to get moving. Sneaky ten of swords was hiding out in the deck! The vibes could be off and hurtful words exchanged. It could be a situation that makes or breaks the relationship.

The Resolution 

Cards: Ace of Wands, Five of Wands, Seven of Wands reversed, Three of Cups, Three of Pentacles 

This might get worse before it reaches a fiery climax and gets better. Quite honestly your person may become more intolerable and you might find yourself fighting to keep your cool. I don’t get a really intense fight though, just being majorly annoyed. You may both turn to your friends to get advice/help or a third party may help you both resolve the conflict. 

In the end, you and your person will try to come up with a solution that works for both of you. They may or may not confess their feelings for you… it depends on your relationship.

Curious about their reaction, your reaction, and the long-term impact on your relationship? 🌟 Dive into the details in the extended version, available to all tiers on my Patreon! 💖✨ Don't miss out! 🌠

Pile 2

The Incident/Cause 

Cards: Knight of Pentacles, The Lovers, Temperance, Knight of Swords, The Patient Witch, The Magician

The relationship is moving too slowly for someone. One person is comfortable with the pace and the other is like – “okay, um, what are we doing”. The relationship could be what each of you desires but one of you is more laid back and the other is a go-getter… very driven. I’m also getting a cancelled date and one person keeps saying “I want more”. Someone is spoiled by or wants to be spoiled with the other’s love and intention! The other person gives everything, just you know… slowly!

The Resolution 

Cards: Ten of Wands, Page of Swords, Good Luck (Wheel of Fortune) Five of Wands, Ten of Cups 

You two will eventually decide to stop making things so difficult for yourselves. You're only clashing because you can’t see you have to actively figure things out together. The resolution is that things will pick up the pace. It will require you both to turn within though as it seems like the resolution is internal work that in the end pushes you two forward. 

For one of you, it’s about opening up and being vulnerable while for the other it’s about realising you’re allowed to receive. Kind of like the disconnect comes from lack of give and take (it’s there but imbalance). So once that is realised internally it can create a more secure and faster-moving flow. 

Curious about their reaction, your reaction, and the long-term impact on your relationship? 🌟 Dive into the details in the extended version, available to all tiers on my Patreon! 💖✨ Don't miss out! 🌠

Pile 3

The Incident/Cause 

Cards: The Sun, Ace of Wands, King of Pentacles, The Chariot, Seven of Pentacles 

*If you were drawn to pile two I highly suggest checking that out!

I’ve been fighting for my life on this one Pile 3. I kept doing this pile looking for the source of the first (major) argument or even disagreement but the story wasn’t adding up to anything bad. You two may be a couple that works through disconnects (cause at the point that’s all I can call it) right away. The other piles had arguments with breaks but I get that vibe of you two always working to be on the same page or at least understand each other in the moment. 

But I still need to give you something so I decided to focus on the causes of general conflicts between you two. 

You two may have conflicts/disconnects over expectations of what your lives should look like and even that seems super mild. It’s like ‘maybe life should look like XYZ → but oh wait I’m actually happy with what I have’… you two may have to shed the stories you’ve been told and keep working on what you have together and individually because you’re happy. 

You guys might also be slow to get together as a couple. It felt like a waiting game in one of the previous pulls. Like you’re both hurt from previous experiences but also sure about your feelings for each other but unsure they’re reciprocated. So it’s a ‘will they won’t they’ kind of thing. You may run the risk of being “the one that got away”. 

How Are Conflicts Resolved

Cards: Ace of Cups, Five of Swords, Seven of Wands, Ten of Wands, Seven of Cups 

Conflicts may be so rare and few that you guys would definitely take it to heart. But I’m getting “I choose you you this lifetime and the next”. You two make a conscious decision to be in it together forever. You resolve conflicts through curiosity and a desire to understand each other. It’s like ‘this is the love of my life’ and “I don’t care, we’re getting through this together”. You naturally seek to understand each other and hold one another accountable. 

Curious about their reaction, your reaction, and the long-term impact on your relationship? 🌟 Dive into the details in the extended version, available to all tiers on my Patreon! 💖✨ Don't miss out! 🌠

Pile 4

‼️ Before you read: This pile has a theme of self confidence and possible anxiety/mental health issues.

The Incident/Cause 

Cards:  Queen of Wands reversed,m Ace of Wands, Good Luck Charm, Nine of Wands, Ten of Swords, Strength 

This feels a bit messy (post-reading– but not really lol)…  someone could have some self-confidence issues here. There’s also some energy of preferring to be alone rather than out with/around other people. 

This fight was ‘bound’ to happen, but at the same time, it’s in your hands? It’s more of a self-fulfilling prophecy. It also has this vibe of being manageable to out of control and needing intervention.  Someone, (likely you but this is one of those piles where the roles could be reversed), could have significant trauma or some anxiety/mental health issues going on. 

Self-love is the issue and it causes a lot of worrying and isolation. It’s so hard to articulate this ‘softly’ which makes it even more challenging. Let's say Person A struggles but Person B can’t see why. In B’s eyes, A is the most gorgeous, passionate, fun, loving person ever. A and B may bicker a lot about the topic but I see this tension swelling and some hurtful things might be said. I think you two may also end up either taking space or separating for a little bit (like days more than weeks). 

The Resolution 

Cards: Page of Swords, Seven of Wands, Knight of Cups, Three of Swords, Queen of Swords, The Chariot 

Your person is going to want to hear your story. You two could end up having a bit of a heart-to-heart. They’re going to work with you to help you get yourself back to a good place again (so supporting you being your own rescuer). They’ll be your accountability partner and cheerleader along the way, standing by your side as you learn to step into your power again. It might happen faster than you think it will, but it doesn’t mean you won’t falter. But when you do you’ll bounce back quicker.

Curious about their reaction, your reaction, and the long-term impact on your relationship? 🌟 Dive into the details in the extended version, available to all tiers on my Patreon! 💖✨ Don't miss out! 🌠

[insomniumstella]

spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts. 

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven. 

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around. 

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil. 

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh. 

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.” 

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.” 

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago. 

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole. 

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose. 

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?” 

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her. 

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days. 

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi. 

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.” 

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?” 

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front. 

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.” 

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze. 

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee. 

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.” 

“How undercooked?” 

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.” 

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact. 

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.” 

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.” 

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile. 

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?” 

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them." 

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.” 

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer. 

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.” 

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters: 

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on. 

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”. 

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides. 

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you. 

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side. 

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.” 

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises. 

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.” 

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding. 

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?” 

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness. 

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.” 

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time. 

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves. 

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” 

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?” 

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.” 

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again. 

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”  

“People do say opposites attract.” 

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.” 

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him. 

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones. 

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.” 

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.” 

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early." 

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.” 

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.” 

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

can i resquest something with balde where theyre friedns with benefits, with smut or spice

i have never written for him before, so that was a challenge, but i hope you like it!

nye fwb | alejandro balde

🎉 synopsis: Two best friends, the only single ones at their New Year’s Eve party, reluctantly share a midnight kiss as a joke, only to discover undeniable chemistry that leads them to an impulsive, awkward, and hilariously passionate first hookup, all while vowing to keep it casual. tags: friends to friends with benefits, banter, light smut, awkward but sweet. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 2.6k words)

The music pounded through the speakers, someone had turned the living room into a makeshift dance floor, complete with cheap strobe lights and half-empty cups strewn across every available surface. Your friend group was spread out in their usual pairs, laughing, kissing, clinking glasses – a nauseating display of holiday cheer that only highlighted the fact that you were standing alone by the snack table, fiddling with a plastic champagne flute.

Alejandro Balde appeared at your side, effortlessly cool as usual, with a knowing smirk that immediately set off your internal alarms. “So,” he said, “what’s the plan for midnight?”

You blinked at him. “The plan?”

“Yeah. You and me,” he said with a grin that made your stomach flip. “Everyone else has someone. Seems like we might as well.”

You gasped. “Ale, that’s practically incest.”

He froze, his face contorting with genuine confusion. “It’s not like we’re related.”

“You know what I mean,” you said, already regretting the metaphor. “We’re in the same friend group. It would be weird.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Weird how? Everyone else is dating. What’s the harm?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the countdown had already begun. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Alejandro gave you a playful shove closer to him, his smirk daring you to argue.

Seven. Six. Five. Your eyes met his and he tilted his head, a silent question.

Four. Three. Two. Before you could overthink it, you leaned in, grabbing his shirt just as the clock struck midnight.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed, and then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was supposed to be casual, a brief acknowledgment of the holiday and your shared singleness, but it wasn’t. It was something else entirely. Heat surged between you, undeniable and immediate, and when you pulled back, his hand lingered at your waist.

“Okay,” he said, his voice a little unsteady, “what the hell was that?”

You shook your head, barely able to catch your breath. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to…?” He trailed off, looking around the crowded room, and you understood what he meant without him finishing the sentence.

“Yeah,” you said, already grabbing his hand.

You ducked out of the main room and into a quiet hallway, finding an unoccupied corner. He kissed you again, more urgently this time, and your back hit the wall as his hands found your hips. It was reckless and impulsive and so completely unlike the two of you that it almost made you laugh – except you were too busy kissing him to care.

“This is insane,” he said.

“Probably,” you agreed, not moving an inch.

“So what happens now?”

“We make a deal,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “Just for tonight. We hook up, and then we go back to being friends tomorrow.”

He considered this for a moment. “Just tonight?”

“Just tonight,” you confirmed.

“Alright,” he said, “But you’re the one who’s going to have to stop me tomorrow.”

You were barely out of the hallway before Alejandro grabbed your hand again, pulling you through the crowd. “You’re gonna get us caught,” you hissed, dodging someone’s drink as you stumbled after him.

“Relax,” he shot back, looking over his shoulder with a grin that was way too confident for someone sneaking off like that. “No one’s paying attention.”

You looked around, heart hammering, sure someone was watching – but nope. Everyone was too busy making out or singing off-key to whatever remix was blaring. You were invisible.

He stopped in front of a random door upstairs, jiggled the handle, and – thankfully – it opened. “After you,” he said, giving a dramatic bow like he was inviting you into a five-star suite instead of what looked like someone’s guest room.

“Oh, how romantic,” you deadpanned, stepping inside. The room was small, a pile of coats sat at the foot of the bed, a forgotten casualty of the party. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

Alejandro kicked the door shut, leaning back against it with a shrug. “Hey, you knew what you signed up for.” His smirk was back, but he also looked nervous, maybe? Or was that just wishful thinking?

“Right,” you muttered, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it was. Alejandro stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking at you like he was trying to figure out the next move.

“So, uh –”

“You’re being awkward,” you blurted, crossing your arms.

“Me? You’re being awkward,” he shot back, but there was a laugh tucked in there, soft and a little shaky.

“Okay, shut up,” you said, stepping closer because if you stood there analyzing his face any longer, you were going to combust.

“Gladly,” he murmured, meeting you halfway.

The kiss was messy, rushed, the kind of kiss that made you both laugh against each other’s mouths because your noses bumped. His hands landed on your waist, yours tangled in his shirt, and for a second, you thought, Wow, this is going to be the most awkward thing we’ve ever done.

Then his lips moved against yours, slower this time, and you thought, Okay, maybe not.

Clothes started coming off – or at least, you tried. Alejandro got tangled in his sweater, swearing under his breath as he fought to pull it over his head. You snorted, trying (and failing) to hide your laugh.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” he asked, finally freeing himself and tossing the sweater onto the coat pile.

“A little,” you admitted, reaching for the buttons on your shirt.

“Need help?” he teased, stepping closer.

“Nope, I’m good –” One of the buttons snagged, and you groaned. “Okay, maybe.”

He grinned, brushing your hands aside to do it himself. His fingers fumbled, though, and you caught the way his ears flushed. “See? Not so easy, is it?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, but his voice was warm, fond, the way it always got when it was just the two of you.

Once the shirt was off, things started moving faster. His lips found your neck, and you bit back a laugh. “Sorry,” he murmured, pulling back.

“No, it’s – it’s fine,” you said quickly, tilting your head. “Just… different.”

“Good different?”

You nodded, your hands tracing his chest, and his breathing hitched. “Good different.”

Finally, you ended up on the bed, your legs tangled together as you laughed at the way the mattress squeaked every time one of you shifted. “This bed is going to rat us out,” you muttered, and he laughed, his breath warm against your shoulder.

“Guess we better make it quick, then.”

“Smooth,” you said, rolling your eyes, but the teasing edge in your voice softened when his lips found your collarbone.

Things slowed down, the nervousness melting into something more natural. His hands skimmed over your skin, careful but confident, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d always been this good at making you feel like the center of the universe.

When his mouth moved lower, you squirmed instinctively, a mix of surprise and nervous laughter bubbling up. His lips brushed even lower, taking their time, tasting your most special place. Every press was soft and maddening in a way that left you breathless. You let out a shaky exhale, his hands sliding to your sides to steady you as you squirmed again. It was impossible not to; the slow, deliberate way he was working his way down was almost too much.

And then, all at once, it was electric. He found a rhythm that made your breath hitch, your fingers curling into the sheets, and suddenly you were less concerned about what he was doing and more concerned about how you could possibly keep yourself together.

“Alejandro,” you managed, your voice breaking on the second syllable.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice muffled but full of infuriating confidence.

You had no answer – at least, not one you could give in words. Your head tipped back, your eyes squeezing shut as a wave of heat rolled through you, every nerve ending sparking to life. It was overwhelming, intense, and completely unexpected, and when the sensation finally crested, it left you boneless and breathless.

He gave you a moment to catch your breath, pressing a few soft kisses against your skin as you blinked up at the ceiling, your heart pounding in your ears. Finally, he lifted his head, resting his chin lightly against your hip as he looked up at you, his grin now warm and a little too proud.

“What’s that look for?” you asked, as you fought to steady your voice.

“Nothing,” he said, but the sparkle in his eyes said otherwise.

When it was your turn to take control, you didn’t hesitate – not because you weren’t nervous (oh, you were), but because he had ignited something competitive in you. You flipped the roles with a little more enthusiasm than grace, pushing him onto his back and sliding down just far enough to see the way his expression shifted from confident to wide-eyed in an instant.

“You’re squirming,” you pointed out, grinning as you hovered over him.

“Yeah, well,” he said, swallowing hard, his voice taking on a breathy edge that made your cheeks heat. “I don’t exactly hate it.”

His hands found your hair, firm but hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether to guide you or let you figure it out. That flicker of uncertainty in his otherwise unshakable confidence was a rush all its own, and you couldn’t resist leaning in, testing the waters with a teasing press of your lips.

When you finally took all of him in your mouth, his sharp intake of breath sent a thrill through you, even as your own nerves were jangling. You took your time, trying to find a rhythm, listening closely to the soft sounds he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Not – oh,” he started, his voice breaking on the word. His hands tensed on your hair, fingers flexing, and you couldn’t help but smile around him, the movement making him groan.

“Not fair,” he muttered, his voice tight but laced with a laugh that was almost disbelieving.

“Mmf,” you mumbled, trying to answer. You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, but your mouth was still otherwise occupied. Whatever you were trying to say came out garbled, and his laugh turned breathless.

“Okay, what?” he asked, tilting his head to look down at you, his grin equal parts adoring and amused.

You tried again, this time letting go long enough to say, “Fair’s overrated.” But before you could get the words out properly, his hips shifted under you, and you couldn’t stop the surprised little noise that escaped you.

“Fair’s... overrated,” you managed, your voice muffled but determined.

He let out a soft, shaky laugh, his head tipping back against the pillow. 

The way his whole body reacted, every little twitch and stuttered breath was feeding your confidence. You leaned into it, testing your own boundaries, boundaries you hadn’t even realized you wanted to cross, until his groan melted into a laugh.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice ragged but tinged with amusement. “Now you’re just showing off.”

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your lips with the back of your hand as you looked up at him. “Maybe,” you said, grinning as you tilted your head to meet his gaze.

The grin he gave you in return was crooked, lazy, and completely disarming. “You’re way too good at this,” he murmured, his voice softening. 

“Okay,” you said, breathless. “How do we... do this?”

He shifted, positioning himself above you, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders as he looked between you and the tangled mess of limbs you’d somehow become. “Uh, I think we’re supposed to know this part?”

“You’d think,” you shot back, biting your lip to keep from laughing again as he adjusted slightly.

The first attempt position was straightforward, a classic, but something wasn’t clicking. You both froze halfway through, his face hovering above yours as he raised an eyebrow.

“Is this... okay?” he asked, his voice soft but a little uncertain.

You tilted your head, considering it. “I mean, it’s fine, but –”

“Fine?” He feigned offense, pulling back with an exaggeratedly wounded look.

You snorted, nudging him playfully with your knee. “I didn’t mean you, I meant – this! It’s not quite... you know.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up a hand like he was calling a timeout. “We’ll try something else.”

The second attempt involved a lot of shuffling, some trial-and-error, and more than a few awkward laughs. At one point, his elbow slipped, and he nearly face-planted into your shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as he tried to stabilize himself.

“You good down there?” you teased, fighting the urge to dissolve into giggles.

“Barely,” he admitted, his grin returning as he shifted again. “Alright, let’s think – there’s gotta be a better way.”

After another failed attempt, you both collapsed onto the bed, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “This is a disaster,” you said between giggles, wiping at your eyes.

“Hey, don’t give up on me yet,” Alejandro said, propping himself up on one elbow. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh?” you asked, skeptical but intrigued as he sat up, his eyes thoughtful.

“Yeah,” he said, moving back into position. He reached for your leg, lifting it carefully until your knee was bent at a sharp angle. “What about... this?”

You blinked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Ale, what are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” he said, his grin widening.

And somehow, against all odds, that worked. The moment he adjusted your leg, the angle shifted, and everything clicked into place. Your breath hitched as a bolt of something electric shot through you, and judging by the way Alejandro froze, his grip tightening slightly, he felt it too.

