#move over everyone nothing is important to me today except these two

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 14

Summary: You avoid the tension between you and Fred, you end up sobbing again, and make a decision that you're not sure if it was a mistake.

CW: crying, kissing, yelling

WC: 1.8k

A/N: a shortie but it's the moment you all have been waiting for! somewhat

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You really didn’t mean to stay this many days at the burrow. But you surprisingly didn’t miss your bed all that much. And you were having fun.

Angelina had gone home before lunch, Lee was staying for one more day, and Harry was staying for the rest of break as per usual.

You felt bad for him.

You had shared the same loss, but you felt worse for Harry than anyone else. He was the one to see Cedric die. Then he had to go and battle a dark wizard, and bring the corpse back with him.

Remembering that he was younger than you made it worse, dealing with all that at fourteen obviously is going to take awhile to recover from.

It seemed that the both of you tried not to dwell too much on it, not wanting to think about it, and using this time at the Weasleys as a way to distract your thoughts from that event.

Harry didn’t want to remind you of what happened and you didn’t want to remind Harry of what happened. You still asked how one another were doing and responded to each other in small group conversations at the table. But really no more than that.

Anyways, you’re trying not to dwell on it. This a vacation, you should be happy.

You did your best to act normal around Fred, trying to act as if you haven’t cried in his arms twice, and slept in his bed twice, sharing the bed one of those times.

The hardest thing to ignore was that feeling in your stomach any time he was near to you.

You're not sure when it started, nor how long you’ve been ignoring it. Maybe months? That’s quite terrifying, you won’t think about it too much.

The day was simple. You ate breakfast, watched both of the twins along with Lee and Harry play Quidditch, the twins already using the beaters bats you got them. Lee offered to switch places with you, seeing if you’d like to play a round with everyone. You refused, terrified you wouldn’t be able to dodge a ball in time or fall off your broom and end up with a broken arm.

You all went inside eventually, talked, watched TV, ate lunch, talked some more, watched TV some more, watched everyone play Quidditch some more, ate dinner, talked more.

Nothing very exciting happened most of the day, except when Lee was able to hit George right in the nose with a scone from the other side of the table.

Also, you were actually able to make conversation with the twins without getting annoyed every other minute. That was new.

Other than that, nothing super important happened for most of the day.

Once you went upstairs to change, you realized that you underestimated how many days you’d stay when you packed your bag.

You were out of fresh pajama shirts, you weren’t in the mood to wear the same shirt you’ve chosen to sleep in the past two nights.

It wasn’t ideal, but you just decided to keep on the shirt you had on all day and sleep in that, changing into a new pair of pajama pants.

Leaving the room and passing the twins room, you noticed a light on and the door was cracked open, it’s usually shut.

Peaking your head in carefully, you saw Fred standing and hunched over on his desk, focused as he wrote something on a piece of paper. Probably a new idea.

Pushing the door open a bit more, it squeaked and you cringed at the sound. Fred’s head slowly looked to where you were. He smiled.

“Will you be joining me in my bed again tonight?” He teased, a sarcastic suggestive tone in this voice.

“You got lucky last night, don’t push it Weasley.” You stepped fully into the room, crossing your arms. Fred noticed and looked down at your shirt, his eyebrows creasing inwards for a moment.

“Is that the same shirt you’ve worn today?”

“Oh, yeah. I ran out of sleep shirts. This will do for now.” You shrugged, moving a hand to play with the hem of your shirt.

Fred didn’t say anything, he went over to his dresser and opened the top drawer, the wrong drawer. You got a glimpse of his boxers and immediately looked away. He slammed in shut with panic in his eyes, then clearing his throat as he opened the one underneath.

He pulled out an old shirt, it had a faded logo of some band he liked when he was prepubescent.

“Here, you can use this for the night.” He held out the shirt for you, you took it with a hesitant hand.

Looking down at it and rubbing the finger over the fabric, you bit your cheek. Feeling guilty all of sudden, about so much.

“Fred, why are you being so nice to me?” The words tumbled quickly out of your mouth, sounding painful.

“What?”

“I’ve been so horrible to you, all these years I've been so bitter and mean. Yet, you just let me in. You never held an actual grudge against me. I don’t get it.” You looked up at him, laying the folded shirt on the dresser next to you.

“Y/N, I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He stepped closer to you. He was so close. So close.

“Why can't you just be mad at me? Why can't you hate me the way I’ve hated you.” You whined, shoving him slightly, praying you would finally scare him away, make him despise you. 

Fred held your arms once you tried to push him away again, rubbing your thumbs over your wrists, and weakly saying your name.

“I could never hate you.” Fred spoke softly, you let out a breath of frustration and dropped your hands from his light grasp, wishing he would just tell the truth. He already was. 

“I don’t know why. Maybe it’s ‘cause I understood, I am annoying and I am a bit of an arsehole sometimes with my pranks.” He chuckled and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know Y/N, I just can’t hate you.”

“Godric, why are you doing this to me Fred?” You groaned, dropping your head to his chest, leaning against him. 

“I don’t know. I can’t help it.” Fred shook his head as he gently placed his hands on the sides of your face, holding it up to his gaze. You clenched your teeth together.

Can't help what? Can’t help what, Fred? You wanted to push so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Scared to know his response.

His eyes were glazed over, and he took in a shaky breath. You stared at his soft lips, the sides of lips curled down.

He looked so fucking beautiful. You hated him for it.

And you didn't know why you did it. All you knew was that in that moment, while staring into his infuriating eyes and glancing down at his lips that were curled into a frown, you wanted to kiss him. 

Air rushed out of his lungs as you did. It was strange, you expected anger, definitely regret, but all you felt was satisfaction.

Fred took a second before he pushed back into the kiss, his hands still cupping your face. Yours ran through his hair.

That yearning, the strange feeling of waiting you both held in your bodies for so long finally felt relieved as your lips opened and closed around each other.

You’d slept in his bed last night, now you were practically making out with him. What the hell were you doing?

Fred was the first to pull away, his chest heaving and swollen lips. Fred didn’t look regret-filled either but he also didn’t look ecstatic or happy. 

He looked…unsure, which was exactly how you felt. 

His eyes darted all along your face, taking in your features, analyzing them, trying to figure out what your puzzling expression was. 

Though you knew what you wanted to do, you wanted to kiss him again. You leaned in then stopped yourself, pushing yourself completely away from him.

“Oh no. No, no, no.” You mumbled repeatedly to yourself, stress taking over your face as you pressed the balls of your palms against your eyes. “What am I doing?”

Fred whispered your name, disappointed at your sudden denial. You stared at him with puffy eyes, the lamp showed the shine of a tear that fell down his face. The guilt was eating at you now.

“Fred…we can’t. I can’t….I just. Fuck.” You rubbed your hands down your face, nearly running out the room and down the steps. Fred followed suit but stopped at the doorway of his room. Watching you dart away once again, you didn’t stop moving until you were outside.

Fred stepped back and rubbed a hand against his cheek, then using two fingers to wipe his watering eyes.

You sat on the wooden bench outside, your back against the table connected to it. Hunched over with your head in your hands.

With no idea of what you were doing, what you just did, and why you ran out on Fred, you moved your hands from your head to your face.

You were a complete idiot. A complete and utter asshole for what you were doing. You’ve begun to mess with Fred’s head as much as he’s been messing with yours.

You wouldn’t blame him if he held a forever grudge against you for this, you’d understand if he began to resent you.

The door leading into the kitchen creaked open. You brought your head up slowly, even though you really didn’t want to. Knowing who it would be.

“Hey.” Fred had his hands tucked into his pockets, a painfully awkward look on his face. He couldn’t meet your eyes. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I deserve to be asked that.” You let out a breathy laugh. Fred puffed out his bottom lip and shrugged. Moving to sit down next to you on the bench.

The two of you sat in silence, you sat up fully, resting your hand in your lap and fiddling your fingers.

“I didn’t mean to run away like that. I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

“I get it, there was a lot happening in one moment.” Fred lied, he honestly didn’t get it. He wondered why you couldn’t just come to your senses with your feelings.

“It was rude of me though. I’m just not sure about anything really.” You sighed.

Fred rested his hand over yours in a sympathetic way.

“How about we just stay here, as friends? It’d be really nice to call you my friend after all these years.” He chuckled. “I’m just glad we’re not at each other's throats anymore.”

“Yeah. Yeah we can be friends.” You nodded slightly, voice hoarse when the words came out.

“Okay.” A weak grin took over his face.

“Okay.”

It’s hard to stay as friends when you’ve already kissed him.

tell me what you thought here! <3 or ask tba to the taglist for this series!

TAGLIST: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @five-seconds-flat @nal-leo-17 @rhunew @albertdabuttler @livingdeadgirlflorette @getthefuckoutofhereidiot @merikaberika @beomibeom @sleepygirlsworld @rookiegoose @suna-rintired @imamexican @whotfskai @miaandthediamonds @tarzanathetumblingwarrior @isabellavolere @navs-bhat @df841 @siriusmarryme @ooopsiedaisy997 @residentdemonhunter @ma1dita @b4tm4nn @anonymously-ominous @mistpx @fweasleys @m1chellerak

@hornyforyourb1tch

[pixlerelish]

❤️‍🔥 Manwa Laage ❤️‍🔥

[m1d-45]

room 11-13

summary: albedo is weird. no, not just weird- disgustingly strange.

word count: ~2.5k

-> warnings: implied stalking [him -> you] ; he is a weird creep!! brief + non described mentioned nudity (of reader, within a drawing)

-> gn reader (you/yours) in a modern au !

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

your roommate was… interesting, to say the least. not that you really had many expectations—unlike apparently everyone else, you didn’t come to university with a plethora of friends packed in your bag. you had no names to list on your housing contract, no familiar faces to look forward to when you came home, just you, a handful of cardboard boxes and a lingering sense that you’d forgotten something.

there was nothing you could pin about him. nothing in specific, no one catalyst you could point to. sure, you don’t see him often, but that isn’t inherently a bad thing. there’s nothing wrong with not going out much, there’s nothing wrong with being a quiet person when you’re living with a stranger. the common room is clean, the sink is (relatively) empty, and none of your things in the fridge have been eaten. he really, by all standards, should be a perfectly fine roommate, but…

albedo was a quiet man. you first met him when you moved in, delicately pouring exact amounts of water into a small tins over the sink without a single sound or stray droplet. he looked up, you exchanged names, and that was that. the rest of your day was spent unpacking in your room, barely hearing the click of his door closing.

you never quite asked what he was doing that first day, but you could put two and two together. he had a habit of leaving pencils or erasers or other supplies on the coffee table, and you often ran into him when he came out of his room to fetch them. you’re not quite sure how you never see him in the living room when you never told him your schedule, but… well, whatever. it didn’t take a genius to know that the guy with charcoal smears across his hands was an artist. and, if you’d somehow missed those, you sometimes ran into half-used palette in the fridge, beads of paint in a myriad of colors sealed neatly in plastic containers, changing every time you checked.

you weren’t sure why they were always there, as you’d definitely seen one when he was in the dorm, but… well, it’s not really your business, is it? maybe he’s busy, maybe he doesn’t want to paint, maybe he’s taking a nap, who cares. you grab what you need and go back to your room; there’s more important things to worry about than a stranger’s hobbies. honestly, you shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about him. you could hardly claim to know someone you never saw.

well, except when you did see him.

you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as you came back from your chemistry lab, not minding the usual palette of paint beside it. also as usual, you heard his door open as he remembered some random item, not minding the sound of his footsteps as you receded into your own room-

“wait! ah- please…”

you forgotten what his voice sounded like. it’s mostly out of shock, not recognition, that you turn around, seeing him lingering in the entrance to his half of the dorm. his hair is loose around his shoulders, catching the light from the window and glowing gold. his apron is stained with a rainbow of paint, matching the perpetual lines across his hands, and he seems a bit too nervous to be talking with someone he’s been living with for a few months now.

“…i couldn’t make it to the lab today,” he starts, words measured and not at all like his original call, practiced instead of panicked. “could i borrow your notes?”

…you’re in the same chemistry class? you’d never noticed. then again, you’re not sure you could pick him out of a crowd—it’s not like you two were exactly close… but giving him your data was honestly a non-issue. normally you wouldn’t think twice about it, except if he was in your lab section then he should know the rules about missing them.

“you’re going to have to retake the lab anyway, aren’t you? my report won’t help you at all.”

he blinks, like he’d forgotten that fact, and you half hope that’ll be the end of it. you still have your own work to get to, after all.

“still… it would give me something to reference, so when i do it i’ll know if my results are reasonable.” his brows are drawn, genuinely worried, crystal blue carrying a surprising amount of emotion despite the careful cadence of his words. “i’d greatly appreciate your assistance on this matter… i don’t have a reliable way to contact anyone else in the class.”

it only takes you a few moments to weigh the pros and cons. at worst, your partner can back you up if he tries to steal your work. at best, nothing happens and you’ve earned a bit of goodwill.

you shrug, taking off your bag and setting it on the counter, unzipping the main pocket and digging for your lab manual. you find it and flip to today’s lab, mentally wondering what an artist would think of the irritated scribbles down the side of the page. whatever the case, you hold it out toward the hallway he was before, only to find him barely a foot away. he’s stood over your shoulder, letting your manual bump into his chest without a flinch, without an ounce of the worry from before.

without an ounce of anything at all, really. his face is flat, empty, just staring down at the words in front of him without seeming to read them at all.

