#my body does not naturally get tired until like 12 or 1 am

[sugaploom]

i hate this era of "indulge in self help/self care" and then like, there being zero avenues to do so

[waitingformyfavoritesongs]

1:52 1:53 am pdt 7 April 2023 Friday

I guess everyone who is trying to kill me thinks they are righteous. I guess no one wants to help me. All those commercials that say they care a lot, makes me think it’s a lie. Even this hotel 🏨 says it. It’s hypocritical. But a few hours ago I came to the realization that I understand why they think 💭 they are righteous. Righteous to kill in a backhanded way. 1:56 am pdt I don’t have any arguments left. Until I forget and then get torn down again as I write ✍️ that argument. Why should I expect to be treated differently than other people b4 me who lost their body parts? He keeps on attacking me with acid. Not much left of me. Going to lose something for sure/certain. 1:58 am pdt I’ve been lied 🤥 to. And I cannot argue why it’s wrong. And I cannot defend people like dugard and Shannon Ruth. 1:59 am pdt

3:43 am pdt if all rapists are righteous then does that mean all people who work at the hospital 🏥 who neglected me are righteous and rapists? 🤔😖😭😤🥵😤🥵😤🥵😤🥵 3:44 am pdt bcz why do people use the word f*ck in other cases when they aren’t referring to intercourse? 3:45 am pdt the only way to mildly amuse myself in the face of people who don’t care 🤷🏻‍♀️ I’m losing my bottom half. 3:46 am pdt

It’s all ransom and witch 🧙 craft I guess? 3:47 am pdt even though it did seem like something did work.... 3:48 am pdt I get confused 🤷🏻‍♀️

12:11 pmpdt incubus captioned there are no Wednesdays. Only Fridays and Saturdays. In previous posts I put for Wednesday: 👰‍♀️ Friday sounds like fry. Saturday is close to satan. If you can’t walk, you’re close to dying. All those who are close to dying are sitting 🪑 . Sat Anne. Isu. I ,Susanna. Daniel and Susanna. Round and round. Grew up thinking 💭 one idea 💡 is better than the other only to find out god is opposed to it. I guess rapists are better than non rapists. I guess rapists care about women’s feelings? I didn’t know. I guess it’s righteous to only care for your feelings when you’re a man 👨. I didn’t know this. Thanks 🙏 for setting me straight. 12:26 pmpdt can’t really be happy being a people pleaser only. 12:27 pmpdt I wonder 💭 if there are more bombs 💣 hidden in ice 🧊 and will push the earth 🌍 closer to the sun 🌞 . 12:28 pmpdt was it the Arctic 🐻‍❄️ or Alaska? I forgot. 12:28 pmpdt I feel like I am going to regret writing this. But I’m tired of living in agony. I’m looking forward to the day the I am dead ☠️. 12:30 🕧 pmpdt I am not god. I am not alll knowing. I know very little. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ the future. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ how things should or can or would be done ✅. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️. 12:31 pmpdt I don’t have much figured out. And I lived most of my life probably being restricted 🚫 . 12:32 pmpdt I don’t do drugs, don’t drink 🚱 alcohol 🍷- although I have tried it a few times, I don’t smoke 🚭, I haven’t tried weed but I think 💭 I smelled it b4. I know that some guys don’t want me telling family that I had s*x with them. They will say “it is none of their business.” 12:35 pmpdt

12:41 pmpdt my tongue 👅 is partially black now. Nausea. 12:42 pmpdt. So, if Disney romantic fantasy love 💕 is not possible, what does that say about humans? We are all fantastic liars 🤥? Obligation? To stay with one human married for the rest of your life? It’s not possible for everyone to have a best friend? Mariah Carey song 🎶 . I guess it’s a sign Bcz Jordan/jordi died. Left hip 12:44 pmpdt 12:45 pmpdt. I am missing some parts of me. Not going to be optimistic or feeling like there is real brotherhood on earth 🌍. I don’t now. I have been left to rot (1207 12 almost looks like R) die. 12:46 pmpdt am I really that unacceptable of a person? Truely naturally and I’ve been crazily in denial? I guess so. That’s part of people pleasing I guess. Even though I have failed 😞 at everything involving relationships that no one wants to talk to me, even after only talking for a minute. I do the slightest littlest things wrong and people get turned off and reject me on first impressions. 12:50 pmpdt didn’t realize Q was worse than me if all my predictions are true, at least in my opinion. The rest of the world 🌎 probably won’t share my opinion. I probably have distorted thinking 💭. I’m sometimes not even honest with myself: like I used to eat random stuff and pretend I like it and eat it Bcz it’s convenient. 12:52 pmpdt 12:53 pmpdt I should have been more honest earlier. But I was probably setup to fail Bcz if my Saint Lucia curse. So if everyone is cursed the same way? But they’re not??? Not the same way... then there is no choice. ? It is what it is. I look in the mirror 🪞 and feel the pain. It don’t look 👀 pretty. I will take the (autocorrect: devil pictures kids) I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ incubus is probably referring to my pictures at home 🏠. ) threats to my life more seriously now Bcz that looks like it’s truth. Friday, Saturday. No Wednesdays. Autocorrect:weans. 12:58 pmpdt no comment. Heart ♥️ of glass. 12:59 pmpdt karma for kissing and having s*x with people I couldn’t commit to. Self full filled prophecy? Or meant to be? I thought 💭 a lot of stuff felt out of my control. 1:01 pmpdt

2:36 pmpdt even if so, I’m still dying. Can’t breathe + heart ♥️ pain = dying! 2:38 pmpdt

5:02 pmpdt (left hip bone 🦴 pain) idk 🤷🏻‍♀️ if the bombs 💣 net the North Pole pushed the earth 🌍 closer to the sun ☀️ or away. If the earth 🌍 was slowly wobbling towards migrating closer to the sun ☀️ in its revolution around the sun 🌞 I would probably put bombs 💣 to push it away from the sun 🌞. Idk 🤷🏻‍♀️ idk 🤷🏻‍♀️ what’s going on what god’s purpose was to put those bombs 💣 there. 5:05 pmpdt wild imagination 💭 hope for the best prepare for the worst. 5:06 pmpdt

5:07 pmpdt or maybe 🤔 it’s to accelerate changing of the poles? To change poles probably means to change positions in orbit around the sun 🌞 changing the path? I didn’t get that far in school 🏫. 5:08 pmpdt

8:46 pmpdt 8:48 pmpdt incubus stabbed a part of my upper right brain a bunch of times and it hurt. And then he applied more acid with a rough sandpaper-like feel. 8:50 pmpdt it scares me whenever I feel anything painful in my brain. For some reason at this moment my emotions are weird. Right lower leg bone 🦴pain 8:53 pmpdt oddly. pain back right skull? Pain 8:54 pmpdt I m moving a little slower.

9:01 pmpdt I suddenly remembered Buddha. He knew it was his time to die. 9:02 pmpdt

9:40 pmpdt a light and then a boom that echoes in the sky. A long white car with tinted windows drive off a minute after. 9:41 pmpdt I think they’re trying to cause a fire at the hotel. Drove off to the left hand side when they exited. 9:42 pmpdt

10:17 pmpdt I’m on edge. I thought I saw a light reflection from the corner of my eye travel upward from below. My mom is telling me it’s not what I think it is. 10:18 pmpdt

[berrisweetsiren]

SO. It's. BEEN ALMOST A YEAR??? Hi guys!

I wanted to come back and update some things that have been going on since Febuary as things have...................I don't know if "escalated" is the right word- but definitely changed. So, for most of the Spring and Summer things have been going about uh? As well as they CAN be given the current state of things. Our dad is back home and things have been relatively calm (although which the occasional argument about finances, but thats just personal stress lol) This Fall has been mainly spent on a helluvalotta doctors appointments, and moving things forward in terms of trying to apply for disability.

That being said, like I said, things have...changed.

At the end of last week our family got a letter billing us for $37,000 to fix a bunch of piping that connects from our house to the main waterline. And, unfortunately, we have until April to get that sorted out. ( A reminder our household consists of One (1) able-bodied individual who's unemployed, a disabled trans man, and another disabled retired judge- affording this bill would be next to impossible without sacrificing alot of our livlihood. )

Between this and a few other behind-the-scenes issues with the borrow we live at, my dad has decided we need to move before then. And...while he did agree to help fund rental on an apartment, I know very well he does not have much income right now to do so. Fox, my boyfriend, still also has been unable to find work in our area despite reaching out for months on end (We're coming up on year 3 of unemployment, wahoo!~ /s) So while unfortunately we'll still be within our family's...reach for quite a while longer, we still are struggling financially to get everything sorted out and live comfortably. HENCE this update. If theres anyone- anyone at all- who can spare some money or any knowledgeable resources in regards to moving and such of that nature, please do let me know. I'll be updating the GoFundMe with both a new goal and the updated story tomorrow morning (as its 12:30 AM right now and I don't want to think about this more than I have to.) Even reblogging to spread the word would help immensely!

I know everyones exhausted of the GFM posts. I know we're tired. But community is all we have right now. I don't think I would've gotten this far in the year were it not for my friends and support systems... so we all need to stick together if we're going to make it through this alive. Thanks yall for reading. Stay sweet. <3

Help A Disabled Trans Guy & His Boyfriend Find Emergency Housing!!!

https://gofund.me/32d65c06

Hey guys. I normally don't make posts like this because I know full and well how broke most of us are, but I'm...In serious trouble.

As of this past Monday, my father plans on evicting both myself and my boyfriend out of my family home, as well as our two cats Tango and Nebula. Regardless of whether or not he changes his mind, we do plan on moving out as we no longer feel safe staying here for longer than physically neccessary.

As a result, we've been apartment hunting, and we need your help with monthly bills and funds until my boyfriend can get a job of his own (I'd get a job myself however I have really bad Chronic Fatigue and muscle atrophy in my legs, making it difficult to work). I've been denied disability a handful of times now despite this, and my boyfriend has been denied food stamps despite making little to no income each month.

Normally, like I said, I don't make posts like this. I'm chronically terrified of asking too much of people but...this is a serious emergency for the both of us.

So if you could go support us over on gofundme, and help us raise enough to afford an apartment of our own until we're stablized, that'd be amazing. Of course, don't feel obligated to- but every little bit helps. <3

I might also open comissions up soon to help raise money as well, so be on the lookout for that!!! (I'm trying to stay positive here, help.)

In total generally for an apartment that both ourselves and our cats can live in in our local area comes to about $1400-$1600 per month, so I rounded it out to about $2000 to also be able to afford things like grocceries, and amneties. (I think thats how that works, right?)

Thanks for reading everyone, and I'll be posting updates as the situation develops.

[jawllines]

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

or

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

i.

It was dark. 

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it? 

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was. 

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.) 

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two. 

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles. 

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment. 

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity. 

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be. 

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out. 

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her. 

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?” 

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.” 

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder. 

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow,  “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater. 

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking. 

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?” 

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?” 

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.” 

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?” 

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.” 

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?” 

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words. 

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.” 

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.” 

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.” 

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.” 

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke. 

Her response is blunt, “No.” 

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!” 

                                                         .                             .                          .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry. 

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers. 

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold. 

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain. 

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!” 

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

 “You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’ 

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --” 

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.” 

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.” 

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid. 

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it. 

He was just absolutely rotten. 

                                                           .                                  .                           .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten. 

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends. 

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie. 

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good. 

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus. 

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often. 

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior. 

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self. 

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon! 

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep. 

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out. 

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now. 

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited. 

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead. 

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly). 

God, she was so rotten! 

                                               .                                     .                                 .

“Have you felt weird lately?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others). 

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.” 

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way. 

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here. 

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue. 

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour. 

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad). 

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”  

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy. 

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.” 

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?” 

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.” 

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.” 

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?” 

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side. 

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio). 

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him. 

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.” 

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.” 

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.” 

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.” 

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.” 

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.” 

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.” 

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.” 

   After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door. 

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that. 

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.” 

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.” 

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?” 

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?” 

“No --” 

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?” 

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --” 

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence. 

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.” 

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?” 

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?” 

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?” 

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.” 

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.” 

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use. 

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown. 

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere. 

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it. 

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.” 

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it,  “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.” 

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.” 

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.” 

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.” 

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!” 

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --” 

“Harry --” 

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.” 

                                                                     .                       .                         .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits. 

She’s only curious. 

                                                             .                         .                        . 

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall. 

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner. 

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor.  Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind. 

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out. 

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow. 

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed. 

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank. 

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals. 

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them). 

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice. 

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning. 

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears. 

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done. 

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous. 

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely). 

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who --  before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs). 

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?” 

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code. 

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?” 

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .” 

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing. 

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected. 

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.” 

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?” 

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own.  It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting. 

“I oughta call you Bambi then.” 

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”  

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake --  “Harry, shouldn’t we --” 

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest. 

“We shouldn’t just --” 

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut. 

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space. 

But nothing happens. 

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it. 

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time. 

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it. 

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?” 

                                                        .                             .                              .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often. 

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer. 

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in.  If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall. 

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over. 

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!” 

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?” 

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.” 

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

 Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.” 

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly. 

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.” 

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails. 

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands,  “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.” 

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?” 

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.” 

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.” 

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?” 

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.” 

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?” 

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.” 

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though. 

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout? 

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?” 

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen. 

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND 

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...” 

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?” 

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?” 

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on. 

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --” 

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.” 

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers,  “But --” 

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out. 

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep. 

Harry just fell right to sleep. 

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed. 

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch. 

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything. 

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.” 

                                                         .                               .                              .

It had been a while since Harry had worked. 

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong.  He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from. 

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior. 

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it. 

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead. 

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things. 

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure. 

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep. 

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens. 

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.” 

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.” 

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I  have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.” 

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.  

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work. 

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?” 

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.” 

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” 

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.” 

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?” 

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.” 

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him. 

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.” 

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store. 

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?” 

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

 “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.” 

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.” 

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?” 

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills. 

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?” 

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?” 

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red)  “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?” 

“He loved them, mate,  he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.” 

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.” 

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.” 

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.” 

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.” 

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --” 

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “ 

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?” 

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to. 

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all. 

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.” 

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.” 

“What a coincidence -- so did I.” 

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit. 

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?” 

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.” 

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon. 

“I was doing some research while I was at work --” 

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods. 

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.” 

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.” 

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful. 

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.” 

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding. 

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.” 

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought. 

[kuroopaisen]

12:54 am || kozume kenma

➵ some important introductions are finally made.

wc: 1496

warnings: gn!reader, kenma is a youtube g*mer

a/n: gracie dear, this one is for you! i remember you saying you were looking forward to it. you’re one of the loveliest people i’ve chatted to on here and you have such a kind and gentle heart. thank you for having such an accepting and calming vibe and you’re so so easy to talk to, it’s very relaxing! your blog is such a positive space you and you make me feel the big ❤️ bless your dear heart, and i hope that november is kind to you!

The sun is long gone, the sky above Tokyo draped with velvet midnight. It looks like the kind of night you’d want to go out and experience, to walk around the ever-bustling city centre, to watch the sky in the hope of seeing something that’ll make your heart stutter in your chest.

But you don’t have the energy for that this evening.

Your honours project is sucking all it can out of you. You’re not surprised, of course, but that doesn’t make the experience any less irritating. You’re at that point where you just need to push a little more and polish it off; but as always, that’s the hardest part. Trying to thread together every section into something that’s not only coherent, but also of passable quality is harder than you’d given it credit for.

It’s the time of night when your eyes feel like they’re about to dribble out of their sockets like candle wax, and you’re aware that you’re not going to get anything of substance done now. You sigh, squinting at your laptop screen.

12:54 AM.

You blink your sore eyes rapidly. Was it really that late?

You stretch your arms above your head, feeling the strain in your muscles. You want nothing more than to curl up in bed with your boyfriend, letting the stresses of the day fade away as you run your fingers through his hair. He usually lets you at this hour, melting into your touch in a way he wouldn’t usually during the day.

It’s much too late for you to get anything of worth down for this assignment.

As you stand up, you swear you can hear every bone in your body crack. You don’t just want to go to bed, you need to get some rest.

But there’s no way you’re going alone.

You totter down the hall as quietly as you can, balancing yourself on your tiptoes. Kenma’s gaming room sits at the end of the hall, chosen for its decent acoustics and spaciousness. You tease him for his set up all the time – ‘epic gamer’ is your favourite moniker, and currently crowns your LINE messages.

You and Kuroo had even made him a little sign for his birthday. It’s a plaque stuck to the door that reads, “WARNING! Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my Epic Gamer moment.”

You grin at it as the door creaks open.

Kenma’s clicking away on his computer as he sits at his desk, eyes narrowed and a little pout on his lips. You smile to yourself; he looks so cute like this, so focused and intense. He doesn’t tend to get like this about anything else, but gaming had a way of drawing the intensity out of him.

You can’t help but wonder if he was like this during his volleyball days in high school, analysing the court in the moment. You’ve never seen him play, and you doubt you ever will. He pays Hinata to do that, after all. You’re glad that such a bright boy is part of your boyfriend’s life. Between you, Kuroo, and Hinata, there’s no fear of Kenma going unloved.

You give him a small wave from the door.

Recognition flashes in his eyes as he catches sight of you, the smallest of smiles gracing his face. Someone outside of your relationship might assume that doesn’t count for much; a tiny, forgettable little gesture that isn’t worth taking note of. But you know how to read Kenma.

His gaze flicks back to his screen.

“You all want to know that bad, huh?” He teases, even though his voice is still monotone.

‘Know what?’ you mouth.

“They want to know what made me smile,” Kenma tilts his head at you, and you swear your heart is about to bloom into a kaleidoscope of light.

