#nightmares about a certain poem being written

[abigailmoment]

Astarion's hands started to move. Opening and closing. Flinching up to his chest in quick, aborted motions. Like he was trying to stop something. Starting to protect himself but but unable to complete the gesture. He made a noise. A whining complaint.

Nightmare, Tav thought. That wasn't really a surprise, given the little she knew about him. She scooted closer and reached out to shake him awake.

But then Astarion made another noise. It was so quiet Tav could barely hear it. She wouldn't have, if she hadn't moved close. It was so much softer than any sound he ever made while awake. Something halfway between a gasp and a sob. Stifled, like he was trying not to be heard.

Full text below. Full Text On AO3

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It was peaceful at camp. Peaceful as it only ever was in the dark hours of night when all of the powerful personalities were asleep.

Tav was ostensibly keeping watch. And she was at least keeping the woods in her peripheral vision. An observer would think she was toying with her violin. She adjusted the strings from sharp to flat and flat to sharp. She tested the tension with her fingertips, feeling the timbre of the silent notes trapped inside. But really, that was just something to do with her hands while her mind churned over her true occupation for the night: figuring out ways to diffuse the growing tension between Shadowheart and Lae'zel.

Solving interpersonal issues like that was pretty much her entire life since the Nautoloid crash. In her free time she stumbled through a crash course in wilderness survival, desperately searched for a cure for the tadpoles, and fought all the things that wanted to kill them.

(Gods, there were so many. She was never leaving Baldur's Gate again after this.)

But her main job was keeping her companions from murdering each other or having breakdowns.

Juggling her motley crew was like juggling knives. Actually scratch that. Tav had done both and the knives were undebatably easier. Because under all the surface problems this group had, all the different cultures and different values, was a simmering tension of fear. Everyone was afraid of what they were becoming. And that fear under the natural conflicts--it was like an oil spill shining under torches. A seemingly stable situation that might explode the moment someone dropped something incendiary. Like the wrong sort of comment.

So Tav managed them. She left everyone nice at camp when she was planning to buy things from the Zhentarim. She asked Astarion to steal something on the far side of the market while she, Wyll and Karlach covertly completed some hasty heroics. She minimized how much anyone but her ever talked to Lae'zel.

Gods, Lae'zel. Was she healthy for a githyanki? Tav just didn't have the context to tell. No one else was anything approaching emotionally intact. Years in hell, amnesia, pacts with demons, and broken hearts that might explode. Tav had only just started getting to know her new brain-worm-enforced social circle and she could already tell that everyone was sitting on years, or in one case apparently centuries, of extremely fraught baggage.

Baggage which they couldn't address right now because they were all busy with the very important collective job of not dying.

Tav sighed and decided to take a break from thinking. She played with her violin a bit more, but doing that was an unsatisfying tease since she couldn't play it right now. She decided to unsatisfyingly tease herself in a different way and shifted so she could stare at Astarion.

She did that sometimes while on watch because being on watch was boring and Astarion was extremely pretty and he had set the doing-creepy-things-while-we-sleep bar of their relationship extremely low when he tried to bite her. Her gaze was more appreciative than lecherous, anyway. She was an artist, and he was like some classical painting come to life. Face of perfect, pale skin drawn in sharp, eye-catching angles.

No, not a painting, she thought. More like a sculpture. He was so still while he slept. Was that an elf thing, or a vampire thing? Either way, the stillness and his pallor made it seem a bit like he might be carved from marble. Actual artwork. And the way delicate white curls framed his features looked faintly celestial.

Ha. That effect would dispelled the second he woke.

Gods, he was beautiful. Tav wasn't going to do anything about it of course. She was already juggling knives. Adding a romantic entanglement to this situation would be like setting the knives on fire. She'd just tuck these thoughts away and tell him he looked like an angel when he slept the next time he got maudlin about mirrors. That would make him laugh and cheer him right up.

As she thought and watched Astarion the statue impression fell away. Something disturbed the stillness of his not-quite-sleep. Tav watched the edges of his mouth tugging down from peaceful blankness into a frown.

Then his hands started to move. Opening and closing. Flinching up to his chest in quick, aborted motions, like he was trying to stop something. Starting to protect himself but but unable to complete the motion. He made a noise. A whining complaint.

Nightmare, Tav thought. That wasn't really a surprise, given the little she knew about him. Tav scooted closer and reached out to shake him awake.

But then Astarion made another noise. It was so quiet Tav could barely hear it. She wouldn't have, if she hadn't moved close. It was so much softer than any sound he ever made while awake. Something halfway between a gasp and a sob. Stifled, like he was trying not to be heard.

Tav froze, barely an inch away from him. Shit. She couldn't wake him up, she realized. She absolutely couldn't wake him up.

Astarion tossed his past around like caltrops, peppering conversations with horrific details, daring her to pity him. Tav knew a thing or five about emotional manipulation, it's why she ended up managing most groups she fell in with, but before Astarion she'd never met someone who tried to demand sympathy at knife-point. Even more novel, and somewhat impressive, he actually sort of made it work.

But when he talked about his past, it was on his terms. They were only just starting to be anything more than strangers, and she already understood--that was important. It was something to do with control. Everything she learned about him had to be on his terms.

So if he knew she'd seen this, if he knew she'd stumbled in on this moment of vulnerability, if he ever guessed she heard him make that sound. It would be like a betrayal.

He'd resent. Retract. It would shatter the easy rapport she was working so hard to build with him. It wouldn't matter that this was an accident. Stray cats don't care if it was accidental when you clip them with your boot in the dark. It's as good as a kick and they never, ever trust you again.

She'd just...leave it be. Tav scuttled back from him, quietly as she could. She resolutely turned to scan the dark treeline. She was keeping watch. She was a good party member, keeping everyone safe in this thoroughly unremarkable night where nothing at all was happening. Her companions' dreams were their own business.

She listened to crickets singing. She listened to the wind sighing. She listened to the branches of the trees brush against each other as the wind played its primal sort of music with them. She listened to Astarion make another barely-there noise. A whimper that threaded on and on.

He sounded like he was actively being hurt.

Tav clenched her hands and then sat on them. She lectured herself sternly in her head. She couldn't go wake him up. She was good at reading people and all her instincts told her that would be a mistake. Even beyond how much it could fuck up their relationship, it could fuck up his coping strategies, which involved a lot of feigned indifference and pretending awful things were funny. It was hard to feign indifference when you got caught crying in your sleep. They had a temple full of traps and goblins to go through tomorrow. If her rogue was off his game it might kill someone.

The worst thing about this, she thought as she listened, was that it sounded like Astarion was trying to be in pain quietly. Trying not to draw attention to himself. Which felt very wrong. What made him do that, instinctively, while he slept?

The whimpering finally trailed off, or at least quieted the the point of being drowned out by forest sounds. That was a relief for a moment, but then Tav found she hated the silence more. It meant she didn't know what was going on. She managed to watch the treeline and pretend that everything was fine for maybe a minute. Then she gave up, turned around and checked on him.

Astarion had rolled onto his side, half off of his bedroll. His face was taught and somehow even more pale than usual. His shoulders were hunched. Like maybe his back was hurting him? His hands still moved, but the movements had lost focus. He no longer tried to ward off whatever was happening in his mind. He just twitched.

Tav got up. Being here felt like an invasion of his privacy and was also unbearable. She'd go on a patrol around the camp. By the time she got back he'd be out of this. He'd have to be. A nightmare couldn't last that long, she told herself.

She stowed her violin and had just finished belting on her rapier when she heard Astarion speak. For a moment she thought he might have roused himself, but no. His voice was vague and slurred with sleep, so much she could only clearly make out the last word:

"...please."

It was his tone that made her stop in her tracks. Astarion sounded so completely hopeless. Like the word was a perfunctory gesture. Like he knew begging wouldn't help, but he was driven to it by whatever was happening to him. Because there was nothing else to do.

Tav covered her face with her hands. She was having a lot of feelings. Most of them revolved around finding out who Astarion was talking to, in his dream, and arranging their gruesome murder. But that was a long term project. It wasn't relevant right now. She took a deep breath.

When she uncovered her face she had shifted into a different mindset. It was her problem-solving mindset. For when she needed to think fast and act precisely. For when she needed to micromanage her team to the point of shouting orders every six seconds. A mindset for when something was very wrong and needed to be attended to urgently. Like a burning building. Or an owlbear attack. Or this.

This was a problem. She would solve it. She spent all day finding creative solutions to terrible problems. She just needed to find the sneaking-past-the-lookouts-and-convincing-the-guards-you-were-supposed-to-be-here-because-the-lookouts-let-you-through solution to this emotional goblin ambush.

Begin by brainstorming. Consider the limitations: Couldn't wake him up. For stated reasons. Couldn't leave him to the nightmare. That idea was unconscionable.

Could she change the dream? Maybe tadpole brain-jump into Astarion's head and interfere with what was happening? That was fraught. On multiple levels. Call that plan C.

Maybe she could incidentally wake him? Sound a fake alarm. Adrenaline was good for clearing the head and shaking off nightmares. But...no. That would wake everyone else, and she didn't want to have to juggle everyone else.

She liked the idea of trying to interfere with his dream. She circled back to that. Could she do that without the tadpole? His responses were so visceral, she'd bet this was as much memory as it was dream. Could she subtly oust it? Change the context? Background music could dramatically change a scene--why not a dream? What's something that would be incompatible with his past? Something that he couldn't possibly have felt back when this happened to him?

She didn't know enough about his past. Vampires then. What can't vampires experience?

Running water. Dousing Astarion with water would wake him up. Not helpful.

Food? She couldn't feed him while he was asleep, and she wasn't even sure about that one.

Sunlight. That held promise. He loved the light. Turned to it like a sunflower every morning. But it was night right now.

But wait. She could fix that.

Tav took action. The thinking had taken no time at all--it never did when she was in this mindset. She hustled over to Gale's tent. He was a deep, slightly snore-y sleeper and didn't even stir. She rifled through his things. She'd given him the scrolls of they'd found in the secret laboratory, two days ago. And if she remembered right...ah! There it was. Parchment marked with a blue, starburst circle at the top. A scroll of Daylight. The power to enchant an object so that it shone with true sunlight.

Tav winced when she saw the complicated casting instructions. This was a little over her skill level. But it's not like she needed the full, shadow-monster-obliterating power of dawn. She just needed a handful of morning. She bet she could coax something out of it.

Gale had a dark-crystal ball that felt like it would be a good target. It was round like the sun, which felt right. And it wasn't too big. Tav rolled out the scroll of Daylight on the ground in front of her. She started going through the motions of the spell. Arms crossed, then sliding along each other until the backs of her hands pressed together. Then flip so her palms were together. She whispered the incantations as she pulled her palms slowly apart and felt the shiver of magic and light prickle into being between her fingers.

Halfway through the incantation Tav hit some symbols she didn't quite know how to pronounce. She just kind of hummed her way through them. The light in her hands flickered and dimmed, but she whistled a coaxing tune and it didn't quite go out. She leaned forward to press the light into the dark glass of the crystal ball.

There was a silent flare as the glass went from murky black to white. It cast a warm, pure light over Tav and Gale's tent. Even shoddily performed, the daylight was a stark contrast to the night. Tav grabbed a nearby basket, upended it in a shower of spell components, and stuffed it over the crystal ball, muting the light from afternoon to twilight.

She glanced over at the tent. She heard Gale snuffle a few times, but he didn't stir more than that. Gods bless wizards and their chronic lack of situational awareness.

Tav picked up the basket of daylight, holding it against her chest as she hustled back to Astarion.

He was entirely curled in on himself. Legs drawn up, arms folded against his chest. His face was buried in his hands, so Tav couldn't see his expression, but she could hear his teeth grinding together, clacking as molars hit long canines. Sometimes his shoulders jerked. Not flinches. More like spasms. Fucking Hells. What in the planes was he remembering?

Tav lay the basket down in front of him and drew the lip of it up so that the light crept out, spreading over the sleeping vampire. A very small dawn, just for one person.

The twitching tension did not dissipate immediately, but Astarion's hands flexed slightly away from his face. His head tilted, quizzical. Like someone listening to a new refrain in a song they thought they knew by heart. Not quite sure what it meant. Not trusting it.

Confusion was leagues better than suffering, and Tav would happily call this a success if she managed to bewilder him out of his nightmare. She lifted the basket a little more. The poorly-cast daylight spell had stabilized at gloaming dim, but the light was still sunlight. Clear and clean in that ineffable way. Astarion sighed. He seemed to be relaxing just a bit. His fingers flexed.

Then his hands shot out, rogue quick, and snatched the bauble of sun out from under the basket. The motion was so fast, Tav almost missed it in a blink. One moment the crystal ball was in her basket, the next Astarion had it cradled in his arms, clutched tightly, like the realm's strangest teddy bear.

Tav almost laughed, but stopped herself. Astarion's shoulders were relaxing more and the spasms had stopped, thank the gods. And while it was out of the basket, the way he curled around the crystal kept it from shining on anyone else. Greedy man.

Tav was filled with the deep and absurd desire to pet his head. Run her fingers very gently through his hair in soothing motions. Not now. Maybe someday. Maybe...she would reconsider her policy about juggling fire.

For now she settled back down. She had the woods in her peripheral vision again and new things to think about. Like taxing her bardic knowledge for insight about how vampires. Their culture. Their weaknesses. And how she might go about utterly destroying whoever Astarion had been dreaming about.

*** Next chapter >

***

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 12: "Parlant à la lune"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: It has been two years since your secret was exposed and you had to leave London. Two years with deep buried misery and in which you missed everything you used to have. However, neglect, novelties, and letters made sure to give you more than one reason to return to claim someone who is as rightfully yours as your estate and your people: Benedict Bridgerton.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, mutual pining, (kinda???) enemies (fake, this is just pride) to lovers (surely), bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Perhaps you had manifested it or not, but either way, there was another man in your life to make it unbearable. Luckily, the stubborn fate (a letter) and your untamed mind (your undying love for a certain someone) would not let you stagnant in that misery.

Word count: 2K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

1816 seemed to be a vintage year for the vineyards of the Château du Clos de Vougeot, so much so that it had you between the bushes of grapes painting them while tasting the fine wine produced almost two decades ago. Despite not being able to drink it until you were five and ten, the sweet, burgundy-colored drink has accompanied you throughout your life.

It reminded you of your childhood running through these same vineyards, riding a white horse named after your Mother's favorite gemstone as you tried to win a race against the setting sun, laughing with your father, and shooting arrows at the red dots placed on the trunks of trees. It made you wish he had never left, though you had made peace with his absence so long ago.

Perhaps you would not have to have done all the things you once did.

Your short stay in London did certainly mark you like a bloodstain: the ghost of those ocean eyes haunted your dreams and nightmares, and the words printed on ridiculous papers chased you down Europe for many moons. However, you have come way too far to watch some name-dropping sleaze as Lady Whistledown.

For a moment, you watched your bridges burn to the ground and your castles crumble down. What once were chants celebrating your name turned to screams of hate. You went from looks of adoration to them looking at you like you were a monster.

You had lived in the Americas with your Grandfather for two pair of months as a punishment for your imprudences and had returned to Burgundy with the determination to claim what is yours whatever it took.

You were not as successful, but you managed to have your cousin living constantly at the expense of your hard work ever since. At least he did not intend to marry you anymore, and for that, you could settle.