“…sorry,” you start, “i didn’t hear you-”

“don’t be sorry.” with a blink, he’s back, taking the manual with a gentle smile. “thank you for your help. i’ll return it by tonight.”

“…yeah, take your time.”

you’re not going to question what or why whatever happened did. it’s.. just easier if you don’t. you grab your bag and go to your room, focused on anything else.

you don’t find it in the common area, on the coffee table or by the sink or in any reasonable area. he doesn’t knock on your door to return it. no, instead, you trip over it the next day as you leave your room, squinting in the dark to see it laying on the carpet, a note taped to the front.

yeah, you’re not reading that. not now, at least. you’re certain albedo is a nice guy, if socially awkward, but… you can give him the benefit of the doubt later. you shove the note in a drawer and forget about it, going to class. if you just ignore it, you won’t have to deal with it.

it must not have been anything important, because he doesn’t ever bring it up again. it’s almost as if nothing happened. there’s a new pencil on the common room whenever you walk by, he ducks his head and smiles sheepishly when grabbing it, and nothing is new. you try to look for him in the lab, if only to be courteous, but never find him. it’s not a big class… but whatever, you’re not too familiar with his face anyway. after a week or two, you stop trying.

it’s wishful thinking, really.

you have to do a double take when opening the fridge one day, the paint on the palette looking, from the corner of your eye, like a human hand. it’s just skin-toned paints, delicately mixed into a color that somewhat looks like yours.. by the looks of it, he must have fussed with the tint for a while. normally there’s only small bubbles of paint, but this is excessively fine refinement.. he must just be a perfectionist.

you can’t leave your room without running into him. not just like before, with brief intersections as he grabs what he’s forgotten, but actual interactions. he sits on the couch, drawing in a small notebook, asking you about your classes like he’s not supposed to be in his own classes. sure, he could be taking some online, but it’s like he never leaves the dorm.

he asks as usual, one day, what class you’re going to. when you finally gather your courage and ask why he himself isn’t going to the lab, he startles, like he’d forgotten he was attending. there were plenty of reasons why he wasn’t going—maybe he was in a different section of the class, or he had a car and had reduced travel time, or quite literally anything other than silence. but he sat there, staring at you like you were the one who had mixed up your schedule, with the same painfully empty look as before.

you left soon after that.

if asked to describe albedo in three words or less, you’d fumble for a few moments before landing on “fine, but weird.” if asked to do so with any other level of detail, you’d probably end up saying the exact same thing.

and that’s fine. you didn’t really expect to become best friends with your roommate. but for archons’ sake, he’s just so�� uncanny.

you’ve never seen any other food in the fridge but yours. you cannot remember ever seeing or hearing him leave or enter the dorm, or ever remember not seeing some sign of him being there. his door was perpetually closed, the faint sound of scratching coming from behind it, and he’d just… freeze at random. like he recedes into himself, leaving a hollow husk until he returns, eyes left as flat disks set into an unfeeling face. there’s nothing inherently wrong with not showing many expressions, but whatever he’s got going on is far more concerning than that.

so really, who could blame you for being curious? his sketchbook is just there, laying open on the table, only partially masked by the small bag of supplies next to it. the door to the bathroom is closed, you really shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this, but it’s not like he even bothered to close it.

still, it’s wrong.

still, having something solid to point to could really help if you ever need to make a complaint to an RA.

oh archons, this is such a bad idea.

before you can convince yourself not to, you walk over and sit in his usual place on the couch, picking up his sketchbook and gritting your teeth through the fact that there’s no way this is morally justified.

the current spread is plain. it’s entirely in pencil, repeated iterations of different kinds of jewelry. rings, with ornate spirals and diamonds along the sides, leading into a gem of many different cuts. some simple stud earrings, some hoops, a necklace draped around a half-drawn bust, the chain sketched to look like blooming flowers strung together. there’s some notes in another script, but other than that, it’s entirely normal. there’s nothing weird about a guy that draws bracelets in his spare time. but your mind itches to find a justification, searching for proof, and you’re already in too deep. despite your better judgement, you turn the page, doing your best not to drop it when you do.

it’s you.

you, at least six times on two pages alone. smiling, waving, fixing your hair, by the seven you feel faintly sick, fingers digging into the pages as you try to rationalize what you’re seeing.

it could just be a one off. maybe you have a particularly interesting face to draw? except the next page is the same, and so is the next, and you flip through them all with the edge of your thumb and it’s all you.

all of it. every single page that has ink on it has your face. from the very front to the very back, with only a page or two of white left, and it’s clear that the jewelry was an intentional decoy. there’s a spread dedicated to just your hands, one to various outfits he’s seen you in, one- archons, one in various stages of undress, barely granting you the dignity of keeping them from the waist up. the worst part, really, is how accurate they are, clear proof of just how much time he’s spent staring at you.

you recognize his voice now, quiet and measured as he calls your name. that could just be your heart in your ears, though.

he has that same blank expression again, standing in the doorway, looking between you and the book. you’re certain he can see the paled fingertips of your grip on the cover. “do… do you not like them?”

“…what?”

he settles back into himself, sad, shoulders slumping and eyes downturned. “they’re just practices, i promise. the actual painting looks much better…”

bile threatens the back of your throat. “the painting?”

“yes, the painting. the one i mentioned in my note…”

…the note. his note. the one you didn’t read. the one he gave you after a grand total of one significant interactions, before which you all but considered him a ghost. and he decided that making a painting of you was a normal thing to do?

“…it makes sense you forgot it. i can’t imagine i’ve ever come close to properly capturing your beauty… it doesn't matter the medium, i never seem to get it right...”

he crosses his arms, picking idly at his lips with one hand, like he’s discussing a particularly annoying problem on his homework and not the fact that he has drawings of you topless. after a few moments of mumbling, he shakes his head. “i’ll do better. i promise i will. one day i'll draw something that finds even a fraction of your perfection.”

you don’t care. all you want is to get out of here, to lock your doors and try not to call the cops while he’s in earshot. “it’s fine, albedo”

the lie is a poison that seems to sting him upon arrival, a ripple of shock crossing his impassive expression. “it's not fine, not at all. how can i call myself an artist if i fail to impress my muse? please, give me time, i promise i can do better-”

“it’s fine,” you repeat, setting the sketchbook down and realizing with another stab of disgust that he’s written your name on the front cover. you stand, hands buzzing with the echo of what you’ve witnessed, not caring for the crestfallen look on his face. “…you’re a talented artist,” you grit out.

and you’re going to be sick.

[fruitcoops]

In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

[tokagedreams]

EDGAR ALLAN POE RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

(a/n: i have soooo many more thoughts about poe bro i love him so much..anyway, fellow poe fans if you have poe requests i am begging you to drop them in my inbox)

pre-relationship

- the two of you met back in america years ago. you guys start out as ride-or-die best friends, you’re the inseparable duo that does everything together. when poe goes to yokohama with the guild, you go with him even if you’re not a guild member.

- you’re an infuriating case of ‘the two besties that are clearly in love with each other but would rather die than confess because they’re convinced their feelings are unrequited when they obviously aren’t’. you’ve basically been acting like a couple for at least a year but somehow you and poe are both convinced that it’s just a friendship to the other person and nothing more.

- both the guild and the ADA assumed you were already dating until poe referred to you as his ‘best friend’ and they’re just like are you fr right now?? 🤨 it’s literally so freaking obvious you two are head over heels in love to everyone except for you and poe. especially if you’re not even in the guild and you moved across the world just to be with poe 💀 ranpo (affectionately) hates you guys because you refuse to believe him when he tells you that your feelings are requited.

confession

- ranpo #1 wingman frfr!! at first he tries to make it happen naturally, but eventually he realizes that’s a lost cause..so he basically forces poe to confess to you because he’s so sick and tired of hearing poe lament about how you don’t love him back when you obviously do!! i could see ranpo being like “i’m not reading any of your new novels until you confess to (y/n) 😈” and that would be the final straw because poe is not about to throw away all his chances of ever beating his rival.

- i think we all agree that poe is a hopeless romantic, but i feel like he would just be too anxious to actually do anything fancy for a confession. he’s probably fantasized about the perfect confession a hundred times, but when he gets pressured to actually do it, all of those plans go out the window because he’s just freaking out lol.

- he’d tell you to come over because he needs to ‘show you something important’, he doesn’t make it obvious that he’s going to confess his feelings at all. so you get to his house and he tells you to wait on the couch while he gathers everything, and you’re starting to get anxious too because you’re like ummm wtf is he about to show me?? poe goes to his office and after a moment of ‘gathering’ (he actually already had his stuff sorted beforehand, he spent the entire time petting karl to muster up some courage), he brings you this giant stack of messy papers and just stands there awkwardly. and you’re so freaking confused until you start reading them and you realize that they’re all love letters and poems about you, written by poe himself. they’re all dated too so you can see that they range from today all the way back to like at least two years ago.

- poor poe is actually sitting there literally trembling while you read, anxiously waiting for you to respond. obviously you tell him you love him too, and he honestly looks like he doesn’t believe it or just can’t process it for a second, you have to kiss him on the cheek or something to get him to register the fact that you seriously love him. but after that he’s like the happiest you’ve ever seen him, he’s hugging you so hard, grabbing your hands and he might even excitedly kiss your face a couple times. this is genuinely a dream come true for him so he can go a little wild as a treat <3

- he owes ranpo so bad after this btw 💀

relationship

- since you and poe had been acting like a couple for a long while before officially getting together, it’s not that hard to get used to an actual relationship. now there’s just a lot less uncertainty and hesitance, you can comfortably do all of the things that you previously chickened out of because you didn’t want to ‘ruin your friendship’. your feelings aren’t a secret anymore, so you both have free reign to be as affectionate as you want to be.

- in terms of love language, i really feel like poe could appreciate any kind of love from you. he might be a little shy about physical affection, and he probably won’t want to do much of it in public, but in private i think he would secretly love it. his favorite type of love to receive from you would probably be words of affirmation, this man needs that praise and validation so badly!! in the beginning of your relationship, he doesn’t know how to handle your compliments, if you’re flirty he will simply explode. he eventually gets more accustomed to it, but he still blushes like crazy and gets all bashful every time you praise him. his favorite type of love to give to you is probably acts of service, just look at how much he bends over backwards to do favors for ranpo in canon lol. he will do literally anything for you!! with his absurd salary and spending habits, you can count on being showered in gifts too, he just wants to spoil you!

- you and poe are definitely one of those couples that enjoys just chilling in the same room doing your own separate things. it will actually make him so happy if you just quietly sit in his office while he writes! maybe after you’ve been dating for a long time he might even have you sit on his lap sometimes.. 😳 since he spends so much time in there obsessively writing new novels to beat ranpo, it got really lonely with just him and karl, so having you there just makes everything better. he also probably doesn’t take very good care of himself when he’s really focused on writing, so he will be eternally thankful if you help make sure he eats, drinks and sleeps enough. he might be the type to say “just one more chapter..” every time you tell him to go to bed, but you can usually persuade him with the promise of cuddles and a kiss goodnight.

- speaking of cuddles when you go to sleep…i am convinced that poe would secretly love being the little spoon!! he’ll of course default to being the big spoon unless you’re somehow taller than him, because that’s kinda just the norm for tall people in most cases. he might even be hesitant at first if you ask him to swap places with you, because he’s likely never done that before, but when you hold him for the first time..it immediately becomes his new favorite thing. it makes him feel so safe and secure and loved, please hold this man!!

- you play with poe’s hair all the time, it’s something you both enjoy because damn he has a lot of hair and it’s really fluffy. you push his bangs back because you want to actually see his eyes for once!! it makes him so flustered because he lowkey feels exposed without his bangs, but if you tell him his eyes are pretty he’ll be like “omg really?? 🥺” and forget all about his embarrassment. it works every single time. when poe is stressed, he often just lays his head in your lap and lets you run your fingers through his hair, it’s very grounding and calming to him. he gets embarrassed if you catch him off guard and just randomly start petting his hair, he tells you to go pet karl instead 💀

- poe is 100% the type of guy to kiss your knuckles or your forehead all the time. he’ll kiss you on the lips too, but it can be kind of overwhelming, so he doesn’t initiate those kisses as often. i think he would like being kissed on the cheek by you a lot, something simple and sweet to brighten his mood. despite being your partner, he still gets nervous to ask you for kisses when he wants them, but he’s honestly pretty unintentionally obvious about it so you can usually tell lol.

