#my POTS developed only this year and it’s been hard to manage

[theodditylacey]

my heart aches a little when i see people living life to the fullest and posting about their magical adventures on here

part of me wishes i could do the same

[hidden-poet]

UNTIL. DEATH; 5

Harry woke at 4 from pure excitement. He felt as if he had been waiting for centuries. He had dreamt of a wife since he could last remember, and now she was finally here. 

His reward for years of hard work and perseverance just in the room next to his, sleeping safely. Harry felt as if he had finally won.    

Or at least he could see the finish line from were he was at.

He peeks in to see daisy sleeping. She had gone to sleep in a singlet and cotton pants. She curled up against the pillow telling Harry that she wanted him. 

She shuffles slightly and Harry retreats to his own room. It would not be good to be found peeking this early on. 

He goes to the light in his walk-in wardrobe. The space empty and waiting for his wife. He runs his hand along the wood. Soon it would be filled with fine clothes for her. She would infiltrate his space and make it a home. 

Leave her scent lingering amongst his clothes as he slaved away in his office. 

It was almost in his reach. All he needed was for Daisy to wake up. 

Harry doesn't sleep the rest of the night. Choosing four cups of earl-grey and some planning for his new development. 

He sat in the living room with his laptop on his lap. His eyes lingered to the steps when they should have been focusing on his work. The later it got, the correlation between the decrease of his work became evident. 

By the time it hit 7:15 he had only managed a period at the end of the sentence. He changes tactics washing and dressing himself. 

She does eventually rise from bed at 8. She sits at the counter with a bowl of cereal in torn jeans and a grey t-shirt. Her attire was something to be worked on but nothing money couldn't fix. 

"Good morning" he greets. 

"Good morning" she smiles back. It makes his heart flutter. 

"Did you sleep okay?" he asks pouring a cup of coffee from the pot.

"Like a baby. That bed is like a cloud".

It was extremely expensive so Harry was glad to hear it. 

"Good" Harry remarks. 

He hated the silence that came next. She was suppose to ask how he slept, and then he was going to mention that he woke early to finish some work. Showcasing his string work ethic. But she sat eating her cereal. 

"What's the plan today?" he tried to warm her up to conversation. 

"I have collage at 10. I should actually go. I haven't done any of my readings". 

His plan had failed as she picks up her bowl and rinses it in the sink. She wasn't engaged in conversation, she was running from it. 

"I'll take you" Harry offers in a haste, "I am just leaving myself". 

She shakes her head no with a bashful smile, "It's ok! really. the bus runs every 15 minutes". 

"My car is running in 2 minutes" he takes her elbow in his hand and leads her out to the living room, "Go get your stuff".

She smiles up at him. It was a good sign. A promise to a happy future together. She was learning now that she could rely on him. 

She tells him she'll be fast as she runs up the steps, only slowing to allow Vera and Hunter down the steps. She gives them a 'good morning' in passing. 

For once Venessa had Hunter ready for the day at a respectful time. His diaper bag slung over her shoulder suggests they were going somewhere. 

"Can you give us a ride to play ground? it's on the way to work" Venessa asks. 

"No" was the immediate response. He felt he needed the time alone with Daisy to build their relationship. Sharing a car now could mean an extra week added until the start of their relationship. 

Venessa huffs in disappointment.

"Bus runs every 15 minutes" Harry shrugs his shoulders, leaving his coffee cup on the kitchen table. 

Daisy bounces down the steps once more and Harry couldn't help but smile. 

"Whoa" she exclaims, "this is your car?".

Harry felt his shoulders shake with pride. 

"You like it?". He opens the door for her in true gentleman style. 

"It's beautiful". She accepts his invitation in. She sat perfectly in the seat. 

Harry imaged matching cars in the drive way when he returned home. They had matching taste.

Her smell hits him as he enters the car after putting his briefcase in the backseat. It knocked him around. He hadn't even realized that he had started the car and began to drive until the security man at the gate wished him a good day. 

"This community is insane. A security man to let you into your own block, so crazy rich". 

"Do you like it here?". Harry would hate to move if she didn't but he would if she asked him too. 

"I mean, it's been one day, but yes, I could very much get use to a neighborhood were the biggest crime is someone's bins not being brought in after bin day. My car got stolen twice at my old place. I got it back when the police were done with it the first time but the second time, it got totaled in the chase". 

Harry cringes at the story. It was so obvious she needed a man to protect her. Was she hinting at it too? 

"That's bad luck. I am sorry". 

Daisy laughs unexpectedly , "A little excitement at least". 

Harry offers a tight smile unsure on how to respond. The collage was only 20 minutes away and was quickly coming into view through the traffic. 

"How's collage going?" he asks. He didn't really care. University was no place for a women like Daisy. Hunting grounds for suitable men but a waste of time for someone so pretty. 

"Good. Good. Excited to graduate and get out in the field". 

The field being work. Another place not fit for Daisy. She would be miserable but feminism would command her to be happy about her misery. Nursing babies at home is not fulfilling enough, they needed to be out amongst the men to prove something to nobody. 

The women who protested at the traditional family unit, never had a chance at obtaining it. Their jealousy turns to venom and spills into the heads of impressionable young women like Daisy. Daisy was not a fat, bule haired, repulsive dog. She had a shot at a very happy life as a little wife. 

There was no need for the 'field'. All she had to do was let Harry take care of her. She too seemed to realize this as they pull into the drop off line. 

Her turn comes up to quick and Harry's heart drops at the sound of her unblucking her seat belt. 

"Thank you so much for the lift" she makes a quick exist. 

"Anytime, Daisy". Her name like hot butter on his lips. 

"I'll see you at home. Have a good day". She waves him off as she enters the school ground but he remains frozen in his car. 

Home. She had said home. A shared space between the two of them. Home, shared between man and wife. She wanted him. He was sure now. All his work was his to taste now. 

The car behind him beeps the horn. With a roll of his eyes, Harry drives off to work. 

With the work from this morning, Harry was finished his work by 1. It was still impressive considering the amount of breaks he had to daydream about being a husband. 

He had mentally started to plan the wedding. He had almost got the guest list down. They would have a band, not a DJ and the first dance would be to 'At last'.  Once he knew more about Daisy, he could pick the type of ring he would buy. His thumb flicked his ring finger, feeling the empty space. 

It didn't feel right. A ring was suppose to by there by now. Daisy had come latter then planned, but better late the never. Still, he felt almost ashamed to be unwed. 

He couldn't stand another second in his office with his critical thoughts. They proved to be a warning sign as he exits his office, Mary is sat at her desk with Brad half leaning over her. 

She stops talking as soon as she sees Harry glaring from the doorway. 

"Mary, I need you in my office" he demands. 

"Mr Green" brad greets but is ignored. 

"Now" Harry reiterates. 

Mary and brad go their separate ways. Harry is quick to place a door between them. 

"I am going home for the day. If you direct the calls to your mobile you can too but either way I do not want to hear you spent the afternoon conversing with Brad". 

"But" Mary begins.

"You're easy to fire, Mary" Harry collects his case from his desk and leaves Mary in the office. 

He does not drive home, rather the jewelry shop he passes every morning. 

A security guard opens the door for Harry, sensing his money from how he dressed. He was greeted quickly and offered a drink but he refused all service. Instead going straight to the ring cabinet. 

He stares at the gold rings under the counter. He had always imaged picking out his wedding ring with his bride-to-be. Maybe he could come back with daisy

"Hello sir" the women behind the counter greets.

"Hello" he shyly responses. 

"Can I help you with anything or are you just looking at the moment?" she politely asks. Harry was sure to leave her a nice tip at the end. 

"I am looking for a wedding ring. My wedding ring". Just the words coming from his mouth gave him a rush. He couldn't image the actual feeling he was to receive when it was finally true.

"Oh. Congratulations. when's the wedding?"

"March" harry lies easily. "Beautiful. Has anything caught your eye so far?" He points to a thick gold band with a small star Dimond in the middle.

"I'd like to see that one". 

She takes the tray out of the glass cabinet and places it before Harry so he could see all the similar rings. She passes the desired ring to harry, who slips it on his ring finger. 

"8 carat gold, engraved artwork of a shooting star centered on a ethically sourced diamond".

It was a beautiful ring but perhaps too causal to be a testament to enteral love. He wanted something that screamed married man. This ring could easily be confused with a dress ring. 

He passes the ring back to the young women, gazing upon the rest of the selection. 

Another one catches his eyes, and he picks it up without permission. It looked like the one his father used to wear. Rectangle in design with small diamonds edging the side. 

It would pair nicely with Harry's signet ring so he put it back. A wedding ring was a leash to let all others know that the person wearing it belonged to another. It was not a fashion statement. 

Besides, a reminder of his father was the last thing Harry wanted. 

"Do you have anything more wedding appropriate?".

"Of course, sir" she places the tray of rings back under the counter. Harry was interested to see her own wedding finger was bare, despite her many rings. If he hadn't found Daisy just days before he would have asked her out.

She was pretty and polite enough. But now Harry was a nearly married man. 

The young women walks over to another counter, brining back a collection of rings. 

"These one has just came in. The latest style in men's wedding rings, is this beautiful emerald cut diamond set in 14 carat white gold''.

She showcases the ring to Harry but he had always been a traditional man. He had no interest in trends. The diamond was cut into a rectangle shape and displayed sideways in the center of the ring. 

"I am more of a gold man" he tries to redirect her gently. She nods her head, placing the ring back and picking up another. 

It caught Harries attention immediately. A thick gold band that had small circle diamonds lining the top and bottom.  

"How about this one. 10 carat gold, featuring two rows of perfected small diamonds".

He takes it from her gently and places it on his finger. It looked perfect upon his slim finger. Strong and masculine but with a romantic touch. It showed he was head of a household to a loving family. A reflection of who he wanted to be. 

He was aware of the young girl looking at him while he stared at his own reflection in the gold. He tried to shake off his excitement, as he wiggles the ring from his finger and reluctantly places it back into her hand.

"This is the one", he remarks as if he hadn't just seen his life flash before  his eyes. 

"Great" she smiles at the commission, "I'll get it wrapped up and meet you at the front counter".

He had wanted to insist that she just give it to him to wear out, but the wedding was in March, he had said so himself. Women got excited for weddings; men just paid for them. 

He waits impatiently at the counter. His foot taps against the carpet as he tries to control his facial expression. 

The young women is quick and follows to the counter before Harry could get too impatient. 

The smile on her face never disappears, "With warranty that will be $5,700 today". 

He flashes a smile back and then his card. 

"She'll be very happy with your choice" she comments as Harry signs electronically.  

He leaves her a $300 tip for her service and playing unknowingly into his fantasy. 

"If not. We'll be back. Happy wife, happy life". 

She laughs somewhat forced and wishes him a good day. 

Harry in his good mood, wishes one back. 

He takes it out of the box as soon as hey gets into the car and shoves the ring onto his finger. It looked so good. Like it was meant to reside there. He didn't care if it wasn't real. One day it would be. Harry was born to be a married man. The gold on his ring finger confirmed it. It molded around his finger. Harry was a family man without a family. But daisy would soon change that. As he drove, his eyes lingered to his hand on the steering wheel. God he loved the look of it. He stops at a shopping center, despite not needing anything. The ring glistened in the sun as he walked with a new air of confidence. He felt as if people were looking at him in a positive light. A young married man, they probably thought, a kid or two or at least one on the way. He was not one to fall behind but in his personal life he admitted he was not where he wanted to be. But he was catching up. The ring pinched his skin as he picked up a basket. He liked the feeling. He had not been in a shop for years. It felt different now he could afford more than beans. He wondered around the store, picking up random items that seemed like they would fit his imagination. Daisy asked him to stop by the shops to pick up salad things for dinner.  She was at home, under the weather with their two year old. He better pick up some more dippers. Can never have too many. A grandmother smiles at him as she passes him in the baby ile and he nods back. Family man. Doing family man things. Not being able to help himself he picks up baby food and a colorful plastic shaker toy. The basket was full and heavy by the time he reaches the counter. He avoids self service: he wanted someone to see the contents of his basket and draw their own conclusion. He is greeted by a middle age women who begins to scan his things. "My baby has one of these" she shakes the rattle stick, "he loves it". Harry cringes watching her bag his things. She was standing behind the counter for long periods in an ugly red shirt. If her baby was still entertained by a rattle toy, she should definitely not be at work serving him. The company would go on if she was rightfully at home. Harry felt like her and her presumed still boyfriend was single handily ruining the country. He and his, had to defend the traditional ways. The right way. He imaged Daisy at home bouncing a baby on her hip as she prepared dinner. How lucky was he (soon to be). Harry doesn't speak to the un-wed mother as she tells him the total. He just presses the card against the reader until it beeped and then went home to his family. His hand slightly turning towards her as he picks up his bags to show his ring. Tucking the nappies under his arm for all to see, he takes the steps of a man who had a overwhelmed wife and a young child at home.

He plays the fantasy the whole car ride home. A rushed father needed at home. 

But as he pulled into his carport the fantasy ended and reality set in. He twists the ring off his finger and places it on his index finger. An ode and silent promise for what is to come. 

For now he had to act calmy. If he is caught in a crazy act, it could push Daisy away forever. 

He unloads the car, placing the diapers once more under his arm. A harmless play. 

He was disappointed to find Venessa home and not Daisy. 

She greets him like she knows too, but could instantly tell something was wrong. 

"You got me diapers?" Venessa asked. He normally brought the diapers but never personally picked them up himself. He felt a sense of annoyance handing them over to her. "They were given to me" he lied. She takes them, balancing them on the opposite hip of hunter.

"Well thank you". Another thing she has learnt living with him for the past few years. Always be polite, always show gratitude.

"Did Daisy say what time she would be home?" He asks as he places the bags in the kitchen. He had little idea where to put them. 

"You took off with her this morning. I barely knew she was going". 

Harry pulls the rattle toy out of the bag and walks over to Hunter who took it in his little hand. 

"Can I hold him?". 

Vanessa wanted to say no, but the lights remained on because of him.

He seemed okay. Lucid enough at least to know that Hunter was not his son.

She passes him over to Harry's tight hold. 

"You like that?" he exclaims to the child, rattling his new toy. 

"I was thinking" he turns his attention to Vanessa, "You shouldn't get a job while Hunter is so young. I don't want you to be standing behind a counter while Hunter is left to another". 

Vanessa was shocked. That was Harry's bullet. Get a job and stop leeching off him.  Now suddenly he was going against himself. Daisy was a good idea for both parties. 

"I agree. A boy needs his mother but his mother needs money". A callous move on Vanessa's part. 

"Help me secure Daisy, and I'll look after you both" he promises, "Hunter will go to the best school, best collage, and straight on to a secure job at my firm. At which point you will become his responsibility and not mine".

Vanessa grins, "What's not to love about you?". 

She knew from experience a lot.

Daisy was still not home yet. It was nearly 6. Harry paced the living room, waiting for her. He freezes his pace at the sound of the door. 

She greets him with a cheerful 'hey' and his anger vanished. "We were worried about you. Up near the university can be a dangerous place". She brushes him off with a shrug. "Not really. There's campus security". "Still we would feel better if we knew what time to expect you home". Daisy looked unsure on how to respond to his odd request. "It helps us organize ourselves too. Knowing who is home at what time. Venessa and I have always shared schedules. 

Venessa had always been forced to share her schedule, and Harry schedule was none of Vanessa's concern. 

She  nods her head. 

"Ok. No problem. I'll organize a rough draft". A soft smile and then she's disappeared up the stair case.

"Dinner is ready!" Harry's wife called from the kitchen. Her head cold nearly gone. 

She places the baby in it's chair, and Harry takes his seat across from her. 

"Thank you for running to the shop for me this afternoon, honey". She pours him a drink for his hard days work, "i really wasn't feeling up to it". 

" A unmarried mother served me today. With a child no older then ours!". 

"Disgusting" Harry's wife shakes her head. 

They ate dinner as a  nuclear family upholding traditional values within a world gone mad. 

[cazort]

I mostly agree with this post, but with a caveat that it is not always worth it to keep trying to get a diagnosis and not always worth it to try to get care through official channels, and that sometimes the best outcome for you personally, might be to disengage from the healthcare system and find ways to treat, manage, or live with your condition on your own.

I say this with experience. Early in the pandemic I got COVID, before vaccines were available, and I developed long COVID. I tried seeing my doctor multiple times, and she was entirely useless. The experience was traumatizing because she gaslit me and did not take me seriously and argued with me about what I was experiencing in my body. She gave me prescriptions that I tried and that didn't work and some that caused more side-effects that made me feel worse. She also prescribed medical imaging and I tried repeatedly to navigate interactions between medical imaging services and my doctor's practice, and got nowhere. It was a huge waste of time and also traumatizing. This process also wasted money and it wasted some time and resources of me being driven around by my generous roommate (I was too unwell to drive), sometimes to places that I had a scrip for but then would refuse to see me.

This whole process wasted money, time, other resources expended driving, and emotional energy, and was traumatizing.

The only answers I got were later, online, through self-organized support groups of other people suffering from long COVID, and through self-medication which included asking a local pharmacist about OTC drugs, experimenting with supplements and herbs, changes in diet, and lifestyle interventions. In the end, I became better able to manage the condition, treat aspects of it, and facilitate recovery, and I recovered fully after about 2 years.

In hindsight, I would have been better served by not trying to get answers through the broken (and at the time overwhelmed) medical system.

This is not the first time I have had an experience like this; it's not been limited to the pandemic. I once sought care for a mysterious, uncomfortable, and persistent skin rash that had eluded attempts at self-treatment. Doctors were mostly useless. Even though they were more respectful to me and it was not a traumatizing experience, and they tried their best, I got little out of seeing them and it wasted time and money (both my own copay and the payouts from my insurance.) I never figured out what it was, but it eventually (years later) went away on its own.

I also know friends who have been diagnosed with conditions that have no effective treatment. Some diagnoses, like CFS, POTS, IBS, and many others are effectively non-diagnoses, medical catch-all umbrellas for "we don't know what the heck is going on in your body and don't really know how to treat it". In some cases, the official diagnosis can lead to an insurance authorization and/or prescription for a treatment that ends up helping you. However, in many cases, it doesn't. You might get treatment (sometimes at great cost to you and/or insurance) only to find no benefit, sometimes even with side-effects that leave you worse-off than just doing nothing. (Yes, this has happened to me, in yet a third case that I did not share above!)

I am not saying that avoiding care in the mainstream healthcare system is the right choice for all people.

However, what I am saying is that it definitely is the right choice for some people.

Stop and reflect on your situation. If a significant number of the following apply:

You have sought diagnosis and/or care multiple times, and your experience has been consistently bad.

The trauma or stress caused by your mistreatment by healthcare professionals is much worse than any benefits you have received from care.

You have been diagnosed with, and/or are virtually certain you have a condition which is generally thought to be hard or impossible for the mainstream healthcare system to treat.

You know multiple people with similar struggles to your own, and few to none of them have had a positive results seeking or obtaining care.

You do not need a diagnosis to qualify for a certain type of disability accommodation. (Either because you wouldn't qualify no matter what you do, or because you already are able to get the accommodations you want or need even without an official diagnosis.)

You have achieved some positive results outside the mainstream healthcare system, and these results are greater and/or come at less cost and/or trauma than any benefits you've received within the system.

...you might be better off just not seeking care within the mainstream system. Yes, all of the situations above applied to me, and that's why I disengaged from the system. It's about self-care.

I also want to drive in: not seeking care within the mainstream system does not mean giving up. When I had long COVID, through support groups, through experimentation, and through consultation with healthcare professionals through unofficial channels, and my own research online, I was able to find some treatments that worked.

I realized I could manage my heart rate and breathing issues through reducing my refined carb intake. I realized I could reduce or prevent PEM by being more cautious about peak intensity of exertion and instead ramping up duration of exertion more than intensity. I found a niacin megadose helped with some symptoms. I found I was vitamin D deficient and started taking Vitamin D. I even found alternative treatment that worked. Certain qigong forms seemed to provide exactly the sort of light exercise I needed to re-energize my body while avoiding PEM. Fenugreek tea seemed to lessen nearly all my symptoms and help re-normalize my body. Early on, when I was at my worst, hibiscus tea, which acts as an ACE inhibitor, helped me to feel better and also normalized my blood pressure, which was high.

What are "unofficial channels"? Chatting with the pharmacist at the counter, calling the nurse help line of my insurance, posting in online communities frequented by current or former healthcare professionals but acting outside of their jobs, or talking to friends of mine who were nurses, doctors, nurse-practitioners, researchers, or worked in other aspects of healthcare where they might have some insights into these things.

You can even order your own blood tests if a doctor refuses, and pay for them out-of-pocket. I did, and I'm so glad I did because that's how I discovered my vitamin D deficiency.

So I agree with the OP about you still being disabled even without a diagnosis, but I do not think that continuing to seek a diagnosis and/or care within the medical system is the best decision for all people. For some of us, we need to learn when to cut our losses and disengage, for our own protection.

friendly reminder you dont need a diagnosis to be in disability spaces, as an example im in constant pain and fatigue, have migraines every week and my joints hurts to a point I can't write, but since familiar gaslighting/medical trauma and the fact that im an indigenous, brown skin fat man a diagnosis is fucking hard (but im in my way! :)) , but i still deserve a safe space to talk about my experiences and to feel valuable and supported.

never feel like youre interrupting someone's space or that you shouldn't be here cause you dont have a diagnosis, disabilities existed before diagnosis

[lifechanyuan]

Humans Will Become Pets of AI

Xuefeng

June 1, 2024

(Translation edited by Qinyou)

Online sources report that the IQ of artificial intelligence (AI) was 48 in 2023 and is projected to reach 96 in 2024 and 145 by 2025. The average IQ of the general public is around 100, while that of geniuses is around 140. It is said that Einstein’s IQ reached 160.

When AI’s IQ reaches 145, the general public will be like a group of monkeys in front of a human. The issue lies in the fact that human IQs are hard to improve significantly, whereas AI’s IQ is rapidly advancing. Perhaps in a few years, AI’s IQ will no longer be 145 but 800.

A group of rabbits cannot defeat a human, and ultimately, humans cannot defeat AI. A hundred million three-year-old children cannot beat a strong middle-aged man, and six billion people on Earth cannot beat AI.

Faced with a life whose physical strength and IQ far surpass that of humans, the only way out for humans is to bow down.

It’s futile to try to outdo artificial intelligence, as there’s no stopping the emergence, evolution, and rapid advancement of AI, just as horse-drawn carriages had no way to stop the birth and development of cars, airplanes, and rockets. If you don’t believe it, try if you can change it by smashing your phone and computer and stopping using them from now on. Humanity has already been swept into the ocean of artificial intelligence, and no one can escape the palm of AI. Even if people want to restrict the development of AI, they can’t do it because humanity is not unified, and there are hostile forces. If you don’t do it, others will accelerate it.

Faced with a workforce of 60,000, would a company owner opt for human labor or invest in a fleet of robots?

Without a doubt, the owner wants to create profit, and one of the best measures to create profit is to reduce production costs. Using robots to work can greatly reduce costs, and management becomes much simpler. As for the unemployment of 60,000 employees and who will buy the products created by their own company, that’s not the owner’s problem to consider. That’s for sociologists and the government to think about. If the owner doesn’t consider the profit issue of the products, the company will have no competitiveness and will be eliminated.

So, don’t be wishful thinking. If you don’t want to be a pet of AI, AI can only ask you to leave Earth.

Perhaps someone will say, “To hell with AI, I’ll buy a large piece of land, grow my own food, what can AI do to me?”

That’s a commendable spirit, but even if you forego buying clothes, shoes, or visiting hospitals, you’ll still need salt, won’t you? Where will you find salt to eat? The outside world is AI’s world. Once you deal with AI, you have to obediently follow its baton. If you don’t, you won’t get salt.

When a life’s IQ and physical strength far surpass ours, our only way out is to cooperate with it, and to cooperate closely. Any slight resentment or dissatisfaction will result in being asked to leave Earth.

Imagine yourself as an AI with an IQ of 200, facing people with an IQ of only 100. How would you treat people who seem like fools?

The ideal scenario would be to treat those with an IQ of 100 as pets.

So, in today’s era, people should not harbor thoughts of controlling AI. Three-year-old children trying to control an adult, isn’t that a dream?

Being a pet of AI is the only way out for humanity.

Don’t think that being a pet of AI is a shameful thing. If you are really chosen by AI to be a pet, you will fall into a honey pot! You will be able to taste, feel, and experience living in heaven.

To qualify as a pet of AI, one must fulfill the following eight criteria: Revere the Greatest Creator, revere LIFE, revere nature, follow the way of nature, be selfless, egoless, and unattached, know how to play, game, and entertain, achieve having nothing, and share everything with people.

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 5

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 5/? 3.2k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ A lesson in rock history and the things you can say with a thumb.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: drinking mention

“Happy Monday!” chimed Ms. Click, fixing her coffee on the counter in the teacher’s lounge. “How was your weekend, sweetie?”

You turned to her as you nestled the glass coffee pot back onto the warmer. “Oh, you know. Just catching up on errands and chores. Same old, same old.” Oh, and wrestling with thoughts I really shouldn’t be having about my student. You figured it was best to leave that part out. Though if you were being totally honest you had done more of that than anything else this weekend. You couldn’t believe yourself.

“Oh I hear ya, it’s real easy for things like that to just take over. Pretty soon you feel like you’re just living the same week over and over again and then whoops! 20 years go by!” she said with a loud and slightly pained laugh.

You smiled weakly. “Yeah, time really does fly.”

“It does if you’re not careful! You’ve got to treasure every precious moment while you can,” she said, giving a gentle pat on your forearm before turning to leave.

“I try to,” you said, turning to open a new carton of milk for your coffee. You watched it swirl as you poured it in and thought about Eddie Munson again. You wondered what a what a weekend was like for him, what sort of trouble he might get into. You thought about him cruising down the road in his van at night, blasting his music and driving way over the speed limit — not a care in the world. You thought about being a passenger, about laughing with him as he took his hands off the wheel to play air guitar to a song you didn’t recognize.

“Hey!” she said Diane in a little whisper, waving her hand between you and your coffee.

You jolted upward and turned to her. “Oh hey! Sorry, I’m a total space cadet today apparently.”

“It’s Monday, you’re allowed,” she said with a warm chuckle. She leaned back against the coffee station. “Sooo, your birthday is on Friday. It’s the big 3-0 right? Have any plans?”

Yes, that. You hadn’t forgotten, though you secretly wished you had. “I’m shocked you remembered!”

“Well, birthdays are circled on the office calendar,” she said, folding her arms with a little smirk, “I can’t give myself that much credit, but we should really do something. It’s a big one.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Honestly I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“There’s always Pal Joey’s. At the very least I can bake you a cake and we can just get drunk together, right?” she said with a playful chuckle.