The book you had written was published earlier this year, and the story of the author writing poems to an unknown lover, sending them to him by talking to the moon was certainly a hit. As a woman, you found that so far from possible, but having your status and wealth did it all to make sure your words could be read anywhere across Europe.

Many more nights than you are willing to admit, you wondered whether Benedict was aware of the existence of the book or not; but most importantly, if he had realized it was about him.

Everything, for two years, was about him.

Portraits of his face adorned the walls of the Palace of Versailles, and his name was a recurring code in your book. There was even an unfortunate error in some of the first copies, as his name and surname had accidentally ended up explicitly mentioned.

No one suspected that the aforementioned was a real person, and you were grateful to the Heavens for that.

"Excusez-moi, Lady Y/N. Quelqu’un vous attend." Antoinette announced, and you nodded.

[Excuse me, Lady Y/N. Someone is expecting you]

You took a handkerchief to clean your paint-splattered hands and made your way to the Palace and out of the field.

Once you were inside, you were told that the person was waiting in the sitting room with your Grandfather. The person was a man, and you almost dropped your handkerchief to the floor.

"My dear," your Grandfather called for you. "There is someone you should meet."

"Whoever this is, I want him gone by dinnertime," you said.

He rolled his eyes at your stubbornness. "He has traveled for days and days."

"It is impossible for a human to care less about another."

You would not normally behave in such a manner, but the resemblance that man shared with your father had your imagination running in circles.

"Do you even know this man?"

A scoff left your lips. "He looks exactly like my father, meaning he must be a bastard child of his. Why is he here? To get what should be his. What will he get? Not a thing. I said I wanted him gone by dinnertime."

You regretted having created your Antoine alter ego. It was almost as if you had manifested a brother, which was devastatingly pathetic.

It was obvious he was standing there ready to take it all away from you.

The story behind it all is that your Grandfather has been looking for ways to watch your reign end for a while now, and the possibility of him having a bastard child was there. He couldn't have lived in celibacy for the nine and ten years he lived without his wife.

He didn't indeed.

There were three children of his living the life of commoners, but the only one who was interested in living the life that could have been his had he been born from your Mother was him.

"Don't listen to her, Raphaël," your grandfather told him, then looked at you. "You mustn't manage all of this for another day. You might not accept him as a brother, but after all, he is your father's son. What you consider to be yours isn't anymore, you must stop acting as if you were Queen Charlotte, owner of every soul that stands in the same region as you, you are not."

Your Grandfather used to adore you, but the events of two years ago led him to treat you like a ragdoll possessed by the cruel spirit of a soul in Purgatory. One you wish to get rid of but return every time you believe it to be gone forever.

You only laughed at his indiscretions toward you and watched him tolerate your devoted gestures.

Suddenly, you were nothing but a woman with the heaviest of heads that bears the crown, and you eventually got tired of trying to win his love back.

"He is nobody," you repeated. "This is my home, and so is every palace under the name of the Dukes of Burgundy. My pennies have made everyone's crowns and if I say I wanted him gone, gone he will be."

"You forget your place quite often, do you not?" your supposed brother commented. "I have never seen a woman that believes herself to be the owner of it all."

Your outraged glance could have killed him if what they said about looks were true.

"You will not come to my own home to talk to me as if you were someone with the right to. You should be the one to remember his place-"

"Women are incredibly arrogant and insane these days, it is ironic coming from one who is utterly alone in this world."

"Watch your mouth, brother," you threatened him. "You will choose your next words carefully unless you want to see what happens when you poke a bear."

"Leave us alone." your grandfather ordered him, and he complied right away.

You sighed.

"When will this princess figure out she isn't worth saving, huh?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I am sick of your misbehaving, Y/N, in all seriousness," he snapped finally. "Your arrogance is making me go insane, your words are inopportune, when will you learn that nobody in this world is standing by you?"

"And I am sick of you coming to my life every time I'm getting it right, sir. I am just so tired of you treating me like an unwanted child," you replied. "You treat me as if I wasn't your own daughter's daughter, and I am certain that she would be disappointed in you if she were here! She would understand me!"

"Don't you raise your voice at me and don't you dare speak of your mother as if you had known her." he ordered, his voice tranquil but angry.

Hurting tears escaped your sore eyes. "I lost the love of my life, you know? I lost him and I must live with that for the rest of my life! I have nobody! My Father is gone, my Mother is gone, you are gone! I am, just like you said, without a soul standing by me, and, just like he said, utterly alone in this world! If he comes I will end up living in the streets after having had it all. Is it what you want? For your granddaughter to be left to her own devices?"

"Ever since you escaped your home to disguise as a man and had that Bridgerton boy dishonor you, you stopped being my granddaughter."

You nodded, feeling more devastated than you had before.

"Alright, I am leaving for Versailles. He can have whatever he wants," you answered, knowing very well that no matter how much he tried, he would never get his name on anything you owned. Your Father's will firmly stated that the one to inherit every ducal thing would be your first son, said will was blessed by the King of France, and there was not a thing absolutely anyone could do against the King's blessing. "You can be sure you will never see me again."

"Do you have anyone to stay with in Versailles?"

"I do not need anyone, I have my Palace."

"I'm afraid you don't."

"What do you-"

Antoinette's sudden arrival stopped you from continuing. "Désolée, mais vous avez une correspondance de Londres."

[I am sorry, but you have correspondance from London]

You frowned, receiving the envelope.

From Eloise Bridgerton

So you opened it right away.

Dearest Y/N,

I, and dare I say my entire family also, wishes you more than well.

I do not know how proper it is for me to write to you after all that happened with my brother, but there is something you must know: he is about to make the biggest mistake of his life, and you are the only one who can stop it.

Benedict met someone: Miss Hayley Prince. I am obliged to speak of her as such a nice lady, with manners like no other. But she is not you.

This is funny enough because ever since you left, every woman he has had around shares some sort of similarity with you. This is what I have picked from overhearing conversations between Anthony, Daphne, Simon, Colin, and Kate, since, of course, I could never know a thing about those affairs of his.

Benedict has stopped himself from sending letters or traveling to France many more times than you can imagine, so you should know that losing you has been the catastrophe of his life. He regrets letting you go and it is under that premise that I beg for you to come to England as soon as possible.

He is seriously considering proposing to her, but I know that if you were to return, he would leave her and marry you instead.

Benedict does not love her at all, and in her, he just found the woman who is the entire opposite of you: she is most certainly not French, she does not care about art, she says emeralds are not suitable for her, she braids her hair funny, she gets disgusted by the mere idea of fencing or horseback riding, she hates horses, she is mean, she is superficial, she is not the third cousin of the King of France (or any king for that matter), and said she is terrified of traveling overseas. Benedict found the only woman in England that does not remind him of you and decided to hold onto her.

The problem is, Benedict is miserable with her. She is insufferable and none of us can bear with the idea of having to see her often. Also, my brother needs someone who can make him smile and inspire him.

That someone is you.

P.S. He talks to the moon every time it is full. I beg you to come fix him.

P.S.2. I have heard about your book! As soon as I see it somewhere I will buy it.

P.S.3. Lady Danbury said she would be enchanted to receive you at her home.

Sincerely and expecting your answer eagerly,

Eloise Bridgerton

taglist: @yentroucnagol @crimsonincursive

[holymultiplefandomsbatman]

Hungry For Your Living Kiss [sub Loki Smut]

Sub TDW!Loki x Dom fem!reader

Summary: Loki has been locked up in his cell on Asgard for a while. You are one of Frigga’s maids and visit Loki regularly to bring him new books, as ordered by Frigga herself. The only difference: you choose to hand them over in person. Loki has developed an interest in you but he’s buried too deep in guilt and self-hatred to do anything about it. When you visit him again after he wakes up from a nightmare, Loki finally cracks.

Words: 5.7k

Warnings: NSFW! 18+  sub!Loki, dom!reader, face-slapping, praise kink, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, body worship, trauma, Loki having a panic attack, mentions of torture under Thanos, discussion of consent and boundaries, Loki being a soft cinnamon roll

Well, there we go. I’ve actually written smut for once, big surprise! This fic kinda developed a mind of its own at some point and now this is the end result. I don’t know what happened… 😂

Thanks to @lokisgoodgirl​ for inspiring me and being a cheerleader, and also thanks to @lokischambermaid​ for encouraging me to actually go through with writing this nonsense. I hope you enjoy it.

@muddyorbsblr​ I hope you like this too!

I haven’t written smut in a long time, so this is basically my first official attempt in... 3 years, I think. Please be kind. 😅

The title is inspired by the poem “If I Was Dead” by Carol Ann Duffy. I love her poetry and every single one of her works gives me Loki vibes. I can only recommend you check it out.

Loki stared grimly into the dungeon hallway, his vision obscured by the orange glow of Asgardian magic trapping him in this dreaded cage.

With nothing to do but reading.

And maybe waiting on new material – not that he was concerned about the plays and mythology retellings his mother kept bringing to him.

“The books I sent, do they not interest you?”

Loki bit back a comment about how he was far more interested in the maid delivering them than he cared about the books themselves. He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he turned away from the wall to face his mother.

“Is that how I am to wile away eternity?”

Loki’s voice was calm, though the words sent a flash of pain through him.

Trapped in this cell, forgotten by the world. All alone.

Bitterly, he added, “Reading.”

“I’ve done everything in my power to make you comfortable, Loki.”

Frigga’s calm words carried a certain emotion that he couldn’t quite place. Loki looked up at his mother, interrupting his mindless pacing around the cell.

“Have you?” he asked slowly.

He took a step towards her, allowing a hint of pain into his voice as he eyed his mother with his usual façade of indifference.

“Does Odin share your concern? Does Thor?”

The look she gave him in response made Loki want to laugh. “It must be so inconvenient, them asking after me day and night…”

Frigga ignored his comment, as she always did.

Memories of his childhood rose from the depth of Loki’s mind, how his mother had smiled in amusement whenever he showed her something he cared about. He’d been so convinced that she cared about his stories, that she was listening with interest.

Now, Loki couldn’t help but wonder how much of it had just been her being amused at his childish joy. If she’d simply waved his passions aside like they didn’t matter.

Had she ever truly listened?

Frigga frowned at him. Her stern eyes trapped Loki under their stare, preventing him from hiding behind his carefully-constructed mask again.

“You know full well it was your actions that brought you here.”

Loki bit his tongue, fighting a memory that threatened to close in on him.

Your actions…

“My actions.” he echoed in a dull voice, turning away from Frigga to pace around the cell again. His stride was more forceful now, every step crushing a painful memory beneath his sturdy boots.

Loki soon found himself arguing with his mother, finally allowing himself to release a fraction of the weight he’d carried on his shoulders since his childhood days. Frigga’s insistence on his parentage ignited a storm deep within his chest, his ears filling with white noise while she continuously compared his actions to Odin’s.

“HE’S NOT MY FATHER!” Loki finally interrupted her, screaming the words right into her face.

Frigga didn’t remain quiet for long even though she’d taken a step back at his loud voice. “Then am I not your mother?” she asked softly, her ancient eyes filled with sadness.

Loki stared at her, his mouth opening and closing as he choked on all the things he’d always wanted to tell her. When he finally managed to say something, it turned out to be the worst possible option he could have chosen. He already regretted the words before they even left his mouth.

“You’re not.”

Frigga just looked at him, that same deep sadness from before still on her face.

Loki reached out, wanting to apologize, to touch her, to hold her. Anything.

His hand faded straight through hers.

Frigga’s eyes didn’t leave him as she slowly dissolved into sparks of magic.

Loki stared at the spot where she’d stood only a second ago. His chest constricted painfully as their conversation repeated in his head.

You know full well it was your actions that brought you here.

He shut his eyes, trying to hold back the memories of what he’d done in the past two years. What he’d been forced to do.

As usual, Loki was too weak to fight the onslaught of pictures and sounds. They overwhelmed him, playing out in front of him in blindingly bright colors.

The screams. The pain. The view of all the destruction from atop Stark Tower, in that brief moment where he’d finally been himself again. The way Thor had pleaded with him, right before he’d lost control once more…

Loki’s legs gave out beneath him. He stumbled to the ground, the impact shooting a flash of hot, burning pain up his spine. Tears trickled down his cheeks before he even knew he was crying.

Your fault. Weak, useless, despicable.

Loki pressed his forehead against the cold stone floor, his hands balled into fists next to his face.

The whispers didn’t cease. They only increased in volume as a single word stood out among the storm of insults. It echoed off the walls, digging its claws deep into Loki’s trembling body.

Monster.

Loki awoke with a start. He blinked against sleep’s firm hold, trying to shake the remnants of his dream – or rather, his nightmare. He barely remembered anything and the pictures faded quickly as he reached consciousness.

He could still hear the screams though. They always followed him, even when he was awake.

Loki slowly sat up. His entire body protested and his limbs ached as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He paid it no mind.

He’d survived so much worse…

Loki stared at the hard surface beneath him in confusion; he must have fallen asleep on the floor. No wonder he’d been plagued by a nightmare.

Not that his waking hours were free of horror. The ghosts of the past two years followed him like a shadow even when he was wide-awake. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t escape them.

Loki wiped at his eyes to brush away the first tears rolling down his face. He gritted his teeth, ultimately failing to control himself as he gave in to the pain.

It would be one of those days again…

Voices rang out in the dungeon hallway. The two guards with their rough, ceremonious language – and then a third person, speaking in a much more joyful tone.

Loki froze. An ice-cold flash shot through him as he stared at the nontransparent cell wall.

No. You couldn’t be here, not right now!

He couldn’t let you see him like this, crying on the floor like some pathetic wimp. You deserved his best behavior, the charming prince who treated you like royalty. Not this…this sobbing moron.

Loki tried to hide his tears, desperately rubbing at his face with his sleeve. It was no use. Fresh tears continued to spill from his eyes, no matter how harshly he wiped the old ones away.

You entered the cell, the pile of books in your arms so high that it obscured your vision. You’d brought more than usual this time.

Maybe Frigga had added some books to teach him a lesson after their fight…

Loki shuffled backwards until his spine met the wall. He suppressed a pained hiss as his back protested at the impact and instead pulled his knees up towards his chest, trying his best to hide himself from you.

“Good morning, your highness. I hope I’m not too early. Queen Frigga requested that I deliver these as soon as possible.”

Your voice was far too chipper for the current time of day.

You carefully set the pile of books down onto the chair, reaching out to catch one of them before it could fall to the floor. Afterwards you turned around, quickly wiping your hands on your clothes as you searched for him.

“I know you probably haven’t finished the old ones yet, so I thought I’d just –“

Loki could tell when you spotted him cowering in the corner. He tried to make himself even smaller, wishing he could just fade into the wall.

An expression of deep concern washed over your beautiful features. You hurried across the room to kneel beside him, cupping his face between your palms.

“Are you alright?”

Loki could only stare at you in disbelief. His crying ceased, the pain replaced by utter shock at your proximity.

Did you forget who you were talking to? That you couldn’t just touch–

A shiver ran through him as your thumbs softly wiped his tears away. The careful, almost loving caress fueled the ache in his chest, though it was another kind of longing this time.

Why were you being so gentle with him? Why weren’t you running from him like everyone else?

Your touch became stronger. You angled his face towards you, leaving Loki no choice but to look at you.