- poe gets so embarrassed if you ever read his novels, he knows that you appreciate his writing, but your opinion is so important to him that he gets anxious about it. he usually doesn’t let you read books that he’s written to challenge ranpo until after he’s already shown them to the detective. but you always read them when he gets back home and he’s all mopey after ranpo has successfully solved another one of his mysteries. although he remains determined to continue trying, it’s always a major blow to his self esteem when he loses to ranpo again. so you read the books for yourself so that you can praise him about every specific detail and make him feel better about himself and his work. you may not be his rival or the greatest detective in the world, but you are poe’s partner, so your words are still very meaningful to him.

- poe would definitely call you lots of pet names if you’re comfortable with it. he calls you things like ‘my dearest’ and ‘my beloved’, but he’ll also call you things like ‘darling’ and ‘love’. if you have a nickname, he’ll typically use that in place of your full name because it feels more intimate to him. if you do the same to him, he’ll be so happy! he’s down with being called basically any term of endearment as long as it comes from you, but some may make him more flustered than others. if you shorten his name and call him ‘ed’ it makes him feel so much closer to you.

- poe talks about you all the freaking time! he’s not above straight up bragging about how great his partner is, he constantly feels the need to tell everyone how great you are. hopefully ranpo likes you a lot because my guy has to listen to poe gushing about you constantly lol. if poe ever finds out that you’ve told your friends good things about him, it will warm his heart and make him feel so appreciated. he’s basically never prepared for you to match his extreme passion in your relationship, it shocks him every single time and he can’t believe he actually met someone who loves him as strongly as he loves them.

(a/n: thanks for reading my first fic on this account! i hope you guys like my theme lol, i just wanna be known as the tokage guy who writes bsd fics)

[sleepingelvhen]

Punishment Pt. 1

Al-Haitham/Reader NSFW

Minors DO NOT interact

MASTERLIST

PART 1 PART 2

--Sequel to 'Are You Satisfied'--

You and Kaveh weren’t together. Your hook-up was just that, a hook-up for stress relief. But Al-Haitham hasn’t forgotten the disgusting display and the ruined couch. And when you come to visit to pick up some of your supplies you left at his house, he confronts you about it. Alone in his house, Al-Haitham finds himself annoyingly attracted to you, unable to get the image of your body out of his head. And he thinks you deserve to be punished to repay how much it cost to buy a new couch.

That night you hooked up with Kaveh had been a moment you kept tucked into your memory. Though it had been good stress relief, it was mainly because of the embarrassment that followed your actions. Kaveh was simply your senior. Sure you had been attracted to him and yes he helped you often with your projects, but that night together was just a hook-up. It was just sex. 

You had followed up with him the next day, wondering what it meant if anything. And he seemed too hesitant to define it, scared even if you had to put a word on it. Of course you were disappointed, who wouldn’t be? But your friendship was strong, too strong to be broken by one night of passion. Or two. Or three.

Maybe it had turned into a benefits situation. Maybe you confided in one another, but it wasn’t romance. Even if Kaveh made you feel special, like the only girl in the world. Even if you felt like he wanted more. It was confusing. And confusing fucking sucked.

It sucked even more when you found out just how badly the two of you ruined Al-Haitham’s couch, and how expensive a new one had cost that Kaveh’s rent went up a little but just to help pay for it. 

Going to his place became more late-night sneaking through the windows and hushed whispers in his room. It meant only coming over when Al-Haitham wasn’t there to work, and trying to be as quiet as possible when he was there to ‘confide’ in one another. 

Except for today. Today you realized you had left some important tools at his home, tools you needed to finish a project that was due the next day. Kaveh, of course, gave you the permission. And that’s how you found yourself entering his home by yourself for the first time. Only to collect tools of course. To gather the brushes and paints and your half-finished canvas you had left in his room. Not to run into Al-Haitham. 

But that’s what happened. And you found yourself standing awkwardly in the living room, staring at Al-Haitham who was relaxing on his new couch, staring up at you, a book in hand. His eyes were focused, stern, and almost judgemental in a way. His lips thinned as he slowly examined you up and down, one eyebrow raised.

“I was not aware you would break into my home.” His voice was always calm and cool. Words spoken with a steady tone, like nothing shook or swayed him. He waited for you to make a move or to speak, the book still open in his palm, body so still he looked like a statue.

“I–I’m not…” You began to defend yourself, nervous in his presence before he breathed out, something like a sigh or a disinterested laugh. He shut his book and sat it down on the table before him, rolling his shoulders as he stood up, now towering over you.

“Really? Because as far as I know, you don’t live here despite being over almost every single day.” Al-Haitham had such a smart-ass tone in his voice, always sounding like he knew more than everyone around him. Which, you supposed, he probably did being the acting Grand Sage and all. But it didn’t make it any less condescending.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed a bit, unable to hide your discontent with his attitude.

“I’m not breaking in. Kaveh lent me his key so I could collect my school items I left here last night.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow at that.

“He remembered his keys for once? How unlike him.”

Archons, you couldn’t imagine how Kaveh lived with this man. But you didn’t have to stand by and deal with this. You sighed and strode past him, opening Kaveh’s room to find your forgotten items all piled into the corner of his room.

“It’s irresponsible of you to forget important items, but I guess I shouldn’t expect more of someone who brings them over as an accessory.”

His voice made you turn to him, a scowl plain on your face.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t control the raised tone of your voice, the offense that you felt built up in your body.

Al-Haitham sighed out, now leaning against his kitchen counter, completely calm and unaffected by your irritation.

“You really expect me to believe you actually come here to work? The two of you aren’t exactly quiet,” he smirks a little, possibly delighting at the embarrassed blush that now coated your cheeks. “I’m curious though, why he hides your relationship.”

“We aren’t in a relationship.” The words come out before you can stop them and you look away, even more embarrassed to admit the true nature of what you and Kaveh do behind closed doors.

“I see. Well, that’s certainly none of my business. What is my business, however, is that I cannot stop thinking about how you ruined my couch. It was an expensive item, you know.”

Your mouth opens to say something, anything. But you don’t know how to respond. What would you even say? Something witty he could easily dissuade with similar disinterest. Something angry that he could push aside with pure calmness. You shut your lips, thin and angry, opting instead to glare at him.

“I’m still out some mora from replacing it, you should repay me since Kaveh wasn’t the only one who contributed to its…destruction.”

“Oh yeah? Is this the part where you say I can ‘repay you with my body’?” You chuckle at your own joke, smirking as he stares at you, shocked a bit by your response. You’ve never seen him shocked before. Hell, you barely see him make any sort of facial emotion aside from smugness. 

“That is…inappropriate,” he turns away from you, covering his mouth, a dusting of pink upon his cheeks.

“Are you blushing, Al-Haitham?” You can’t help but tease him as he turns away a bit more.

“No. Just leave.”

Now you were curious. You walked over to him, and he stepped away, glaring down at you, keeping distance.

“What’s wrong? Are you too flustered by me? Are you that attracted to me? Maybe you did want me to repay you with my body. Is that what you want?” You were enjoying his discomfort. How he was completely flustered by you.

“You are out of line.” His voice has lost its sternness, its strength. Now it was more quiet.

“Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll leave you be,” You stepped even closer to him, a sly smile upon your face as you looked up at him. He gritted his teeth and in a flash he had your hands pinned behind your back, wrists pressed into the counter.

“You need to stop.”

Shock painted your face, and your body shivered from how he handled you. A slight warmth building inside of you, one that kind of annoyed you. Because that isn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to feel this kind of way to this annoying, irritating, condescending man.

“Al-Haitham–” Your voice was high and shaky. Nervous and breathy. And he cut you off before you could continue speaking.

“Don’t say my name like that.” His voice shook, full of irritation and something you’ve heard before in Kaveh’s voice when you’ve teased him in places you shouldn’t. For a second it caught you off guard, and then you glanced down, your throat tightening when you saw proof of his arousal pressing against his leggings. 

You wanted to say something. Anything. But he looked away, his face red.

“You are a nuisance in my life. One that bothers me and yet I cannot find myself rid of you. If you aren’t in my house you are on my mind. It is annoying. Illogical. And…” He leaned down, his built form towering over you, his eyes full of dark lust. “...It’s something I treasure.”

Your breath became hollow, mouth agape at the confession. But you stayed quiet, waiting for him to say more.

“You aren’t even aware of how I want you. You probably didn’t even notice how jealous of Kaveh I was.”

“You were jealous?” 

Al-Haitham narrowed his eyes, gripping your wrists harder, making you gasp in slight pain and yet. His roughness turned you on. This turned you on.

“Absolutely envious. And to know you were never really his. To know I could’ve had you. It’s all so confusing. I am driven by needs I’ve never known. You are an outlier, an anomaly in my life.”

You leaned forward, unable to deny your attraction to this. To him. Of course you found him attractive, his silver hair, those unique eyes of his. The way he walked, the way he talked, the grace, the confidence. 

“Tell me what you’ve wanted to do to me.”

One of his hands loosened from your wrist, moving to trace your neck, gripping the edge of your jawline to angle your face towards him.

“There is an essay’s worth of things I want to do.” He stares down at you, eyes caught upon your lips, obsessive in a way. “I think a demonstration would be in order.”

You found yourself nodding in agreement before he locked his lips to yours.

[ladylooch]

When Emma Said No

It all begins on an early summer morning.

Emma and Timo are sitting on the dock of their home in Switzerland, enjoying their morning coffee. Their four children are in various stages of waking up, except their oldest who is already off participating in drylands training with his club team. Emma is pretty sure today is hill running, which is not Lio’s favorite. She’s sure he will complain when he gets home. 

“Whoa.” Timo says next to her, pausing with his cup at his mouth while looking at his phone screen.

“Hm?” Emma asks, brushing at her leg where a small bug was trying to land.

“Lio’s been drafted into The Q.”

“What?” Emma tilts her head in surprised. 

“Yeah.” Timo turns to look at her. “By Halifax.” 

“But… they never asked if he would report? Why would they take the risk?”

“The email here says he’s worth the risk if he does report.”

Emma turns away to look out at the lake. It’s in this moment she begins to realize exactly how good their son is at hockey. She takes a delicate sip of her coffee, rolling the liquid around in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. She can feel Timo’s eyes on her. He knows how she feels about Lio leaving home. Before Canada, the Swedish leagues were calling. And before them, the Swiss national team was calling. And before that, clubs all over Switzerland were trying to get them to move so Lio could join their rosters. Every single time, Emma said no. Timo agreed. But something about Canadian Juniors has her husband in a trance.

“Babe.”

“T, you already know my answer.”

“I know what your answer has been before, but that was hypothetical, if he was drafted. Now he has been drafted. We need to talk about this. For real.” She turns to look at him, narrowing her brown eyes. 

“My answer hasn’t changed.”

“Emma.” His tone is instantly sour. 

“You know how important it is to me that he stays here until he is 18.”

“At the sake of his career?”

“Oh, that is so dramatic.” Emma waves a dismissing hand. “If he is as good as everyone thinks, they will find him here. In Switzerland. Where he will be living under our roof.”

“I agree with you that I don’t want him to go live internationally with a billet family. But, why can’t we take the other kids and go then?”

“We are not uprooting our entire family for Lio’s hockey career. That is so not the way we do things in this family.” 

“Yeah neither is unilateral decision making.” Emma raises her slender eyebrows at her husband and his insinuation. “You’re in the wrong here, Em.” Emma scoffs.

“You have some nerve saying that to me.”

“You are!” Timo starts to raise his voice. “Lio needs to go. He will not grow into who he is meant to be here. You are holding him back because you’re scared. Since when is that how we parent?” Emma gasps.

“Are you calling me a shitty parent?”

“No-”

“Yeah! You are!” She shouts at him, grabbing her cup of coffee. “You know what. Why don’t you email back whoever just sent you all that information and ask them if they have a couch you can sleep on.” She starts stomping up the hill towards the house.

“Really mature!” Timo yells after her. Emma grits her teeth hard, stomping her shoes harder into the grass. 

“Fucking asshole.” She mutters under her breath.

None of the dozens of conversations after that one go any better. In fact, they get worse. Timo sleeps in the guest room more than with Emma. They barely speak in front of their kids without tones and dirty looks at each other. They stop having family dinner because it gets so contentious. Nico and Lexi try to reason with them as individuals and a couple. Nothing seems to work. 

Almost two months after the initial conversation, Lio lays awake in his room, listening to the low, angry voices of his parents. It’s all he has heard from them since the email dropped into his dad’s inbox. Emma had told Timo not to tell Lio about it, but Timo did anyway. And he wanted to go. So bad. But now, it means nothing. Not if it tears his parents or their family apart. He pushes the comforter off, then walks down to his parents' room. The door is slightly cracked, so he watches as they stand, arms crossed over their chests, unbending in their opposing view points.

“You don’t even care about our son and what’s best for him!” Timo spits out. Emma gasps, then narrows her gaze even more at Timo.

“How could you even say that!? Every day since he was conceived has been about him! I left Switzerland! Then I came back here and lived here alone, without you for months! You’re the one who wants to send him to a new country with some random family-”

“Hey!” Lio yells, pushing the door open. Both Timo and Emma jump at the sound of his voice. Emma clutches her neck, inhaling heavily as she tries to smile at her son. “You two can stop fighting. I’m not going.” 