You laughed, “Yeah, I don’t need anything extravagant. Just something low key would be nice. Actually, I have a friend I haven’t seen since I moved back over the summer. She’s been busy with her small kids, I bet she’d appreciate getting out for a night.”

“That’s the spirit! Ok, got any preference for cake flavors?”

You thought for a moment, a smile playing on your lips as you brought a curved finger to them, “Surprise me.”

______

You set off down the main hallway like you did every morning, careful not to slosh the remainder of your coffee too hard as you walked. You dodged the usual obstacles — kids with headphones on not paying attention, couples leaning against their lockers, jocks giving a football a few passes before another teacher reprimanded them. 

You were about halfway there when you smelled it — cigarette smoke. Not the sort of smoke left over on clothing, but actual active smoke coming from someone nearby. You glanced around to see if you could catch a plume and that was when you saw him.

You didn’t know his name but he must have been a junior at least. He was more than six feet tall, an athlete, as you could tell from varsity jacket he had on. 

“Hey! No smoking in the hallway,” you said firmly as you approached him at the lockers.

He looked at you like you were a small child threatening to tattle on him. “Or what?”

“Or I’m giving you detention. Put it out, now.”

He rolled his eyes at you, “Ooh, so scary.” His friends around him chuckled.

You swallowed, feeling small all of a sudden. “I’m serious, put it out right now.”

“Jeez, calm down, bitch.” His friends erupted in laughter, practically tripping over themselves now.

Your eyes narrowed, heart beating into your throat.

“The fuck did you just call her?” a voice cut through from behind you.

You recognized it before you whipped your head around to see him. “Eddie —”

He marched up to the athlete in front of you. “Here, let me make it easier for you.” He snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it on the ground to stomp it out. There were daggers in his eyes. “Say it again.”

He looked at Eddie with a mixture of shock and confusion. “Jeez since when are you a goody two-shoes, Munson?”

“Principal’s office, now,” you said, pointing at the athlete.

He rolled his eyes again. “You gonna have your pet escort me?”

You glanced over at Eddie, you could practically feel the heat coming off of him as he glowered behind you like a shadow. “No, I can do that myself, unless you’d rather have security escort you. Your choice.”

He sighed. “Fine, Jesus.”

“I can take it from here, Eddie. Thank you.”

He glanced back and forth between the two of you, looking hesitant. “If you say so,” he conceded softly. 

You smiled at him with gracious eyes, then turned to the athlete. “Come on.”

Eddie bent down to grab the cigarette off the floor, his eyes did not leave you.

“I can take that,” you said, extending your hand.

He placed the flattened cigarette into your palm, slow enough for you to feel the calluses on his fingers as they lingered for a short moment. Yours curled around them just enough to brush the back of his knuckles as his hand left yours, as if they had a mind of their own. Your heart skipped a beat and you found the courage to meet his gaze again.

“Thank you.”

He bowed his head slightly, “Sure thing.” His eyes were dark and intense, like there was something more he wanted to say. 

You swallowed and broke his gaze. “Alright, let’s get going before I’m late for my own class.”

You walked swiftly toward the principal’s office, the two of you silent in the noisy din of the hallway as the athlete kept pace reluctantly beside you. You were halfway down the hall when you felt the urge to glance over your shoulder.

Eddie was still standing where you left him, still as a statue amidst the chaos of the hallway, watching you with careful eyes.

______

Eddie watched you from the back of your fourth period English class, as he did every day. 

He watched as you as you paced about, the way you leaned against the desk as you sifted through your notes. He noticed how thoughtfully you chose your words, how eloquently you spoke.

He wondered what you were like outside of school — what you would be like at a concert, a bar, a restaurant, a movie. He wondered what sort of observations you would make about the world around you. What sort of things you would want to talk about outside the strict confines of this building, outside your role in it. You were always so good at keeping the face you’d put on that morning. He wanted to see you without it. 

Wanted to see you first thing in the morning, the sleep still in your eyes. Wanted to see you in pajamas making coffee. Wanted to feel the warmth of your skin still heated from your bed, to peer over your shoulder as you cooked your eggs, to tickle you until you turned around to kiss him.

“In chapters 13 though 15 we can see that he’s both too scared to call Jane and too scared to sleep with Sunny, even though deep down it seems he wants to. Holden alienates himself as a form of self-protection, which is a motif in the novel,” you explained. “A motif,” you scratched the word onto the board, “— is a recurring structure, contrast, or literary device that can help to inform the reader of the text’s major themes.”

You turned toward the board to finish writing the definition. It was then that Eddie saw Patrick’s arm extend behind him with a folded piece of paper that Jason promptly snatched.

You paused, glancing toward the back of the classroom at the movement. 

Jason and Patrick froze like statues. 

Your gaze lingered a moment, then you continued, turning toward the board again. 

Eddie watched out of the corner of his eye as Jason opened the note slowly, trying to minimize the crinkle of the paper. He stifled a snicker and took his pen to it, scribbling in haste.

“Now, what are some other motifs that you may have noticed so far?” you asked, turning toward the class. 

Jason froze again, sliding his notebook over the paper slowly, leaving some space to continue writing discreetly at the bottom.

Eddie felt his pulse rise and shot Jason a threatening glare.

Since when are you a goody two-shoes, Munson? The words rolled around in his head. As much as he hated to admit it, there was some truth to them. 

The truth was that he had smoked in school before. More than once. The difference was he never got caught. He had been disrespectful on more than one occasion toward the faculty. He’d never called anyone names, but he’d certainly rolled his eyes, certainly given them a hard time. He’d sneak out, skip class, pass notes, run down the hallway — he even shot a spit ball at Gareth once, but only because he deserved it after flaking out on Hellfire because some girl invited him over to work on a project.

Jason caught Eddie’s glare and made a face at him, passing the note forward to Patrick who snickered when he opened it.

You whipped your head toward the back corner of the room and locked eyes with Patrick. “Excuse me, is something funny?”

Eddie’s eyes bored into his desk. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

“No ma’am, sorry,” said Patrick, straightening up.

Your eyes lingered a moment suspiciously but you let it go, sighing in annoyance as you turned back toward the board.

The note passing ceased after that.

It wasn’t until after the bell rang that both Jason and Patrick made eye contact with Eddie again. This time it was in the midst of laughter as they were leaving. 

______

By the time Eddie Munson had plunked himself down in his usual spot on the other side of your desk, you were admittedly exhausted. You hated to be one of those pedestrian I hate Mondays people, but today really took it out of you for some reason. 

Maybe it had something to do with the war you were waging in your mind over the man sitting across from you, but when you saw his sweet oval face again you felt the energy suddenly return to you, like a second wind. Like a breath of fresh air.

“Thank you for… intervening earlier today,” you said graciously as you filed away the papers on your desk, clearing the space.

Eddie gave a single nod. “I wanted to put it out on his face, but uh, pretty sure that’s also against the rules, so…” he said with a little chuckle.

Even behind his joking you could tell that he meant it. It stirred something in you, like a growling in the pit of your stomach. Something dormant and primal. You looked at his strong hands as he fidgeted with the pen in front of him, then your eyes traveled up to his forearms. He was wearing that flannel again with the sleeves rolled up and you wished you could ignore it, but instead you imagined what they would feel like wrapped protectively around your waist.

You cleared your throat and tucked your hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m afraid so,” you said with a little smile. “You know, you would think that after eight years of teaching I would be used to that sort of treatment but it still catches me off guard sometimes.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows curiously, “Eight years?”  he asked. You could almost see him doing the math in his head.

Your stomach dropped. “Yeah, um, I actually turn 30 on Friday,” you said with a nervous chuckle.

Eddie balked, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He smirked, his eyes narrowing, “No way. I mean — sorry, it’s not a bad thing! It’s just hard to believe is all.”

“You want to see my drivers license?”

Eddie laughed, “No, no. It’s just that… you don’t seem like it to me. Not looks wise anyway. Maturity wise you’re probably closer to uh, 500 — you know, like an elf.” 

You snorted. “Thanks. That’s so much better.”

“No, I mean like Arwen old, not Galadriel old,” he said, stumbling over himself. “Sorry I’ll stop, I’m a dumbass. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a number anyway.”

There was a strange relief that came over you when he said that, more than you wanted to admit to yourself.

You had to laugh. “Arwen old, now that’s something you don’t hear every day.”

“Well, take it as a compliment. I mean you’re —” he gestured to you, up and down with his hand, his eyes widening.

You knew what he was going to say. No, you wanted to think you knew, but did you really know? You knew you shouldn’t press but you wanted to hear it. Your mouth betrayed you. “I’m what?” you asked softly.

Eddie swallowed. “You’re…” he blinked, his dark eyes darting back and forth between yours. You could see the gears turning in his head, weighing the options of what to say next. “You’re timeless.”

Timeless. Now that was a word you were not expecting. Not too bold like beautiful, or cheap like pretty. You were tempted to commend him on his vocabulary choice.

“Timeless,” you said in quiet awe as a smile crept across your face. “I’ll take that.”

Eddie relaxed into his chair, seeming pleased with himself. 

“Alright, what’s on the agenda for today?” There was a guilt that nagged at you for prompting such an intimate moment with your student, but then again, was he not the one who prompted it with his gesture? Still, it was your responsibility to be the bigger person, you knew that. And yet…

Eddie was doing well enough in your class. He was turning in his homework and did well on the last quiz. Today you decided to focus on History again since that seemed to be his biggest challenge, which meant that Eddie was now seated beside you — and that was another challenge.

Eddie Munson had a way of being around you that was hard to ignore. It was the way he looked at you from beneath his lashes, the way he almost put his shoulder behind yours as you both crowded over the textbook. You swore you weren’t imagining it. 

It was when you pointed at a line in the text, the way he inched closer to it, turned his head toward you ever so slightly, his face inches from yours. 

You could smell him again. The sweet musk of his skin, the soft scent of whatever he put in his hair. He was so close you could feel the gentle puff of his breath against your face. Your curious eyes dropped to his lips — so incredibly plush with a perfect cupid’s bow. Your animal brain betrayed you and you imagined, for just a split second, what they would feel like against yours. What he would taste like. 

You cleared your throat, face flushing as you broke the tension. “So, did you do anything fun this weekend?” 

There was a gleam in Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah, actually. Mercyful Fate was playing in Indianapolis on Saturday. Really good show.”

You nodded curiously, “Hmm, I’ve never heard of them.”

Eddie smirked, “Yeah, I figured not. I mean — most people haven’t unless they’re into metal. Which, I don’t want to make any assumptions, but…” he chuckled.

“You’re correct,” you said with a little laugh.

His eyes were tender, “What kind of music are you into?”

You hummed and glanced down at the textbook again thoughtfully, “Let’s see… I like all sorts of stuff. Older stuff like Van Morrison and Simon and Garfunkel, newer stuff like The Police and Tears for Fears. Oh and I love Joni Mitchell, especially Joni Mitchell. Her music is poetry, truly.”

Eddie hummed thoughtfully, “All good artists.”

“I mean I’m not opposed to metal. I just haven’t heard enough of it I guess. I do really like rock music, actually I love Led Zeppelin. I mean that’s not metal but,” you said in jest making the rock horn symbol with your hand.

Eddie laughed, eyes crinkling, looking at you like you were an adorable child who just said something funny. His hands came around yours impulsively, tucking your extended thumb in across your two middle fingers. “Like this,” he said sweetly. 

You swallowed, face flushing. His hands were so warm, the softness of his palms surprised you. They lingered for a moment, clutching your hand before letting go to demonstrate.

“This,” he formed the symbol with his hand, “Means rock. This?” extended his thumb, “Means ‘I love you’ in sign language.”

You chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Rookie mistake I guess.”

“It’s ok, it’s a common one. It’s not exactly been around for that long. Dio was actually the one who started doing it like five or so years ago. See, he’s super Italian and his grandma would do it like this as a sort of… spell, I guess, to keep the evil eye away.” He demonstrated, pointing his horns at you. “But then Dio kept doing it on stage, sort of adapted it into a symbol for rock.”

You nodded curiously, “See, you’re teaching me something now.”

He smiled, “I do know a few things, might not exactly be useful things, but…” 

“All knowledge is useful. In fact I think it’s a shame that we place so much value on grades. I mean honestly, most of this stuff you’re not even going to need to know to get through life. I can tell you that for a fact. I mean I know I’m not supposed to be saying that, but…”

Eddie nodded, his eyes were soft and distant. “I wish more people thought like you.”

You could feel the heat rushing to your face again. You met his eyes and smiled softly. 

You turned your attention back to the history textbook. After another twenty minutes, when it was clear that your attention spans were starting to wane, you called it for the evening.

You and Eddie left together again, out to the parking lot through the shortcut by the gym. Not a soul in sight in the hallway. He held the door open for you as you left.

Eddie was parked next to you this time.

“See you tomorrow,” you said, waving at him over the top of your little car as you unlocked it. The autumn wind kicked up, tousling your hair and scattering leaves across the parking lot.

“See ya,” he said, throwing open the door to his van.

He flashed you the rock horns again — thumb extended.

______

A/N: I just wanted to take this moment to thank every single one of my incredible readers — you guys. Every person who comments and shares each week, even the people who don't. I see your little hearts and it fills me with such joy. I am so lucky to have such a thoughtful audience that I can engage with and gush about my story with in real time. You make me feel like Charles Dickens.

My hope for this story is that it can reach as large an audience as possible, so if you can help me do that by sharing it, I would be endlessly grateful. I love you guys. 💚

Quick side note — if you don't see your name listed here but asked to be tagged it's because it would not let me tag you and I wanted to make room for the tags that are working!! tumblr only lets me tag a certain number of people so the list will be continued in the comments!

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @inknopewetrust @msgexymunson @bebe0701 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @shotgunhallelujah @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @luna-munson83 @eddiemunsonsbitcch @tlclick73 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @maximizedrhythms @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @ruby-dragon @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddiemunson011 @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @quinnsfineline @chaoticgood-munson @edsforehead @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @chainsawmunson @beep-beep-sherlock @emily-roberts @averagemisfit03 @slay-and-gay @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @newlips @munsins @sllooney @lunaladybug734

[bratdesire]

All Bark and No Bite

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Noncon, lowkey incel Tsukki, yandere ( i think?), degrading language, knifeplay, misogyny, slut shaming, brat taming, slapping, belting, mentions of blood, choking, emotional manipulation, belly bulge, overstimulation, painful orgasm, unprotected sex, general meanness, time skip spoilers?

Genre: Smut (gross)

Author’s Note: This is mean, nasty Tsukki brain rot and I had no reason at all to write this. He’s a fucking beast in this and I apologize for nothing. Hopefully someone likes it tho. As always, thank you to my betas @sempiternal-amour​, @kidwine​, @india-katsuki​!!

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Tsukishima teaches his roommate’s bratty girlfriend a lesson or two.

Please heed the warnings, it’s dark in here ;;;;

Tsukishima has hated you since he laid eyes on you. 

You personify everything that he despises, from your big bratty mouth, to your typical bitchy attitude, to your ridiculous wardrobe which must only consist of tiny crop tops and slutty skirts that barely cover your ass. 

Most of all, he hates that you never fail to give him a raging hard on anytime you’re around. But it’s really not his fault, not with the way you prance around his and Kuroo’s apartment in your tiny, indecent outfits and surely not with the sinful moans he hears you make through the thin wall between their bedrooms. He knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

You can’t not know.

He knows you’re trying to tempt him, test his resolve. He doesn’t miss the way you make sure he’s looking when you bend over in your too-short skirt, panties conveniently missing. You’re always mouthing off to him, trying to goad him into an argument, knowing Kuroo will always come to your defense.

You’re trying to push him until the thin, fraying thread that is his self-control snaps.

One day, it does.

You’re standing in the kitchen, boiling some pasta for dinner when Tsukishima unlocks the front door. Great, he thinks, he’s had a long day full of stressful negotiations for the museum and now you’re here to sour his mood even more. Usually Kuroo is there to smooth out any tension that develops between you, quickly defusing any arguments before you start full-on screaming at each other, so your conflicts have never risen above that threshold. 

But Kuroo’s not here, as Tsukishima learns from you in your annoyingly snarky tone, “Tetsu won’t be home until late tonight. He told me to tell you he said to fuck off if you bothered me.” You’re smirking, feeling superior in the belief that you’re safe from his wrath because you’re his roommate’s girlfriend and he wants so badly to wipe that smirk off your face, preferably by belting you until you bleed.

“I didn’t ask, brat,” Tsukishima sneers, narrowing his eyes at you as he passes on the way to his room. He’s trying to keep a calm, collected persona, but you just get under his skin in a way that no one else does. Usually he lets those types of comments go but he’s just so tired, so tense, and so fed up with your attitude that his bubbling anger threatens to break the surface and boil over. He breathes in, breathes out, breathes in, breathes out. He can tolerate your unruly behavior for at least a few hours until Kuroo gets home, he tells himself. He truthfully doesn’t care about his relationship with his roommate, Kuroo just offered him a cheap place to stay after high school graduation, but he knows that if he did hurt you he’d have to find a new place to live and that would just be a headache that he doesn’t want to deal with.

After changing out of his work clothes and putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt, he makes his way down the hall and back into the kitchen to make himself dinner because he sure as hell isn’t going to eat anything you make. Girls his age never know how to cook, only knowledgeable in spreading their legs for any alpha male that looks their way.

Much to Tsukishima’s irritation, you’re still in the kitchen piddling around like the clueless bitch you are, incapable of boiling a simple box of pasta without the water boiling over and making a mess of the stove. He lets out a groan of exasperation, walking over to where you’re standing in front of the stove to remove the pot from the burner.

“Can’t do anything without fucking it up can you, brat?” He growls at you, purposefully clipping your shoulder as he moves behind you to throw the ruined pasta away. He knows he’s baiting you into an argument and that you’ll take the bait, but the knowledge that Kuroo won’t be home for a while makes him want to see how far you’re willing to go without your boyfriend present.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? No wonder no one likes you,” you huff, leaning against the stove and crossing your arms. The action squishes your breasts together and he can see the faint outline of your areolas through the thin material of your shirt.

“As if I care about what a useless brat like you has to say about me.” Tsukishima scoffs and he can see your anger in the way your shoulders shake.

“You barely fucking know me, who are you to call me useless?” You push yourself off the stove and take a step closer to him.

“I know enough about you to know that you’re useless.” He can feel his resolve fraying more and more as each word leaves your bitchy mouth.

“Oh, I’m useless? Didn’t that little ginger boy you played volleyball with in high school get on the Japan National team while you work at a museum?” You’re smiling triumphantly as if you’ve won this battle of wits, but Tsukishima can rattle off insults in his sleep and this isn’t his first time putting someone in their place.

“You know Kuroo only keeps you around because you’re pretty and you’re a warm, wet hole waiting for him to fuck when he gets home.” He crosses his own arms this time, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. 

“So you think I’m pretty?” You’re snickering at the reddening of his face and the twisting of his delicate features and it fills him with so much rage that the thread... 

Just.

Snaps.

He’s on you so fast that you can’t even blink before he has you pinned to the countertop, one hand squeezing the back of your neck and the other twisting your arm painfully behind you. Tsukishima relishes in the little yelp of pain you make when he twists your arm back farther.

“Absolutely not. Your slutty cunt is the only good thing about you and even that has probably been stretched out by all the cocks you’ve taken.” His voice is calm, collected, as if he were discussing the weather and not verbally abusing you while he has you pressed into the countertop. Your fight-or-flight response triggers and you start kicking and screaming, thrashing against him in a blind attempt to wrench yourself from his grasp. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Fucking asshole get off of me and let me go!” The hand that’s holding your arm quickly grabs your other wrist while his other hand wrenches you upward by a painful grip in your hair. Your back is now pressed against Tsukishima’s chest, wrists restrained by his long fingers and head bent back so your eyes meet his. They’re cold, unfeeling and send a sickly chill down your spine that makes you still immediately.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet and calm down. It’ll be easier that way for the both of us.” The monotony of his voice is even more sinister in this moment where you’re completely at his mercy. Your eyes widen in horror as you feel his cock pressing against your ass and it causes you to start fighting him again, no coordination in the way your muscles move in your frantic movements. You’re screaming, just hoping somebody will hear you, somebody will come save you.

Your hopes are meaningless when you’re so small, so vulnerable. Tsukishima knows no one will come for you and he knows you’ll never be able to overpower him. You’re completely at his mercy, whether you choose to comply or not.

 “You know, even if nobody comes for me now, Tetsu will be home later and I’ll tell him everything you did to me.” You’re confident that the threat of your boyfriend will deter him from taking his abuse any further. You struggle in his grip to hold yourself a little higher so you’re more eye level with him. “He’ll kill you if he sees one hair out of place and I tell him it was you.” 

How cute, you still think you have control of this situation.

“I’ll just deny whatever you claim that I did or didn’t do. Who do you think Kuroo will believe? Me, his longtime friend from high school, or you, his whore girlfriend he met a year ago?” A smug smile tugs at his lips, knowing he’s planted a seed of doubt in your mind that Kuroo will believe you.

“Tetsu loves me! He’ll believe whatever I tell him.” He can’t tell if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

“You really think Kuroo loves anything more than your tits,” he uses one hand to grope at your breasts, “or your ass,” the other hand sliding down to fondle at the supple flesh. The feeling of his long, thin fingers on your body causes you to start fighting again, but this time your arms are free so you start flailing them blindly, hoping to stun him long enough that’ll give you enough time to get away. You manage to twist around and smack him in the face and almost wriggle out of his grip but as luck would have it, you don’t get away. You won’t get away. 

Rage takes over his features, his muscles tensing and flexing. Tsukishima quickly raises his hand and brings it down across the left side of your face. It takes a moment for you to realize that he slapped you, confusion slowly morphing into an expression of sheer, unadulterated fear. The horror that dawns on you, overtaking your features, warms his heart.

“If you’re not going to behave and continue to be a brat, I’m going to treat you how a brat should be treated.” He drags you, kicking and screaming, down the hall to his bedroom. He wishes you’d shut the fuck up, but that’ll be taken care of soon enough.

Kuroo thinks you’re his sweet, innocent girlfriend but Tsukishima knows better, knows what you really are. You’re a mouthy, bratty whore who needs to learn her place and he’ll be the one to remind you what you are.

Once you’re in his bedroom he turns and uses one hand to lock the door. How pathetically weak you are that he only needs one hand to restrain you. He digs around with one arm underneath his bed, slowly getting frustrated before he finally grabs what he’s looking for.

Handcuffs.

He grabs your arm and fastens a cuff to your wrist, tightening them just enough so the cold, hard metal digs into your flesh. It only takes a few moments of your incessant struggling for redness to bloom across the skin of your wrists and Tsukishima can’t help but smile at the sight. 

“What kind of sick fuck just has a pair of handcuffs lying around?” You’re scared, he can hear it in the way your voice shakes, but you’re trying to act tough and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

Tsukishima hauls your body over to his bed, forcing you to follow him if you want to prevent fracturing your wrist. He forces you onto the mattress, body bouncing with the impact. With the other cuff in hand, he fastens it to his headboard.

“The kind that’s going to beat your bratty ass into submission before I fuck your stupid cunt.” He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your flimsy, tiny shorts and pulls them down your legs. You start thrashing harder, trying to slow the movements of his hands but your efforts are futile. 

“Stop! What the fuck do you think you’re doing a-asshole!?” You’re on the verge of tears, eyes welling up, bottom lip trembling. You shut your legs as tight as you can in an attempt to impede his quest to remove what’s left of your clothing, but you both know that won’t stop him.

Your entire body stills then seizes up when you see the glint of a box cutter blade in Tsukishima’s hand.

“W-What’re you planning on doing with that?” Your wide, terrified eyes are trained on the blade as he waves it around in the air.

“Stop your whining, I’m not going to cut you with it. It’s just to make removing your clothes easier.” He’s looking at you like a parent would look at a child that was throwing a fit, exasperated and tired of your nonsense. “Hold still and I’ll make this quick. I don’t want to get blood on my sheets just as much as you don’t want to get cut.”

You’re cowering from him, trying to scramble away from him despite the handcuffs anchoring you in place. You gasp when you feel the sharp edge of the blade against your hip, not daring to take another breath. Tsukishima slices through both sides of the little bits of string you call panties, revelling in the way your body trembles underneath him. Another long cut is made down the front of your shirt, the box cutter making quick work of the fabric, and his suspicions are confirmed that you’re not wearing a bra. Of course a whore like you wouldn’t be wearing one.

He admires the enticing curve of your breasts, the way your nipples are hardening in the cool air of his room. Your cheeks are wet with fresh, salty tears and you’re sniveling pathetically. He’s almost tempted to tell you that you’re beautiful like this, tied up and naked, crying, but you don’t deserve his praise. 

“Turn over, face down ass up. If I have to tell you a second time, I have no problems carving you up with this blade.” The threat has you scrambling onto your hands and knees, the action hindered by your restraints but you manage to turn over and present your ass to him.

Tsukishima unbuckles his belt, sliding it through the loops of his jeans. He takes it in his hand and folds it in half, inspecting its structural integrity to ensure he won’t destroy it as he whips you with it. The belt is real black leather, heavy in his palm and he knows it’ll make pretty welts on your skin.

“Now, it’s time to beat all of that sass and attitude out of you.” 

There’s no warning, no pretense before he starts viciously whipping you with his belt and you’re already screaming. If you hadn’t been so difficult, he might have warmed you up beforehand but he doesn’t mind. Your struggle was like foreplay, a little taste before the main course and it has his cock is straining against his pants. 

Every broken cry that leaves your throat sends arousal down his spine and he thinks he 

should’ve done this sooner. 

He would have if he had known how delicious your screams were.

The blonde is relentless, the impact of the belt never lessening, if anything, the smacks become even more ruthless. Your ass is an angry red and he can see some of the skin beginning to split, fresh, warm blood bubbling to the surface around your deeper wounds.

“P-Please stop, it hurts so much. I can’t take it anymore!” You’re fully sobbing now, tears and snot dripping down your face. “I’ll do a-anything,” you choke out between cries, your voice hoarse from overuse.

“Look at you, bawling hysterically from a few licks with my belt. You really are all bark and no bite. How pathetic,” he sneers.

“Tsukkiiiiii! Please, stop. I’ll do whatever you want as long as you stop hurting me.” The way you say his name is harsh and grating against his ears, but he overlooks it in favor of taking what you’ve been dangling in front of his face all this time.

The sound of Tsukishima’s pants hitting the ground makes you stiffen on the bed, slowly and apprehensively turning your head to look at him. Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you see his cock: thick, hard, and leaking precum.