“Wait,” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and awe. “That’s –”

“Yeah,” you cut in, nodding quickly. “That’s good. Really good.”

He let out a shaky laugh, his head dropping forward for a moment before he met your eyes again, his grin returning full force. “Told you I knew what I was doing.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you teased, though your breathlessness undercut the jab.

“Too late,” he said, his tone softening as he found a rhythm that made your toes curl. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you managed, though it came out a little broken as the intensity built.

The teasing slowed, replaced by murmured encouragements and soft gasps as you both found a really good rhythm. You lost track of time, the moment stretching out until you both hit your peak together, a shared rush that left you dazed.

When it was over, Alejandro slumped beside you, his arm draped lazily across your stomach as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Okay,” he said, “So that happened.”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ as you turned your head to look at him.

He looked at you, his grin softening. “You good?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling onto his side to face you. “I mean, unless you’re gonna roast me for, like, the next decade.”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” you said, your laugh breaking the tension.

“Fair,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “But for the record, this was... nice. You’re nice.”

“Don’t make it weird,” you said, but your voice was warm, and so was the way you leaned into his touch.

“Too late,” he teased, pulling you closer.

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Coalescence part 2/3

Part One

Part Three

Summary:

She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter. The question rises once again, unbidden. What are we? AKA: She works with Viktor for seven years, she is in love with him for five of them.

Contains: she/her pronouns, supremely slow burn, sharing a bed, canon typical illness stuff.

Word Count: 12,181

Read on AO3

The next year feels a lot slower than the last few had, without the relentless push from the council to get the Hexgates finished, work stagnates as the three of them try to figure out what to make next. A few months in she gets sick of sitting on the other side of the room and goes through the arduous process of rearranging the furniture. She has to move Jayce’s desk first and then the blackboard and then she finally has enough room to squeeze herself in, the fact that the only available spot is next to Viktor’s desk is only serendipitous, at least that’s what she tells herself. Jayce seems pretty excited about the change when he comes in, that maybe the rearrangement might be enough to finally get all their synapses firing. 

Viktor, by comparison, sits quietly next to her and doesn't even acknowledge the change for the first few hours, just scoffs when she asks to borrow his ink for her pen, “If you’ve only moved your desk next to mine for access to my stationary then I’ll be very upset.” despite his words, he slides it over to her desk, “You’re lucky I’m so accommodating.” 

She wants to say something about how his stationary is the last thing on her mind, but instead, she just laughs and replies, “Very lucky, thank you.”

A few weeks after her impromptu rearrangement, she comes into the lab to find a new desk sitting where hers once was and more surprisingly, a person sitting at the desk. Shocked, she lurks in the doorway while trying to figure out what to say, only for the visitor to notice her and immediately jump up from her chair and rush over to greet her. 

“Hi! I’m Sky! It’s so great to meet you!” She says, grabbing one of her hands between two of her own, “I’m the new lab assistant! Viktor hired me!” She blinks for a moment, trying to find a way to reply that doesn't make her seem utterly repellant, “I thought I was the lab assistant…” is what came out, and it wasn't the energy she had been aiming for. 

Sky laughs, “You’re funny. It’s nice to know you three have a sense of humour.” she finally releases her hand before readjusting her glasses, “If you ever need anything, I’ll either be here or in the botany lab down the hall. I’m going to study as much as I can while I have the chance, but I’ll always be nearby.”

When Viktor eventually arrives and sits at his desk, she scoots her chair a little closer to his and whispers, “Why’d you hire another assistant?” “Sky’s an old friend and we’re going to need the help-” he pauses a moment and then spins his chair to face her, “Why did you say another assistant?” “Because I’m your assistant.” Viktor lets out a disbelieving laugh, “ You haven’t been our assistant in a very long time.”

Her heart thrums nervously in her chest, and all she can let out is a weak little, “...huh?”

“You’re a partner.” Viktor clarifies as he rests his hand on her forearm, “A friend .” a beat, his thumb lightly rubbing against her bare skin, “and you always made terrible coffee, it was time to let you off the hook”

She laughs and playfully slaps his hand away.

It’s only a month after that when Jayce has the idea that changes the trajectory of their research for the foreseeable future. They had all been sitting at their desks, doing barely any work. It was still just under a year before the next progress day and without an active request from the council, there wasn’t all that much pressure for them to create something. She had been entertaining herself with a paper ball that she was tossing up into the air, Jayce was flicking paperclips into an empty crate on the other side of the room, and even Viktor had been absently spinning around in his chair for the past hour, which was definitely out of the ordinary for him. 

“Maybe we need a change of scenery?” Jayce suggests, hanging his head low when he finishes his last box of paperclips. 

She scoffs, tossing the paper ball in the air once again, “It’s not like we can take the research outside with us.”

“Even if we could, it would be far too dangerous to take any of the crystals out of the lab.” Viktor supplies, completing another rotation on his chair, “They are too volatile.”

Jayce sighs, “I didn’t literally mean moving the lab equipment outside, guys. I just thought we could take a walk and-” 

When the paper ball finishes its most recent arc into the air, she doesn’t bother catching it again, instead pointing a finger in Jayce’s direction, “That’s your idea face! You have an idea!”

Viktor freezes mid-spin, quickly rotating himself to face Jayce whose eyebrows are drawn tight. After another moment just sitting there and staring straight forward, Jayce leaps up from his chair and starts frantically pacing back and forth. 

“Oh yes!” Viktor says enthusiastically, turning to look at her over his shoulder, “He definitely has an idea.”

Jayce laughs breathlessly and then stalls in the middle of the room, erupting into a passionate and wildly gesticulated speech about finally being able to bring Hextech to the people instead of just serving the whims of the council, about working on smaller devices that could be mass-produced and (importantly) would have a far shorter development time than something as large scale as the Hexgates. As he spoke, she couldn’t resist shifting her gaze to Viktor, leaning forward on her desk to get a better angle on his face and nearly melting at the impassioned warmth in his eyes, the delectably sweet tug of his lips. 

“Before we get ahead of ourselves,” Viktor begins, trying not to seem as exhilarated as he clearly is, “We need to figure out a way to stabilise the crystals, then we can focus on utility.” “God, I’ve missed this,” She says with a warm smile dancing around her mouth, “When can we start?”

***

It’s full steam ahead in the lab for the next few months, literally, to some degree. Before fully joining the Hextech team she had spent a brief portion of time studying glass-blowing and shaping and while she was only half joking when she suggested that they should try tempering the crystals, it ended up being the first step to the final solution. While a collision with physical objects causes a volatile reaction in the crystals, standing about twenty feet back in the Talis family forge, they learned that heat did not cause the same problem. Tempering Hextech crystals turned out to be a much more exhaustive process than tempering glass though, and every step of the way they were worried about causing some sort of disaster in the forge. 

Sky became an invaluable resource and her contagious energy meant that she also very quickly became a friend. While she wasn’t able to commit her full time to the lab because she had her own studies to worry about, she was always around to help copy down notes when everyone else had full hands or to provide encouragement whenever it started to feel like the next hurdle was impossible. Viktor was also right, Sky made a much better coffee than she ever could. 

“Damn.” She mutters, sipping gingerly on the very hot coffee, “How do you stop it from tasting so watery?” Sky laughed, expertly working the coffee machine in the small tearoom in the sciences wing of the academy, “I worked at a coffee shop in the undercity for a few years, all muscle memory.” she explained, popping a lid on Jayce’s coffee and then scooping one spoonful of sugar into the final vacant cup. 

“Viktor takes two sugars.” She says quickly, probably too quickly. 

Sky gives her an odd look, and then chuckles, “I was about to add another one, but thanks for the help.” She suddenly finds her own reflection in the cup of coffee very interesting.

While the work on finding a way to stabilise the crystals took almost all of their time, it was impossible to stop herself from peering in Viktor’s direction whenever she had a spare moment. He had lied about the leg brace just being for the gala, he didn't wear it every day and on the days that he did he claimed to have plans to take a walk out in the city when they wrapped up in the lab, but she usually caught him walking straight back to his dorm as always. She and Jayce would often share a worried look on days that he showed up wearing it but both could sense he didn't want any attention being drawn to it. There were other changes too, smaller ones, that might have gone unnoticed by anyone from outside the lab. His breath quickened and the hours he used to spend working out calculations and formulas on the blackboard were now spent at his desk instead, his angles sharpened and his face slowly began to lose its softness. 

“Just tired.” He responds, whenever she asks how he is feeling. 

Her eyebrows pinch, an insidious fear taking up residence behind her ribs, “You're tired a lot.” 

He sighs, and she is standing close enough that he can rest his head on the swell of her hip, “I am”

She wraps her arm around his shoulders to hold him against her, aching with the weight of a familiar question.

While he moves slower, he doesn't stop moving. When she and Jayce try to untangle just how to temper the crystals, Viktor sits on a chair nearby taking furious notes and offering suggestions. He sits at his desk with Sky as the two of them start sketching potential designs for smaller-scale Hextech projects. Viktor is, of course, there on the day that they manage to create their first successful gemstone. The crystals temper a lot stronger than glass does and were (so far as they could tell) completely resistant to shattering. The final test happens back in the forge where this process all began, with her and Viktor waiting impatiently on the other side of a wrought iron metal door with only a small glass window to watch through as Jayce bravely performs the final test of the gemstone’s durability. 

Jayce waves at them both, though they can barely see his face under the full set of protective armour he is wearing just in case they were off with their calculations. Despite all the preliminary testing and Viktor’s absolute belief in the gemstone’s structural integrity, she still nervously chews on her thumbnail as she watches Jayce set it down on the anvil. Though she doesn’t express her nervousness, Viktor still notices, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Jayce will be fine.” He says confidently, “We’re ready.” She lets out a shaky sigh, the orange firelight from inside the forge washes gently across Viktor’s face at sets his eyes ablaze. His posture is more lopsided than it used to be, his left shoulder kicked up where he is putting almost all of his standing weight on his cane. Her feelings are discombobulating, a dizzying mixture of fear and denial with an overlarge dash of something aching and desperate that she is still too afraid to give a name despite so many years of feeling it.

“Knowing you think so makes me feel a lot better.” She replies, turning her gaze back to the tiny window, “I envy your optimism.” 

“I wouldn’t call it optimism .” He says, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders and resting his cheek on the top of her head, “Determination, maybe?” 

She softens against him, his touch is familiar by now and while it no longer sends her awash with nerves to feel it, a warmth still settles in her stomach that she is unable to do away with. Her arm slides around his waist and clutches him tight, breath high in her chest as she watches Jayce take a few cautious steps towards the gemstone, clutching an oversised smithing hammer in his hands. Just as he raises it in the air, she’s so panicked that she can’t bear to watch and spins to bury her face in Viktor’s chest. She swears she hears his breath catch, and while he stumbles a little to adjust for the new weight, it only takes him a moment to regain his footing. From behind her closed eyes, she hears the echoing boom of the hammer making impact and then a ringing silence where an explosion would have been, if there was going to be one. 

Viktor lets out a breathless, overjoyed laugh, his hand rubbing enthusiastic circles between her shoulder blades, “We’re going to be able to do some real good now.” He says, “I can feel it.”

The leadup to the next progress day is a stressful one, a great deal of their time was spent tempering enough gemstones for testing purposes and the process was hard enough to replicate that they didn't feel comfortable letting anyone other than her or Jayce near the forge. Even Viktor found it a bit intimidating in there and preferred to sit back while the two of them worked. So while she was spending months and months writing detailed instructions for the tempering methods in preparation for the day that smallscale Hextech devices went public, for now, it was still safer to handle that part themselves. Once they finally have enough gemstones for the prototyping stage, they leave the forge behind for the far more familiar walls of the lab. She continues working to transcribe all the notes they have on the process of refining Hextech gemstones, while Viktor, Jayce and occasionally Sky toss ideas back and forth. 

It takes a lot of late nights glowering at the blackboard and throwing out hundreds of ideas before Viktor finally has the idea to find a way to improve working conditions for miners in the fissures. She can tell that it’s a personal mission for him, the way he talks about what conditions were like when he was still living in the Undercity and she, Jayce and Sky all agree with the idea wholeheartedly. They have far less time before progress day than they would like, but after narrowing the scope of Viktor’s idea to a maximum of two projects for now, it feels doable. Viktor has a bit of his pep back, which also helps to soothe her worries. While he isn't moving around as much as she remembers, his enthusiasm surrounding their new project can be heard in every word, seen in every exaggerated gesticulation. 

One day she is completely lost watching him with wrapt attention as he and Jayce discuss what kind of metal would best be suited for the final version of the devices. Utterly absorbed in each and every minute movement of his lovely hands, in the bright vibrancy of his eyes. 

���He was like this as a kid too,” Sky says, snapping her out of her stupor. 

“What, sorry?”

Sky laughs and inclines her head in his direction, “Viktor. We grew up in the same neighbourhood if you could call it that. He was always tinkering with something instead of playing with the other kids.” She shrugs a shoulder, “He always inspired me, still does, maybe even more so.” 

“Yeah.” She replies wistfully, watching as Viktor excitedly gestures to an equation on the blackboard, causing Jayce to pick up the chalk and start making edits, “He’s certainly inspiring.”

***

With only two months left before progress day, the prototypes still aren’t in any sort of state to show the public even though they are almost complete. Especially since the gauntlet keeps insisting that it wants to remain clenched in a fist no matter how hard they try to convince it otherwise. It’s that terrible part of development, where all the brainstorming and assembly is completed and all that’s left is struggling to figure out the last remaining kinks. Despite not being able to make much progress, the four of them are in the lab from sunrise to sunset almost every day. Sky often wears the gauntlet for hours straight as they all take turns trying to diagnose the issue and Jayce almost loses a finger to the Hexclaw when he gets a little impatient in getting it out of the way and forgets to disengage the gemstone. 

She’s tired. They all are. Sky at some point admits that she can’t keep up these hours when she has her own studies to work on and returns to only dropping by when they need help, but the main Hextech team persists, pulling allnighters and sometimes even falling asleep on the floor of the lab in a big pile. At the very least they endure the stress together. With the initial excitement of development over and the growing sleep deprivation, Viktor starts looking worse again. His already pale skin turns papery ashen and the bags under his eyes are purple like a permanent bruise. One day he shows up with a crutch instead of his cane. He doesn’t even try to create an excuse for it, just sits at his desk and starts working before either she or Jayce can ask questions. That’s when they quickly make the decision to insist that all three of them stop spending so much time in the lab, enforcing a cut-off time where, regardless of progress made, the three of them would all head back to their dorms for the evening. While he seems a little irritated by the idea at first, Viktor does agree. None of them are getting any good work done and a proper sleep schedule might be just the thing to change that.

It’s not a perfect system though. Some nights she sneaks work home with her and knows that Viktor is doing the same, but at the very least he’s more likely to fall asleep in his bed that way. Other nights she is still so anxious about their upcoming deadline that she can’t force herself to sleep, even as the time ticks through until the AM. 

One such night, she dashes her way back to the lab well past 2:00 am. She had been planning to tire herself out by reading the book she had rented from the academy library, but she had left it on her desk in her rush to get home that evening. It’s cold when the sun goes down, so she wraps her arms around herself to avoid the chill as she finally draws closer to the lab. The academy can be a little spooky at night, especially alone. It looks a lot different without the usual warm lighting, and the sound of her feet echoes off the tiles and the whole way down the hall. When the door comes into view, she doubles her pace in the hopes of being back in her bed as soon as possible. 

She wipes her eyes and lets out a yawn as she unlocks the door, only to freeze at the entrance of the lab when the cool blue light of a Hextech gemstone still shines brightly from Viktor’s desk. It’s concerning, because they're usually very careful to lock them away when no one is inside. That's when she notices Viktor slumped on the desk, head resting atop his folded arms, he's still, he's so still that it makes an ice-cold panic start rushing through her veins. She calls his name out, walking towards him, and then again when he doesn't answer, hurrying her pace to reach him as soon as she can, her breath coming hard and fast and desperate as she reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder. 

At her touch, he startles immediately, inhaling a shocked and wheezy breath. 

“Thank god.” She exhales, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in the join between his neck and shoulder. He's still only half awake, one of his large hands coming to rest on her forearm.

“I fell asleep.” He whispers 

“Yeah.” She replies quietly, trying to calm the adrenaline still racing through her, “You did.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He clarifies slowly, trying to take stock of where he is, “And I came back here thinking that maybe I could solve our problems with the gauntlets before tomorrow morning.” He lets out a breathless laugh and runs a shaky hand through his hair, “My exhaustion must have caught up with me, I apologise.” She doesn’t move, her arms still clutch tightly around him when she lets out a shaky little breath against the skin of his neck. He was just tired, overworked just like her and Jayce. It’s not the first time he’s fallen asleep at his desk, not the first time any of them have. Her heart slowly calms at the feeling of him between her arms, the slow brush of his hand against her bare forearm. She almost wants to laugh, what had she even been thinking? That he had- 

No . There’s no point in even thinking it. He’s fine, she was worrying for nothing. 

“C’mon.” She says, unwrapping her arms from around his shoulders and smiling down at him, “You need to get to bed” He smiles weakly, and she watches with pain in her chest as he puts all of his weight on his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Don’t you need to get to bed too?” he asks, giving her just a glimpse of that mischievous smile she loves so much.

“I'll walk you back first.” She replies, heart in her throat, “Your room is closer anyway.”