“No, buddy-” Timo starts.

“Dad. No. I don’t want you and mom to break up because of this. It’s not worth it.”

“Lee… Daddy and I aren’t going to break up.” Emma rounds the bed, walking towards him. Lio holds a hand up to stop her.

“Then why does it feel like that to everyone else in this house?” Timo and Emma share a worried glance then look back at their son. “Liv slept in my bed two nights ago because the fighting was so bad, she thought you two would be divorced by breakfast.” Emma’s eyes close in shame. When they open again, there are tears. “And since you two can’t seem to decide what’s best for me, I will. I’m not going.” He sighs. “Look, you both have valid points, but Mom is right. If I’m good enough, they’ll take a chance on me, just like Halifax did by drafting me without knowing if I would come.” 

Timo and Emma aren’t sure what to say. They stare back at their oldest wordlessly. Until…

“Lee, baby, you can go if you want to.” Emma says. Timo whips his head to her, then looks back at Lio, awaiting his answer.

“No, mama. I wanna stay here with you.” He crosses the room and hugs her tight. Emma kisses his cheek. “Goodnight.” He embraces his dad next, then leaves the room. 

Timo and Emma both move towards each other at the same time. Emma wraps her arms around Timo’s waist, crashing into his thick, warm body.

“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs into her hair. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I was so mean.”

“I said things I shouldn’t of.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“We need to apologize to the babies.” 

“Yeah. Big time.” 

“And probably Nico and Lexi.”

“Yeah. I called your brother a piece of shit yesterday during our run.” Timo cringes then grins. “Thought he was gonna fight me. Would have whooped his ass though and then you would have been even more pissed at me.”

“Babe.” Emma chuckles, pressing her nose into his chest. Her smile falls away at a thought. “Is Lee going to resent me?” 

“I don’t think so. He seems confident in his decision.”

“Are you going to?”

“No, baby. Just wish you loved our kids a little less.” He strokes both hands along her back.

“We made perfect babies though. Can’t help it.” 

“Yeah, especially those two you didn’t want.”

“Oh stop it.” She slaps his chest. She tries to pull away but Timo squeezes her to him tighter. He begins to drag her towards the bed then pushes her onto it. 

“Now, my favorite part about fighting with you. Finally…” He trails off, laying on top of her. Emma giggles, draping her arms over his shoulders as he leans down to kiss her. 

“Mmmm. I like this part too.” She whispers, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. Timo wraps her leg around his waist, groping her ass with his greedy hands.

The next morning, Emma and Timo float downstairs and are greeted by the sight of their babies eating at the kitchen table. Lio made breakfast for everyone- eggs, bacon, toast and fresh fruit. 

“Well look at this! He can cook!” Emma exclaims to the family. She comes behind Lio at the stove, giving him a smooch on his cheek. “Thank you baby.”

“Well when you two started on round four, I decided someone needed to feed your children.”

Timo chokes on a laugh, then grins at his wife.

“Lee, your mom is smoking hot. I can’t help myself.”

“Gross.” Liv groans, dropping her forehead on the table. 

“So gross!” Timo mimics her. “And yet it made you.” Emma dances across the kitchen to Timo, beginning to make out with him extra obnoxiously as the four Meier children screech in disgust.

“Back to normal.” Emma murmurs to Timo. He brushes her hair behind her ear, then kisses her softly- sweet and delicate- like his wife deserves.

[mazegays]

could've followed my fears all the way down

Chapter 12

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

He’s kept away from the medical cabin—everyone is, except for Frypan and a few other cooks, who bring them food—until Anya says they’re awake.

Thomas hasn’t slept well in a week, at least. He keeps thinking about what he could have done to stop this from happening.

“Gally has two breaks in his femur and a moderate concussion. Minho’s got a cracked rib and a moderate concussion. They’ve both got deep bruising along their spines where the tree landed, but so far no nerve damage is showing.” Anya tells him, looking exhausted herself. “They’ll be fine with time and rest. You can see them, but not for too long.”

They’re hardly awake, but that’s okay. Just seeing them makes it easier to believe that they’ll be okay. 

He still thinks that he should have been able to do something.

Sonya comes to kick him out on Harriet’s behalf.

“Go and sleep. You can come back and maybe actually talk to them in the morning.”

It’s still not the same as sleeping with someone in the same room, in the same bed. Thomas didn’t realize how much he was depending on that to sleep until it was gone; until he didn’t even have the option of sharing with someone.

They’ll be better soon.

finish on ao3 or continue reading

For the next week, Thomas spends his mornings with Gally and Minho.

“Thomas, you didn’t get hurt, did you?” Minho sits up when he sees him, wincing.

“No, I’m fine.” A few cuts and bruises from branches, but nothing like what they had. “Lay back down, Minho, you’re not supposed to be moving much.”

“It’s weird being the one in the bed.” Gally mutters, maybe thinking Thomas wouldn’t hear him.

“What else are you doing today, Thomas?” Minho ignores him.

Thomas doesn’t have a good answer for that. He knows he won’t be allowed to stay here all day, but he hasn’t thought about what he’s going to do when he’s not here.

“No, you don’t need to sit with us all day. We’re probably going to sleep most of it anyway. Go work in the greenhouse, or with Frypan.”

“I will, I will.” Thomas says. “Anya will kick me out at some point anyway. But I’m visiting for as long as you’ll let me every morning.”

“Sounds good.” Thomas wants to mention what they said, but Gally’s halfway to sleeping again.

He also doesn’t know what to say. He’s been turning it over in his head for days, but it’s not something he’s thought about. Sure, Minho had said he loved him in Denver, but Thomas has never been sure how sincere that was.

Surviving had seemed more important than thinking about the butterflies it gave him, anyway.

Thomas tells them about the trees they’re planting, that Jorge’s group came back with the generator, and Frypan’s new… experiments in the kitchen.

He avoids the topic of the forest altogether because now that he has the chance to say something, he doesn’t know what to tell them. 

Sonya and Harriet make this look so easy. If he thought it’d do him any good, he’d go ask them how they do it.

(He thinks they know anyway; they’re constantly dropping ‘subtle’ hints and trying to help him.)

Gally and Minho don’t bring it up either, so he doesn’t know what they think about it.

He’ll wait. He’ll wait, until they bring it up again, say it again, or until he figures out what’s going on in his brain with this.

As soon as he’s cleared, Minho insists on running with Thomas. Gally’s still got a week before he’s going to be allowed out, with his leg broken, so they go before he wakes up in the mornings.

They still haven’t talked, but Thomas thinks it can wait until one of them isn’t falling asleep mid-conversation. 

He’s just glad they’re both going to be okay. He and Minho have rarely been separated for more than a few days before, and Gally’s bed still feels too big without him there.

After a few days, Minho drags him to the woods to run.

“Think about it, Thomas. The Maze was stone, we’ve been sticking to the safe ground here. It’ll be fun to run somewhere different.”

Minho tries to play it off as excitement, but he’s been avoiding the woods at all costs.

Thomas doesn’t blame him.

“Let’s go.”

They’ve both walked the woods plenty of times, but there are still roots and rocks to trip them up as they run.

They come back bruised and exhausted that first morning. When Gally sees them, he doesn’t let them near him until they’ve cleaned up.

“It’s not that bad, Gally.” Thomas says. And if sometimes he presses against the bruises to make them last longer, well, no one needs to know that.

One day, Thomas manages to trip in just the right spot to cut his cheek open and bruise his eye. 

Minho laughs at him the whole way back.

“Seriously, Thomas, how do you keep getting the worst ones?” He leans into Minho’s side as they walk back— he doesn’t really need to, but it’s nice.

Sonya rolls her eyes at them when she sees them. “You two, I swear. Worse than Harriet and I were.”

“We weren’t that bad, babe.”

“We really were. We used to partner up to run and then make out instead. We didn’t fool anyone.”

Anya rolls her eyes when she sees them.

“Why do you keep running in places you get hurt?”

“Well, it’s mostly Thomas getting hurt.” Minho jokes, nudging Thomas lightly.

“And your ribs have been perfectly fine with all this running?”

“Yeah, mostly. A few twinges here and there, but we’re not going full-speed and Thomas is good at knowing when to slow us down.”

He is?

He’s been paying attention to when Minho winces, but he hadn’t realized he’d been changing pace because of it.

“Go rest. No more than a slow jog for you for the rest of the week.” Anya herds Minho into the medical cabin. “And Thomas, you’ll be fine. Maybe watch your own step a little more, though.” Thomas nods.

“I’m going to see if Frypan needs anything. I’ll come back with lunch?”

“Wonderful idea.” She smiles. “Don’t come back before then, though, or I will put you in one of these beds.”

On his way to the kitchen, Rosa pulls him aside.

“Thomas, come on.” She presses a bag of ice into his hand.

As far as he knows the only ice they have is in the medical cabin for injuries.

He hadn’t seen her at all as he and Minho had come in, how’d she know his face is bruised?

“Lucky guess.” She brings him to an out-of-the-way corner. “Thomas, you know you don’t have to run with Minho, right?”

“I know.” What is this about? “I like to.”

“You keep getting hurt!”

“I’ve gotten hurt before and you don’t react like this.” He knows he’s squinting when his eye starts throbbing in time with his heart. “What’s this about, Rosa?”

“Just, Thomas, if you need help with anything, you can tell me.”

“Rosa, are you trying to hide Thomas away?” Frankie laughs. “I thought this was our spot!”

“It is, but Frankie, look at him.” Rosa gestures, and he looks down at himself, confused. What does Rosa think is going on?

His sleeve has fallen down as he’s been holding the ice to his eye. Some of the scratches on his arm from the trees, and the cuts from… earlier… are visible, others covered with a yellowing bruise.

“Thanks for the ice, Rosa. I told Minho and Gally I’d bring them lunch, I’m going to help Frypan now.”

“Thomas, you can tell us if something’s wrong.” Frankie’s looking at him weird now too, and Thomas doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Nothing’s wrong. Thanks for checking in, though.”

“Of course, Thomas.” They let him go, and he can’t shake the feeling that they’re watching him for the rest of the day.

Thomas isn’t as careful as he should be when they run the next day. Rosa was watching him again this morning, and glaring at Minho— she’s never had a problem with him before, so he doesn’t know what she’s thinking. Even going slow so Minho doesn’t reinjure himself, Thomas still ends up tripping in a ditch just off the little path they’re following.

“Woah, shank, it’s a good thing you weren’t this clumsy in the Maze. You would have had concussions constantly.” Minho’s grip is maybe a little too tight on his arm, but looking at the sharp drop-off of the ‘ditch’, Thomas understands why. Minho pulls him back to solid ground, not even grunting with the effort. Rude, honestly. Thomas knows he’s gained weight lately, even though he hasn’t been able to bring himself to say the words out loud quite yet.

For some reason, it feels like the minute he says anything, it’ll all disappear.

“How’s your ankle? Didn’t twist it or anything?”

“Just stepped wrong, I think. Wasn’t paying attention.” Thomas admits. Putting more than minimal pressure on his foot sends an odd fuzzy pain feeling through his ankle, so they call it for the day.

“Hey, Thomas, if it’s bad I can carry you.” Minho offers.

“You’ve still got a cracked rib, Minho, you’re not carrying me.” Thomas can’t help laughing a little. “It’s probably not even sprained, Harriet will wrap it and I’ll be good to go.” Still, he lets Minho take a little more of his weight than he really needs to. If yesterday was nice, this is better.

He doesn’t know why, and he can’t explain it, but he likes it.

Rosa’s not watching when they get back, but Frankie is.

If Thomas didn’t know better, he’d think one of them is jealous of him or Minho. But they’re dating each other, so that doesn’t make sense.

He’ll figure it out later, he doesn’t have the energy to bother right now.

“Harriet, we require your assistance.” They don’t go directly to the medical cabin, instead joining Harriet where she’s sitting by the firepit.

“I nearly fell off the path,” Thomas tells her, sheepish. It’s a little ridiculous. Running was all he did, and now he’s not even good at that! “Minho caught me, but my ankle might be twisted.”

She has him take off his shoe and sock, then rolls up his pants a little. “It’s not swelling up too much. Any pain when I touch it?” He shakes his head. She adds more pressure, slowly, and he stops her when it does hurt.

“Very mild twist, it’ll probably just hurt for the rest of the day. I’ll wrap it anyway since I don’t think Minho is going to let me get away with not wrapping it,” Harriet rolls her eyes at him pointedly, “And you’re good to go. Maybe no standing around in the kitchen, though.”

“I was going to help Sonya with harvesting the strawberries anyway. The earliest ones in the greenhouse are looking pretty good.”

“Just don’t eat them all before we get them to Frypan.” Minho hits him on the back of the head lightly.

“No promises.” Thomas grins at him. “If you’re lucky, I’ll bring you a few.”

“Oh, you better.” Minho looks like he’s going to say—or do—something else, but instead, he heads back to the medical cabin.