You nod, tottering over to him as he rolls his chair back. He’s left just enough space for you to sit. You settle yourself down on his lap like it’s second nature, and he loops his arms around your waist. Usually, that wouldn’t make you blush. But, knowing a significant portion of his viewership were watching this happen in real time brings a certain nervousness to mind.

He props his chin on your shoulder, as he always does. For once, he’s more casual than you; he’s in his element, immersed in a game and bolstered by people who adore him. It’s all you could want for him.

“Yeah, this is my partner,” he hums, small smile playing at his lips.

You see the chat rush by on the corner of his screen, but you opt not to look. Doing so would only make you more nervous.

“They want to know how long we’ve been together,” he says, conspicuously dropping the question in your lap.

You grin, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Officially, two years,” you smile. “But basically three.”

He chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “They also want to know how we met.”

“I was Kuroo’s roommate in university,��� you say, well-aware of Kuroo’s much-loved presence on Kenma’s channel. “He decided I’d be a good friend for Kenma so he wrestled me into their little duo. He likes to say that us getting together was part of his plan all along, but I have my doubts.”

In all honesty, you’re surprised by how relaxed your reveal is. You’ve been worried about it for the past year, fearing the backlash that romantic partners of youtubers – especially gaming Youtubers – tend to receive.

Kenma had told you it would be okay, that you won’t have anything to worry about.

It feels nice, just sitting in his lap, getting to be part of this little world of his.

You stay for the next fifteen minutes or so, answering a myriad of questions pinged your way; was Kenma the same as he is in his videos? Does he ever sleep? Do you game with him much? Does he go easy on you in 1-v-1’s or is he ruthless?

“Thanks everyone,” Kenma yawns, propping his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve run over time, but you guys did a great job today.”

You bite back a giggle as you listen to his ‘Youtuber Outro Voice,’ which was just a shade brighter than his normal cadence.

You sit patiently as he wraps up, mentioning something about his next upload and the charity this stream was for. You know it’s got something to do with ensuring that children with disabilities are offered opportunities to take part in sports, and to help schools accommodate for that. You’re pretty sure Kuroo’s the one who linked your boyfriend up with them; you often teased him for ‘exploiting’ kodzuken’s following for charity.

Kenma clicks off the stream, letting out a long sigh as his shoulders deflate.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, nestling his face in the crook of your neck.

You giggle, reaching a hand back to smooth his hair. The angle’s a little awkward and your fingers bump against his headset, but you don’t mind.

“Did you raise a lot of money?” You ask, shifting in his lap so you can see his face.

He nods. “Not as much as the collab with Shouyou and Kuroo, but a fair bit.”

“Good,” you smile. He looks exhausted; he often does after long charity streams. But you know he cares about them – he wouldn’t bother with them otherwise. You gently slip his headset off – you bought them for him as a one-year-anniversary present, a cute, high-tech thing with cat ears – and place it gently on his desk.

You run your fingers through his hair, gently grazing his scalp. He hums in response, letting his eyes flutter shut. It’s like all the tension is melting away under your fingers, as if you’ve brought him a moment of precious reprieve. He never complains about his work – not in any real capacity, anyway – but even he got tired of his job.

As you gaze at his face, you’re content in the knowledge that you don’t need to flit amongst the city or watch the sky to see something that’ll make your heart stutter. He’s right in front of you.

“Hey, Kenma?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

The words flutter between you, threading a proper smile across his face. He doesn’t need to say them back to know your feelings are reciprocated; Kenma isn’t a man of many words, and his affection doesn’t tend to come out in grand statements or confessions. His love is in the little gestures; in a gentle kiss to the nose, or his fingers laced through yours, or permission to be part of his little world.

His love is shy, gentle, purposeful. You know he struggles to let people in. To let himself be seen. But he opens his windows for you, lets you filter through like the sunrise.

It’s all he’s capable of giving; but he gives it all with a quiet thoughtfulness.

And that’s more than enough.

[sassy-pelican]

Relaxation (p1) - Day 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: Handjob (day 1)

Warnings: language, smut, handjob obviously, Bucky Barnes because that man is a snack and a warning all on his own, hints at previous and future anal sex/anal play (like one sentence). It porn without plot y’all.

A/N: I have decided, in August, that I am going to start writing for @jbbuckybarnes​ Kinktober event/challenge/prompt list. 

Bucky was stressed, anyone with a pair of working eyes could tell. You even more so. The job of keeping up with his new ‘superhero’ duties alongside Sam, worrying about stepping on the government's toes for the first time in eighty years, and still having time for you was starting to take its toll. 

Your wonderful fiance, the original ladies man of the forties, Bucky ‘cheeky’ Barnes, was too tired most nights to do anything but face plant onto the bed and sleep. Meaning neither of you have had a real release in over a month. And when you’re used to supersoldier cock, your toys and fingers just ain’t cutting it.

Besides, letting off some steam would be good for him. He needs it as much as you do, even if he won’t admit it. Yet, getting him alone and awake long enough to do anything about it is the real issue. 

Which is why you demanded he take today off. “I’m going to pamper you today,” you tell him to which he only stares. 

“How?”

“Various ways,” you reply. “Now lay on the bed and strip.”

“Fine,” he concedes. You can already tell what he thinks is going to happen and while you want nothing more than to ride him into oblivion, he is far too exhausted for that much activity. 

“We’re not doing that babe,” you say. “Just let me help you relax. On your stomach.” He arches an eyebrow but does as you tell him. 

Bare, and glorious ass, on display you fight not to just sink your teeth into the luscious flesh. Another time Y/N, another time. Instead you settle for getting his favorite bottle of lotion and dripping a generous amount onto his back. 

You can feel the knots in it as soon as you start to rub. He may have super strength but that doesn’t mean his body reacts any differently to being overworked. The heels of your hands push into his muscles, loosening the tight spots with every pass. Bucky can’t hold back the moans and groans every time you press a certain spot. 

“Fuck honey,” he groans eyes closed and hands balled up in the pillows. 

“Not yet.”

Your fingers work the skin around his spine, rubbing small but deep circles into the muscles, loosening the knots. His back arches, ass pressing into your clothed core which only makes the already etotic nature of your thoughts go into overdrive. 

“Don’t do that,” you mutter. 

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “This?” Bucky does it again, this time wiggling his ass, the friction just enough that you bite your lip. 

“Yes dear,” you mock. “That.”

Before he can do it again and distract you from trying to help him relax and not think about fucking him into oblivion, you scoot down, straddling his calves now and fingers working against his tights glutes. 

You can see his tight little hole expand slightly as you knead the flesh, and a few new ideas come into mind. He’s played with and actually fucked your ass before, and definitely will again, but you wonder how he’d react to you playing with his. 

Tentatively, you brush your fingers through his crack, just grazing the puckered hole and he jerks before you feel him shutter. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing his face into the pillows. 

He definitely likes it then, and you will definitely remember that. “Turn over.” Bucky doesn’t object, only does as you tell him, still in need of a bit more relaxing.  

You put more lotion onto his stomach, a small hiss from him at the coolness of it. “Sorry,” you mutter. 

“It’s fine,” he replies, closing his eyes again and letting you start to rub in the scent. 

Your nails skim across his abs, more defined than normal and you stop, leveling him with a glare. “You haven’t been drinking enough water.”

“I’m fine, doll,” he says. 

“Bucky,” you say, “I know what your abs feel like healthy, what they look like healthy, this isn’t it. When I’m done you're going to drink a glass of water, got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” Nodding, satisfied that he realizes he won’t get out of it, you continue. 

With each knead you get lower, closer to the muscle you want most to massage. He knows by now what you’re doing, but he also couldn’t care less. 

Fingers finally closing around him, you squeeze the base lightly, enough that you can see his eyes flutter. Smirking, you move to his balls, something you know he likes you to play with. With deft fingers you start to massage the flesh, rolling them in your hands, pressing and pulling, doing all the things you know take him over the edge. And sure enough, you can see him growing harder by the second. 

“You didn’t think I would give you a massage without a happy ending did you?” you tease. 

“You wouldn’t be you if you did.”

You’re gripping his shaft again, pumping slowly, much too slowly for him to get off. You can feel the wetness pooling between your own legs but today isn’t about you, at least not until later. Right now, it’s about Bucky. 

You circle the tip, finger slipping through the small slit at the tip and he moans, precome leaking out just a bit. You want to lean down and lick it up but you refrain yourself. The moment you get your mouth around him this will no longer be a relaxing massage. 

“Fuck doll,” he moans. “Jerk me off like you mean it.”

“My pleasure,” you say. 

With a smirk, you grip him two handed and start to really pump his length. Twisting and squeezing with each pass up and down. You let go, lean down, and lick him from base to tip. The sound that comes from his mouth is primal. 

You suck the head of his cock into your mouth, tongue playing with the sensitive flesh there as you continue to pump him hard and fast. Bucky’s hips jut up from the bed and you’re barely able to pin his hips down. 

“No,” you tell him. “I call the shots today.”

“Shit,” he moans. You suck harshly as you move one hand down to his balls to squeeze. 

He knows he isn’t going to last much longer, not with the way you're playing with him. And you’ve barely got your mouth on him. You remove your lips from around him and climb up his torso, hand still working him into a frenzy. Placing a lingering kiss on his lips, the salty taste of himself causing both of you to moan as your tongues clash. 

A final pump and twist and he’s coming, jets of cum painting both his and your stomachs. You continue to jerk him through his orgasm, and with each pass his moans grow more and more whiperish. 

“You know,” you say. “Had I realized that me taking charge would turn you on so much I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

“I didn’t know it would turn me on this much,” he replies. “But damn, you can tell me what to do whenever you want in bed now. That was the best fucking handjob of my life.”

“It better be mister, as your future wife I need to be the best of everything.”

“You know you are love,” he says, pulling you close and placing a heated kiss on your lips. “Now, what are we going to do about your little issue?”

“You may have to put your own fingers to good use, soldier.”

“Maybe I will,” he says, rolling you over onto your back and kissing you until you can’t breathe. 

To be continued in Day 12 - Fingering

[sophfic27]

Questions (Have You Ever Wanted to be a Fly on the Wall?)

Summary: By now, you probably know the drill (his name is Bill), on their tenth birthday, the first words a person’s soulmate will say to them appears somewhere on their body. The word "hello" is one of the most common phrases in the world, so when Roman ends up with it on his wrist he decides to get creative. Everyone he meets who greets him with a "hello" he asks them a question. And he'll keep doing this until it's on someone's arm. This is literally my first ever fanfiction that I've finished and posted, so here's hoping you like it.

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality (background-ish), Dukeceit (background)

Word Count: 2870

Warnings: One instance of an F bomb, I think that’s it, let me know if it’s not

Notes:  I got the idea to write this after scrolling through soulmate POVs on TikTok with my sister for fun. We discussed how one could solve the problem of having a really common phrase, and she said "I'd just ask weird questions, because I'm really good at that." So I decided to write this. Most of the questions Roman asks in this I stole from my sister, because, yes, she really does randomly ask these wackadoo questions unprompted. She's great. Enjoy.

Read on AO3

If anyone was going to describe Roman as anything, it was fanciful. Of course most kids were excited by the prospect of getting their soulmark and meeting their soulmate, but Roman had very big plans for how he was going to meet his soulmate. He grew up with Disney movies telling stories of soulmates and star-crossed lovers and found himself mesmerized by the power of soulmates. The lovely tale of the Little Mermaid, and Ariel trying to somehow convey to the prince that he was her soulmate when she had no voice. The story of Aladdin doing all he could to survive and be worthy of his princess soulmate. When he was eight, he saw Anastasia, a story of soulmates who met before their words appeared. When she lost her memory, she couldn’t have known the boy who saved her was her soulmate, and he knew but thought that she must have died until fate brought them together again. Roman was amazed. With only two years until his words appeared, he fantasized about all the ways he would meet and woo his soulmate, what unique phrase would change his life forever. Maybe he already knew his soulmate and just didn’t know it was them! Roman counted the days until he got his words with impatient anticipation.

Roman was younger than his twin, Remus by seventeen minutes exactly. So there they were, huddling on the bottom bunk with flashlights at 3:11 am only two minutes left until Remus is exactly 10 years old and he receives his soulmark. “It’s going to be something really lame, like ‘you’re annoying’ or something,” Roman insisted. Having grown up with Remus, he found it hard to think he could even have a soulmate, but they both knew he was just giving him a hard time. “Nuh-uh,” Remus squawked in a mocking tone. “Yuh-huh,” came Roman’s equally childish reply. “NUH-UH!” “Shut up, or Mom and Dad will yell at us again!” Roman socked his twin with a pillow. He tapped the screen of the tablet they had snuck into their room from the living room. 3:12:31. They’d been checking the time obsessively, but now there was only half a minute left. They exchanged a sort of giddy look as the clock ticked closer and closer. “10, 9, 8” Remus started to count as the time came upon them. Roman joined quickly, “7, 6, 5, 4.” “3.” “2.” “1.”

They watched as two words drew themselves onto Remus’s wrist: “Um, wow.” The twins blinked at the words for a minute, until Roman broke the silence, “nice going, doofus, you’re going to weird out your soulmate immediately.” “You don’t know that! Maybe it's a good ‘um, wow,’” Remus protested. “How would that be good? ‘Um, wow, you’re so handsome, ooooh,’” Roman made a mocking kissy-face and was promptly knocked over by another projectile pillow. He laughed, “face it, you’re a weirdo, ‘um, wow’ is not a good thing.” The door swung open with a whoosh and their mother stood there, staring at them. Roman covered the tablet with a pillow to hide the stolen device, and Remus scrambled off of the bunk. “I told you boys NOT to stay up like this,” Carla snapped. Her hair was up in curlers and she had hastily pulled a bathrobe over her pajamas. “But, Mama, our soulmates!” Roman whined. “Yeah, I got my words,” Remus waved his arm around even though the light was too dim for their mother to read the words and she was too tired to humor them. “That’s nice, Remus, but I told you, Papa and I have to work tomorrow, you can’t be keeping us up like this, I told you we’d look at your words in the morning,” she rubbed her eyes, still bleary from the sleep she wanted desperately to return to. “But it is morning!” Roman cried indignantly. Carla fixed her son with a pointed glare and he looked down and climbed under his sheets. Carla sighed, “thank you. Now, you can tell me what your words are in the morning when Papa is awake, but right now I need you, boys, to go to sleep, okay?” “Okay, Mama,” the twins replied in unison. Remus climbed back up to his bunk and got under his covers. Carla nodded and departed the room for her own, her slippers making light scuff sounds down the hall. As soon as the door clicked closed at the end of the hall, Remus poked his head over the edge of his bunk and looked down at his twin, “how much time is left?” he whispered. Roman uncovered the tablet and woke the screen, “ten minutes,” he whispered back. The next ten minutes crawled by painfully slow. Roman lost track of whatever his brother was saying as his thoughts turned to what his words would be. He was pulled out of his trance when Remus broke his silence to ask “how long?” again. This time, when Roman woke the tablet, he saw that it was 3:29:22, and he became overwhelmed by the fact that there was less than a minute left. He reported to his twin and went back to staring intently at the digital clock. Each second felt like an eternity, but they dragged him eagerly forward until- The grandfather clock down the hall chimed the half-hour, and Roman tugged his pajama sleeve down excitedly and turned the flashlight onto his wrist. There a beat of silence until, “so? What does it say?” Remus asked eagerly. Roman sighed, “it says ‘hello.’” Remus stayed quiet for a second, “that’s going to be hard to find,” he offered. Roman collapsed back into his pillow. “Well, I’m going to sleep. Night, bro,” Remus mumbled from above. “Night,” Roman murmured. He looked at the singular word again and switched off the flashlight. “Hello” was one of, if not the most common soulmark in the world, because it was the most common greeting, regardless of language. At least there was that, Roman considered, his soulmate probably spoke English. But that wasn’t helpful. Remus was right, it was going to be hard to find his soulmate. Roman sighed and turned over onto his side. Okay, thought Roman, then I’ll just have to get creative.

It was common practice to try to use unique and specific greetings when meeting someone for the first time to cheat destiny and ensure an easier time finding their soulmate, but with as common a phrase as “hello”, Roman had to scrap all of his fantasies of grand romantic gestures and fairy tale meetings in favor of a way to guarantee his soulmate would recognize him. The plan was simple, if he was talking first to someone new, he stated his name first and foremost. Anyone he approached first, he greeted with “my name is Roman, nice to meet you.” The part where he got creative was with anyone who approached him first by saying “hello.” “Hello!” chirped his friendly new classmate in sixth grade. “If you were an insect, how long would it take you to die?” Roman asked immediately. The girl stared at him before replying shyly, “I don’t… know?” “Darn.” He always made sure to explain his tactic after using it to avoid further alienating new acquaintances. And thus he continued this way with every new person he met, always with a new and random question.

“Hello.” “If you could time travel, who would you meet?” “…Abraham Lincoln.” “Okay.”

“Hello.” “If you could make a new type of snowman that wasn’t made of snow, what would it be made of?” “Uh. Oranges?” “Cool.”

“Hello.” “If a bat flew into your house speaking with the voice of a cartoon, but claiming to be your best friend, what would you do?” “…What?”