“Are you alright, your highness?”

The title made him shiver, even though you’d addressed him in this manner countless times before ever since Thor had dragged him back to Asgard.

Something about your soft voice as you said the words this time was different.

It almost sounded like a term of endearment…

Loki’s mouth fell open, a quiet gasp slipping out against his will. His hand flew up and covered his mouth as he stared at you, embarrassment at his own reaction stunning him into silence.

You studied his face. A smile spread over your features – gods, you were truly beautiful – when you carefully pulled Loki’s hand away from his face. You placed it ever so gently against your cheek instead, closing your eyes for a second and leaning into the touch before you pressed your lips against it, softly kissing the palm of his hand.

Loki couldn’t breathe. He stared at you, your boldness leaving him completely speechless.

If someone saw you, you’d be executed immediately…

You were still smiling as you kissed his palm a second time, and a third, before your lips gently grazed the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. Your lips left goosebumps in their wake as you slowly kissed along his forearm.

A shiver shook Loki’s body. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep some semblance of composure – not that he’d possessed much to begin with. Your eyes met his while your mouth still brushed against his skin. He audibly gasped this time, the sound far too loud for the silence of the room.

With a soft peck to the inside of his elbow, you lifted your head and sat back on your knees, looking at him expectantly. You smiled, soft with a dash of mischief.

“Does your highness require anything else?”

Loki opened and closed his mouth without making a sound. His silver tongue betrayed him, a situation that didn’t occur often. He could usually rely quite confidently on his eloquence and quick wit.

In this moment, Loki was robbed of that gift. His tongue was immovable as stone inside his mouth.

Ironically he only ever found himself in this position when he was with you.

“I – “ Loki gulped, silently willing his mind to come up with anything, anything at all. It disobeyed him when he watched a small smile form on your face.

Oh, how badly he wanted to feel your lips on his skin again.

“Kiss me…”

It was intended as a command, authoritarian and cold to remind you of your place.

Instead, Loki’s voice was shaky, the volume barely above a whisper. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he gave in, covering his face behind his hands to hide his embarrassment.

Your amused chuckle disrupted the silence, accompanied by the shuffling of fabric. A shaky breath later, your hands grabbed Loki’s wrists, slowly pulling them away from his face.

He barely dared to look at you.

Surely you’d laugh at him, mock him, tell him how ridiculous –

Your fingers caressed his chin, slowly pushing his head up until Loki had no other choice but to look at you. Your eyes were kind, without any of the mockery he had grown so accustomed to. Your thumb gently stroked over his skin.

When you smiled at him, it was like the sun came out.

“What did you ask of me, my prince?”

Loki blinked, completely entranced by your presence. Your words repeated in his head, over and over again.

My prince…

He took a shaky breath, exhaling slowly before he opened his mouth. His voice was stronger this time, though it still trembled ever so slightly.

“Kiss me.”

Loki leaned forward, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Please,” he whispered.

He was begging now but he didn’t care anymore. How could he, when you looked at him like he was the most precious being in the universe.

Your fingertips trailed upwards from his chin, cupping his cheek in the palm of your hand. Loki nuzzled into your touch, making you smile for the duration of a second before you pulled him towards you.

Your lips connected with his. Loki swore he stopped breathing.

Everything slowed down as if hit by a freezing spell. Even the silence faded away that’d been so deafening a few minutes ago. Loki could only sit still, completely overwhelmed by the heat of your body, the gentle pressure of your lips against his…

They were slightly chapped, something he hadn’t noticed before. And incredibly soft…

A shaky sigh left Loki’s mouth as he gave in. He returned your kiss, moving his lips cautiously against yours. His eyelids fluttered shut and he relaxed against your body, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he fought against the urge to touch you.

He would never forgive himself if he hurt you…

You shifted to straddle him, your knees resting on either side of his thighs. Carefully, so carefully, you reached for his hands, peeling his fingers apart before placing them on your waist.

Loki groaned. Your weight above him made his head spin. He dug his fingers softly into your hips, straining his neck upwards to kiss you again from this new angle.

You pulled your head back and pressed your finger to his lips.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

Loki stared at you in shock. Your commanding tone sent a shiver down his spine.

“I-I’m sorry…” he stuttered, struggling to even get the words out. His throat had become almost painfully dry.

You clicked your tongue dismissively and shook your head.

After a moment of silence you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. Loki’s face scrunched as he pouted. You simply giggled in response, kissing his nose once again.

Your lips began to trail over his skin, to his cheek, then his jaw. You grazed your teeth over it, making Loki shiver at the sensation. He closed his eyes as his head fell back against the wall, exposing his neck to you.

Your mouth soon latched onto his throat. Your kisses were starting to linger now.

“Mine,” you whispered softly, tracing your tongue across the main artery in his neck. “All mine…”

Loki’s breath hitched. He’d never thought about belonging to someone before, at least not in this manner. Something about the sound of your voice as you said it made him tremble beneath you.

Mine...

The words slipped out of Loki’s mouth before he could stop them. “Can I – can I touch you? Please?”

You pulled your mouth away from his neck and raised your eyebrows at him. Your eyes darted to where his hands were holding onto your hips.

“You are touching me.” you said teasingly.

Loki closed his eyes in embarrassment. Yes, he was aware of that – but it wasn’t what he meant and you knew it very well.

“I want to make you feel good. Please, it’s not right that I’m not giving anything back to you.”

Loki barely opened his eyes fast enough to catch the grin that lit up your face. He still saw a hint of it though, the fondness in your smile quickly overtaken by desire as you leaned back, raising your hands in a gesture that he read as, Well, what are you waiting for then?

Loki’s hands carefully moved upwards from your waist while he watched your facial expression for any sign of discontent.

“May I kiss your neck?” he asked softly, just to make sure.

You nodded immediately, tilting your head to give him access.

Having your soft skin displayed right in front of him like this tore a whimper from Loki’s throat. He surged forward and buried his face in the crook of your shoulder, breathing you in. His mouth tenderly caressed the side of your neck.

Your gasp echoed off the walls. You dug your fingers into his hair, pushing his face even further against you.

Loki chuckled at your reaction. He couldn’t believe that he was holding you in his arms right now, that he could kiss you like this.

He would very likely still doubt his memories once he woke up tomorrow.

Loki gave into the desire boiling in his veins. He pressed his lips firmly against you, sucking harshly. You panted above him as he carefully dug his teeth into your neck, making sure he didn’t break skin.

“You’re doing very – mmmm, yes – very well. Who knew that silver tongue was good for – ohhhh – other things as well…”

Loki shivered at your praise. His fingers began to play with your nipples through the fabric of your clothes as he sucked on your neck. His efforts earned him another moan from you, this one even louder.

You pulled his head away from you by his hair, staring down at him with hooded eyes.

“I need to fuck you, now. Will you let me do that?”

Loki nodded without having to think twice.

You reached for his pants, pulling his aching cock free where it had previously strained against the fabric, hard and dripping. Your free hand quickly pulled off your undergarments. You kicked them off before digging your hand into his shoulder for leverage and sinking onto his cock.

Loki couldn’t breathe.

You were a true goddess, your eyes dark with lust as you stared down at him.

You could've asked him for literally anything in that moment and by the gods, he would've done it so willingly. Without question.

Loki’s mouth fell open as you started rolling your hips. A guttural moan echoed through the cell, the sound so primal that he didn’t even recognize it as his own at first.

“Mine,” you growled into his ear, your teeth scraping against his neck, “all mine!”

There it was again, the word that would haunt him in his dreams.

Loki threw his head back. It crashed against the wall but he didn’t care, not even when his spine protested at the painful impact.

Your hand wound itself into his hair, gripping it roughly as you pulled his head back further and pressed your hungry mouth against his throat. A whimper fell from his lips, the sound turning into a low growl when you tugged on his hair.

“Yes,” Loki gasped. His head slammed back into the wall. “I – mmmmh, gods… I – I’m yours!”

It felt incredible to actually say it out loud, like a rush that left him dizzy.

Loki wasn’t sure how much of it was rebellion against the way he’d been raised – a prince declaring himself owned by a servant; all the stuck-up royals at Asgard’s court would gasp and clutch their pearls – and how much was the idea of belonging to you. Of being yours.

It didn’t really matter either way.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, chanting the word until his voice cracked. Yours, yours, yours…

Your moans echoed in his ear as your hips moved faster, grinding into him relentlessly.

He’d never felt this close to Valhalla.

You kissed him again, your hands still buried in his hair. Your kisses took his breath away, suffocating him and bringing him back to life at the same time. Loki’s hands grabbed your hips tightly, clinging to you as he desperately tried not to drown.

Gods, he loved you.

Loki froze. The blood in his veins that had just been on fire turned to ice in a matter of seconds. Even your lips were cold now as they pressed against his.

He couldn’t love you. He couldn’t do that to you.

Words echoed through Loki’s mind. Words that kept him up at night, accompanying his nightmares so often that he saw the scene replay around him even though his eyes were wide open.

If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can not find you.

Loki’s breathing picked up.

Thanos would find him. He’d kill anyone in his way to get to Loki, anyone who mattered to him, just to watch him suffer – a punishment for his failure.

If Thanos found out how much Loki cared for you…

The air was too thin now, his tunic gripping his chest so tightly that he wheezed, still unable to breathe properly.

What if –

A sharp pain on his cheek snapped him back to reality.

Loki gasped, his body surging forward as he struggled to fill his lungs with air.

He reached out, searching purchase. Something to hold onto, to ground himself. Something real.

Your arms wrapped around him from where you were now kneeling next to him on the floor, holding him against you.

Loki’s hands clung to your waist, gripping you tightly in a desperate attempt to center himself as his forehead fell against your shoulder. Your hand gently ran through his hair while you mumbled something in a soothing voice. The other hand stroked over his cheek, providing a sensation for him to focus on.

Loki didn’t know how much time passed until he finally dared to lift his head from your shoulder. His eyes fixed on the pendant around your neck, staring at it as if he wanted to commit every little carving in the material to memory.

You didn’t rush him, just calmly playing with his hair until Loki slowly raised his gaze to meet yours. You seemed surprisingly calm. He couldn’t spot any confusion or anger on your face, nothing but a soft smile.

“Are you alright?” you asked carefully.

Loki paused, taking a few breaths. Then he nodded.

“Yes,” he replied, surprised by the steady sound of his voice. He cleared his throat. “What, er, what happened?”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips. Loki stared for a moment before he caught himself and looked away.

“You didn’t respond anymore when I tried to talk to you. You were just…” you lifted your hand from his cheek and waved it through the air in search of words, “you were frozen. And, well, I… I had to find a way to bring you back.”

You lowered your eyes for a moment.

Loki slowly raised his hand to the side of his face that was still tingling. His eyebrows rose as he stared at you, realization dawning on him.

A sheepish smile twitched at the corners of your mouth.

“Did you hit me?” Loki asked, completely dumbfounded.

You chuckled, looking at him with what he presumed to be a mixture of embarrassment and playfulness. “I had to get you back! What was I supposed to do?”

“Not slap me, perhaps? Surely you could’ve figured out something else!”

Loki rubbed his cheek, grumbling under his breath as you chuckled. He shook his head in disbelief.

You’d just slapped him. Right across the face, with all your might.

His mind conjured an image before he could stop it.

You raising your hand, your palm colliding with his cheek, the sharp burn as you hit him.

Loki bit back the groan that threatened to rise in his throat. He couldn’t suppress the shiver running up his spine, though. His body twitched.

You looked at him with barely concealed amusement, a knowing grin on your face.

Loki rolled his eyes, turning his head away from you. He was still unable to shake the mental image and it confused him greatly.

Your fingers caressed the sensitive spot on his cheek where you’d struck him a few minutes ago.

You applied pressure. Loki hissed sharply through gritted teeth.

Your amused laughter erupted right next to his ear.

“You know…” you said slowly, your hand dropping from his face to play with the tips of his messy hair instead, “I could just… hit you again. If you want to see how it feels.”

Loki’s breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut until he saw spots but it didn’t help him gain control over the onslaught of confusing thoughts.

The image in his head just wouldn’t go away.

Loki looked over at you, huffing grumpily for good measure.

You smiled at him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. Your other hand now cupped the unharmed side of his face while your thumb stroked over his cheekbone.

“We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” you assured him.

Your voice was soft but firm. It calmed the chaotic thoughts racing through Loki’s head, although he didn’t know why. Maybe he was underestimating just how much power you truly held over him.

He trusted you though, he knew that with every fiber of his being.

Loki took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I – I would like to… I would like to try it.”

You studied his face carefully. “Are you sure?”

Loki nodded. He didn’t have to think this time.

“Alright. We’ll try one and then see how you feel, yes?”

Your voice was still gentle but it now carried a hint of determination. Loki shivered. He nodded again.

You gave him a stern look, similar to the one his mother always used with him. “Words, your highness.”

“Y-yes,” Loki stammered quickly, nodding his head in confirmation.

Your fingertips stroked his unscathed cheek one last time before you raised your hand, looking at him questioningly. When he nodded, you slapped him swiftly across the face.

Loki’s mouth fell open, a moan ripping from his throat. Pleasure washed over him like a wave as his body surged forward, almost as if it were chasing after the pain. He doubled over, forearms resting on his thighs to steady himself while he shivered and gasped for breath.

Before he’d met you, Loki was sure he knew pain. He’d experienced enough of it to last multiple lifetimes, even where Asgardians were concerned.

He didn’t know it could feel this good though.

Loki slowly straightened again, his breath still coming in short pants. He looked at you, only to discover that you were watching him intently, carefully taking in his facial expressions and his body language.

You gently held his face between your palms, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones.

“Are you alright? I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?”

Loki shook his head to the best of his ability, your hands brushing across his skin. “No,” he said slowly.

You smiled at him, some of the worry leaving your eyes. You reached out to push some of his messy dark hair away from his face.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

Your tone was casual now, as if you were discussing the weather.

“Yes! But –” Loki interrupted himself, awkwardly pointing towards his lap, “w-would – um, would you…”

You giggled under your breath and grabbed his cock, slowly sinking back onto him. Your combined moans reverberated around the cell.

Loki’s hands clutched your hips as you started rocking back and forth on top of him. He tried to keep his grip light enough that he wouldn’t impact your movement while still having something to hold on to.

Loki’s hips instinctively jerked upwards and he groaned low in his throat.

You didn’t punish him for it this time. Instead you smiled and lifted a hand from the back of his neck, softly brushing your fingertips over his cheek.

After a moment, you pulled your hand back, eyeing him questioningly.

Loki nodded and closed his eyes, his breathing picking up in anticipation.

His head flew to the side as you slapped him again, hard. The sound echoed through the cell.

A hot flash raced up his spine, making Loki cry out in pleasure. The stinging sensation almost tipped him over the edge.

“Th-th-thank you,” he stammered once he was able to speak again. His face burned from humiliation and pleasure.

You smirked, pulling Loki into a rough kiss. Your hips continued their maddening pace that made his head spin all over again

“Again,” Loki urged softly once you broke the kiss, “p-please, again.”

You paused and frowned at him, slowing down the movement of your hips. He whined loudly in protest.

“What was that?” you asked slowly, a hint of darkness in your voice.

Loki shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as he battled the last remaining shred of his pride.

“Please… please hit me again, Y/n.”