Viktor looks at her curiously for a moment, and then replies, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

It isn't, they both know it, but the lie is comfortable and the fact that Viktor is willing to go along with it sends a dizzying rush down to her fingertips. They walk in comfortable silence, it reminds her of their first walk together on the way to the music wing, though a lot slower. His crutch makes more of a thunk than the click that his cane used to, but the sound is still good at helping her keep pace with him. The last thing she wants is for him to think that he’s slowing her down. He isn’t, he couldn't, a longer walk is akin to a gift for her, there's so little time for them to meet outside the lab these days that even this minuscule moment is enough for a syrupy warmth to spread through her veins. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Viktor asks when they reach his door. His voice is thick and his tone uncertain, she catches the way his free hand clenches nervously at his side. 

She nods, “Just for a second. It’ll be nice to warm up.” His smile is warm and his eyes shine like amber, “Yes.” He begins, quickly unlocking his door and stepping to the side to let her in first,  “It is cold, isn't it?” It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable. 

“Freezing.” She replies, smiling up at him and walking through the doorway.

This is hardly the first time she’s visited his dorm, though it’s usually during the day to pick something up or drop something off, once or twice to deliver lunch when she suspected that he forgot to eat and on one notable occasion, for a cup of coffee while she struggled through translating his notes into something comprehensible for the council. It looks much the same as she remembers it, very cluttered but still neat. He has stacks of books and piles of notes all over the room and a corkboard with so many overlapping sketches, notes and blueprints that its impossible to see the cork underneath. The floor is clear, though, all his frantic scientific mess is left across desks or bookshelves, a hard divide been his work life and home life. 

Viktor shuts the door behind himself and starts making his way across the space to where she can only assume his bedroom is. He looks at her over his shoulder and says, “You’ll have to give me a minute. Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.” “Oh, okay. No worries.” She replies, wondering what he has to do back there. He might just want to change into something more comfortable for the evening, which is completely reasonable, even if it makes her cheeks warm to think about. Now that she’s actually standing alone in the middle of his sitting room does she finally remember that she’s wearing her pyjamas. They aren’t at all scandalous, thankfully, but she does feel underdressed. After a moment, she sits tentatively on his couch, trying to find the perfect balance between comfortable but not too comfortable for when he comes back out. She drums her fingers against her thigh, trying to ignore just how much it smells like Viktor in here when she hears him call her name. 

She leaps up from the couch, “Yes? Are you okay?” There’s a moment of silence, and then he replies, “I’m fine, I just-” he’s muffled on the other side of the door, but she hears what sounds like a foreign expletive, “I’d appreciate your help, if you’re willing.”

She would be willing to do anything for him, so she walks towards the closed door and then says, “I am.” she swallows nervously, “Can I come in?” “Please.” He replies quietly. 

Her heart races as she opens the door, this part of his dorm she has never seen before. He has a few plants that seem to be in various stages of deceased, a completely full bookshelf, a large wooden dresser and a second, smaller desk that is covered in just as many notes as the one out in the sitting room. His crutch leans against the wall and the man himself sits on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d prefer if she didn't even notice him. “How can I help?” She asks. He looks up at her and then sighs, “The clasps at my ankle.” he says, inclining his head towards his brace, “I’m stiff today I-” “It’s okay.” She replies, already lowering to her knees, “I can do it, don’t even worry about it.” It’s clear that he is still worrying about it, even with her insistence not to. The muscles in his jaw are tight and he turns to face the wall, unwilling to meet her eyes. She doesn’t take any offence, she can tell this is humiliating for him, even though she feels nothing but adoration as her fingers meet the metal clasp at the base of his brace. Luckily the mechanism is intuitive and she doesn’t need any help in undoing it, though her trembling hands make it harder. She is not unaware of the suggestive nature of her positioning, on her knees, between his thighs, but she manages to push past the cloyingly thick implication because more than anything she just wants to help him. 

“Thank you.” He says quietly, when his ankle is loose, “I can reach the rest myself if you’d like to return to the couch for now.” Despite his tired expression, he looks very pretty above her like this, his hair is tousled and hanging slightly in his eyes and the dim lighting in the room catches on all his sharp edges in the perfect way. She sucks a shaky breath in through her nose and then suggests, “I might as well do the rest.” her smile is shaky with nerves, and her voice wavers when she adds, “It just makes sense. I’m already down here after all.” The room feels quieter without the sound of Viktor’s wheezing breath, that’s the only way she realises he’s holding it, “I, ah-” he clears his throat, “Yes. I suppose it only makes sense.” Her next smile is stronger, and more confident as she begins to undo the rest of the clasps and buckles. Viktor has to help her with a few of them, the one at his knee is particularly tricky and he’s insistent that she ask if his leg needs to be moved instead of manoeuvring it herself. Not that he needed to tell her, she would never dare do anything that could hurt him. She has to sit up on her knees to undo the final buckle at his thigh, and he rests a hand on the top of her head as she does so. The feeling of his hand has another smile jumping its way across her face and she quietly asks him to straighten his leg a little so she can slide the brace off completely. 

“All done.” She whispers when it hits the floor. 

He looks down at her for a moment, his gaze so soft that she feels herself beginning to melt in it, “Thank you.” “Do you, um, need help with anything else?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten again and he goes back to staring at the wall, “Well, yes, but-” he shakes his head, “I can do it myself, you’ve done plenty.” “No. I want to help.” She replies, “Please, let me.” Viktor sighs, “I have a back brace too, I can undo it myself, but it takes some effort.” Though there was no real way for her to have known until now, a painful churning begins in her stomach at the thought of her never noticing, not paying enough attention. She pushes the fury with herself down, something to deal with later and instead gives Viktor what she hopes is a comforting smile, “You might have to guide me through it, is that okay?” He looks relieved, as if he was half expecting her to get cold feet, “That would be fine. Thank you.” He adjusts himself on the bed so he’s facing away from her and slowly starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

She sucks in a nervous breath and watches as the fabric slides down his shoulders. There’s a mole on the back of his neck that she wants to kiss so badly she can barely stand it. It’s alarming how much his shoulder blades arch against the papery confines of his skin, the way his posture slopes up to the left, the result of an overcorrection for his limp. She swallows thickly at the sight of his brace, layers of overlapping leather and metal splints that seem directly affixed to his spine. 

Viktor takes a deep breath, she sees his shoulders move, “There are clasps on either side of my spine.” He says, voice quivering. One of his hands reaches behind himself in an attempt to point out one of the clasps for her, “It’s very tight, it will be easier if you start at the top and bottom and then work your way to the middle.” “Alright.” She whispers, trying to conceal the incessant way her heart patters behind her ribs, “Let me know if do something wrong, okay?”

He nods but otherwise doesn’t say anything. It takes her a moment to figure out how the clasp undoes at first, it’s quite a complex piece of machinery and she’s shocked to find that her first assertion was entirely correct. The central portion of the brace is affixed to his spine with a series of bolts the whole way down. Her hands shake as she moves to the same clasp on the opposite side, “How, um, how long have you had this?” she asks weakly. 

“A few years.” She clenches her teeth. How did she never notice? “Just to correct my posture.” He clarifies, sensing her tensing up behind him, “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“But you didn’t tell me.” 

He shrugs a shoulder, “You didn’t need to know.” “I would have liked to.” “Yes, well you know now,” he replies tersely and she immediately regrets pushing the matter. 

He stays silent as she works her way through the rest of the clasps. There’s a window on the wall opposite the bed and the curtains are open just enough for a beam of moonlight to reach in and wrap around the bony protrusion of his shoulder, all the way down the length of his back. She feels lost, caught and tangled up in the sharp angles of him. Her hands continue slowly undoing the brace, but her mind is tumbling and grasping for him before he slips through her fingers. The back of his neck is very pretty, the bumps of his spine that aren't covered by the splints are delicate and heartbreakingly sharp and his breathing is quiet and even for the moment, though she has grown used to hearing it like a chesty wheeze. When she finally undoes the last two clasps in the centre of the brace, he lets out a sigh of relief and when she presses a palm beside his spine, she can feel his heartbeat. Without speaking, he slips his arm through the strap that wraps up and around his left shoulder and her heart aches at the red welts left behind where the brace was pulled tight against his skin, the one on his shoulder is particularly deep and she finds herself leaning in to press a kiss to it before she can even think. Viktor sucks in a breath at the feeling of her lips against him but otherwise makes no acknowledgement of it happening.

“Would you like me to go?” She asks quietly, “You’ll probably just want to sleep now.” He looks at her over his shoulder, eyes wide and vulnerable, “No.” he says quickly, “No- it’s, it’s dark. You shouldn’t walk back alone.” A smile tugs at her lips, “It is dangerous in the hallways of the academy at night, isn't it?”

It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable. 

“It is.” He replies and his smile is a soft, heart-melting curl. After a lapse of almost excruciating silence, he shuffles himself to the side of the bed and stands shakily, resting most of his weight on a dresser in front of him, “Could you turn around a moment?” He asks

It clicks that the dresser must be where he keeps his clothes, “Oh! Yep!” He chuckles, “You can get in the bed if you’d like, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She does as he suggests, facing the wall away from him and crawling in under the covers. It feels strange, the academy bedsheets are exactly the same as the ones in her own room, yet it’s impossible to shake the significance of them being distinctly not hers, “You know I won’t let you do that, right?” she says quietly. 

A drawer opens behind her, and there’s some rustling of fabric, “I’ve slept places far worse than my couch, you even caught me doing so this evening.”

She sighs and pulls the sheets up to her chin, clutching desperately at the fabric, “C’mon, Viktor.” she almost pleads, “It’s just me, I don’t bite.” He scoffs behind her and the bed sinks when he sits on the edge of it. There’s more rustling and she can only assume it's easier for him to change in and out of his trousers when seated, “That isn’t what I'm concerned about.” “Then what are you concerned about?” Viktor goes completely still, she can only hear the sounds of his breathing and she struggles to keep her own breath even as she worries that she may have overstepped. The moment hangs in the air like a pendulum above her and her fingers dig tightly into the blankets. 

“Alright, you win,” Viktor says, and the weight is lifted. He shifts a little, and she feels the blankets lift on his side of the bed as he climbs in. Then she hears a click, and the only light source in the room goes out. 

What are we? She wonders, body stiff and uncomfortable as she lies in the darkness. She’s so close to the edge of the bed that her bent knee hangs off it, too afraid of accidentally touching him because of just how much she wants to. It’s been years of aching and wishing and she’s starting to get the sense that she’s running out of time, that if she doesn't find the right words for what they are, he will be gone before she can express them. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries to push the thoughts away, once again forcing herself to believe that Viktor is fine and to ignore all evidence to the contrary. 

Then, she feels Viktor shift on the other side of the mattress and he whispers, “It’s cold tonight, isn't it?” Her heart stops in her chest and she tentatively rolls over to find he’s already facing her. He looks pretty, the light of the moon is eclipsed by the back of his head, leaving him backlit in a soft white light, “Freezing.” she replies, remembering their lie from earlier in the evening. 

“There must be something we can do about that.” he breathes, shuffling in just a little closer. 

She feels like she is about to burst into tears or laughter or something equally immense as she ignores all pretence and all comfortable lies, instead moving straight towards him and wrapping her arms around his chest, tucking her head under his chin. One of his arms slowly slides around her waist to tug her closer against him and his good leg tucks in between both of hers. Something that feels suspiciously like a kiss presses to the top of her head, and as she listens to the gradual calming of his rapid heartbeat she wonders again, what are we?

___

Progress day doesn't go as planned for a lot of reasons. Sitting at the side of the stage, she and Viktor clutch hands the same way they always do. Though maybe a little tighter than normal as they watch Jayce give his first progress day address. She lets out a shocked gasp when Jayce goes off script, deciding not to unveil their newest projects even though the three of them spent so many sleepless nights working on them, even though they drove themselves to exhaustion trying to reach this deadline. Viktor is especially angry about it, seething almost, but everything is thrown into disarray by the attack from the Undercity before they even have a chance to talk it over.

Jayce is their spokesperson, as always, when the three of them are forced to address the council about the theft of one of their gemstones as if it was somehow their fault. They didn’t even have the decency to scrounge up a third chair for her, so she just stands awkwardly beside Viktor and nervously clutches his shoulder. It sometimes feels like the council would forget that she and Viktor even existed if Jayce didn’t keep reminding them. An argument breaks out among the councillors as Jayce begins suggesting a full suspension of Hextech production until the gemstone is located. Viktor also tenses under her hand at the suggestion and while she can understand his reservations, it’s hard for her to disagree with Jayce on this point at least. The last thing they need is someone doing something illegal with their technology, it would be a terrible look, and who knows how many people could get hurt. 

Then, things change so quickly that she can barely keep track. Councilor Medarda levies an attractive offer and before she can even wrap her head around what is taking place, the council issues a vote and suddenly it has eight members. Viktor’s hand shakes when it reaches up to grab her own where it rests on his shoulder, “This won't end well.” he mutters She swallows, filled with an anxious dread that doesn't leave her for the next three days, “Yeah.” She replies, “I have an awful feeling.”

When the two of them return to the lab, the room is filled with a thick and uncomfortable silence. Viktor sits at his desk and clutches his head in his hands, she on the other hand, can’t even bring herself to sit down, instead standing at the only open window in the room and resting her shaking hands on the windowsill. Her stomach twists itself into knots that will take hours to undo, any exhilaration from the the morning is completely gone, only replaced with a churning anxiety. Neither of them speaks until two hours later when Sky drops by, completely unaware of everything that transpired. Viktor explains it to her, his voice weak and exhausted. Sky is a smart girl, she can tell when there isn’t much she can do to help, she promises to let them know if she hears anything about Jayce’s whereabouts, but otherwise says she’ll be in her lab down the hall if they need her. 

With Sky gone, the room once again turns to heavy silence. She swallows and the feeling is thick in her throat, “He must still be with the council.” she says. 

“Yes.” Viktor replies, “He must.”

***

Jayce doesn’t come back that evening. While she’s certain that there is a lot that he needs to learn and probably some sort of extensive paperwork, when she looks over and sees the anxious curl of Viktor’s spine she wishes that Jayce would just tell the council to get fucked and come back to the lab where he belongs. Neither she nor Viktor manage to get any work done, neither of their prototypes are up for production and while there are improvements to be made, Heimerdinger’s insistence that the modifications would take a decade at minimum makes any attempt at progress feel utterly futile. 

Viktor does occasionally pull his pen out and make a few notes, but then he curses under his breath and lets the pen go after just a few minutes. Once she notices the sun has well set through their window and the moon is hanging high in the sky, she lets out a sigh. 

“We’re not going to get anything done, Viktor.” She says quietly, watching as he runs a desperate hand through his hair, “Do you want to get some sleep? Jayce will probably be back in the morning, then we can at least work out what we’re going to do from here.”

“I still don’t understand why he didn’t show the prototypes.” Viktor mutters, “Nothing today has made any sense.” “Yeah.” She replies, “It hasn't.” After a moment, Viktor sighs and grips tightly to his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Let’s just go.” he says, and then quieter, as if he doesn’t want her to hear it, “I’m tired.” They don’t talk at all on the walk over to his dorm, both exhausted emotionally and physically. Viktor is struggling to walk more now, she always finds him falling behind even though she is trying her best to keep in step with him, he must notice, even though she purposely doesn’t draw attention to it and she can only imagine how that makes him feel. He stands back as she unlocks the front door and she fondly remembers the morning when she found the spare key lying on his dresser when she woke up. He hadn’t told her that he was getting a copy made, he’d just left it for her when he headed to the lab for the day. It makes sense though, she spends more nights asleep in his bed than she does her own these days, trapped in a tangle of bony limbs that isn't necessarily comfortable but it is profoundly comforting . 

“Do you want tea?” She asks as she steps in through the doorway, holding the door open for him as he follows her inside. 

“No, thank you.” He says, moving to the bedroom and sitting down on the bed, “Help yourself, though.” She follows him into the bedroom, sitting down on the floor and going through the familiar routine of undoing his brace, “You know I was just being polite, I hate tea.” He laughs weakly, leaning back on his elbows as she moves to undo the clasps at his knee, “Don’t worry, it was very polite, thank you.” Her hands are quick now, familiar with each fastening the whole way up his leg, it only takes her a few seconds to have it undone. when she finishes She rests her head on his left thigh, peering up at him. Viktor sighs softly, brushing her hair away from her face. This isn’t a thing that friends do, she recognises, unable to resist leaning into his touch, but it is what they do. The fabric of his slacks is a little scratchy against her cheek and her legs are starting to go numb where they are curled under her, but the moment is so intimate and delicate that she can’t bear letting it shatter. 

“If Jayce isn’t in the lab tomorrow morning, I’ll see if I can find him in the council room,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing gentle circles over her temple with his thumb. 

“I can go instead, " she suggests, “if you want to get some work done in the lab.” “No.” He replies sternly, “I-” he sighs, hanging his head, “I need to talk to him.” “He’ll listen.”

Viktor lets his hand drop from her head, his face awash in painful uncertainty.

She raises herself up on her knees and reaches out to cup his cheek in her hand, “It’s Jayce.” She whispers, confidence proved only a mimicry by the way her voice shakes. Her thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone and her voice is more sincere when she adds, “He always listens.”

***

Whatever conversation Viktor and Jayce have doesn’t seem to help all that much. Jayce does seem apologetic at the very least, but for the next few days, Viktor is decidedly prickly. He sets himself up at one of their workstations and starts wordlessly assembling a new project that neither she nor Jayce has heard anything about until now. While he works, she mostly just sits at her own desk and goes back to trying to fix the issues with the hexclaw with the hopes of getting it to a more finished state before the next investor meeting in a few months. Something has changed in Viktor, she notices. A more pointed determination, something almost dangerously single-minded. He works on his new project all hours of the day and it’s harder than ever for her to pull him away for meals, or to convince him to leave the lab with her in the evenings. 

His cough is getting worse too, worse enough that it’s impossible for her to pretend that everything is fine, no matter how much he tries to convince her that it is just a cold or just allergies or just- 

She catches him once or twice, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand and she wants to scream or cry or do any number of things to force him to stop acting like everything is still fine. Jayce has noticed too, but he’s so busy with council business now that he only drops into the lab for a few hours a day. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He says, leaning against the wall just outside the lab. 