Sophomore year, Roman and Remus were fifteen years old. Remus had already met his soulmate, Janus, and naturally, “um, wow” had been a response to Remus weirding him out, in addition to the realization that Remus was his soulmate. Roman, on the other hand was still trying to find his soulmate with random questions, but to no avail. The second semester had begun and Roman’s physics class was changing seats. Roman collapsed into his new spot next to a boy he knew to be Patton, but with whom he had not actually talked yet. Patton was wearing a blue t-shirt with a repeating cat pattern across it. His honey-brown hair was lightly curled, and a pair of round glasses were balanced on his freckle-covered nose. He smiled warmly at Roman. The teacher finished giving his instructions and let the class go to meet their new partners and get to work on their assignments. And thus the cycle began anew. Patton turned to Roman with a grin, “hello!” Roman huffed slightly as he quickly summoned a new question, “what’s your favorite musical?” he asked in lieu of a real greeting. Patton stared at Roman for a beat before raising a hand to his chin thoughtfully, and Roman knew that the boy probably didn’t have his question on his wrist. “Mamma Mia,” he answered finally. “ABBA. Good choice,” Roman chuckled. Patton giggled back, “Why do you ask anyway?” Roman showed Patton his wrist, and he nodded wonderingly, “I get it, you’re trying to have a unique greeting, because yours is so common.” “Bingo,” Roman said, slightly relieved that he didn’t have to explain it all again. “I’m guessing you don’t have my phrase, right?” Patton’s hair bounced as he shook his head. He presented his own wrist, marked with the word “Salutations” in unusually crisp font. “Ooh, you have a fancy soulmate,” Roman said, “that, or they’re a nerd. I’ve never seen such a professional-looking font.” “Me neither,” Patton giggled again. “At least ‘salutations’ isn’t a very frequently used greeting.” Roman nodded, “yes, a nerd like that will be easy to spot,” Roman joked. “I’m Roman by the way,” he said, suddenly unsure if Patton knew who he was or not. “Patton!” he replied with a quirk of his head and a broad smile. “Nice to meet you,” he was aware of the teacher surveying the class to see who was working and quickly added, “maybe we should get started.” Patton nodded and they set to work reading instructions and becoming friends.

Half-way through the first semester of senior year, Patton introduced Roman to his recently discovered soulmate, Logan. Upon meeting him, Roman remarked that he was exactly the kind of nerd he had expected when he had seen Patton’s “salutations” soulmark. He then lamented that he was once again left surrounded with people who had soulmates when he didn’t, at which point Logan informed his that “statistically speaking, most people meet their soulmates in their twenties or thirties.” “Thanks, pocket-protector, but that’s barely comforting. I have the most common phrase in the English language,” Roman complained. “Actually, according to most studies performed in the last 20 years, the most common phrase currently is ‘hi,’” Logan corrected him with a push of his glasses. Roman stared at him in disbelief and Patton giggled at his side.

“I’m telling you Roman, he’s actually really nice,” Patton assured him as they walked down the path towards Roman’s house. Both boys were bundled up in coats, their hands stuffed firmly in pockets to protect against the biting winter wind. Roman had a Christmas party coming up in a few days, and Patton was trying to convince him to invite the fairly anti-social kid who never got of his emo phase, Virgil. In all honesty, Roman didn’t care if Virgil came or not, plenty of Remus’s friends, who he didn’t know, were going, but Patton was determined to make Roman and Virgil friends, and as it was, Roman didn’t think he had anything in common with the emo. “I’m sure he is, Pat, but…” he hesitated, searching for some way to appease his friend without giving in. “But what?” Patton pressed, meanwhile physically pressing against his shoulder. “But you get along with everyone, and everyone loves you. You can find something in common with anyone no matter what,” Roman stalled. Patton’s eyes bore into him. “I on the other hand, don’t think I have anything in common with Virgil. I mean, he’s all surly and dark, and I’m a theater kid straight out of High School Musical,” he gestured grandly before his hand quickly retreated to the warmth of his pocket again. “Have you ever even talked to the guy?” “Well, no, but-” “Then how do you know you have nothing in common?” Patton’s voice lilted. He always gave off the vibe of a dad trying to get his child to try a new food or something. Roman shot him a side-eyed look, and Patton continued, “you like Disney, right? Well, it just so happens Virgil is into Disney, too! See? There is something you have in common?” “Yeah, sure, but… I mean, who doesn’t like Disney?” Patton just shrugged. Roman was being stubborn, but Patton knew he’d practically won. “All I ask is you let me introduce you to him at the party, okay? Just let him say hello. You can even ask him one of your weird questions.” Patton waved a gloved hand vaguely. Roman was suddenly aware that he seemed to know something Roman didn’t, but he ignored the feeling in favor of a childish groan. “Fine, you can bring him to party and introduce him to me,” defeat dripped from his voice, and Patton clapped in delight and cheered as they arrived on the doorstep of the house.

Some pop rendition of Jingle Bells played through the house as Roman made his way to the snack table. The table was draped with a festive table cloth covered in reindeer and sleighs, and it featured an impressive array of cookies and cupcakes and other holiday-themed treats. Most claimed that Roman and Remus overdid the party thing, but in truth it was mostly Roman. Classmates and friends milled around dancing, eating, and chatting happily. Roman picked out a tree-shaped cookie that he had made and started to make his way into the living room when he heard someone call his name. Roman turned to see Patton dragging a boy toward him, a broad grin decorated his face and, as usual, outshone the blinking Christmas light necklace he was wearing. They met just to the side of the entryway into the living room. “I know you said you hadn’t met yet, so Roman, this is Virgil,” he gestured to the boy standing next to him. His dyed purple bangs draped just down to his eyes, and he was wearing a dark purple sweater in place of his usual patchwork hoodie. Virgil watched Patton carefully, only looking at Roman when introduced by name. Virgil gave a wave so slight, Roman would have missed it if it was any smaller. His low voice was soft, and yet carried easily over the din of the party, “hello.” “Have you ever wanted to be a fly on the wall?” Roman said. His response was automatic. Replying to “hello” with a question had become an unconscious habit after doing it for so many years. Virgil stared. That was a standard reaction to Roman, he had hardly registered the question that had come out of his mouth. Patton’s further widening smile, however, was not a standard reaction. Roman then realized that Virgil’s stare was different from others as well. His gray eyes shone with shock instead of the confusion Roman was accustomed to. Suddenly becoming uncomfortable with the silence, he said “… What?” “… I’ve always wanted to ask, and I mean this sincerely, what the fuck kind of greeting is that” Virgil said finally as he started to tug down his sleeve, revealing the words on his wrist. Roman’s face lit up with astonishment and excitement. “No, I’ve never wanted to be a fly on the wall, but thanks to you, I’ve thought about it bordering on obsessively for almost eight years.” Roman finally broke out of his trance. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it worked,” he exclaimed as Virgil stared quizzically at him. Roman showed him his own wrist and explained the logic behind his seemingly random question. Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he whirled on Patton. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” He shrugged innocently. “I knew that Virgil had a weird question on his wrist and that you have a tendency to ask such questions,” He grinned slyly, “I couldn’t be certain, but it was a pretty fair bet.” “You’re a mad genius,” Virgil cocked his head at Patton. Patton smiled brightly again, “I don’t know what you mean, kiddo, I’m just helping out where I can.” Roman shook his head and laughed, “alright, Pat, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” “That’s fine, Roman,” Patton clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ve got to go find Logan, so you guys get to know each other,” Patton waved as he stepped away. Roman and Virgil turned to face one another and stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Roman wracked his brain for what to do next, and all he could come up with was, “So… Disney?”

[luminous-studiess]

Hi. :) You said that you're trying to consciously make studying enjoyable and productive. Do you think you can tell us what you're doing exactly? Thank you. ❤️ Hope your day is fantastic and productive.

OHHH thank you for asking this, i’ve been wanting to share this for a while. i think @studyimpression asked this too a while back, and i wasn’t able to answer. long post ahead!  HOW I MAKE STUDYING ENJOYABLE AND PRODUCTIVE: SECOND HALF OF 2020/QUARANTINE EDITION i’ve mentioned this briefly here, and i still stand by a lot of these tips, mostly because this is my general baseline for what i consider ‘enjoyable’ and ‘comfortable’. but i do think i can expand on these especially in terms of productivity. what i’ve discovered, and what has helped me get things done is knowing that studying is not an inherently comfortable or easy thing to do. and knowing this already makes you manage your expectations about what you need to do, and how much hard work needs to be put in. however, there are things you can do to make the workload manageable and the process less difficult.  1. TRY TO MAKE YOUR STUDY HOURS/SPACE AS COMFORTABLE AS POSSIBLE: A “HAPPY/PRODUCTIVE” ROUTINE this does not mean that you need your own, personal workspace (although that would be a bonus) or anything particularly fancy. things are not productivity, and as long as you have the proper learning resources, you have it in you to succeed.  however, i do think it really helped me to start to associate studying with some level of peace and focus by setting a routine which made me start to associate getting productive with a little peace and pleasure. as i’ve mentioned in my other posts, my favorite thing to do lately is to get up early, do a quick freshening up, and to pretend my dining room is a small cafe by making myself an iced coffee and turning on some jazz music. it’s nothing expensive or overly fancy (in fact that whole kilogram of coffee is like... less than 10 dollars), but it allows me to pretend that i’m in a starbucks, and it feels unbelievably peaceful while i start studying. that helps me get going at a very early hour, and this routine makes me excited to get up and start working. personally i think it’s a very good way of treating yourself while being incredibly disciplined. after doing this lately, i feel as if i’ve been more responsible and accountable, but i also feel peaceful and not overworked!   however, this also means: 2. KNOWING WHAT HOURS YOU ARE MOST PRODUCTIVE AT + SETTING A DEFINITE AMOUNT OF WORK HOURS PER DAY i don’t have classes yet, so i have a little freedom to decide when i’ll start working. however, i do have an urgent deadline to finish before classes, so i’m forced to do a lot of work during very unstructured days. that’s why it helped to (a) EVALUATE WHAT TIMES OF THE DAY I FEEL MOST FOCUSED and (b) to track the number of hours i work. so on point (a): studying is not comfortable. it’s actually very tiring. and it helps to see when your body feels the most energy to be able to focus for several hours at a time, doing intensive tasks. i recommend that you try different times in the day to finish something you need to do with complete focus (more on that later), and see at what time your body naturally responds/feels focused. well... this doesn’t apply if you have online classes, and are forced to sit at set times, but this helps for the times when you have to do independent work/homework/revision.

from personal experience, i work best from 7 am to about 10 am. then my body tends to go into a slump until late afternoon and before 12 am. it’s different for everyone, and you really have to listen to your body. (b): it’s inevitable that you have to dedicate many hours to get good results. i really recommend setting a minimum number of hours per day as a quota/the bare minimum. you don’t have to do them all in one go! maybe you might do the pomodoro method and spread these hours out, but it helps to have a baseline for what you consider productive. (mine is four minimum). use a timer or a productivity app like forest. count your hours. set goals within those hours (like assignments that need to get finished), then take a break after. you’ll feel so proud of yourself, i promise. 3. FOCUS AND DISCIPLINE: FOCUS IS A MUSCLE YOU HAVE TO EXERCISE AND STRENGTHEN this is not naturally enjoyable, but it makes you productive, and is a skill that needs practice. i also have a poor attention span, so this is something i had to work on! i thought i was naturally lazy, but this all changed when a friend told me “hey. focus is a muscle. it needs to be worked out regularly”. so slowly, i realized that i had to put a lot of work and effort into focusing on one task at a time, and ignoring all distractions. again, this wasn’t easy; i had to use apps like forest to lock myself out of my ipad so i wouldnt goof around on social media/games. but once i started to get used to being disciplined about getting work done every day, and finishing certain tasks, it became even easier to focus on what needed to be done. it really isn’t perfect yet, but i do find that concentrating on one task keeps me in a “focus” mode, and helps me to get things done much more easily and even calmly.  however, if there are days you can’t focus. acknowledge that. rest first, then go back to work. 4. MAKING CHECKLISTS OF EVERYTHING/PLANNING i would consider myself a very carefree person and used to hate planning. but once i started writing everything down, scheduling on calendars, and making lists, i became less afraid of what i needed to do, because i could visualize what was due, and how much time it takes to break down huge tasks into smaller, more manageable deadlines. i would recommend using a notebook or a program (like Notion! it has a free premium plan for students.) to map out all the things you need to do. it also helps to break down tasks into subtasks, so that even if you do a little, you can still check it off and feel less overwhelmed. put your deadlines on google calendar immediately, and set aside a little time at the start of your workday to see and write down what needs to get done, and what you WANT to get done.  this also helps in lessening the time i became anxious about making decisions re: what i needed to do! forming processes which made my studying easier made me much less scared of starting 5. EVALUATE YOUR DAY: BEING MINDFUL, BE PROUD OF WHAT YOU’VE ACCOMPLISHED as i get ready for bed, i like to run by my lists and check what i’ve finished, what i haven’t gotten done, what needs to get done. i also ask myself what i did well that day, and what didn’t go so well. this isn’t harsh self-critique! it just helps to know how i can make my next study day more efficient AND enjoyable (sometimes i just end up looking for nice playlists for studying....) 6. DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL THINGS!!!! it’s easy to worry about doing things wrong, especially now, when so much of our learning is self-guided. But as long as you’re doing the work, being disciplined and accountable, but also gentle with yourself, then you don’t need to worry about the tiniest details. DO YOUR BEST, AND MOVE ON. <3 7. FINALLY: NEVER ASSUME THE WORK IS EASY, AND NEVER ASSUME THAT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE.  we tend to underestimate or overestimate what needs to get done, and that gets in the way of being productive. we become scared or lazy or overwhelmed, and it makes it hard to move! know that learning is very very difficult, but putting in the work and accomplishing something is beautiful, and that it is a PROCESS. and always know that you are capable of great things if you have the discipline and the grit. i hope that helps. don’t forget to take many breaks and do the things you love. intense work is meaningless without equally intense rest. please take care, and stay safe!!! -- sam <3 

[bearhatarmy]

I really really miss photography. 

Photography feels like an old friend I’ve lost touch with. It pains me greatly that I just don’t have the energy or stamina to do it anymore. It really filled a creative void after I was unable to create my original comedy posts any longer. My illness keeps taking and taking from me and it is a challenge to find ways to adapt and cope.

The saddest part is that I felt like I was just starting to master photography as an art form. I was at that point where I could instinctively do all of the technical things and concentrate purely on the art. Lighting was becoming intuitive to me instead of a complicated puzzle I had to solve each time.

Yes, I took a lot of photos that I am really proud of. (Which I am spreading throughout this post).

But sometimes I mourn the photos I could have taken if my chronic illness hadn’t worsened.

It’s also hard seeing the new cameras and lights that have been released since I had to stop. I *just* missed a technological revolution. New features that would have allowed me to do more with less energy. To push the boundaries of my creativity. To get shots I could only dream of back then.

Full frame mirrorless cameras have opened up so many creative possibilities. The low light performance, the detail, the dynamic range--it has all been improved greatly in just a few years. But there are also many automated usability features that allow the camera to offload work and concentration from the brain. These new digital wonders can even be used as cinematic quality video cameras--something I would have liked to have explored.

I had to take these match photos in a pitch-black room, with a reversed lens, with no control over my aperture, and a manual flash. It took forever to time it properly because I had a whopping 3 frames per second. It would have been a cinch with a mirrorless camera, with super fast burst modes and an electronic viewfinder. You can see exactly what your image will look like before snapping it. But you can also “see in the dark” using a high ISO preview. Before you had to use a live view mode on the back screen. But on older cameras that mode was clunky and slow and... it just sucked.

Enlarge!

MOAR BIGGER!

Weirdly, one of the biggest advances is due to a shortened “flange distance” where the lens connects to the camera body. It seems like a small thing. Literally only a centimeter or so. But because of the lack of mirror, camera designers are able to move the lens closer to the sensor and design more advanced lenses with incredible sharpness. Combined with increased megapixel counts, that would have been amazing for my macro photos.

Electronic viewfinders take the guesswork out of exposure--even in bright sunlight where screens get washed out from glare. And being able to compose portraits with highly accurate eye-tracking autofocus would have been a tremendous advantage. 

No more “focus and recompose.” 

No more “Did I get the eye? Let me zoom to 100% on this tiny screen.” 

I could have spent more of my concentration getting natural expressions from my subjects and composing my photos without distraction.

And IBIS! 

I missed out on motherhecking IBIS!

This photo of my wonderful friend Erin was taken handheld at sunset. The original RAW version was extremely dark--even though I was using a high ISO. I had to do a ton of work to get this to not look like noisy garbage. But there just wasn’t any other way to capture it... UNTIL NOW.

IBIS (eye-bus/👀-🚌) or “in-body image stabilization,” allows the camera sensor to kind of... float. You can eliminate camera shake caused by the subtle micro-movements when handholding. 

How do I explain it? Ummmm...

It turns the sensor into a chicken head.

So instead of increasing the ISO (which is like a volume knob for light which gets grainier as you crank it), you can lower your shutter speed. In the past, depending on the lens, 1/60th of a second was about as slow as you could set it. With IBIS, as long as the scene you are capturing is relatively still, you can take photos in very low light without a tripod. This is great because tripods are a pain in the ass and you can’t always have one handy. Plus, you can combine an IBIS camera with a stabilized lens to get a de-blurrification multiplier. Then you can get sharp handheld photos that are technically considered long exposure. I’ve heard people say they got sharp photos exposing at several seconds. Literally going from a fraction of a second to 2 goddamn Missisisppi. I can’t even quantify how many fantastic photos are being taken right now that would have been unusable blurry messes a few years ago. We get to enjoy these photos all because they installed a chicken head inside cameras.

AND DARN IT ALL TO HECK I HECKING MISSED IT, GOSH HECKING DANG IT!. 

Sorry... didn’t mean to curse like a sailor that stubbed his toe while stepping on a Lego. 

I think I’ll have a cool refreshing root beer to calm my IBIS envy.

(Those water droplets are a total fraud, by the way. It’s fake blood without the red added.) 