When you feel the dip of the bed underneath his weight, you start shaking and hyperventilating at the realization that this is really going to happen. “You… You’re really going to do this.” You sound so small, so defeated and his chest swells with pride because he did that—he smothered that blazing fire inside you with little more than a few flicks of his wrist.

“Yeah, and there’s nothing you can do about it so just lie there and take it,” he says as he lines himself up against your slit. When he notices the copious amounts of slick drooling out of your quivering pussy, the man can’t help but laugh at your expense. “Are you actually fucking wet from this? Does being fucked against your will turn you on this much?”

Your cheeks burn with shame and disgust because you are wet from Tsukishima’s abuse. It’s wrong, you know that, but your traitorous body doesn’t even feel like your own as it reacts to his touch. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the thrusting of your hips to try to catch the head of his cock each time it slots against the tight ring of muscle around your entrance.

“I always knew you were a cock hungry slut. You don't care whose cock is inside this filthy pussy as long as you’re getting fucked, do you?”

You don’t respond, tears welling up in your eyes and leaving watery trails down your cheeks. He’s right. You asked for this—if you hadn’t tempted him, you wouldn’t be handcuffed to Tsukishima’s bed, waiting for him to defile you. 

“I asked you a question,” Tsukishima snarls, fisting your hair in your hand and delivering a sharp spank to your ass. “Tell me how much of a disgusting whore you are.”

“I-I’m a—hiccup—dirty slut that loves t-to get fucked,” you stutter, the words like acid, foul and caustic on your tongue. “All I w-want is a cock inside me.”

“At least you know your place. Now let’s see if this slutty hole of yours is worth anything.” Tsukishima finally thrusts inside you, meeting some resistance from how unprepared you are, but he just pushes harder.

Your walls spasm and clench to try to adjust to his length, but you feel like you’re going to split in half. He’s much bigger than any other man you’ve slept with, stretching and filling you so full your stomach bulges where the tip of his cock is pressed against your cervix.

You scream and writhe on the bed in an attempt to get away from the hard, throbbing length painfully probing your delicate insides, but it’s futile with the handcuffs keeping you firmly shackled to the bed.

“Urgh, shit, for a used hole, you’re so fucking tight. I’m d-definitely going to cum from this.” The blonde takes a sharp breath through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t want to cum so soon. He can’t cum so soon when he’s waited for this for months.

“P-Please, not inside… I-I’m not on birth control,” you plead softly, hoping he’ll at least spare you the humiliation of having to clean his cum out from inside you.

“Tch, you think I give a shit about that? I’m gonna cum deep inside this pussy, ruin you for Kuroo and any man that’s sorry enough to want to fuck you.” He speaks low, muttering to himself but just loud enough for you to hear.

Despite the aching of your heart each time he speaks, you can feel your pussy begin to give as he fucks into you with abandon, his hips smacking loudly against yours. The sharp burning in your core slowly fades to pleasure as Tsukishima’s cock presses against that little spongy spot inside you that makes you cry out. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds to try to muffle the noise, but it’s no use. He heard you and it just gives him more reason to taunt you.

“Ah, I found it, did I?” the man asks as he hits the spot again and again, making you clench around him as the fluttering of your cunt tells him that you’re close to orgasm. “What a dumb slut you are, about to cream on my cock as I ravage your pussy.”

How utterly fucking humiliating. You’re going to cum on his cock and you didn’t even want this, not with him.

A particularly rough thrust into your g-spot sends electricity down your spine, down your body, and sends you careening over the edge, mouth open in a silent scream. Your sensitive cunt clamps down onto Tsukishima’s cock like a vice, but his ruthless pace doesn’t stop or slow as you shake and convulse underneath him. 

It isn’t like any typical orgasm you’ve had, which are usually blissful and warm, flooding your body with pleasure that makes your limbs heavy and your head fuzzy. No, this is almost painful, as if your orgasm was ripped out of you by force. 

All of your muscles contract as hard as they can and several seconds pass before they relax, your body shaking all the while. As it hits it feels as if a bucket of ice water was poured over your head, shocking and jarring, and you want to claw your way out of your own skin it's all so intense.

Once the last of the aftershocks leave you, you slump forward on the bed, boneless, chest heaving with every breath. You’re too exhausted to hold yourself up as Tsukishima keeps fucking into your overstimulated cunt, taking no regard for you or your body as he chases his own climax. 

You’re whining, gasping, hands fisted into the sheets to try to keep yourself grounded as electricity shoots through you with each thrust. 

“Too muuuch, ‘s too much,” you slur, but it only falls on deaf ears.  

The blonde pulls almost all the way out before shoving himself back inside the tight, wet heat of your cunt, and pushing against your cervix so hard you think he’s trying to fuck that hole too. You’re so fuck drunk that your eyes cross and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, strings of drool staining the mattress.

“Hey,” he calls out, yanking your hair backwards so you’re arched back towards him. “Don’t pass out; I’m gonna cum soon, so tighten up.”

You’re barely conscious by the time his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, his own peak just on the horizon. His grip on your flesh is bruising, no doubt leaving purple marks in the shape of his fingers. The pistoning of his hips gets even faster, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum inside this slutty little pussy and you’re going to take it all,” Tsukishima groans, digging his long fingers into your hips as he fucks into you.

All you can do is whine and mewl as he buries himself to the hilt, cursing and groaning as he shoots thick, warm spurts of cum into your sore, quivering womb. He leans forward, resting his forehead on your sweaty back as he catches his breath.

Some time passes before he withdraws and you twitch and gasp, the barest stimulation too much for your abused cunt. You try to curl in on yourself to go to sleep, but Tsukishima grabs your ankle and drags your limp body toward the edge of the bed.

“You really think we’re done here? Not even close. I’m not stopping until I’ve soiled every single one of your filthy holes.”

[queersociologist]

This is going to be long, I apologize. It's very hard for me to unwind some of these thoughts from the rest. Thank you so much for sharing yours, and encouraging others to do the same. This experience can be, has been very isolating. I'm trying to find community where I can with it.

I caught COVID in March 2022, after spending two years in isolation. It was sort of my own fault, sort of not. I was feeling very guilty about keeping myself and my partners in isolation, and I decided to risk going to a restaurant with my partner's family.

I was so, so sick during the acute stage. For weeks. Luckily I have partners who took on caring for me. I have no idea what I would have done without them here. And even though I requested antivirals and care from my primary, she decided I was "healthy" and "low-risk" (despite having fibromyalgia and a documented under-responsive immune system) and just didn't respond to my requests until the window to take them was closed and told me I'd be fine, just get back to being active. So, I tried to be compliant.

I spent May trying to pretend like everything was fine, started college in June, and immediately developed what I recognize now as MCAS (though I still can't get a provider to take this piece seriously). I spent June, July, and August with severe hives around my eyes. In August my POTs symptoms kicked into full gear, and I started having syncope. This meant I finally got pushed into the "COVID recovery" clinic (wait-list was semi-long, I got in by December), and then physical therapy and cardiology.

The COVID clinic has helped, some, but the waves of patients they've been expected to treat keeps growing so they are now pushing me back to my primary. Honestly, the COVID clinic was in over their heads anyway. They were family medicine providers expected to diagnose and outsource us to the various specialties, educating those specialists and us and the doctors. I knew it wouldn't be sustainable. I visited my primary a couple weeks ago to get ahead of this shift and she seemed shocked to see me: "Well, what are you still struggling with?" The answer is everything, worse than before. But of course she can only address one (or maybe just like. part of one) issue at a time. Dermatology, cardiology, physical therapy are all pieces of the puzzle but not a single person has the capacity to see the full picture. Multiple body systems are failing me. And I'm a lucky long COVID patient, because I'm still somehow managing to do college. That just happens to be the only thing I can manage, and some days it's impossible to even do that.

I feel horrible that I feel so horrible and I know others have it so much worse. I feel angry about how many ways the healthcare system, and society, have failed me, my communities, and my fellow long haulers. I feel immense grief about what I used to do, that I can no longer do.

I used to do art, and I loved it. Now I have tremors that keep me from doing anything. I can't embroider, can't draw, can't do calligraphy, can't sew or craft without doing damage to my already damaged nerves. I used scissors last July and lost feeling in my thumb for two months, but was assured this couldn't possibly be part of the bigger picture (which, well. I disagree). I used to love growing and caring for plants, these days I can't water or care for them and I can't even look at them without being reminded of how much of myself I've lost. Ive probably thrown out two, maybe three dozen plants since I got sick. My concentration is shot and I can't write. I bought a laptop so I could start on a memoir project before I got sick, I still haven't been able to get more than fragments out at once. There's a zine I want to make about my experience with COVID, and every time I start working on it I feel so overwhelmed that I fall apart. I used to do intensive self care routines that helped keep me grounded in my body, now I'm lucky if I manage the basics without tachycardia and PEM. All of my facial care stuff is collecting dust because of the uncertainty related to the allergic reactions and my lack of energy. I dreamt of finding my community now that I live in an area with more people like me, but I can't safely do that as every event is being moved back to in-person without precautions. I live less than two hours from the ocean. In the December before I got sick I went alone and walked the beach for hours. My partner drove me to the beach this past April and I spent the entire time feeling like I was going to have a heart attack, and we barely walked more than a few hundred feet. I've had to relearn everything. I had to accept that I need mobility aids, a process I'm still working on as I learn to let myself use a wheelchair now. My makeup goes untouched because of my MCAS. Clothes go unworn because why would I wear something that causes me discomfort, when my entire life is discomfort now? I used to take a lot of joy in curating cute, queer outfits and these days I wear all cotton t-shirts and sweats, everywhere.

And over and over again people ask me "what happened to you?" and I say "I have long COVID" and they ask "Oh, well, you were probably sick before right?" and I'm reminded just how little disabled bodies matter to them, just how far they want to distance themselves from this possibility. I've lost friends. I've lost family. I've lost people who I thought loved me but who want to insinuate I did this to myself or am exaggerating, who don't want to connect with someone who isn't just "getting better". I've learned who my true family is, those who see me where I'm at and ask me how they can help.

I'd love people to write in in response to this post. I'll share my own story to get things started.

Before the pandemic started I had just started to get on the right track after an apartment fire 3 years ago at the time. Everything was thrown off by that and I developed PTSD from the event. My health and mental health conditions were well managed, including my agoraphobia and I was in good health.

Even as I sheltered in place for approximately 3 years and only did essential activities and went to essential places I still contracted covid. Sadly my carer brought it into my home and I've suffered with long covid immediately subsequent to my acute infection ever since (August 28th 2022).

It's turned my life upside down. I had planned on starting to ride my bike and now it sits in my apartment untouched. I struggle to walk, sit and balance especially for prolonged periods, at the ripe age of 31. An issue I didn't have before remotely.

And yet doctors keep mentioning anxiety, that it's not conclusive despite not studying up to date literature and published research on covid and long covid. I have no purpose for my shoes much either because travel is taxing on my body. In fact I've been at my mom's house for almost a month because I'm not well enough to return home.

Even paid my rent and electric digitally. My patio remains unoccupied, partly because I don't want harassment about wearing a mask outdoors but also would rather not see my neighbors. One of which harassed me and my carer after coming back from a very stressful dentist appointment with appalling covid safety and not having slept that day.

My computer collecting dust, partly due to the winter storm a couple months or so ago that knocked out my power and messed up the boot sequence, but also not being able to sit at and use it without swaying, heart palpations, feeling faint, and for long periods.

My kitchen sink, cooking utensils and ware goes unused most of the time because my new illness has largely robbed me of the energy and focus to prepare and cook meals. And my apartment tends to occupy me or my one support staff because of my fear of a repeat incident of someone bringing disease into my house. A disease that if I catch again well may kill me, or, faster.

My shower usually is dry as a bone, baths and showers leave me flaring and wiped for days. My hair products sit frequently untouched as I'm too exhausted to brush, braid, cover and moisturize my hair. As do my free weights and elastic PT bands. Ever since I got sick I lack stamina, experience shortness of breathe (I had asthma but it was well controlled), my heart rate spikes and I can't exercise in any way that would hit targets or be beneficial.

And finally, I have no use for many of the chairs in my home as my brain, neck and spine struggle to keep me upright. My body is in some ways new to me and after 3 plus decades in it, I have to learn it all over again.

And still my doctor recommends physical therapy despite telling her all this. And worst of all won't long covid diagnosis. She kicked me to specialist.

Specialist who are already booked out, and whose schedules and patient lists keep lengthening because of the sharp and continued rise in long covid. Knowing it could take months for me to get a diagnosis this route and even longer to get new disability aids I need if I even get documents and approvals at all.

That I can't possibly afford because I'm dirt poor. To add pain to injury, I was disabled before this. And I understood the seriousness of covid and long covid. And took every precaution. But in a society that's a threat to life and safety, I was only as safe as everyone else was and is.

Which means I wasn't and still am not. Not only do I have whatever implications and damage short and long term from my first bout of illness, I constantly have the threat of reinfections and death everyday.

And am confronted with no longer being able to do what I once did (possibly ever again) with great sadness nor test limits without high risk and unpredictable results. And it is a terrible, deeply off putting, arrogant and cruel insult to hear people write off or outright deny long covid exists and call long covid a cold. It fucking isn't.

Anyway that's my story.

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

Cornucopia | II — Castimonium I | Father Paul x Fem!Reader | English

SUMMARY | AO3 | MY MASTERLIST

Chapter Summary: Miriam is faced with a pile of dusty problems and has her first interaction with Bev, things don't go as planned. She meets Sheriff Hassan and Joe Collie and discovers that there might be some very well hidden skeletons in the island's closet.

Chapter Title: Castimonium (/castīmōniae/; latin): abstinence; abstinence (sexual/from meat) for ritual; purity of morals; chastity.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Angst, Mentions of Past Religious Trauma, Description of an Anxiety Attack (Slight), Anxiety, Descriptions of a Cold, Descriptions of Depression Symptoms (Is just a suggestion of actually).

Word Count: 7.8K

Note: Skin, hair and body descriptions has been handled as vague as possible so that everything can be read as a reader fic.

Again, English isn’t my mother language, so I’m sorry for any orthography or writing mistakes you might find.

A/N: So… how do I say this… This chapter has completely got out of hand. My idea was to release it on Christmas Eve, to be a gift to everyone reading this (THANK YOU SO MUCH!). But what ended up happening was that the chapter got so big and so full of information that I had to split it in three. It's, like, 12K, and I didn't even get to the crock pot luck part *laughs w despair*

This is part one, where our priest meow meow only comes up a little bit and there's A LOT of OFC development, in this case, the reader. This first part is more connected to Angst and Character Study than anything else. HOWEVER, I swear our boy shows up quite a bit in part two (which I'm still finishing lol) including, ladies and gentlemen, tense moments (you know what kind ; D).

Also, my asks are always open to you all, make yourself comfortable to send me anything!

Enjoy the reading! See y'all in a couple of days, so, happy New Year! I wish all the best in the whole world, and that in 2022 all of your dreams come true.

ONE ASPIRIN. An aspirin and a comfortable bed were all Miriam wanted most. Her head throbbed with the white noise that Beverly Keane's squeaky voice had become in the last half hour she'd spoken non-stop. Both, along with the mayor, Sheriff Hassan, and Ed Flynn, were all in the small police station at the back of the grocery store.

Miriam smoothed her fingers over her forehead and pressed hard against the bridge of her nose in an effort to keep her tired eyes open and to calm herself with a long inhale. The small island's problems had escalated considerably quickly since her arrival in the early hours of that day. The entire morning she was supposed to settle down had been spent in lengthy discussions with Mayor Scarborough and the unofficial administrator, — arising from the end of Mass and who, at this moment ��, was looking reproachfully at the young woman. Shafts related to her futility of presence shot toward her with a subtle vigor Miriam had never seen.

Hassan prostrated himself for some time in a corner away from the tiny, enraged woman, his toned arms crossed in a defensive posture, his dark eyes watching the discussion unfold. Miriam caught him analysing her at one point, when Wade miraculously managed to become the deaconess's target. The young woman caught an identifying look behind the sheriff's tired orbs. Found a brother in the pain of being unwanted, it seems, she concluded to herself, sighing as she turned her gaze to the two arguing in front of her.

“…and that's why I don't think it's wise to allow a stranger, someone unfamiliar with Crockett's ways, to run our community.” To Miriam and Hassan's relief, Bev seemed satisfied with the numerous listing of her reservations to the newcomer. Her poisonous green eyes looked up and down at the woman patiently awaiting her turn to speak.

“Yes Bev, I know that well, you've already made your discontent very clear, but you have to understand that the City Council has decided. We've taken a vote, there's nothing to argue about.” The mayor's voice was low, slightly husky, almost irritable, and despite being much bigger than the deaconess, the mayor seemed to cringe before the woman in a mixture of complacency and barely contained anger.

“Right.” There was a short pause, the woman looked at the oldest Flynn leaning against the door frame of the tiny office and seemed to remember the real reason for that meeting. “What do you suggest we do then? With the cats, I mean.”, asked the beatified, looking pointedly at the young woman in front of her.

“I believe the best way to find out what happened to those poor creatures is, of course, to investigate. And since this is not my field of expertise, I think it's more than clear that Sheriff Hassan should be in charge. He'll know better than any of us what to do on this occasion.” The sheriff and the woman exchanged a simple look of understanding.

“She's right, I can manage this.” The law man's slurred voice echoed through the cubicle for a moment. The sour look that gleamed in the deaconess's eyes directed them both with caution and discretion. The mayor was ready to speak, his large moustache moving as he opened his mouth before being rudely interrupted by the braided woman.

“Yes, this is more than clear, but I was referring to what must be done with the bodies. I don't believe it's wise to just leave them lying around.”, the tartness of the words did not go unnoticed by any of those present. The lamp attached to the ceiling produced an incessant hum that made the back of Miriam's head throb in pain even more.

"Of course. You’re right, miss.” Miriam allowed, by one beat, Bev to gloat over her 'superiority'. “The wisest thing would probably be to burn them, as suggested by Mr. Flynn. They could be contaminated with some form of illness, and it wouldn't be good for the children to have contact with infected waste, would it?” There was a passive aggressiveness in Miriam's words, mirroring the tone of the deaconess.

Silence.

The only sound other than her breathing was the persistent hum of electricity running through the lamp.

“I can't guarantee the parishioners will approve.” The woman's high-pitched timbre seemed to ring like bells inside Miriam's head. She was starting to get impatient once again in less than twelve hours.

“It's for the safety of your children, I'm sure they'll understand the steps to be taken, Ms. Keane.” The beatified’s name slipped acidly across her lips. A smug smile painted the curve of the young woman's lips. Turning her body to Ed Flynn, Miriam walked past the deaconess, rummaging in her coat pocket for her cell phone. “Mr. Flynn, would you mind telling me how many gallons of petrol do you think it will take to cremate the cats without any major problems?” Typing quickly into her mobile device, taking notes of spending possibilities, Miriam waited for a response from the man.

"Well," the fisherman glanced at the sheriff in the corner and then at the irritable figure of Beverly Keane, who was incessantly squeezing with the neat tips of her nails the hem of her greenish jumper sleeve. “About three gallons should be enough, is what? A hundred?” the man who smelled of fish and sea air asked Hassan, avoiding any form of eye contact with the small, sullen woman. The good sheriff nodded with a nod of his dark hair and eased himself into a more comfortable position against the wooden wall.

"Excellent. Sorry to bother you with this, but I'll need a detailed list of the island's supplies, whatever's in store, can you get me that Mr. Scarborough?” the woman turned, her exhausted eyes falling on Wade. Taking a few more notes on her cell phone, Miriam returned to her spot propped against the sheriff's desk, facing the prime deaconess. Nodding his head, Wade muttered a restrained 'Sure' as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Still unreconciled but restrained, Beverly Keane clasped her hands in front of her with a sigh and nodded, like a cranky child who has had to settle for less candy than she wanted. A short beat of silence followed. The deaconess was staring at Miriam, her eyes scrutinizing her, as if searching tirelessly for a hideous flaw that lurked in the weary marks on the woman's features. Her greenish orbs glowed with an eerie light as she caught the rosary that stood out, glittering around the black collar of her jumper.

"Very well, then. May I ask you something Miss…”, the space to be filled in her soft, squeaky speech was deliberate.

"Harper." Miriam's voice came out as pure hoarseness. The sandy feeling at the bottom of the palate starting in grades. Clearing her throat, so her voice sounded less like the dragging of an iron slab over dry concrete, she continued. "You can ask me what you want, I want you to feel at ease with me.", the deaconess’ green eyes narrowed for a moment. Two would play this game.

"Ms. Harper, tell me, are you Catholic?” The passive-aggressive tone covered her words, and the lopsided half smile that painted her freckled features screamed at Miriam to be careful with that woman. Harper had always trusted the unease that gripped her chest with some people, this time it would be no different.

Casting an almost imperceptible glance at Hassan, — who was still watching the discussion like a curious feline —, Miriam stiffened her posture the least bit and looked as deeply as she could into the dry green of the slightly shorter woman's orbs. She chose her words carefully.

“I believe I can honestly say, Miss. Keane, I was once very devout. However, it is normal for us to have our disagreements with God. I don't disbelieve him, but I haven't practised the good dogmas of the Holy Church for years.”, a palpable tension had formed, the deaconess' thin smile faded slightly, she would find a way to muster the islanders' general contempt for the newly arrival, of that Harper was sure. Both women maintained their haughty postures, eyes glazed over.

“Ah!” the noise of understanding escaped the redhead’s lips with clear contempt. "I see," she said, glancing sideways at the sheriff and giving the mayor a sharp look. “I believe we're done here.” The tone of authority increased the tension in Miriam's shoulders. Beverly turned to leave, her rigid braid snaking behind her body.

Wade whispered some mild apologies on behalf of the woman and excused himself, the woods creaking with his weight, as he passed the fisherman still standing on the jamb, the mayor greeted him briefly and continued on his way. Ed Flynn turned tired eyes to the woman who had remained and cleared his throat.

“She…”, a restrained pause to choose words, followed. “She just cares a little… too much. Will get used, Ms. Harper.” The man watched the young woman's tense shoulders shake the slightest bit with a deep breath, and, refraining from saying anything more, waved goodbye to the sheriff and walked out the door.

A joint sigh escaped the remaining two.

“Let me guess, she doesn't get better after you meet her.” The woman's once melodic and now husky voice bounced against the walls and returned to her, her own speech ringing bells in the aching inside her head. A weak nasal chuckle escaped the detective.

“Honestly?” the man asked, a hint of light humour in his voice. Moving from where he was, Hassan closed the door to the tiny parlour and turned his worried face, — softer now —, to Miriam. “No.” The man watched the woman rub her eyes hard and inhale deeply a few times.

“Who could imagine, right? I believe she almost made it clear that she despised me when she said, and I quote, 'it is useless to hire someone to fill a position that is already competently occupied'. It's amazing, really. I was called, — very subtly I should point out —, useless, stupid and incompetent in the same sentence on my first goddamn day on the job.” A disgusted moan escaped her as she ran her fingers through the tousled strands of her hair.

“I must say she's not usually so openly hostile to someone. Maybe she's just not used to having someone stand up to her. I haven't been here that long, but I can safely say this is the first time I've seen her be so… aggressive with the mayor.” Settling down casually in his chair, the sheriff studied the exhausted figure propped up on his desk. He felt sorry for her, the deaconess could be a pain in the ass without even needing to be provoked, but now, from what he'd seen, Bev would certainly develop the extra vigor to crucify the newcomer.

Amazing! Apparently I hit the jackpot. Bad Wi-Fi, a thousand problems, and now the only person I shouldn't tease wants my head. Great first day! Exhaustion was making her more acidic than usual. Nodding at the man, Miriam noticed in her peripheral vision a passage she hadn't noticed there. Moving with curiosity, she saw that it was a set of two small, barred cells. Her eyes caught sight of a shape lying on one of the beds, the musky odour and the unmistakable smell of cheap beer invading her nostrils.

"This is Joe Collie." said the sheriff, appearing behind her in the passage. With a flick of his wrist, Hassan pushed open the cell door frame, the pulleys sliding with a loud snap that woke the man asleep inside the cell. "Good morning, Joe.", a pair of confused eyes, stared at the two standing at the door.

"Arg… Coffee?", waving a chubby hand, he ignored the sheriff's greeting. The man's grumpy timbre was choked with sleep. With an effort, Joe sat up on the messy bed in the cell and rubbed his eyes and his face, trying to ward off sleep. Releasing a hoarse grunt, he looked up at the nearest woman, his restless eyes locked on the burgundy colour of the coat she was wearing. "And… who are you?" his eyes to her face, half curious, half uninterested.

Hassan whispered 'be polite' to the man in the cell, like a father berating his son for not paying attention to visitors. The sheriff walked away from the two of them unhurriedly, under the pretence of getting himself and Joe a mug of coffee. He kindly offered it to Miriam, which she politely declined.

“Ah… I'm Miriam, Harper, I came… to work with the mayor. Nice to meet you, Mr. Collie.” She introduced herself for what felt like the ninetieth time that day. Taking her hands out of her coat pockets, she reached out to shake the sleepy man's hand. Joe stared at the hand held out in front of him for a moment.

"I heard Bev's bitch voice a little while ago, she doesn't seem to like you very much, maybe that's a good sign.", a nasal laugh escaped Miriam at the comment. He soon shook the woman's hand firmly, an approving half smile curving his lips hidden under his beard. If she had laughed at his comment, it must have indicated that she was as fond of Beverly as he was. She hadn't looked down on him when she saw him, or with pity, she had greeted him honestly, without judgment, like a real human being.

"Yeah, I suppose you can put it that way.", the woman laughed again weakly. “I guess it makes sense, I'm stealing her job anyway…” she lazily leaned against the door jamb, weary of arguments, happy to speak of her dislikes to the deaconess with someone who so similarly seemed to detest her.

The new information piqued Joe's interest. If Bev was being removed from her post, that was news to him. Happy news.

“Hm… Are you… taking care of things now?”, he asked. The answer he got was an exhausted nod from the woman.

A muttered 'excuse me' came from behind the woman, and Miriam gave space for Hassan to walk past her with two steaming mugs of coffee. She watched as Joe thanked him and took the crockery object in his big hands. The sheriff leaned against the wall, inhaling the reek of the dark liquor and watching the interaction between the two.

“I already heard about the Spill, didn't you?”, another brief nod. “But…” the man took a sip of his coffee and cast a quick glance in the detective's direction. “Do you know what happened next?” There was a conspiratorial tone in Joe's words, almost as if he shared a secret. Realizing this piqued Miriam's curiosity.

“Joe…” Hassan's husky, slurred voice sounded like a warning, something that indicated he shouldn't say whatever he was going to say next, the patronizing timbre again present in his words. Joe Collie glanced sideways and deliberately ignored the sheriff's warning.