She leans there with him, not wanting to have this conversation in the same room as Viktor, “Me either.” “He is sleeping, right?” She nods, “Not as much as I’d like, but I'm getting him to bed every night.” “That’s good.” Jayce replies, hanging his head, “I should be in there with the two of you but-” he sighs, “Everyone’s still worried about the attack and that missing gemstone, until that’s sorted I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to spend in the lab.” “I know.” She replies, because she does know, even if the facts make her angry, they are still just the facts. She wrings her hands together and turns to face Jayce, his brows are pulled tight and he’s chewing hard on his bottom lip. 

“Hey, Jayce?” He turns his head to look at her, exhaustion visible under his eyes, “Yeah?” “Do you-” her breath escapes her in a hiccuping sob, “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Sure he will.” Jayce says, though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “If anyone can get himself out of a bind, it’s gonna be Viktor, you know?”

***

She visits her father for dinner the night after. They have a long standing arrangement where she stops by within a week of progress day to debrief him. For the first time though, she spends the whole time just itching to get back to the academy, nervously checking the clock with each passing hour and barely managing to eat any of her dinner. 

Her father laughs, “I know I’m not a proper chef or anything, but my food can’t be that bad, can it?” “No, it’s good, I’m sorry.” She says quietly, pushing her food around the plate with her fork, “Still just discombobulated after-” she waves her hand around vaguely, “You know.” “The attack?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah, the attack.” she lies

“Your friends are alright, aren’t they? The Talis boy and uh-” “Viktor.” She supplies. Suddenly even less interested in eating her dinner. 

The new project Viktor is working on consumes him. He’s started calling it the Hexcore and says that he aims to find out whether or not Hextech can learn , if like she discovered so many years ago, they were missing a fundamental and human component. While all of their current creations resonated at a G4, who’s to say that there aren't other effects that could be unlocked by teaching it how to resonate at another, or by giving it an unlimited combination of runes to cast with? He sits at the workstation for hours, constantly manipulating and twisting the rune matrix around. At all moments the room is filled with the rapid click of plates realigning or the humming of the gemstone within them. The only break comes when he takes a moment to update blueprints or write down new notes. She still managed to get him to bed the past few nights, though it only becomes more difficult each time. With Sky’s help, she’s able to keep him eating, even if it’s little more than a sandwich or one bite of an apple. 

She did tell Viktor that she was going to be out tonight and that she’d likely see him in bed. Sky will be staying late at the academy because she has an assignment due tomorrow morning and she promised to keep an eye on him as best she could. Jayce has a meeting with councillor Medarda (though he called her Mel ) and will try and find time to stop by the lab on his way back just in case. It doesn't matter though, there’s a terrible, awful feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach that she can’t do away with. 

“I should get to meet those boys someday, you know?” Her father says, snapping her back to the present, “I know you’re probably embarrassed about our little house on the fringes, but it cleans up nice!” She laughs weakly, remembering that Jayce and Viktor technically already visited years ago, “Sorry, Dad. We’re all really busy right now, and Viktor-” she bites her lower lip to stop the words from coming out, “He’s tired, we’re all tired.”

“Well, maybe I’ll stop by your lab sometime.” He replies, leaning back in his chair with a warm smile on his face, “You can do experiments on me, I’m tough.”

That gets a proper laugh out of her and she’s grateful for it, “I think we’d all like that.” she says, “You could meet our assistant Sky, too. She does work with plants, which is probably a little more up your alley than our stuff.”

“Speaking of plants, did you see the hydrangea on the doorstep? She’s looking a lot better, isn’t she?”

“Doesn’t look one foot in the grave anymore, at least.” She says and then lets out a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry I still haven't been able to get you a seat in the main hall for progress day. Mrs Talis said you could both share a seat next year if they deny my request again.” Her father barks a laugh, “Good sense of humor, that woman. I like her.” he crosses his arms and a frown pulls his grey eyebrows together, “House Talis isn’t even that large, I don’t understand why she gets a seat every year and I don’t.” She shrugs a shoulder, “They’re still a house, Dad.” He huffs, “You’d think having a daughter who helped build that big whosawhatsit in the sky would count for something.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” She replies with a halfhearted smile. 

“When are you going to get your face on one of those mugs?” He grumbles, “I keep telling my clients that my brilliant daughter is doing all this amazing stuff and none of them ever believe me, but if i had a mug- ” Another laugh bubbles up and out of her, she shakes her head, “Hey, Viktor doesnt have a mug either. We just don’t have the faces for it.” She lies, Viktor has a face that should be carved out of marble, “Plus we’re not exactly socialites, I don’t know what Id do if people started recognising me when I went out for lunch.” Her father leans forward, taking one of her hands in two of his own, “You deserve some recognition though, pumpkin.” he waves his hand, “I guess that Viktor guy does too, but I don’t care about him.” Somewhere amidst her laughter it starts feeling like crying, she sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes, “Be nice to Viktor, he isn’t here to defend himself.” “Maybe i’d care about him more if i got to meet him.” “Okay, okay.” She says with a watery smile, “I’ll see how we’re doing next month, maybe we can find time for you to visit the lab. You just won’t be able to touch anything, alright?” He lifts his hands up in the air, “Fully hands off, no worries, kiddo.”

***

It’s well past midnight when she finally leaves. Despite the sense of urgency burrowing into the marrow of her bones, her father still makes great company and it was difficult to leave him, but as she finally makes her way back to the academy dorms the urgency has begun an evolution into terror. Viktor’s dorm is eerily silent when she opens the door, even when he’s sleeping she can usually hear the rasp of his breath. Her heart beats so wildly in her chest that she can feel it down to her fingers as she rounds the corner and finds no crutch leaning against the wall of his bedroom and not a single disturbance in the perfectly made sheets. 

The bad feeling rises in her like bile. Desperation gnaws as she drops her handbag, grabs her keys and kicks off her shoes before sprinting from the dorms all the way to the lab on the other side of the building. Her breath is ragged in her chest and her heart is racing in a panic that only increases in metre as she runs. The tiles are cold under her bare feet and she is aware that anyone still awake must hear her barreling down the halls, but she couldn't care about anything less. When she finally turns the corner to their hallway, it feels like it stretches and stretches, mocking her as she tries to get to the door, faster faster . Her breath comes out in an aching sob when she finally makes it, hoping and praying to be proved wrong as the door unlocks. 

But the feeling had been right. 

Viktor’s Hexcore still pulses on the workstation, pitch shifting from G4 to A4 like it’s laughing at her, spinning quietly as she crosses the room. Watching. Her heart stops completely when she sees him slumped on the floor, there’s a disconnect between her brain and her legs, she can’t make them move, she just stares and inhales gulp after gulp of air that never seems to satisfy. Her feet shuffle slowly, like she isn’t quite awake, like it might all just be a dream. She drops to her knees and reaches out for him.

“Viktor?” she tries, shaking him by the shoulder, and then again, panicked, “ Viktor?”

He doesn't stir. She inhales a breath through her nose, biting back tears, “Okay. Okay. ” she whispers to herself, trying to calm her breathing despite the aching sobs that still lurk in the back of her throat. When the sounds of her own breath are finally quiet enough, she lowers her head to his chest, pressing her ear to his sternum. A heartbeat. Barely there. Her own heart starts racing again and tears of relief start rushing down her cheeks. He’s still alive, but she has to keep him that way. While he certainly can’t weigh all that much he’s still a lot taller than her and completely unconscious so there is no way she can carry him. 

“Okay.” She says, more to Viktor than to herself, “I’m going to get Jayce.” she hiccups another sob and presses a hand to his cheek, nodding to herself, “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The academy has a capsule pipeline system to send information between wings. She knows (thanks to Jayce’s complaining about it) that there is also a system that connects directly to each individual counciller room. Most folk can’t get a letter through to them directly, but Jayce left her and Viktor with a couple of special capsules that get immediate access without needing to go through verification first. Just in case. Her handwriting is very messy as she scrawls out two letters, barely a sentence on each. She also writes another one for the hospital, but she knows they’re further away than Jayce is. Her shaky hand smudges the ink and the paper must be covered in tears, it’s hard to see what she’s doing with only the ominous light of the Hexcore for illumination, but she never even considers turning a light on. 

Clutching the capsules she avoids taking another look at Viktor, because she might not be able to leave the room if she does, and runs down to the station that sends and receives capsules for the science department. She sends the one for the hospital first because they have a direct line she doesnt need to input an address for. Then she inputs the address for Jayce’s room, sends the capsule and collapses to her knees beside the machine. It’s loud, when a capsule arrives, at least that’s what Jayce says, loud enough to wake him up. She sits on her knees for what must only be five minutes, but even that feels like an hour. There’s a thunk when a capsule arrives in the tube and she opens it with a panicked vigor. 

It’s the hospital, they’re on their way, but it’s going to be an hour. 

She presses her forehead to the cool wall, gritting her teeth. Jayce should have heard it, she has another capsule just in case he didn’t, but he should have, unless he isn’t in his room. Her eyes snap open and she rises up on her knees, hand shaking as she inputs the address for Councillor Medarda’s room instead and sends the second capsule. 

Sitting there on the floor, clutching her knees up to her chest. She can’t stop thinking about Viktor, how she wishes she could do something instead of just sitting here and waiting. She buries her head in her knees and lets out a wail, not even bothering to keep quiet should someone overhear. If she hadn’t gone out tonight, if she just told her father that she needed to postpone, she could have stopped this. It’s all her fault. Just as she feels a scream building in her chest, there’s another thunk . 

This capsule is from Councillor Medarda’s room. The letter inside is Jayce’s handwriting. 

Coming now. 

___

What are we? She wonders, sitting for the fifth hour beside Viktor’s bed in the hospital. She holds his hand tight, tracing the bumps of his knuckles with her thumb and just waiting . It’s been long enough that the orange light of the morning sun is pouring into the room, trying its best to bring some colour to the sterile white hospital room. She’s so tired after an evening spent crying and screaming and running back and forth that her head leans uncomfortably against the unforgiving wall behind her because she can’t manage to hold it up anymore. Jayce is tired too, but he still has enough energy to argue with the doctors, apparently. She can hear them from across the hall.   

It only took him ten minutes to show up after his letter arrived. She was slumped against the wall of the lab with Viktor’s head in her lap when he came scrambling into the room. She’d cried so much that she could barely even move, completely weak with emotional and physical exhaustion and when Jayce finally came in through the door all she could do was start crying all over again. Jayce tried his best to stay calm, though his breath was heaving after running all the way over and his eyes were watery and panicked. She remembers the way he forced a smile. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He’d said, the wavering in his voice betraying his cool exterior, “We’ll get him to the hospital, c’mon.”

He’d pressed his forehead to hers for just a moment and then lifted Viktor from her lap and into his arms. She barely managed to tell him that the hospital already knew they were coming, all her words came in juts and stutters between hiccuping sobs. Jayce tried to convince her to stay behind, but even with her exhausted body and shaking limbs, it was impossible for him to change her mind. The rest of the night is a blur, lots of sprinting, arguing, crying and waiting, so much fucking waiting . 

She sits up straight when Jayce slams the door open. He has his hand clasped over the lower half of his face and his eyes are wild. She just watches as he crosses the room and all but collapses in the chair beside her. She sniffles and tries to smile, “Didn’t change anything, did it?” Jayce buries his face in his hands and she tentatively wraps the arm that isn’t areadly occupied by Viktor’s hand around his shoulder. He isn’t quite crying, but it sounds like he could start at any moment, “No.” he says gravely, “The results for the second round of tests were the same as the first.” a humourless laugh escapes him, “and they said there’s no point doing a third.” She bites her lower lip to hold back a sob, “You didn’t need to yell at them.” She says quietly, “It’s not their fault.” “I know.” Jayce says, his voice breaking, “I just-” he doesnt finish, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes and sucking a desperate breath in through his teeth “Yeah.” she replies, resting her head on his shoulder, “Me too.”

***

Jayce forces her to go home after four more hours. Promising to stay at the hospital until Viktor wakes up. She tries to argue, but unlike her, Jayce had managed a few hours of sleep the night before while she was running completely on empty. For a moment she considers going back to Viktor’s dorm instead of her own and curling up on his empty bed, but logic settles in when she realises Jayce will need to know where to find her if something happens. So she sleeps alone in her own bed and spends the whole time wishing she was somewhere else. 

Even when laying in the bed and clutching her knees to her chest she can still hear the rush of her heartbeat in her ears. Her chest hurts from so many hours of painful sobbing and her eyes sting whenever she blinks them open. Her dreams are restless and disquieting. Unfamiliar images flash behind her eyelids that make little to no sense, Viktor is in all of them, Jayce is there often, Sky too. The only sound she hears is the ominous humming laugh of the Hexcore, as if it has sequestered itself inside her grey matter. The dreams start and end in rapid fire. Nothing good ever happens. 

She doesn’t have any sense of what the time is when a knock at her door has her waking with a panicked gasp. Sun streams in through her open window, so it must still be at least the late afternoon, but other than that she has no idea. She stumbles to her door, still dressed in her nice blouse and skirt from the evening before but terribly rumpled for all her tossing and turning. It takes a moment for her to unlock the door, her hands don’t seem to want to obey her anymore. 

“He’s awake.” Jayce says in a rush, when the door swings open. 

Her heart jumps back into gear, all aching lethargy suddenly replaced with a jittering anxiety, “We have to go back now!” she says, moving to push past him.

“Wait!” He exclaims, grabbing her by the shoulders before she can start running, “I- I wish i could, but Mel doesn’t even know where I am and-” “Oh.” She says quietly, Jayce looks just as tired as she feels. The Councillor Medarda situation notwithstanding, he needs to rest, she can tell. She lifts up onto her toes and pulls him into a hug, breathing shakily, “It’s okay, I understand.” she buries her face in his shoulder, “Did you at least get to talk to him?”

Jayce returns the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tight, “Yeah, for just under an hour. I know you wanted to see him straight away but,” he laughs a little, “He wanted me to let you sleep.” Her eyes start beading with tears again, at the thought of him asking Jayce to make sure she gets some rest as if he wasn’t the one who almost died the night before. Sucking in a shaky breath, she releases Jayce and gives him a tired smile, “I’ll see you later then, I guess.” 

He nods, “Let me know if you’ll need me. I’ll be in my room all night.”

“Will do.” She replies, stepping past Jayce and closing her door behind her, “We will talk about you and Councillor Medarda later, though. I want details.” Jayce laughs and they both head their separate ways. 

***

Viktor is at least sitting upright when she finally makes it back to his hospital room. His breath is an aching, painful wheeze and despite being open, his eyes seem glassy and inattentive. They do dart to her face when she enters and something like the first inclination of a smile tugs at the very corners of his mouth. She wants to start crying again, to hold him tight and never let go. She doesn't. Instead, she lurks in the doorway, wringing her hands together.

“I hear you saved me.” He says quietly, his accent and the rasp of his voice makes the words difficult to discern. 

She swallows thickly, “I tried to.” Viktor sighs, then. Turning away from her to face the window. The sun's light makes his skin seem less ashen, but the hollows of his cheeks look even deeper, “I take it you were here with Jayce for my diagnosis, then.” “I-” she starts, voice catching on the word, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs bitterly, “Don’t do that to me, don’t apologise.” 

She doesn’t know what to do but apologise. So instead she keeps her mouth shut and forces herself to return to the chair she had been sitting in for all those hours. Wordlessly, she shuffles the chair forward so she can rest her head on the edge of the mattress, peering up at him. She grabs his hand again, holding it tight the same way she had been when he was asleep. 

“I wouldn’t judge you wrongly.” He says quietly, his other hand moving to cup the back of her head, “If you decided to put a stop to-” he closes his eyes and then says the last word like a secret, “-this.” There’s no specification, no clarification. But she knows, she knows what this is, she’s known it for years. This is the only thing she’s ever wanted, this has taken up residence behind her ribs and any removal would have to be surgical. They’d have to rip this from her, out of her and even then she would kick and scream the entire time. This is what they are. 

“I don’t want to.” She breathes.

“Milackú” he whispers achingly. A word she has never heard before, but instantly recognises it as being for her, “I’m dying .”

It hurts to hear him say it, more than when the doctors did. 

“You’ll figure something out.” She says, “I know you will and if- well if you don’t, I-” she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to force back her tears, “I’m still not going anywhere okay? Neither is Jayce, or Sky. Okay? ” she somehow manages to let out a weak little laugh, “and my father wants to meet you, so you have to stick around for a little while.”

Viktor laughs, though it's more of a rasp, “You talked about me?” he asks quietly.

“Always do.” She replies.

It looks like Viktor wants to say something and it looks that way for quite some time. He lets out a shaky breath instead and just keeps looking down at her, whatever words had been dancing on the edge of his tongue are long gone. Usually, she would be curious as to what they were, but at this moment she's just glad to have him, even in silence. It's hard to remember the precise moment when even looking at Viktor became an exercise in restraint, if it was the day they first held hands in the council room, or even before that. She always wants to reach out, to touch, for her skin and his to coalesce into something evangelical.

After some time, she attempts to readjust her head, frowning when she can't manage to find a position that doesn't put a crick in her neck.

“That cannot be comfortable,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing light circles on the back of her head. 

“It isn’t, my neck hurts,” she answers truthfully. He huffs in faux irritation and shuffles himself to the far side of the bed, “Just get in.” he says, “Before you hurt yourself.”

The hospital bed is a lot smaller than the one in his dorm and while the sheets are starchy and uncomfortable, they do smell like him, so she is more than happy to climb in. The single bed leaves them pressed together from collarbone down to knee and the only comfortable place for her head ends up being his chest. He doesn't seem to mind, his arm curls around her and holds her even tighter against him. She wraps an arm around his middle and buries her face in his hospital gown to hide the new tears beading in her eyes. 