And with the progress in battery and wireless technology, artificial lighting has become lighter and more portable while still being powerful enough to compete with the sun. I could have used strobe lights in my little studio, packed them up into a small case, and gone to the middle of the field to use them there.

Yes, I was able to convert my old studio lights to be “portable-ish” but we had to lug so much equipment to accomplish this photo of Brittany in the red dress. The battery pack alone weighed as much as one modern light. I was stuck in bed for a week afterward from all of the carrying of heavy gear.

Before that, this was my hacked together “outdoor” light. The Flash-O-Tron 3000. It looks cool but it was delicate and hard to get through doorways.

After charging 12 AA batteries overnight, I had to drag this contraption outside at the buttcrack of dawn to get my favorite photo of Otis. 

I had to use a handheld mirror to reflect my popup flash in the direction of the Flash-O-Tron 3000 to trigger it. It worked about 25% of the time. Oh, and I was laying on cold wet grass, manually tracking Otis--who refused to sit still. I had to line up a single autofocus point on his head for every snap. The concentration required felt like my brain was juggling chainsaws.

But guess what they invented last year?

PET. EYE. AUTOFOCUS. 

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? 

A little robot inside the camera is all, “Hey, that’s your dog’s eye!” and just follows it no matter where your pup moves.

I NEEDED THAT SO BAD!

This shot took 10 minutes of me trying to lock onto his eye with a macro lens. The depth of field at that distance was the width of his eye and, again, he does not sit still. 

I want a time machine so I can go back and retake every blurry Otis photo. 

Also, many of the modern strobes have NO WIRES. You just stick a thing on top of your camera and you can set off lights several football fields away. My photo studio has tons of wires routed in the ceiling and coming out of the walls. 

[Hi-Res Version]

And then those wires all go into a weird analog remote with old school sliders that controlled the power of the flashes. But the sliders were difficult to finely adjust.

Now you can load an app on your phone and adjust the flash power digitally and adjust the brightness in 10% increments. You can save lighting ratios and recall them instantly. And you can preview your work with high powered LED modeling lights so you don’t have to take 50 test shots. 

No more nudging a light and taking a picture. Raising the power and taking a picture. Swapping out a modifier and taking a picture. Back and forth, back and forth. 

Essentially, what you see is what you get, so setting up lighting takes a fraction of the time and effort with these new lights and cameras. That would have been so helpful with my disability.

Oh... the lights are less expensive too.

The future of camera tech looks exciting as well. I think the computational photography that is in the latest smartphones will soon be added to more professional cameras. That is going to make high-end photography so much more accessible to anyone who wants to try it as a hobby. The learning curve will flatten further, and as long as you are creative, you will be able to take beautiful, high-quality photos.

Some might say that not having all of the new tech helped me gain important experience, expertise, and problem-solving skills. Some believe the inconveniences are a photographer’s trial by fire. The struggle makes the art more authentic. And since I learned how to do it the hard way, my journey is more valid than some photography influencer on Instagram with an iPhone.

To that I say... BULLLLLSHEEIIIT.

Those inconveniences just made me SUPER DUPER TIRED.

And some of those influencers take really kickass photos. Not all of them are butts either.

I love photography but there is a reason I had to stop. Like anything, doing it well was a lot of work. I always ended up having to quit taking photos much sooner than I wanted. I had to scale back my ambition to fit my energy requirements. I could only do photography on days when my body was cooperating fully. I had to cancel many photoshoots because the preparation was just too much to handle. And after my bigger projects it took me forever to recover.

GIVE ME ALL THE CONVENIENCES PLEASE.

That “you have to struggle” attitude is no-good-gatekeepy-ableist crap. 

Old photographer grumps are upset because they spent years learning how to focus manually on horseback and use the sunny 16 rule and develop film in a converted shed they built by hand and now “those darn kids” can use an iPhone on a skateboard while doing a kickflip with their eyes closed and still pull focus.

However, despite there being a lower barrier for entry, the technological improvements add new complications to the advanced side of things. So you can make photography as difficult as you desire if you are willing to learn new stuff. Which old school photo grumps are notoriously averse to.

This new tech has all kinds of novel things to discover and figure out. There is drone photography. There is advanced macro photography using robotic focusing rails and ever-improving focus stacking software. You can now network more lights together than ever before. Karl Taylor did a photoshoot with 12 lights! (Captain Picard would totally lose his shit.) Long lasting batteries and computerized sliders have created new timelapse possibilities. Stabilization software allows complex hyperlapse videos. Better low light performance and sharper lenses with big apertures combined with stacking or star trail software has improved astrophotography. Advances in material science have allowed darker and darker high quality neutral density filters for extreme long exposure photos. New focus tracking algorithms have allowed for wildlife photography that was never possible before. You can capture fast-moving birds in the sky from farther away and still get amazing detail. Faster burst modes allow people to capture split-second action. Never miss a good header at your kid's soccer games. (Is that a thing? I have no kids and don’t remember how to soccer.) IBIS allows photography without a tripod. So now people can trek to harder to reach areas, AT NIGHT, and take sharp photos with little noise. Increased dynamic range and new HDR displays will allow photographers to take images of lights and capture their actual intensity. What if the lights in photos could glow like they do in real life? Think about a neon sign at night in the rain reflecting in a puddle. That would look so neat. 

Not to mention learning how to process photos in editing software is an entirely separate and challenging skillset you can master. There are thousands of techniques you can learn to elevate your images. Dodging & burning, frequency seperation, and compositing, oh my! Programs like Lightroom and Photoshop are constantly updated with new features that expand possibilities.  

None of that is easy. It will all require diligent study and practice to master. Technical skills will always be an aspect of photography that anyone can pursue. But not everyone will need as much technical skill to start having fun and create art. 

And much to the chagrin of those grumps... phones are perfectly viable to create that art and they will keep getting better.

You might find it odd that this love letter and goodbye to photography has so much talk of technical gadgetry. But, for me, it isn’t out of place in this sentimental essay. Technology was my first love. My parents bought me a 66mhz Packard Bell computer when I was 12 and technology was the first thing I was ever good at. I learned every function of that machine. I would sometimes break it just so I could learn how to fix it. I took it apart and put it back together. It was my first true obsessive hobby. I found my creativity soon after, and I immediately used that technology to help me create art. I wrote comedy. I learned how to digitally paint. I recorded music. And eventually I found photography. It was the perfect marriage of technology and art. I could nerd out as much as I want while still getting my creative fix. 

So yeah... I miss it all. 

I miss all of the technical nerdery. I miss trying out new gadgets. I miss editing the photos I’ve taken. I miss taking pictures of my beautiful friends. I miss taking pictures of weird products. I miss asking Delling to call apiaries to find me freshly dead bees so I can take macro shots of their fuzzy little torsos.

I really hope some day I find a treatment that gives me enough energy to take photos again.  

Thankfully my writing helps me feel creative and productive and fulfilled. And it’s something I can do even if I’m not able to get out of bed. And I am grateful I have so many awesome people that actually want to read what I have to say.

So thanks to everyone for that. 

I always find a way to move forward. That’s just the nature of surviving chronic illness. But glancing back at what I lost is a pain I never quite get used to. 

Though, writing this has helped. 

Looking back at all that I accomplished has helped. 

And I do feel lucky I was able to accomplish what I did--even if missing it makes me sad sometimes.  

[farfromtommy]

up with the sun // steve rogers x reader

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this. Lots of dialogue in this. I don't know if I really enjoy doing a lot of dialogue but this was a lot of fun to write!! I hope you enjoy it

Requests are open!!!

Summary: y/n meets Steve at a coffee shop

Warnings: fluffy, maybe some angst if you squint 

Word Count: 2,379

masterlist

You were seated at the outdoor patio of a small coffee shop on the corner of a busy street. You were enjoying a cup of coffee and a pastry, just aimlessly scrolling through your phone trying to pass the time. You frequented this coffee shop, growing tired of your mediocre instant coffee you bought from the supermarket. 

The simplicity of your life was something you grew tired of. You had the same routine, nothing ever changed. Nothing exciting ever happened in your life. The boldest thing you did was buy a real houseplant instead of a fake one, and tried not to kill it. The brown crunchy leaves sitting in a beautiful ceramic pot in the corner of your apartment was the evidence of how well that went.

You were almost done with your coffee when a tall figure appeared behind the empty chair in front of you. You looked up from your phone and met sunglasses instead of eyes when you looked at the mysterious man standing in front of you. 

“Is this seat taken?” He asked you, his hand placed on the back of it. You looked around the patio, seeing plenty of empty spots around you. You looked back at the man.

 For whatever reason, you decided to go along with whatever he was doing and was not going to turn down an opportunity to sit with an unusually attractive man. Instead of speaking, you just gestured to the chair. Wanting to seem as mysterious as him. He smiled slightly and pulled the chair out and sat down. 

He took his sunglasses off and placed them on the table in front of him, a black baseball cap still gracing his head. You continued to look at him and your Y/E/C eyes met his piercing blue ones. 

He had to have been the most gorgeous man you have ever seen. His broad shoulders and bulging biceps struggling to stay confined into the tight black shirt he had on. The veins running down his forearms made your insides melt. 

“My name is Steve.” He extended his hand out to you. 

“Y/N.” You put your hand out to meet his and shook it confidently and shot him a small smile. He smiled back at you and leaned back into his chair. 

“Are you a local?” He asked you, looking around the patio. 

“Of sorts. It’s complicated.” You told him honestly. 

It wasn’t actually that complicated. You left home when you were 18, wanting to leave the confinements of your small town behind and never look back. You had lived here for about 3 years taking up odd jobs to pay rent and bills. You were taking night classes when you could and ones online with a local college to try and get some higher education under your belt. 

You had finished your associates degree and you were now working towards your bachelors degree. You wanted better for yourself. You left home for that very reason. Your life was going nowhere living at home with your parents and you dropped everything and moved out to a bigger city to try and find what you were so desperately searching for. 

“Tell me about it, I’m sure it’s not too complicated” He sent a warm look your way, genuinely wanting to know more about you. 

“Well I left home when I was 18 to find a better life for myself and ended up here. ” You told him, shrugging your shoulders. 

“How’s that going for you?” He asked.

“Well 3 years later I’m sitting at a coffee shop, with an overpriced coffee and pastry. Scrolling through my emails hoping that my prayers have been answered and I will get what I’m looking for.” You said picking your phone up and waving it in the air. Steve chuckled at your gesture and looked into his lap. 

“Well I hope you find what you’re looking for, I’m sure you’ll stumble across it soon.” He said to you, looking right into your eyes. 

“Thank you, I hope so too.” You said to him. 

“Now tell me about you, enough of my depressing life. What does your life look like?” You asked, taking the last sip of your coffee. 

“Well I don’t do much. I’m just trying to get by. I was stuck for a long time and when I was pulled out from that, I was lost. I didn’t know who I was or what the world around me was. I’ve been trying to get back on track ever since and thankfully have people around me to help me through that.” He said truthfully. You looked at him sympathetically and shot him a warm smile. 

You two continued conversing about your respective lives for what seemed like hours. It was almost like you had known him your entire life and were talking to your lifelong friend. He told you about his time in the army and the things it did to him. 

You let him talk about his fears, giving him a safe space for what he had to say. You told him more about your life back home and how miserable it was growing up. He sympathized with you, knowing what it was like to feel like you didn’t belong and wanting to do more in your life than what other people said was possible. 

You were about to ask him if you could see him again after today, wanting to know more about him when a red headed woman came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her with a shocked expression. 

“Hey Steve, I’ve been trying to call you for a few minutes letting you know we were ready to go. Is your phone off?” The red head said to him, not acknowledging your presence. You sunk back into your seat, not realizing how close your were getting to Steve from the other side of the table. 

“I’m sorry, I was tied up with my friend Y/N here. We’ve just been sitting here having a lovely conversation.” He gestured to you, a smile spread across his face. You extended a hand out to the red head, trying to be friendly. 

“Y/N, nice to meet you. I’m a coworker of Steve’s. I’m Natasha.” She returned the handshake and returned her attention back to Steve. “I think we need to get going. Sam is waiting for us.” She said to him. He nodded his head and Natasha walked away from him and got into a car. 

“I’m sorry this got cut short, I was really have a good time.” He said to you apologetically. 

“Oh no worries, duty calls. I had a good time, also. Maybe we can do this again some other time?” You said, hoping for a positive response. 

A smile beamed across his face. “Yeah, I’d really like that. Meet me here tonight at 8pm? I know some good spots around here.” He said standing up from the chair he had sitting on for so long. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you tonight at 8.” You stood up with him. Your eyes making eye contact once again. He put his sunglasses on, obstructing your view of his perfect blue eyes. But you knew he was still staring into yours. 

He walked away with a smile on his face and entered the same car you previously saw Natasha enter. You walked the opposite direction, towards your apartment, a smile still resting upon your lips. 

You were slowly walking to the spot where you had the most amazing conversation with the most gorgeous man ever just a few hours prior. The sun had set and the only thing providing light was the street lamps scattered throughout the street. 

It was getting to be a bit chilly, you had now wished you brought a heavier jacket. You leaned against the metal fence surrounding the now empty patio of the coffeeshop. Things were starting to close as the night went on. The number of people on the street dwindling down. 

You stood there for a few minutes, patiently waiting for Steve to find you and whisk you away on whatever adventure he had planned. You checked your phone and when it flashed 8:15 pm at you, you were worried. 

Maybe he wasn’t coming, or he was just running late. You didn’t get a chance to grab his number before he was taken away by the redhead and whoever Sam was. 

You continued to stand there, worry and impatience bubbling in your stomach. Everything soon faded when you saw the familiar large build of Steve turning the corner and walking towards you. You straightened your posture and wiped out the invisible wrinkles from your clothes. 

“Nice to see you again, Y/N. Sorry I’m late I got caught up in work. I would’ve called but I realized I didn’t grab your number.” He said once you were close enough to hear him. 

“No worries. It’s good to see you too.” You smiled at hime. 

“Shall we?” He asked, extending his arm out to guide you. You nodded and wrapped your arms together. 

It was now 1 am and you and Steve had been sitting on this park bench for about 2 hours, just talking about your lives. The conversations were just so natural to you and you didn’t feel a need to hold anything back. You were so comfortable with him. As the night continued to progress, it had gotten too cold for you to handle just wearing your light cardigan. Steve noticed your shivering and your arms hugging your body in search of warmth and without hesitation, took his jacket off and wrapped around your body. You blushed slightly at the kind gesture from Steve and gladly accepted his act of kindness. 

You continued to aimlessly walk around the city with Steve until the sun started to come up. You had never once felt an ounce of sleepiness hit you. You two walked side by side, your arm wrapped around his midsection, and his hand resting on your waist. You had not noticed the sun threatening to spill its light over the buildings around you until you started to see more people start to walk the streets. 

“Well I don’t know about you but I’m in desperate need of a coffee and some food.” You said to him, coming up on the familiar coffee shop. 

“I am too. Go ahead and take a seat and I’ll grab it for us.” He smiled and pulled out a chair for you, the same chair you had been sitting in the previous day. 

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as you drank your coffee, letting the caffeine work its magic. 

“I know we just spent the last 12 hours with each other walking around this city, but when can I see you again?” Steve said to you, setting his coffee down. 

“I actually have some things coming up in the next few days that I can’t miss, and I won’t know what things will look like until I do those. So I don’t know.” You said to him, pulling up your calendar on your phone.

“I leave in 2 days to go back home. I live in New York.” He said. 

Your eyes shot up at him, realizing now that in the 12 hours you had talked to him, you never once asked where he lived. 

“Well the things I happen to be doing the next few days are going to be in the city. I have some job interviews around the city.” You smirked at him. 

“That’s great! So you are moving to New York?” He said with hope lacing his voice. 

“That’s the plan. Going to take whatever job I’m offered. My lease for my apartment is up at the end of the month. If things in New York work out, I should be there by next month.” You said to him. 

“Now I won’t have to drive 4 hours to come see you all the time.” He smiled warmly. His phone started to ring and his smile dropped. He answered it and talked for a few minutes, telling whoever was on the other line that he would be right there. 

“I have to go. But since you’ll be in New York the next few days, I’ll see you soon.” He stood up and pushed his chair in. 

“I’ll send you a message once I get there, and we can figure it out from there. I’ll see you then.” You stood up with him and stood right in front of him. 

He placed a kiss on your lips. You quickly kissed back and brought your hand up to the nape of his neck. You stood there, not being able to pull away. You were brought back to reality when you heard your phone buzz against the metal table and quickly pulled away. A blush gracing your cheeks. 

You grabbed your phone and started to walk away from him. Before you were too far from him you looked back and said “See you in New York, Cap.” You smirked at him and continued to walk away. Not even 10 seconds later your phone started to buzz with an incoming phone call. Steve’s name lighting up the top of the screen. You clicked the green button and brought your phone up to your ear. 

“Calling me already, Rogers? I just walked away.” You said to him. 

“Did you know this whole time? I figured you didn’t since you never brought it up or asked any questions about it.” He said to you, his voice laced with confusion. 

“I figured it out. Don’t remember exactly when, but you said something and I started to put the puzzle pieces together. I never brought it up because it doesn’t matter to me. Plus you didn’t say anything so I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything like that. I was talking to you, Steve Rogers, not Captain America.” You said to him honestly. 

“You are really something else, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ll see you in a few days.” He said to you. You smiled to yourself and ended the call. 

[zaymadden-author]

Written by ZAY MADDEN

“Man, this is not how Saturday nights are supposed to go.” With all the shit going on in the world, I’ve been house-bound for a minute, and at this point I’m all TikTok’d out. A couple of my boys and my cousin Terrell pulled up on me around 8 for a couple rounds of 2K 🎮, but you know how Mississippi weather is. Mother Nature randomly decided to do her dirty work and had them staying later than planned, but once the sky stopped roaring, I sent my boys home. It was time for a night cap.