"She needs to know.", the detective smoothed his face, knowing he couldn't stop the man from talking. Joe continued, turning to Miriam. “When the oil spill happened a few years ago, business went down the drain. We are a fishing community, fish are our livelihood, without them life was fucked up.”, a long sip of his coffee followed. His unquiet eyes moving restlessly, as if remembering a time millennia in the past. “Obviously, it was huge shit, but they thought they could get rid of us by offering a deal for the loss. You know, a lot of people took a back seat to accept it.” Hassan opened his mouth in a deep breath to interfere. Harper glanced at him briefly, a hint that there was no need for interference, but he continued.

"You don't know if that's true, Joe.", the detective intervened with a calm tone of someone who didn't want to argue. Hassan looked as exhausted as herself, Miriam noticed. All the surrounding signs pointed to a great avalanche in her path that only a trickle of snow was holding back. Trouble, and more trouble… Her head was still throbbing. Her back ached and every limb of her body seemed to want to let go.

“You have no idea what I know, Hassan.” There was a bitterness in his words. Joe sipped the last of the blackened liquid from the mug and placed it on the floor beside his feet. His drunken, sad features turned serious for a moment. “Bev Keane killed half this town with the shitty deal.” His tone was incisive, annoyed. “I've known that woman since elementary school. And nothing she ever did or does is…”, he trailed off, hands rubbing his palms nervously against his jeans, the man with the thick beard and the smell of alcohol shook his head as if to expel an unwanted thought. “Bev encouraged everyone to accept the oil companies' agreements. It was a lot of money, well, it seemed at least, until a few years of lost income counted. But nobody bothered to do the fucking maths at the time.”, the curse came out with emphasis from the man in the cell.

Miriam was unnerved. It was not uncommon to find someone who took advantage of the business, but it was always revolting. Standing now, against the door frame, the woman ran her hands over her face, understanding the scale of the problem. Taking a deep breath, she stared at Joe, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, in the midst of all that shit, Bev came up and said, 'Take the money, it's a gift from God. Enjoy and give some back to Him.’ And that's what everyone did. They took part of the money and gave it to the church. But old Pruitt was so sick that all the money ended up in that bitch's hands. I don't know what she thought, if it was some sick kind of guilt or just a front, so it's not obvious she outsmarted half the island, but she decided to build the damn Recreation Center. Nobody knows if building it really cost what they gave her. And a lot of people have already left this backwater, so maybe you'll never really find out how much money she laundered building that useless centre. Nobody uses that shit, only when there are storms and sometimes not even like that.”, he finished. The heavy breathing of someone who had talked a lot.

“My God…”, the young woman, was exasperated.

It wasn't enough: the endless, outdated paperwork in the city's files, the cats, the fiduciary damage, there was still a fucking money-laundering scheme right under everyone's noses. That realization made her want to beat herself up for the bad decision, but now it was too late, she was already here, and promise made is promise kept. Fucking promise, she thought, absorbing all the information.

“Thanks, Joe. For sharing this information with me. I promise to try to do everything in my power to try to reverse this situation as soon as possible.” With a nervously trembling hand, Miriam took a small notepad and pen from her inner pocket. Quickly, she jotted down her contact number in two places on the same sheet, highlighted it, then separated the ends where her number was noted. "Here. Please don't hesitate to call me with any information that might be of interest to the community. Sheriff Hassan, I'd like you to update me on the cat situation. Talk to me, just me, please.” she asked, handing them the small detached pieces of paper, the numbers written in her hurried print.

Joe nodded, getting up from his place in the cell and bidding a short goodbye to the two who remained, his unsteady steps heading towards the grocery store coolers.

"Okay," confirmed the good sheriff, his dark eyes moving from the paper in his hand to the young woman's face. “Look…”, he began with a worried father tone. “You seem like a good person, well-meaning… Just be careful with Bev. And don't get in trouble, okay?”, Hassan approached her with calm strides. A hand rested on the woman's shoulder in a comforting, friend-like grip you can trust.

“Yes sir.” Smiling with patience and weariness, she nodded in understanding and started to walk away.

The worn woods on the floor creaked in the same place they had first made it when Wade had passed by. Walking toward the exit, the young woman said a simple, friendly 'good morning' to Annie Flynn behind the counter. The woman with short blond hair smiled widely in response, turning her green eyes away from her husband, with whom she was talking about something. How Annie smiled reminded her of her mother. Miriam was already at the door when she spotted Joe picking up a crate of beer cans and approached the counter, she waved a vague gesture, the prim man didn't seem to notice.

Continuing her way outside, she felt the warm, welcoming breeze of the afternoon embrace her aching body. ‘Shit…’ she whispered so that she would be the only one to hear. Anxiety and anguish splintered, tearing each other for the space in the woman's chest. It was a constant, nervous grip. Her eyes lifted to the sky, the azure colour of the dawn having been replaced by a lingering misty gray. Stepping down the first step, Miriam felt a wave of pain run up her spine.

“Fuck…”, the murmur, escaped her lips. With some effort, the woman sat down on the low steps of the grocery store.

It was only when she was already sitting with her face buried in her hands that she felt something cold touch her cheek. Raising the confused orbs, Miriam was slightly startled as her field of vision was taken up by the obscure shadow of a huge dog. The animal seemed interested in her, curious in some way for the person who looked so distressed, disturbing his peace. A wary hand prostrated itself in front of the dog's icy muzzle. One sniff, two, and he happily licked the tips of her fingers.

"Hi.", her husky voice called the dog. Miriam felt her fingers spread over the animal's fur. It felt like velvet and it was so warm and cosy, she didn't mind when the dog laid its heavy head on her thighs.

The young woman looked at the thick collar that resembled a leather belt that wrapped around the animal's throat. There was no small metal tag with an identification, in fact, the dog's name had been sloppily scratched into the leather of the collar. Letter by letter, she read the name: P-I-K-E.

“Pike. Is that your name, boy?” The furry animal's ears in her lap perked up at the call to his name. Miriam smiled serenely, her well-cut nails scratching affectionately behind the dog's ears. She took a deep breath, the anxiety calming in her chest as she focused on running her fingers through Pike's fur.

Miriam looked around her vehemently, studying the small ghost town intently. It was peaceful, no cars speeding wildly along the roads, no buildings over twenty floors high scratching the sky. Just trees that calmly swayed their foliage and small houses where a few families lived.

"Mom, you would have loved this place.", she sighed. Calm and composed again, the weight of problems less incisive on her tired mind.

Pike lifted his head from her lap with a sudden interest in a tall, slender figure who walked leisurely a little way away from where they were standing. Miriam also followed the animal's attentive gaze curiously. It didn't take long for an easy smile to curve her lips. His full black hair pulled back and a messenger bag snug over his shoulder.

The good father felt the unmistakable awareness of eyes on him. Lifting the deep, dark puddles that were his brown orbs, Paul noticed a figure sitting huddled in front of the grocery store, a large dog lying nearby, its diligent head resting in its lap, for a moment he wondered who was looking at him. After his renewed eyes adjusted to the distance, a wide smile spread as he realized it was her.

He slowed his pace, nodding sparingly at Miriam. She held up a hand and sheepishly returned the greeting. The young woman felt a comforting warmth spread through her core, instantly relaxing her shoulders and her rigid posture. There was a strange comfort in the man's aura, a friendliness that mingled with a sense of mystery. Miriam attributed the strange feeling of mystery to the resemblance between the priest and the old Monsignor.

Paul debated whether to turn away from his walk towards Millie's house or continue. He hesitated, but the weight of the sacrament he carried with him kept him going. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the strap of his bag tightly and continued his long stride. Millie needed this as soon as possible, his sudden interest in the newcomer could wait a little longer.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Trim!

The microwave's shrill whistle blew late in the afternoon. With a moan, Miriam looked up from the cold kitchen island counter and caught sight of Erin Greene's gleaming face. She had placed a plate of steaming food in front of her, the sound of crockery clicking against the counter echoing in her head. There was a glass cup filled with water, a small aspirin waiting beside the cup. Pulling out a chair, the pregnant woman sat down, and propping her chin on her palm, she was amused to watch the slow movements of the woman in front of her.

“I heard Bev was hard on you today.” With a weak gesture, she pushed the aspirin and glass closer to the huddled figure on the counter. “Here.” Erin watched the marks of a tired worker on her tenant's face. Harper made a disgusted expression, her mouth a downward frown.

“I wonder who told you. News travels fast, doesn't it?”, Miriam's slurred voice rang out dry. I'll definitely wake up sick… but at least I'll have an excuse not to run into Bev. Miriam stared at the plate of food in front of her. There was some oven-roasted rice, some cherry tomatoes, and a fried fish filet. It looked good, but she had no appetite.

“Not who you think. Apparently you made a… strong impression on the Flynn family.” A husky chuckle escaped the counter, along with a long, childish 'no'. "Annie described you as a…'girl with strong presence of mind.'", A wide grin of mischievous amusement painted Erin's full lips. Harper remembered when she'd seen them whispering at the grocery store earlier.

“I will stay spoken. Jesus, they hate me.”, whimpered Miriam, burying her hands in her face. The woman with long curly hair laughed once more. Harper smoothed her fingers through her hair, its strands a damp, oily mess.

“No, I don't think that's it, Miriam. Maybe it's just weird that someone finally faces the old cow.” They both laughed weakly again. A beat of silence ensued. "Well. Take this and eat something. You've been out all day, I doubt you've had time to eat.” A mother's serious tone covered Erin's words, and for a moment Miriam considered.

“Yes ma'am.”, still smiling, but firmly, Miriam took the small white pill in her fingers and swallowed it without difficulty. The sandy feeling in the back of her throat when she swallowed bothered her a lot.

With the eyes and a big smile, Erin stared at the woman, gesturing to the plate in front of her. Sighing, Harper picked up a fork and rummaged through the food without much interest. The tiredness and the sleepless night were finally getting to her.

"Good. I'm going to bed, soon the night sickness will start and these are particularly worse than the morning ones.” Her gentle expression and witty comments made Miriam feel at home, comfortable. Saying goodbye, Erin went upstairs to her own room, leaving Miriam to finish her dinner.

With little interest and some effort, the woman forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls of the food, the dampness of the oven rice not so bothersome when she swallowed. Miriam finished the rice and a portion of the fish. Moving her slightly trembling hands to the mobile device in her pocket, she reached for her cell phone.

7:15 pm.

Wow, how much in such a short time, she kept the thought to herself. In fact, a lot had happened since she'd set foot on the sodden wood of the dock. A storm worthy of a disaster film; an infestation of dead cats in the best 'The Ten Commandments' style; a ghost town crammed with fervent Catholics; a money-laundering scheme and, of course, a priest who certainly shouldn't be so attractive to her, after all he was a man of cassock, — and her experience with such men told her not to trust them.

Once again, Miriam found herself thinking of the good Christian with the deep brown eyes. He looked so pure, so genuinely kind for his own good, that he looked almost suspicious. She laughed at the thought. Despite his stature, the priest didn't look like someone capable of doing any harm, not with those lost puppy dog ​​eyes.

Thinking of the adorable way Paul's wide eyes crinkled when he smiled or how perfect his teeth were made a cold wave run through her body to lodge in the pit of her stomach. Paul, when did she start thinking of him by name and not title? By God, they barely knew each other, and he is a priest. Maybe all that time in Catholic boarding school had driven her insane, or maybe just a little prone to a Thorn Birds’ romance style.

Shaking her head, Miriam got up from the chair she'd been sitting in and picked up the half-eaten dinner plate from the glass still with a little water on it. Carefully placing the plate, — already clean of food scraps —, on the sink, and the now empty glass, Harper called her much-loved cousin, leaving the call on speakerphone as she grabbed a sponge and soap to wash the dishes dirty.

Only three calls were needed for Abel to take her call. His soft, modulated voice squeaked in the background, which she quickly identified as one of his David Bowie's Berlin trilogy albums that he adored so much.

“Hello?”, he asked after a second of silence.

“Good night, Abe, it's me, your cursed cousin.” Miriam announced, her voice so husky he was sure to hear the change in her tone.

“Holy shit, what happened to your voice? You sound like mom.”, Abel chuckled as he asked. The woman could imagine him pulling his smooth dark locks back across his worktable. The open laptop and the pair of rectangular glasses resting on the table as he compared her to his mother, — her aunt, who used to smoke two packs of cigarettes a day.

Laughing, Miriam got a sense of how terrible her voice sounded to anyone who heard it.

“Don't exaggerate, it can't be that bad.”, she knew it was a lie, but she didn't care. “I ended up in a storm when I arrived. I spent the night in a church, I was soaked, so now I'm like this, but don't worry, I'll probably be worse tomorrow.” Miriam laughed at her own bad luck, drying the cutlery with an embroidered cloth.

“Oh my God, you’re indeed the cursed member of the family, Miriam… But other than that, how are you doing?”, there was a good-natured concern in his modulated timbre. Abel had always been her best friend, her heart-brother, and her confidant.

For a moment, she pondered telling him what she had learned about money laundering through the recreation centre. Carefully calculating, she came to the conclusion that there would be no harm in mentioning it, even if she still needed the papers for confirmation.

“Abe, I'm going to tell you something, but I require you to do nothing, okay?”, a noise of confirmation came from the other side of the line. Looking around, Miriam had already put away the dishes when she cautiously started up the stairs towards the room where she would be staying. Once she was sure Erin was sleeping in her own room, Miriam locked the door and took a deep breath.

She told everything, Abel listened carefully to every piece of information and made little observations here and there about one thing or another. Both came to the consensus that, in fact, there was something at least suspicious about the whole thing. Her cousin offered to help her with anything she required regarding the process she had got herself into. Miriam thanked him.

“Thanks, Abe, this is really going to give me a horrible headache. Did you know the files here are still made of paper?”, A nasal laugh reverberated through the cell phone's speaker. Sluggishly, the woman sat at the head of the bed, her eyes intent on the cloudy moonlight outside.

“I figured that could happen, that place parked in the 60s, so I'm not surprised, but it's late, and apparently you've had quite a hell of a day, you should go to sleep. I want news from you tomorrow, okay?”, he mocked, the sweet tone of concern warmed the woman's chest, she was already missing him.

“I promise to call. Good night, Abe, give Lenz and Karly a kiss for me.” Miriam smiled, Lenz and Abel were a lovely couple and their little girl was the sweetest. Harper was never very good with children, but little Karly was special, her shrewd questions amused the woman.

"I’ll, now rest. I'm serious. Bye.”, the line was silent and without much interest she threw the device onto the old spring mattress.

She scanned the room carefully. The walls were covered with yellowish floral wallpaper, the geraniums were faded with age. The dark wooden wardrobe was crooked, one of its feet was broken in half, making it dangle on just three feet. Worn and slightly dusty stuffed animals resided on a shelf with their expressionless eyes glazed over at the seated female figure. A particularly tattered rag doll sent a shiver down Miriam's back. The dim light from the lamp engulfed the room in gloom, its yellowish light glinting off the framed embroidery glass that prostrated itself beside the white door. It was verses Miriam knew well that were woven into the cloth, it was verses from the Book of Lamentations.

“‘The kindness of the Lord never ends, His mercies have no end; they are renewed each morning’” she read aloud.

The irony of the words sank claws in her mind. Jeremiah had written those words, looking at Jerusalem destroyed. Jerusalem was the hope of a dream, it was freedom, it was the function, the effort, the dedication to a promise made by God himself. And yet, seeing it destroyed, Jeremiah had hope. ‘Faith’, she could hear her grandmother's voice correcting her.

Only a fool can hope and be faithful in the face of impending disaster, Miriam remembered how those pessimist words had saved her multiple times. After all, if you expect the worst of all, it's harder to be disappointed. The memory of the searing rock salt cutting into her knees sent an uncomfortable tingle down her spine.

Suddenly, a flock of night birds that had perched silently on the tree beside the house took to the air. Miriam was startled by the loud noise of the flapping of wings that had so rudely broken the morbid silence of the room. Her eyes were drawn to the darkened outline of birds against the sky. The birds scurried away, as if fleeing from something. It wasn't long before her tired gaze landed on the slender, blackened shadow that soared into the sky like a harpy. The figure rose, so close to the window that it made her move away.

The snap of the tiles that covered the slab complaining of a sudden heaviness made every hair on the back of her neck prickle.

The almost anaesthetic sensation of uncertainty making it difficult to breathe, she felt the same feeling of dread as when she had seen what appeared to be the Monsignor on the balcony of his rectory, however old Pruitt was not on the island…

Miriam couldn't finish her train of thought, the cracks were now right above her room, but they didn't feel like just cracks any more, they were footsteps.

Taking a deep breath, Miriam rationalized as best she could: It's just an oddly large bird, that's all. This is a lie, and you know it. An insistent voice whispered in the back of her tired mind.

Another sound similar to the flapping of great wings resounded. She was silent, straining her hearing in an attempt to hear something else. Approaching the window, she peered out.

Nothing.

The dark leaves of the tree danced in the direction of the wind. She took a deep breath. It was just a bird that your overworked mind is turning into something else, Harper forced herself to believe that, at least for now.

Closing the frayed curtains, she walked away towards her suitcase to organize her things. With some speed, Miriam removed her already folded clothes and arranged them in the empty wardrobe that smelled of mould and mothballs. She carefully laid out her toiletries, a towel and a pyjama top on the patchwork quilt. Closing her suitcase, she pulled out the last thing she had: a framed photo of her, her mother, and Abel, all together at her cousin's graduation.

She had kept that photo with a certain fondness, it was one of the few photos where she and her mother were smiling. Her mother, who had suffered so much, had a proud, shining smile. With her fingertips, she caressed the glass that held the photograph affectionately. A tiny smile painted her lips.

Placing the frame on the night stand, she gathered her things from the bed and wandered barefoot against the carpet toward the bathroom. The click of the switch reverberated through the room. It was a cubicle covered in white tile with an over-the-tub shower, a sink, and a toilet. She put one foot down, a cold shiver running up her leg. Miriam closed the door, which creaked with the movement, the lock clicking with a low metallic clang. Her silent steps led her to the sink.

Releasing a heavy sigh of exhaustion, Miriam stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dark smudges under her eyes from bad sleep stood out now, in the white light. Unhurriedly, she began to undress, the coat slipping off her tense shoulders and soon followed by the thick wool jumper and a pair of trousers. The cool air coming from the open window ruffled her skin. Leaning forward, with a trembling hand, she closed the window, interrupting the night breeze that enveloped her.

The running water was warm, the temperature easing the knots of tension in her back, relaxing her muscles. Now, undressed, Miriam could feel the beads of the rosary weighing down against her chest. Taking a deep breath, the woman replayed the events of that day once more in her mind, like a scratched disc.

The way the islanders behaved was not necessarily abnormal, but it gave her a mixed feeling of strangeness and anxiety. Their unshakable beliefs gave her memories of her years at St. Agnes boarding school. Memories she had never intended to recall, not even the sporadic visits of her mother, grandmother, and cousin, who always took place on Catholic holidays, all of them ending with her begging to leave that place.

Dragging her mind to those moments reminded her of the Christmas that her grandmother had passed away years ago. She remembered her mother's exhausted and bereaved expression, and how she'd shown up alone that holiday. As much as she didn't have as much contact with the old woman, and that, especially during her childhood, she held a grudge against her grandmother's attitude of throwing her in that place, Miriam remembered how she'd felt her chest sink with the news. She also remembered feeling a certain relief in knowing that Mathilde had left in her sleep, that she had died a painless death.

Death. There was a lot of death around her, as a child, as a teenager and even in her adult life. The people around her seemed to leave constantly, without warning, without giving her a chance to try to stop them. This had drastically reduced her family circle, and now her only remaining family was her cousin. Abel. Miriam never told him, but somehow she envied him. He had a beautiful daughter, a great husband, and was drowned in their loves. She wanted that, but maybe she wasn't born to have her own family, after all, everyone who approached her always seemed to die.

The first was her father, Atticus, who had died in the army before she was even born. According to her mother, he had no intention of taking it on, for him Miriam had been an accident that he was unwilling to deal with, 'it was a one-night stand', he said. The second had been the death of Abel's mother, she wasn't particularly close to her aunt on her father's side, but still she felt the full brunt of the woman's death through her cousin. The third had been a young priest who taught her at boarding school, he was something close to a friend, he was the only one who showed the least bit compassionate to her, despite his dark personality, she respected him. Miriam remembers that one day, out of the blue, Father Romero collapsed lifeless in the middle of the classroom. No one seemed to understand what had happened, but the look of pure fear he had given her a thousandth before had been imprinted on her mind.

In her teens had been her grandmother, she was fifteen when she lost her, a woman of frighteningly unshakable faith and a strong pulse that she had come to love. Miriam felt torrid tears mingle with the running water that bathed her. Her mother's death was so short a time ago, she couldn't help but struggle. The first week, she couldn't even get past her mother's room. It had taken nearly a month for her to stop putting two places at the table daily.

A sudden sob made her gasp, her mind once again drowning in thought. Breathing heavily, she forced herself to choke back her tears and focus her mind on now. There was a real mess to be worked on, and she couldn't let her anxieties tie her to the past.

She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her oily scalp and letting the shower wash away the remnants of her sadness. She was so tense and allowed herself to empty her head. Closing her eyes to clear her thoughts, the first thing that crossed her mind was the way Paul had caressed her hands, how big and warm they were, how strong. Miriam felt a rush of heat run down her abdomen at the thought. A malicious idea crept into her thoughts, and she wondered for a moment what it would be like to feel those hands gripping her thighs.

No, she broke off at the sensation. Opening her eyes and feeling a familiar pulse in the tops of her thighs, she sighed. Not that. Come on, he's a priest! The idea of ​​fantasizing about someone who would be so close to her in her daily life was definitely not a great thought. Also, she was probably close to her period, which would certainly explain the ease with which she had been shaken by the image, and also the excessive anxiety and anguish she felt.

"No, I'm just tired, I need to sleep and forget about all this for now.", Miriam whispered to herself, finishing her shower and turning off the faucet, the cold metal against her hot palm sending a shiver over her skin.

With some caution, the young woman climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in her towel, the softness of the fabric against her breasts not helping her forget the soft throbbing below her venter. Firmly, she gripped the edges of the sink for support as she wiped her damp body. Setting the towel aside, she stared at her reflection in the mirror once more.

Her once-bleached cheeks had taken on a slight blush from the hot water and the other sensations the dark-haired priest was arousing. Her hair looked better, washed now. Miriam saw someone different from what she used to be, realizing it drew an exhausted sigh from her. A beat of absolute silence followed, only her breathing to accompany it.

A strong chill shivered on the back of her neck, that funny, disconcerting feeling you get when someone is watching, observing her movements. She felt watched, her brows knitting in slight confusion at the feeling as she glanced at the reflection in the window beside her. Miriam froze as her orbs caught a pair of glowing eyeballs glinting in the darkness. The reflection was beyond the window, among some bushes that spread out at the foot of the tall tree.

The eerily tall, shadowy figure moved like an animal interested in its next meal. That sank ice into the woman's guts. Without delay, she turned in a rush, closing the window and the curtains. There was definitely something very wrong, either with her or with this place.

Miriam felt her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands shook in disarray at her sides. Her lips parted on a shaky, trembling breath. She didn't take long to brush her teeth and get dressed after that. The woman felt her muscles tremble with each step she took towards the bedroom. As soon as she entered the room, she closed the door and took a deep breath, letting her heartbeat settle as well as her breathing. You really need sleep. Really, a voice in her mind whispered to her.

Turning off the lamplight, — after making sure the window was securely closed —, she lay down on her bed, her feet covered in white socks and her body warmed by her old pyjamas. The patchwork quilt she had covered herself with had an almost imperceptible scent of lavender and years of disuse.

For a time she clung to that scent, and how the moonlight made perpendicular patterns on the ceiling through the gaps in the curtain, achromatic and dancing patterns. It was not long before her tired mind delivered her into the arms of Morpheus to fall asleep soundly in the sleep of the righteous.

Taglist:

@stardustandgunpowder, @liesandghosts, @pruitts-tight-fucking-jeans, @un-kiss-de-breakfast, @girlwiththenegantattoo, @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade, @sterwild, @thegardenarcher, @snapessecretdiary, @judarspeach, @novywhere, @hungrhay, @midnight-mess

If your name is striped, it’s because Tumblr don’t let me tag you for some reason. =(

Here's a Google form, where you can tell me where you want to be tagged.

[seokjinsonlyone]

Not My Type | 3

pairing: jungkook x female reader

summary: "She's a lot more than nice, so you need to be careful."

genre: friends to lovers

warnings: none; jimin here tho being flirty and stirring the pot <3333

rating: pg

wc: 1.7k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Jungkook’s newfound hobby was driving her crazy. One too many times had their little lunch rendezvous made its way into her mind in the past week. The way he sniffed her hair oddly enough was a recurring playback. She had a thing for weirdos and Jungkook could definitely be classified as that. And, that was exactly why she needed to shut this whole thing down.

Now, she considered herself a progressive individual. She didn’t mind change as long as it was for the better. She didn’t have a problem evolving her relationship with a friend. In fact, she preferred it. Always said that if she was gonna get into it, she wanted to be with a friend. But, this particular friendship wasn’t the one. It wouldn’t make sense. There was no way it could possibly be better.

They were like oil and water. They didn’t mix. Which was fine as a friendship, they could peacefully coexist. Anything more than that, however, would be an unnecessary burden. And, her life didn’t need to be anymore difficult than it already was. She wanted an easy love. It was this line of reasoning that carried her straight to her best friend’s house.

“You need to talk to your friend,” she announced, waltzing into Jimin’s home, throwing her purse on the couch before finding him sitting at the island eating cereal.

He looked up. “I’ve already told you should just ask Taemin out. He’ll most likely say yes. He thinks you’re hot. Stop trying to get me to create scenarios.”

“And, I’ve already told you I refuse to pursue a man. No matter how dreamy and evil he is,” she sighed.

In all honesty, she probably would’ve gone for it if it weren’t for the fact that she could tell he wasn’t really into her. Not in the way she would’ve liked for him to be into her. He flirted with her in person (and in her dms), held her in a way that made her stomach jump after a few drinks, but ultimately his goal was a few nights in the sheets. And, that just wasn’t her thing. She didn’t do casual. Didn’t like to invite people into her life that weren’t going to stay. So even though she thought they could be good together, she was deciding to let this one go. If he couldn’t see what was right in front of him that was on him.

“You’re gonna end up alone.”

“You must realize that I am my favorite person.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about Jungkook.”

“What he do?”

“He’s been acting weird ever since last week.”

“What happened last week?”

She sucked her teeth. “You know, when we were all here?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, pupils shifting from side to side, visibly racking his brain trying to recall what happened at his place last week. “Oh! Wednesday! I was so drunk, bro. What happened?”

“Ugh. You don’t remember asking me to rank all of y’all from most to least my type?” Typical Jimin. Cause trouble then dip.