[prsk-krow]

hi!! your masterlist is so cute, can i request a platonic kanade x reader where they’re both very unathletic and have to do a difficult pe class? (ex. game of dodgeball?) take as much time as you need ^^

{Kanade and unathletic reader in PE!} [P] (Ft Ena)

This ask was honestly pretty challenging. It was sort of out of character for Kanade to do this kind of thing unless specific circumstances were met, and finding them was quite tricky. Still, I hope you enjoy it! And also, please don't mind the Ena on the side...

Kanade having a normal class of any subject is... Really, really hard to picture. She goes to online school for a reason, and it's unnatural to think that she would move to a normal one anytime soon...

However, that school had a period of PE classes that weren't obligatory to attend to! Most did, since it was an easy way to get attendance points, but the shut in was always the exception!

It wasn't up until the trip to Spojoy park that she understood the importance of exercise, and the need to do it once in a while, even though one may not like it!

However, for her, it's still too embarrassing to turn on her camera and (Try to) exercise in front of everyone... She's aware that people usually don't look, but still! So she settles for the next best thing, to use the recording of the class!

For that, she asks you, her classmate, and close friend to share the recording with her, forgetting that you're as bad with exercise as her... However, as she explains to you her reasons, she accidentally inspires you to do it alongside her!

You ask one of your friends to pass the recording as she makes enough space in her room! That means organizing the note sheets thrown on the floor as well, which is something quite rare for her to do...

However, as she tells Ena that she's going to try exercising again, the artist decides to watch over the two, since she doesn't trust the two of you to do it alone! It's a safety measure, in case any of you feel like giving up halfway and the other doesn't find the energy to refuse...

K: "Ah, I guess... I'm sorry, I should probably not even need this help, but I really appreciate it..."

E: "Hey hey! I know you're making an effort to change, and there's no way I won't help you out ok??"

K: "... You're really kind. I really appreciate your efforts to help me out like this."

E: "E-eh? Ah, um, it's nothing, really..."

So now that you two have a supervisor, it's time to exercise! The teach in the recording explains the routine for today, called HIIT (Stands for High Intensity Interval Training), and then starts out with a small, easy presentation!

And as soon as you two see it, the urge to give up immediately sets in. The 'easy presentation' is a solid 45 seconds of jumping jacks, a 10S break, then 45 seconds of jacks again, 5 times in a row! Yeah... HIIT is one of the harder training routines out there.

Ena needs to shout at you two to start already, and then again to force you two to continue, as the short pauses are not nearly enough to make up for the exercises! And 45-10 was just the start! 50-10, then 60-10, then 75-15! It's rough, and it's messy...

The composer's hair is thankfully kept by a ponytail, but her lack of physique means that she's struggling to do the exercises with the correct posture, constantly going for the easier versions the teach proposes...

However, even still, her newfound determination to get a better physique and health keeps you two going, and going! Her speeches and words of motivation are surprisingly effective for someone who's wheezing as hard as you are...

Thankfully, the recording isn't that long, and in 40 mins the final session of stretching ends! You two lay on the floor, as the artist makes sure that neither of you actually get sick from this... It's a little hard, but, in the end, you both made it!

"Ugh... My head is s-spinning... Haaaaaahh... Haaaaaahh... Ok, ok, I'm... Getting... U-up!... Why, why was that so hard...? We made it though... That's, a, relieeeef..."

She can't even afford to speak much as she lays on the bed and recovers her breath. You do the same, and the artist decides that it's best to just leave you two for now... You can barely hear the 'person leaving the call' noise over your breathing...

After a solid moment of regaining your lost souls, the both of you change your clothes and start chatting for a while... Apparently, your friend sent you a recording of the wrong day, one that was harder than the one they meant to send you. Welp.

At least you two got through it... And hey, maybe next time you could try the real one?

[moonlightswritingandstuff]

all my life i've been so lonely all in the name of being holy (and still, you'd like to think you own me)

Valentina Diaz is a lot of things to a lot of people, but none of those are her own; those are all false facets of an imaginary person that Valentina never could and never will be. Or: five words others think of Valentina as, and her own opinion in that matter.

read on ao3!

trigger warnings: none

One

If there's one word to describe Valentina Diaz, it's unforgettable, Alex thinks. She is a tempest; a tempest of which stormed into his heart two months ago and broke it today.

He can still smell her perfume on the edges of his apartment; it seems to linger even though Valentina herself is long gone. The perfume smells of honeysuckle and hope, hope she seems to forget to inspire.

Oh, well. Valentina dated Alex for two months and he is not surprised. His friends had all warned him, a slough of "she only dates people for a maximum of three months" and "she's going to break your heart". He would just be another in her long line of exes, they said, and they were right.

Oh, well.

Alex likes fun, and Valentina was fun. It wasn't serious, she didn't even really break his heart. But she sort of did all the same, like a good memory that, in the light of its passing, renders it more sad.

But he still wasn't sure how he would move on, if he ever would completely. Stuck in heartbreak while also having moved on long ago, a strange limbo that Alex couldn't seem to shake no matter what he tried.

But for some reason, Alex didn't care. Bittersweet as it was, Valentina Diaz is not someone Alex would ever want to forget, or go back before they dated.

It was weird, but perfectly natural at the same time.

After all, if there's one word to describe Valentina Diaz, it's unforgettable.

«»

Two

If there's one word to describe Valentina Diaz, it's shallow. Piper's never found her sister to be all that interesting or deep, she just seemed to care for nothing but boys and breaking their hearts.

Well, most of Piper's siblings are like that. They don't care about people, they care about things. Material over emotional. Which is why Piper cannot stand her siblings. They're terrible, terrible people, only seeming to care about pink and love and dating and not the actual people behind them.

They're so fake, Valentina most of all. Because she pretends to care, even when everyone knows she very much does not. At least Drew has the decency to embrace how terrible she is.

Valentina pretends to care. She breaks heart after heart, all boys and girls who don't know what they're in for when it comes to Valentina Diaz.

And Valentina Diaz is a terrible, terrible person. She breaks hearts without remorse, she cares for nothing but the jewels adorning her neck and ears, she wouldn't know true love if it hit her upside down in the head.

Valentina Diaz hates Silena Beauregard just as much as Drew, too. Piper may have never met Silena, but she was a hero. That's what everyone says, except for the Aphrodite Cabin.

Honestly, Piper doesn't know how they can do that. How they can hate someone who clearly isn't in the wrong.

But, if Piper's being honest, she doesn't really care to know her siblings, and neither do they care to know her. Because her siblings are terrible, terrible people, and Piper most definitely is not.

Because at least Piper has the decency to care.

And just like every other one of Piper's siblings, the one word to describe Valentina Diaz is shallow.

«»

Three

If there's one word to describe Valentina Diaz, it is disagreeable. Adelita Diaz has find her cousin to be all too self-important.

Because something changed about Valentina Diaz when she was fourteen. Because Valentina Diaz holds herself like someone who has no experience with things, because Valentina speaks like someone tired with fate. What could she ever feel tired of?

Sure, Valentina’s mother is long-dead or long-gone - everyone around them talks too much about unimportant things and too little about important things when it comes to the mysterious woman who is Valentina’s mother - and Adelita doesn’t care much to listen, either.

Valentina Diaz has never been much of a concern to Adelita Diaz, yet Valentina bothers her all the same. Valentina goes through boyfriends (and girlfriends and partners in general) as fast as Adelita goes through books.

Which is to say, all too quickly.

But besides that, Adelita has never quite known how to act around Valentina. Sure, they're cousins, but Valentina changes like the fall winds. When Adelita thinks she has Valentina down - like she did until they were both fourteen - and then Valentina changes radically, and suddenly Adelita's blindsided by her cousin's changing. And then Adelita gets used to the new Valentina, and suddenly Valentina goes back to Old Valentina with the flighty dating, and then Valentina changes once more.

Valentina changes like the fall winds, and she doesn't slow down enough for Adelita to catch up.

And that's it, Adelita would say. Valentina is a cacophony that changes meter every few seconds. Adelita can never understand her cousin; Adelita can never sympathize with her cousin.

And because of that, the one word to describe Valentina Diaz is disagreeable.

«»

Four

If there's one word to describe Valentina Diaz, it is flaming. After all. Alice Miyazawa has always loved her best friend. Valentina is a tempest, a heartbreaker, but she's also fun. Just what Alice wants in a best friend.

Valentina isn't like Drew with a heart of snow; her heart is made of fire instead, burning and warming all the same. All that Alice wants for a best friend.

The boys she falls in love with only to fall out of love soon enough are just trees in a grand forest she rages in; Alice is not a tree. She is a person warming themselves by a hearth-fire after a cold night; Alice sees the life under the fire that Valentina is.

Fire is Valentina, Alice muses. Nothing more, nothing less.

Alice loves Valentina because she's fun, because although she may be flighty and may be careless with others' hearts, she'll never be careless with Alice's. Valentina will never be careless with her friends' hearts.

And Alice is Valentina's friend.

So the next time Alice gets broken up with someone, she'll sit on Valentina's couch with her friend and cry over ice cream and the best hot chocolate ever - because Valentina always makes excellent hot chocolate.

(Seriously. Is it an Aphrodite thing or is Valentina just that good at hot chocolate of all things?)

But there's no way in Hades that Alice would ever tell one of her friends to date Valentina. There's not way in Hades that Alice would ever set Valentina up with someone.

Because she doesn't want her friends to get their heart broken.

After all, through thick and thin, the one word to describe Valentina Diaz is flaming.

«»

Five

If there is one word to describe Valentina, it is unshakeable. Lacy admires her sister more than she'll ever tell.

Valentina, who can easily come back from everything. Valentina, who bounces back from tragedy and becomes their shoulder to cry on.

Lacy can rely on Valentina like no one else.

Because at least Valentina won't betray them like Silena did. Because at least Valentina won't twist her love into cruelty like Drew. Because at least Valentina won't expect them to be people they aren't like Piper. Because at least Valentina cares enough to leave her mask on and keep them safe.

Valentina has always been Lacy's favourite sibling. She's the person who taught Lacy how to apply makeup, how to select her outfits. Lacy has always looked like a doll, one of those creepy dolls that haunt suburban Southern homes, but Valentina tells her it makes her beautiful, tells her to lean into it.

And so Lacy does. And Lacy can rely on Valentina.

It's a few days after the Titan War. Valentina smiled at her through the mirror, raising her dagger up to apply her eyeliner. Lacy copied that motion, and it's messy, but Valentina smiled even more, and gently helped Lacy to get it right.

Lacy's young, they all are. But being part of the Aphrodite Cabin means something. It means something more than what it should. It means a certain responsibility, a certain awareness of her body that no thirteen-year-old should have. It's a silent obligation they all have. And Valentina bears it best, somehow. Valentina can carry the rest of them to a home they will never have.

They don't talk about it, but Drew once remarked something that they all know too dearly: beautiful women have unhappy fates. Lacy supposes it applies to everybody.

But it never seems to affect Valentina all that much.

And because of that, the best word to describe Valentina Diaz is unshakeable

«»

+ One

Valentina does not know who she is.

She feels terrible for breaking so many hearts. Alex was the most recent. She feels like she has to warm her friends. Like Alice. She feels like she has to portray a mask. Even to Piper, her sister. She feels like she has to be more mature. Like with Adelita and Lacy.

Romantic relationships are so easy, Valentina thinks. In romantic relationships, she doesn't have to be committed. She can casually date. Alex knew what was going to happen. He knew what he was getting into. Friendships are worse, family is worse.

With Alice, she never feels truly like herself. Alice sees what she wants, and she sees the Valentina as her best friend. Best friend is a scary term; it never seems to mean what people think it should. Best friend means too much. It sets Alice apart. Valentina doesn't do close relationships. So she'll make Alice her hot chocolate and don the mask of Alice's Best Friend, and it's so different from Valentina's Daughter of Aphrodite mask, and Valentina's Good Older Sister mask, and Valentina's Indifferent Beauty mask.

She shows so many people masks. All she is is masks, buried over and over and over each other, not a single one showing who she is.

She is a jewel, facets upon facets of equally beautiful, equally wanted. They are facets owned by many and owned by few, but none of those facets are owned by Valentina.

She wants to be rough, a diamond uncut. She wants to be coal, messy and dirty and being everywhere possible. She wants to be obsidian, strong and unshakeable.

She is her masks, her masks are her, but they are not everything. Valentina has never been anything but her masks.

She knows all her ex-boyfriends and most people at camp - including Piper, her own sister - see the Daughter of Aphrodite mask, or the Indifferent Beauty mask, depending on how well they know her. Alice sees Alice's Best Friend mask, and so does Julia, Alice's other best friend who doesn't like Valentina all that much. Oh well. And Valentina knows her half-siblings except Piper see the Good Older Sister mask.

And they are her masks, and nothing more. Valentina has never been anything but her masks.

So, if you asked Valentina, and she was being truthful, she would say that she does not know who she is.

[simpingwriter]

Cal Kestis x Kyra Yarmot

'Revenge and Redemption:

In the Name of Love'

Pt.2

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Heyyy, Happy May the Fourth to everyone reading this chapter today!