I trailed them outside to make sure they were all gone, and once the last car looped around my driveway, I could finally sit on my porch and think. I had my D’USSÈ 🥃 in one hand and my phone in another, scrolling through my thread of texts to see which girl I could get to bless my night; it was part of my weekend ritual. I had a rule though: never start at the top because most recent pussy tends to be not as interesting unless she really got that 🍑💦 if you know what I’m saying.

So, last I checked, Keisha wit the plump ass moved to Florida, which is unfortunate for me. She had one hell of a mouth piece in bed but never ran her mouth in the streets. I could respect that and that’s why I keep her on standby.

The next on my list, Monica, was on the classy end of the spectrum, but it was like rolling dice with her ass. Most of the time she waits until 7 am to reply. Her brain was still accustomed to her school schedule and she had a day job too, so I respected that. However, it sucked for me though cuz Monica was bad af from head to toe and really would’ve gave me a night to remember. Shit, I still reminisce about our last rendezvous. She had pretty feet and plump lips that felt like pillows with each kiss. And I know it’s weird, but I think it’s a turn on whenever I see her with those scrubs on. It’s just something about a hard-working black woman. (Damn smh.) I decided not even bother her this late.

So I kept scrolling up right, slowly feeling my luck build up, when my phone all of a sudden ding’d. My heart started thumping against my rib cage, and the corners of my mouth shot up. I couldn’t wait to see who this could be.

(I turn my notification banners off for good reason.)

Could it be Ashley? (The one that stayed wayyy out in Clinton). She usually texts when she wants some dick but it takes her forever to get to my place in Madison.

I put my search on pause and immediately made my way to the top to see who it could be. And would you believe it? “She always does this shit bruh. Like fr!”

Lo and fucking behold:

[MOM: Can you take your grandma to the store in the morning? I forgot to tell you earlier. Phone died.]

MAN 😤!! I almost summoned the spirit of Brady and launched $999 worth of iPhone in the damn pond. It’s 12:02 at night. She could’ve just waited until daylight resumed before bothering me with this!

I know that’s my heart and soul, but grandma is not the type of woman I want on my mind right now. But I replied “ok” to avoid any further communication at this hour.

I kept scrolling through my digital black book and I contemplated, but immediately dismissed, the idea of calling Alisha over. She said I be hurting her so she only wanna do oral. “Naw. I’ll pass. I’m good on that tonight.” Nobody else seemed worthy of hitting up at the time, at least this time of night, so I head inside. I locked the door behind me and made my way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I spritzed a little water on my head and brushed my waves into submission before securing it with my DuRag. Staring at this thick-browed, handsome, brown skinned fellow in the mirror, I began to question whether I still had it. “I am only 23 so that’s nowhere near the ‘falling off’ age,” I say to myself. I guess with me working day and night, I didn’t have time to pull ‘em like I used to.

So, I went and plopped on my bed, face towards the ceiling, contemplating my future, when I heard the sound of rocks sloshing under tires. The sound slowly magnified, and to myself I’m thinking that maybe one of my homeboys forgot something in my house. A barcode-like shadow cast on my wall as the luminance of headlights beamed through my blinds. I almost walked to the door empty handed, but the detective Stabler in me wasn’t taking any chances. So, I grabbed my piece in my night stand and asserted my second amendment rights. Tip-toe after tip-toe I was almost to the door when I heard the engine stop. A few seconds later there was this rhythmic chiming noise echoing through the walls. I crept to the front window stealthily, and peeked out the blinds. I could recognize the vehicle but I had to be sure it was who I thought it was, so I flicked on the second outdoor light.

All I saw was curly tresses flowing through the window of a pink Lexus.

“Aaliyah?” ..... “but how did she?”

With a mixture of anxiety and excitement, I snatched open the front door 🚪 to greet her. And when I saw her strut up the walkway with a touch of flair, a second emotion arose: confusion. How did she know I was alone? How did she know there wasn’t another girl here? It’s been two years and I still can’t figure out how this girl knows me so well and I think that’s why she intrigued me so much. It also scared me a little bit too. I usually don’t let a girl come over unannounced.

She would’ve been the first girl I tried to text, but last I checked she was in New York on business.

I shoot commercials for a living and I did one for her boutique. That’s how we came across each other.

But she’s here now so who cares that she popped up. (Maybe that’s just my dick talking 🤷🏾‍♂️... idk)

She had two Raising Cane’s bags, which I’m guessing that, during this pandemic, was the only thing she could come across at this time a night. Everything else was closed, even Taco Bell.

She let out a soft “Hey” as she bat her lashes and I quickly shut the gap in my mouth.

“What’s up?” I then responded.

And for a moment our eyes did a tango before she broke the silence.

“Can I come in? It’s kinda hot out here. ”

[And she wasn’t lying about that.]

We suddenly smiled at each other (each clipped with a note of sensuality), and with a nonverbal response, I helped her carry the drinks in and held open the door, catching a strange whiff of fried chicken and some floral fragrance as she walked by. I sucked my bottom lip as she sashayed towards my couch; those long legs accented by her gold trimmed pumps.

With a quick, smooth swivel of her body, she had positioned herself towards me, carrying a whole conversation with her eyes.

After locking my door I suddenly needed to adjust my boxer briefs. Gazing at those smooth brown legs made me graduate from flaccid to half chub, but my need to feast was urgent. My stomach was growling like a mf.

So I sit down to eat, right. And we get to chatting about her trip to NY ✈️ and how she’s been so stressed out with trying to open up a store out there. The whole time she’s going on and on about her tired body and her hectic work schedule, I’m reading in between the lines. She didn’t come here looking like that just to talk about work.

Aaliyah has never been one to admit what she wants from me, she just drops hints and expects you to go fishing for answers.

After smashing half my chicken box though, she got up like she had no time to waste. With a flick of her ankles she had both shoes flying across the floor. She took one last glance at me before leading the way to my bedroom, first slipping her skirt off in the living room and her shirt slowly draped from her body as she made her way down the hall. To keep up the tempo, I removed whatever she did, and by the time we made it to my room it was nothing but birthday suits.

I was ready for penetration at the door, but baby girl had other plans. She made me sit on the love seat by my window as she put on a show for me. It was an immediate game of teasing and temptation as she watched me slowly stroke my dick to every scene of her performance. First it was the leg play, then the breast tease, and then my favorite of all... something she knows gets me hard as steel.... the pussy play.

I love it when she bends open her thighs and plays with the most anticipated part of her body. Her smooth, brown sugar skin and nude polished nails drew an excellent contrast to that sweet, bright pink center. And she knew I wanted it too. She also knows how much I brag about how tight she is, so she takes her two fingers and spreads it open in full view for me. It was one thing for me to speculate, but when she slid one finger in and out for me, it was proof enough that her coochie still had that snap-back action.

I couldn’t take it anymore. With my dick now towering from my hand, I made my way over to her. She was now in submission as I asserted myself over her, so I pulled her to the the edge of the bed to get ready for my part. I looked down at myself, the tip of my dick head now glistening with anticipation, and said to her “I want you.”

And in the blink of an eye I was down on my knees and I had her hips cradled in my arms; my tongue digging into the flesh of her thigh, roughly gasping for air as I was too focused to remember breathing. With a slow dance of kissing and tongue-groping, I lead a trail up and down her thighs until I heard her say, “OMG.... Sean!”

I swear I felt a drop of pre-cum stream down to my ankle as I made my way to her hot zone 👅 . Like a rollercoaster, I had my tongue going round and round, remembering all the pressure points that made her thrust her pelvis into my face. I was in full control now, and no matter how hard she gripped the sheets, there was no escaping my vice grip.

My tongue was putting in overtime, and right before my clock struck 1:00 🕐 , I felt her first nut. We both laughed (our goofy asses) to try and cut down on all that sexual tension.

I reared my head to get a good look at her sex face, my goatee now dripping in her juices, and I gave her a look that let her know I was ready for that action. I sprinted like hell to my night stand to grab me a “rain coat,” acting as if my dinner was about to get cold or something.

I slid that mf on so quick. I’d been waiting for this all night. Pussy in my mouth was one thing, but BEING in it... whew 😌.

I looked at her again before I engaged in our post-foreplay session. I already had my 🍆💦 on the edge ready for the deep dive. We shared a gaze as I slowly began to make my way inside. She had that “keep going” look on her face, but it was only so long that she could keep her composure. After the head made its way in, baby girl’s eyes began to sync with my slow strokes. They rolled as my hips began to roll, and before she knew it, her neck gave out and she rested her head. I finessed my hips into a slow roll as I reached down and sucked on her neck. Her walls began to relax as her pussy gradually began to invite me in. I kept piping her down, constantly going deeper until her belly felt full. And by then, I knew I had her.

I secured her backside with my arms, careful not to smother her precious body, as she demanded I up the pace. To keep up the demand, I got more comfortable on the bed before I shifted into overdrive. “Nice Sean” was gone and “ZADDY Sean” was on the scene.

I was working that pussy like I was running track, and before long, she had thought twice about what she asked for. She thought she was slick, inching her body away like I didn’t notice. But guess what, I inched right along with her ass. She had a long ways to go on my California King before she could escape this dick.

At this point, her facial expressions were no longer inaudible. She was squeezing out “oooo’s” and “ahhhhh’s” between every attempt to catch her breath.

“Wait baby... ooooooooo wait.” She pleaded, but mercy was no longer on the table. I kept going until her juices soaked my inner thigh.

“OMG Sean!” She utters the mantra again. But this time I give in to her cries. Hell, I needed to catch my breath too. Shit! 🥵

I rolled over for a brief intermission, slowly creeping my way to the top of the bed near my pillow. She followed. We rested for a good little minute, kissing on each other as the clock kept ticking, but I was mentally preparing for the second round. It was late at night so I had only about two good positions left in me.

She took a bathroom break before we resumed.

I had decided it was her turn, so I stayed where I was and used my finger to signal her to come near when she walked back in the room. So, she took a domineering stance right before she climbed into bed and cat walked towards me. Titties just bouncing everywhere. Curls flowing effortlessly in the breeze of my ceiling fan. She knew what she was doing and she got my lil man right back up. ☝🏾

She leaned towards me for a kiss as she saddled my waist, slow grinding to drum up more anticipation. I slapped my meat against her ass cuz I wanted her to stop playing these games. Hell, my dick was damn near shivering in the wind now.

But she took the hint and began to guide it back in. This time I rolled MY eyes as her warm goodies began to cradle me inside. She placed her hands on my chest and made her first move upward, then she put her hips in reverse. She put this same two-step on repeat, bouncing up and down on my shit, going all the way to the base. I’m talking balls deep. With this kinda grip, my dick was on the verge of spittin’ already, but I held back my nut. “This ain’t how I wanna to go out”

I was diggin’ this lil rodeo vibe she had going on, but the more her pussy lips clapped down on me, the more I started edging. I let her take control for a minute, but that minute quickly turned into a second as her hip grinding began to slow down. The batteries in that energizer bunny were at 20%... but thats what Zaddy Sean is here for. 😏

Right as she was on her way up, I stopped her and I kept her right in that position, pounding that 🎂 until all I heard was Mac n cheese stirring.

But shit, at this point it was time to make that Mac n cheese creamy. I got prepared for the finale as we moved into sex position #95.

I had her face on the pillow and I made her spread them cheeks before I dove in back. And for some reason, this position always gets me. Idk if it’s the fluffiness of the ass that gets my rocks off or the fact that the thigh clenching makes everything feel tighter. Who knows. But I didn’t have time to contemplate that.

With a few more strokes I was about to fuckin explode. I grabbed her extra tight, squeezing them titties and pushing extra deep until her moans went from tenor to soprano.

“Only a few more seconds baby,” I said in my head.. “just a few more seconds.”

I put a flex in my hips when I felt that good moment coming, and on my last stroke of edging, when I hit her spot, she squeezed her cheeks extra tight... and that was the extra umph that I needed to let loose.

I wanted to paint her back 💦 but the hooded Kermit in me said “naw, leave that shit in big dawg.” 😏

So, I hit my last pumps like a New Years countdown. 5... 4... 3.... 2... making sure my last hit was the strongest. I held it there as my body spasmed and my perineum pulsated, leaving me temporarily paralytic.

Cuz that’s what good pussy will do to ya.

I took a second to savor the moment because my horny-ness hadn’t completely subsided yet. By the time I was ready to pull out, my jimmy was slowly becoming soft & squishy again.

With the head still sensitive, I slowly abort, careful to keep the condom in tact. She’s about as sleepy as I am now, and as I withdrew, she stole a peek of me staring at all the nut weighing down the tip of my condom.

It was mutually understood that we were both tapping out, but we mustered up enough energy to quickly shower up. The whole time in the shower I’m still mesmerized by her beauty, all horny-ness aside.

We towel off in about ten minutes and return to the room before I quickly throw some fresh sheets on my bed.

She basically invited herself to spend the night and who was I to say “no” to her. Cute ass. She knew she was my Achilles heel. So, as we lay in our resting position before dozing off, the question circled back around in my head...

How the hell did she know I was alone? 🤔

[kpop-pick-me-up]

So, can I say something real quick about Kpop idols?

This has been a thought on my mind basically since I joined the Kpop community, and I know some people might react weird or not understand what I'm trying to say but that doesn't matter to me. Putting this out there does.

*ahem* NO KPOP IDOL IVE SEEN PEOPLE CALL CHUBBY IS ACTUALLY CHUBBY.*ahem*

Like for real. I see posts talking about how Suga's cheeks get chubbier on break, and how Haechan's cheeks have gotten chubbier, or "before" and "after" pictures of idols who have gone on a diet and people saying "I miss when they were chubby" like.... They never were and they aren't. This is just what they'd actually look like if they got a normal amount of sleep, ate like a normal human, and didn't dance for 4-12 hours a day. That's not chubby, that's how they'd naturally look.

Chubby, to me means that a person is slightly overweight, or that they're a healthy weight but naturally softer and can look more fuller. Which is all beautiful. And I'm aware this can be a culture difference because of how idols are expected to be thin and perfect but sometimes when I look at them I just think about how unhealthy some (not all) of them must be physically.

Because on a mini tangent: when someone eats so little amount of food for so long and is they are always in a caloric deficit (so let's say youre recommended amount to maintain your weight is 2000, but you constantly eat 1500, or 1200-1400 calories a day) their metabolism adapts so that it's natural state of burning to maintain IS 1500 or 1200-1400. So they'd HAVE to eat less to lose weight, or fix their metabolism by slowly increasing their food intake so their metabolism can adjust to a normal amount of food again. But to do that their weight would plateau or they'd even gain a little bit. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with an idol gaining weight or doing any of this, except for the fact that they'd be called "fat" by the media. Nobody actually seems to care about an idol's health. And imagine what calling them "chubby" does to them when it's just them eating normally. Why do you THINK idols always go on strict diets before a comeback? Because they know that if they eat normally people would know and call them chubby. And I'm not saying this offends them, but I know that I would feel so pressured and judged subconsciously to eat less and lose the "chubbiness" because the media must see it too if fans do.

And I know some idols don't care or even just say they don't care (but trust me, they probably do), and I know some of you guys don't mean to hurt their feelings and just mean to say it innocently, it still encourages this unhealthy mindset that all idols MUST be borderline unhealthy, and just BARELY a healthy weight or diet amount. This gives their employers a reason to make them do those crazy restricted diets (ice cube diet, or the IU diet for example) and force them to lose weight because they KNOW and SEE what you do as well, and can see when you comment on it.

To put this into a different perspective as well, as someone who's been struggling with an eating disorder, looking at really thin idols like Jimin, Suga, Haechan, etc who all weigh less than me and are taller than me and to see them called "chubby" kicked my mind into comparison mode and said "then I must be HUGE." Or "I won't ever officially be skinny or pretty until I weigh the same as them or less" because that's how a sick mind works. So not only does this infect the idols minds and encourage the bad mindset, but it can infect their fans minds to think that they aren't good enough.

I've never wanted to point fingers at this because I love it so much, but I can't be a fucking liar anymore and hide behind it because I want to get better, and I'm tired of believing that I'm too big, or that I'll always be chubby until I'm 90lbs like all the female Kpop idols. But sometimes the Kpop fandom can trigger my eating disorder. There, I said it. Fight me. Because you call thin idols chubby, and you implant this way of thinking that how they eat is okay, and that weighing 90lbs and eating 1200 calories a day is a lifestyle or that constantly restricting and not focusing on nutrients or what body type I am is how life works because IT ISNT. Some people may be that naturally, but the fact that some idols noticably change a little bit when they eat normally on breaks shows that how they are on stage isn't natural.

And to end this off as a disclaimer again, I know people don't mean to be triggering, and they don't think there's anything wrong in what they're doing (which I understand), but you also have to really take a second to think about what you're saying a little bit. Chubby is a word that is either black or white to people. Either they think it's cute, or they think it's an insult. That all depends on culture and self esteem and blah blah blah. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with being chubby, or that it's a bad thing to be because it is definitely NOT and I think everyone is beautiful how they're meant to be. So of you're 90lbs or 140, or 180, or 200+ or anything in between naturally you're all still beautiful and have your own necessary standards to consume to be healthy that will be different from everyone else. However, that is where the issue lies. Because most idols weren't born as thin as they are, they are usually forced and conditioned to be that way. But to help you decide whether it's okay to make these comments, ask yourself this when you're about to call an idol chubby:

1: am I calling them chubby because they're "eating well" (a normal diet) and they've started filling out?

2:Would I like it if someone I loved, respected or whom I cared about their opinion called me "chubby" after finally getting off of a restricted diet and just eating healthy but normal amounts of food?