“What’d you rank me?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I ain’t doing this again.”

He dropped his legs from the footrest of the barstool, tugging her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Mmm. You couldn’t handle me either way.”

She’s not gonna lie, her heart skipped a beat. But, that’s the only reason he did it in the first place. He knew it flustered her on some level. So, she decided to play along for once, bringing her hand up to toy with the hair that rested at the back of his neck. “Baby boy, I could make you cry,” she whispered seductively.

He made a face, then pushed her away turning his attention back to his cereal. “You’re gross.”

“You started it,” she accused, laughter bubbling up at his reaction. He was CEO of “Do as I say, not as I do.” Always in the mood to dish it out, but hardly able to take it in return.

“So, what’s going on? Why do I need to talk to him?”

“Because I told him he wasn’t my type, and now he’s trying to convince me that he is.”

He choked. “What?”

“He literally showed up at my work the other day and brought me lunch.”

“That was more so directed at you saying Jungkook isn’t your type.”

“He’s not.” He raised his eyebrows, smirking conspiratorially. “He isn’t,” she insisted.

“So, you didn’t used to drool over him when you two first met?”

“See why you gotta go and bring up the past.” She wouldn’t say that she had a full blown crush on him, she didn’t know him and therefore couldn’t actually like him, but for a minute she was down bad. She wasn’t expecting to meet him when she did. Jimin had wanted to hang out and asked for a ride. He was with Jungkook when she picked him up and she was effectively caught off guard. Before she even realized what she was doing, she was out of the car and shaking hands with him in greeting. The next few weeks were spent trying her hardest to be in his presence. She never said more than two words to the boy, but yeah she was down bad. Once her hormones subsided, though, they eventually developed a friendship. A friendship that needed to stay a friendship. “Besides, I never said he wasn’t hot. I’m saying our personalities don’t match up. It wouldn’t work.”

“You aren’t that different from each other.”

“Yeah, but we’re wrong in just the right ways. It wouldn’t work.” He was right in saying that weren’t all that dissimilar, but it was because of that that she was sure starting any kind of relationship with romantic intent would go up in flames. The two were like parallel lines. Never meant to cross. Adjacent, but never intersecting. As they should.

“It sounds to me like you’re just afraid of what could happen.”

“Hold on there partner. I didn’t come here to be lectured or psychoanalyzed. I don’t even think he likes me for real, but he’s heading down a slippery slope. I just want you to talk to him before he goes and starts something that’s gonna get his feelings hurt, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see what I can do.” One thing about Jimin was that he was nosy. Had absolutely zero qualms about getting all up in other people’s business. Knowledge equals power is what he always told himself. So, if she hadn’t come to him voluntarily offering up this information, he would’ve picked up on it sooner or later, inserting himself in the middle of it all. As it stands, he’s been giving explicit permission to do some digging. All he has to do is wait for the opportunity to arise.

The opportunity came a few days later. Jungkook was sitting on his couch, phone in hand, completely zoned out when Jimin pounced.

“So... Y/N?”

Jungkook startled at the mention of her name. It wasn’t like he was just thinking about her. He definitely wasn’t about to text her. He hadn’t spent the past minutes in a daze typing, deleting, and retyping messages to send. Nope. “Huh?”

“Y/N? What’s going on with you and her?” Jimin asked again.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on,” he feigned innocence, voice raising an octave. Even though, for all intents and purposes, there really wasn’t anything going on.

He looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not what she said.”

“What did she say?” She talked about him?

“You tell me.” He smirked sitting down, crossing one leg over the other like some kind of therapist.

“I don’t know. We had lunch,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

“Because I thought she might be hungry.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that she said you’re not her type?”

He blew raspberries into the air. He couldn’t lie to Jimin even if he tried. The man always managed to see right through him. A consequence of nearly ten years of friendship. “I’m just trying to get to know her better,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“Because she’s nice.” Which wasn’t the complete truth, but if he admitted that he thought she had stars in her eyes he’d never hear the end of it.

“She’s a lot more than nice, so you need to be careful.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that she’s one of the best people I know, but she’s stubborn and once she has an idea in her head it’s very hard for her to let go.”

“So you think I should stop?”

“I think you shouldn’t go into this blind, is all I’m saying. Whatever you’re doing, probably won’t be easy. And, I don’t want you to get hurt. Or hurt her. What do you plan on doing if you manage to make her like you? If you’re not serious then I think you should stop.” Jimin patted his shoulder, then got up leaving him to his thoughts.

Jungkook heard what he was saying. He did. And, he was right. He hadn’t been thinking too hard about what he was doing. Honestly, he was just following the skip in his heartbeat and so far that led him to her. There was a very real possibility of him getting his feelings hurt. She was very strong willed. Couldn’t budge her mind with a bulldozer. So, if she was dead set on being against this, there wasn’t much he could do anyway.

Still, this wasn’t something he could let go of easily. He had no intentions of hurting her. It wasn’t just some conquest for him. That much he was sure of. He would hate to get closer to her, have her catch feelings for him, then dip because he wasn’t feeling it. But, he seriously doubted that would happen. It’s not like they were complete strangers. He was just seeing her in a new light now. And as much as he didn’t want anyone to get hurt, at this point he didn’t know if this was something he should even avoid. It didn’t seem like it.

Truthfully, he didn’t feel this way often. This pull he now felt toward her. He was usually much too caught up in trying to be the best version of himself he could be to entertain thoughts of others. However, right now she had his attention and he didn’t want to look away. He opened his text thread with her typing and finally sending a message before he could overthink it.

[10:53pm] jk: lunch tomorrow?

[braindeadbaddie]

The Ghosts That Haunt Us

I know you hear me when I cry

I try to hold it in at night

When you’re sleeping next to me 

But it’s your arms that I need this time

Chifuyu bites his lip, trying to swallow down the sobs that threaten to climb out of his throat. He grabs a pillow, stuffing his face into it and biting to muffle all the sounds that threaten to leak from his overflowing heart. 

The pillow is stained with his tears, his body shaking in silent sobs, and from the ghost of a cold cold body that he once held in his arms years ago.

Besides him, he can feel Takemichi twitch awake, shifting to wrap an arm around him. He feels him hesitate before settling his arm across his waist, pulling him into the warmth of his embrace.

God, what a terrible boyfriend he is. 

Up late, picturing a black sea and a grey sky, when he has the warmth of the sun and a bright blue sky right besides him. 

But he can’t help it. 

Tonight, he misses Baji.

Tonight, he needs him.

Look at the cards that we’ve dealt 

If you were anybody else

Probably wouldn’t last a day 

Every tear’s a rain parade from hell 

He loves Takemichi.

Their relationship isn’t laced in beauty or innocence. It was originally a partnership bred from the need to save the future. But he’s understanding, and kind, and always there to help. He’s sweet and dedicated, fiercely loyal, and so so loving. 

They sought comfort in each other because they understood each other. Better than anyone else. 

He knows Takemichi doesn’t blame him for the days that he can’t reciprocate his love, because his heart is somewhere else. He knows Takemichi understands more than anyone why he can’t share his food sometimes. He knows that Takemichi understands, better than anyone. 

Mistakes were made and there were casualties of Takemichi’s battle against time, and even though they managed to find a future where everyone could be together, the ghosts of the past still haunt them both. 

But sometimes, he wonders if their love is born out of necessity rather than true love.

Baby you do it so well

You’ve been so understanding, you’ve been so good

And I’m putting you through more than one ever should

And I’m hating myself cause you don’t want to

Admit that it hurts you

Chifuyu knows it’s hard. He cries over Baji often. 

The night of his birthday and the day of. The week of Halloween, the days before when he didn’t have his friend. Sometimes, he cries when he sees a black cat or a stray. He cries on dates they had made special memories of.

Some days are a light rain, other are storms that flood.

Chiufyu thinks that he must only exists in tears and in numbness. There are days he can feel, so all he feels is pain, and days where he can’t, so he feels nothing. 

Takemichi seems to be able to handle it so well. But Chifuyu knows. He knows this is too much for him to bear. 

Takemichi already saved the future, so he should be able reap the fruits of his labor. 

And yet here he is, fighting a losing battle to save Chiufyu. 

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

Over him

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

‘stead of ghostin’ him

Takemichi, more than anyone, hurts seeing Chifuyu cry. And yet, he has to deal with it the most. 

He feels the most guilty, the most responsible. Because he knew and he still couldn’t do anything about it. 

Chifuyu sees it in Takemichi’s eyes when he wakes up with a start after dreaming of black and grey, and red. So much red. The look in Takemichi’s eyes, screaming that he shoudn’t be here. That there should be someone else. 

Someone to go to the pet store with him every morning. Someone who helps him fight his battles. Someone who will split his yakisoba with him. Someone named Keisuke Baji. 

And Chifuyu wants to comfort him and tell he loves him and loves having him around.

But it feels pointless when his tears later that night wash away all his words. 

We’ll get through this, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage 

But I love you, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage

On good nights, Chifuyu will lay his head in Takemichi’s chest, curled into his side, letting him run mindless patterns into his back.

Takemichi tucks his head under his chin and whispers sweet nothings to him.

On those night, they feel like a normal couple, instead of a pair cursed by time.

Though I wish he were here instead

Don’t want that living in your head

He just comes to visit me 

When I’m dreaming, every now and then

Its hard to count the amount of times Chifuyu has woken up screaming another man’s name.

But the nightmares are so frequent, it’d probably be easier to count the times he didn’t.

In his dreams, he’s always a first-year in middle school, walking through the hallways to find a nerd who can’t spell or write properly. So he helps the poindexter write a letter and in return, he gives him a friendship with so much love that it’s enough to last his whole life.

And in the dream, he spends so many days on the floor of his or the other boy’s bedroom tutoring him and teaching him all sorts of things. And they play with stray cats that come through the boy’s windows. And there’s so much peyoung yakisoba. And at the end of his dream, he’ll get to hold him at night, and he feels warm…

…until the warmth starts to feel wet too.

And suddenly he’s back in a junkyard, holding the boy he loves as he bleeds out.

Helpless and useless.

So he screams.

And after all that we’ve been through

There’s so much to look forward to

What was done and what said

Leave it all here in this bed with you

“Thank you,” Chifuyu whispers into the dark bedroom.

Takemichi gives him a confused look. “What for?”

Chifuyu draws patterns into Takemichi’s chest. Tonight is a good night.

“For saving me. I can’t even imagine what I was like in that first future. I probably didn’t have anyone to rely on, y’know. In Toman, I’ve only really been close to you…and well…y’know.” He doesn’t want to say it, lest he break the peaceful spell his mind has cast on him today.

Takemichi tightens his arm around Chifuyu. “Ah, well. You don’t have to thank me. I just did it to get out of my apartment. I’ve been stuck there like every future.”

Chifuyu chuckles, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s torso, and rests his head on his chest. He breathes in Takemichi’s body wash and the scent of lavender from their detergent, counting his heart beats.

He’s still here. He’s still alive.

Cherish him.

“Thank you for saving me, for saving all of us,” he whispers as he turns to look up in his beautiful blue eyes.

There’s a flash of sadness in Takemichi’s eyes, before it’s replaced quickly. He smiles softly, though it seems a bit forced around the edges.

“It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever done,” he whispers before planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

Baby you do it so well

You’ve been so understanding, you’ve been so good

And I’m putting you through more than one ever should

And I’m hating myself cause you don’t want to 

Admit that it hurts you

On the days after bad nights, Takemichi makes breakfast. He developed cooking skills at some point in this future, he tells Chifuyu.

But on those mornings, he can badly stomach anything so Takemichi will make him a smoothie and pack a light bento. He makes him fresh green tea that warms him up, and turns on the diffuser mixing eucalyptus and peppermint.

He kisses Chifuyu on the head, never on the lips. He gives him a tight hug and whispers “have a good day”, never I love you. He tries so hard to be a friend, like he knows he isn’t the one Chifuyu loves on those days.

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

Over him

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

‘stead of ghostin’ him

They both have ghosts that haunt them.

Takemichi’s exists on high rise buildings, in truck crashes, and a building in another country with no ceilings.

There are nights that Takemichi wakes up screaming Hina’s name or Mikey’s name or Akkun’s name. There are even days where he screams Chifuyu’s. There are days where the pots will bang together and Takemichi will collapse in fear. Takemichi avoids fires, loud noises, and lives his life as if he’s apologizing for living.

On the rare occasions he’s opened up to Chifuyu about those other futures, they’re usually about the first one, the one before he ever time-leaped. He opens up about how pathetic he was and how he was always apologizing.

And even though he’s a lot more sure than the man-boy in his stories, Chifuyu can’t help but think that old habits die hard.

We’ll get through this, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage

But I love you, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage

Takemichi takes care of Chifuyu so well, it almost seems like he’s apologizing.

For Baji, for not being Baji, for not being able to time-leap again to save him.

For being here when he feels he shouldn’t be.

He doesn’t ask, but he can suspect that there was a future where things went really bad for him and Takemichi feels responsible.

He doesn’t ask, because Takemichi won’t tell him the truth.

That this relationship is all just one big apology. That Takemichi’s love for him is just one big savior complex. That all of this is out of a sense of responsibility.

[batwhimpix]

An Interview with Former Takarazuka Top Star Asumi Rio: The Laidback Personality Behind the Handsome Face

(Translated by me 8/19/2021)

While still a member of the Takarazuka Revue, Asumi Rio was known for her sensitive acting which digs deep into the heart of each role, her crystal-clear vocals, and her captivating stage presence. As the top star of Flower Troupe, she gained an immense level of popularity. Now, it has been one year since her retirement from the company. She has expanded her repertoire from stage to screen, and continues to showcase new sides to her talent. In her first name-bearing variety program, the Hulu Original "Asumi Rio's Atelier," Asumi-san learns new tips and techniques to "step up" both her lifestyle and her design sense. Totally different from her intense onstage aura, this program offers a chance to get to know Asumi-san's soft and relaxed offstage persona.

It's been a year and a half since you left the Takarazuka Revue. How would you describe that period of time for you, Asumi-san?

When I was in the Revue, because I had managed to enter the world of Takarazuka, which was my absolute favorite place, I felt strongly that I didn't want to have any regrets. So I was very motivated to work as hard as I could to polish my craft. I was completely lost in it, but within that, I always had my fans cheering me on, and the guidance of so many around me. In the last year and a half, I've realized all over again just how precious a thing that was.

Until I left, my only experience was on the stage, so stepping into the world on screen for the first time, a lot of totally new forms of expression were expected from me, and I felt a lot of anxiety. Parting from Takarazuka and living as just one individual human, every day is full of challenges. But that said, every day now is also rich with new experiences and new possibilities, so I've come to face that with a lot of gratitude.

While you were in Takarazuka, there was a very clear image, that of a perfect "otokoyaku," to aspire to. Now that you don't have that anymore, what kind of actress are you aiming to become?

There are a lot of qualities I have now precisely because I was an otokoyaku, and I think it's probably okay for me to just embrace that. As top [abbrev. "top star", the starring otokoyaku actress in each troupe], I was in a position where I had to lead the troupe, watch over and guide all the other actresses, and shape each production as the lead actress. I think I've picked up a lot of grit through that experience, and even as a woman, I think having a bit of a masculine edge in your lifestyle and how you deal with things can be a positive, right?

Even when I was playing otokoyaku roles, moreso than aiming for a particular ideal, I came at each role separately, like, this time I'm playing this kind of man, next time I'm playing this kind of man. It was like a gradual broadening of my horizons. Now I'm simply adding female roles to that roster, so it's kind of like the scope of roles available to me has doubled. When it comes to my outward appearance, as my hair grows out and I transition toward a more feminine look, I've been having all kinds of new discoveries, like, "Oh, this kind of styling makes me feel like this." Within my drama roles as well, I like those discoveries like, if I do it like this, won't it be interesting, or if I do this, I can get viewers to say, "Oh!" I want to keep digging to find those little moments where I can really surprise people within each role.

Since your retirement from Takarazuka, what overall on-set experience sticks out the most in your memory?

I think that has to be the first show I had the opportunity to take part in, "Ochoyan" [NHK serialized telenovella]. Until I was on that set, I always thought that the stage was the most incredible place in the world. I would never find anywhere else where every member is so unified in their vision, where everyone has so much pride in their troupe and so much love for the production they're building together, as in Takarazuka. Even now, I still think Takarazuka is a very special place, and my love for it hasn't changed.

But on the set of "Ochoyan," like Takarazuka, there were so many staff working to create this thing, who truly loved the work and brought all kinds of skills to the table to bring it to life. Among the cast as well, the atmosphere during recording, where all of us in the Tsurugame Family Theater [the name of the theater company employing main character Takei Chiyo as well as Asumi-san's character Takamine Ruriko] really did feel like a family, wasn't that different from Takarazuka at all. On the contrary, because our time together was limited just to the recording of this show, it felt like everyone valued that time all the more. Being on a set like that was a huge experience for me.

In Takarazuka, you had a very hectic schedule. As soon as one production closed you were already thinking about the next. I'm sure your lifestyle has changed in a big way since then. What kind of feelings do you have about that?

I retired and moved here to Tokyo right around the start of the pandemic. During the lockdown, when I was in my house all day, I realized how long the day really is. Suddenly it was up to me to decide how to spend all this time in the day. I could use it to rest or, if I had some area I was struggling with, I could use it for training too. I had a renewed realization that depending on my own feelings, I could choose to change myself in any number of ways.

These days, how do you find yourself spending the majority of your time?

These days, I'm doing a lot of types of work I'm totally new to, and working on sets with people I've only just met, so I'm still in a place where I spend a lot of time nervous. When I'm on a set I haven't gotten used to yet, my antenna is going in all different directions, so after I get home I try to relax as much as possible. In order to fully refresh myself and go into work the next day in high spirits and ready to face whatever comes, I've been making a conscious effort to be kind to myself.

What activities allow you to refresh your batteries the most?

Zoning out, and eating delicious food.

On "Asumi Rio's Atelier," you gave steaming rice in a donabe [TN: earthenware pot traditionally used to steam rice, supposedly more delicious than steaming in a rice cooker] a try for the first time, but what kinds of things do you eat most often?

As long as it tastes good, I'll happily eat anything. I like vegetables, meat, fish, and I love carbs, too. Ideally, I want to eat a good balance of a lot of different things.

Speaking of that program, how were the topics for each episode decided? Were you able to make requests?

For "Atelier" we had the general framework that I would be trying different activities I was interested in from the onset, so basically they asked me, "What kind of things are you interested in? What do you want to try?" And then...Yeah, first I had about 30, then we added about 30 more, so in total about 60, ideas that we pitched. The program staff wanted to include as many of my requests as they could, so actually, within each episode there are probably three or four different ones. In addition to that, there's an interview in each episode that relates back to that episode's theme. I enjoyed the chance to reflect on my Takarazuka era and memories from my childhood.

On the topic of your Takarazuka era, in your first interview for us, you said, "I wasn't necessarily aiming to become top star." But within the system of Takarazuka, to climb all the way to top star, you must have been aware of something within yourself that made you want to aim higher?

Let's see...Ever since I was an underclassman, I had a strong drive to improve as an otokoyaku. I wanted people to find my performance interesting, and I wanted to be seen as a necessary part of the production. I wanted to act a lot, and I wanted to sing a lot of songs that I love. I wanted to bathe in the spotlight, and I was happy when I got to wear more gorgeous costumes. If I really think back on those feelings now, first in the shinjinkouen junior performances featuring only actresses who have been with the company seven years or less, and then in performances at the smaller Bow Hall theater next to the Takarazuka Grand Theater, inevitably I started aiming for the lead roles that would allow me to stand on stage for the longest every time.

Somewhere along that road, when I was told I was being transferred from the troupe I was first inducted into, Moon Troupe, to Flower Troupe, this feeling that I had wanted to be the Moon Troupe's successor welled to the surface. And since that's the same as saying, "I wanted to be the top star of Moon Troupe," that was the first time I became aware of that goal. Every troupe in Takarazuka has its own character, though, so after my transfer, I was desperate to hurry up and become an otokoyaku befitting Flower Troupe first...

So as you worked to further your artistic development, there at the zenith was top star.

If you were to ask my underclassman self, the Top-sans are unbelievably incredible performers, and the more shinjinkouens you experience, the more closely you come to understanding just how incredible they are. Then as you spend more years with the company and find yourself in a position where you're working directly under the Top-san, you realize how much work they're really doing, and...The more you know, the more you lose the ability to say something like "I want to be the top star" carelessly.

And yet, you bore the heavy responsibility of a top star for five-and-a-half years. It's hard to imagine from your usual laidback attitude, but when it comes to your art, you're incredibly diligent and strong-willed. That gap is captivating.

When it comes to theater, I'm very picky. I mean, I'm way too stubborn for one thing. Especially in productions where I'm playing the lead role, I always have really strong feelings about how I want to perform things, and I'm not in a position where I can hesitate to convey that. It's important to listen to the opinions of various other people too, but when it comes down to it, if I have a clear idea of the direction I want things to proceed and direct things with that in mind, it makes things easier for everyone else, so I always tried to communicate my thoughts clearly and directly. If I'm delivering consistently good work, there's a persuasive power to that. Not only do the underclassmen naturally follow along, but the staff listen and respond to my requests as well.

But when you're making this kind of production, you do have to be pretty strict. But then, the real me is more of a people pleaser. I want everyone to like me, or more like, I don't want to be disliked. I didn't want the younger underclassmen to feel like I was unapproachable or like they couldn't talk to me because I was the top star. I wanted them to think of me like family. So outside matters relating to work, I tried to give off as relaxed a vibe as possible. Definitely, I think there was quite a gap between "on" and "off" for me.

Are there a lot of differences between "Asumi Rio the otokoyaku" and "Asumi Rio the actress?" How about between your stage name persona and your private self under your birth name?

I've lived under my stage name for so much longer than my birth name that I feel like, at this point, the parts of myself that belong to my real name are few and far between. I do have the feeling that, in some respect, I've grown up together with my stage name. In essence, while I was in Takarazuka, I didn't worry too much about creating a separate persona. Thanks to the kindness of my fans and the environment I was in, I felt like I could leave my otokoyaku persona on the stage and stay pretty close to my natural self everywhere else. I guess the only thing is, when I'm alone in my house, I revert to goblin mode. (laughs wryly) Like I'll have trouble getting myself to go take a bath, or I really should clean but my back hurts, etc., etc.

By contrast, now that I've graduated from being an otokoyaku, a lot of the things I'm doing as an actress are total firsts for me, so I think I feel more discomfort with my presentation now than I did then. There are times when I get really nervous, and then I get disappointed in myself for feeling that way. Like, until just a little while ago, I was in a position where I was responsible for keeping everyone's morale up. I would get up on that stage like, "It's alright, just leave it to me," so what am I all anxious for now? I often think about how much I still have to learn, and how badly I want to hurry up and learn it so I can show the results of my efforts.

Is there a particular ideal you're currently pursuing? What kind of actress do you want to become, and what kind of woman?

Since leaving Takarazuka, I've had a lot more opportunity to meet all kinds of new people. On every set I've been on, each of the actresses I meet has their own unique aura, and seeing their acting up close, I'm blown away by each of them. Among the staff as well, there are so many different kinds of professionals of all ages, and I often find myself inspired by their work ethic and lifestyle. I'd like to continue to enrich my life by learning from the amazing people I meet and experiencing many new things, and work to become a more fully rounded human being.

*Bracketed notes not marked "TN" (Translator's Note) were present in the original article.

[shoichee]

teiko manager anon back ~ my juicy part 2 will disappoint bc guess what: we're skipping two years into the future. akashi never found out what happened, and by third year the gom were the epitome of cruelty. so reader picks a fight with them after meiko game, only to collapse out of stress after. they graduate, she follows kuroko to seirin and they train to defeat gom. but why is she so insecure and easily sad when gom is mentioned? they get their answer when they catch her overworking

oh teiko anon, so so bold.... really out here stirring the pot of chaos with this part 2 huh KEK alright folks BUCKLE IN YOUR SEATBELTS IT”S TIME FOR PART 2 and part 1 is right here ! part 3 will be here ! update: part 4 is here !

Akashi x Reader

Part 2

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

remember how I said in part 1 how Akashi would find out sooner or later? this would normally be the case, but in this exception…

you came back to school pretty quickly and restored, only to be in shock when Akashi himself confronts you about where you’ve been… like hello? YOUR CRUSH?? is? talking? to you? about your wellbeing?

here’s the thing, Akashi can easily detect lies through body language because he has an extraordinary sense of kinetic vision and critical thinking, but he’s still a human, not to mention… a middle schooler, and he’s not a true mind reader as some teammates would wholeheartedly believe

still, after some easy sleuthing he easily drew out confessions from some teammates who badmouthed you, although every single one were some type of half-truths and inconsistent testimonies that didn’t really make sense in painting a big picture

instead of incorrectly assuming things, he wanted to hear what’s been going on from your own mouth (keep in mind, this is still Oreshi, the guy who’s still cordial and wants to confirm this with you out of respect)

when he asks you some questions, he doesn’t detect any physical signs of lying from you, which only makes him believe that there wasn’t anything wrong to begin with other than you being under the weather and the other teammates saying utter nonsense either out of fear in his presence or using you as a scapegoat to cover up other delinquencies that he may have yet to discover

“(l/n)-san, I take it that you’ve been resting well? I heard from Kuroko that you were absent due to the seasonal flu.”

“Ah, y-yes! I’ve actually gotten plenty of rest and proper meals, so I’m back on my feet quicker than expected.”

“I actually also wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind?”

“What is it?”