He cringed, ashamed of the utter desperation in his voice. This was so far from the behavior his mother had taught him, so unlike what his golden brother had always been praised for during their childhood.

However, when you resumed the grinding of your hips on top of him – moving even faster than you did previously – and leaned forward to capture his mouth in a passionate kiss, Loki found he didn’t care. He simply let go, allowing you to do whatever you wanted.

You broke the kiss soon after, smiling in amusement as his lips chased after yours.

“Well done. Just close your eyes and enjoy it.”

Loki complied, a drawn-out moan falling from his lips as you started bouncing on his cock.

“Yes, th-th– ohhhh – th-thank you – mmmm, just like that… Please hit me again, I want it so badly, I – ohhhhh, GODS!”

Your hand had come down onto his face again, striking him so hard that his ears were ringing. This time however, you’d slapped him on the other cheek.

Loki swore he saw stars. The sharp sting pushed him over the edge and he spilled inside of you, your name falling from his lips in a broken scream. He remained sitting propped up against the wall as waves of pleasure rolled over him, leaving him a trembling, moaning mess.

You bounced on top of him, your head thrown back towards the ceiling while you chased your own release. You reached between your legs, rubbing your clit relentlessly until you came with a strained cry.

Loki caught you in his arms as you slumped forward into his chest, spent and exhausted. He stroked the back of your head with tender fingers, smiling to himself in awe and disbelief.

How in the hels did he deserve you?

You hummed softly, burying your face in his shirt. You remained that way until your heartbeat slowed down and your breathing returned to normal.

Loki’s breath caught in his throat when you finally raised your head to look at him, leaning in to kiss him so lovingly that he forgot everything around him.

All that mattered was you.

Loki woke up slowly, feeling rested and calm for the first time in forever. He found himself curled up in his chair, which explained why he wasn’t in as much pain as usual.

He didn’t remember lying down to sleep though.

He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept without nightmares either.

Loki stretched carefully, not quite trusting the lack of pain just yet. After all, he’d learned the hard way how easily his body could be manipulated, how it felt to lose control of his own hands only to wake up to find them covered in blood that he didn’t remember spilling.

Loki yawned, rubbing at his eyes while he slowly shifted into a sitting position.

Today would be a good day, he could feel it. He really deserved one.

Someone pointedly cleared their throat.

Loki flinched, his eyes almost falling out of his head when he spotted Frigga standing in the middle of his cell.

“Mother! What are you doing here?”

Their conversation two days prior came back to him. Loki practically jumped out of the chair, the quick motion making him dizzy. He pushed the feeling aside.

“Mother, I apologize for –“

Frigga only lifted her hand, effectively silencing him.

“No need,” she said graciously, a hint of her usual loving tone resonating in her voice. “You’re forgiven.”

Loki stared at her, a weight falling off his shoulders as he processed her words. He took a deep breath of relief.

His mother’s presence still confused him though. Why was she here?

Frigga smiled at him. When she spoke again, her eyes held a spark of amusement, maybe even mischief.

“I suppose you’ll be interested to hear that I disguised your… encounter with my maid. I wouldn’t want you or Y/n to face punishment over something so trivial.”

Loki’s eyes widened and he was unable to look at his mother. Her words left him torn between shock and disbelief as the realization slowly set in.

He didn’t know what to say, utterly mortified by what she was implying.

Frigga grinned softly and shook her head.

Loki remembered that reaction very well from his childhood, whenever the guards dragged Thor and him towards her after they’d once again done something reckless and incredibly stupid. She’d looked at them with the same expression then as she regarded him with right now.

Frigga took a small step towards him, the movement barely noticeable. The amusement in her eyes dulled, though it didn’t fully disappear.

“I’m so glad that Y/n reciprocates your feelings… but next time, please try to at least conceal yourselves a little bit.”

Loki swallowed and nodded. His face grew hot as his boots suddenly became extremely interesting.

After a while of awkward silence, he slowly dared to raise his head, discovering that Frigga had disappeared. He dropped onto the chair beneath him, burying his face in his hands.

When you came back two days later to deliver new books, Loki barely managed to cast an illusion before your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

 More of my stuff

Fandoms I write for

[glitteryglitter]

hii i have a request for a finnick story. so i was thinking maybe if it was during the quarter quell and the reader is a victor for district 1 or something and her and finnick hate each other but secretly care about each other. the reader ends up leaving her alliance with the careers to join finnicks group forming an alliance at some point in the games. THANKS!!

𝙰𝙽: It's been a while since I read Mockingjay, so I'm sorry if some details are off. Thank you so much for requesting!

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Mentions of violence

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Finnick X District 1! Fem! Reader

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1286

                                                       ๑*˚��˚*๑

The quarter quell had been an absolute nightmare for everyone. even the careers

As they all milled around a clearing in the forest, they all had the exact same worries.

They were all terrified, for themselves, and each other.

Y/n had almost gotten stabbed, and Gloss hadn't been doing too well either.

Even Brutus looked visibly stressed.

Meanwhile, Enobaria had been glancing around the small clearing shiftily. The careers had decided to stay in a part of the arena that didn't look as dangerous, yet the tension was almost unbearable.

The entire experience had been even worse than Y/n's first hunger games, mainly because people very close to her were very likely to be killed,

Also the absolutely insufferably cocky district four boy was in the arena with her.

He'd even had the nerve to recited a love poem he'd written to someone in his interview.

Y/n couldn't imagine anyone actually wanting to spend more than five minutes with him and his overall demeanor.

She truly couldn't stand him, or his deep blue eyes. Why anyone would ever want to date him, she didn't know.

Why he thought he had a chance with someone, she didn't know either. But, she wasn't one to judge, and the topic of him dating someone merely made her feel angry, so she decided to shove all thoughts of Finnick and his love life out of her already racing mind.

What y/n did know for certain, was that she'd do everything in her power to make sure that those in her alliance stayed alive.

At that moment, monkey mutts, hundreds of them appeared and began running towards the group.

Y/n tried to focus, but there were so many of them, and she certainly didn't want any of them to catch up with her.

She couldn't place where they were coming from, but she didn't really need to at the moment.

What she needed, was to keep her allies safe.

The careers scattered.

Their previous attempts at sticking together were not working out as well as they had hoped.

Gloss dashed towards the ocean, meanwhile, Brutus ran through some bushes.

Enobaria had already disappeared, no doubt trying to get away from the horrible little mutts as well.

It was at that moment that Y/n realized something: She was all alone.

She really needed a plan.

However, with the monkey's shrieking playing in her head, practically driving her insane, it was hard to think straight.

She ran in the direction she thought Gloss had gone, but only succeeded in getting lost.

Finally, she found an area that was thankfully, small-primate-free.

Y/n was left with the terrifying feeling of being alone, and very very vulnerable.

She'd dropped her spear and there was no way that the others were unarmed.

She knew some hand-to-hand combat, but not enough to save herself if someone else had a knife.

Or worse, a bow and arrow.

                                              ๑*˚🍓˚*๑

At that moment. she heard voices.

Internally swearing, she crouched behind some vines as Finnick, Mags, Johanna, Katniss, and Peeta came into view.

They looked like they were arguing about something, Y/n only hoped that they would leave as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

They all sat down and appeared to be setting up a place to stay.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

She had no way of escaping and Finnick, that idiot was with them.

She just couldn't believe how his hair still looked that good!

Wait, what?

She didn't know where that thought had come from, but she didn't particularly care, as long as she never needed to think about it again. ever.

If only there was a way for her to escape...

At that moment, a tree branch cracked and fell to the ground, startling her.

Y/n promptly tipped over and fell into plain view.

Everyone looked up and froze.

"Who is that?" Peeta asked.

Finnick, that idiot, walked over.

"Look who it is" Finnick pulled her up onto her feet with a hard expression on his face.

Y/n cringed slightly.

You two know each other?" Peeta asked, sounding more confused by the minute.

"Of course, they do. Finnick couldn't take his eyes off of her at the interviews. All through the training, I couldn't tell if they wanted to murder or kiss each other, but it was definitely one of the two. Don't act like you didn't see it." Katniss whispered.

That warranted a glare from the two.

"Listen, I don't think you like me very much, but I need to join your alliance."

Y/n was desperate at this point and this seemed to be her best bet if she didn't want to get murdered.

She really didn't want to rely on anyone, especially not Finnick, but she didn't have any other choice at the moment.

He nodded. "We'll make it work."

Finnick sighed, He didn't want to ever talk with the district 1 girl ever again.

He hated to admit it, but Katniss was right.

Y/n seemed to despise him, despite his best attempts at flirting.

He'd even written her a poem and recited it for the entire capitol to hear.

She certainly was special, and it would be better if he didn't have to kill her.

                                              ๑*˚🍓˚*๑

Several hours passed and the group, plus y/n, decided to move on.

They'd been walking for a while when she recognized the area they were in.

There weren't any monkey mutts this time.

Y/n was just beginning to relax when she heard something.

The sound of wings, along with Finnick shrieking.

"Y/n stop screaming You're not helping anyone!" Finnick yelled.

"Me? You're the one screaming! Could you maybe stop it? Just let me think!"

"Just shut up! You two weren't screaming up until now and it's not helping anything." Johanna was standing off to the side, completely calm as the entire group dissolved into chaos.

She did have a point.

Y/n remembered something.

She'd been told that Jabberjays echoed the screams of the person one cared about the most.

Why on earth were they echoing Finnick?

She realized then and there, it was all so obvious.

Maybe she did want to kiss him.

Had she been jealous all this time?

Why hadn't she noticed this earlier?

How on earth would she deal with this?

She was in the Quarter Quell of all things, definitely not the most romantic place to confess your love to someone.

Y/n took a few deep breaths, she knew that the screams weren't real.

It was a bad time to tell Finnick her feelings, but it was better now than never.

"Finnick, I need to tell you something"

Y/n was practically shaking, but she still persisted.

How do I say this...I hated you- I thought I hated you... She paused to take a deep breath.

Finnick hoped this was going the way he thought it was. Did she like him? She couldn't possibly. After all, she'd basically admitted to wanting to murder him. But had she? She'd never said it specifically.

"I like you. I didn't want to admit it, but I like you. A lot. I understand if you don't feel the same, but- she paused again no doubt, thinking she'd said something very wrong.

"Can we kiss?" Finnick asked.

This must be a dream. A fever dream, but still, a very, very good one.

Y/n thought as she melted into the kiss.

"Oh my god. What is it with you two? I can't believe I decided to ally with this group", Johanna hollered over the Jabberjays.

"Because we're better than the careers, of course! Sorry, y/n not you." Finnick yelled back.

She shook her head.

Y/n could still see a hint of a smile on her lips.

                                               ๑*˚🍓˚*๑

[kentochronicles]

***SPOILERS FOR WANDAVISION EPISODE 6***

So I’m still processing everything but holy shite that ep was wild...

FIRST THINGS FIRST - WANDA, VISION, BILLY AND PIETRO ALL IN COMIC ACCURATE-ISH COSTUMES AND TOMMY IN A MINI QUICKSILVER COSTUME

PIETRO CALLING BILLY AND TOMMY DEMON SPAWN - GOD DAMMIT, IT’S MEPHISTO ISN’T IT? HOUSE OF M HERE WE COME

HERB ASKING WANDA IF SHE WANTED SOMETHING CHANGED

AGNES ASKING VISION ABOUT THE AVENGERS AND STUFF AND AT FIRST SHE SEEMED GENUINELY FREAKED OUT BUT THEN STARTED LAUGHING MANIACALLY AND I STILL DON’T TRUST HER AND AGNES BEING DRESSED AS A WITCH? AGATHA HARKNESS WAS A WITCH - COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT!

DARCY LOOKING OVER MONICA’S MED SCANS AND TELLING HER HOW THE HEX AFFECTS HER EACH TIME SHE GOES IN - IS SHE DEVELOPING HER POWERS?

PIETRO’S CORPSE - SCARED ME JUST AS MUCH AS VISION’S

MOVIES SHOWING IN THE THEATRE IN THE BACKGROUND - THE INCREDIBLES: A MOVIE BASED AROUND A SUPERHERO FAMILY AND THE PARENT TRAP: A MOVIE ABOUT TWINS WHO MEET AT CAMP AND TRY AND SET THEIR PARENTS UP

DON’T GO PAST ELLIS AVENUE - NOW I DON’T KNOW IF THIS IS A CONNECTION OR JUST A COINCIDENCE BUT ELLIS IS THE LAST NAME OF THE PRESIDENT DURING IRON MAN 3

TOMMY HAVING HIS SPEED POWERS AND BILLY HAVING HIS REALITY WARPING/TELEKINETIC POWERS - WELCOME SPEED AND WICCAN

A CALL BACK TO INFINITY WAR WHEN VISION EXITED THE HEX? SLIGHTLY DUSTING AND HE PROBABLY WON’T SURVIVE BEING OUTSIDE OF THE HEX - HE’LL JUST DIE AGAIN 🥲

I STILL DON’T TRUST HAYWARD - HE’S VERY SUS

DARCY BEING TAKEN INTO THE HEX WITH THE OTHER S.W.O.R.D AGENTS - HOPEFULLY WE CAN SEE THE OUTFITS THAT KAT DENNING’S WAS EXCITED ABOUT

I SWEAR THEY BETTER NOT STRAIGHTWASH BILLY AND TOMMY OR I WILL RIOT 😤

***FURTHER UPDATES***

So sit-com wise, it seems they were referencing Malcolm in the Middle as the twins broke the fourth wall and talked to the audience, like Malcolm did

However, the theme song has told the viewer to stop questioning the reality of Westview - which could be a little reference to Mystery Science Theatre 3000? - When Pietro first shows up in the title sequence, along with his name title card, the lyrics say “Though there may be no way of knowing who’s come to play” - Istg, I do not trust Pietro

Vision says to Wanda that he had to wear his Halloween costume because there were no other clothes in his closet, Wanda is trying to move the plot along and forcing Vision to play along

Evan Peters’ ‘Mom’ tattoo is shown, which is a tattoo he actually has in real life ! But could this stand for ‘Multiverse of Madness’ or some other red herring?