“I love this.” She whispers, a close enough approximation, but its utterance feels less dangerous than the truth. 

Viktor kisses the crown of her head, and he breathes, “So do I.”

He falls asleep first, probably less than an hour after she joins him in the bed. First the first time in a long while his breath sounds steady, though it’s probably because he’s still on oxygen. The rhythmic sound of his heart beneath her ear has her biting her lip to keep herself from sobbing, remembering how quiet it had been all those hours ago. How much it hurt to think he had died, how much it hurts still to know that he will . 

She stays awake as the sun begins to set outside the window, once again painting the hospital walls in hues of orange, watching the shafts of light slowly shift with time. This is what they are. It’s not something that can so easily be named, it’s a feeling, a sob building up behind her ribs, his arm around her and the aching dread of something terrible on the horizon. She feels inseparable from him, a very real sense that if he were to die, she would be soon to follow. It takes another hour for her to fall asleep, hand clutched tight to the bedsheets at Viktor’s waist, leg tucked over the top of his own. She isn’t going anywhere, the universe itself couldn’t make her. 

[ligiawrites]

Your life as an alchemist has been safe and comfortable so far... but when your sister makes you one last wish before passing away, you'll embark on a dangerous journey that might change your life—and the lives of your two companions—forever.

game link || all about the dev

YOUR SISTER HAS CARRIED the mantle of "Peregrine" for more than two decades. Twelve years older than you, she saw and wrote about the lives of common people, the birth and fall of foreign noble houses, the discovery of plants and animals, and the complex politics of your home kingdom. She lived a life of dangers and excitement, of travels, passions, and experiences you can't even begin to imagine.

And now that she's dead, this mantle (and her newborn child) is yours. 

Ghosts, zombies, fantastic animals, arcanes, and criminals. Fool the monster hunting you, the bandits trying to kidnap you, and your own fears while you travel from South Safira to the very heart of Dead Water.

Thank Goddess, you won't be alone. But with a conniving liar at your left and a deluded "Knight" at your right, will you be able to fulfill your sister's last wish? Will you go back to your niece? And will you allow yourself to love for the first time?

Develop your personality, see how your choices build, and change your bond with Yulie and Tobias (and yourself).

Hopefully, you'll also learn to see the world in a new light after this Trek to Dead Water.

🍂 Full game release: Autumn 2025 🍂

If you want to support the development of this game and access exclusive rewards, please consider supporting me on ko-fi!

About the game:

This story is set 53 years before the beginning of Love the Guard, Be the King.

Experience the world of Five Kingdoms in a completely different way, learning the hidden lore of Opala and Safira as one of the most influential (and non-highborn) figures in their society.

This is a game about the power of story, the powers that *change* history, and the impact that fleeting relationships may have in our lives. Enjoy this mix of Visual Novel and text-based Interactive Fiction!

This short game will have three chapters, and I have almost half of it already. :) Right now, you can play one out of three chapters (~9k words), and they are only available for my supporters on ko-fi. 

So, if you're seeing this, thank you for being amazing and for believing in my career! :)

If you have any comments, suggestions, problems, or worries, please let me know on ko-fi or in this forum.

AGE SUGGESTED: 16+ for erotic nudity, non-explicit sexual scenes, and mild violence and gore.

Main Characters:

Yulie of No House - The deluded "Knight" - 27 - She / Her

Born in Safira to a Topazian ambassador and a Safiran barman, Yulie saw her world crumble when she was six and a half, and her mother dared to question the Safiran nobility's interference in Topazian politics. Queen Juliana of House Inara did her best to protect Yulie's life, but there was little the Queen could do for her parents.

Stripped of her family and her surname, she lived under the Queen's care in a secretive palacete in the South, but as soon as she turned fourteen, Yulie knew she needed to leave the care of the people who ruined her life.

Now, at twenty-seven, Yulie's dream and main objective is to become a Knight of the Opalean Dragon Order—but focusing on this might be way harder than she thought, mainly when she manages to hold certain Safiran Peregrine in her arms.

Tobias Cidreira Dasherner - The Conniving Liar- 29 - He / Him

Tobias is a trans man born and raised in the biggest capital of Safira. With an immense talent for the Arcane, Tobias was taken under the wing of Great Arcane Master Domingos of Safira when he was only five. 

The Arcane College of the Balanced Arts is an expensive place, though, and despite the Arcane's great fortune, Tobias changed over the years. Once studious and quiet, Tobias grew tired of the absurd rules in the Safiran College and the kingdom's abusive laws. He tried to do good. He tried to change things for the better. Still, thanks to a grave mistake on Tobias's part, the Great Domingos lost everything.

Now, the only thing Tobias wants is to make enough money for the greatest con of all: a nice tavern of his own, so he can recover at least part of the money his old master lost.

… And YOU! - The newest Peregrine in Safira

Child of a long line of alchemists who lived their whole lives in The Village, you never felt the need to travel. Your sister did, so it felt just and good (for you and for her) when she was chosen as the new Safiran Peregrine. But this happened twenty-three years ago, and now she's dead after giving birth to your first niece.

Your task (for more than one reason) is to travel to the dangerous Dead Water, so your sister's soul will finally rest and stop coming back to haunt you.

Build your Peregrine and your relationship with your companions, and discover the hidden history that brought you to this point.

[cherrirui-official]

Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 1/7)

Since the edited episodes are starting to come out, I figured that bc of that and the fact that I've been keeping this in the back burner for a loooong while now, might as well complete all my friendlocke violet gijinkas!! Some are gonna stay the same while others are gonna have slight/ complete redesigns, so please keep that in mind!

I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there's gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I'll be linking here when done vvv

(Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

And that's pretty much it, designs under the cut!

LARK:

HUGE nerd. spent most of his time during the Uva Academy studying different kinds of pokemon as well as different fighting styles he can utilize once he is able to go out on his own journey with his very own trainer! Too bad that didn't really help in the long run...

His entire wardrobe consists of McDonald's related outfits. It's fucking insane. He even has some from long LONG ago that aren't available anywhere else.

The bubble pattern on his hair is able to move and change. Nobody knows how this is possible, not even Lark himself. All Lark knows is that his hair looks incredibly stylish!

Speaking of bubbles, he has the ability to blow bubbles whenever and wherever he pleases!

Often keeps himself extremely clean and gets upset if even a small speck of dirt gets on him, despite this he somehow smells like McDonald's food and axe body spray. Disgusting. He's so cool!

Even after death he still likes to hang around the other team members as a ghost, often getting to know the newer members as well as reuniting with the old ones. Sometimes they see him, sometimes they don't. It usually depends.

SARA:

Due to being a human in her past life, Sara is able to actually speak with the other humans in the pokemon world. However she usually doesn't due to it being seen as extremely weird and out of place. She did slip up once while talking in the presence of Arven, who thought it was the weed making him hear things.

Oinkologne are usually unable to do much with their hooves but Sara spent nights practicing how to knit with her new hooves and now she's able to do it flawlessly. I don't know how she managed to do that but go queen!

When first joining the team she'd often have the urge to eat her food related companions. It was a strange time for Sara, but she managed to overcome it.

When Peppy gets sick, she usually is the one who nurses him back to health. She was a human once so she often is able to figure out whatever sickness Peppy has and treat it properly. I suppose she's like a second mother to him.

The bag she carries with her is full of thread that she collected from various Tarountula she encountered on the journey, as well as little things she knits together in her spare time.

For the most part, Sara forgives... but NEVER forgets.

Did you guys know that Sara has a new YouTube channel? Check it out!

Pastey:

Before joining the team, Pastey was a nameless wanderer. He's been down every road in Paldea and knows almost the entire region (except for Area Zero) like the back of his hand.

He's gotten hurt pretty badly throughout the run (ie. the Mikey fight, the Atticus fight, and ESPECIALLY the final battle), however, he does not gain any (physical) scars from those fights. This is bc he's basically an axolotl, and axolotls are usually able to heal without scarring.

Pastey's "arms" are, to put it simply, mud prosthetics. More info here vvv

Pastey HAS met Mall Bingo once before the run, however, he doesn't recognize her. The only reason he does not recognize her is bc she wears glasses. (You know how people somehow aren't able to recognize Superman bc he wears glasses in his civilian attire even tho his face remains the same? It's basically like that lmao)

Unlike the lightbulbs he eats, the gasoline he drinks isn't really mandatory to his diet. Gasoline is like alcohol to him and he drinks it like an absolute CHAMP.

He goes fishing when there's nothing else to do or when he can't sleep at night. He doesn't do this bc he thinks it's fun or anything, only bc it's a "good time passer" or so he claims. Other members of the team will often sit with him and vent out anything that's troubling them at the moment, and Pastey is always there to listen to them.

And that's pretty much it. Next is Joe, Hannah Ü, and Mykyie!

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 24/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO TWENTYTHREE

CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR

                He loses his temper much easier when he’s tired and he’s tired a lot the first year the restaurant is open. He knows the saying burning the candle at both ends, but he’s found some way to hollow himself out and also burn the candle from the middle as well. Of course he’s a hard worker, expects those around him to put in just as much and expects the best from them, but when Vi calls him a thoughtless and heartless bastard in Italian while the film crew are still rolling he knows he’s gone too far but his brain is so fried he doesn’t even know what it is he’s done wrong. He crashes for sixteen hours and then has to go and make several apologies. Especially to Vi.

…            …            …

                “This is Admiral Kerner.”

                “Hello Admiral, this is Bradley Bradshaw.”

                There’s a pause on the other end of the line and Bradley bites his lip. He has no idea if the man he called Uncle Sli growing up will remember him. It’s been over fifteen years since he left, and longer since he’s seen him or spoken to him. But he knows how to sweet talk people and enough people to get Slider’s work number.

                “Baby Goose?”

                “Yeah. Hi Uncle Sli… you do remember me huh?”

                “Holy shit… of course I remember you kid. And as if I could forget your face on my TV every time the misses puts it on when I’m home.”

                “Oh. Sorry?”

                “No. Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to see you doing so well. Wait. Why are you calling me?”

                “Uh, I’m really sorry to ask, but I sort of have a favor to ask. Maybe a couple of favors.”

                “Okay. So you’re calling me out of the blue, after not talking to me for years… What do you need?”

                “Uh. It’s probably available to family, I was just wondering if I could know when and where your ship will be calling into port and for how long."

                “Uh. Okay. That’s… all fine. It’s information I can share. Can I ask why?”

                “My, uh, my boyfriend I guess? He’s going to be on your ship for seven months.”

                “You have a boyfriend?”

                “Yeah. So if I could know when and where I might be able to see him, I’d really appreciate it…”

                “I’m helping you organize booty calls!”

                “Uh, yeah, sorry if that’s too – ”

                “Oh no, this is perfect. Your dad would be so proud. Using all the resources available to you so you can get your dick wet!”

                Bradley rolls his eyes and pulls a face, glad he can’t be seen. Because while he’s not wrong it’s not the only reason why Bradley wants to see Jake. He hasn’t heard things like this about his dad in a long time, not since he left Mav’s. He barely remembers his father, but considering his best friend was Maverick, Ice and Slider also considered him friends speaks enough to the joking kind of personality he can imagine him having, coupled with what his mom told him. He remembers warm laughter the most, along with music. Strong arms picking him up.

                “Also, it’s kind of romantic. Your dad was always doing sweet stuff for your mom, making the rest of us look bad.” Oh. He’s never heard that before. Never imagined what kind of partner his dad might have been like and he adds it to the little list he keeps tucked away in his head. “Of course, he was also a terrible flirt, ladies flocked to him. Lucky for the rest of us all he did was flirt and he’d send them our way.”

                Okay, maybe more than he wants or needs to know about his dad.

                “Yeah, anyway Uncle Slider, thank you so much for this. Let me know what I can do to repay you… maybe come and cook you and your wife dinner?”

                “Well, I wouldn’t say no to that, she’d kill me if she found out you’d offered and I turned it down. But I have to ask… does Ice not know about this boyfriend? He could have got you the same info.”

                “Yeah, I know, but… No. He doesn’t know. I kind of want to keep it on the down low for now. We’re only just starting out… Very early days.” God, he doesn’t want to say it’s literally only weeks old, can only imagine how crazy other people might think he is.

                “No no, wait, go back. You mean I know something before Ice? Not only that you have a boyfriend but that he’s a good Navy boy…”

                “Actually he’s one of your aviators,” Bradley says, because there’s no point in not sharing that information. As soon as he sends the care packages and asks Slider to deliver them, he’s going to know exactly who it is. Fuck. He really needs to give Jake a heads up.

                “Jesus kid. Seriously?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Wow. You really couldn’t escape even when you tried huh?”

                Bradley laughs, because yeah, he guesses it might look like that from the outside, but Jake’s career doesn’t actually matter to him, other than the fact that he’s now got the background niggling worry that he’s in a dangerous profession. He finds that there’s no longer any bitterness about not being an aviator himself.

                “Well, I didn’t exactly go seeking him out. Just happens to be what he does, and well… you’re right. I’m not above using any contacts I might have to keep an eye on him and keep him in some comforts of home.”

                Slider snorts at that.

                “I’ll send you all the dates and locations. Plans change of course, but I can keep you updated.”

                “Thanks. I’ll send you some cookies or biscotti next time I send a care package. You still partial to pistachios?”

                “Oh, this just gets better and better. Yeah kid, send me something to keep me on your good side. I am all open to bribery from you.”

                “Oh, there’s one more thing. He calls me Leo. Leonardo. We met in Italy and that’s how I introduced myself, he knows my name is really Bradley Bradshaw, and what happened to my dad, but uh, he’s either completely oblivious about who I am exactly, or he’s really good at pretending he has no idea. So uh… yeah.”

                “Right. Got it. So keep it on the down-low that you’re Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “No. Not really. Just don’t announce it over the PA system?”

                “Got ya.”

…            …            …

                “Lieutenant.”

                “Admiral Kerner sir.”

                “Relax son, I’m not here for work. Just. Turns out we have a mutual friend.”

                “Sir?”

                “Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Oh! Leo.”

                “Ah. Yes. He did say you called him that. Anyway, I flew with his old man. Was at Top Gun when the training accident happened.”

                “Oh. Yeah. He told me about that. I didn’t realize he still knew people in the service.”

                “Oh, he knows a few,” Admiral Kerner says dryly and Jake wonders who else might pop out of the woodwork. “He was forced onto a different path, and while it might have worked out for the best there are still some deep hurts there.”

                Jake keeps his mouth shut.

                “Anyway, he sent me a care package, because I get mail more regularly. However he sent this to you, care of me. So. I’m now apparently his delivery man.”

                “I’m sorry sir, I’ll ask him not –”

                “It’s fine Lieutenant. He did ring and ask first. Just… he sounded happy. It was good to hear.”

                “Yes sir,” Jake says, not really sure how he can take part in this conversation safely, if this is somehow a weird sort of semi-shovel talk given the reference he made to knowing Leo’s dead father. Does he consider Leo a sort-of son?

                “Enjoy your care package. I know I’ll enjoy mine.”

                “Oh, yes. You too sir,” Jake says, suddenly understanding that Leo must have also sent Admiral Kerner something to his liking, and yeah, if it’s going to keep his CO happy then Jake’s all for it. He takes the package and nods his farewell as he watches Admiral Kerner stride away. He’s going to look up Bradshaw in the database, have a look at whatever Top Gun class Leo’s dad was in, because it might pop up again and he’d rather not be taken by surprise again. He suspects that the whole class might be keeping tabs on Leo, whether he knows about it or not.

                “Why was Admiral Kerner talking to you? What did you do?”

                “Phoenix. Always a pleasure. Why do you automatically assume I’ve done something?”

                “Because you’ve usually done something?”

                “Haha. No. He just, uh, introduced himself I guess. He flew with my boyfriend’s old man,” Jake says, rolling the word boyfriend around in his mouth, because that’s all he can think of calling Leo. He’s never had a boyfriend before, and he finds himself smiling at just the sweet gesture of Leo sending him a care package via the fucking Admiral of all people. Stupidly sweet.

                “You have a boyfriend?”

                “Yeah… You?”

                “More trouble than they’re worth.”

                “Not my one. He sent me a care package.”

                “Through Admiral Kerner?”

                “Yeah. You want to see what he sent me?

                “Do I want to?” Phoenix asks, pulling a face and Jake laughs, in too much of a good mood to get smart.

                “Live dangerously Trace. You might get lucky and I’ll share with you…”

                “Again, do I want that?”

                “He’s a chef. I know you have a sweet tooth.”

                “A chef? Well. Why didn’t you lead with that?”

                Then they’re opening the box, and there’s several carboard boxes, written on the top what they’ve got inside. Cranberry and pistachio cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Almond and dark chocolate biscotti. Pistachio biscotti. He shouldn’t be surprised, Leo going overboard a little seems very on brand and he has to stop himself from just smiling so widely at the gesture. God, what did he do to deserve such a sweet man doing things like this for him? His sisters are definitely right to be envious.

                “Holy shit these are good…” Phoenix says, and he looks up to find she’s already opened one of the boxes to reveal a resealable plastic bag containing the baked goods. It’s the chocolate chip biscuits and he bites one, crunchy outside, chewy inside, milk chocolate chips and there’s so much sugar he thinks he hears his teeth squeak.

                “Yeah, they’re not bad.”

                “Not bad? These are like… crack.”

                “Hmm. Maybe I just need a glass of milk for the full experience.”

                “Does he sell these? Do you think he’d make me some? I’d suck his dick if he sent me cookies like this.”

                “Well, lucky for you I’m sharing.”

                “Are you sure? If these were mine I’d be hoarding them.”

                “They’re a little too sweet for me.”

                “Your boyfriend is a chef and you critique his cooking?”