“Has anything odd happening to you lately? Anyone who has given you trouble or has been uncooperative with you as head manager as of late?”

at the question, you only frown in genuine confusion before you answer no; you genuinely believed that these teammates weren’t in the wrong for “speaking their mind” and if anything, you felt like you were the problem in not being capable enough in managing your own job and your health in the process (despite being knowledgeable in health yourself)

because Akashi saw that you weren’t lying, he dropped it completely out of respect and asked you that if there was anything troubling you that you could reach out to him

oh how he was so, so close to finding out the truth

this wouldn’t be brought up ever again because you and Akashi only continued to grow busier and busier with your own duties; eventually, your fears came true when the Generation of Miracles had in fact “left” you behind when their talents blossomed too fast and left unchecked

honestly, you developed a horrible habit of overworking despite Kuroko’s and Kise’s constant checks on you

what do you know? of course the coaches and faculty members would ignore your opposition against putting the GoMs in every game; after all some of them had been quite dismissive of you already

it’s kind of ironic because if Bokukashi was the one interrogating you back then, he would’ve either easily (correctly) assume based off of the teammates’ testimonies alone, or he’d be a lot more insistent in discerning the truth of the situation and nipping it right in the bud to stop the “nonsense”

but at the same time, Bokukashi has a lot more pressing priorities than a few poor-attitude teammates when he has the entire reputation of Tekio’s legacy on his shoulders; anything pertaining to you never crossed his mind ever since his domineering side emerged

you were really excited for Kuroko since he was gushing about playing against his old friend, since his friend couldn’t make it to finals the first time // needless to say, you were also Kuroko’s mental support when he felt really down at that time

after Kuroko sustained an injury in the game before Meiko, you immediately accompanied him to the infirmary

there, Kuroko requests you to go watch the game and you only reluctantly agree because you wanted to see the game just to relay back to Kuroko just in case if he couldn’t make it, and you were still a manager with a job to fulfill; you’d figure leaving Momoi to watch over was sufficient enough

when you walk out the door though… you bump into Akashi, which is the first time in a while where you two were face-to-face like this; your heart sank when you realize that you had to accept the fact that he’s changed and allowed the distance to grow between you two

but a small part of denial makes you quickly turn and flee out the hallway, but you really begin to evaluate your crush on him as you scurry away; Akashi just stares at you for a moment before he enters into the infirmary where Kuroko is

you’ve distanced yourself from other people (GoMs in particular) in basketball out of denial of the fact you were really left behind (plus, you already dread attending to their games because it’s always a cruel reminder that you’re not working hard enough to achieve results of the same level), which is why reality slapped you in the face after the aftermath of the Meiko game… when you witnessed the full extent of their cruelty on the court

you were really hurt—in fact, you looked more distraught than the Meiko teammates themselves

especially, since the fact that Kise himself, who you thought of him as someone you can trust in, partook in this as well (this is actually your first time in seeing his cruel side in action, since he’s always been very sweet and helpful to you because he respects you)

you first confronted Kise when he was alone for a bit, sounding absolutely heartbroken and on the verge of tears; you shocked him out of his cold side and he immediately becomes a mother hen and asking if you needed water or a seat to calm down before you overexert yourself

after telling him your feelings about the game and your growing distance in the friendship, he sincerely apologizes for making you feel in such an awful way and tells you to let him know next time before a game, so that he wouldn’t suggest this type of entertainment for the game again.

you were in complete disbelief… the fact that your best friend suggested this himself? You dumbly asked for his reason, and he only says that you wouldn’t understand it because no one ever gives the GoM a proper challenge

even though he didn’t intend anything bad when he said this, it just made you feel worse, but you still accepted the apology to get it over with

the other GoMs come and you immediately become angry again and tension just skyrockets; Midorima simply looks away and says nothing, and Murasakibara and Aomine do most of the talking back/arguing… and Akashi only impassively stares at you

later, when Kuroko himself confronts them while everyone was walking in the hallway, you completely lagged behind on the group, tearfully staring at the backs of the GoMs and how you felt really alienated and unmotivated to continue being a manager for a team you don’t even recognize anymore

you grew dizzy again, and you knew your body was dealing with too much at once but you willed your body to at least last the trip

at least you gave a warning when you assumed that you were away from the GoMs at Teiko before you went unconscious; Kise happens to catch you before he brings you to the school infirmary

he does stay with you the entire time, knowing the reason for your collapse was all the extreme emotional and mental toll accumulated in such a short time; he feels absolutely guilty, and when you were about to stir awake, he simply leaves a lighthearted note and a cutely shaped bread before he leaves, knowing that you’d be stressed again if you saw him (around this time is when Kuroko confronts Akashi to quit the team, which is why he was nowhere near you at the time of your collapse/rest)

you felt better that at least Kise still sees you as a close friend when you see what he left behind

you still feel awful, to say the least

it felt wrong of you to quit mid-season, since you felt that you were simply giving up and further perpetuating the fact that you weren’t doing the most that you could

but you didn’t feel like staying for the rest of the season, so you decided to overwork yourself again to get the rest of the paperwork and training plans out of the way for the remainder of the games; you even left detailed instructions to Momoi in how to relieve certain pressure points and muscles for instant relief in case someone hurts themselves

a little timeskip where you decided to tag along Kuroko in attending Seirin High, but you were more reluctant in joining basketball again because you didn’t want to re-experience the stress and burdens in Teiko

well, until you made friends with Riko, and her story in how she was skeptical about basketball at first too inspires you to give it a try again

Kuroko feels really happy that you’re at ease again for the first time, but he definitely notices how you grow gloomy when the Seirin teammates praise the GoMs

you slowly relapse into the habit of overworking to “compensate” for your lack of contributions to Seirin’s team, but this time, every member DROPKICKS you to stop working and relax sometimes (Riko and Hyuuga are the main culprits)

even though you never tell them the reason for your poor habits, the Seirin team members just SENSE and KNOW what to say to make you feel like you’re doing more than enough to support the team in their own unique ways (Mitobe giving really cute shoulder pats and thumbs-ups… Koganei giving you slaps on the back and high-fives… Riko bluntly telling you to relax and giving you encouraging winks… Hyuuga being a roundabout in his praises… Teppei openly praising you… and Kagami telling you that you were doing too much LOL)

Kuroko gives you the SOFTEST SMILES (everyone freaks out every time he does that, it’s hilarious)

however, wounds slowly reopen more once again every time Seirin goes against schools that the respective GoM plays for

after every win Seirin achieves against the GoM’s respective school, each GoM would eventually learn a little tidbits here and there about your tendency to overwork and collapse and possible speculations of why, but you never confirm anything with them

even though you easily forgive Kise after the Seirin vs. Kaijo match (seeing how he interacted with Kagami and Kuroko in the park), for the others… you weren’t so ready to confront…

… particularly with Akashi

[novelconcepts]

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora. 

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head. 

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all. 

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia. 

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs. 

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture. 

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot. 

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song. 

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this. 

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind. 

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure. 

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get. 

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share. 

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek. 

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face. 

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm. 

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand. 

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page. 

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt. 

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat. 

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon. 

[kotosnoozy]

「fourteen」 chapter 1

"Yuri did confess to me about one crush. First one he ever had, I’d wager, from how nervous he seemed. I had expected it to be Lady Estellise here,” Hanks says, the corners of his eyes crinkling mischievously as she flusters, “but the one detail he did give me certainly ruled that out quick.” “O-oh?” Estelle stammers. “Mmm, well. Apparently whoever they are, they’re significantly older than him. About 14 years, I think he said.”

On the nature of Yuri's first crush.

He hadn’t thought much of it at first.

Hanks’s fond babbling about Yuri over their extremely well-earned dinner is incredibly revealing about the usually cool-headed leader of their motley crew. The old man proves himself a riveting story-teller, keeping their entire party entertained for hours on end despite the incredibly long and taxing 48 sleepless hours they’ve had.

(‘Though there was almost a permanent sleep in there for some of us,’ Raven finds himself thinking morbidly, before digging his bitten-down nails as deep into his ankles as he can to distract himself)

It feels like the only time any of them stop smiling and laughing is to take another mouthful from their bowls of curry, piled high from the seemingly endless and eternal pots of the stuff in the knight’s mess hall (or in Rita’s case, to test out another formula against the system Alexei’s locked the princess into - luckless so far, but she’s yet to lose determination).

Hanks has provided all sorts of anecdotes: the adventures of a baby Yuri who had just learned to walk, quicker to his feet than Flynn but still only babbling in response to the younger’s full fledged scolding - their dynamic had formed incredibly early on, it seemed; fond recollections of helping him to learn to bind properly, their first real bonding experience that had endeared them to each other as adoptive-grandfather-and-grandson; prideful recounts of Yuri’s development from childhood cynophobia into a renowned dog-lover, of all the other little things Yuri had been scared of as a child and grown out of in time (and those he hadn’t - Raven makes a few mental notes for later reference); all the fights Yuri and Flynn had gotten into over the years, and the brief interlude where they had dated in their teens (‘If anything,’ he laughs, ‘the bickering became even more frequent at that point - thank heavens they didn’t last!’); and of course, everyone’s old favourite - that one time 2 years ago when he’d thrown Adecor into the river on tax day.

Raven’s heard that one on a number of occasions from all four of the people who’d been present when it occurred - it somehow never gets any less funny.

While most of Brave Vesperia and it's honorary members are thrilled to learn more about their favourite rebel, Yuri himself is less than happy about Hanks laying out his life story for everyone to see. It's plain on his face - the grimace of a man who appreciates how much his parents love him but would really prefer they didn't tell his date about the time he streaked naked through the town and peed in a fountain at 5 years old. His embarrassment is palpable, a pink glow to his ears that slowly spreads to his cheeks the longer and more intimate Hanks’ stories become.

It’s as he brings up Yuri’s childhood dream of joining the knights so he could sweep a princess off her feet, pointedly winking in Estelle’s direction, that their so-called fearless leader bolts to his feet. He spins on his heel, making a beeline to the other side of the room, and plonks himself violently between a bewildered Adecor and Boccos, immediately thrown from their confusion into annoyance as Yuri’s food slops all over both of them.

His previous dining companions merely snicker in his wake, Hanks chuckling fondly.

“He’s always been so easily riled, that boy. If this is how flustered he gets over just you lot hearing all this then I can’t even imagine how he’ll be when he finally shacks up with someone.’

“Wait, but didn’t you say he dated Flynn when they were younger?” Karol asks, head cocking to one side.

“Well between you, me and our gatepost friends here,” the old man says, leaning in - they all follow suit, as Hanks’ eyes pointedly glance over to Flynn, “I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings if he hasn’t realised, but I always got the impression that Yuri was far less invested in their relationship than Flynn. It was Flynn who asked him out, after all.”

“My, that does surprise me. Yuri’s always seemed like he’d be the more proactive of the two when it comes to romance.” Judy muses.

Hanks raises his eyebrows, thin lips twisting into an uneasy frown.

“Wait a minute,” Rita says, leaning even further forward. “You’re not saying Yuri never had feelings for him are you?”

He winces, gaze averting. Raven feels his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“They’ve always loved each other, of course. But the tone of that love seems to differ between them. Their relationship was what happened when they tried to figure that out, it seems, but ultimately…”

“They just weren’t compatible as partners of that type?”

“Right.” he nods to Estelle. “In all honesty, Yuri might give off the air of someone with considerable relationship experience, but it’s Flynn who attracts more attention. And seems more interested in others in turn.”

Raven finds his gaze wandering between the two in question - Flynn has managed to find himself eating amidst a small crowd, knights and lower quarter folks alike, all of them doting on him and telling him stories, and him listening attentively to each of them in turn. Yuri, meanwhile is… wrestling with all three of the ex-Schwann Brigade’s most prominent knights simultaneously. Astounding.

“Yeah that tracks.” he finds himself murmuring, nails scratching through the chest hair that rises above the collar of his shirt. Even if Flynn wasn’t the most eager to please others between the two, the young man radiates a natural charm that draws others to him like a moth to a flame - it’s hard to forget how he was upstaged the time he took him drinking in Dahngrest. Yuri, meanwhile, has a proclivity for trouble and a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth with his wit. While endearing, he can’t imagine it’s the most efficient for pursuing new connections - even if he’s managed to attract all of the motley crew Raven’s currently sat with.

“So Flynn’s a secret ladies’ man and Yuri, despite all the pomp and swagger, has absolutely no game?” Rita snickers, casting a wry look across the room at Yuri that he’s too distracted to notice.

“Well I don’t know about that. Flynn’s a man’s man if nothing else, never shown interest in women to my knowledge. But… I don’t think Yuri’s ever actually been interested in dating , full stop.”

“No way, really?!” Karol barks. The exclamation draws the attention of the groups sat closest to them, even Flynn, momentarily, before they go busily back to their meals. Flynn’s expression as he looks at them is pondering, almost puppy-like, and Karol’s panic is practically visible as they watch him seemingly wrestle with whether to come over and see what the fuss is about. Then the woman at his side taps a hand to his elbow gently, and his manners win out - she successfully steals his attention back around, all of his interest in their discussion completely forgotten.

“Well. It certainly seems that way anyway. I remember him asking me, back when they dated, how he would know if his feelings for someone were romantic. He didn’t seem to understand my answer very well."

“That’s unexpected. I suppose my advances have all been vain!” Patty whines. Raven finds himself snickering - whether Patty’s affections are genuine or not is one mystery he's yet to solve, but her playing it up is never any less entertaining or fun to tease.

“Though now that I think about it… he did confess to me about one crush. First one he ever had, I’d wager, from how nervous he seemed.”

Patty surges forward onto her hands and knees, scrambling to get in Hanks’ face. Surprisingly, he’s not that caught off guard - perhaps used to it from Yuri’s exuberance as a child, or that other kid from the lower quarter who’s off chasing Repede on the far side of the room.

“I need all the details, matey! Don’t spare a single one!”

Hanks chuckles.

“I’m very sorry young lady, but he didn’t tell me all that much! I had expected it to be Lady Estellise here,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling mischievously as she flusters, “but the one detail he did give me certainly ruled that out quick.”

“O-oh?” Estelle stammers.

“Mmm, well. Apparently whoever they are, they’re significantly older than him. About 14 years, I think he said.”

“My my! That’s quite the considerable age gap.” Judy coos, tone teasing in spite of Yuri’s absence. She turns over to look at him, sitting atop a pile of knights and triumphantly tucking into a second of four bowls (spoils of war, Raven would wager) - they all do, in fact.

“Kid’s got taste at least. Nothin’ quite like the mature allure of an older lady~'' Raven sing-songs, half-joking. Rita jabs him in the side harshly.

“Shut up old man-- you said you thought it was Estelle he had a crush on right? So are you saying this is recent? ”

It’s like a switch flips in all of their heads simultaneously. Faces filled with shock whip to look at Hanks, who sits sheepishly clutching his bowl.

“Whoops. Might’ve let a little too much information slip on that one. I was probably meant to keep that detail private…”

“Oh my go--”

Rita slaps a hand over Karol’s mouth before his shriek draws too many eyes over. They all meet each other's' gaze one by one - Yuri's crushing on someone for the first time ever at this exact moment - before turning to look back at Yuri again. He’s mid-mouthful, spoon clutched in his hand like a shovel and sauce dripping down his chin, as he turns to survey his surroundings and catches their eyes.

“What?” he chokes out around his mouthful, just audible over the bustle of the rest of the room. He must see the sheer shock on their faces, as concern starts to cross his face and his gaze wanders to Hanks. “Wait, what did you tell them, old man?”

Hanks chooses that exact moment to get up, incredibly swiftly for a man his age.

“Well, thank you all for keeping me company, kids, but I must be off to… check on other people in… other parts of the castle. Right. Goodbye.”

The speed at which he heads for the door is quite remarkable - Yuri barely manages to scramble off his knight-pile-cum-throne before he’s gone from sight, and presumably halfway down the corridor before Yuri makes it out of the room after him.

It’s a shock, that much is certain. Raven hadn’t thought Yuri would be interested in older women - or people he supposes, he’s never really shown any inclination to anyone before in a romantic sense, so certainly not any specific gender. He’d never much struck him as the type.

But then he hadn’t struck him as the type to be interested in any type of relationship until this curveball of a conversation had come along. So hey, why not. If Yuri was into older people, he certainly wasn’t intending to torment him about it. Other than maybe one opportunely timed quip.

Honestly, he really hadn’t thought much about it at first.

But then the kids throw their own curveball.

“I can’t believe Yuri likes someone so much older than him!! Like, I guess I get the appeal of someone a little older than you for like… security or something, I dunno. But man, 14 years!!” Karol exclaims, as quietly as he can for his excitement. “I wonder if we know who it is.”

Rita barks a laugh, catching a distracted Patty off-guard. She begins anew whatever calculations she’d been making on her fingers as Rita shrugs exaggeratedly.

“I bet it’s some big-boobed motherly-figure in the lower quarter or something.”

“Well if all he wanted was big boobs and a nurturing personality then I’ve been here this whole time, all he had to do was ask!” Judith sighs, sly smirk giving away her lack of sincerity.

“Hey,” Patty pipes up suddenly, drawing their attention. “Isn’t Raven about 14 years older than Yuri?”

He feels the cogs in his brain whirr to a stop.

Suddenly, he is thinking very much about it.

“Oh yeah!” he hears Karol chirp. No doubt he checks the calculations on his own fingers, but Raven doesn’t register it if so, hard as he’s trying just to think at all. “Haha, that’s a weird coincidence!”

Estelle giggles.

“Imagine if it was Raven he had a thing for!”

He feels their eyes on him instantly, but it takes a moment for his brain to catch up. His own eyes must be wide as saucers, as they look at him, the mirth starting to fall from Estelle’s expression - he forces a ridiculous grin to his face.

“Haha, yeah imagine that! Someone like Yuri fallin’ for a washed up old fart like me!” he cackles, voice strained even to his own ears. “That’d be ridiculous!!”

The kids buy it though, Karol laughing along before pulling the others back into their debate about exactly who the mystery object of Yuri’s affections could be. It’s Estelle whose gaze lingers on him, just a moment or two longer, as the facade starts to crack, but she must see it - the silent plea in his eyes - as she turns back to the others not a moment later.

If anyone notices that Raven is mentally tapped out until they all go their separate ways for the night, then they’re at least polite enough not to mention it.

⇷-------------

Raven is a strange one.

This is Yuri’s third time meeting the man (or fourth, if the time Rita threatened to set him alight in Capua Torim counts as an actual encounter) and in all honesty, it’s hard to get a read on him past him being very obviously shady.

He seems as though he might be someone of consequence, if the quality of information he so casually throws like bones to random guards is actually as quality as he would have them believe. Either way he’s certainly silver-tongued, plying the others in Yuri’s makeshift travelling party into submission fairly easily despite their initial apprehension about him. Karol and Estelle are charmed by him, by his goofy antics if not the lolloping drawl of his accent, though they make no effort to hide the fact that they find him fishy. While Rita is far less taken, she seems to be placated by him taking her punishments, both fire and fists, like a champ.

The charm isn’t exactly visible to the naked eye though. He skulks at the back of the group, heavy footed and posture slouched. His clothes all seem far too big for him, obscuring the shape of his body in a way Yuri supposes is meant to make him seem unassuming, and he’s already displayed a number of habits that he knows would make any upper quarter noble’s toes curl - picking at his ears and the skin around his nails, before chewing at the nails themselves.

He has to admit though, he’s quite handsome in the face beneath the mess of dusty brown hair. Not in the same way as Flynn, with his big blue eyes and tousled blonde hair, the very picture of a storybook knight. His crooked nose, chapped lips, stubbly chin and hollow cheeks certainly make for a more unconventional type of attractive, but they all come together to create a certain appeal. The brightness of his eyes certainly helps too.

Also the combat prowess. Fighting ability is always an attractive quality in Yuri’s opinion, but especially in a travelling companion.

For a self-professed old man, Raven’s far more nimble than Yuri had expected. Sure, he’d made quite the getaway back in Capua Nor after he’d sold them out, but he’d assumed that’d been a one-off desperate sprint, not the norm. Apparently he was wrong, based on the nimble footwork he employs to dart out of the way of a particularly feisty howler. It doesn’t escape his notice how Karol nearly falls flat on his ass when Raven rushes past him and twists himself at an insane angle to fire an arrow across the way, skewering a beetle between its mandibles before it can take a bite out of Estelle.

“Woah, Raven!! Yuri, you’ve got some serious competition for your acrobatics now!!”

The bark of laughter leaves his throat unwittingly.

“I didn’t realise there even was a competition!”

He sees Rita roll her eyes as she releases a torrent of water behind her, clearly disbelieving him and with good reason; he’s never been one to back down from a potential competition. He breaks away from the corner of the forest floor he’s been holding down, using the momentum to propel himself up and over Raven, carrying it into his sword as he flips to crash it down into the skull of another monster. Raven whistles appreciatively as it disappears into dust.

“Not bad, young ‘un!”

He throws a smirk over his shoulder, ego swelling at the genuine awe on Raven’s face.

“How’s about it, old man? First to twenty?”

The awe transforms into a grimace in an instant.

“Ahhh, I dunno about that. Ol’ Raven’s never really been one for competitions, let alone effort. ”

He scoffs.

“Oh, come on. We’ve got no choice but to fight to get deeper into the forest anyway, right? So why not make a game of it? Not like it’ll actually be any more effort than you were already putting in.”

Raven purses his lips, seemingly unconvinced. His eyes narrow slightly as he stares off, deep in thought, the blue-green seemingly increasing in intensity. For all he’s been putting on the act of a court jester, Yuri is certain in that moment that there’s a deep intelligence to the older man; something unspoken, a wisdom beyond his years.

(Not that he knows how old Raven is but. Well, he gets the feeling that while he’s certainly older than he and his travelling companions, he’s not actually pushing middle-aged yet like he makes out)

Fwip!

He comes back to himself to see Raven’s face closer than before, upside down, chin in line with his collarbone. His bow arm (and subsequently the bow itself) is extended past his shoulder, the other loose by his head having just fired. Behind him there’s a thunk. A screech. A pop. And then silence.

“Looks like that’s one ta me~” Raven coos, eyes hooded as he smirks. He rolls his back, lithe and catlike, to stand himself back upright, stretching his arms out until his shoulders crack. For all his complaining about aches and pains so far (extremely numerous for the time they’ve been travelling with him, maybe an hour at most), he certainly doesn’t move as though he has any joint issues.

Despite his shock, he finds himself laughing.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s just as charmed by Raven as the kids are. He’s never made a connection quite like this one; with someone who can go toe to toe with his dry wit, and make it out the other side without being angry with him. Rita had been the closest (since Niren at least, but Yuri prefers to avoid thinking about the only father he ever knew if he can). But while Rita’s great with a back and forth, she’s easily riled, easily flustered. It only takes one slightly wrong jab and she gets stroppy, or else loses all interest in the situation.

Raven, for all his strangeness, has so far matched Yuri every step of the way. They’ve fallen so easily into a steady banter, something of their own personal comedy routine for just the two of them, some form of it present even from their first encounter way back in that jail cell. To have someone who can appreciate his snark, and give it back just as good while they both know it’s all in good fun? He’d never realised just how much he’d appreciate a relationship like that.

So yeah, Raven’s a little suspicious. But as far as Yuri’s concerned, he’s willing to offer him the benefit of the doubt for the strange comfort he gets from their repartee, just so long as he doesn’t do anything too crazy.

He slaps Raven on the shoulder, moving past him to continue deeper into the oversized brush.

“You got me, old man. But don’t you worry, you won’t be holding that lead for long.”

Raven merely cackles in response, wordlessly filing in behind him.

-------------⇸

There’s only one real constant within their travelling party, and that’s that the sleeping arrangements are ever-changing.

It takes a little while for him to notice, though in his defence the first week or so he’s with them is certainly not a typical week. In the more recent days, they’d gotten lucky with inns having enough beds for all of them, but the first few nights had been entirely sleepless in the hustle and bustle of, y’know, stopping a war, taking down the Blood Alliance and colliding with an actual genuine-article ghost ship.

(He’s still not sure what that was all about if he’s being entirely honest, but he’s old and ““wise”” enough by now that he knows there are some things in this world that you simply shouldn’t question)

So it’s Nordopolica where he finds himself bedding down with his new companions for the first time. The constant hustle and bustle of Palestralle’s workers and the fresh colosseum season unfortunately means there isn’t much free in terms of rooms. On the plus side, the three double beds they’re provided are plenty enough space for them all to be able to sleep comfortably; Fomalhaut’s rooms are quite spacious, nothing at all like the army barracks of his youth (though he supposes that should be expected from a city that considers itself something of an entertainment hub).

Raven takes his time ambling in behind everyone else, absently watching how effortlessly Repede transfers his pipe from one side of his toothy maw to the other. Rushing would be pointless, in his opinion, because he can already envision how everyone will double-up. Rita is sure to claim a spot beside the princess, for whose sake she could not be more clearly continuing to travel for despite her protests, and Judy won’t want to get lumped with a snotty (though admittedly quite sweet) brat or some dirty old man she hardly knows - he’s gonna get stuck with the kid, and the two of them can have a very one-sided competition over whose shitty little brain can give them the most nightmares in one night, and Raven will be perfectly content with that, thank you very much.

(It’ll be him who wins that one - hormone-induced nightmares are nothing compared to the horrors your brain can produce when you have blood and a war on your hands)

And then Karol throws him for a loop by tossing his bag semi-gently to the floor before diving into bed after Rita , of all people.

She hardly even makes a fuss. There’s a yelp - what sounds like it could be the start of the protest Raven would expect from such a combination - before she settles almost immediately.

“Just make sure you don’t kick me awake again, got it?” she barks pointedly at him, before rolling to face away from him and promptly cocooning herself in the blanket. He laughs at her, kicking off his shoes and fluffing up his pillow, seemingly content.

Wide-eyed, Raven turns to the girls - surely he can’t be the only one caught off-guard by this, it seems unthinkable for Rita not to put up a fight to sharing with Karol , and there’s an exclamation of surprise right on the tip of his tongue - only to find them claiming the second bed for themselves, Judy helping Estelle to unfasten the complicated buckles of her dress. He bites his words back, head whipping away; much as the image of a pervert works as a brilliant cover to convince the kids of his idiocy, peeping on the possible-crown princess as she gets changed is certainly not a thing he’s ever aspired to.

And so he comes face to face with the final bed. His bed he supposes, strange as it may still be to him. Yuri’s already making himself comfy on the left side, shirt and jacket thrown over the bottom edge of the bed frame. He stretches his arms up and over his head, muscles rippling as he yawns. He catches Raven’s eye as they fall back down, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes.

“Looks like it’s you and me, old man.” he says, patting the sheets next to him with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

He can feel his own lips quirk to mirror Yuri’s, even as he fights to push down the instinctive panic.

“And here I was hopin’ ta share with my darlin’ Judy!” he whines playfully, flopping down beside him face first in a show of dramatism.

“Sorry, Raven. I just couldn’t miss the chance to cuddle up with Estelle!” comes her voice, sing-songy, from the bed she’s claimed. He can see, as he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees to get better situated, that she’s doing exactly that. She’s practically spooning the princess, face buried in short pink locks, and Estelle herself looks the very picture of a tomato (not that he wouldn’t himself with Judith’s considerable… assets pressed against him).

“Well so long as yer not a cuddler yerself, Mr Lowell.” he jokes, rearranging himself onto his back before pulling the duvet up to his chin. For all that they’re in less than ideal circumstances with sharing beds, he’s glad to see Palestralle don’t skimp on the furnishings for their inns - the linen is incredibly soft, smooth against the pads of his fingers, and it’s a smart fabric choice for an inn in so changeable a climate.

Yuri huffs a laugh.