And yeahhhh... I know I said I would take it a bit slower with the second book. But tbh...with me, that's a good sign if i don't. Means I still like writing for these two braincells in a left over Styrofoam Cup – constantly bumping into each other, their only viable source of useable thoughts – and probably won't lose interest (please, great Gods of writer's block, have mercy with me boasting, i love my two fucked up dumbasses! 😭)

P.s: Totally not already a good quarter into Chapter 3...

Kyra meets the Grand Inquisitor for her Initiation. And ofc she immediately wants to fist fight and question authority once more–

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.200 Words

___________________

When the next morning came, something you finally could be sure of again with being on a Planet – well, a moon – and not a stupid ship, Cal was there before Dr. Puloria, eyes starting to shine even brighter then they were already when he finally saw you looking back at him this time.

Four weeks of looking at your motionless, dead-like body, wondering if you would actually wake back up someday…you didn't want to imagine the loop of thoughts the poor boy went through each and every morning with no significant changes being reported by Dr. Puloria or the nurses that took care of you, except that your lacerations from the fall were at least healing.

The Doctor had arrived only a few minutes later, grimacing when she saw the time…did you really sleep for that long?

One could possibly be stupid enough to think that after a four week long karking coma you wouldn't need sleep for a good ass while, that you would wake up more rested than ever. But it was the entire opposite, waking up you felt like you just pulled an all nighter and then some. So it didn't surprise Cal at all when – without any warning from your side – you fell asleep on his explanation the Fort and the work that came from being an Inquisitor now, his voice the most calming thing to your ears after being surrounded by nothing but deafening silence.

He knew that you would listen to him rant any day, but yesterday was just...way too much for you. And once you had everything important of today behind you, you would probably fall asleep right on him again, but he wouldn't mind, especially if you literally fell asleep on him, he always wanted to know what it was like sharing a big bed with someone. His was so cold and empty...

He wouldn't mind even if you fell asleep during him talking about whatever came to mind for another whole week, because now could be sure he would see you again, day for day, week for week, no urgency pushing him to make the most of every second he had left with you…

The first thing Dr. Puloria did, as promised, was cut the thick layers of gauze off of your squeezed in wing. While it at least wasn't cold around it, something you hated – cold wings – it was very uncomfortable. Which became evident when the gauze was finally fully off, revealing a severely crinkled and depressed wing. Like freshly hatched…

"You can move it, don't worry about having to keep it that crumbled up, just be very careful and do not under any circumstance overstretch the membrane for at least another two weeks. The medical soldering is right about here…" 

To say it felt odd having someone else touch your wings than yourself was a plain understatement, but Cal had touched them before as well and it didn't feel so...intrusive, even before you officially began to share an emotional bond. You remember the day when you first let him feel the leathery membranes between the flexible yet hard wing bones, his touch feather light and anxious even though you told him multiple times that his human fingers wouldn't be able to harm them really that much.

Even then his touches already had a weirdly soothing effect on you, especially after your returning nightmares and night terrors…

Was this maybe foreshadowing your eventual bonding?

"Also, after your initiation hearing today is finished and you managed to settle in on the Base, I would really appreciate it if you could find the time to listen to a request of mine, but only if you're alright with that." The older woman threw hastily into the room as she looked for the holopad that held the release forms with your name prewritten on them. What request could she possibly mean?

"I think she means these Research Papers I had to interrupt her about yesterday. She was barely able to contain herself while she had to take your body's measurements for your own uniforms…" Cal sounded incredibly odd at the last sentence, partially swallowing some words he wished to say but then decided not to as he looked at the Doctor with an unreadable expression.

Did he not like seeing her touching you?

"I don't." Cal grumbles quietly, having become much more direct since the last time you really talked – that being on the Mantis after your eventful day on Tatooine – you had to realize as the woman you talked about got slightly but noticeably red at herself being mentioned, "I-I was given the direct Orders to take the measurements of your wings, tail and your feet as they very obviously deviate from the average measurements of any other Imperial Inquisitor." She stated in a rather matter of fact manner, but either way not managing all of it without a stutter at the beginning, clearing up at least some of it.

What it didn't clear up was her excitement, apparent request and the connection to the research papers though. So basically nothing...what a waste of time.

"What is your request then?"

She stops looking for the paper a moment, looking over her shoulder with an expression you could only sort as "embarrassed yet determined".

"Because I want to finish the medical research for the Kaluk, the work of my master and his colleagues…"

The…Kaluk?

All your life, in all these pages and books you read about your kind, your own species…not once had the name Kaluk even been mentioned. So why was she calling you that name?

"Kaluk? I never heard that name for my kind." "Because it was wiped from all history books that have been written recently…that would mean the entirety of the last 30 to 40 cycles. All older ones are either destroyed or in the Empire's care." They even wiped the real name of your people off the face of the Galaxy…they really took everything from them. From you. From everyone that once, a long time ago, listened to that name. It sounded nice...you wish you had known about it earlier.

"Why would they do such a thing?!" You ask back irritated, not at her obviously, but at the Republic once more, further deepening your new found hate for them. They really deserved what came upon them…

"Well, some Scholars, of the Sith of course in that case, came to a very simple yet awful conclusion about that: The conventional approach of naming certain things or a species made them look more...approachable, in the case of the Kaluk, actual living, breathing and intelligent sentient people, taking away their name also took away relatability, the human aspect you and your ancestors all show, some more and some less. That method turned them into mysterious and extinct creatures…"

She even knew about the different sub categories of your ki- the Kaluk…how broad were the research papers of these scholars? Were there only the medical papers left or was there even more to be read about…things you had never heard about yourself?

There must be so many things about you yourself you had never been made aware of, maybe because they didn't want you to know or even because they themselves – despite their huge resource pool available just for research projects alone – never went that deep into your actual Culture themselves. They only saw the profits to be gained on Rhothant and in the Kaluk…

Dr. Puloria stopped the conversation of that subject at that for now, seeing the same problem as Cal when you yourself went to grab his left hand to calm back down, feeling your body begin to tremble. He didn't waste any time to give you exactly what you needed, gently drawing messy circles across the rough skin and scales. It would take ages for you to find peace in this subject as well, maybe you'd even carry this deep dug grudge to your equally deep grave.

"I shouldn't have brought it up right now, my most sincere apologies. I-I...no- Here, please sign these and you're free to go until the next planned check up…" 

It was evident in her rushed words that your sudden change of mood at that piece of information made her feel uncomfortable, but mostly regretful. She knew the extinction of your kind must've been hard, though how should she have known that it troubled you that badly? Nodding at her nearly fumbled statement for the form, you take the holopad from her hands, immediately sensing the slight tremor in them.

Fear.

Now you could also faintly smell it...

She was afraid you would lash out from your increasingly bad mood.

"I'm not mad at you, Doctor." You simply state while signing with your last name, returning the holopad onto her cluttered desk when she didn't react at your attempt of giving it back to her. Your response probably startled her just a bit too much.

Cal's impatient pulling of your hand that had already been in his made it clear though that you had no time to idle your time, for example with making sure you didn't give her the same prey-like fear Greez once upon a time felt near you. Not that you knew of Humans ever having had actual problems regarding your pheromones distinctive to predators.

If anything, Humans were incredibly underdeveloped when it was about scents and pheromones of other species or even their own! They sometimes vaguely noticed them, but never in the obvious way, they were controlled by them subtly, without them ever truly realizing that it was Pheromones that made them act like this or like that.

And then there is Cal. You didn't know if he also didn't directly notices the pheromones…but it was obvious on him, though maybe only for you as his mate? To you, he was visible even with your eyes closed, he pretty was unmistakable to your sensitive smell with this almost overpowering sweetness and near aromatic waves of male pheromones coming from every pore. No cologne could challenge what he smelled like to you...like your personal heaven.

You loved the way they enveloped your senses, just like his hugs. They gave you this feeling of safety you never had before. And everytime you lost this feeling for too long, you already felt the madness and fear reaching their claws into your mind.

"I love you, Cal…" the words left your lips unexpectedly as he guided you down the halls of the new base, your new…home. It stopped him from his quick and wide steps, his golden eyes watching yours – and the emotions hidden within – closely as his mouth hung open ever so slightly before turning into an inviting smile, his left arm wrapped even tighter around your waist now. "I love you too, Dragonfly and always will." He sealed his renewed confession with a long kiss, lips burning up against yours before he parts from you once more with a heavy sigh. 

Right…you're both wasting time with your sentimental needs right now. And you would have enough time later on for all kinds of loving or intimate gestures, especially for all the times you missed out on that possibility with your unfortunate time-out.

"Don't worry, I am certain he will make the initiation quick. The Grand Inquisitor has been very busy in the last few days from what I have heard. After that, you will be given a room and you'll have some time to…let everything sink in. I know that I needed it, despite me having been prepared for everything…in the end i was grateful for the buffering time you're getting." He shook you two's interaction off for the sake of not becoming late – despite it being almost painful to disappoint both of you – going down a vague list of what would happen today, not once letting go of your side as you walked further, at least wanting to give you his physical touch as he knew thanks to your thoughtsthat you yearned for it badly. No more hiding…it almost made you want to jump at him instead of just kissing him.

After ten minutes of similar looking dark corridors and bridges – "You're gonna have to grow used to that..." – you stand in front of two impressive double doors. Not ceiling high but quite obviously different from the rest, letting it be known that behind these doors, something important lies. They made him restless though, his black and red gloves fixing his grip on your waist every few seconds before he finally got a grip on the situation and made both of your presences known by knocking loudly.

What gave him the reason to act so off?

"What might come…that's what." He answered as quiet as a whisper as the doors slid open with a hiss, granting the two of you access. The room was more like a hall. A throne room, but more useful, like of a military commander in the end. And for the first time in your life you were in the same room as eleven…twelve…alive Inquisitors. All breathing and staring you down quietly as they awaited their master to speak…

The Grand Inquisitor.

You had heard very few things of the Pau'an himself, unlike the many tales of people encountering Inquisitors – plus your own – had but you were always been aware that he apparently existed, commanding those below him. 

And now, he also sat while the others stood, on a big chair towards the far back of the middle. While the others were just staring at you, he tried to probe you with his gaze, you felt his attempts at going even further but blocked any of them with ease. From his perspective, it was probably just Cal and maybe – if you're lucky – Trilla who talked about your desire to join. The others either didn't know you or if they did…well, they would only see the Jedi Scum in you. Nothing else.

The only thing that held them back from trying to decapitate you was that they most likely have been informed about an "Initiation" today. That there was a Jed- Force Sensitive on Nur that switched sides.

You didn't even want to call yourself Jedi anymore, feeling grimy about that name and their religion after you heard what they helped the Republic with, even with their whole peace keeling agenda. All for some Kyber Crystals they couldn't even use like regular ones…the Crystals choose their Owner, never other way.

"Greeting, Grand Inquisitor!" Cal shouts loud enough to reach the ears of the grey older man, relief washing over him as you caught onto his body movements without his help and kneeled down alongside him. Praise the Connection you two had, once again.

"I brought you the girl who renounced her loyalty to the Jedi four weeks ago." He sounded pragmatic and logical in his choosing of words, a total difference to your Cal that usually lets his heart talk. You had known that he most likely had been put under special physical training to become an Inquisitor, but you didn't expect this of everything possible.

"Very well, Eleventh Brother, join the others."

What? You're supposed to talk for yourself? Alone, in front of them all!? Well that isn't going to end well, you can't control your mouth like Cal now apparently!

Cal, while he definitely heard your panicked thoughts, the begs for him to stay with you, couldn't stay any second longer than needed, giving you one last reassuring nod and squeeze on your shoulder before he did as he was told, standing back up and finding himself next to Trilla, who was wearing her helmet – making reading her emotions difficult...but not impossible if needed.

But she was probably going to be indifferent to whatever happened to you, your potential death due to your big mouth wouldn't mean the end of her world. 

Not that you would let yourself get killed that easily. If needed, you would fight them all to the ground and they would learn that sooner or later. At least once they also pulled you into physical training.

"Rise, Kyra Yarmot." You did, straightening your back on instinct, wincing at your neck brace protesting and pushing against said sensitive neck. But you had to come through with this, this is all it took to be at Cal's side. All it took…

"How come that we get two Jedis renouncing their loyalty in such a short span of time? Nonetheless two that very evidently know each other better?" Oh that sounds…like an accusation. 

Accusations never end well.

Okay, it's easy, Kyra, just tell them exactly what moved your decision, you have absolutely no reason to lie or to make things up, you got your reasons! "I found out about the Republic's dishonorable and dishonest deeds on Rhothant. I have been lied to all my life and…I…I can't no longer serve under their name, especially not the Jedi." He slowly nodded at your own explanation of the last events, before noticing something on your face it seems, just like Cere before him. It made him squint, deviating from his stiff posture when his head tilted in confusion. Unlike Cere, it did not anger him. It merely seemed to further fuel his intrigue.