Pietro mentions to Wanda that if he had found ‘Shangri-La’ he wouldn’t want to leave either - Shangri-La is a real place on Earth-616 that was founded by a version of Vision

Tommy refers to Pietro’s speed as ‘kickass’ and then Wanda repeats that, saying ‘kickass’ again - Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Evan Peters (both versions of QuickSilver) were in Kick-Ass together

The ad for this episode was freaky af - the character on the beach who starved and decomposed could be a little nod to Indiana Jones, where a Nazi’s face melts in - and it could also be reference to Wanda being all alone and struggling to process her grief. The shark in the ad could also be Nightmare or Mephisto or just someone more powerful than Wanda offering her a new beginning with Vision or trapped her in some way - and is feeding off her magic? The flavour of the yoghurt is strawberry flavoured and strawberry’s are red on the outside and pink-ish on the inside - much like Wanda’s og costume and her magic being red 👀

Pietro and Wanda talk about their Sokovian accents at a point in the episode and how neither have them anymore. Wanda’s, as we know, has disappeared over the course of the MCU movies and Pietro’s just doesn’t exist - another nice little nod to Peter Maximoff from the fox X-Men films? Also, Pietro states that “I’m just trying to do my part, okay? Come to town unexpectedly, create tension with the brother-in-law, stir up trouble with the Rugrats (a 90’s cartoon 👀) and ultimately give you grief.” - in reference to the grief part, could Pietro be killed off again? Stir up trouble with the rugrats, being possible shards of the demon Mephisto’s soul, could this be Mephisto trying to influence them on a deeper level? It’s also many many common sitcom clichès

Pietro talks about how “I got shot like a chump on the street for no reason at all” - nice little nod to how Pietro was killed off unnecessarily and how we as a fandom still talk about how regular bullets shouldn’t have killed him

Herb is dressed as Frankenstein’s monster - Dr. Frankenstein created his monster and soon lost control over him, and he was created using electricity or lightning - much like Vision was created and brought to life by Thor using Mjolnïr to bring lightning down to his incubator thingy majig. Could this also be a reference to either Wanda slowly losing control over Westview or someone else controlling Wanda/controlling the citizens of Westview - we saw in episode 3 that Agnes told Herb to be quiet as it seemed he was about to spill the beans 👀

Vision goes towards Ellis avenue and is at a ‘crossroads’ of sorts - in folklore, crossroads are often used to speak to or summon the devil and are also used when an important character is making a decision that could change everything. He spots some citizens repeating certain actions and/or just standing completely still, could these be npc’s (non playable characters)? And now that the barrier of the Hex has spread, will those citizens now start to move? 👀 Also I know that all stop signs look like it, but the stop sign is also a red hexagon 🛑

Darcy scrolls through Hayward’s computer files and goes past a file called “Project C4-113” - it could reference Avengers Issue #113 in which Wanda and Vision both appear on the cover and she says she’s going to make the world pay for Vision’s death. There’s also another file called “Project M5-247” which could be a nod to Avengers Issue #247, which shows the origin of the Eternals and in the same vein, Scarlet Witch and Vision trying to help Captain Marvel. And when Darcy emails Hayward’s cataract plans, you can see the names of “James Alexander and James Gadd” - James Alexander is a visual effects producer on Wandavision and James Gadd works on post production at Marvel

Also: Agnes pulls as Mrs Hart and repeats the same phrase over and over again

After Wanda blasts Pietro, you can see on a fake grave stone the name of “Janell Sammelman”, Janell is a first assistant director on Wandavision

When Wanda moves Westview to save Vision, she turns S.W.O.R.D and it’s agents into clowns + a circus - I just love that the agents turned into clowns 😂 but there is a nice little plot line in the comics where Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver and Hawkeye join the circus - and this COULD be stretch, but earlier in the episode there is the number #22 which could be Avengers Issue #22, which is the Issue that they join the circus

As soon as Vision was brought back into Westview, he was healed - which means if he was to exit again, he probably wouldn’t survive 😭

The episode title is ‘All-New Halloween Spooktackular!” - which “All-New” is a designation that is often used on covers for comic books. And the first issue of the second The Vision and the Scarlet Witch series takes place on Halloween night - but the events in this comics didn’t influence this episode’s plot

Pietro points out that he has the “XY chromosome” - X for X-Men? Plus there’s the X gene 😂

He mentions “Uncle Peter to the rescue” - Peter is the name of Quicksilver from the Fox X-Men Franchise

Pietro and Tommy quote the movie Top Gun (1986) by saying “I fell the need, the need for speed”

Wanda almost seems hesitant to trust this version of Pietro (rightfully so, in my opinion) and is wary of him being around Tommy and Billy

Pietro says some very Mephisto/Nightmare-like things this episode - “Unleash hell, demon spawn!”, “The kids need a father figure”, “Damnit, if Westview isn’t charming as Hell...” - And if Pietro isn’t Mephisto/Nightmare, it HAS to be Agnes or her other half Ralph and Pietro is probably Ralph tbh...or could Pietro just be a scapegoat and Hayward is Ralph? 👀

The theatre in town, which is playing the Incredibles and The Parent Trap, is called the Coronet. There’s a classic poem called “The Coronet” written by Andrew MARVELL (Marvell, is also the true name of the first incarnation of Captain Marvel in the comics) and is about a guy who knows that the sins of mankind led to the death of Christ. He attempts to create a new crown for Christ’s head in an attempt to atone, but finds that there is sin in the crown as well, as the devil is within the crown and therefore he may achieve glory and success with his new creation 👀

Hayward’s confidential project “Cataract” included experimenting on Vision’s body, as was revealed by Darcy (my wife 💙 and Monica is also my wife 💚 and so is Wanda 💛, I just love women, you know? 😂). A cataract is a cloudy area in the lens of the eye that leads to a decrease in vision - is Hayward trying to weaponise Vision? Or maybe even trying to bring Ultron back? Or do what Tony wanted to do in the first place, and make a suit of armour that’s around the world? Either way, it’s for nefarious purposes

Who is Monica’s guy? Jimmy and Monica are off to meet him - could it be Reed Richards (Mr Fantastic)? Or could it be Victor Von Doom (Dr Doom)? Could it be Hank McCoy (Beast)? Or even Adam Brashear (Blue Marvel)? Or if it is a woman, could it be the Skrull daughter of Talos that Monica befriended at the end of Captain Marvel? Could it be Abigail Brand (A major character in recent S.W.O.R.D comics and an Alpha Flight Member)? Or even Toni Ho (Iron Patriot, and could she be introduced to help lay the ground work for my other queen, Riri Williams/Iron Heart?)? Or could it even be Sue Storm (Invisible Woman)?

In the background of the episode we see a number of children and adults dressed up as many different characters, which includes: Sub-Zero from Mortal Kombat, Jason Voorhees, with a sweater striped like Freddy Krueger’s and even a kid that looks dressed in an off-brand Charizard costume 😂 Pokèmon has always been popular, but saw an increase during the 90’s

Pietro and the kids are drinking “Kane Cola” which could be a reference to the 90’s drinks “Jolt Cola” or even “Surge” - it could also, with all the X-Men Easter eggs, be a reference to Garrison Kane, who was a member of Cable’s mercenary team “Six Pack” and is sometimes also known as ‘Weapon X’

The kid that Wanda mentions having a “skin thing” in the orphanage - could that be a reference to her Brotherhood of Evil Mutants co-worker Toad? Or maybe even Mystique? Maybe Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)?

One of the houses has a sign up that says ‘Macabre Mansion’ - another possible reference to House of M?

During a flashback, it’s shown that the twins are playing Dance Dance Revolution, which came out in 1999. Also this might be a stretch, but the boys have a dog plushie in their room the right - which is coloured red and black - could this be a reference to Dogpool? 😂

I love this show 🤣💙

[anntoldst0ries]

shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

~~

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

~~

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard,  dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

~~

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

~

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

~~

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He’s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @writer-ish @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[lailoken]

“The Embodied Lives of Elves

Our pre-modern ancestors seem to have had room in their collective imaginal life for humans walking among them who were deemed ontologically different in some way-enough to considered faeries or nightmares (mara or mora). This is not to say of course, that such people were physically inhuman, (though it's debatable whether Witches or werewolves were considered human by persecutors of the Craft in the past) but that they were believed to carry a mysterious taint of otherness.

Modern writers on faeries, even gifted ones like the Frouds tend to position faeries as existing in the imaginative, or perhaps "imaginal" dimension of the human psyche. To our forebears the Otherworld was a far more embodied place and testimonials given by people who saw and interacted with faerie beings in the past stress that they possessed a kind of substance, though less substantial than our own forms. How else could folk beliefs about faerie marriages have begun?

In pre-modern Europe humans possessed a shadow in which they’d walk at night, sometimes it appeared as an animal, sometimes as a human double or a partly human form. There was no such thing as something that was no “body,” which is one of the reasons the mainstream insistence on a strong body-spirit dichotomy sits awkwardly with the spirit of some Old Craft traditions.

Consequently, if we are to understand Faerie from the perspective of the folk genius then we will need to soften the edges of this body-spirit binary and try to imaginatively descend into an older way of seeing. If we can achieve this we will find ourselves immersed in an way exuberantly sensuous way of being, and rediscover our senses anew as portals to the Otherworld. What begins as a historical curiosity becomes a stretching of our own imaginative faculties and eventually yields to mystical ecstasies.

Anthropologists and historians often take a patronizing view of the idea of spirits leading embodied lives much like our own. The general explanation being that people in the past were literally unable to imagine anything much different to their own way of life. Or, that being unable to visualise something made of nothing they dressed their airy imaginings in a kind of subtle form or body.

The other option presented to us as practitioners is to simply have the humility to take the folk at their word and accept that these observations of the lives of faeries, made over countless generations, might reflect real experiences of another world. We do not need to intellectually commit to that perspective if it is too uncomfortable, but let us explore it with openness. Let us allow for a moment that the conglomerated wisdom of generations, the collective imaginal experience of an entire people or peoples, may in fact know better than we do.

Yorkshire biographer Durant Hotham described the faerie body in the following way. He said they were "lodged in Vehicles of a thinner-spun thread than is (otherwise than by condensation) visible to our dim sight.”

So whilst they are made of something thinner spun they are certainly made of something other than just the substance of our imagiation. This notion of bodies made of a lighter stuff was agreed on by Robert Kirk earlier who said faeries possessed: "light changeable bodies like those called astral somewhat of the nature of condes'd cloud."

So far we find images of finely-spun thread and clouds or mist being used to describe the faerie form. Both of these images are taken from the widespread faerie mythos we have traced across Europe, as faeries are intimately associated with spinning and appearing out of mists or as condensed clouds. The suggestion here is that they are able to condense or expand their form, weaving it in tightly or loosely invisible to humans. What their bodies are woven from is only so as to be perceived or otherwise ever hinted at, but vapor and mist seem to be strong candidates, which would suggest there is some degree of air-born moisture in their form.

Somerset surgeon John Beaumont touched a fairy's hand in a chillingly tactile encounter, he describes how it: "yielded to my touch, that I could not find any sensible resistancy in it.” Though it did not resist him this does not sound like something that felt like simple air, the words “yielded to his touch" suggests something fragile but nonetheless of substance. Another testimony confirms this description:

"I have often seen that way while in my bed. Many women are among them. I once touched a boy of their's, and he was just like feathers in my hand; there was no substance in him, and I knew he wasn't a living being."

In his poem ‘The Witch of Fife,’ written in the early Romantic era, Thomas Hogg describes the elf man's form as "having no blood in him and pale like cauliflower." He also describes faeries and Witches both travelling some distance to attend Sabbats in other lands. This is significant because Hogg's father is rumored to have been the last man in his area to possess the faerie sight. So any knowledge about the faeries that found its way into Hogg's work would likely have been influenced by the input of a genuine Scottish faerie seer of the eighteenth century.

One of the best ways to pursue a deeper understanding of how the faerie body works is to study occurrences where faeries have appeared as corpse candles or faerie lights, only to condense before the viewers' eyes into a humanoid form. Here are some examples of such sightings. Let us use them to compare faeries manifesting out of pure light with the so-called corpse candle observed to leave the body of humans when in sleep or near death.

"At first it seemed no more than a light in some house; but as we came nearer to it and it was passing out of our direct line of vision we saw that it was moving up and down, to and fro, diminishing to a spark, then expanding into a yellow luminous flame. Before we came to Listowel we noticed two lights, about one hundred yards to our right... Suddenly each of these lights expanded into the same sort of yellow luminous flame, about six feet high by four feet broad. In the midst of each flame we saw a radiant being having human form. Presently the lights moved towards one another and made contact whereupon the two beings in them were seen to be walking side by side. The beings' bodies were formed of a pure dazzling radiance, white like the radiance of the sun, and much brighter than the yellow that surrounded them."

Now of course humans have a corpse candle that can leave the body a as Elias Owen describes in his ‘Welsh Folklore: A Collection of the Folk-tales and Legends of North Wales’:

“It was believed that it was possible for the spirit to leave the body. and then, after an absence of some time, to return again and re-enter it. The form the spirit assumed when it quitted the body was a bluish light like that of a candle, but somewhat longer. This light left the body through the mouth, and re-entered the same way. The writer was informed by a certain female friend at Llandegla that she had seen a bluish light leave the mouth of a person who was sick, light which she thought was the life, or spirit of that person, but the person did not immediately die."

How do faerie lights differ from the corpse candles that emerge from human beings? Well it seems like the phenomenon is the same but in reverse. Faeries can body forth a human-looking form by condensing a very fine mist-like body until it becomes a bright spark of light, whereas humans belong in a dense body that nonetheless conceals a body of light.

Romani lore compiled by Patrick Jasper Lee suggests that the faerie body is ethereal but very real and that it can become denser through the consumption of life force. The ghostly dead and ethereal fay both shared one great trick, they could become tsochano, or vampires, and drink the blood of the living and in this way gain an "ectoplasmic body." Over time they might be mistaken for a living person.

The status of the body may often be an ontological difference, rather than one of solidity. A study of faerie lore overturns numerous insistences of abduction, which would look like simple death to one outside the Faerie Faith. But for those with the eyes to see the corpse was interpreted as a stock, a fake, a of wood glamoured into taking the appearance of the dead while the fae made off with their real body.

So whilst we may have trouble believing in a faerie creature becoming more tangible through consuming life force, or of humans be-ing bodily taken away, the lore is so copious that we should retain an open mind around the topic of exactly what "body" and "real" meant when our ancestors used them. What is clear is that faeries were firmly believed and experienced by many people as existing in some tangible way that was not merely within the world of shared imagination but was sensual and actual.

Here we press up, almost uncomfortably close, to the knowledge of our foreparents' quite literal belief in the physical existence of faeries. Because this journey into the folk imaginal realm of the past is about leaning into discomfort rather than fleeing from it, let us look closely at a faerie narrative that falls somewhere in the uneasy middle place between mythic story and recent folk legend.”

—

Sounds of Infinity

by Lee Morgan

[blackrose343]

Hopeless - Chapter 5: The Consequences

Warnings: Angst, Language and PTSD

I am not a medical professional so I cannot say if this chapter accurately portrays PTSD. I did research it and compared it to what I have written. From what I saw, it looks like the reader is going through something along the lines of PTSD. So to be on the safe side, I decided to put PTSD in the warning.

Devil May Cry - V x Gender Neutral Reader

Fanfic summary:  You have been kidnapped by a Soul Snatcher clan that used to reside within Red Grave. They’re torturing you for more information about the one who helped you kill their leader. While being held captive you begin to think about how to escape, how this all started, and if someone will find you. Then again, what would happen if you escape?

Hopeless Masterlist

Sorry this took so long.

Part of the poem V reads is  Auguries of Innocence by William Blake.

Present Day

Vergil returned with you to Devil May Cry not too long after the others. Everyone gathered around, excited to finally meet you. (Although, they wished it was under better circumstances.) Nero covered Nico’s mouth, quieting her before she exclaimed her excitement about meeting you. Vergil reminded everyone you’ve been through a lot and needed rest. A lot of it. He also stressed the importance of giving you space once you regain consciousness. Vergil didn’t want you to become overwhelmed by everyone bombarding you at once. You would need time to readjust to your life; to relearn what you have forgotten.

“Try not to wake (Y/N).” Vergil left the room as V approached you. A big sigh of relief left him. You were okay just like Vergil promised you’d be. Lovingly, V stroked your hair. He got onto his knees, then placed a tender kiss on your forehead. A tiny smile graced your lips. To not disturb slumber, V took his leave.