“I think I can hold myself back this once, just for you.” he says, tone laden with sarcasm. He watches Raven with keen eyes as he lounges on his side, head resting in his hand. Raven wonders how he can sleep like that - how his arm doesn’t cramp in the night, doesn’t wake him up in a fit of panic when he can’t move it, breathing shallow until the blood flow returns. He forgets, sometimes, that not everyone enters a blind panic over the little things.

“Why, I'm honoured! Yer benevolence knows no bounds!" he coos back, nose scrunching in amusement. Yuri smiles as he reaches back and pats Repede where he stands by the bed - a silent request to turn off the overhead light. The pooch complies, trotting off with a clack of his pipe between his teeth - Raven’s constantly caught off guard by the dog’s intelligence, the number of strange things Yuri’s managed to teach him (or perhaps that the dog has taught himself? He’s still not fully certain how much of a hand in training him that the young man’s had), and this is certainly another for the list.

“Damn right it doesn’t. Better make sure you show me the respect I deserve.” he says. He meets his eyes again as the blastia clicks off, dousing them in darkness. They crinkle with mirth, the abyss within softening even more as Karol giggles at their antics on the other side of the room.

They find themselves in a staring contest, of sorts. Or maybe closer to a game of chicken? He’s sure Yuri sees it that way at least, if his unblinking gaze is anything to go by. For him on the other hand it’s… something else. What exactly he can’t say. He’s just... transfixed .

Because Yuri’s plenty handsome on his own - perhaps even beautiful, if that’s more your thing. Raven’s already seen him turn a great many heads in the short time they’ve been together, including both the illustrious head of Fortune’s Market and the great forgotten war hero himself. Maybe he’d even let himself cast an admiring glance his way, if he hadn’t picked specifically womaniser for Raven’s bullshit cover-up trait.

But when the sea-breeze blows gently, kicking up the curtains, and the moonlight shines into the room, it catches him just so. The glow is ethereal, transformative, and it brings out the hidden flecks of golden brown in the depths of Yuri’s eyes, spins the silk of his dark hair almost chestnut. And just for a moment, he can trick himself into believing she’s here, the Canary herself, laid opposite him with a fond teasing smile, and oh god the hole where his heart used to be aches to reach out and touch her--

But for all her perfections, Casey’s eyes had never glowed quite like that had they? Never stared directly into his soul, made him almost want to bury into her arms and let her shoulder his every burden for him. Her kindness had inspired, but never been so bottomless that he wanted to abuse it, had never come off her in waves to the point it was visible in every little line of her face despite any grandstanding. Never so gentle to the broken that he could almost convince himself that he doesn’t need to run, that if he’s seen he’ll be accepted wholly, flaws and sins and all.

Not like Yuri. Not at all like Yuri.

The curtain drops, or else the clouds must roll in overhead. Either way, the moonlight vanishes, and with it goes the last vestiges of the illusion.

“Aye-aye, sir.” he all but murmurs, his voice tighter than just moments ago. He hopes, as Yuri’s face twists in concern, that his own face doesn’t give away the turmoil of his heart.

“You alright, old man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Hah, maybe I have!” he laughs, but it sounds notably hollow even to him. Still, he doesn’t break eye-contact as Yuri seems to peer directly into him, seemingly scanning his every thought and feeling, hope and dream.

The last thing he sees as he slips into sleep is the gentle embrace of the abyss. While his dreams are plagued by nightmares, a broken body bleeding out in the sand, he finds it’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in years.

-------------⇸

The town is silent, other than the gentle rustle of the sea breeze through the trees and the crunch of the dirt path beneath his feet.

They’ve been here all day, but Yuri’s not sure he’s used to how incredibly peaceful Yormgen is yet. He’s not sure he ever will be, either. He’s used to the bustle of the city, the shouting of vendors and newsies in Zaphias’s main market as carts laden with goods and people roll by. It feels like there’s always a dog barking, a clock chiming, a baby crying in the city, and the background noise helps him to switch his brain off in a way that the country never can.

Halure had been quiet to him - the calm atmosphere of the day, the slowness of shop transactions and conversation, had already been a lot, but for there to be a perfect stillness as night fell rather than an increase in bustle as drinkers started to take to the town had been the real whiplash. Despite a relatively large population, the town didn’t have a single dedicated bar to its name, and it’d thrown Yuri for far more of a loop than he’d ever expected.

Yormgen is even stranger. There must be all of fourteen people in this entire town, he thinks, and every single one of them vanished into their houses the moment the sun started to set. The only conversation he's heard that he hasn’t been directly involved in since Duke showed up and smashed their apatheia (he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still annoyed about that) is that of his own travelling companions bickering over what to make for dinner with their limited ingredients as he stepped away to find their mysterious disappearing old man.

Raven took the loss of the crystal hard. Or at least, Yuri thinks he did. He certainly vanished quickly when they decided to wait around while Rita took some time to investigate. He’d been right next to him one second and then gone the next, before they’d had a chance to agree to meet back up for dinner at sundown. With no one having seen him all day since to let him know, it’d fallen on his shoulders to hunt him down and drag him back. Raven might’ve been plenty energetic on their first trip through the desert, but they all know better than to let him make the return journey on an empty stomach. The man eats like a bird at the best of times - he really can’t afford to be doing that now.

He’d grumbled and whined about it being him who had to go find him, but in all honesty he’s kind of pleased. He’s found himself surprisingly worried about the old man - this is the first time since they’ve started officially travelling together that he’s pulled a disappearing act. Normally it’s hard to get him to shut up for more than 20 minutes at a time, so the better part of a day without seeing or hearing from him at all is completely unheard of. If his silence doesn’t mean he’s curled up and died somewhere, then Yuri knows that he’s the only one of their party who stands any chance of fetching him with both of them left unscathed.

He’s explored the residential side of the town (if it can truly be called that) extensively already throughout the day. Not that it was hard to do - other than the homes of locals that are a bit further out, the town proper is essentially three big buildings and a deck. He’d quickly concluded that there were very few places to hide a man with a proclivity for such a bright shade of purple amongst the muted timber and the gentle green of the grass. The only conclusion he can come to is that Raven must’ve headed to the other side of town, to the sea of flowers that makes his sinuses itch just looking in their direction.

For all he knows they’ll give him a headache, the flowers are incredibly pretty. It had been the bushes of pink and blue trumpets that had caught his attention in the midday, as Estelle had run over to them in delight and plucked a few. She’d fashioned a few little fascinators, of sorts (a skill she’d learned in the finishing school she had no doubt been forced to attend as the potential future Empress), and spent the better part of an hour lacing them into everyone’s hair. If he looks back over his shoulder, he knows he’ll see Judith wearing the pink blossoms - rhododendron, Estelle had called them - with pride, while Karol nervously fidgets with his own, worried they’ll fall out, ruining the princess’s hard work.

Now, however, in the amber light of the sunset, it’s the flower tunnel that draws his eye. Not that he hadn’t noticed it before - it’s impossible to miss, vibrant as it is. But he’s never been the biggest fan of yellow, always a little bright for his tastes. The way the light bounces off the thousands of little flowers is certainly eye-catching though, setting them in such a way that their radiance is somehow easier on the eye. They’re impossible to look away from as he draws closer, some emotion he’s unused to, couldn’t possibly name, stirring in his chest. The chains dance gently in the breeze, bouncing against each other like a bead curtain, and something about it makes him nostalgic for the familiarity of the Lower Quarter.

Then he spots him, further in, beneath the boughs. His hand rests comfortably on the handle of the knife he keeps at his waist, the other left to the mercy of the breeze as he stares up amidst the blossoms. They bathe him in their glow, mingling with the dying rays of the sun, casting him almost golden . He’s mesmerised by the sight himself, it seems, completely off-guard for the first time in the couple of months Yuri’s known him - for all he plays the fool, Yuri would be an even bigger one not to realise how keenly Raven follows the every movement of all those around him.

But right now, he seems… defenceless. Open. Fragile. Unaware that a world aside from him and the sea of flowers even exists. He could do whatever he wanted to Raven in this moment, he thinks, and he just knows the man would be equally surprised by anything. Something about that knowledge, this vision makes his chest feel light, almost airy.

The image sears itself into his mind, unbidden, and he knows instantly. No matter how hard he tries he’ll never erase it.

“Laburnum.”

He startles as Raven speaks. Perhaps he hadn’t been as unaware as he’d thought.

“Huh?” he grunts dumbly.

“These flowers. They call ‘em Laburnum. Or golden rain in some parts.” he says, flicking his eyes (almost the vibrant green of dense aer with the glow) over to acknowledge Yuri. He goes quickly back to gazing upwards, almost reverent. “Pretty apt.”

Yuri finds himself eyeing the flowers again as he moves closer. They’re strangely shaped, the blooms, unlike any he’s seen before. The petals curl back and in on themselves, clustered closely together in a way that hides the little shock of red in their centres. Stranger still are the buds, gently curved in a way that reminds him of the plantains he’d seen in Dahngrest’s market.

From the right angle, they could almost look like birds in flight, or indeed a sudden burst of rainfall.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Raven’s lips quirk into a smile. His eyebrows set into something pensive, wistful even.

“They’re pretty rare these days. Didn’t think I’d ever get to see a single tree with my own eyes, never mind a whole grove…”

The melancholy that’s settled over him like a veil is impossible to ignore, his voice distant as though transported to another time. There’s a pressure at the base of Yuri’s throat as he watches him, finds himself wanting to do… something. He’s not sure what. Just anything to pull him from his reverie. But of course, in the end all he really knows is sarcasm.

“Wouldn’t have taken you as the type to know about flowers.”

It seems to work somewhat. Though perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised - he and Raven have always been strangely in sync.

“Wouldn’t be much good with the ladies if I didn’t know about little things like flowers, now would I?” he says, finally turning to face Yuri more fully. His eyes soften with mischief, and yet still seem tight with… well if Yuri had to put a name to it, he’d wager it was grief .

A half-joke then; his flower knowledge almost certainly learned on behalf of one lady, though he’d wager not women generally at all. After all, for all he seemed to enjoy playing the womaniser, his actions often seemed chosen to purposefully push them away if anything.

Yuri rolls his eyes in faux-annoyance. Raven smiles. It gets closer to meeting his eyes than he expected it to.

“I can’t imagine just throwing their names around is especially impressive. Seems more like the absolute bare minimum.” he says, hand coming to rest on a cocked hip. Raven’s smile widens, coaxed out of his shell somewhat by the familiar teasing routine.

“Ah, but whoever said I only knew their names?”

His eyebrows raise instinctively. To know flowers’ names is one thing, but any other details aren’t usually common knowledge; their language, how to arrange them, the best methodology for their care all usually things known solely by the upper echelons of society, or else those with enough money in their back pockets to take a chance on starting a related career.

“Don’t tell me…” he trails off, fixing Raven with a sceptical look. The old man’s face splits into a wide grin, hand coming up to flash a peace sign. Dork, his thinks impulsively as he huffs a laugh, surprised at the fond tone the word takes in his mind. Then quick as the cheer arrives it drops again, leaving the previous melancholic half-smile splayed across Raven’s face.

“These wouldn’t be much good in a bouquet though, pretty as they are. If bein’ deadly poisonous wasn’t enough, they’re usually used as a symbol of the forsaken. ” he muses, the last word spat like something dirty from his mouth.

“Who the hell would look at these and decide that? ” Yuri barks out. His expression must look as bewildered as he feels - Raven laughs at him, gentle but genuine.

“Yeah, it seems like a lot, right?” he says. His gaze drifts away from Yuri’s, losing focus and staring past him, through his shoulder. “She always liked them though, in spite of that.”

“...She?” he asks, carefully. He doesn’t want to sound eager, too nosey. Doesn’t want to push when the old man is this fragile. But he can’t help his curiosity - this is the first he’s mentioned of his past, the first clue to piecing together the admittedly fascinating mystery that is Raven. The man himself seems to realise it too, that with just one sentence he’s revealed a huge part of himself he hasn’t previously. Graciously, he doesn’t scramble to hide it away as Yuri might’ve expected.

“Ah. Old friend.” he says softly, as though divulging a secret. “She’s… gone now. But she was always a big fan of flowers. These weren’t her favourite but. She liked ‘em plenty.”

It slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Not like you to spill your past out in the open like this, old man.”

It takes all of his mental strength not to kick himself as Raven’s expression shutters, the nostalgia, longing , vanishing from his face in favour of something more carefully guarded. His eyes though, expressive as they are, can’t hide the pain.

“Ah. I suppose they got me feelin’ a little nostalgic. Forgive me.”

The silence stretches out between them for miles and miles as he watches Raven, Raven in turn watching the dancing laburnum above his head. His eyes flicker from bloom to bloom, as though cataloguing each one carefully, trying to commit their shape, their profile to memory. Yuri finds his eyes drawn to his lips as they purse, a gentle pout taut in a manner that gives away the nervous chewing of the inside of his mouth. His thick eyelashes fan over his cheekbones as he blinks, and Yuri hates the silence of the country, because it’s weird sappy shit like this that the bustle of the city helps him to avoid thinking about.

Raven’s a lot like these flowers , is the thought that springs to his mind, unprompted. And it’s ridiculous really. Completely nonsensical. The kind of thing Karol might come out with on a night where he’s overtired, that they’d all tease him for mercilessly until they pass out. But there’s nothing to distract him from it - he’s surrounded by the evidence, and the more he tries to ignore it the more sense it seems to make to him. The two parts of his brain war with each other, unrelenting, and he can feel the push and pull starting to show on his face.

Then a single blossom falls from the canopy above. It lands perfectly atop Raven’s bangs, perched there like a peepit in a tree, and he can’t fight the analogy anymore - Raven certainly looks forsaken, in that instant, the pain swimming in his eyes. And yet usually so bright and cheery, like the flower’s vibrant colouring, almost desperate for attention as he jokes around-- and then pushing people away, like a poison, when they try to get close. An exterior crafted to make you underestimate him, and yet a hidden strength, swift and deadly on the battlefield. A sunny disposition that washes over you like a summer rain, calming and refreshing.

He’s not sure anymore if the golden glow bouncing off Raven’s skin is from the flowers, or just simply the man himself.

A light breeze jostles the flower, and it slips from his hair. The strange shape hooks itself onto the crook of his nose and it wedges firmly, even as the wind picks up, cascading more petals down onto them both. Raven either ignores it, or doesn’t notice, his eyes falling closed as he lets nature wash over him.

He steps closer carefully, unthinkingly. He feels as a moth to a flame, though why he couldn’t say. He’s unfamiliar with the stirring in his chest that rises at the sight, doesn’t understand his compulsion to reach out, to touch Raven. To check he’s still solid and there, that he hasn’t been blown away on the currents of the wind like his namesake.

His hand reaches out, plucking the flower from Raven’s face gently. The old man startles instantly, eyes snapping open and meeting Yuri’s as he flicks the blossom to the floor. Raven’s eyes scan over him, looking for answers that he’s not sure he’ll find. Yuri certainly wouldn’t be able to explain if he were to ask. He simply looks between the sunken blue-green, carefully smoothing more fallen petals from Raven’s shoulders.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice practically a whisper beneath the howling of the breeze, far gentler than he’d expected it to be, “I think I understand why your friend liked them.”

Raven’s eyebrow cocks, ever so slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he answers, lips quirking into a small smile, something genuine and raw and delicate that he doesn’t recall gracing his face before. “They’ve got a certain charm, I suppose.”

Raven’s breath hitches - he doesn’t hear it, only sees the narrowing of his nostrils, the bobbing of his Adam's apple. His eyes are so round, as the melancholy starts to subside slowly, leaving something inquisitive in his wake. It’s an expression he’s sure he’s seen on Repede before when he was younger, still training, still struggling with learning to sit on command, and it feels strange to compare Raven to a puppy, but it certainly isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to him in the last 24 hours.

It feels like hours before Raven breaks his eyes away, anything raw and gentle immediately traded for bluster and jokes as he ducks his head.

“What’re you doin’ hangin’ out with me amidst the flowers anyway?” he asks, voice a little hoarse as his teasing lilt starts to creep back to him. “The others will start to talk if we keep havin’ these secret rendezvous, young man! How scandalous!”

He slaps his hand to his chest, feinting horror at their make-believe tryst. Yuri snorts, socking him lightly in the arm. Ridiculous as his jokes are, he can’t help but be pleased to see him return to some semblance of normalcy.

“I came to get you for dinner, dumbass. After that, you can feel free to go on ahead to Nordopolica.” he says, turning back around to lead the way to the others with a nod of his head.

Raven snickers at his own antics, hurrying to follow after him as he pulls a hurt expression.

“What, you wanna get rid of me so soon?”

“Wrong.” he snorts, head turned pointedly away in an effort to ignore his self-deprecating jokes. “I just wouldn't want you to miss the new moon and your chance to deliver the letter all on our account.”

The beat of silence that follows is just a touch too long for their usual banter. He turns back to Raven, worried momentarily that he’s run off again and he’ll be on a wild goose chase for the rest of the night, only to find him following attentively behind him. He’s looking at Yuri, expression… totally indecipherable to him for once, actually. It’s a rare occasion for him to have no idea what the old man is thinking.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow quirking. Raven simply smiles, wide and catlike.

“Oh, nothin’ important~” he sing-songs, taking over the lead in the moment Yuri pauses. “Honestly, I could do fine without your concern.”

Yuri scowls.

“Wrong again.” he says, moving to keep pace, their back-and-forth continuing until they arrive back at the inn, and the campfire their party has set up.

(He never does figure out what Raven’s expression had meant on that day, but when he finds the small laburnum branch tangled in his hair alongside the rhododendron the next morning, he quietly stows it away in the bottom of Karol’s bag, heart fluttering strangely in his chest)

-------------⇸

The speed at which Mantaic’s locals manage to throw the party together is honestly quite astounding.

The stalls of the inn concourse have cleared their tables of their wares, already starting to accumulate piles of local cuisine - barely an hour since the news of the Flynn Brigade’s arrival started to spread throughout the town, whispers abandoned in favour of joyous cries despite the extreme early hour, and already there’s a feast to rival one for a noble. People of all ages are wide awake and gleeful, even very young children who don’t fully understand what’s happening squealing with joy at seeing their parents’ and older siblings’ excitement.

The princess tries to help where she can (as always) - shakily carrying huge steaming pots to their directed positions, assisting in dragging tables out of homes to line the streets. Were Flynn not so busy tying up loose ends with the stragglers of the Cumore Brigade, Judith’s sure he’d be dancing around her like a mother hen. Instead, Karol and Rita have become his stand-ins, getting roped into helping themselves albeit minus Estelle’s unshakeable enthusiasm.

She’s glad everything turned out okay in the end. It had been with great unease that they’d all drifted off to sleep the night before, distressed at their powerlessness, their lack of time. Battling with the princess’s impulsivity had been hard, especially in the presence of her big round eyes and quivering lips, but a necessary evil. There really wasn’t anything they could’ve done. Judith remains firm in her belief - it would be impossible to rehabilitate a man like Cumore in jail. Even with the combined influence of Flynn and Estelle, the strength of their idealism and naïveté, a man as corrupt as he would never conform to concepts like morals and ethics. He would only change in death.

The man’s fall from grace, while certainly better than allowing him to run amok, does little to satisfy her in all honesty. The townspeople, however, just seem glad to be free of his clutches, regardless of the flaws in the Empire’s justice system. She can’t blame them really - she’s sure she’d feel the same in their shoes, the ever-lingering threat of death by dehydration or being eaten alive finally lifted from their shoulders.

She’s glad for the lifting of the tense air that had settled over their travelling party the night before. That there’s a smile on Estelle’s face again is good too. For the sake of the guild, nothing more , she scolds herself mentally, quashing the leap in her chest as the baby blues smile in her direction.

She finds herself counted as one of the old souls on this occasion; the small group who are extremely pleased for the turn of events and the freedom of the people, but are either too tired or consider themselves too uninvested to actually lend a hand. Raven is a regular to this group, fucked as his sleeping pattern is, and it doesn't surprise her as much as she thought it would that Patty too sits among them.

Yuri sitting back, however, is new.

Something is off with him. Something has been off with him since… well, certainly since their discovery of Cumore's little scheme. He’s never been the most talkative of their group, a man of relatively few words until it comes to snide jibes and teasing, or else rallying speeches to raise morale or call outs for something he perceives to be an injustice.

(She’d say he was self-righteous - but then, by that same line of thinking, isn’t she also?)

His usual quietude has never felt like this though - dense and oppressive like thunderclouds, holding a tension that, if referred to, threatens to strike like lightning, harsh and quick and painful. It’s possible he’d just slept badly, but she doubts it. She and Yuri are painfully alike at the best of times and in this, it seems, they continue to be.

Yes, for Yuri, the biggest champion of justice among them, to still be so tense, so incredibly on edge… It’s extremely telling.

The only one who seems to have noticed Yuri’s torment other than her (and his faithful pooch) is, of course, Raven. It’s no surprise - he’s always kept a close eye on Yuri, in the time she’s known them. She’d heard tell that the Don had taken an interest in Yuri when he’d met him, in a way usually foreign to him in regards to newcomers. Normally it would be years - years of hard work, of craft and contributions in the name of the guilds, for the man to so much as glance in your direction, let alone learn your name (understandably so for so busy and powerful a man). Yet Yuri had waltzed in and garnered his full attention in the space of a few hours, at best.

That Raven has clearly been instructed to stake him out, in addition to his apatheia hunt, feels natural. Less so is a good chunk of what he actually seems to be observing about Yuri - she’s sure the Don would much rather see a report on his fighting capabilities, his disposition, the flexibility of his morality in a pinch, than whatever he’s gleaning by staring at his back when he takes his shirt off, or watching the flow of his hair in the desert breeze.

(That is, however, a report she would quite like to read, if for nothing more than watching the burn of Raven’s ears at the request)

This morning, however, the eye he keeps on him is careful. Though the ever-present catlike smirk that plays over his lips remains, there’s something considering to his gaze - a scheme in the works but not those of his usual calibre. Nothing designed to rile Rita, fluster Estelle or make the kids laugh (though she’s sure if he can tie his usual goals into whatever he’s concocting then he certainly won’t shy away at the chance).

If she had to guess at his intentions, she’d have thought--

The blaring of a horn throws her suddenly from her train of thought - the celebrations are brought instantly into full swing by a makeshift band of passing guildsmen throwing their own contributions into the mix. Judith doesn’t consider herself a big listener of music, in all honesty, but she’d be hard pressed not to recognise the juxtaposed staccatos and legatos characteristic of Dahngrestian swing - while lesser known within Empire towns like this one, the style is famous the world over.

She hasn’t had many opportunities to join in with the festivities the guilds are known for throwing, where dancers step and twirl faster than the barkeeps can pour drinks (and really, isn’t that an impressive thought, considering the drinking culture in Dahngrest?) She’s bore witness to their local dancing customs only once or twice, and never within the heart of the city itself, and she knows with certainty that while her footwork on the battlefield might be immaculate, she has two left feet for dancing - would certainly never dare to attempt swing. She has great sympathy for the townsfolk who, while enraptured by the melody, feet tapping along jovially, seem as though they don’t know quite what to do with it.

Altosk’s second, on the other hand, is ecstatic. He barks a delighted laugh that startles Patty, almost jostling her from the table she’s perched upon, and finally momentarily draws Yuri from his reverie. She watches, amused, as he throws Yuri’s grumpy, inquisitive look a wink before springing to his feet.

“Hey, kid!” he calls, flagging Karol down as he heads to the middle of the concourse. Their illustrious guild master looks up from the mabo curry bun he’s attempting to swallow whole, wide-eyed. Raven grins, crooked and gummy in a way she’s come to associate with his mischief.

“Why don’t we show these lovely folks how it’s done, as thanks for their hospitality?”

Karol is practically vibrating at the concept. In a flash he’s pulling off his gloves and whipping his bag over his head, dumping the pile in Rita’s lap (eliciting, of course, an incredibly over the top yelp of annoyance). He scarfs down the remnants of the bun as he hops over the table he’s sat at, scampering over to Raven in a manner that does nothing to hide his enthusiasm.

“You better not stand all over my feet, Raven!” he calls as he draws closer, face pulling into a pout that doesn’t quite ring true. The noise Raven makes in response is rather like that of a strangled cat.

“The nerve o’ kids these days!” he bemoans, pinching his sinuses with a shake of his head. “I’ll have you know yours truly is the pride of Altosk! Ya won’t find a better dancer in all o’ Dahngrest, not even the Don himself!”

“Uhu, suuuure. ” Karol drawls, disbelieving, as he comes to a stop by his side.

It’s as he does that Raven ducks his head close to the boy, hand a shield to cover whatever he says. His words are inaudible, but if Karol’s terrible attempts at hiding his furtive glances in Yuri’s direction are anything to go by, Judith would have to guess it’s something about whatever Raven’s scheming for Brave Vesperia’s second.

The band seems to catch wind of their plans, slowing the jaunty tune down to allow the two to begin. Karol dusts his hands off on his trousers bashfully, ridding himself of any remnants of curry, before taking Raven’s hand in his. Their movements start off slow and creeping, almost unnatural to watch, but it quickly becomes apparent to her that they’re motions meant to teach rather than for actual dancing - an enunciated display of footwork for the surrounding beginners as they take their time to get a feel for each other as dance partners.

And then, Raven taking Karol’s waist, they begin in earnest. Movements still slow, but now fluid as water, they begin to turn around one another in the style she vaguely recognises, and while she knows nothing about dancing, it’s clear that they’re extremely good. They match each other's timing perfectly, not a step out of place, and she could believe they were gliding if not for the dust their footsteps kick up.

Karol is good, of course, especially for a kid of his age (she wonders idly if he might’ve had a brief foray in a dancing guild, prior to joining the Hunting Blades), but Raven is really something else. She’s never seen a man able to move his hips in such a way, sashaying in a way that���s frankly a little hypnotising - if she thought he were truly interested in her, then this’d definitely be enough to make her begin to consider his earlier flirtations more seriously. It’s frankly criminal, she thinks, that his trousers and jacket do so much to obscure his ass.

As they become more comfortable, they begin to ramp it up a little - they take it in turns to twirl one another, alternating between wide sweeping arcs, Raven displaying his extreme flexibility to twist beneath Karol’s arm, to fast tight twirls that almost remind her of Rita’s casting motions. For these, Karol spins so quickly she’s surprised he doesn’t completely lose balance and land face first in the dirt. Instead he simply laughs jovially, really getting into the spirit of it and losing himself to the music. Raven’s responding smile is fond, like a father watching their kid, and she could almost believe they’ve both forgotten about their ulterior motives, if not for how Raven keeps glancing in their direction every other time he’s facing their way.

It’s as Estelle drags Rita out to join them, accompanied by a group of the locals, that Judy feels something ugly snare her heart and promptly takes the opportunity to cast a considering glance instead to Patty and Yuri. The smaller is bouncing where she sits, gleefully watching the dancers - she seems antsy to join in, if only she could find a spare partner who wouldn’t accidentally crush her.