                “Everyone has room for improvement Trace.”

                “Even you?”

                “Well, no. It’s hard to improve on perfection.”

                “Perfect asshole maybe…”

                “To your perfect bitch…”

                “What’s his name, this boyfriend of yours?”

                “Leo. Funny story actually. I met him in Italy years ago, like a decade. We… uh, exchanged names, then went our separate ways. Then I was home and there he was at the farmers market my sisters sell their stuff at…”

                “Wow. That’s actually kind of sweet and romantic and nothing like how I imagined your love story might go…”

                “Aw Trace, you imagined my love story?”

                “Yeah, usually it involved conjugal visits.”

                Jake laughs.

TWENTYFIVE

[mitzukiyapping]

A Dragon Queen’s Council - Part II.

Summary: The queen is pregnant. So, Aera made it her mission to help her, to ease her worries. And so, it was also her duty to overlook what she’s eating, that wouldn’t harm the baby.

Pairing: platonic! Cersei Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc, platonic!Jaime Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc, platonic! Tyrion Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: tbh, none

Author’s note: this story is also soon available on ao3!!

prologue || part I. || part III. || masterlist

It began on a quiet afternoon.

The sun warmed the stone corridors of the Red Keep, and through the arched windows drifted the lazy scent of blooming rose trees from the gardens below. Queen Cersei, ever regal in gold-threaded green, sat upon a cushioned chaise in her solar, one hand gently draped over her stomach, her other cradling a goblet of watered wine she had no intention of drinking.

She looked tired.

It has been three months since the wedding, and not even a handful of weeks since the maesters confirmed the pregnancy of Queen Cersei. At first it were only rumors, whispered between maids who passed the halls. But, ever since the announcement, everyone was trying to be as silent as possible around her.

Her golden hair was twisted high, her face pale. Even the usual tight line of her mouth had softened, just slightly, with the weight of exhaustion. And seated beside her, like a shadow of light, was Aera. The seven-year-old princess sat on a stool she had clearly dragged from across the room herself, her legs swinging gently as she peered up at the Queen with wide violet eyes.

"I read that ginger helps with sickness in the morning," Aera offered, voice soft, careful. "And mint tea. I made some. The kitchen ladies helped me." Cersei looked down at her, one brow rising. "Did they?"

Aera nodded eagerly. "Yes. I asked them what my mother might have liked too. She was pregnant with my little sibling until... well." She shrugged, looking away briefly, then back up with a soft smile. "I wanted to help."

Something flickered across Cersei's face then. Suspicion? Confusion? A ghost of memory? It passed quickly. "I didn't take you for the mothering type," she said dryly. Aera tilted her head. "I'm a dragon, not a monster."

"Not yet," Cersei muttered, sipping the tea. But she drank it. And when she didn't spit it out, Aera gave a proud little smile, as if she had conquered a kingdom with leaves and sweetness.

—

They made a habit of it.

Aera, slipping into the solar in the mornings under Gregor's watchful eye, bringing odd little gifts: a silk pillow she said was "good for the back," a small pouch of lemon and dried rose petals "to calm the nerves," and once, even a wooden toy lion cub with wings. "For the baby," she said.

Cersei snorted at the sight of it. "What a terrifying creature."

"I thought it looked like what he might be," Aera said with a mischievous grin. "A lion, but born in a dragon's den."

_

And of course, Tyrion and Jaime were not far behind.

"You're either grooming her," Tyrion said to Jaime over a goblet of wine, "or she's grooming you." Jaime, leaning against a column, arms crossed, said, "No, she's grooming Cersei. That girl's going to rule half the court before she reaches ten."

"Seven and a half," Tyrion corrected. "And already more dangerous than a whole battalion of Unsullied."

"She's just being kind."

"Kindness is the most effective disguise of all." The younger man stated with serious. They both turned just in time to see Aera walk past them in the hall, trailed by a sleepy maid and a sullen Gregor, holding a basket full of lavender sachets and a small leather-bound book titled The Midwife's Companion: A Tonic for Every Month.

She gave them both the sweetest smile imaginable.

"Good day, uncles." Tyrion grinned. "Planning to deliver the baby yourself now?" At the question her face shine with glee. "I've already read five books," she said matter-of-factly. "I'd do better than most maesters."

Jaime gave a small laugh. "If you ever decide to become a maester, let me know. I'll lend you my sword for the graduation ceremony." Aera nodded. "I'll knight you for it." She then turned on her heels and continued down the corridor, humming softly.

Jaime waited until she rounded the corner before saying, "We're all going to die, aren't we?" Tyrion drained his wine and said, "Oh, undoubtedly."

—

The solar was warm with the scent of mint and rosewater. Cersei reclined on her cushioned chair, the sunlight filtering through sheer green curtains casting patterns over her golden hair. Across from her, perched like a hawk, sat Princess Aera, her small fingers flipping through pages of a thick book laid open on her lap.

"So," she said, tapping a page, "you shouldn't wear anything too tight around your ribs. It affects your breathing and could upset the baby." Cersei blinked at her. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Aera replied with great authority. "And your feet. They're going to swell. That's normal. But don't ignore it. Elevate them. I have a step stool if you'd like." Cersei stared. "You brought a stool?" The girl nodded happily. "I painted little dragons on it."

"...Of course you did."

Behind them, the maid stood awkwardly with a tray of sweet biscuits. Ser Gregor, the Queen's new favorite threat, loomed in the corner, looking confused but dangerous, as always. That was when the doors slammed open.

"Where in the bloody seven hells is—" King Robert halted, one hand still on the door frame. His eyes swept the room, taking in his pregnant wife seated smoothly on a chair before a very smug looking seven year old Targaryen, who sat there like she owned the place. A big book, who looked like it had seen better days, laid opened on the girls lap. And Gregor Clegame, the mountain, looking like he was guarding a secret garden tea party.

"...What," Robert said, "am I looking at?" Aera looked up brightly. "Oh, hello, Your Grace. We were just going over second-trimester essentials." Cersei, never missing a beat, sipped her tea. "She's rather informed, actually." Robert blinked. "You're meant to be in your room."

"I had permission," Aera lied smoothly. "From who?" he asked, suspicious. She smiled. "From me." Gregor made the faintest noise, like he was choking on air. Robert let out a long, tired groan and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're seven!"

"Seven and three quarters," she corrected.

He opened his mouth again but said nothing. He had once gutted a man for calling him fat — and now a tiny dragon girl was politely explaining uterine positioning to his Queen while sipping lemon water.

"This is my life," Robert muttered, looking to the ceiling like the Seven would give him mercy. They didn't. "And Your Grace?" Aera added sweetly. "What now?"

"You really shouldn't interrupt. Stress isn't good for the baby." Robert turned slowly to leave. "I'm going to the godsdamned feast hall," he grunted. "Where the wine doesn't talk."

"You shouldn't drink so much either," she called after him. "It affects virility!" The door slammed shut. Silence. Cersei burst out laughing. "Did you just insult the King's—"

"I was helping," Aera said, folding her hands primly. "He'll thank me later." Cersei shook her head, chuckling into her tea. "Seven save us all."

—

It began innocently, like always.

Ser Jaime Lannister had done what he always did after his early patrol - wander into the Queen's solar to check on his sister, dodge responsibility, and steal a peach or two. What he didn't expect was to be met by a very stern Princess Aera, perched once more on her velvet stool, parchment in hand, brows furrowed in deep, scholarly concentration. "Ser Jaime," she said before he could even open his mouth. "You've been very irresponsible."

"...What?"

"You're the Queen's twin. That makes you legally, emotionally, and ethically 25% responsible for her pregnancy." She shut the parchment close. Her eyes glaring at the knight. He blinked. "Is that so?"

"Yes," she said seriously. "And as such, I've made you a list." She handed him a scroll she got out of nowhere. Jaime unrolled it slowly, eyes scanning the thick, neat handwriting. His brows rose.

"Foods the Queen Should Not Be Allowed to Consume Under Any Circumstances."

"Wine? Fried eel? Honeyed locusts?" he asked, reading aloud. "Where in the seven hells would she get honeyed locusts?" He looked at her in confusion, trying to think of ways where his sister could get that from. "I don't know," Aera said, "but they're dangerous. And slippery. Also, no goat cheese. Or swordfish. Or overly salted pies. My mother always had a way of getting it from somewhere."

Cersei, from her seat, looked bored and murderous. "Tell her to leave." She practically whined, to feed up with the food rule. "She has a second list," Jaime said, smirking. "I do," Aera replied, pulling it from her stack like a maester unveiling divine scripture.

"Herbal Tea Alternatives to Alleviate Swelling and Mood Swings."

Cersei sat up. "Mood swings?" She was offended. "You threw a chalice at a maid yesterday," Jaime said, remembering what happened the day, shuddering slightly. "She oversteeped my tea!"

"And I'm trying to fix that," Aera added brightly. "See? Chamomile. And lemon balm. It's known to calm nerves. I read about it in—" But the girl got interrupted by the queen. "I will put your dragon egg in the river." The princess took a deep breath before continuing. "That's rude," Aera now said calmly. "Also, I don't have it anymore. It hatched like two weeks ago. Haven't told anyone yet." Jaime gave a strangled laugh, pressing a hand to his mouth.

Aera narrowed her eyes at him. "You laugh, but you haven't even been helpful. Did you deliver the prenatal pillows I asked for?" Immediately the smile fell from his face. His eyes narrowed down at her. "I'm a knight, not a nursemaid." He tried to defend himself, but Aera ignored him. "You're a brother. Which, again, makes you 25% responsible."

"Don't let Tyrion hear that," Jaime muttered. "He'll start charging the crown for the remaining 50%." As if summoned, Tyrion peeked into the room. "Oh gods, she's still at it?" Aera then waved a new scroll in his direction. "You're on this one too." A smug smile overcame Jaime's face. "I knew I felt my ears burning," he said, walking in. "Tell me, what crimes have I committed now?"

"You made Cersei laugh too hard during a coughing fit yesterday," Aera said, handing him the "List of Visitation Restrictions During Third Trimester." Tyrion examined it. "You put me below the dog that lives in the kennels?" The youngest Lannister was offended. "He's quieter," Aera only replied.

Jaime doubled over laughing, bracing himself on the windowsill. Even Cersei chuckled despite herself. At that exact moment, King Robert burst in. Again. And stopped. Again. "...Nope," he said, turning around before Aera could speak. "Not this time. I'm going to the training yard. Where swords don't give medical advice."

As the door slammed shut behind him, Aera turned to the Lannister twins and Tyrion with a regal nod. "You're all welcome." Cersei picked up a cushion and threw it at her. Aera ducked. Tyrion caught it midair and made it a hat.

—

Now, the royal kitchens of the Red Keep had faced many terrors over the years. Ravenous kings. Drunken knights. Even Queen Rhaella once setting a pudding on fire during a fit of royal rage. But none... none had ever terrified them as much as Princess Aera on a Mission.

She burst through the kitchen doors just after noon, with the dramatic swirl of a red velvet cloak and the confidence of a seasoned warrior. Behind her waddled Beauty, her snow-white dragonling, wearing what could only be described as a custom leash made of embroidered silk, trailing behind like the world's most judgmental lapdog. His wings fluttered every few steps, and he sneezed fire twice before they'd even made it to the bread counter. Behind them both came Gregor Clegane, ducking to get through the door, glowering like a thundercloud made of muscle. The kitchen staff froze.

"Stop everything!" Aera called. "Where's the cook?" She stood there like a tiger ready to pounce onto its prey. "Wh-which one, Your Grace?" a terrified baker whispered. "All of them!"

Within minutes, five very nervous chefs were lined up beside the hearth, each holding ladles like shields and smelling vaguely of panic and rosemary. Aera marched before them like a general before battle. Beauty growled softly, sniffing a pan of roasted duck. "I've been informed," she said, pacing, "that the Queen—who is in her delicate and most treasured condition—has been suffering from indigestion." The chefs glanced at each other. No one spoke. Beauty snorted smoke at a turnip.

"I have questions," Aera said. "And I expect honesty. Because if I find one more salted pie in her chambers, there will be consequences." She pointed a finger. "You," she said, gesturing to the youngest cook. "What herbs are in the stew today?"

"B-bay leaf, parsley, and- " He barely was able to finish his sentence when he got cut off by an annoyed Aera. "No ginger?" Her brow furrowed as she glared at him. "We - we ran out..."

"Unacceptable." Aera turned to Gregor. "Ser Gregor, remind me to write a royal decree about ginger imports." Gregor only grunted. Aera spun back around to face the nervous chefs. "Where's the sweet wine you were supposed to substitute with fig water?"

Another cook looked like she might faint. "We—figs aren't in season yet, Your Grace." The glare of the princess was now on the woman. "Then substitute with pear. Or apple. Or—just anything that won't poison the Queen's liver!" Beauty, delighted by the raised voices, tried to pounce on a loaf of bread. The head cook screamed. "Stand down, Beauty," Aera said absently, patting his head like one would a misbehaving cat. He flopped down by the hearth, smoke curling lazily from his nostrils.

"Now," she continued, unrolling another list she got from Gregory's arms, who held countless other scrolls, "we're going to go over the entire pantry and mark what's safe, what's dangerous, and what's so spicy it might make the Queen breathe fire before the babe does." She paused dramatically. "And yes. I will be tasting everything."

By the time the inspection was done, five pies had been confiscated, two wine bottles shattered "by accident" (Beauty's tail), and a loaf of bread declared treasonous for being too dry. Aera was seated on a flour barrel, eating an entire lemon tart while explaining the benefits of dandelion tea. Gregor stood guard, occasionally blocking the dragon from setting things on fire. Beauty had managed to steal a leg of lamb and was now gnawing on it under the spice rack.

And the cooks? They were whispering prayers to every god in every language, all while promising to write down everything Aera suggested, twice. She finished her tart, wiped her mouth, and stood tall. "I expect a full menu revision by tomorrow," she said with a proud smile. "This is a royal pregnancy. Not a pub feast."

As she marched out of the kitchen, dragon leash in hand and Gregor trudging silently behind, one of the sous-chefs finally dared to whisper, "...The Queen might give birth to a child, but that child's already acting like their mother."

[banjjakz]

Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you.  “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.  

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”  

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

 As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

 At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities.  Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

[smahell]

op pleASE TELL US MORE ABOUT VAS 🗣️‼️

oh you gettin it all..

fun facts about the obey me vas : steering away from their more famous roles and investing in the niche!!

NB: i will assume that if you're reading this, you already know them by name! the point of this post is to recognize their works outside of obey me, so i will not be refering to them as "lucifer's va" or "mammon's va".

go watch all the otaku fm (except sinful sounds; i'll save you a good 20 mins of time better spent here) and boys in the house episodes!! they're hilarious, funny, and a great "get to know them".

+ this post is very link heavy! it's a lot more about you experiencing these videos clips and overall pieces of media just like I did! and to save myself repeating, a lot of this content is in japanese. it might not be what necessarily makes them niche, but i genuinely think it's worth dipping your toes into other projects the vas have been in if you find yourself uninterested in obey me.

miura ayme used to be in a band called ecthelion, where its most unique features was the using hatsune miku in (almost) every song; the majority of their albums and songs have been posted here to listen to -- ignore their spotify, it's only a dot on their whole discography.

.. however there's only one song where they didn't use hatsune miku titled "Ecthelion Academy Theme", the theme song to an audio drama series recorded in around august 2013 (snidely mentioned by ayme on an otaku fm episode) called Ecthelion Academy. you can find the episodes untranslated here!

wondering if there's any other audio dramas ayme has written? he currently writes for a series called Spicy Cafe, featuring Spicy Boys with Sugar Boy, a voice actor unit consisting of Ayme and four other voice actors! you can buy CDs of the dramas here (only shipping to japan, though you may be able to use a proxy service address to ship it internationally) and watch their youtube channel here; i highly recommend the latter, some streams have rough fan translations within the comments to read and laugh about. Spicy Cafe is still an ongoing series, with around 4 volumes and 2 seasons, and Spicy Boys still do events and concerts within Japan.

Kada is an on a YouTube channel called "Shokunana", a "privately run business" which "[promotes] flowers and greenery! he's listed in the channel description as an actor/talent who makes appearances in his own series on the channel. they upload every other day around noon JST. these aren't translated either, but they're still very entertaining to watch even without auto translate :)

below is a photo of koba-san's (mammon's va) qualifications, translated:

notable talents include "fried chicken certification", "french fry ambassador certification" and "harmonica playing". genuinely tried reverse searching these qualifications in japanese and found nothing. he's one talented guy.

kyohei voice acted in an "anime" called SHIRANAMI THE TV, which is "a fantasy about reforming society, featuring a group of five good-looking men", and based on japanese folklore. I spent two hours watching the series, and I have to say, the vocal work and art is very entertaining!! please consider watching the two seasons available for free here - i think it'd be nice to see a season 3 with enough support!

thanks for readinggg; here are old photos I've found of them.. they all look the same as they do now even though these photos were taken in the early-mid 2010s <3 (NB: tho im not sure about the joint kada and sumi photo + i couldn't find any koba or yama photos.. might have to do more digging..)

most if not all of the main seven have youtube channels; here's a few that you might've missed out on!:

Koba-san's Channel

Yama-san and Koba-san's Joint Channel <- these feature english subtitles!

Kawata's Channel

Okaki's Channel

NB: anon I'm so sorrryyy for taking so long i wanted this post to be perfecttt

[sourw0lfs]

dance with the devil - part six

I've decided this will eventually be available on AO3, but I want to get through some major plots points for everyone following along here before I have to spoil them with AO3's tagging system.