Vergil was sitting outside enjoying the night’s cool breeze. No, he was still trying to figure out how to tell V the decision he made. Ever since he made the decision he has been trying to find the best way to tell V. Vergil knew V wouldn’t take it well. Especially since he didn't know if all or some of your memories were sealed.

It wasn’t hard for V to find Vergil. He recognized Vergil’s agitated sigh anywhere. V’s expression showed Vergil he wanted to know what happened. Vergil chose to explain to V what the healer explained to him. V’s grip on his cane was so tight his knuckles whitened. He was furious Vergil made the decision of you possibly forgetting him. But, he understood why. V expressed to Vergil he wanted you to be okay no matter what. And that’s what Vergil achieved. Before V said anything he shouldn’t, he left.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, then you observed your surroundings. You had no idea where you were. After further inspection, you realized you were in someone’s bedroom. The room more than likely belonged to the man next to you. You studied the sleeping man. A book with a “V” on the cover was on his face. Pale, slender, covered in tattoos and some bruises. You wondered who he was. That thought soon vanished. Silently, you freaked out when you saw a panther by his feet. Even more so when you saw the bird next to him. Does that bird have three pupils?!

“Hey Shakespeare, wake up! (Y/N) is awake.” The bird ruffled his feathers, then flew around the room. The panther lazily yawned then looked up at you. It would have pounced onto you but the man commanded it not to. His sultry voice soothed you yet you don’t know why. You’ve never met him. Or at least you didn't think you did.

Heartbreak filled V’s eyes when you told him you didn’t know who he was. You could tell he was restraining himself from approaching you. V wanted to hold you; to do whatever he could to make you remember him. To make him feel better you mentioned his voice was familiar to you. V’s saddened eyes lightened with hope. He knew you would remember him in due time.

To get an idea of how much has been sealed away, V convinced you to tell him about your life. You briefly babbled about your childhood. Nothing too unusual about it. You glossed over your demon hunting training. You didn't have many friends because of it. You slightly elaborated your demon hunting career. Honestly, you enjoyed it and would never leave it. When you reached recent events, nothing came to mind. All you could remember was meeting with a gentleman for a job. You couldn’t remember the conversation or what the job was.

V meticulously chose his words while explaining what happened to you and how you met him. He also kept some details to himself. You took it as him not wanting to offend you. V did not want to be the reason you regain your horrid memories so soon. He knew you would remember eventually yet he will try to prolong it for as long as possible.

Few Years Later

You were surrounded by darkness. The sound of your breathing was interrupted by an agonizing scream. A familiar scream. You couldn’t remember where you heard it from. But you knew it. You instinctively followed it. The scenery changed as you made your way to the scream. The scenes varied from a bar to chaotic parts of  Red Grave. It felt as if you were a part of each scene. As if you were reliving someone’s life. 

The screams were muffled when you spotted an out of place door. The same door you’ve been seeing for too many nights. You banged on the door. Its barrier forced you away once again. You stared at the door, cursing at it. Each time you approach the door, the same thing happens. You didn’t know why you let yourself repeat this scenario so many times: banging the door non-stop till your hands bleed and the screaming abruptly stops. You wanted to say it was because you wanted to save whoever was behind the door. For some reason curiosity was more of a reason. You were unsure if you were curious to see who was behind the door or what was happening. There was no doubt you would find out soon. The barrier was significantly weaker than when you first saw it.

The muffled screams were non-stop. Whoever was screaming seemed to be in more pain than before. Desperately, you kicked the door while reassuring whoever was on the other side you were there to help. Nothing seemed to be working. It made no sense. It was a simple door. Nothing special about it besides the barrier. It didn’t matter. You had to get through it. 

The door's final attempt to keep you away woke you. Your eyes shot open. Your mind felt hazy, then it was racing. Your heart was beating frantically. Sweat rolled down your body as you sat up. You growled from irritation when you realized you were in your room.

“(Y/N), are you alright? It seemed like you were having another nightmare.” V’s worried voice relaxed you. He softly caressed your face then kissed your forehead.

“The dream with the damned door...like almost every night now…” You were so frustrated with it. At first, you didn’t mind not opening it. You can’t always achieve something on the first attempt. After a couple weeks, well...It started to become frustrating. You tried to stop yourself from going near the door. The temptation of seeing what was behind it grew stronger with each attempt to open it. Not only did it create the most interesting scenarios the closer you got to opening it. It also seemed to be calling you to it. You were too close to give up on it now.

You yawned as you rubbed your temples. Lazily, you kissed V on the cheek then made your way to the bathroom. Whispered curses could be heard through the bathroom door. 

V’s eyes followed you until the door blocked his view. His worry for you grows each time you mention the door to him. Ever since you started to dream about that door, you slowly started to become different. When the door made its first appearance, you became more irritable. V thought the irritability was from difficulty sleeping. He read poetry to you before bed but it didn’t always work. 

The next thing V noticed was your interactions with everyone changed. Most of the time you would secretly observe them as if you were on a mission. Sometimes, you would barely talk to them or get lost during a conversation. V knew you were listening. It just seemed other stuff was on your mind. Other times you put up your guard when around a crowd of people.

Attempts to discuss your behavioral changes were made. Each time you yelled at V, confirming nothing was wrong. When you realized you were yelling at him, you automatically apologized. You explained to V you had no idea why you were acting the way you were. V would try to get some sort of explanation out of you. Eventually, you explained it was your dream with the door. The weaker the door got, the more realistic the dreams from it felt. 

V was certain the door in your dreams was the seal to your memories. V brought up his concerns for you with Vergil the first chance he got. Solemnly, Vergil explained to V once the seal was released it cannot be remade. V was furious but hid it well. Instead of dealing with his feelings about this, he focused on you. Whenever you needed him, he was there. Whenever you were feeling down or anxious, he would do everything he could to make you feel better and safe.

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

You and V were on a double date with Nero and Kyrie. Kyrie wanted to have dinner at a new restaurant on the other side of Red Grave. The subway ride there was like any other subway ride. Nothing exciting to see. All of you chatted with each other, trying to decide where else to go besides the restaurant. You were excited to see a whole new part of Red Grave. It took the government long enough to start rebuilding it after what happened. Yet for some reason an uneasy feeling started to consume you.

Kyrie and Nero got off the subway with V following behind them. They’re voices faded as they neared the exit. You sat in the subway, staring at the advertisement on the station’s wall. The advertisement seemed familiar to you in a way. Yes, you’ve seen this advertisement in many places but that wasn’t it. It was as if this specific advertisement contained something. You were convincing yourself it was nothing and to catch up with the others. You couldn’t think of any reason as to why you didn’t want to get off the subway. You forced yourself to get off when the last call was announced.

A flash from a faulty light took you to a destroyed version of the subway station. The advertisement you were looking at before was torn. Not from age but from claws. As you turned your head, you saw the subway was no longer on the tracks. It was stuck in the wall on the opposite side of the tracks. Chunks of the station were around you, along with corpses. Broken electrical wires and pipes were above you. You turned your head again. Your eyes focused on the claws about to strike you. Your instincts screamed at you to defend yourself. “Get away from me!”

“V, are you okay?!” Kyrie’s voice rang through your ears. Your eyes shot open. The station was intact. Not one thing was out of place. Nero was helping V get up. V reassured Nero he could get up on his own. You could see a bruise forming on his chest. You were petrified. Nothing could explain what just happened or why. I attacked V? No, that’s not right. I punched something else. I was being attacked.

“V, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” You examined V’s chest while apologizing to him over and over. V continued his reassurance. He didn’t want to ruin anyone’s mood, especially yours. He kept quiet about how much your punch hurt him. He gently wiped your guilt ridden tears. He kissed your hand, then led the way to the restaurant. You squeezed his hand, pouring your emotions into it. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

V kept himself composed the entire time. Within himself, V was more than worried. He felt your fear through your punch. Your eyes were filled with fear and yet they had determination. The last time he saw you like this was when you almost died. V had no doubt your memories will be freed soon. 

V and Nero froze as you and Kyrie crossed the street. Disbelief filled them. They couldn’t believe the shitty luck today was presenting. The restaurant was on the roof of the building you were held captive at. Nero was spitting out excuses for V to get you away from here. There was no way either of them could let you enter that building, let alone let you eat dinner exactly where you were almost murdered. Before either of them could get to you, they watched Kyrie pull you into the building. Nero muttered “fuck” as he and V made their way to the restaurant.

Nervously, you laughed as Kyrie pulled you to the building. The uneasy feeling from earlier strengthened the closer you got to it. The feeling continued to worsen as you reached the roof. Your stomach was in knots. Your breathing started to become shaky. Your mind screamed for you to get away. You couldn't understand what was going on with you. You noticed Nero and V were a bit hesitant about coming to this place too. So maybe it wasn’t just you freaking out over nothing. 

You wrapped a few ice cubes in napkins then placed it on V’s chest. You kept apologizing to him. You couldn’t understand why he wasn’t mad at you. All you saw was his concern for you. You wanted to explain to V what happened earlier. Just not with an audience. Everyone would think you lost your damn mind. 

You couldn't stop yourself from figuring out why the events from earlier happened. Your mind conjured up so many reasons. You tried to figure out which one was a plausible reason. You didn’t want V to hear it was because of your damned dreams again. You’ve been using them as an excuse for too long. You could only conclude work may be starting to become too much. Maybe you needed a vacation. Who knows? 

“(Y/N)”? You looked at Nero like a deer in headlights. Was he reading your mind? You weren’t sure. He was giving you a questioning look. Sheepishly, you apologized for not listening then asked him to repeat himself. You found out everyone was discussing the changes made when this part of town was rebuilt.

“What happened here? I know the Qliphoth was here. It just seems something else happened too.” Nero threw V into the spotlight. V’s explanation was vague. It barely gave you the answer you were looking for. You gave Kyrie a look, silently asking her if V was hiding something from you. Kyrie’s reply was a subtle shrug. She had no idea what was going on.

Dinner continued normally. It was as if everything from earlier never happened. Nero and Kyrie acting lovey dovey. You and V were trying not to tease them. It scared you how easily everyone was able to push something like that aside. 

V glanced at you, looking for any sign that you were well. Ever since you entered the restaurant he noticed you were shaking. He knew you were attempting to hide it. The shaking appeared so strong, everyone thought you were freezing. He noticed you barely touched your food even though you claimed you were starving earlier. V thought it was best if you and him went home after dinner.

You and everyone else walked along the edge of the roof to exit the restaurant. V used his cane to deviate your wandering eyes to him. He made absolutely sure you didn’t look below or beyond. He had to. He wanted to prevent you from feeling worse than you already are. He feared you would remember what happened here.

Kyrie managed to find enough room to take a couple of pictures. Nero tried to get out of it by saying he didn’t look decent enough. V attempted to convince Kyrie to wait since the restaurant was crowded. Kyrie asked what was the harm of taking a couple pictures. It’s been too long since Kyrie got to take group photos. Also, the sunset would be the perfect background. The guys sighed in defeat.

You and Kyrie gushed over the pictures as you continued to leave the restaurant. Nero pleaded with Kyrie to wait until she was out of the restaurant to look at them. Kyrie showed Nero the picture she was currently looking at. Nero made a quick comment, then placed his hands on her shoulders. You and V watched Nero guide Kyrie. It was entertaining, even impressive. Nero had Kyrie dodge everyone coming through the door.

Your laughter at Nero and Kyrie was abruptly interrupted. Someone forced their way between you and V causing you to slam into the railing. As you situated yourself, you caught a glimpse of a black haired figure below. For just a second, the figure looked like a beaten V. You knew V wasn’t down there, he was next to you. You couldn’t stop yourself from checking. You saw V, then someone strangely familiar looking at the table behind him. Briefly, you tried to remember how you knew him.

“Are you ok-tell me who killed Carmilla!” The calm voice evolved into an aggressive demand. You couldn’t figure out who was talking to you. The demand was repeated. You kept quiet. You had no idea who Carmilla was. You don’t remember any mission involving anyone with that name. The harshness of the demand escalated until it evolved into yelling in your ear. You covered your ears but it sounded like it was coming from all over. Even from right next to you.

“I’m not telling you shit. Give up.” The haughty voice was yours, but you didn’t move your lips. The sound of powerful strikes, along with your whimpers followed.  Frantically, you searched for help. Nothing. No one. It was just you and the one asking about Carmilla. You closed your eyes preparing for the next strike. You started to take deep breaths. It was the only thing you believed would put everything back into place.

Few people asked if V wanted them to call an ambulance. V persuaded everyone to leave you be. He reassured them you would be fine and needed to be left alone. He knew the best thing for you was to have as much space as possible. To have as much time as you need to gather yourself. He knew you needed him too, but there was no way to physically calm you without possibly making the situation worse.

You stood still, gripping the rail for dear life. V studied the rhythm of your deep breaths and heaving chest. It was obvious you were trying to calm yourself. Even more obvious you were currently reliving your time while held captive here. Nightmarish thoughts raced through V’s mind. Nothing he conjured could be compared to what you actually went through. He wanted to understand but couldn’t come close to. In hopes of helping you and calming himself, V recited poetry from his book. “To see a world in a  grain of sand…”

“WHO KILLED CARMILLA?! TELL ME! TELL...poor souls...dwell in night...does…” Softly, the harsh demands transformed into V’s poetic voice. You completely focused on V’s voice, hoping he wouldn’t stop. The man in front of you morphed into V. Tears cascaded your face as you tightened your closed eyes. You begged V to stay with you. You wanted nothing more than for this madness to end. 

Gingerly, you opened your tear ridden eyes. You were back at the restaurant. For the most part, everything was back to normal. It was darker and people were failing to not steal glances at you and V. V was still standing next to you. He gently closed his book, then turned to you. Concern and worry were radiating off of him. V pulled you into a hug as soon as he saw your tears. You gripped V’s hand for dear life as he led you out of the restaurant.

As soon as V opened the door, Griffon flew around the house. You headed to your bedroom with Shadow behind. You collapsed on the bed, burying your head in your pillow. You released the anxiety and fear you have been holding. You screams and cries could be heard throughout your home. To help calm yourself you cuddled with Shadow, letting her fur catch your tears. Shadow’s purring was the perfect lullaby to fall asleep to, especially after today.

“...H-HE-LP!...HELP!...He-help...” Those pleas were all the encouragement you needed to continue to get through the door. Nothing was going to stop you this time. You mustered your strength then delivered one final strike against the door. The barrier dissipated, as it pushed you away one last time. The door became ajar. 

Regret consumed you as soon as you stepped through the door. A blinding flash brought you to an abandoned building. Someone similar looking to the man from the restaurant was interrogating someone who looked like you. The person being interrogated was severely beaten. It was obvious the man was doing whatever he pleased. No one was around to stop him. It wouldn’t be long until the person was dead. In an attempt to stop him, you jumped on his back. He threw you across his back. Somehow you merged with the one you were trying to save.

The man deeply slashed your abdomen. He was merciless. It felt as if he was never going to stop until he got what he wanted. Not once did his sinister smile disappear. If anything, it grew with each of your screams, your pleas. You screamed for help but no one came.

The strike to your head was excruciating. You gripped your head, screaming, as your mind released every single memory that was sealed away. Meeting V at the grocery store. Tracking Carmilla. Working with V. Your fight with Carmilla. Your captivity. All of them. It was too much for your mind to process at once.