3: If I was a Kpop media outlet and saw that they gained weight, what would I write? (Really put yourself in their shoes and be honest.)

4: Am I calling them chubby cheeks because they're just puffing them out and being cute? (Then okay, it's fine)

5: when I say this, are they really chubby? Or has my mind been twisted to think they are just like their critics?

And I know that may seem extreme, but that's how it is. You all preach about how self love should be more important in the "toxic" Kpop industry but still subconsciously encourage its toxic behavior. So instead of comments like "omg your cheeks are so chubby now! <3" or "awwww look at his tummy he gained!" Say: "Omg, you look so healthy! ", " You've been looking extra cute recently 😍" and stuff like that. Because it still gets the point across that you like seeing them healthier, but it doesn't use possibly triggering words like chubby or thick because they are neither.

Anyways that's my mini rant. I don't mean to trigger people, or point fingers because I used to do it too. But I think we all need to collectively recognize this as part of the issue, and say, "huh, maybe that could hurt their feelings a little but EVEN IF I DONT MEAN TO, OR ITS NORMAL WHERE IM FROM TO SAY AS A COMPLIMENT"

Because as one of my favorite quotes puts it in words perfectly "You don't get to decide whether you hurt someone or not." So yes, people like me are sensitive, and yes, it may not seem like a big deal to you. But honestly I've sat by and respected all of your guy's opinions and words for a while now, and I think it's now okay for me to say "hey, this kind of bugs me a bit." Without being looked at as weird or annoying.

So in the nicest way possible, say what you want, but I'm not taking this down. I've made myself clear and as understanding as possible. But people like me who have an eating disorder, had one in the past, or are on the road to developing one, or someone who is about to start one of the insane Kpop diets, needs to know that this isn't normal. And they shouldn't compare themselves to the unhealthy kpop standards like it did.

Anyways, thanks for listening to my rant.

~DeepSheep

[stareiiez]

Mephistophelian Summer

Chapter 1.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟚.𝟡𝕜

𝔸/ℕ: Hello, Hello! <3 Tonight at 1:11 am I bring you the first chapter of my horror au! There’s no horror going on right now, it’s just setting up the basis for the reason why and where the horror of this fic takes place. 

Warnings: Cursing and Foul words, that’s about it! 

𝑀𝑒𝑝𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑛: adj: showing the cunning or ingenuity or                                       wickedness typical of a devil; also see:                                                                  devilish; diabolic; diabolical; mephistophelean; evil.

The ticking of the bell that hit 11:30 am, it seemed the clock's noise rang in Tucker's mind louder than the students' chatter and laughter that rang in his classroom. His head was propped up on both of the palms of his hands as his dark brown eyes narrowed in on the white clock's face. It seemed like the large and small hand of the clock seemed to move slower than normal, just because it was prolonging the students of Vallahala High. Summer would begin right when the clock would strike noon, and the early release would grant sweet sweet freedom for the next three months of blissful vacation. Tucker couldn't help but grin at the plan that was forming in his head-on just how he would spend his summertime. Unlike most of his peers would get summer jobs to save up money, Tucker would be wasting his time with his group of friends doing everything and going anywhere he wanted without a care in his world.

A  smooth grin spread over his lips as his eyes got a little hazy from his daydreams. It wasn't until his summer daydreams were ruined by the vibrating phone in his jeans back pocket. The bright cellphone screen lit up with multiple messages from the group chat him and his friends had created a few years back. In this chat, conversations ranged from absolute chaotic mindnumbing interactions to the dissecting every little thing about their lives and beyond their home planet. Usually, Grif would insinuate these conversations when he would smoke two or three joints and spam the group chat with his otherworldly conversations.

His phone screen lit up from already ten or more messages from the said group chat. Without care, Tucker settled back into his seat and unlocked his phone. The teacher didn't care, it was the last day of school and they too might be counting down the minutes for summer vacation. Until next week when they would go back to teaching some poor sorry sap of students that didn't manage to pass both fall and spring semester with the best grades in the world. Thank god his future goal major wasn't education.

Fellow Delinquiants, and Dick and Carolina.

11:37 am Dickhead 1: So what's this about some big summer plans?

11:37 am David: Summer plans? I was applying for that summer job you know-

11:39 am Stoner McGee: Work? During freedom? You make me tired.

11: 39 am David: Well... Carolina is getting a summer job with me too-

11:40 am Tucker: BOOOOO you both suck ass

11: 40 am Tucker: Listen assholes, there's no work this summer; because we are going camping.

11:41 am Redhead: We are doing what?

11:43 am Tucker: Relax, I'll let you all in on my plan when we get out of this hellhole.

11:46 am Dick: The outdoors seems fun!

11:48 am Sis: Camping? Are you on crack Tucker?

11:49 am Donut: If we're camping I vote on bringing food!

Well, at least some people were on board with the idea. Before he could read any more group text messages Tucker slipped his phone back into his pocket and sighed contently. This summer was going to be the best thing to happen to him in a while. Ever since he concluded that he was for sure graduating next year, and a few of his friends had already planned their future that didn't seem to involve him, it was starting to sound shitty. Call him a pussy, or bully him but he had abandonment issues. He hated being alone or being left behind, that's why most of his time was at least spent with at least his group of friends or at least one of his friends. He needed to feel secure and safe, and by god did they make him feel like he had a second family. This summer was the last summer he could spend normally without the stress of college looming over his shoulder, or friends coming and going. He wanted to have fun and take charge of the rest of his youth before it was forever locked away in the state of some four-year hell of education so he can get a job.

Once the clock finally hit 12, Tucker had sprung up from his seat like something struck him. His backpack was slung over his right shoulder and he all but ran out of the classroom along with the other excited students. Papers were flung in the air, and screams and chatter filled the air. Notebooks were flung, textbooks were thrown in the trash and homework filled binders were torn apart. The papers scattered and fluttered through the air in a victorious motion. Tucker jogged through the halls, his body weaving through bodies and moving fluidly with the masses of people who were making their escape through the school's front doors.

The large wooden doors were flung open and the ruckus filled the open air, classmates ran all over. Some made their ways to their cars, some stuck around to say goodbye to their friends, or others sprinted into the aligned school buses that awaited to take them home for the last time in the school year. The bright sunny, noon air shined upon Tucker as he inhaled his first noseful of fresh air. 'Ah freedom, so that's what it smells like.'

A content sigh slipped past his lips while he leaned back against the school statue of its mascot. One large puma that has it's back arched and teeth bare. They just changed to the Pumas after some big back and forth argument in the school district of Blood Gulch High should accept and appreciate their mascot if it was a warthog. The school cringed as well as the student body when they first found out that their school teams were about to be known as the Blood Gulch Warthogs. They wanted to be feared and at least have some kind of ring to it, so the school board decided on naming Blood Gulch, The Blood Gulch Pumas. It was pretty stupid to argue over some type of animal that resembles their school if it was up to Tucker. This highschool reminded him of chihuahuas. All talk and not enough bite.

"Hey man." A male voice spoke up before Tucker could bask in his summer freedom for a little longer. The male tilted his head to greet the new presence, and couldn't help but grin.

David 'Washington.' stood before him. All dark brown hair, with the blonde dye that was accenting the tips of his spiky hair. The blonde dyed tips were part of a half tipsy dare at the beginning of the junior year and Carolina had managed to do a decent job in dying his hair correctly. Wash, at first nearly died at the sight of his new hair. Then slowly for a week he slowly accepted the blonde accenting the dark brown of his natural hair color. Even his parents thought it looked nice and even joked that he should go full blonde, something that Wash had somewhat considered but never went through with it yet. He casually slipped the second strap of his backpack over his left shoulder, and his large palms grasped the two straps contently.

"Where's the rest of the guys?" Tucker asked once he reciprocated his greeting to one of his best friends.

"Carolina is dragging Church here since I'm sure Allison is trying to shove her tongue down his throat by now. Grif is going to drive his little sister home and then meet up with us with Simmons, Donut, and Frank."

"Why exclude Sis? She's always the life of the party." Tucker frowned.

A small scoff as a shy grin slipped over David's lips, "Please? Her? She's that and a whole ass hurricane."

"Exactly why she's invited with us to these summer plans of mine." Tucker grinned, a little more cooly than needed.

"Right, what kind of plans are we-"

"Hey! I said I'm going goddamnit!" Another voice cut in, this one pitched up higher in distress as a few grunts left his lips.

Both males tore their attention away from each other to watch a fiery redheaded girl grab a dark-haired male by the back of his shirt towards the two. The dark-haired male's arms were flailing about as he fought to keep up with the long-legged strides that the redheaded female took to meet the two boys.

"I can walk on my own, you know?! You're embarrassing me." The male hissed as the female finally unhanded him, her long pale arms crossed over her chest as her nose lifted slightly in the air with a huff.

"Really? Seems like you couldn't walk straight after you seemed to be having your soul sucked out of you by the blonde bitch." The girl growled back, anger set in her bright green eyes.

"Told you," Wash whispered to Tucker, making the other snort with amusement. It was cut short when the green-eyed gaze was sliced over to the two instead, silencing any ore commentary about her little brother.

"Just because you're only 30 minutes older than me, does not mean you can just drag me anywhere." The dark-haired male huffed more, he stood up straight and fixed the black-framed glasses on his nose. His duller green eyes were narrowed in a glare at his sibling.

"Church always glad to see you," Tucker commented, his eyes swept over the pasty-skinned male. A shit-eating smile took over his features as he caught the smear of dark red covering his entire mouth and one place on his neck. 'My man.' Tucker thought slimly.

"Hey, Leonard you got a little.." Wash spoke up, his finger pointing to his mouth. A small blush adorned his freckle splattered cheekbones and nose, his eyes quickly averting when realization dawned on the other's face.

The smear of the lipstick only colored the redhead's face in a little more irritation than necessary. The tension hung over the four heads, and with Carolina nearly on verge of bringing all hell loose to her little brother and his girlfriend. Wash cleared his throat and shot Tucker a look, one that had Tucker shoving his hand in his back pocket and fishing his car keys out

“Let's get some lunch fuckers." He said, returning Wash's look, and lead the three to his car.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Slim's Pickens, a dinner that has better food than its cursed name, had the best food in probably the whole town. The radio station lulled in the background of the diner. Chatter, silverware clinking against plates was comforting in a way, this one diner had the aura of 'Welcome Home.' and that was one of the reasons why it was the group's favorite spot to hang out at. Tucker had his feet propped up on the chair next to him as he scrolled on his phone, his eyes scouring through a few text messages he sent to Grif. He had been pestering and frankly pissing off his friend, to get the rest of his friend group to the diner. He was too impatient to lay down his big summer plan. With a groan, Tucker shut his phone screen off and tossed his head back over the chair's back.

"What is it with you today? You're so jumpy and you practically shoved us into your car." Wash commented, his gaze was on Tucker for a while now. He was watching the impatience grow more and more on Tucker's features, and it only made him snort in amusement.

"You nearly hit seven cars on your way here, and nearly ran through two red lights," Carolina added, her head was propped up on her hand and a single eyebrow rose in judgment.

"You will know when the other idiots are here." Tucker huffed, his eyes roamed over to Carolina. The once pissed off look on her face from her little brother was far gone, thanks to her practically forcing him to clean off the marks and lipstick stains Tex had left on his face.

"Well if you're going to play the waiting game, I am going to order something to eat." Carolina hummed, before picking up the menu and leaned over the table to David. Their chatter over what sounded better to eat, or certain prices.

20 minutes later, a clean Church, and plates of fries and other items of food that was placed before the four; Grif, Sister, Simmons, Donut, and Frank Dufrense had joined them. Finally.

"Alright, asshole tell me why you nearly made me get in a car crash from all your stupid texts," Grif said as he plopped down in the chair in front of Tucker. He didn't hesitate to steal a curly fry from Wash's plate and shove it in his mouth. His dark eyebrow rose as he chewed.

Tucker frowned before answering. "I already figured out what we are going to do this summer."

"If you're bringing up that camping trip-"

"Yes I am bringing it up, come on! It'll be so fucking great. Us, a private lake, privacy, alcohol. All the works!"

"Woo! Par-tay! Let's get it!" Sis cheered, her hands flinging up in the air as an excited grin split across her lips. Her eyes sparkled at the thought of getting shit-faced and puking her guts out in the crystal clear lake; then go skinny dipping in the waters at the dead of night.

"Oh no, the hell you aren't! No parties! You're three years younger and so underage." Grif bit out, his gaze fixed on his sibling that was sitting at the far end of the table right in front of Carolina. His voice ruining the enthusiastic expression on Sister's face.

"You're not my mom! Don't tell me what to do!"

"I'll kick your ass like our mom, I'll break my lazy rule of not doing shit just for you."

"Where exactly are we going to go do this if we agree?" Simmons pipped up from beside Grif.

"A place I always camped at with my Dad during the summer. It's called Tahoe Wood but I call it paradise."

"Tahoe Wood? You mean as in that endless fucking woods that most people get lost in Tahoe Wood?" Church commented, his voice sounding not too pleased in the slightest.

"You have me as a guide, come on I know that place like the back of my hand." Tucker scoffed.

"I am just brimming with confidence that nothing shitty will happen to us."

"Hey! Fuck you man!"

"Tucker, how long are we going to stay there?" Frank "Doc" cut in before Tucker or Church could further curse each other out in the diner.

It's happened at least once or twice, and each time the two were escorted outside by the waiters and left outside to cool off. They were allowed back inside once they at least said sorry to each other. They were treated like little kids for being in high school, but it came from a place of fondness. The employees all came to know the friend group well since they used the diner to hang out and eat almost once or twice every week.

"One week tops, think of it as a 'fuck you school' getaway." Tucker shrugged, his eyes watched as Grif stole a few more fries from Wash's plate. How the dyed blonde male didn't scold the other from stealing his food away more than once was a shock. "When are you and Carolina getting those summer jobs?" Tucker asked Wash.

"Sometime in the second week of June." Wash glanced at Carolina for confirmation.

"Since it is the last week of May, let's do this shit! Come on! Start the summer with a fucking bang!" Tucker pleaded, the palms of his hands smacking the table in the emphasis of his words. Plates clanged and silverware rattled from the vibrations, the noise drew several eyes of customers that were contently eating to glance over at the group.

"If we agree to this stupid trip will you shut up?" Church hissed, his eyes darting to the customers in the diner then back to Tucker. His pale green eyes were sharp and slightly cold as a wave of annoyance washed over his features.

Only when Church was pissed, annoyed, or just slightly miffed he looked like Carolina. He was the spitting image of their father, just like Carolina was a spitting image of their mother. Except Carolina had dyed her naturally blonde hair a fire engine red when she turned 16 and kept it red from since then on.

"Yes," Tucker said, rather smugly.

"Then yes! Now shut up."

"Hey! You don't speak for the rest of us. Camping sounds boring, and tiring work." Grif complained.

"Grif, shut up! I'm not going to hear Tucker complain for another hour about this trip. You go, or my sister is kicking your ass to Tahoe Wood and back!" Church hissed under his breath.

Well at least Tucker was satisfied, he would simply grin to himself as Grif bickered with Church. The two were bent over Carolina and Simmons that were sitting next to them. Donut and "Doc" were frankly content on conversating and adding in friendly banter to the swelling argument between the two males. It didn't help that both Grif and Church would yell at Donut or Doc to 'shut up and butt the fuck out' before going back to their argument.

This is going to be the best vacation ever.

[damienthepious]

hey, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday Crew. we’re finally back on real, actual Second Citadel content, huh? But. here’s the thing. not even that can put me off my bullshit. How do y’all feel about a chapter two?

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery,  Hurt/Comfort,  (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: The monster should be on the mend. There are, however, one or two complications.

Chapter Notes: This chapter deals with a lot of medical talk, there's some mention of blood and more specific descriptions of injury, and description of something close to surgery. There is also some talk in this that hints at some mild suicidal ideation, so if you’re sensitive to that tread with caution. Also if anyone with any knowledge of actual real life medical stuff reads this i am desperately sorry, i know virtually nothing. Forgive me for my nonsense.

~

It’s difficult to really stabilize the monster. And of course it is- Rilla is essentially paddling with her hands over here, she’s reduced to guesswork (she hates guesswork) and trial and error (which is slightly less irritating, but it’s certainly too goddamn risky when it comes to trying to save a life) and his body is already so strange that it’s hard to figure out what’s actually damage and what’s just inherent to him.

One of his four (four) wrists is broken, but she notices that late because his wrists turn so strangely in the first place (there must be a purpose to that; maybe he’s partially arboreal? That sort of range of motion would be useful for- no, focus, focus, Rilla-) and she doesn’t catch the jagged slackness of one among the four until he winces through trying to move it during one of his rare moments of consciousness.

That, too, is hit and miss, how aware he is at any given moment. It’s difficult to find a sedative that works- she doesn’t know much about lizard sedation, let alone pseudo-lizard-snake-bug-dragon (potentially ashdragon, specifically) sedation, and he wakes at unexpected moments. Unexpected, and he is often still near-delirious when he rouses, still snapping ineffectually with his eyes rolling in instinctive panic and/or pain. Very, very occasionally he comes around to lucid, or close to lucid, and then he always fixes her with that frightened, suspicious violet gaze.

She tries to use those opportunities when they arise. If he can answer questions about his pain, she can at least get a better idea of what still needs mending. Or- she would get a better idea, if the stubborn ass would answer any of her questions without complaining or deflecting or, yet again, complaining.

“Your attention is both unwanted and unneeded, little human, and the very instant that I- ha,” he bursts into a whine, his throat whirring sharply as he pants, lifting a clawed hand to press weakly at his midsection.

“That one still hurts, then?”

“All of it h-hurts, you idiot.”

“But the pain there is sharper? More acute?”