Words: 525 | Rating: E (mostly parts 1 & 2, but also future parts) | CW: dead bodies, Eddie is having a bad time

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || part eleven || part twelve

Once the front door of the apartment closes, Eddie spends the first few minutes by himself just staring at it. He isn't sure exactly what he expected when Joyce gave him this assignment, but he's pretty sure what he got isn't even near the list. Having to help cover up a murder definitely isn't on the list. And now that he's done that, Eddie isn't even sure that's what he was supposed to do. The only instructions Joyce gave him before sending him on his way was take care of Steve Harrington. No details, no helpful hint or clues. Nothing but the world's vaguest instruction and a stern warning not to fuck it up.

Eddie's eyes wander to the body still in the middle of the floor and he grimaces slightly. "Guess it's just you and me, buddy," he tells the man as he pulls the fourth angelic miracle of the hour to cover up the murder even further. A pool of ochre colored vomit appears next to the body. Hopefully it's enough to throw off any suspicion of foul play, because it's all Eddie's got left. He's only even had the ability to do things like that for a handful of hours at this point. He probably shouldn't be testing their limit. Or cleaning blood off people with them, but what else was he supposed to do? He can't help a guy that gets slapped with a murder charge five minutes into his assignment.

Sighing and taking one last look around the apartment for anything he missed, Eddie finally lets himself go after Steve. There's a chance it's been long enough for him to have the breakdown he was clearly teetering on the edge of. Or maybe he's actually fine and Eddie's just assisted a psychopath or something. That'll look great on his soul's record. All it takes is a blink for him to find out.

And yeah, maybe he should stop with the magic for now, considering the dangerous wobble to his landing once he let's it guide him back to his charge. And maybe he should have made sure Steve was alone before teleporting to him, because a shrill, frantic female voice is the last thing he needs when his head is already kind of spinning. "Holy shit! Where did you come from?"

Blinking hard to clear his vision, Eddie looks in the direction of the voice. He sees Steve first, looking just as frazzled as he had when he’d stormed out before, but now there’s a girl, too. “You want the long answer or the short answer?” he asks, lips already spreading into a grin to hide his discomfort. “Because short is some guy’s apartment and long is, well, a long story.”

The girl looks at Eddie for a moment longer before glancing at Steve, seeming to have a full conversation with him with just their eyes, before they move back to Eddie again. “Long,” she replies with a smirk of her own. “And it better include how the hell you just popped up in my apartment out of nowhere.”

Grimacing, Eddie takes a deep breath and launches into his story.

Did a quick little Google about why some people might not be showing up, so if you're down below and your tag didn't work, check to see if your blog is searchable in your settings! If it's not, I can't tag you.

If you want added to the list, let me know!

tags: @chaosgremlinmunson @soaringornithopter @hbyrde36 @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @quevadilla @tboyeddie @penny00dreadful @momotonescreaming @stevesbipanic @dawners @steddiejudas @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @estrellami-1 @vthx @lolawonsstuff @gleek4twd @littlebluejane @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lawrencebshaggoth @sadisticaltarts @queenie-ofthe-void @r0binscript @anaibis @hairdressersdoitwithstyle

[sailing-on-a-puddle]

General X - Chapter 2

Also available on Ao3 including previous chapter and prequel

This insanity returns! It is a Thunderbirds Are Go/Wallace and Gromit crossover story with Thunderbirds Original Series Easter Eggs.

I posted the first bit of this Chapter as a WIP Wednesday but here is the rest of it.

This is my first multi-chapter fic ever! I hope that you enjoy it.

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

“I do so miss the giant vegetable competition, but I do so love the animal sanctuary. Tottington Hall just wouldn't be the same without all the animals” Lady Tottington sighed.

She poured two cups of tea, one for herself and one for her companion, Lady Penelope.

“I understand, Totty” Penelope replied. “I couldn't be without Sherbet now.”

I'd probably have drawn the line at several thousand Sherbets, Penelope thought, but then not everybody was the same. Lady Tottington loved her sanctuary for, at last estimate, seven thousand small animals who roamed freely on her land.

“They're just so much more rewarding than most people Penelope, not including yourself of course” Totty went on. “But then I hardly see you now, so many functions and … where is it you often go again?”

“Overseas on business” Penelope replied. She preferred not to explain exactly what she did with International Rescue, even to one of her oldest friends. Totty had a heart of gold but she wasn't always the sharpest tool in the box.

Sherbet ran in, barked, and began tugging at Penelope's trousers.

“Bertie! What's got into you? I must apologise Totty, he isn't usually like this.”

Parker then followed, sounding very out of breath. “Beg your pardon, milady, but I think we might have a call.”

“Excuse me Totty” Penelope said, standing up and gliding out of the room.

“Parker, what is wrong? My compact doesn't have a call.”

“No milady, but FAB1 has multiple red lights on and the dog is insisting we respond.”

Penelope went back inside and made her apologies to Lady Tottington, and FAB1, with Parker and Sherbet already inside, picked her up at the front door. FAB1 was indeed showing multiple red lights on the dashboard that she didn’t remember existing before.

Penelope contacted John, to find a rescue call was already in place with holograms of Kayo in Shadow, John in Five and Virgil and Gordon in Two appearing.

Gordon hurriedly took his feet off Two’s control panel. Virgil looked relieved.

“John, what’s happening? Did you call?”

“No Penelope, but you could be useful. We’re responding to a possible kidnap of a citizen in the Wigan area by the Hood. We believe …”

“Wallace, Penelope. It's Wallace, the inventor we met at your roadshow a few weeks ago” Virgil interrupted. “We’re following Kayo in case we need equipment.”

“Well this is all rather distressing. What about Gromit?”

“He'd gone out before the Hood arrived” Gordon replied. “Not sure if the Hood got Gromit after Wallace.”

“No, tracking data says only one stop over West Wallaby Street” said John confidently. “It looks like he's returned to the quarry.”

“Well John, I'm in the area, how can I assist?” Penelope asked.

“Closing in now” Kayo announced, her hologram visibly turning Shadow.

“Kayo, are you sure you should be doing this by yourself? I'm in the area, Two isn't far behind, should we not have a coordinated approach?” Penelope sounded concerned.

“No! The Hood will let me go, he doesn't do the same for any of you. Two is standing by in case we need equipment, and John is tracking. The bad guys are my thing, and none more so that my ever delightful uncle” Kayo replied defiantly. “I’ve made visual contact with what I think is his ship. I'm heading in now.”

Penelope wanted to express her concern further, but she was distracted by the new lights in her car coming on again, yet this time they were blue. Sherbet was barking.

Parker slowed down at the sight of two dogs standing by the side of the road in what looked like bulky protective wear. As the car drew closer it became clear one of the dogs was Gromit. The other dog was smaller and white.

FAB1 stopped and both dogs got in. FAB1 was a large car, however Penelope still felt more squashed than usual sharing the back seat with three dogs.

“Lady Penelope, Parker and Sherbet, meet Fluffles” John announced. “I thought some introductions might be helpful.”

Nobody questioned how John had known who FAB1 was collecting. It was just accepted, even by the newcomers, that the blue floating hologram knew everything.

“Are these new lights yours, Bertie?” Penelope asked Sherbet. Far from having received a call herself, she realised the lights meant Bertie was receiving a call or assistance from Gromit.

She had to admire the ingenuity.

Bertie barked, nodding and Gromit gave a sheepish look, but one that acknowledged that Penelope was right.

Gromit had clearly noticed Virgil and Gordon, who he'd been speaking to not so long ago, although both were now in full International Rescue uniform.

The holographic Kayo had left Shadow and was walking into the Hood's ship. Why is this so easy? Penelope wondered. Was he just going to let Kayo walk in and rescue Wallace?

“Ah! Hello, Tanusha” a nasal drawl came from Kayo’s holographic projection, indicating she’d found her target. “Would you like to sit down with your uncle to share some food? I was just having some cheese and crackers!”

Penelope heard Gromit snarl beside her as Kayo’s holographic projection enlarged to reveal herself but also the Hood, sitting at an obscenely oversized table with the cheese and crackers he’d taken from Wallace and Gromit’s house.

“I don’t have any desire to eat any meal with you. Where is Wallace?” Kayo demanded.

The Hood pulled a face of mock sadness. “No time for family, Kayo. Oh dear.” He stuffed another piece of cheese into his mouth. “Oh well. I’ll survive. He’s not here.”

“Of course he’s here. You’ve just kidnapped him. I’ve just flown half way round the world because for some reason you want to kidnap a man who was living quietly with his dog. I don’t know what you’re up to, but you give him back and go back into your hiding hole!”

The Hood shrugged. “Or else? You’ll unleash the GDF? How many times has that been ineffective? They’re not even here.”

Penelope had to conceded that the Hood was no idiot. Yes, they’d beaten him before, but he usually had the right measure of people. She was quite concerned that Wallace could suffer the same fate as the Mechanic. Wallace had made some fantastic inventions, but she didn’t think he had any skills to defend against the Hood.

Kayo sighed. “I’ll ask you once more, where is he?”

“And I’ll tell you once more, he’s not here. I don’t know where he is. I just delivered him.”

Kayo paused. “Delivered him? You’re a hired villain now?”

The Hood did a sigh of his own. “It’s always been about money for me, Tanusha. If somebody wants to hire me I’m available. For the right price, of course.” That smug grin was flashed at Kayo and Penelope could feel the hatred of this man rising up inside her. Based on the faces of her companions and the boys’ holograms, everybody else was feeling the same.

“Who hired you?”

“Well that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

“You’ve told me everything so far and you didn’t have to. You let me in. You obviously have an agenda. So I’ll ask you again, who hired you to kidnap Wallace?”

The Hood took another mouthful of cheese and crackers, smirked, and replied “General X”.

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Sickfic Part 1)

Summary: Y/N gets sick and Mitch, Sarah, and Harry take turns doting on her.

Previous Chapters: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

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

Grabbing extra blankets, you bundle deep under the covers of your otherwise empty bed. You hope that your cats will join you soon so you’re not completely alone.

It’s not like you have other people in bed with you every single night. Since you started dating Mitch and Sarah earlier in the year, and added Harry to the relationship three months prior, you’ve spent a decent amount of time alone. One might think that wouldn’t be the case with two boyfriends and a girlfriend, but they’re busy people.

Harry has been writing his next album, traveling twice for writing retreats with his collaborators to minimize distractions. On top of that he’s had meetings, photoshoots, and other projects that require him to be away from you for days at a time.

Meanwhile, Mitch’s album had dropped just a couple weeks prior, and he and Sarah were busy promoting that.

All in all, you were very used to sleeping alone. But for some reason you were really missing them tonight. They had all been home for just three days before they had to fly out to Los Angeles to prepare and rehearse for Harryween.

It had been a somewhat last-minute decision to actually do Harryween this year, since tour had ended a few months before. But the venue was open and most of the band was available, and they knew tickets would sell out immediately, so they decided to pull the trigger and go for it.

That meant that they needed to fit in all of the prep work the week right before Halloween, leaving you alone at home for days. They had left Sunday morning, and since it’s now Tuesday, it’s your third night without them.

You only need to make it until Thursday, and Mitch will be back for a couple of meetings, and then you’ll fly to LA with him for the two shows at the start of the following week.

Knowing that it’s only two more lonesome nights would normally help you, but for some reason you just feel so alone tonight. The bed feels too big and empty and cold. You are cold, freezing, bone deep cold. It isn’t even that chilly out, a mild fall evening.

It’s early to get in bed, not even 9 PM, but you feel exhausted. You wish you could just call them, but you know with the 3-hour time difference that they’re definitely still rehearsing, probably not even taking their dinner break for another hour.

You settle for playing their music, your go to when you just need to hear their voices to feel them close to you. It doesn’t take long before you fall asleep.

The blaring alarm wakes you the next morning, and even though you slept over nine hours, you’re still tired. You go to say good morning to the cats who joined you at some point in the night, and your voice comes out groggy. You clear your throat which only leads to a coughing fit. It doesn’t last long, and you’re fine while you get ready for work, so you figure it was probably just a tickle and not a big deal.

Wednesday is the same as Tuesday, most of your days truly blending together. You take a bath after dinner, hoping it will help the new aches in your joints that bothered you all afternoon, and you nearly fall asleep in the water. If it weren’t for your phone ringing, you definitely would have been out cold within a minute.

You dry your hands and grab the phone, checking who it is before answering.

“Hello,” you say, and notice your voice once again sounds a little rough.

“Hi love,” Sarah replies. “I’ve only got a minute, but I wanted to check in. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“What are you up to?”

“Decided to relax tonight, currently taking a bath.”

“Is that so? Wish we could facetime,” Sarah says cheekily.

You laugh at how forward she can sometimes be and reply, “Get your mind out of the gutter Jones!”

“I know, I just wish I could see my beautiful girl.” You blush at these words as she continues, “How are you? You sound a little hoarse.”

“Yea, I’m okay. Not sure why I sound like this. It happened this morning and just came back. Maybe it’s allergies, the ragweed is pretty bad this time of year.”

“Okay, well just let me know if you get worse. Maybe do a covid test to be safe?”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll do one in the morning before Mitch comes home. Last thing I want is to spread something to you guys before the shows next week.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she reassures. “But always good to check.”

You’re about to ask how she and the others are doing, see if she could put Harry and Mitch on the call for a minute but before you can ask, she says, “Oh, I’ve got to go, we’re starting again. There’s a new transition that we’re struggling with a bit, so we’ve got to work on that more.”

“You guys will get it, you’re the most talented band out there.”

“Thank you, my love. Sleep well tonight, let me know how you’re feeling in the morning.”

“I will keep you posted. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night.”

“Good night,” you say, and the call is ended.

You sit for a moment, your apartment feeling extra quiet again. It takes all of your energy to get out of the tub and finish getting ready for bed. It’s difficult to adjust to the cool air after the hot bath, and you quickly burrow into the pile of blankets you left on the bed, sighing in relief at the warmth they offer. Like the previous night you play music and immediately fall asleep.

The alarm is even louder than usual the next morning, and it hurts to open your eyes. You go to sit up and realize that everything in your body hurts. You take a deep breath to collect yourself, but that has the opposite effect. The second you breathe in you begin to cough, and it feels like minutes pass before you get it under control.

Forcing yourself out of bed you remember the conversation with Sarah the previous night and decide the first thing to do is take a covid test. You do that and as you wait the 15 minutes for the result you make a cup of tea and get dressed. You’re not sure yet if you’re going to call out sick. As a nanny to a toddler, the last thing you want to do is go to work sick and pass it on to the child. You choose to wait for the test results before deciding.

The timer goes off and you see that it’s negative. You call Beth, the mom you work for, and fill her in, letting her decide if she’s comfortable with you being around her son that day.

After telling her your symptoms she says, “I’m okay with you being around Ryan, but if you’re not feeling well, you should stay home. Take a sick day and rest. I know it’s exhausting taking care of a toddler when you’re not under the weather, and much worse when you are.”

“I’m really not that bad,” you reply. It’s not a complete lie, you already feel slightly better than when you first got up. You had taken a pain reliever and it was helping your achy joints, plus you had only had one more minor coughing fit. You assure Beth that you’re well enough to work and that you’ll see her soon.

She fusses over you slightly when you get to her house, mothering you a bit to make sure you’re not worse than you say you are.

“Call me if you need anything. I can get a substitute or Michael can work from home and watch Ryan.”

“I will, I promise,” you say, locking the door behind her as she leaves.

You feel fine all morning, nothing more than a slight cough. Ryan takes an excellent nap halfway through the day, and you make the mistake of laying on the couch during it. The baby monitor is right next to you, ensuring that you’ll hear Ryan when he wakes up, and the white noise coming through the monitor lulls you into a light sleep.

Beth has told you before that it’s okay if you rest while he’s napping but you normally never do. Today though, you can’t fight it and your eyes slip shut.

After nearly three hours Ryan’s babbling wakes you up. It’s immediately obvious that your short nap was a bad idea, and you feel awful as you get off of the couch. Checking the time, you note that Beth will be home in two hours and tell yourself you can push through to the end of the day, maybe with a little help from Bluey.

You’re relieved when Beth walks through the door, having gotten worse throughout the afternoon. She again dotes on you as only a mother can and tells you to take off the next day. You try to protest, since you’re already planning to be out for days the following week to travel to LA, but she won’t hear it.

“I will see you next Thursday. Not tomorrow. Rest. Get better so you can enjoy your boyfriend’s show.”

You smile and thank her before driving home. The second you enter your apartment you take off your shoes and climb into your bed. You don’t realize that you’ve fallen asleep until you jerk awake hearing the door open. You’re confused, and worried that someone is breaking in, but a moment later you hear Mitch calling out your name.

You try to shout out to him and let him know where you are, but as soon as you open your mouth you begin to cough. It’s even worse than the fit you’d had in the morning and Mitch rushes into the room, immediately rubbing your back to soothe you.

Finally, you start to catch your breath and you turn, curling into Mitch’s embrace as he wraps his arms around you.

 “What’s wrong baby? Sarah said you didn’t sound great last night but this is worse than I expected.”

“It wasn’t this bad yesterday. It wasn’t even this bad when I got home earlier. I feel like shit.”

“What do you need?” he asks.

“I don’t know. This is helping though,” you say referring to him holding you. He squeezes you tighter for a moment and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

For a few minutes you stay like this until another coughing fit wracks your body. Mitch again rubs your back, his touch calming you even as you struggle to breathe. When you’re done coughing, he shifts so he can get off of the bed.

“Don’t leave, please,” you say, grabbing on to him.

“I just want to check if you have any medicine, I’ll be right back.”

“Please,” you say, refusing to let go if his arm. Deep down you know that you’re being clingy, but you can’t bring yourself to care in that moment.

“Okay, c’mere,” he says and gestures for you to wrap your limbs around him. Once you’re secure he carries you with him to the bathroom and places you down on the closed toilet lid. He opens the closet door and takes out the box of different medications you have in there.

“Have you taken anything yet?” he asks.

“I took some Tylenol earlier today, but it’s been a while.”