V raced to your bedroom as soon as he heard you scream. Quickly, he studied the room and determined nothing was amiss. V attempted to loosen the ironclad grip you had on your head. V winced from pain when you grabbed his hands. It was possible you may have sprained his finger or two. V didn’t care. He stayed with you, reminding you how strong you are and how you can get through this.

Once you were calm V asked if you were hurt. Hysterically, you described your nightmare. The torture, the pain. The rush of other dreams within it. It felt so real to you. As if it happened to you as you dreamt it. V tried to explain that even though you were attacked in your dream it doesn’t mean the attacks actually happened. You were having none of it. You described every attack explicitly while tracing each one on your body.

V tried his best to calm you. Nothing he did relieved you. Not one bit. Your mind was frantically processing the memories it released. You couldn’t think straight. V tried to hug you but you pushed him away. His hurt expression made you feel worse, but you had no choice. You needed to stay away from him. You weren’t sure if the one in front of you was V or a Soul Snatcher; friend or enemy.

“Who the fuck are you?” Shakily, you cocked your gun, indicating you weren’t playing around. Shadow immediately placed herself between you and V. Griffon babbled about you not recognizing V or them. You didn’t care. You just needed to know what was going on.

“(Y/N) put the gun down and I’ll answer all of your questions.” Your defensive aggressiveness from before your memories were sealed has returned. There was no way V could weasel his way to convince you nothing was going on. To V this situation felt like he was reliving his very first encounter with you.

Your eyes narrowed with suspicion. Would he attack once you lower your gun? Will he actually tell the truth? What if this was a Soul Snatcher? Too many questions raced through your mind. You had no idea what part of yourself to listen to. Fuck it. You needed answers. “Lie or attack, I’ll make you regret it.”

For your sake V had to prove he wasn’t a Soul Snatcher. He recalled when he gave you the ring you were wearing. Hearing your argument made V realize it was pointless to retell the time you spent together. He was determined to prove he wasn’t a Soul Snatcher. No matter what. The only thing he could think of that a Soul Snatcher couldn’t do was summon Nightmare. Doing so caused quite a scare for your neighbors.

Your neighbors panic soon turned into silence. Irritated tension was all either of you could feel. Both of you wanted to say something. Neither of you knew what to say or where to start. So you both stayed quiet, trying to figure out what to say. The silence was unbearable for Griffon but he managed to stay quiet. God knows what either of you would do if Griffon said anything.

You took one deep breath, then decided to tell V everything about your time in captivity. The torture, the Soul Snatchers involved, your thoughts. Everything. You turned yourself away from V when you started crying. V attempted to reach over to comfort you but you indicated for him to stay where he was. You didn’t want to be touched by anyone. 

V wanted to hold you. He wanted to do anything and everything he could to remind you you’re safe with him. But he fought himself from doing anything that would make you uncomfortable. He knew you would fulfill your promise if he did anything you saw as a threat.

If V had to be honest, he didn’t want to explain what happened when he found you. Besides the fact he was like you; not wanting to show weakness or vulnerability. He isn’t proud of how he reacted. That night was a tornado to him. It was fast and destructive yet it was a blur. Still. It was no excuse to not tell you. You told him everything. Now it was his turn. V sucked it up and reluctantly told you what happened.

You listened to V, unsure how to take it. At first, you were terrified to hear you almost died. (You remembered you made the choice but it was frightening to think about.) Soon fright turned into anger. You blamed V for having your memories sealed. Not long after, you questioned if being with V was the right thing for you. You even questioned if you would be with V after everything that happened. 

V sat across from you, waiting for you to say anything. He was aware you were angry. He knew you would need time to process everything. It could take a long time, but V was more than willing to do whatever he could to help you. Except for one thing.

“I-I...I don’t know how to take in all of this...I-I think I need to sp-spend some time away from y-you. To absorb everything I just remembered..a-and what we just talked about...I also have to think of what’s be-est for me.” V’s heart broke in two. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was at a loss for words. He was unable to argue with you.

“Don’t.” You froze. V’s hand was hovering above yours. Without touching you, he guided your hand to lower itself, then release the clothing you were holding. Was V going to convince you to stay with him? You couldn’t tell. You knew he was going to say something. He was close to you but stepped away. “You should stay here. I’ll leave.”

You couldn’t believe what you just heard. Why would he leave? You should be the one leaving. You whipped your head around to see if V was really leaving. He was. Already he grabbed his bag, then his book. It didn’t take long for him to gather the rest of what he needed. Once he was packed, he approached you. You anticipated him doing some gesture to say goodbye. Your heart broke when he did nothing except say his goodbye. With each step V took away from you, you felt more alone than ever before. When he was completely gone you believed you made the wrong choice.

[thisstableground]

I'll probably ask more questions when I'm more awake (hope I can remember) but 3, 4, 9 and 10? :o)

3. How would you describe your writing style?

aggressive whiplash between this is a humour fic and this is an angst fic with an occasional sprinkle of hey everyone did you know i've written poems before

4. Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

i wrote some original characters for pieces i did during my masters but i never got attached to any of them because i lack that kind of confidence in my own character creation abilities. unless we're counting usnavi's parents as OCs! in which case yes i have two and they're wonderful and i love them and every time i write them i'm like "wow!!! you are such a cute and loving lil family wouldn't it be awful if canon dictated that your kid ends up an orphan 🥺"

9. Thoughts on cliffhangers.

i love them! i don't get to use them very often because most of my stories are emotion focused rather than having any kind of plot whatsoever, but i'm not averse to an emotional cliffhanger either. i do feel like with emotional ones you have to have earned a certain level of trust with a reader though - as a reader it can make me super anxious (which is why generally i prefer reading from writers who i'm friends with because then i can just ask for spoilers), but for my own stuff i try and cultivate a "the end goal is for them to get better and happier even if there are ups and downs" atmosphere that hopefully makes it stay at intriguing rather than anxiety-inducing for any readers who might have a similar issue

10. Top three favourite fic tropes.

character has panic attack/nightmare/flashback in front of people, revealing the depth of their pain and leading to a sense of healing and greater understanding between them (very excited about being able to switch up this formula and use a flashforward instead of a flashback now i'm writing someone with future sight, i have Ideas)

local dumbasses incapable of recognising that their romantic feelings for each other are mutual despite the universe throwing them into so many Read The Goddamn Signs situations (i honestly still have more of these i want to write for vansnavi)

found family, especially when they are caring about That One Person Who Doesn’t Feel Like They Deserve Love (it still counts as found family even when they're your real family if youve been living in the walls for ten years and have to repair all your relationships with them)

thank you for asking :) :) <3

[lunarreaper12]

First in regards to my last ask: what lil things does killer to make nightys day better? I'm very curious~ Also is nightmare not able to use glitter? (Was it called glitter? I think so...)

Second: soo i wonder... Is killers room close to nightys? (Would probably make sense but who knows the palace is surely big...) And did killer ever fell -accidentely(?)- fell asleep in nightys room? How did they both handled the Situation and reacted to it? Any soft moments at all? 6w6

Also will killer watch nighty at night sometimes too (not the creepy way)? I mean is he sometimes worried about nighty and his safety when killer himself is not exactly on duty (i sure am) ? I would assume there are guards or Barrieres maybe to protect the Kings at sleeping times (i hope at least, tho other guards could also pose a threat ...?), as that wouldn't pose a Problem to dream much i think as he is much loved, it could be rather a dangerous time for nighty... ? Cuz he isn't treated or respected as a king as preciously as dream ... Rather they want him gone.

Which brings me to my next question... Are the other guards and Palace stuff taking their job seriously when serving or protecting nightmare cuz he is not really being fancied by others? (My theory on why the tea and coffee tasted Bad to nm could be maybe cuz they were kinda doing it on purpose or just not caring if it would be to his liking at all... U know, to spite him. But who know..not me.)

Also was nightmare ever attempted to be assasinated at all since the kinda truce with his brother? Probably but idk. If yes.. How did killer prevented it and/or dealt with them? Or how was it handled at all to make sure nighty is safe?

Is not me or do the asks get longer? XD oops.

Oh you have stumbled upon some of my favorite bits of Lore~!

*Rubs hands together* Let’s get this started!

What little thing does Killer do to make Nightmare’s day better? 

Killer des various things depending on what Nightmare is doing at the time! Like what was written in “Take a break”, Killer may bring Nightmare treats and tea throughout the day if he’s working primarily in his office. Nightmare likes the quiet while he’s working, so Killer is actually much less talkative when he thinks Nightmare needs the silence.

If Killer sees that Nightmare is having a bad day, he’ll scatter some of Nightmare’s favorite things around where Nightmare will find them. Favorite flowers, little puzzles, (Nightmare likes playing with puzzles when he’s bored), at one point Killer left a plush toy in Nightmares office. The toy disappeared, and last Killer saw it, it was tucked under Nightmare’s arm when he accidentally walked in on the King sleeping. Killer isn’t certain where the toy goes to during the day, and he hasn’t caught Nightmare asleep since then.

Killer also has left notes around. Little encouragements, jokes, or even poems he thought Nightmare would like. Nightmare hides these where no one will find them, just like the plushy.

After Killer was allowed to spend time in Nightmare’s room, he started checking what books Nightmare seemed to like, and would go out to find new books he thinks Nightmare hasn’t read when he was able to! (He usually just puts them where Nightmare will find them, rather than just giving them to him).

Can Nightmare use glamours?

Yes! Nightmare and Dream actually have much of the same abilities, and using glamours is one of the ones they share! Using a glamour is just not something Nightmare prefers to do unless it’s necessary. He could of course use this if he wanted to walk around without people staring, but he hates the idea that he needs to hide himself to have a normal walk around his kingdom.

He’d rather deal with people staring at him than hide from his own subjects.

Is Killer’s room close to Nightmare’s, and has he ever fallen asleep in Nightmare’s room?

Killer’s room is close to Nightmare’s in case of emergencies! The same goes for Cross and Dream. As for whether Killer has fallen asleep in his room? Well, sometimes the Guard works a bit too hard and accidents happen... Plus, when you have the Moon King reading to you in that low voice of his... Well, anyone’s bound to fall asleep to that!

Nightmare didn’t notice Killer had fallen asleep right away, and when he did? Well... Looks like I have another writing prompt don’t I? (I’m such a meanie >w< I can definitely write this one out real soon though! I know exactly what would happen >w<)

Does Killer get worried about Nightmare at night while they’re sleeping?

Oh boy, absolutely. At first he wasn’t super concerned about it, but... well... Something may have happened one night and Killer nearly never slept afterwards, for fear of something similar happening again. I’m trying to be a bit vague because this is actually a big spoiler, specifically relating to Killer’s actual design. When I finish Killer’s design, I’ll write about it in the same post! I’m being very vague on these answers this time around, aren’t I? XD Sorry!

Moving on though~

Do the other guards of the castle take their jobs seriously when it comes to Nightmare?

Hm... well, yes and no? You see, the Captain of the Guardsmen is actually rather familiar with both of the Kings! As such, he does take care to assign the best guards to the castle. There’s always outliers though, and while yes the Guardsmen would prioritize Dream over Nightmare in an emergency, I wouldn’t say they’re the worst guards in the world. 

That being said, You’d be right in assuming their security is a bit lax when it comes to Nightmare’s safety. This also ties in to the previous answer in regards to something having happened one night... and well, the Captain wasn’t happy to hear about the Guardsmen he’d assigned’s poor performance.

The guards may not like Nightmare, and may even want him gone, but the vast majority of them would never disobey the Captain or the Kings, regardless of their personal beliefs. The Captain has a high standard for his men, and wouldn’t trust just anyone to guard the Kings. I would say something really messed up would have to happen for the guards to actively turn on Nightmare against Dream and the Captain’s wishes.

I do like your theory by the way! And I would say it’s partially correct! The servants definitely don’t take as much care in preparing things for him as they do for Dream. There was probably the rare scattered events where the servant’s actively made something taste bad when preparing it for Nightmare, but most of the time it’s simply a lack of care. 

Has Nightmare ever had an assassination attempt on him since the truce?

Unfortunately, Yes. Several. These assassination attempts were mostly made before Killer was assigned as Nightmare’s Guard actually. Nightmare is still powerful and skilled in his own right, and with the assistance of a few castle guards the attempts were cut short. Nightmare never let Dream know of these incidents though, as he didn’t want his brother to try and get involved. Nightmare was mostly concerned about Dream ordering an entire group of guards to follow him around. Dream had already been insisting on a Royal Guard just to improve his image, imagine how much of an overreaction he would have to knowing his younger brother was actively being targeted by assassins!

After Killer was assigned to Nightmare, the assassination attempts died down for a short time. At least, so Nightmare had thought. The reality is, is that Killer is far better at his job than Nightmare thought he would be... And even if Killer didn’t much care for the job in the beginning, he wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to have a bit of “fun”. It’s not like Nightmare needed to know.

And that’s all I’ll say on that before I end up spoiling something >w<

[mc-i-r]

The poem

Summary: Roman finds an unusual notebook on a certain sides desk. What he finds inside is... surprising.

Pairings: platonic Prinxiety

TW: mentions of self-harm, mentions of hospitalization, mentions of blood, angst of course, brief mention of eating disorder, poor self image, major fluff at the end don't worry ;)

Let me know if I missed any triggers!

Word count: 2,172

---

Roman was walking around the Mindpalace when he passed by a door. He stopped, finding the door particularly weird. It's dark colors and purple highlights were not what caused Roman his sudden stop. No, it was the fact that the door was open.

‘That’s weird. Panic! At the Everywhere always leaves his door closed. In fact, he makes sure of it. I better check and see if he’s okay.’ Roman thought to himself.

He looked around him, making sure no one was in sight just in case the lovable emo was having a private crisis. After confirming it was safe to enter, he creaked open the door, sticking his head in only a little bit just in case, not wanting to invade someone's privacy.

“Hello? Virge? Your door was open so I wanted to check if you were okay,” Roman said in a hushed voice, in case the side was sleeping. After receiving no response, Roman opened the door wider, walking fully into the room.

Now, despite common belief, Roman had only been in Virgil’s room once before during Accepting Anxiety and had not returned unless asked; which so far have been the grand total of zero times. Roman looked around the barely-lit room. A lot had changed since he was last in there. The room felt lighter, not by colors but by the overall feeling. He knew that the first time he was in this room the effects were dangerous, affecting them all quickly and severely. But now, there was no feeling. The feeling of doom and nervousness he felt was gone, replaced with a sense of focus and overall awareness. It somehow calmed the Prince, making him feel like he could focus on the tasks at hand and making his dreams reality through achievable means. It was a good feeling, and Roman always growing addicted to it.

He took in the scenery; dark purple walls, fluffy gray carpet, and a single bed in the center of the wall with a black comforter and purple pillows. A nightstand with a single lamp that looked almost never used sat beside the bed with a desk under the window adjacent to the bed, notebooks and art supplies all over it. Two doors stood on the right wall, one to the bathroom and the other to the closet. There were posters all over the walls, most from those emo bands and a few from The Nightmare Before Christmas, which Roman absolutely adored. Despite it not being Romans taste, he liked the room. It was comforting, like you could just snuggle up in a thick blanket and sleep through the winter.