"How come your exceptionally quick change of heart? Explain…"

Didn't you just tell him that, was this grey pebble hard of hearing? Deaf perhaps? You didn't want to talk anymore about it than needed!

What are you supposed to explain?! How they killed them by letting them work to total exhaustion? Abused them? Let everything important about their whole existence that made them who they were just vanish like that or how they lied to you about this For. All. These. Years?!

They bathed themselves in innocence while your people DIED for their insufferable greed!

'Kyra! Please! Calm down!'

Cal's thoughts passed you for a second, breaking the spell you put on your own mind as you heard yourself, speaking your thoughts out loud it seems, your voice not sounding like your own as you sounded more like a beast growling its threats than anything else.

But that reaction…it further looked like it pleased the Grand Inquisitor, as he intently watched your…eyes?

While your still injured body had to work with the sudden spur of buried emotions shooting back up, chest heaving and hot steam puffing out from your mouth with every heavy breath you took, the other Inquisitors' stares…changed. Even with their helmets on, you could feel them on you still yet not as harsh as before.

"Anger festers inside of you…but unlike with others, while your body doesn't fight it, it also can't take full influence over your actions, nor does it have a big effect on your appearance. Very interesting…so the old knowledge of the Kaluk hasn't been lying…"

Old knowledge? Does he also speak of research papers?

You're not given any time to think about his words as two Purge Troopers walked to your side, grabbing your upper arms tightly. Did they not know what kind of danger they just got themselves into just by approaching you? In this state of yours?

"Shall we bring her to the chamber now, Grand Inquisitor?" 

C-chamber? They must be speaking of…n-no! No! You're not letting them scramble and rewire your brain, you're working and thinking perfectly fine! You're here on your own free will and haven't been captured! 

Cal's eyes widened as he gasped in shock, but he knew too well that he wasn't allowed to intercept the Troopers either as they tried to drag you away from your current spot in the massive hall. His inner pain was deafening to you like a visible scream, he didn't know why this was happening either.

Putting emphasis on the word 'tried', the Purge Troopers struggling hopelessly as you used your still naked feet to your advantage, their sharp digging into the metal floor with worrying ease. It wasn't hard to escape their grasps fully a few seconds later, the sudden snapping back of your neck drawing an angry, deep shriek from your lips as you glared at them, silently daring them to try it a second time, opening your curled hands to show off your claws as a warning. "Kyra Yarmot, are you having second feelings now, of all times? Because I am sure the Inquisitors can help…choose…for you."

Like hell you were having second feelings, you're here on your own free will, you're not going to let them ruin your freedom like this, not when you're in arms length! You're not going to become mindless puppet, you're a soldier with thoughts, just like your ancestors were! They wouldn't want anything else from their possibly last surviving genes...

"Don't even think a second time about strapping me to your awful torture chair, if you have second thoughts about my loyalty, I will do the needed things to prove myself on other ways!" Otherwise you would give them a taste of what you're capable of!

Once more, you feel it surging inside of you, flowing like a violent network of rivers…your physical wounds exhausted you too much to have a tight enough control over your Connection to the Force. If they edged you on any longer…

You saw the sparks slowly starting to form and the heavy smoke weaving around you in the air, a sure sign for yourself to calm back down…Cal was in this room, he would die alongside them if you weren't able to hold on.

And the Grand Inquisitor had to have been feeling it too, grunting...pleased, "Troopers! Stand aside immediately! Do. NOT. Touch. Her!"

You could've electrocuted their equipment with a simple touch, in turn roasting them inside their armored black shells. How did he know about that…

"This was a test, you can relax…Twelfth Sister."

Then, a laugh. Not a kind or heart warming one, a sinister one, like a madman that achieved his plan. When the caught him self shortly after, the Troopers walking back to their positions at the door and the Inquisitors all relaxed once more, multiple already having had their hands ready to ignite their weapons, he began to speak once more...

A TEST?! Even Jedi school had less shitty tests than this one, you could've blown everything up if he would've let them go on like this without knowing your limits!

But wait…did he just call you Twelfth Sister?

"That means you passed. You're no use to the Empire without your species' naturally strong connection to the Dark side and your own raw emotions. No synthetic emotion could challenge whatever it is that is fueling your strengths deep inside…though you two's existence could potentially be breaking an ages old Rule…"

He mentioned Cal, which made you look for him on reflex. Panic wanted to light up in your head when he was no longer next to Trilla, never mind her, she was no longer there either!

"I hope you're more willing to gather your bearings at their sides? We already had to fix the Hull once because of…someone…almost over half a cycle ago." There would've more than a karking hole, old man. There can be no hole if there is no longer a foundation for said hole!

Has nobody ever told him to keep his hands off the stove as a child, to not play with fire?

"It's okay, Kyra, you're alright…nobody is getting reconditioned today…well, of those in this room at least." He hushed your thoughts, carefully beginning to inch closer with each gentle touch on your skin as he wasn't wearing armor filled with electrical equipment, hoping he could leave this room as soon as possible. He didn't like it's atmosphere at all, especially with a literal time bomb like you right in the middle of it...

But there was one more thing you needed to tell the irritating pebble of a man back there, calmed down yet or not.

"In that case, I got my first request, Grand Inquisitor."

"Voice it then, Twelfth Sister, but make it quick."

Well, they couldn't say much more than no, so you should ask no rather than later.

"I wish to share my rooms with the Eleventh Brother..."

Deafening silence…

___________________

[callum-librrry]

JANK 2: Part 3

Chapter 3: What’s Love Without Fighting?

There was half an hour until landing. Crew members were bustling around excitedly, awaiting for the inevitable touchdown. A touchdown usually provided the crew with at least a few days of freedom away from their usual responsibilities. Those who originated from the planet they were visiting generally took that time off in order to spend time with their families. That would not be the case today. None of the crew originated from Solace, and perhaps only one or two were even from this system. Nevertheless, emotions ran high.

For all except a certain navigator.

Tom would usually be joining the crew in their hurried preparations, or be watching the arrival of the destination planet slowly loom into view, but today was different. Less than 30 minutes ago he was convinced that his life was about to end in the unrelenting void of space only to be let go with what compared to a slap on the wrists. The human was currently slumped on his bunk in his sleeping quarters doing his best to navigate through the minefield of questions in his mind. He was so caught up in processing the day’s events that he almost missed the quarter’s door sliding open with a hiss.

“Knock, knock,” a familiar voice whistled. Tom continued to stare ahead.

Hazai entered quietly. Her clawed feet scraped slightly against the smooth flooring. She could've been quieter if she wished, but she knew it was best if the human was aware of her. No need to send him into any more panics than what he had had that day.

The Braal walked to where Tom was sitting, and sat down in front of him. It wasn’t unlike the position they held when he was helping to preen her. Her well-kept feathers brushed over him slightly as she settled in front of him. She noticed that he relaxed a little when this happened.

“Do you want to talk about today?” she ventured after a moment of silence.

“There’s nothing to say,” Tom shifted to face away from Hazai. He fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves absently.

“There’s plenty to say! You’ve probably made one of the most important discoveries of this council!” Excitement was evident in the way her feathers puffed up and the trill in her voice.

Tom stood up. He moved towards the entrance of his sleeping quarters.

“I destroyed a space shuttle and endangered the lives of everyone on this ship. What I should be is dead. What I did isn’t good, Hazai.”

“I know that the meeting with the captain must’ve been hard on you, but think about what this could mean for this system.”

“Look, just find out what that thing is and leave me alone.” Tom growled out. If Hazai said anything after this it was cut off by the clank of the closed door.

He stormed down corridors. He could feel the rush of blood in his ear and the prickle of tears in his eyes. The lights were too bright. His ears were ringing. And why was it so loud? His vision swam. He leaned against a wall to wait out the wave of nausea.

“Tom,” Konstance piped up, “you are experiencing an increased heart rate, and pre-emptive signs of fainting, would you like me to request a medic to see you?”

“No, thank you, Konstance,” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He really had to get himself under control.

“Might I suggest something else?”

Tom made a noise that could count as an affirmation. He was walking again now, he always calmed down easier when he was on his feet.

“It’s not like you’ll leave me alone until I say yes,” he muttered, “stupid programming.”

“May I remind you that you and Hazai–”

Hazai. The name sent an ache right to Tom’s heart. He really should’ve watched what he was saying to her.

“–programmed me together with care being one of my primary protocols?”

*** 

“Tom! Tom!” Hazai’s excited screech echoed through the confined space of the office as she ran in, “Guess what!”

Tom finished sending his charting draft to Clover, where it would be reviewed and, hopefully, sent to the higher navigators as well. He then turned to face the teal Braal as she nearly launched herself into his arms with her wings wrapping around him.

“Oof! Careful there,” Tom chuckled, his arms wrapping around Hazai on instinct. Hazai’s feathers wrapped around his entire body like a blanket. A warm fuzzy emotion formed at the pit of his stomach.

“Tom! Your AI package has arrived!” She pulled out of the hug just enough to rest their foreheads together. More wordless chirps escaped her.

“Oh, wow really?! I've been waiting so long!” He laughed as he swung Hazai gently from side to side. That was the pro’s of hollow bones, he supposes, less strain on the arms. It helped when she was probably half a foot shorter than him as well. “Do you want to program it with me?”

Hazai’s display feathers perked up, but quickly fell again.

“Tom, I’d love to but… I’ve programmed an AI before. I haven’t really even used one before. I’d be more of a hassle…”

“Absolutely not!” Tom exclaimed, “and anyway… I want you to help me...”

And how could Hazai refuse? Not when Tom looked at her as though she had hand-placed the constellations around them.

Once she had agreed, Tom started to open the package with Hazai quickly lending a scaled hand.

“Is this a human custom?” she asked.

“It can be, sometimes we give each other flowers too,” Tom chuckled. The AI beeped gently as it was booted up. “Here’s an idea, why don’t you come up with a name?”

“They’re your AI, it should be you who names them.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

Tom thought for a second.

“Well, Mum’s middle name was Konstance…”

“Tom, you’re so precious,” The fond look on Hazai’s face was unmistakable as she gazed at Tom.

“Hmm? Did you say something?”

“Humans… are so precious.” Hazai mumbled, clearer now, as she played with the pink plumage on her wings.

Tom’s face split into a large grin that spanned from ear to ear.

“Of course! Hazai, you’ve got to meet my family one day, they’ll love you I promise. My siblings will love to meet you! And you have to try my mum’s cooking, it’s the best…Sorry am I talking too much?”

Hazai immediately shook her head, “Of course not! In any case, I like listening to you talk. Hearing you talk…is nice, makes me feel peaceful…here,” Hazai pointed to her chest, where her heart was pounding away.

“That’s good, because being able to be with you makes me feel alive.” Tom smiled and turned back to the AI, unaware of the Braal’s ruffling feathers.

***

Tom really didn’t want to think about that right now. It only made his regret hurt more. He wiped the beginnings of tears from his eyes.

“Did Hazai put you up to this?”

“No.”

“So why?” Tom stopped his mindless pacing to put a stabilising hand on the wall, “I’ve snapped at Hazai before, you know that. I just– I… I need to know why I keep doing this! Why can’t I just control my emotions like a normal person?!”

This outburst drew the attention of several crewmates, most of whom quickly averted their gaze and muttered something about cramps and mood swings.

“Tom.”

“Konstance, please tell me how to fix this. I don’t want to ruin what we have!” Tom pleaded with the AI. He considered clasping his hands together or doing something else dramatic.

“Tom, you know I can’t do that. I can’t promise to solve all your problems but I can promise that you won’t have to face them alone.”

Damn you Konstance, Tom thought as he wiped the steadily flowing tears away from his eyes. Crying was always such a hassle.

“It’s OK Tom. You will be OK.”

In spite of himself, Tom gave a weak, wobbly smile. Fragile, like it could shatter any moment, “Thanks, Konstance. By the way, weren’t you going to recommend something?”

“It was my plan to suggest a visit to The Lair before our arrival on Solace.”

“You want me to visit Stabby?”

“Well, Stabby always seems to cheer you up, so I gathered it was the best course of action at the present moment. You have time. We’re on course to land in approximately 20 minutes.”

“Thank you Konstance.”

--

Previous: Chapter 2: Crime and Punishment

Next: Chapter 4: The Lair

[littledreamling]

choose an artist you like and use the name of their songs to answer this as close to the truth as possible!

Except I overthought this and used a combination of lyrics and titles, with explanations… oops 😅 I was tagged by @virgo-dream (I’m blaming you for this, my dear, you’re about to learn a lot about me lmao) @sonata-ix @rooftopwreck and @immacaria (thank you all!! 🥰)

name of the artist: Hozier

what is your gender? Arsonist’s Lullaby

“When I was a child I’d sit for hours / Staring into open flame / Something in it had a power / Could barely tear my eyes away.”

I’m not an arsonist, I swear lmao, but I’ve always had a fascination with fire and felt a kinship with the unpredictability of it; it can be tamed, but must always be treated with caution and respect. My gender can be volatile and brash and dangerous, but it can also be warm and inviting and a beacon to others. I hold within me a flame.

describe yourself: Be

“Be, be, be, be, be / Be as you’ve always been.”