He hisses, then snaps his teeth ineffectually in her direction. “I- I will not be patronized,” he says in a snarl, and Rilla rolls her eyes and gently finishes re-wrapping his wrist.

“Okay, okay,” she agrees gently. “Now, don’t move that any more than you have to, understood?”

Terrible patient. Just- abysmally bad.

Though, oddly, he hasn’t made any move to actually hurt her.

She had been expecting things to get fairly bad on that front, if she’s being honest. Right at the start, when he was barely, barely conscious, like absolutely tongue-lolling out of it, she obviously wasn’t worried about attack beyond just accidentally catching herself on his limp claws.

But even as he comes more aware, even as he complains bitterly and tries, with unpredictable frequency and an utter lack of success or self-preservation, to slip from his bed and towards either the door or the window, he hasn’t tried to hurt her. He hasn’t tried to bite, though he snaps his teeth at her pretty much every time he’s awake. He hasn’t tried to claw her, though he pushes her hands away with a scowl when he’s lucid enough to do so.

It’s just odd, honestly. Not that she’s complaining. She’d rather not have to don falconer’s gloves just to redress his broken wrist or to check his pulse.

“I do not need to be mmf-”

He cuts off as she presses the cup against his mouth, burying her smile in a stubborn frown.

“You can barely lift your arms, let alone a glass. Drink. I don’t care if you’re embarrassed, you need to hydrate. Losing blood is no joke.”

“And certainly you care about my hydration,” he says with a sneer, his teeth clinking against the clay. “You expect me to believe-”

“I expect you to believe that I’ve barely gotten any sleep in the last two days trying to keep you from dying, and I believe that you’re going to drink from this damned cup right now, yeah, actually.” She blows her frown out like a candle and smiles bright and dangerous instead. “Drink. Now. And shut up.”

He sneers, but she presses the cup against his mouth again and his tongue flicks out and he blinks, and she sees the moment the big stubborn idiot realizes how thirsty he is, and then with very, very bad grace he lets her tip the cup until he can take a few long, slow swallows, his entire frame sagging in relief. He sighs when the cup is drained, and she can tell that he’s drained, too. More tired than she expects, at this point, but honestly it’s hard to tell with a monster. He’s half-dozing again before she’s lowered the cup.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s cold. That one is infuriating, actually. Might have something to do with the excessive fatigue, which she has to fold into her theories and speculations. She should have guessed, too, from the way he always unconsciously seems to lean into her touch. He gets furious when he notices himself doing so, and she’d been distracted from the actual possible causes of that by the way his snout wrinkles when he’s embarrassed. It’s- almost cute, in a weird sort of way.

Or it would be, if his frill didn’t try to flare when he’s embarrassed, too. It’s still torn, and it’s a very difficult part of the lizard to bandage, so every time he moves it without meaning to (partially conscious motion, or at least partially conscious control- he can move it at will, she thinks, but it also moves reactively, maybe in a similar way to blinking when startled), he exacerbates the edges of the tears, delays the progress of his recovery at least in that one small way for that much longer.

The cold, though: she notes his subconscious leaning towards her own skin, at first thinks that’s just some natural, biological response, and of course she’s warmer than him and she assumes that warmth would be soothing for a lizard-type creature. She notes the way he tenses when the sheets of the cot are pulled away from him for the purpose of checking his injuries and redressing, and she assumes mostly that it’s just more of the embarrassment that he seems so prone to, more than anything. She puts the pieces together when he sighs in a rather dramatically satisfied way as she’s pulling the sheets back over him, though, and she blinks down as he eyes her suspiciously.

“Wait- hang on. Have you been cold this whole time?”

He frowns, ducking his head and burying his chin in the thin cloth. “Does it matter?”

Her mouth hangs open, too shocked by the stupidity of the question to even answer for a long moment. A really, really long moment, actually. She stands up, and she leaves the room before the words find her again, because obviously, obviously-

She comes back with an armful of covers and quilts and he eyes her in alarm as she clomps back to the bedside and dumps the entire pile onto the cot, onto his legs, where her point will be made without the added gentle weight potentially pressing on his injuries.

“There,” she says, frowning. “Saints, I could have warmed you up ages ago if you only told me, you idiot.” She reaches into the pile and starts rearranging, layering the covers over him with systematic attention, the softer sheets lower and closer to him, the warmer heat-trapping layers on top.

“You- little doctor do you really believe this necessary?”

“If you’re cold it could be exacerbating your lethargy, which could interfere with your recovery,” she says with sharp look. “Or, for all I know, it could be masking other symptoms. Next time, if something hurts or if there’s a way I can make you more comfortable, tell me.”

She pokes him in the tip of his snout lightly to emphasize her words, and he snarls automatically though his expression is more sheer surprise than anything, and he looks like he’s already settling into the heat, drifting sleepily down.

“I- I-”

“Don’t get embarrassed, don’t get all haughty, just ask. That’s what I’m here for. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“Could have fooled me,” he mutters, and she flicks him in the snout again. He- laughs, then, a breathy and stunned sort of nose, before he lifts a clumsy hand to rub the offended point. “You are absurd,” he says, and he sounds a little impressed.

“And you,” she says smugly, “aren’t cold anymore.”

Eventually, after every injury she’s certain of is at least somewhat accounted for, wrapped, disinfected, dealt with, she starts to feel like it’s just a game of waiting for his body to start to fix itself-

But days later, he doesn’t seem to be improving. Even when he comes out of the sedation, his fatigue and his pain are still severe, and it almost seems like he’s more confused than before just after waking. His breathing continues to grow more shallow, more labored, and his arms have taken to wracking spasms. It was just rare, at first, but the frequency is increasing. Muscle spasms, difficulty breathing, lethargy and confusion-

Most troubling: his scales are developing patches of sickly purplish red. Subtle, at first, and difficult to notice among the rest of his dark green and black mottling, but once she notices the first one slowly discoloring his upper left pectoral, she notices the rest fairly soon.

Symptoms suggest a likely cause of infection. Possibly septicemia. Potentially lethal, when he should, by rights, be on the mend.

Complication regarding that potential diagnosis: Rilla has already started the monster on antibiotics specifically to combat a burgeoning infection in one of the scrapes on his arm, one that was pretty wretched before she got her hands on it. So, if any of his other injuries managed to get infected before she had the chance to clean and wrap them, her treatments should already be mitigating it. This, however, is progressing instead of healing.

Which means that Rilla must have missed something.

Obviously that prospect is infuriating, but Rilla’s not going to deny facts just because they’re inconvenient. Somewhere, somehow, she made a mistake. She’ll have to fix that mistake if she’s going to make any of this better.

She is systematic. She redresses his wounds, carefully noting the progression of his recovery with each (to a one: slow), looking for evidence of discoloration, of odd smells or discharge, looking for anything at all more amiss than just the injuries themselves, anything that might prove to be the cause of the lizard’s lack of progress.

(He hasn’t given up. She knows that, at least. Knows that isn’t a possible cause. For all his complaints and sarcastic pleas for her to just end his humiliation, he is struggling towards life with a fervor, she can see it. There’s something in his eyes- some fire, maybe, and Rilla knows that he hasn’t given up. He hasn’t- and she won’t either.)

One of the injuries on his midsection, a sloppy claw wound or possibly a bite from a strange angle, catches her attention. His progress is slow all around, but this one- it almost looks worse that it did when she dressed it. The edges haven’t even begun to knit back together, and it hasn’t quite stopped bleeding in a slow, sullen sort of way.

While he’s out cold, she examines the area more closely, pressing incredibly careful fingers around the wound, taking samples of the blood to compare to others she’s taken in the last few days, trying to decide if she can actually distinguish necrotic scales from just damaged ones with her current base of knowledge, but when she’s probing with her fingers she feels-

Something. She doesn’t want to press any harder than it takes just to feel the shape, but there is definitely something very wrong in this particular injury. Something hard, and out of place. A piece of broken rib, maybe? No- no she doesn’t think it’s that. Maybe something more malicious- her brain leaps to arrowhead but it’s not that kind of wound, of course. Speculation is rarely helpful, though, and she knows that if she wants this injury (and hopefully the rest) to actually begin to improve, she’s going to have to-

Well. It’s essentially going to be surgery.

The next time he wakes, he’s even weaker. She can tell by the way the nictitating membranes stay flipped over his eyes defensively, fogging his bright violet back to a soft, concerning lavender. By the way the hand he lifts to bat at her misses her wrist entirely. By the way he doesn’t even manage to pretend not to lean his cheek into her palm when she cups his face to make him look at her.

“Wh… human, what are you…”

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened to you,” she says, voice firm but gentle, and after a moment he tenses. “I’m not going to ask, don’t worry, but I do need to ask-”

“Not going to- to tell you anything-”

“Is there any chance that whatever attacked you could have left something behind in one of your wounds? The tip of a claw, or a tooth, or horn? Anything like that?”

His brow furrows, and he finally seems to focus on her fully, his foggy eyes flicking between her own. “It… it is possible, human, why-”

“Is there any chance that there might be a poison or toxin involved as well?”

The membranes slide away from his eyes, finally, and he stares at her with narrowed violet diamonds as he pulls his face away from her hand. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that is possible.” He inhales deeply, and the breath shakes out of him. “This protracted weakness. You believe-”

“It appears that there’s some foreign object stuck in one of your wounds, and you’re showing signs of infection or something worse,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I suspect it’s the cause of why you’ve been improving so slowly, and why it’s seemed like you’re about to start a backslide.”

“A foreign… object,” he repeats in a hiss. “Excellent. My injuries were… obviously not extensive enough already.”

“The point is,” Rilla says, sighing, “that I think you’re going to continue to deteriorate, unless the object is removed.”

He stares at her, blinks slowly, then raises one ridged eyebrow.

“Then it seems… your path is clear, does it not?” He pauses. “Unless, perhaps, this is precisely the excuse you were searching for, to allow the monster to die with as little effort-”

“Don’t be an ass,” she says, quiet but sharp. “I’ve been treating you, and that started when you were barely alive, let alone conscious. Obviously I didn’t ask permission for any of that. I couldn’t. But this- this is gonna be surgery. I’ll have to sedate you, and anything like that- there’s always a risk of something going wrong. And it- it’s different, now. You’re awake. You know what’s going on. You know that I’m not trying to hurt you.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I can ask, this time. If I don’t try to remove it, you’ll probably get worse, but there’s also a chance that trying to remove it could… could go wrong. So,” she straightens her spine, curls her lip into a wry half-smile, and meets the monster’s eye. “Do you want me to try? If you decide not to, I can- I can try more aggressive pharmaceutical methods, but to be entirely honest I’m not optimistic that there’s anything I can change on that front that will make a difference, and-”

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Rilla blinks, watching the suspicious twisting of his face. “What do you mean?”

“Asking, human, what are you asking for? Why pretend as if you care about the input of a monster?”

“Be… because I do?”

He scoffs again. “Ridiculous. Don’t be absurd, if you think you can manipulate me into-”

“Hey, hey-” she reaches out, her fingers just barely, barely brushing the scales of his shoulder and startling him into a wordless hiss. “Don’t work yourself up. You’re already exhausted, you don’t want to make yourself even more tired.”

“I am tired, human, of you pretending as if-”

“I have a name, you know.”

He flinches, lips pressing together as he glares at her sulkily. “I do not care. And I do not care what you do with me, either. I will likely die either way, so I may as well leave it in the hands of the universe, even if the universe is acting through such absurd means.”

Rilla frowns, her heart pulling a little. “I’m not going to let you die. Not if I can do anything about it. Please, just- tell me what you want me to do.”

He clenches his jaw tight, still frowning and not quite looking at her. “I told you. Do as you like.”

“No. No, that's not how this is going to work.” She frowns, brow furrowing stubbornly, and she meets his sharp eyes until he quails, glancing away. “What do you want?”

He swallows, ducks his head, and she can see the turning of the gears in his head for a long moment.

“I… I would rather die quick than slow, little human. If you believe there is some poison in me, and the attempt to remove it may destroy me, I would rather be destroyed in the attempt than in some painful, protracted helplessness.” He pauses, then aims his sharp, tired eyes up at her again. “There. You have your answer. Act as you will.”

“Okay,” Rilla says, and then she sighs. “Okay. That- honestly I’m glad you feel that way. And- and it’ll be better if we do this sooner rather than later. I’ll have to prepare a little bit, but- is that okay?”

“I would rather not waste time putting it off, yes,” he agrees in a drawl, looking away again.

“I’ve-” Rilla pauses. “I’ve been meaning to ask. It- I’ve been feeling pretty damn rude, actually, just- what’s your name?”

He blinks, eyes wide with something like panic. “What?”

“Your name. I’m not just going to call you monster if there’s something else I should be calling you. And-”

And this might be the last chance she has, to ask. If things go wrong.

She can see the moment he realizes her thoughts, the morbidity of them, and something like resignation slips into his expression. Not exactly the desired effect. She wishes he didn’t seem so agreeable to the concept of dying, but-

“Fine. Fine, if you care so very much. I am Lord Arum, he who rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. If you must call me anything, you may call me that.”

“Lord, huh?”

“Indeed,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“Seems pretty formal, considering.”

“Indeed,” he repeats, more snarl in his tone, and she laughs.

“Okay, okay, formal, then. You may call me Amaryllis of Exile, oh Lord of the Swamp. Pleasure to formally meet you.”

His frown deepens. “Pleasure,” he hisses under his breath with a scoff. “Now. May we get this done? If you are so very concerned with my well-being as you claim, certainly you should not delay.”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, and then she stands. “Yeah, I know. If you’re ready, I can put you under.”

“As ready as I expect I will be,” he mutters as he watches her cross the room to fetch the sedative.

It’s a little unsettling, actually, how close he watches her as she draws the proper dose into the syringe, as she returns to the side of his cot.

“Okay,” she says, quiet with his eyes on her. “Ready, Arum?”

He scowls at his name in her voice, at the distinct lack of his title, maybe. He still nods, though, after a moment. “Do as you will, human.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Rilla says, and he closes his eyes even before she injects him with the sedative. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

“As if I have a choice,” Arum says, and he must have already been only hanging on to the waking world with the tips of his claws, because he barely makes it through the sentence before his head slumps to the side, his breaths evening out.

Rilla takes a deep breath, stares down at the monster in her care, and then she turns to prepare what she’ll need to get this job done.

~

Rilla is so utterly focused on the monster beneath her hands that she does not register the noise in her front room. She hears it: the familiar creak of her door, the noises of footsteps approaching, but her eyes are fixed on the injury that is her current dilemma, fixed on the instrument she is using so very, very delicately to try to pull what her revised estimate assumes must be a broken piece of talon from between this monster’s ribs.

She does not register the noise. She doesn’t even register the much closer noises, the familiar voice, until there is a light knocking at the door to her exam room.

Even then she barely understands, through the buzz of her exhausted focus. She’s so close, she can feel the edges of the curved piece of sharpness that’s pierced him, and if she can only get the angle of her tool just right, if she can only get a little bit of grip, she’ll be able to pull it out. This is the source of the infection; Rilla is sure of that. Poisoned talons or envenomed fang, a tip left behind, bleeding more and more tired pain through his body. If she can just get it out, her other treatments will finally have the chance to make an impact, will finally be afforded the foothold they need to really help him.

The knock comes again, and Rilla mutters something wordless under her breath and she absolutely can’t pull her eyes away. She almost has it. Almost. The blood is making everything slippery but she can see a darker shade among it too and she needs to get this out of him, she just needs to, and she’s almost there-

The door opens. It was not locked.

“Rilla, my heart, you failed to answer and I-”

Rilla feels a very distant twinge of worry, but she’s still so damned close and she can swear she feels her tool catch a grip, just barely. She can’t afford to lose her focus, not now-

“A monster.” Damien’s voice is… utterly devoid of inflection. “Rilla- my Amaryllis- remove yourself from that creature and I shall resolve the situation in an instant-”

“’n the middle of something, Damien,” she mutters, and there is sweat on her forehead and she can’t pull her eyes away, not for him and not for anything. “Outta my exam room now.”

“That is a monster,” Damien repeats, and now there is a tone in his words. Dark, terrified, furious. With her? She can’t tell. Doesn’t really care at the moment, if she’s being honest. “Move away from it and I shall slay it for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rilla growls, and her hair must have come loose from her braid because wisps are falling in front of her face and she really, really doesn’t have time for this right now. The tool in her hand catches against an edge, pulls, and she feels the curve of the foreign object between Arum's ribs move, just slightly. “Almost- almost got it, c’mon c’mon c’mon-”

“Rilla before it wakes, before it sets upon you-”

“Don’t be stupid,” she manages. “Knocked him out for this. Obviously. Otherwise the pain’d be- too much. He’s not gonna wake up. Probably not for hours. Shut up and let me focus.”

“Rilla that is a monster-”

“Damien,” Rilla snaps, sharp and harsh and unquestionable, and when her eyes finally jerk towards him Damien’s spine stiffens, his eyes going wide. “I heard you the first time. You think I don’t know this is a monster?” She scoffs, and her throat hurts with the effort of not absolutely screaming at him. “What I am doing, Damien, right at this moment, is incredibly delicate. You are going to leave this room- no, don’t you dare interrupt me, I am talking right now. You are going to leave this room and wait outside. When I am done, and not a moment sooner, I am going to come and join you, and then we are going to have a conversation about him. About this.”

“Rilla-”

“I said that all as nicely as I am physically able, right now. If you make me repeat myself, Damien, I’m not going to get any nicer. Get out. Now.”