“Nothing for the cough?”

“No, it really wasn’t that bad before.”

“Okay, here, take this,” he says, handing you the small cup filled with cough syrup. You do as you’re told and he takes out the thermometer, holding it up to your head.

It beeps a moment later and he says, “Definitely a low-grade fever. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had the chills, and I guess body aches.”

“Alright, you said it’s been a while since you had Tylenol?”

“Yea, I only took it this morning.”

“Here’s another dose, it’ll help with everything else.”

You take the medicine as instructed, too tired to even think and grateful that you have someone there to tell you what you need to do.

“Have you eaten today?” Mitch asks.

“Yea, I had a sandwich for lunch,” you answer.

“But no dinner?”

You shake your head no.

“Okay,” he replies. “I’m going to heat up some soup for us. Do you want to wait in bed or come with me?”

“With you,” you reply, holding out your arms so he’ll carry you again. He smiles at how adorable sick you is, and he picks you up with ease, loving having you in his arms.

He places you on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and you rest your head on your arms as he gets food ready. Normally you’d be asking him how his flight was, how rehearsals had been going all week, but instead you just rest your eyes, comforted by the sounds of another person in the apartment with you for the first time in days.

A few minutes later Mitch places a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of you. He sits on the stool next to yours with his own bowl and puts a sleeve of crackers between you two. You lift your head up and thank him before starting to eat. You’re feeling a little better now that the medicine has had time to work, and you’re able to finish your dinner.

As soon as you and Mitch are both done eating you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Bedtime?” he asks, and you nod your head yes.

He cleans up the dishes and the two of you head to the bathroom to get ready. You lean against Mitch as you brush your teeth, too tired to stand on your own. He keeps a firm arm around you, making sure you don’t fall, and leads you into the bedroom.

Once you’re both in bed you immediately move to lay on top of him, needing to be as close as possible.

“Is this okay?” you ask, and he replies, “Of course, baby. I’ve missed my human blanket.”

You smile and melt into the embrace, his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safer and more content than you have in days. It doesn’t take long before you once again fall into a deep sleep.

Mitch, however, stays awake for some time after you. It’s still fairly early, especially since he’s on west coast time. Once he’s sure you’re asleep he pulls out his phone, careful not to disturb you with his movement.

He sends a text in his group chat with Sarah and Harry, telling them about how sick you are. It’s obvious how worried they are in their replies and Mitch assures them that he plans to take you to the doctor in the morning if you’re not feeling better.

The moment he wakes up the next day he can tell something is wrong. He feels like he’s in an oven and he immediately realizes the heat is coming off of your body as you lay sprawled on him. Carefully he reaches over to the side table and picks up the thermometer to see what your temperature is.

He grimaces as it beeps loudly in the quiet room, but you remain asleep. He checks what it says and grows more worried. While yesterday you had a mild fever, it’s much higher now. Just as he puts the thermometer back down you suddenly wake up coughing.

Mitch helps you sit upright so you can breathe easier, and after it passes he hands you a glass of water, encouraging you to take small sips.

Your whole body is aching, and a violent shiver shoots through you.

“Baby, I think you should get checked by someone today, okay?”

You want to refuse, saying it’s not that bad, but you don’t have the energy to fight so you simply nod to agree.

The start of the morning is hazy. You and Mitch shower together so he can help you and make sure you don’t slip in your weakened state. You get dressed and throw your damp hair up into a bun and join Mitch in the kitchen for breakfast. A shower and food have done you some good, and you’re feeling more alert. You make an appointment with a doctor, happy to see an opening in just an hour.

Mitch insists on cancelling his morning meeting to go with you, but you tell him you’ll be fine. He concedes by just pushing it back a little bit so that he can drive you to your appointment.

As he drops you off he tells you for the hundredth time to text him with updates and let him know when you need to be picked up, reassuring you that he can leave his meeting if he needs to.

“I’ll be okay Mitch. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. I have for a while now.”

“I know you can, I just- we all just like to take care of you.”

“And I love that about the three of you. But I will be fine. Now go, I need to check in.” He grabs your hand for a moment and squeezes tightly before letting you go.

You go into the office and the woman at the front desk hands you the typical forms to fill out. After handing those back you wait for a little while, happy that you thought to bring a book. Focusing on that helps you not focus on how crappy you’re feeling.

Once in with the doctor you tell her your symptoms and she does her normal physical assessment.

“Well, there are a number of things this could be. We’ll test for covid, flu, strep. But, we’ve had a number of cases of fungal pneumonia recently, so I want to check you for that as well. Seems there could be something nearby that’s causing these infections.”

With that she sends you off to the lab next door where they do a number of tests, including a chest x-ray to know for sure what’s going on. You text Mitch to fill him in while you wait for the results.

You get called back into your doctor and she informs you that you do in fact have fungal pneumonia.

“I’m going to prescribe you itraconazole, an anti-fungal drug. You can continue taking cough medicine and acetaminophen to treat the symptoms of the infection.”

You nod to show you’re listening and ask, “Is it contagious?”

“No, fungal pneumonia is not contagious. To get it you need to come in contact directly with the spores. Did you visit the wetlands recently?”

“The one’s over near Creek Road?”

“Yes.”

“Yea, I went there Sunday afternoon. Why?”

“Most of the patients I’ve recently diagnosed with this have been there. There must be something on one of the trails that’s infecting people.”

You continue to nod, finding this mildly interesting. If you weren’t sick you’d probably find it fascinating, but you’re too tired to think about it too deeply. She asks about your hike, writing down the specific areas that you walked to send over to the rangers at the Wetlands so they can determine where the danger is.

“I’ve sent your prescription to the pharmacy you listed; it should be ready soon.”

“Thank you,” you say, and she leads you out of the room.

You sit in the waiting room and text Mitch that you’re done, and he tells you he’s outside, his meeting having finished a half hour prior.

The drive home is quiet, with a stop at the pharmacy to pick up your prescription. When you get back to the apartment you head straight for your bedroom, exhausted from the morning’s activities. Mitch joins you a few mimutes later, bringing lunch and your medicine with him.

He Facetimes Sarah as finish your food, and she and Harry answer. They ask how you’re feeling, and you shrug, too tired to come up with a full response. You take the medicine that Mitch gives you, and you fall asleep while they’re still on the phone, comforted by the sounds of their voices.

They stay on the call expressing their concern and Mitch assures them that he’s taking care of you. A few minutes later they hang up, and Mitch carefully cleans up lunch. He’s about to lay down next to you again when you wake up.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He asks.

“The same I guess. Don’t you have another meeting to be at?”

“Yea it’s in a little while, but I can cancel and stay home with you.”

“Mitch, really, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure! Go, you’ve got important stuff to do.”

“You’re important,” he replies.

You nearly respond sarcastically but instead you find yourself blushing at his words. He leans down to kiss you, and you’re very grateful that you’re not contagious and can still do this when sick. It’s the first kiss you’ve shared with him since Sunday, and it feels like home.

He pulls away, pressing a kiss to your head and gets ready for his meeting. He checks in with you again before leaving and you reassure that you have everything you need and plan to stay in bed watching movies the whole time he’s gone. He walks out of the room and comes back a minute later, one of your cats under each of his arms. Mitch places them on the bed with you, gives you a final kiss and a “love you” and leaves the apartment.

Mitch is gone for a movie and a half, walking in partway through the 2nd live action Scooby Doo.

He sees what you’re watching and looks almost guilty.

“What?” you ask after seeing his expression.

“I was on the phone with Sarah and Harry while I drove home. They’re concerned about you traveling when you’re not feeling well.”

Your first instinct is to immediately reply that they’re being ridiculous, that you’ll be fine. But instead, you say, “We have 2 full days until the flight to LA. Let’s just play it by ear and decide on Sunday, okay?”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he replies.

“And even if I’m not better by then I could always just fly out Tuesday. You guys will look silly without your Daphne!”

“I still can’t believe you convinced us all to have Scooby Doo as the costumes for Harryween.”

“I can’t believe you chose to be Scrappy Doo.”

“Well Pauli already claimed Scooby. What was I supposed to do?”

“Pick a normal villain from the show, like everyone else?”

“But I wanted to be a dog for Halloween!” he practically whines as he plops in the bed next to you.

You smile fondly, loving when you got to see this side of him. You weave your fingers through his hair and you’re both quiet for the rest of the movie.

Mitch dotes on you for the rest of the weekend, insisting that you do nothing other than rest and get better. He prepares food, brings you your medicine, and carries you with him whenever you’re feeling particularly clingy.

While you hate being sick, you love the excuse to slow down for a few days. Everything is always so hectic for the four of you, and a weekend of nothing but cuddles on the couch with comfort movies and shows in the background is nearly perfect. It would be completely perfect if Sarah and Harry were also there. And if you didn’t still feel like crap.

You slowly got better, and by Sunday morning you were confident that the anti-fungal medicine was working, and you were officially on the mend. It took a lot of convincing the others, but by Sunday afternoon you and Mitch were seated next to each other flying back to Los Angeles.

It’s late when you land, and you go directly to Harry’s place. He and Sarah are waiting outside and rush to the car to help with your bags. The boys bring the luggage inside and Sarah wraps an arm around your waist and walks with you.

You spend the first few minutes there telling everyone repeatedly that you’re fine, just a bit tired. And you’re telling the truth. Your fever is gone, the chills and body aches going with it, and you have only a mild cough. Even if you hadn’t been sick the last couple days you’d be tired after traveling coast to coast.

That night you sleep in between Harry and Sarah, Mitch on Sarah’s other side knowing the other two needed to feel you close to them.

You wake up in the middle of the night, knowing you’re about to have another coughing fit, and try to sneak out of bed so you don’t wake anyone. Unfortunately, Sarah is wrapped around you so tightly that you can’t escape. You start to cough, turning into the pillow to try and muffle the sound but the others wake up anyway.

They all fuss over you, Sarah rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. Finally, you stop coughing, but you keep your face pressed into the pillow. You don’t want them to see the tears in your eyes, knowing how much more worried they’ll be if they see that. You can’t help it though, between the breathlessness and the chest pain the coughing brings, your eyes have no choice but to water.

You try to calm yourself with some deep breaths, but that just causes you to start coughing again. This time you turn into Sarah, needing the comfort her hold brings you.

“Sorry,” you eventually say. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone up.”

“Are you okay, love?” Harry asks. “That didn’t sound good at all.”

“I’m okay, my lungs are just a bit irritated.”

“Are you in any pain?” He questions. You know he’s very familiar with lung issues, having dealt with asthma in the past, and you know that he’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.

“My chest hurts a bit, but it’s really not that bad.”

He gives you a look, like he doesn’t believe you, so you hold his hand and say, “I promise, it’s not that bad. It’s already getting better.”

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you to him. You straddle his lap, tucking your face into his neck. You melt into his embrace, loving the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you. Even though you still feel sick, being surrounded by the three people you love fills you with warmth.

Somehow you fall asleep still sitting up with Harry holding you. When you wake up the next morning you’re still in that position. Harry is asleep beneath you, leaning back against the headboard.

The last thing you want is to wake him again, especially since there’s a show tonight. You open your eyes and see Mitch and Sarah are also sleeping, wrapped in each other’s arms. It’s a perfect start to the day, and you note that you feel much better than the last few days.

It’s not much later that everyone begins to stir. It’s already mid-morning but there’s enough time before they need to be at the venue, so no one is in any rush to get up. Sarah does demand that you switch to her lap, saying that everyone else has gotten more cuddles with you and it’s her turn. You go willingly; something about her soft embrace that comforts you immensely.

Eventually you do all get up to eat and shower before going together to the Forum. You stay backstage and get ready while they do soundcheck, wanting the set list to remain a surprise until the show. You love the group costume that was chosen for night 1, everyone dressing as their own version of Barbie or Ken, you included.

When the others get backstage they compliment you on your look and you smile bashfully at the attention. It’s a bit chaotic with everyone getting ready and having a quick dinner. Finally, you say good bye to the others, give Harry a kiss, and head to the floor to watch the show.

You don’t go out yet, knowing that the fans will notice you once you do, and you don’t want to give away the costume theme. As soon as the show officially begins you walk to the fenced off section for friends and family in the back of the pit.

You’re still not feeling 100%, and the lights and loud music are a bit disorienting, but you don’t let that show. This is your first time attending Harry’s concert as his official girlfriend, and you know that people are going to be watching you, judging you.

Even though you’re still a bit under the weather, you have a great time at the concert. You’re so happy that the set list was a surprise, and you know a fan nearby got your reaction to the start of Canyon Moon, one of your favorites that you hadn’t heard live before.

As always, harry puts on a perfect show. You love watching the fans and checking out all of their costumes. He does the whale to close out the concert and your face hurts from smiling so much. You feel exhausted, and look forward to getting home, but it was worth pushing through.

To no one’s surprise you fall asleep on Harry’s shoulder during the drive home. Sarah and Mitch are in a different car, since you had run out with Harry the second the show ended. You wake up at home, laying on the bed while Harry is taking your shoes off.

“Hi, lovey,” he says as you sit up, your legs dangling off the end of the bed with Harry standing between them. You reach your arms up, placing your hands on his face and gently pulling so he knows to lean down. As soon as he’s close enough you press your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“Hi baby,” you say once you break the kiss. “You did great tonight.”

“Yea? Liked the show?”

“Loved it. Always do.”

He smiles at that, dimples popping out on each cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good. Sleepy, but otherwise I feel fine.”

“That’s a relief,” he replies. “Hated seeing you sick. Hated knowing you were sick, and I couldn’t be there to make you feel better.”

“Well, I feel much better now. All healed up.”

He flashes his dazzling smile again, and you pull him in for another kiss.

“Let’s get ready for bed,” he says as he breaks the kiss a minute later.

The two of you are halfway through your nighttime routines when Mitch and Sarah get home. Before long the four of you are cuddled in bed, Harry quietly humming something that sounds oddly similar to “I’m Just Ken.”

The four of you go out the next morning since you want to see a bit of the city. They each choose a couple of their favorite spots to show you before you all need to get to the venue. You again get yourself ready as they do another quick soundcheck, one of the stylist’s helping you with the red wig you’ll need as Daphne.

Once Harry is in his Fred costume the two of you take some pictures together. Night 2 is the same as Night 1, except you’re a bit more worn out from walking through the city all morning. As much as you insist to the others that you’re not sick anymore, that’s not completely true. Your head is pounding by the end, and you feel slightly dizzy. On more than one occasion you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest, it’s racing so fast.

You do everything to keep a smile on your face and not show how you’re feeling. For the first time ever, you feel relieved when the show is over. You enjoyed it of course, but you can’t wait to lay down, which will hopefully stop the world from spinning.

You’re quiet on the drive home, but still able to hide your symptoms from Harry. Once home you get ready for bed, falling asleep before Mitch and Sarah even get back.

The next morning is slightly chaotic as the four of you need to be at the airport fairly early. It’s not until you’re all seated on the private plane that they pick up on the fact that you’re kind of out of it. You claim to just be tired, but you know that they don’t buy it and are all watching you closely.

You’re seated next to Sarah and fall asleep on her shoulder shortly into the flight. When you start to wake up a couple hours later you shift, tucking your face into her neck. Mitch catches Sarahs concerned face, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“She feels warm,” Sarah answers. She places her hand on the back of your neck, noting how hot your skin has become. The boys are both immediately worried, each reaching over to feel for themselves.

You lift your head up and give them all a look, silently asking why they’re all touching you.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks. “Be honest with us, please.”

You take a moment to assess before answering, “Kind of dizzy. And cold. And sore.”

“Anything else, love?” Sarah says.

“Maybe a bit nauseous? But not that bad, really.” Despite your insistence that you weren’t going to throw up, Mitch gets up to grab an airsick bag just in case.

“How long until we land?” he asks as he sits back down across from you.

“About an hour,” Harry answers before he turns to you and asks if you need anything.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Can you just, uhm. Can you maybe sing?”

“Of course I can love. Any requests?”

You shake your head, tucking back into Sarah’s side. Harry begins to sing, and you take deep breaths, trying to keep any nausea and dizziness at bay.

It’s a difficult hour, and a rough landing has you nearly reaching for the airsick bag but you’re able to hold it back.

You all get home mid-afternoon, and you immediately start to unpack. You know that if you don’t you’ll just leave the suitcase for days. When you’re done you head back to the living room where you find Harry sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Ordering dinner. Don’t think anyone is up for cooking tonight.”

You sit next to him, putting a random show on TV for background noise. You grab a blanket, wrapping yourself in it to fight off the chills. You lean against Harry who wraps an arm around you.  Mitch and Sarah join you two and you guys finish ordering food and sit together quietly while you wait for it to be delivered.

Once it’s there you all move to the kitchen table. You don’t have much of an appetite but try to eat some of your dinner. The others notice that you don’t eat much, but they don’t push it, knowing that your stomach is still bothering you.

Everyone changes into comfy clothes after dinner, and you head back to the living room couch. You’re in between Harry and Sarah, Mitch trailing behind in the bathroom for a minute. You wonder what’s holding him up but understand when he walks out with your medicine box.

He takes your temperature, frowning when he sees you once again have a high fever. You take the medicine he hands you before curling into Sarah’s side. Her hand slides through your hair and rubs your back, and you focus on those comforting touches.

You all watch a movie before deciding it’s time to head to bed. You stand from the couch, taking a moment to steady yourself as a wave of dizziness washes over you.

Your heart is beating incredibly fast again, and you’re having trouble catching your breath. The others stand around you, asking questions that you can’t hear over the pounding of your heartbeat.

You meet Harry’s eyes for a moment before everything goes dark and you collapse into his arms.

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

@akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @theekyliepage @numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry @ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess @houseofdilfs @shaquille-0atmeal-1 @kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye @n0vaj3an

AN: Thank you again for reading this story! There will be a part 2 to this!