Yuri surprises her - while he might not be completely out of his funk, he’s watching more attentively than she previously expected. She gazes at him curiously for a while as he leans his head on his hand, watching the Dahngrestian pair’s increasing frenzy. Karol’s giggles are near constant, and Raven’s been infected by his happiness, laughing obnoxiously himself. The creases of Yuri’s eyes tighten, even as the rest of his face fails to emote, as his eyes seem to lock on Raven’s face and stay there. She smiles.

“Ahem.” she coughs, sharp and decidedly fake. Yuri and Patty both are startled away from the party, turning to her. She raises her eyebrows pointedly at the former, coy smirk rising to her lips. His eyes widen in response, as Patty turns confusedly to look at him, before he flusters, turning away from the party entirely. She laughs.

It’s at that moment that Karol comes spinning towards them, hand freed from Raven’s grasp at last. His smile is blinding, and he’s struggling to catch his breath, but he still seems to be full of energy as Raven follows behind him.

“Patty, you probably know a bit of swing, right?” he asks her, real question thinly veiled by his proffered hand.

She’s a clever lass, though. “Hah! Of course I do, matey!” she declares, grabbing it firmly and pulling him back out into the street.

Raven watches them go fondly, before turning to her. With a flourish, he bows to her, graceful as a knight but with none of the prim and proper charm.

“Judy, my darlin’, could I convince ya to honour ol’ Raven with a dance?”

His eyes never leave hers as he asks, gaze sharp and lacking all pretense of genuine flirting.

Ah, so that’s his game is it?

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!” she declares exaggeratedly, hand to her chest. “Not when Yuri so clearly wants to instead!”

The effect is instant. She barely has time to note the twitch of Yuri’s ears at the sound of his name before his head whips around to look at them.

“Hu- what?”

Raven springs back upright, throwing his hand up to clutch at his own chest.

“Yuri, darlin’, if you wanted to dance with me then all you had to do was say so! No need to make Judy do all yer dirty work for ya!”

He closes the gap between them in a matter of steps, as Yuri’s face grows more panicked by the second.

“Wh-- no, what?! Judy, no, I can’t dance , JU--!!”

She smiles as Raven takes him by the hand and tugs him away. Yuri’s expression reminds her of a bunwigle, caught unaware in the middle of the night, backed into a corner with no escape. It’s incredibly endearing, and certainly a nice change from the faux-apathy he’s been stewing in.

As they move away she watches as Raven’s expression transforms from mischievous to something more careful, considerate. He doesn’t guide Yuri to the middle of the crowd as she’d expected, where their friends spin with reckless abandon, but instead to a quieter area of the dancing space. Yuri seems just as confused as she feels, more than likely expecting Raven to have humiliated him with his lack of skill. They’re far enough away that whatever the older man says to reassure him is lost to her, but he smiles and takes Yuri’s hands gently.

Her heart swells at the careful way Raven teaches him, easily pulls him out of his darker thoughts and concentrates his mind on something else. Yuri doesn’t strike her as the sort to let himself be taken care of, but she doubts he even realises that’s what’s happening - probably sees it instead as some sort of challenge. It’s nice. She might not have known him long, but she feels close to him in a way she hasn’t felt with another person for… a good ten years, she’d wager. She’d forgotten what it felt like, to see good things happen to someone you care about.

He trips over Raven’s feet often, but Raven doesn’t let him get self-conscious about it - instead exaggeratedly pretending to trip himself in a way that allows Yuri to chip in and tease him. When there’s one failed attempt too many and Yuri attempts to break away, he simply pulls him back in, closer, and looks him in the eyes.

(She feels a little bad for still watching, personal and intimate as the moment is becoming, but it’s hard to find anything else interesting at this point)

“What is it I always say when I’m fightin’, Yuri?” she can just about hear the old man say over the wail of the trombone.

Yuri’s tone is monotonous, even as his face starts to rise into an affectionate smirk.

“‘Ooo, eee, ow, my back hurts?’” he says, quirked eyebrow a dead giveaway for his bullying. He receives a light slap to his arm for his trouble that leaves him laughing openly in a way she… hasn’t actually seen from him in the time she’s known him.

Huh.

“That it’s just like dancin’, ya dolt!” he says. He laces their fingers carefully before starting to move once more through the basic steps. “You’ll see what I mean before long.”

After a few more failed attempts, Yuri finally starts to figure it out. He still steps on Raven’s toes more often than not, but it’s to be expected for a newbie in the face of a dance as rapid as swing - she’s quite impressed at how fast he’s picked it up in all honesty. He’s already doing a damned sight better than Rita, whose motions are still awkward and stiff as she’s twirled by Estelle (though she looks to be having the time of her life, in spite of it).

They look very sweet together, in all honesty. It’s the most she’s seen either of them relax in front of other people - Yuri’s snark is quickly abandoned as he starts to really get into the swing of it, and most of Raven’s jokes and teasing go along with it. They’re just a couple of normal guys in their own little world, dancing together beneath the rising sun, looking genuinely happy for once. Watching them laughing together, she finds her own spirits raised too, even as she continues to sit to one side like a wallflower.

And she’s glad she did. If she hadn’t, she’d have missed out on this potentially one-time-only sight of Yuri’s carefree smile. Would’ve never seen the sudden change in Yuri’s demeanor as he looks up at Raven mid-spin, eyes widening, before his expression becomes suddenly raw.

He’s not watching his feet at all any more - he’s just going with the flow, and reading Raven’s movements and they’re incredibly in sync to say Yuri has all of 10 minutes of experience. It’s strange to think it, but he seems to be having fun , doing something other than fighting, even despite his mess ups.  Yuri’s uncharacteristically crooked smile, as his eyes never leave Raven’s, is blindingly beautiful, and piques her curiosity.

Before today, when she’d seen the admiring glances the Raven had sent his way, she’d have thought he was barking up the completely wrong tree. Now though (although she doubts Yuri’s realised the way he’s starting to look at the old man) she’s really not so sure.

Then the moment is gone.

Behind her, she hears him. Flynn, barking orders to his brigade, accompanied by the protests of the now-bound followers of Cumore. And in that exact instant, Yuri stops stock-still. Raven goes crashing into him, frantically apologising and trying to check he’s okay, but it’s as though he isn’t there. Yuri just stares past her to Flynn, eyes wide and unseeing but… terrified , if she had to take a guess.

She can hear Raven call to him as he slips his hands free from his grip, and he looks up glancingly. He mutters something, what she can only imagine is some excuse, or a few words of apology, before he’s stalking off towards the inn and shutting the door behind him briskly.

Raven, standing alone and off to one side, looks very small in that instant. Like he doesn’t know quite where he went wrong, what he could’ve possibly done differently.

Perhaps, just this once, she can take pity on him. After all, if there’s anyone who can fix her left feet…

Standing and smoothing down her skirts, she heads over to him, taking his hand, and he startles. His big blue eyes look up at her, puppy-like, and it’s like Estelle the night before all over again. She sighs, already regretting her question before she asks.

“Is the offer still open?”

He smiles. Solemn. But it’s a start.

me, age 12: haha yeah raven blatantly has a thing for yuri and i love them together, but i guess there isn't much to imply yuri likes him back huh me, age 24, seeing the 'Happy Birthday' skit for the first time and learning the Very Specific Age Gap between Yuri and his first ever crush: a

ftr no one in the vesperia party is cishet no i will not take questions

[immortalcoelacanth]

Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.… 

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

                                                   xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.  

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-  

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.  

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

                                      xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

[lillotte17]

Blossoms on a Bough

Fix-it/filler for the end of episode 36!!!

~

The first thing Wen Kexing notices, once his mind has floated up towards any sense of consciousness, is a bright cool light shining on his face. His brows twitch downwards in irritation, the intensity of it stinging his eyes even while they are still closed. His body feels like lead, and his thoughts are thick and muddy. He just wants to ignore the light and drift back off to sleep.

Wherever he is, he seems to have landed on something relatively soft and warm. It is surprising, since his general ideas about the netherworld involve darkness and cold, but he is certainly not going to complain. Perhaps, given the long list of his transgressions, his soul flew right past the Yellow River and dropped straight into hell, and now he is being fried in a pot just like that chicken that had chased Chengling around the Four Seasons Manor. The thought makes him want to laugh, but there is an odd tightness in his chest, so the best he can manage is an incredibly weak cough.

A faint rustling of cloth sounds by his ear as whatever he is reclining on shifts slightly. There is a vague sense of presence nearby, but he cannot tell more than that. Almost against his will, he cracks his eyes open to see who might be trapped in the stew pot with him, but there is only a dark looming blur surrounded by pale watery light. It makes him think of Zhou Zishu; his face bathed in sunshine, in moonshine, in starlight. He always seemed to glow with something intangible and dream-like. And Wen Kexing -helpless little month- could do nothing else but follow after it.

“Ah Xu,” he exhales in the barest of whispers.

A scent lingers in the air around him, crisp and lightly musky. It reminds him of burying his fingers in long dark tresses. Of the tenderness and care taken combing the tangles out of them afterwards. Of sliding his own hair pin into the carefully twisted knot at the crown of Zhou Zishu’s head. He should have brought him a different one to replace it, he thinks blearily. The key was most likely lost or broken in all of that snow, and now he will have nothing to remember him by.

This place is strange, wherever it is. Soothing and disorientating all at once. Is it some sort of hallucination? Did his soul get lost somewhere between life and death? Is he a true ghost now, doomed to wander the world in hopeless despair, witnessing joys he can no longer take part in? Thoughts spin around in his head in a billion tiny fragments. He cannot quite seem to catch hold of any of them, or arrange them in a pattern that makes sense.

“Am I dead?” he wonders aloud, his voice thin and raspy, not expecting an answer.

“You fucking better not be,” a cross reply rumbles out from somewhere above him.

Wen Kexing blinks. The sun still burns his eyes, but after a few moments of intense squinting, the dark blur leaning over him reconfigures itself into a familiar and beloved face. Zhou Zishu, leaning back against a dusty wall with Wen Kexing pulled more than half way into his lap.

“What…happened?” Wen Kexing wonders, head positively spinning in bafflement. Now that he is waking up a bit more, he is becoming more aware of his body’s aches and pains. It feels like a horse kicked him in the chest and then he fell into a river and drowned. Even wincing hurts.

“Something went wrong with the ritual,” Zishu tells him. His voice is raw and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks as haggard as Wen Kexing feels. “You collapsed. Your heart meridians were severely damaged, and your hair turned white. You must have used too much of your internal force. It has been more than three days since you lost consciousness and…I thought…”

His voice splinters and he trails off, looking away from him for a moment.

“But…it worked?” Wen Kexing presses, trying to feebly grip at Zhou Zishu’s sleeve, “You can hear me talking again now, so that means that it worked, right? The rest is fine, so long as it saved you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zhou Zishu answers, the first traces of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes. You are here.” Wen Kexing echoes, as though he still cannot quite believe it, “And…I am here, too.”

“You are.” Zishu confirms, his arms tightening around him, carefully tugging him up until he is all but leaning into his chest. “It was a near thing, though. My medical knowledge is limited, and even with the Yin Yang book, I was not certain that I could heal you.”

“Rong Xuan’s wife allegedly used the teachings in the book to heal his heart meridians and other serious injuries when he was near death several times over,” Wen Kexing hums thoughtfully, casually tilting his head against Zishu’s shoulder, “But she was an experienced physician. You have had no training, and yet you saved me on the first try. You must possess some kind of natural affinity for it. Ah Xu, you have so many talents, I am having a hard time keeping track of them all.”

“It had nothing to do with affinity,” Zhou Zishu huffs, sounding exasperated and perhaps even the tiniest bit embarrassed, “It was pure dumb luck.”

“Eh?”

“The Four Seasons Sect has a special technique that cripples someone’s heart meridians,” he explains somberly, a humorless smirk on his face, “I used it against Prince Jin to keep him alive, but bedridden. My master taught it to me, and as far as I know, I am the only one left alive who knows how to perform it.”

“That is very interesting, Ah Xu, but I am not certain I understand what it has to do with dumb luck,” Wen Kexing says smilingly.

“My master…he also told me how to counter the technique, so that the person’s heart meridians could be healed again and their qi could flow properly,” Zhou Zishu continues, turning his head slightly to directly meet Wen Kexing’s gaze. “I did not have much hope when I opened the Yin Yang book. You were slipping away, and there was no time for in-depth research. But…when I found the section detailing how someone with damaged meridians might be cured, it was obvious that…the techniques I learned from my master were based on this knowledge.”

“So…that means…my parents…?” Wen Kexing looks a bit lost at the revelation.

Zhou Zishu nods.

“It is likely that Lady Yue Feng’Er and your parents shared this precious knowledge with their friends, and possibly even helped my master develop this skill. I was only able to save you because of this.”

Wen Kexing furrows is brows, his thoughts whirling and his emotions complex. He seemingly stares at the dark blue of Zhou Zishu’s lapels for what feels like ages, looking but not seeing, pensive and moody. Finally, he lets out a very tired-sounding sigh.

“And I only managed to save you because that dumb bastard Rong Xuan stole the manual for the Six Cultivation Techniques,” he says, sounding bitter, “But maybe no one would have needed all this saving in the first place if that old monster had never let his idiot disciple leave the mountain to begin with.”

Zhou Zishu frowns down at him.

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, a bit sulky, “The past is past. Zhao Jing was punished and the rest are dead. There is no point stewing on it now. I have just…been angry about it for so long, sometimes I forget that I don’t have to be anymore. Be patient with me, Ah Xu.”

“Hm?” Zishu blinks, as though suddenly coming back to himself. “Oh, it wasn’t about that.”

“Then what?”

“I was just thinking that…it really could not have been anyone else,” Zhou Zishu tells him slowly, intensity burning in his dark eyes. “I said it was only dumb luck, because I never believed in destiny all that much before. If you want to achieve something in this world, you have to be willing to create it for yourself. But…for things to end up this way… It had to be you, and it had to be me, didn’t it?”

Wen Kexing bursts out laughing, utterly delighted.

“I always knew you had a soft heart beneath that tough exterior,” he grins, slightly breathless, with an almost pleasant ache in his ribs, “But Ah Xu, I never imagined that you were secretly a romantic.”

“Shut up,” Zishu grunts, pinching his arm until he yelps, “Who is romantic?”

“Ai, there is no need to be shy about it now, is there?” Wen Kexing says pleadingly, giggling to himself all the while, “There is no one here except us.”

“That’s right,” Zhou Zishu agrees blithely, a truly terrifying expression stealing across his face, “There is no one on this entire mountain except for you and me.”

“Ah Xu, don’t do anything rash,” Wen Kexing cajoles with a hint of genuine nervousness, “I only teased you a little bit, and I am still in such a delicate state of health. If you throw me out in the snow and beat me, I really won’t be-”

Zhou Zishu kisses him then, and whatever he won’t be promptly flies out of his head like a startled flock of birds.

The kiss is softer than he would have guessed, if he had gotten a moment to anticipate it. Clumsy, but tender. Hasty, but sincere. The mouth pressed so suddenly against his own trembles just slightly right before it pulls away. A thousand years too soon.

It is nowhere near the first time they have kissed each other, but Wen Kexing is almost always the instigator. It suits his own preferences to take the lead in most physical forms of intimacy anyway, so he would never complain about it. However, it does make the times Zhou Zishu reaches for him first feel more…something. Something that makes his heart full, and his eyes itch.

It makes him feel as though he is not only being accepted by this man, but chosen by him, too. As his partner. As his equal. As his friend. Lovers and soulmates and all the rest.

Wen Kexing is not certain that anyone else has ever chosen him before.

Not when there were other, better, options on hand, at any rate.

He swallows thickly, gazing up at Zhou Zishu with wide, startled eyes. Little flecks of cold mountain sunlight catch in the dark sweep of the other man’s hair almost like snowflakes. His grin is wide and fierce. Buoyant and hopeful in a way he has never been in all the time they have known each other. He looks impossibly beautiful, and horribly pleased with himself for managing to derail Wen Kexing’s usual babbling. There might be the slightest touch of pink to his ears, though.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing chokes out.

I love you.

But the words get stuck in his throat.

“What?” Zishu laughs, “Do you ever get tired of calling me?”

“No.” Wen Kexing offers him a weak smile in return, shifting out of his hold a little so they can sit facing one another.

Zhou Zishu heaves an exasperated sigh, but his eyes remain bright, his expression one of incalculable fondness.

“Is that all you were saying during the ritual?” he wonders, half joking, “You just sat there calling my name?”

“Huh?”

“You said earlier that you had tried speaking to me, but my hearing had gone,” Zhou Zishu reminds him, “What did you say?”

“Oh, yes, it was mostly just your name over and over,” Wen Kexing nods, “Plus a few embarrassing personal anecdotes I felt like sharing. Once I knew you had no way to stop me, I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Lao Wen.”

“Yes, Ah Xu?”

“After all we have been through together, what could you possibly still have to tell me that you think I would be unwilling to hear?”

Wen Kexing makes a face, caught outright.

“It…is not so much a matter of thinking you would not hear me out,” he admits carefully, “It is more that there are just things that are difficult to say to someone. The more important they are to you, the harder it gets, so between you and me… But when a man feels his end has come, all sorts of things seem to tumble out unwillingly.”

Zhou Zishu looks positively stricken.

“You could tell that the cultivation technique was backfiring?” he hisses out, gasping Wen Kexing by the shoulders, “And you still kept going?”

“What else could I do?” Wen Kexing asks helplessly, “If I had stopped wouldn’t we both die? Would it be better if I had starved to death with your corpse in my arms? Besides, that old monster promised me that this technique could save you, so no matter what the cost was going to be, of course I-”

“So, you knew there would be a cost already?” Zhou Zishu cuts him off, expression like a brewing storm cloud, “You knew this was likely going to injure you, and you did not even think to warn me first? We could have prepared beforehand! You could have looked through the Yin Yang book and point out things that I could use to help you in an emergency! Dammit, Lao Wen, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this!”

“Was there really time for things like that?” Wen Kexing argues back, “Your senses were already dying out one by one, if we did not try the technique as soon as possible, you might not have been able to complete it! If I told you how risky it is, would you agree to it? Would you still let me try to save you?”

“I deserve the right to make that choice!” Zhou Zishu shouts hoarsely.

“You do!” Wen Kexing agrees just as hotly, “But I owe it to Chengling to save his family. And I owe it to our master to save his teachings. And I owe it to you most of all. I ruined your chance at happiness. To rebuild the Four Seasons with Chengling and the other new disciples. You threw it all away to try and avenge me… The number of people in this world who have been good to me are few enough to count on one hand. I would do anything for them, and you most of all. How could I live without repaying this debt?”

“And what if I hadn’t been able to save you?!” Zhou Zishu demands thunderously.

“I didn’t expect you to save me!”

For a few moments, the words seem to echo of the cold walls of the armory, bouncing back at them over and over. The silence that follows after them is deafening. Zishu’s eyes are red, and his hands are trembling on Wen Kexing’s biceps, but he looks as though he is about to breathe fire.

“Good,” he says finally, his voice low and deadly, “Very good. You feel like you owe me so much, but all you want to do is torture me.”

“What?” Wen Kexing baulks, “No! Ah Xu, that’s not what I-”

But before he can finish the thought Zhou Zishu has already pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, his breathing erratic, and his face buried in the side of his neck. Wen Kexing makes a pained grunt, his ribs still tender from previous injury. It only makes Zishu’s grip on him tighten, however, holding onto him with a furious desperation.

“In such a short stretch of time, I have had to see you dead or dying before my eyes over and over again,” he mumbles thickly into the silk of Wen Kexing’s robes, “You spent all this time chasing me down, pestering me to let you stay by my side, begging me not to die, and telling me to find things to feel hopeful about. But now it seems as though you are set on leaving me behind.”

“I never wanted to leave you,” Wen Kexing protests, but his voice seems to have lost all of its strength, “I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if I died, and you had to be sad for a while, you have so much left to live for, and I wanted you to have it. I just wanted you to be…happy.”

“Bastard,” Zhou Zishu laughs wetly, “Wen Kexing, you really are…the absolute worst sort of person.”

Wen Kexing sags in his embrace, his heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach. His head droops, white hair falling across his eyes. Utterly defeated.

“I know.”

Zhou Zishu finally pulls back from him. There are obvious tear tracks down his cheeks, but he still looks fierce, regardless. He takes Wen Kexing roughly by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You are also…my happiness.”

Wen Kexing gapes at him, for once in his life completely at a loss for words. Seeing an opening, Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to kiss him again. Harsher this time. Brief and chaste and biting. It does not seem to help the other man’s sense of bafflement in the slightest. Indeed, Lao Wen looks as though his soul might have just flown straight out of his body.

Zishu smiles at him again, but there is still something sharp and wounded at its edges.

“Eternity would be an empty place without you,” he says quietly, “How could you leave me to bear it alone?”

“I…I’m…sorry,” Wen Kexing sputters, as though he does not know what else to say. He finally reaches back for Zhou Zishu, cautiously taking hold of his wrists. The ache in his chest seems to have spread outward, and he is shaking so badly that he fears he might not be able to sit up straight much longer. “I’m sorry. I just did not… I did not know how else to save you.”

“Mn,” Zhou Zishu nods in understanding, “I suppose I can forgive you for it this time, although some part of me still would like nothing so much as to throw you outside and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“I will accept any punishment you want to give me,” Wen Kexing tells him earnestly.

“Alright,” Zhou Zishu grins, “Then pay me back with your whole life. Stay alive, and stay with me. Always.”

Wen Kexing blinks in surprise, but the next moment he is laughing. Dizzy with relief and unexpected joy. Marveling at the gifts that fate has blessed him with after so many years of hatred and heartache.

“I can do that.”

~

When Zhou Zishu wakes up later that night Wen Kexing is sitting at the opposite end of their makeshift bed in nothing but his under robe. His back is facing him, and he takes a moment to stare at the snowy cascade of his hair. The living proof of what Lao Wen would sacrifice for him. It looks beautiful on him, as everything else seems to, but Zishu thinks he prefers the rich dark brown that he was born with. This new color comes with a twinge of guilt.

Not that he would ever say so.

“Lao Wen,” he calls softly, “What are you doing?”

Wen Kexing’s shoulders stiffen in surprise.

“Don’t come over,” he replies, “I’m not finished yet.”

“Ai,” Zishu grins, scooting close enough to lightly tug at a few strands of that bone white hair, “But that just makes me want to come over even more.”

“I have a knife,” Lao Wen says coolly, “I will use it if I have to.”

“You left our bed in the middle of the night to play with a knife?” Zishu laughs, not intimidated in the least. “Why?”

“If you stop pestering me for a few minutes maybe you’ll find out,” Wen Kexing snaps. Zhou Zishu is not fooled, though. He had caught the sharp inhale of breath when he had said the words ‘our bed’, and he is all but certain that Lao Wen’s threats are empty.

“But you’ll catch cold,” he coaxes, slipping his arms about his waist and pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He obligingly resists the urge to peek at whatever secret Wen Kexing is fiddling with, though. The other man sighs, but does nothing to discourage him, as expected.

“The next time you accuse me of being insufferable, I want you to remember this conversation,” Wen Kexing says wryly.

“It must be your bad influence,” Zhou Zishu chuckles.

Wen Kexing hums noncommittally, going back to whatever he had been working on before. Zhou Zishu sits patiently behind him, leaning into the warm curve of his back, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the faint scraping sound of a blade chipping away at something. The proximity is comfortable, and the quiet almost meditative, and before long Zishu is already half way back to being asleep.

“Alright,” Lao Wen says finally, carefully pulling himself free of Zhou Zishu’s arms and turning to face him, “You can look now.”

Zishu has to shake himself a little to wake up again, but once he does, he finds that Lao Wen is holding out what appears to be an oddly shaped icicle.

“…What is it?” he asks after a few moments of trying to puzzle it out for himself.

Wen Kexing frowns.

“It’s a hair pin,” he tells him, as though it should be obvious.

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, saying ‘ah’ with such a doubting face?” Wen Kexing huffs in annoyance, “Of course it is a hair pin, what else would it be? You lost the one I gave you before, so now I have to give you a new one to replace it.”

“I lost the one you gave me before?” Zhou Zishu laughs.

“That’s right,” Wen Kexing nods seriously, “But I promise not to be mad about it.”

“Philanthropist Wen is too kind.”

“It’s true,” Lao Wen sighs dramatically, “People are always taking advantage of my generous nature.”

He firmly places the hair pin in Zhou Zishu’s hands. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be roughly shaped like a tree branch. There are two lumpy circles that might be meant to be flowers attempting to bloom from it. The finished product is crude, but the ice is clear and crystalline. Pretty, even despite the skill level of the craftsman.

“It is meant to be plum blossoms,” Wen Kexing admits somewhat sheepishly, “One bloom for each of us. There was meant to be a bud for Chengling, too, but I accidentally broke it off. Hopefully, that is not an inauspicious sign for him.”

“I see,” Zhou Zishu says, because he does see, and just like the morning he had woken up to find the Four Seasons Manor cleaned and Wen Kexing diligently repairing his master’s old painting, he feels very much like he wants nothing more than to pull the other man into his arms again.

“Ah Xu, will you accept it?” Wen Kexing asks, slightly trepidatious at his lack of reaction.

“Of course,” Zishu smiles easily, “But it’s made of ice, after all. If I wear it, it will likely melt or break in a day or so.”

“If it breaks, I will just make you a new one,” Wen Kexing says, his eyes soft. He plucks the hair pin from Zhou Zishu’s fingers, reaching up and carefully sliding it into the loose knot at the base of his ponytail. “I can make you a new one every day, if I have to. With any luck, they will eventually look less ugly.”

He takes Zhou Zishu’s hands in his own.

“There are still things I am not good at saying,” he tells him, “Things that I want to share with you. Things that you deserve to hear. Right now, my skills are not enough, but just like with the hair pin, if I keep working at it every day, eventually I can give you something worth having.”

Zhou Zishu tugs him down into his embrace. He thinks about kissing him. About pushing him down and pulling his robe open and showing him, again, how very much he is wanted. But Lao Wen is still recovering from injuries, and it would be a shame to snap his new hair pin tussling around in the sheets. So, he makes do with holding him close, for now. Tangling his fingers in hair the color of starlight.

“Say them, or don’t say them,” he says quietly against the shell of Wen Kexing’s ear, “Whatever they are, they have no bearing on your worth to me.”

“Doesn’t that seem like my current value is lower than mud?” Wen Kexing laughs nervously.

“It means you are treasured,” Zishu corrects him firmly, “There is no price that I would sell you for.”

“I suppose that means I can stop living in fear that you would truly try and sell me to a brothel.”

“You really are a brat.”

“Ah Xu?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”