He opens his mouth, but she turns away, refocusing back on the task at hand. The task literally, literally in her hands right now. Her grip on the talon is miraculously maintained. Somehow it hasn’t slipped away entirely, or slipped deeper. She delicately, delicately starts to maneuver the object, and if she angles it just right she should be able to slip it right out without scraping the business end of the thing against anything else inside him- without doing any further damage. Removal of something like this is dangerous and delicate and-

And Rilla barely hears it, when the door clicks shut behind Damien again.

She almost has it. Almost.

She twists her wrist. She bites her lip hard enough that it might bleed. She holds her breath and twists and pulls so, so gently-

The small black curve of a broken talon (or, possibly, fang) slips out from between his ribs with not an ounce of fanfare. It barely looks big enough to worry if stuck in the sole of a decent boot. It doesn’t even have the courtesy to dramatically drip black poison. But-

It’s the source of so much of Arum’s pain, and now Rilla has pulled it from him.

Now she can really, really start to help him.

… if she can convince Damien not to kill him, first.

[->]

[secretlover-ao3]

Always Yours

Chapter 1

“Daenerys, come on! It’s Friday night… and it’s my birthday! You have to come out with us!” Arya insists. 

Arya Stark, my best friend of the past 12 years. I love her, but she does not get it. I’m not one for crowds. My anxiety and depression make it difficult. Although I try to mask it, she still sees my hesitation, knowing me all too well. 

“Come on!” she continues, “You will be with me, Gendry, and Jon... Forget everyone else. Please?” 

“Ugh! Fine! But you have to help me get ready.”I cannot say no to her and she knows it. Her victorious grin is infectious, and before I know it, I am grinning along with her. As much as I would rather be home with my book, she is my best friend… my only friend if I am being honest… so, I wouldn’t miss her night. 

An hour and a half later, she has tortured my long silver hair with a flatiron and my face with makeup that is typically reserved for special occasions. Normally, I’m a mascara and lip gloss kind of girl. I am in a dress she insisted I buy more than a year ago and have refused to wear until now. It’s black, too short and clings to my too curvy body. I look in the mirror and all I recognize are my pale purple eyes. She insists I look beautiful; I feel over exposed. Arya is the exact opposite of me… black hair, deep gray eyes, and a body most would love to have. Where I’m standoffish and a loner, for the most part, she is outgoing and popular. How we became best friends is beyond me. 

I will never forget how we met… I was 10 and had just moved here from Kings Landing. My dad had the opportunity to move and buy his own construction company; it had always been his dream. That is how I ended up in the small town known as Winterfell. 

My first day of school was horrible. It was the middle of the year and as the new girl… no one seemed to care for me. The kids had been staring, pointing and whispering most of the morning. At lunch, I grabbed my tray and having no appetite I sat down at a table by myself.  I was about to cry when she sat down beside me and said, “Hi, I’m Arya. Don’t worry about them. They are just jealous because you’ve been somewhere else, and they haven’t.” That was it. We were instant friends. Turned out we lived on the same street and once my parents divorced, I practically lived at her house with her, her parents and her brother Jon. Now in our mid-twenties, we share an apartment together.

“Perfect! We ready?” Arya asks, snapping me from my thoughts. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I reply with a sigh. “You are so lucky I love you.” Her laugh makes it worth it as I give one last, longing look at my book and head out the door.

About 20 minutes later, Arya and I reach the little Essosi restaurant where we are meeting Gendry and Jon.  Gendry is Arya’s longtime boyfriend… I would say they are highschool sweethearts, but their romance began in junior high. Him being the football star and her the cheerleader. They are perfect together. He is about a foot taller than her at 5’10” with sandy black hair and brown eyes. He is really good to her; I can only hope that one day I will have a relationship as pure as theirs. 

Then there is Jon. Jon is older than Arya and me by a couple years. I can’t help but wonder who his flavor of the week is now.If I seem bitter, it’s because I am. I have secretly been in love with him for as long as I can remember.

No one knows.  

Not even Arya.   

She would probably be pissed if she did know… and I am pretty sure he thinks of me as just another sister anyway. 

He keeps his dark curly hair a little long with a naturally messy look. His dark gray eyes are like midnight you could drown in. He has that rugged, bad boy look. At 25 years old he has made a name for himself. Not only with the ladies, but in the business world as well. It surprised no one when he chose to major in Business instead of Marketing like his mom or Law like his dad. He was always one to do his own thing. I have always admired their family for supporting each other in all they do. I wish it could be that way for me. 

The guys are outside waiting for us as we park. I have to turn away because Gendry’s greeting for Arya is enough to make me blush.

I take my time as I walk over and say hello to Jon. To my surprise, he isn’t here with a woman, but his best friend Daario… who by the way, is an asshole. He is tall, dark, and handsome… but an asshole none the less. I had the unfortunate privilege of dating him briefly. One date to be exact… about a year ago. It was awful. He took me to dinner and before we had our food, he was already hinting at sex. When we left the restaurant, he tried to shove his tongue down my throat and grabbed my tits… so I kneed him in the balls and called Jon for a ride home since he lived the closest. Besides, he was the one to set the date up, so I felt he owed me. I was humiliated, but Jon made me feel better. By the time I made it home I was laughing so hard about the whole situation I was in tears. 

Jon returned my hello with a hug. Daario smirked and waved. 

Jokingly, I asked Jon, “What, no date? Or is Daario your flavor this week?” 

Jon laughed answering, “Nah, just taking the night off for Arya… besides, Daario is still holding out for you.” 

“Man, fuck you!” came Daario’s response. 

“No, thanks.” Jon and I say in unison.

By the time Arya and Gendry join us I cannot stop laughing. I love that Arya and Jon are so close that they have always wanted me around is a bonus. It is the only time I don’t feel like I’m an obligation.Dinner has been great. I’m glad I came.The conversation has been flowing easily from all of us. To my surprise, there is not even tension between Daario and me. The past is the past, and he was a decent friend before our mistake night. When it comes time to leave however, my anxiety builds.  I know Arya is ready to head out and party. Dinner with friends is one thing, but I do not party.Jon sees the panic rising and takes my hand. Squeezing it, he leans over whispering“It’s okay. I’m here. If it gets too bad, we can go, okay?”Nodding my head yes, because that is all I can do, I take comfort in his words.I ride along with Arya and Gendry, feeling like the third wheel I am.  

“Where are we off to?” I ask Arya. She looks over at Gendry, since he is the one driving and says, “Take me somewhere I can dance!” Gendry laughs and keeps driving.

Just a few minutes later we pull up to Arya’s favorite bar, it’s more of a club minus the door man. I don’t want to leave this car, but I will not let my best friend down. So, on a sigh I muster up my courage and get out. 

I am happy to see Jon and Daario are out of Jon’s SUV, waiting. Before I know it, Arya and Gendry have disappeared into the bar. Shaking my head, I laugh and walk up to the guys. Jon smiles while guiding me inside. With him here I feel safe. I know that it is wrong, but in my heart, I wish he could feel the same for me. 

We have been here about an hour when Daario starts being his old self. I wish I could blame the alcohol, but I am sure it is just him.We had all been talking and having fun, so when he asked me to dance, I said sure. Before I knew it, he was trying to kiss me, and his hand was on my ass.

“Stop!” I yell as I try pushing him away, but I am unable to break his hold. I panic, fearing no one will hear me because his mouth is on mine. 

Suddenly, I am out of Daario's grasp. Jon is in front of me growling at him, “What the hell, man!?” Daario glares at him and shouts. “Whatever, that bitch is going to die a virgin!” I am mortified. I stand there, unable to move or speak.

Jon comes over; putting his arm around me he leads me back to the table. He sits me down, turning my chair to face his; placing his hands on my knees he says, “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole. Are you okay?” 

I feel the tears brimming my eyes as I respond with a simple “No.” He takes me into his arms, apologizing again. 

In his embrace I find comfort, allowing myself to cry for a few minutes. Once I’m able to speak I ask him why he is apologizing.

“Because I’m the one who brought that bastard with us. I should have never let him get close enough to hurt you again.  You will never know how sorry I am.” He drops his eyes from me and I think I hear him sniffle. When he looks up again, his eyes are red, and his cheeks are wet. 

I shake my head and laugh. With confusion written all over his face, he arches his brow and asks, “What’s so funny?” 

“He’s right, you know?” He still looks confused, so I continue. “I will probably die a virgin. It’d just be a lot easier if the world didn’t seem to know about my love life… or lack thereof.”

He laughs, shaking his head he says, “That’s what happens when you live in a small town;everyone knows everything about everyone.”

I sigh with a “Yeah.” 

We sit there quietly for a while; I break the silence when I say, “One of these days I think I’m just going to have sex… just to get it over with.”

He laughs out a “What?” 

“I’m serious!” I reply “I’m tired of being the virgin.I have no hope of a serious relationship when the guys only want me to have a chance at my v-card. Once they find out it’s not happening right away, I either never hear from them again or it ends up just like it did with Daario… them thinking they have the right to go for it anyway.  If love isn’t going to happen for me first, then maybe it will come along after.” 

“Daenerys, look at me.” When I look up, he is staring at me intently. “You’re serious?” 

I wait a bit before I softly respond, “Yeah, I think I am, Jon. I’m just tired… tired of disappointment. It’s not like I’ve been saving myself for my wedding night. I didn't expect something special or romantic. I just wanted it to be with someone who somewhat cared about me. Someone that would still speak to me after. I know all of this sound stupid. I sound like one of the hopeless girls in my books.” I finish, saying the last part to myself. Oh my god, I am a complete an idiot… why did I tell him all of that?! I think to myself and feel the heat rising in my face. 

He says nothing, and I grow more embarrassed by the second. Not only did I just say the most idiotic thing I could possibly say... I did it with zero alcohol in my system to blame.I'm about to excuse myself to find Arya, tell her I'm not feeling well and going to find a ride home… when he finally speaks. 

“I'll do it.” He says… so softly, I think I have heard him incorrectly.

“What?” I ask. 

Just as he looks up at me to answer, Arya and Gendry join us at the table. Arya looks back and forth between us and questions, “What's wrong?”

I have no words; I just sit there with a blank expression. 

Jon seeing I'm not going to answer anytime soon says, “Daario, being an asshole like usual.” 

I can hear the concern in her voice when she looks at me and asks, “What the fuck did he do to you? I will to kill him.”

I cannot control my nervousness any longer and burst into a fit of laughter. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she demands but I can't stop laughing to answer. 

She looks to Jon.

He shrugs. “She is laughing to ease the tension, I would guess.  We were all having fun. Daario asked her to dance; then being Daario, he tried forcing himself on her. She tried pushing him away and when I saw her struggling against him... I handled it. Well, as much as I could while being in here. I will thoroughly handle it later.” He finishes with venom in his tone.

Arya leans over and hugs me apologizing.

“Would you two quit apologizing? You have no control over that asshole’s behavior!”

It's Arya's turn to laugh as she says, “We can't help it... we love you!” she continues, “Anyway, we are heading out. You ready?”

I hesitate, looking over at Jon who hasn't taken his eyes off me.

Before I can answer, he says, “Stay and talk a while longer? I will get you home safe.” When I don't answer right away, he smirks and continues. “Let's give the birthday girl and her man a little alone time before I take you home, okay?” His eyes are pleading with me.I have no idea what I'm in for, but I smile and agree.

We say our goodbyes and I am once again alone with Jon; once again feeling the heat flame my cheeks.

After a few moments of sitting in silence he turns, “Daenerys, please look at me.” I sheepishly look up at him. I am embarrassed, and it shows.

“If you are serious... if you are completely sure that is what you want to do... I'll do it.” I still can’t speak, so he continues. “Look, I’m impressed that you’ve waited as long as you have; I admire you. But if you truly just want to get it over with... I’ll do it. If it’s going to be this way, I want it to be me. I wouldn't intentionally hurt you. I care about you, and there’s not a chance I would ignore you after. I'd rather it be me, then some asshole like Daario.”

He has rendered me speechless, but he allows me time to think without saying another word. When I feel I can I finally speak, “Okay” is all I say.

He stands and reaches for my hand; I take his, completely numb, feeling as though I am dreaming.

[hxttrick-archived]

★ FILL IN THE QUESTIONS AS IF YOU ARE BEING INTERVIEWED FOR AN ARTICLE AND YOU WERE YOUR MUSE.

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG!

Tagged by: @paindealt​ (thank you!) Tagging: Everyone!

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? “Kung Lao. The Great Kung Lao. The best of the best. The White Lotus hero. The greatest Shaolin. Th--”

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME? "Kung Lao. Can’t get tired of hearing it, can you?”

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE CALLED THAT? "I’ll never forget, so you shouldn’t either. I was named after my ancestor, plain and simple. He reigned as champion after he defeated Shang Tsung, but his life came to an end when he faced against Goro. My family’s spirit may have been crushed by his death, but his legacy was bound to continue-- and it has within me. I remember asking my father one day about why, and he only told me that he knew I was special. I’m the Great Kung Lao’s number one legacy; no one within the family can top my skills.”

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN? “Single.” (This is verse dependent.)

5. WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS AND ABILITIES? "Of course I have a plethora of skills, but my favorites fall upon using my hat. I can do so much with my hat, like manipulation of its direction or allow it to spin around my body to protect myself; just call me the hat master. With Lord Fujin’s instruction, I learned how to teleport and how to create wind vortexes by using my chi, and I can never be more thankful for his teachings. Even my ancestor plays a part in my abilities; his spirit rests within me. I can call upon the Great Kung Lao to assist me whenever I need him, but I never truly need help. I’m constantly blessed that he’s there for me though.”

6. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES? "Brown hazel.”

7. HAVE YOU EVER DYED YOUR HAIR? "Nope. I rather keep its natural color.”

8. DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? "What kind of a question is that? Everyone has a family-- in one way or another. My father Kung Peng, my mother Mao Xiang, my sister Kung Shi, and my nephew Kung Jin. While both sets of grandparents have been dead for some time, I have eight uncles, eight aunts, and twenty five cousins; isn’t that a big family? ....I wish I could talk to most of them. In the future, when I-- I mean my future counterpart died, I realized that the family has fallen apart, lost their status, moved on to America. I even heard rumors they wanted to forget I even existed! And my nephew-- it is crazy seeing him all grown up. I don’t know what to even say about any of it...but I can say that...that I miss Shi...”

9. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? "I have eight bunnies; five does and three bucks. My does are Xiao Xue & Qi Qi- both Hol/land Lops, Hua- who’s a Bev/eran, Yuming- one of my two Flem/ish Giants, and my special albino Himalayan: Xiaolian. My bucks are Bao- another Holl/and, Jiaozi- the American rabbit, and Xing- my other Flem/ish.”

10. TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE. "Shang Tsung-- Oh, something. Disrespect towards the elderly.”

11. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES OR ACTIVITIES YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME? "I like to meditate, train, and practice swordplay. On some days, I’ll participate in playing soccer with other monks, especially when the weather is nice. When I am not in the mood for vigorous activity, I like to read or take naps, or spend quality time with my rabbits.”

12. HAVE YOU EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE? "All in the life of a Shaolin. In other words, yes.”

13. HAVE YOU EVER… KILLED ANYONE? "Yes, but do not be afraid. We Shaolin call killing someone a drastic measure.”

14. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU? "Do you mean my animality? A cheetah.”

15. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. “I cannot think of a single one. People tell me that it’s my pride, my confidence, my ego; they think I brag; what is so wrong about a healthy confidence? ----Okay, maybe I come off as prideful. Hey, even I am not perfect. Also, my sleep pattern can be screwed up some nights, so I tend to nap during the day and that’s what causes me to slack during training sometimes. You better not tell my masters or Lord Raiden about this.”

16. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE? "Yes.”

17. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL? ”I’m...bi.”

18. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL? “Not exactly. I study and live within a monastery, and receive a monastic education as well as martial arts training.”

19. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS SOMEDAY “Some day, but I am not yet prepared to drop everything and leave the temple. There is still so much I want to do and wish to achieve. ”

20. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANS? "I’m no movie star but I know I have fans-- tons of fans.”

21. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF? “I fear being unable to protect the Wu Shi. Again, I had to witness dead monks before me... The carnage must stop!”

22. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR? "All it takes is to look at me. The long answer would be something comfortable, not constricting to my form, but nothing too revealing. Sometimes, I will wear the classic orange outfit monks wear, but not always.”

23. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE? “What do you mean by love? Romantic love or platonic? Platonically, of course I love someone-- more than one.”

24. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? "The class of being the greatest, obviously.”

25. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE? "I have many friends whom I consider allies.”

26. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE? "On pie itself or a specific kind of pie? Can it be mango pie? I want mango pie.”

27. FAVORITE DRINK? "Tea.”

29. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE? "Besides the temple, there is the Kung family home, and besides that, I have a place where I train in seclusion, where I can view the mountains for miles and admire the scenery from the cliff side. It’s watching the sun rise and set, and gazing upon the moon in all of its glory that make it a nice place to be”

30. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE? "I have a small crush, but that is not your business.”

31. WHAT’S YOUR DICK SIZE? "That’s REALLY none of your business! But if you’re so curious, I’m bigger than you-- is what I would say if I knew you had one.”

32. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN? "The lake, I suppose, but I prefer a river, to be honest.”

33. WHAT’S YOUR ‘TYPE’? "Back to this? What do you mean by type? Are you asking me because I said I had a crush? I shouldn’t of said that; just forget I said that, okay?”

34. ANY FETISHES? "UH-- EXCUSE ME?!”

35. TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE? "WHY are you ASKING me these QUESTIONS??! I am a monk! I took a vow of chastity! I can’t answer that kind of stuff when I don’t even know myself!”

36. CAMPING, OR INDOORS? "Finally changing that last subject! ---Both.”

37. ARE YOU WAITING FOR THIS INTERVIEW TO BE OVER? "You’ve been polite enough until you started asking me those risque questions, so yes.”