No matter what happens, no matter what people think of me, no matter what I’ve been through, I’ve always been unapologetically myself and I take pride in that. No matter if it’s dying my hair blue, shaving my head, being openly genderqueer in my sorority, or dying my hair blue (again), I’ve always put my own identity first and let everyone else decide for themselves whether or not if I was something they could stomach. If there is one thing I place a lot of importance in, it’s staying true to myself.

how do you feel? Sedated

Today was an interesting day for me. Between only getting four hours of sleep, waking up about five hours earlier than normal, and eating two of the biggest meals of my life, I’m incredibly tired and a little bit floaty.

if you could go anywhere, where would it be? In The Woods Somewhere

I’m never happier than I am when I’m in nature. Losing myself in the woods is one of the best feelings in the world for me; surrounded by nothing but lush green and the vibrant life and nature untouched by man. If I ever disappear pff the face of the planet, go ahead and place your money on me having run off to live in the woods; it’s a strong bet.

describe your best friend: To Noise Making (Sing)

I love my best friend and her joy makes me happy. We like to sing in the car on roadtrips and she has a wonderful singing voice. I do not. But it doesn’t matter because it’s about the joy we feel in each other’s company more than talent or skill. Being around her makes me feel like I don’t have to be embarrassed about my bad singing or any other part of myself. She accepts me for who I am and loves all of me.

your favorite time of day: Sunlight

“I would shun the light, share in evening’s cool and quiet / Who would trade that hum of night / For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight / But whose heart would not take flight? / Betray the moon as acolyte / On first and fierce affirming sight / Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.”

I could never pick a favorite time of day. I love the afternoon warm sun streaming through my windows and the midnight moon peeking from behind clouds. I love the cool and quiet night and the glorious and fierce sunlight. I hate early mornings though.

if your life was a tv show, what would it be called? Someone New

I would joke that this could be No Plan (because my life surely doesn’t have a plan) but I’m using that for the next one so I’ll use Someone New for this one. In some small ways (and many large ways), I have reinvented myself many times over the course of my life. Between questioning my gender, figuring out my sexuality, moving states and losing touch with everyone I had known before university, and changing my field of study numerous times, I have had to dive deeply into who I truly am and have found someone new every time.

what is life to you? No Plan

“There’s no plan, there’s no race to be run / The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun.”

If there is one thing that my life has taught me, it’s that you can never plan for everything. I have a tendency to use meticulous planning to help cope with my anxiety, but life is about going with the flow. Life is about watching the sunset, about spontaneous decisions, about riding the rolling waves because everything helps to shape you. There will be bad. There will be terrible. But there will also be good, and life is about learning to recognize the good even when you’re neck-deep in the terrible. There’s no plan, so you might as well enjoy every moment as it comes.

what do you fear? Cherry Wine

Having been in an emotionally abusive relationship before, one of my biggest fears is finding myself in one again. The knowledge that someone is actively hurting you yet still being devoted to them, heart and soul, unable to leave or fault them for what they’re doing to you is such a terrifying place to be in and while it’s a dynamic I love to explore within the comforts of fiction, the reality of it is one of my worst nightmares.

Edit: oops I forgot to tag people. If you see this and want to do it, feel free! I’m also tagging (to be annoying) @levi1088 and @birdbraintm

[auraravenora77]

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Aravena “Raven” Ashe

Masterlist

Summary: Aravena "Raven" Valencia, Adessa's lunarian descendant, lives throughout her life as a princess and she has so many things, including her goals and accomplishments, to become a Queen in the future.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 971

AN: It has been awhile updating this series and there will be more posts here. Enjoy!

Chapter One

“Everything is so marvelous in this beautiful morning..”

The gentle words slipped from Aravena Valencia’s lips when she peered beyond the lively town from a distance. It hummed, a baritone trapped in a barrel chest, vibrating under her feet, and against her skin. A smile graced the features of the fairly crowned princess of Adessa as the sweetest sensation blossomed over her. She wished to stay as long as possible but wasn't able to.

Not even many people bother her every second before she can even think at all.

“My lady, please come inside! You wouldn't fall ill on these important days of your life, would you?”

Even at those moments when people needed her the most, even when her parents, the royal king and queen, were indisposed for an upcoming significant occasion.

Doing as she was told, she moved inside to meet the disapproval that bore upon her face. There was nothing else she could do in this palace at the moment, except striking a conversation about the outside world with the advisors. At the very least, they traveled freely, which she yearned for, without her parents' approval here.

Finding something to distract her with, she reached for her goblet to drink, but disappointment filled the princess when she lifted the glass to her lips, only to find it empty. Instead of calling for a cupbearer to fill it, she rather set it down on the table, moving about to one area in the bedchamber and onto the next.

“Genevieve, is there any important event for me to attend?” She asked, curiosity filling her gaze.

Genevieve, the trusted royal advisor, flipped through the papers she was holding onto. Her face filled with awe whenever something was on the schedule. “Members of the council require your presence when the clock tower strikes two. There are dire issues to be dealt with..”

With her eyes glinting in amusement and relief, today of all days finally keeping herself busy for once. On other days when nothing remained in her schedule, she already had enough with all of the book reading in the library and wrote many letters in the study room. There was finally some excitement needed in her life.

“Anything else?”

“When the clock tower strikes three, you are needed in the House of the Lord. It was rather good luck to pray to the lunar goddesses before the wedding of the century.”

Raven could hardly give out, or lack thereof, any reaction whenever weddings were mentioned. Everyone, including her father, tended to remind her of the important occasion in the land. He even pressured her by speaking of the ancestors, which she didn't want to disappoint. The painful reminder often irritates her, but she clearly doesn't show it.

She rather not say another word, and nodded her head in agreement, preparing herself to leave. There were many important matters to attend to and face them with sweet pride.

In order to become a future queen someday, she has some royal duties to fulfill.

Duties, according to the king’s chatting Wiseman, apply to a whole range of arranged outgoings, council meetings, making speeches and so much more. She always felt the excitement to do those wondrous things someday with many loyal people by her side.

Despite taking long strides along the hall, she took those moments to show her kind gratitude to everyone who passed her. With the greatest smile and kindest greeting, even a hurrying moment wouldn't stop her from showing some humility towards anyone. Well, almost everyone at least.

Taking notice of her presence, the guards took the time to bow and then pushed the double set of doors open. She stepped foot inside with graceful posture and presence.

She beholds the council room awestruck by the beauty of it all. Everything, including the structure, has remained strong ever since her ancestors had built it for weeks, months even. It was to keep the peace at bay and so much more. Everyone was always honored with deserving power and grace whenever they stepped foot here.

“Princess..” The councilmen lazily spoke in disharmony, standing up to bow before her. Most of them appeared disgruntled in an early meeting, some of them were composed.

“Council,” she murmured, dipping into a maddeningly perfect curtsy.

No one dared to say another word, not even striking a conversation, afterward. Like many times before, she would understand the actual reaction from it. Even if it did, they would simply forget once picking up the conversation once again. It would be an utter waste for them to begin an argument that seemed never ending unless someone with power managed to stop them.

The doors swung open, allowing her parents to step inside. Everyone, including herself, dipped into a bow for the royal heirs that filled the throne with ease. She kept hers for the longest for an actual reason. There was a strong feeling from the burn of a deep scowl her father wore when he turned towards her direction. She kept her gaze downcast, refusing to see shame in his eyes. Even if she did, a shadow of guilt began to eat away.

That look almost sent a chill creeping up her spine, raising the hair on the back of her neck. It was a frightening sight to visibly witness that strong emotion coming from her father, but she understood why he felt this way. She exhausted his patience enough for him to remain silent whenever her presence was near. There was nothing to appease him unless she wedded her betrothed.

Sweeping his gaze on each face, her father tended to rudely brush off any greetings and formalities. There were important and urgent matters he needed to discuss with everyone in the council.

“Let's get started, shall we?”

And yet they did in a sweet note.

[heart-44]

November 27, 2023. 3:10am

Still talking with Joe. Since I first and last posted on here a lot has happened. Break ups and make ups. Got my first job and made friends there. Saved a lot of money. Lost weight. His dog died last week. Yet nothing in our relationship has changed except that my infatuation with him is gone. He never made me feel loved, never cared about me enough or made me feel that I was too important to lose. Never gave me the spot I deserved in his life. I always felt like everyone he knew was above me and he also treated me as such. He can go on a whole week without talking to me after an argument without a care in the world. We argued last night (it was his birthday the 25th) and he didn’t talk to me at all today (the 26th). This is what he does when we argue about the stupidest things… He treats me like shit. Talks to me like I’m dumb. Mocks me. Uses me for emotional support. Can’t control his anger. And disrespects me. Funnily enough, I feel so much peace when he’s gone and yet I haven’t left him. I guess I want him to break up with me. Not because I don’t have the guts to do it myself. But because I want him to think he made the decision. I want to make sure we’re done for good and the perfect way to do so is if he breaks up with me. He’ll never humiliate himself by crawling back to me once he makes the decision. And he knows I’m too proud to fight it if he wants to leave. I purposely allowed him to break my heart and disappoint me over and over again in order to emotionally detach myself from him and to resent him so it doesn’t hurt when it’s finally over and it worked. I can say for sure he ruined the idea of love for me. He radicalized me way more than feminism itself ever did. Early this year I met this new hire at my job. He’s my height (short), 6 years younger than me, white, dark thick hair and brown sad eyes. Just how I like my men, for the exception that I prefer them older than me and taller but still! I, inevitably, developed a huge crush on him which helped me detach even more from Joe. We’d share flirtatious glares and touches. The sexual tension between us was undeniable and very much there. He’d try to start conversations with me but I’d be too damn nervous to even look at him while he tried to talk to me. I barely could get two words out of my mouth, let alone a sentence, even though I was dying to talk with him. A few weeks ago I learned he was moving and quitting by January. My friend talked to him yesterday and he said he thought I was cute but that I wasn’t his type. Old me would’ve been devastated after that but I’m not. Because being with joe has messed up my idea of love and men. I just can’t afford to get too attached. It’s not worth it and it’s only going to hurt me. It’s 3:59am now. I blocked Joe’s phone number and instagram. I’m not sure what I’m trying to do with that or if I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and unblock him. But I do know for sure is that I’m tired. And I’m torn between “I deserve better” and “nobody will ever care about me enough and put me first”. I think I’m broken. Something must be wrong with me. Nobody seems to go above and beyond for me. Nobody seems to see my worth. Maybe I’m not worthy. It’s like I’m nothing but and endless supply to people when they need me. I know what I want and I’m not getting it from him. There’s nothing left to do but move on.

[feckcops]

Warmer, Warmer

“It is strange and striking that climate change activists have not committed any acts of terrorism. After all, terrorism is for the individual by far the modern world’s most effective form of political action, and climate change is an issue about which people feel just as strongly as about, say, animal rights. This is especially noticeable when you bear in mind the ease of things like blowing up petrol stations, or vandalising SUVs. In cities, SUVs are loathed by everyone except the people who drive them; and in a city the size of London, a few dozen people could in a short space of time make the ownership of these cars effectively impossible, just by running keys down the side of them, at a cost to the owner of several thousand pounds a time. Say fifty people vandalising four cars each every night for a month: six thousand trashed SUVs in a month and the Chelsea tractors would soon be disappearing from our streets. So why don’t these things happen? Is it because the people who feel strongly about climate change are simply too nice, too educated, to do anything of the sort? (But terrorists are often highly educated.) Or is it that even the people who feel most strongly about climate change on some level can’t quite bring themselves to believe in it?

“I don’t think I can be the only person who finds in myself a strong degree of psychological resistance to the whole subject of climate change. I just don’t want to think about it. This isn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation: someone my age is likely to have spent a couple of formative decades trying not to think too much about nuclear war, a subject which offered the same combination of individual impotence and prospective planetary catastrophe. Global warming is even harder to ignore, not so much because it is increasingly omnipresent in the media but because the evidence for it is starting to be manifest in daily life. Even a city boy like me can see evidence that the world is a little warmer than it was.

“Part of the problem is one of scale. Global warming is as a subject so much more important than almost anything else that it is difficult to frame or discuss. At the moment there is a global warming-related item on the news at least once a week. Today, for instance, there are two: close to home, a judge throwing out the government’s phoney ‘consultation’ process over nuclear power, and further away, at a conference in Washington, an ‘informal agreement’ marking a new commitment to ‘tackling climate change’ and resulting in a ‘non-binding’ declaration which reflected ‘a real change of mood’. Just what the world needs – more hot air. And then the news moves on to other things, to contaminated Anglo-Hungarian turkeys and gang shootings and potential schisms in the Anglican Church. There is a kind of falsehood built into this; at the very least, a powerful degree of denial. If global warming is as much of a threat as we have good reason to think it is, the subject can’t be covered in the same way as church fêtes and county swimming championships. I suspect we’re reluctant to think about it because we’re worried that if we start we will have no choice but to think about nothing else.”