Roman walked over to the desk, curious to what the emo nightmare’s art style is. He found mostly sketches, many of the other sides in relaxed poses. There were some of Patton cooking in the kitchen and others of Logan reading a book on the couch. Others were the Prince himself, writing down ideas in his trusty notebook or singing along to a movie on one of their many movie nights. Roman smiled at the papers.

‘So that's what he’s doing all the time. Aww, the emo really does care,’ Roman thought. He knew Virgil cared about them, he could tell. Virgil had come a long way, they all had. Roman admired Virgil for it, for being able to make that personal growth all on his own. It was something not many could do.

Roman looked over the rest of the desk, noticing an open notebook that he had never seen before. Virgil was always doodling or sketching in his sketchbook but this book was different. It was a black leather-bound book, about an inch in thickness, that had words upon words written on it. The whole page was covered in writing. And Roman was curious.

‘Must be some type of journal. I wonder what’s in it? No, Roman, that's being nosey. But it’s so enticing. Who knows what he has in there! Okay, fine. One page, okay? Only one page and then you put it down, okay?’ Roman argued with himself.

Upon his decision, he picked up the notebook, placing his thumb on the current page to make sure he could put the notebook back without being caught. He flipped back near the beginning of the book, scamming over the titles. Most pages were filled with rants on varying topics, ranging from other sides to whether or not squirrels are real. The other pages, however, caught Roman’s eye. They were writings; short stories, writing prompts, poems, and much more.

Roman saw a title that caught his eye.

“‘Isn’t it funny?’. Hmm, sounds interesting enough,” Roman said aloud to himself. It was a poem and Roman, being the fanciful romantic he was, was intrigued.

He adjusted his grip, holding the book so the page was illuminated by the hallway light that seeped in from the still-open door. Focusing on the page, he began reading.

‘Isn't it funny how nobody cares?

Until you're laying on the floor getting horrified stares

As blood pours out of the cuts that you've made.

Each arm marked by a single razor blade.

The pool of blood slowly grows around you

And the people staring wonder how this is what it's come to.

One leans down to check if you're breathing.

It's steady but slow, slowly leaving.

You wake up later in a hospital bed.

Your arms are sore and you rub your head,

Wondering what the hell happened and where you are now.

And you look at the people in the room and wonder, how?

How could they stand there and look at your face?

How could they stand to give you an embrace?

They act like they care in the hospital room.

But you know-oh you know- that it's really a tomb

Where all your secrets and shame slowly die.

But you harden your gaze and slowly sigh

As they ask why you did it or why you tried

To take your own life and they break down and cry

You look up slowly and shake your head

Saying "you should've just left me I'm better off dead"

They quickly say that they simply didn't know

That they would've helped if you only let it show

But you shake your head and look off to the side

Avoiding their gazes as you let out a shaky sigh

You slightly chuckle but not from amusement

You speak softly, your voice raspy from not using it

"Its funny how you care now that the damage is done.

Where were you when it all begun?

When I cried myself to sleep in the corner of my room?

When I cut my skin to rid me of this fleshy tomb?

When I stopped eating meals that made me too fat?

When I looked in the mirror and subconsciously spat?

I don't want your pity or your false sorrow.

Cause I'm just going to feel the same tomorrow.

I'm hanging on by a single hair

Cause isn't it funny how nobody cares?"’

By the time he was done reading, Roman was in tears.

‘How could he think of himself like that? We-I was so...horrible to him. Is-is this what he was going through while I was being so mean to him? Was he...was he thinking about doing those...those things? Did he do those things?! Does he still think that way? What if he still thinks we hate him? What if he’s always thought that and never stopped? What if he-what if he tries-’

“Princey?”

Roman’s thoughts were cut off by a hesitant hand on his shoulder, making the crying side snap his head around to see who was touching him. He found Virgil, looking at him with clear concern written all over his face, wondering why the Princely side was crying. His gaze flicked over to the notebook still held in the Prince’s hands and his face went deathly pale.

“Princey, listen to me. It's not what you think-” Virgil started.

“...is it true? Do you feel like this? Do you… do you do those...things?” Roman asked, voice small and fragile. He looked up at Virgil with sad eyes, praying to every god out there that it wasn’t true. Virgil only sighed, giving Roman a sad face that said everything.

‘Its true. All of it. The feelings, the emotions, all of it. Oh god-’

“...what have I done?” Roman said aloud, mostly to himself. At those four words, the Prince launched himself at the emo, dropping the notebook and wrapping the small side in a tight hug, crying into his shoulder. Virgil, who wasn't prepared for this, stumbled backwards a bit but caught himself, wrapping his arms around the crying side to try and calm him down.

Roman gripped Virgil’s baggy jacket, guilt taking over his mind. He wanted to hold Virgil forever, make sure he never feels that way again. He wished he could take it all back. Start over, make everything disappear and get a fresh start. God, that's all he wanted.

‘It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It’s all my fault.’

“...it’s all my fault,” Roman whispered out through cries. Virgil tightened his grip slightly and pulled back so Roman could see his face.

“Hey, hey, no it’s not. It's not your fault, okay? Look at me Roman,” Virgil said. The usually energetic side was drained, slowly lifting his head to meet Virgil’s gaze.

“None of it was your fault, okay? You only acted the way you did because you were told to act that way. I don’t blame you. No one does. We were all in the wrong okay? Don’t blame yourself for something you had no control over,” Virgil said, holding the other by the arms.

“But I could have done something. I should have done something. I knew you were just doing your job and I still treated you like shit. You deserved-deserve so much better than that. You-you make us better, Virgil. I mean that every time I say it. You make me better. To think that I drove you to those..those things it- it destroys me,” Roman said, tearing up again near the end.

“Roman, you did not make me do those things. In fact, what I did to myself was no one’s fault but my own. In fact, I never did it because I got too anxious about someone finding out or if I would bleed out and, well, the list goes on and on. That's why I have that notebook. I use it to write down my feelings so they don’t escalate. It was a complete accident, actually. I dropped a glass and cut my hand so when I started cleaning it up I began thinking about what it would be like to hurt myself and what would happen. So me, being the literal embodiment of anxiety, thought of almost every possible scenario and that was one of them. I wrote it down and decided to make it into a poem to occupy myself. I would never do any of that, not after all I’ve been through. Not after all you have helped me through. I could have never been the person I am today without you, Roman. You helped me learn from my mistakes and grow from them. You saved me, Roman,” Virgil said.

He was teary-eyed and grabbed Roman's hands. Speaking of Roman, he was crying his eyes out; half out of sadness still and half out of pure joy that the poem wasn’t all true. Roman threw his arms around Virgil yet again, hugging him so tight Virgil thought he would pass out. Virgil hugged back, smiling slightly and patting the others back in comfort. Roman pulled back, still hanging on to Virgil by his arms. Virgil wiped Roman’s tears away with his jacket sleeve, making the Prince blush out of pure contact.

“Hey, Princey, you got a little something on your face,” Virgil said, teasing.

“Oh shut it,” Roman said, smiling. Virgil smiled back, glad to see the other smiling again. God, that smile.

“There it is, there's that smile I was looking for,” Virgil said. Roman just smiled brighter and Virgil laughed. He actually laughed.

“Come on, Princey. I think Logan and Patton are helping Thomas with something so we have the Mindpalace to ourselves. Want to have a mini movie night?” Virgil asked. Roman smiled.

“After that emotional roller coaster? Hell yes,” Roman said. The two made their way downstairs, grabbing their blankets off their beds as they went, and snuggled into the couch. Virgil grabbed a few snacks while Roman picked a movie, which turned out to be Moana since it was his emotional support movie. They settled down to watch the movie, enjoying their time together.

A couple hours later, Logan and Patton returned from their errand with Thomas, coming home to see the two sides cuddled together on the couch fast asleep, the end credits of Moana still rolling on the tv screen.

---

A/N: Well...there you have it! My first oneshot I've posted! I've got a ton more so if you'd like to read more, let me know. I'm open to suggestions so message me, send asks, or tag me anytime! Anywho, hope you enjoyed :)

Taglist:

@whattheremus (sorry if you didn't wanna be tagged, I just thought since you said yes you'd like to know :) )

[arthurflecksgirl]

Hey lovely, I'm in a ridiculously cheesy romantic mood tonight ^--^ could we get a drabble about Arthur and his new bride coming home on their wedding night? I just want copious amounts of fluff (does not have to include nsfw but like,, go off if you want). In my head I'm imagining Arthur and his beautiful new wifey slow dancing to Bing Crosby in the living room still in their wedding tux and dress and he's mouthing sappy lyrics and it's got me cryin 😭😭 but do what you want with this ask 💓💓

Hey sweets! Thank you sooo much for your wonderful request. I`m a sucker for romantic Artie :) <3 I really really hope you like the result.

Arthur on his wedding day

Your eyes focused the beautiful wrinkles beneath Arthurs eyes as he carried you across the threshold. It was like the whole world dissappeared for a moment and all that was left ,was that significant space between these fine lines. You always thought of his laugh wrinkles as a poem  written with invisible ink so everytime he smiled at you, the poem appeared clear before your eyes and you experienced it with all its subtile beauty. With all the tenderness his face was holding. Reading between the lines until the poem that he was started to unfold right in front of you. Showing off the vulnerability of his being.

You loved him. You just loved him so much it hurt. It hurt in the best way possible, like reading prose. Raw and honest. Overwhelmingly  beautiful and wild but gentle to the core. He was all of this. And you wanted it all. Forever and a day.

His body looked fragile, even underneath his black suit you could tell how slender he was. But he lifted you up like you were an butterfly, carrying you all the way into the living room. His green eyes glanced at you with an intensivity only his eyes could hold. He looked so beautiful tonight. He always did. But today was your wedding night and there was this certain kind of magic  seeing him in this black suit and his dark red tie. Arthurs curly hair was tied together in a man bun, which made his eyes and face structure seem even more intense.

He slowly let you down on the ground. Carefully to make sure it was comfortable for you. Arthur took a step back to admire his bride, letting his eyes wander up and down on you. He shook his head, chuckeling. Still not fully able to understand that he just married someone who truly loves him. You. The woman of his dreams. His light that was shining through his darkest hours. The woman who saw him, truly saw his heart when no one else did. You, who had helped him during his worst days, holding his hand until the storms had past. He knew he could trust you with anything. There was nothing that must be hidden from you. Not even his most frightening thoughts. And now that he knew, those kinda throughts seemed to lose their power over him. The connection between your heart and his became so demanding that every nightmare or memory of another life became irrelevant compared to what you felt for each other.

There was a whole future in front of you and it had already started. It started the first time you ever saw him. Every day, dark or light, bad or good lead you up to this beautiful moment of Arthur and you just looking at each other with so much love and admiration. He came closer, softly brushing your cheek with his thumb, letting it travel down your chin, before he took your face between his hands. Oh, his hands. How much you crave them everytime they`re not touching you. How right it feels to let them hold your face. As if he was holding his whole universe between the gentleness of his slender fingers.

Arthur put his mouth on yours as you felt his warm tongue parting your lips. Your face still between his hands, as if he wanted to make sure that this kiss must have been held between his fingertips. Because it was fragile and thin. It needed protection from the outside world. Arthur never kissed you with his lips only. It was his whole body kissing you. His body was nuzzling closer against your chest.His legs trembling to come closer.

Through the kiss you felt him being nervous. The deep ,arousing dance of his tongue tasted of difidence. Arhur wanted to be perfect for you. Every day and especially  tonight. He wanted you to be the happiest new bride imaginable.

Your lips parted as he softly pressed his forehead against yours "Umm.... " he breathed blissfully "I still can`t belive we did this. You did this. Marrying me!"

You smiled, touching his soft hair "Who would have thought that I´m going to marry the most gorgeous man in the whole world? "

Arthur smirked. His crooked tooth was showing. Which made you want to kiss him aagain.  "How does it feel to be Mrs Fleck?"

"It feels like I can finally start to live."

Arthur gave you a kiss on the tip of your nose, breathing into your face "I cant belive you choose me..."

"I would have choosen you in any possible multiverse, darling. " you replied as you watched him walking up to the turntable, putting an Bing Crosby record on.

Arhur was a sucker for romance and music, especially for the combination of both. Feeling him taking your hand and moving to the rythm to the song made you think his body movement was the definition of romance. He wasnt just getting in the mood. He  felt it, became it.

"Mayb I ask you for another dance, Mrs. Fleck?" Arthurs voice soft and hot beneath your ear. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other one free to hold your hand.

"I`d love to " you smiled.

"You are so beautiful in your dress, honey" he mumbled into your ear. The palm of his hand traveling up your back, feeling the fabric as if it was your second skin.

You literally felt the music vibrating in his bones. You felt the melodies crawling up his shoulderbone. Sinking deeper inside. Reaching his muscles and flesh. And you wished to be this melody that made his shoulders move the way they did.

The dim lights hanging in the corner of the room made his hair look like a dark golden treasure. Slow dancing with him was the most magical part of the day. Even more magical than the wedding vows. This was a promise. More. This was destiny. Fate in its purest form.

The way your bodys found the perfect rythm, as if there was one mind leading them to find each other. Be one..

"You look so marvelous, Arthur."

Arthur giggled like a little boy. "No. You are the one who is breathtaking and I think everyone will agree with that!"

"Who`s everyone?" you asked.

"Our audience" he replied, pointing at the empty couch.

"Am I right?" he acted as if he was talking to someone, nodding "See? They agreed!"

You smiled. It meant the world to him to make you smile. “Darling, I have to confess something to you...please dont be mad at me!”

“What is it, Artie?”

He took a deep breath, as if it was hard for him to tell you “The ring.....I....stole it for you. I wanted to get you the most beautiful one and I coudlnt afford it and now I feel so bad about it and I`m so scared that you might get mad at me and I know its not the right moment to tell you but I promise I will find a way to give them something back. I just walked into that store and...it came over me....”

“Oh no Arthur! You really did that, huh?”

“Yeah....I`m so sorry! I should have but I wanted to make you happy!”

“i would be just as happy with a one dollar ring from a venting machine, because this is about us. Not a ring or a vow. Just us, Arthur.”

“I know” he whispered “I was stupid”

“No youre not. And I`m not mad.Okay?”

“Okay”

Arthur pulled you closer as the song he was waiting for started to play.

"Do I want to be with you

As the years come and go?

Only forever

If you care to know"

He mouthed the lyrics while his eyes met yours. You took your finger and brushed over his dark eyebrows. Arthurs eyelids fluttered under your touch. As he opened his eyes again he saw it all . What you felt for him and how far you came. He was right here with you and it was real . He was real. You were.

Arthur made you spin around in circles, impressed by how your dress looked doing it and kissed you passionately. This time not as nervous anymore. The music helped him to relax his muscles, to just flow with what was rising inside of him. Your tongues embracing each other like two tiney dancers. Spinning in small circles like you just did.

"I want you, Arthur." you gasped into his mouth "

He nodded with his lips still sticking to yours. His forehead glimmering with sweat as he started to unzip your dress. His fingers struggeling a bit.

"I want you to continue your little dance....but....inside of me. Could you, Arthur? Cold you dance inside of me?"

Arthur managed to expose your shoulders, placing  kisses across your collarbone, eagerly nodding.

"How long would it take me

To be near if you beckoned?

Off hand I would figure

Less than a second"

He sang quietly as you started to button up his black pants. Every piece of clothing that was falling to the ground brought you closer to feel all of him. Mentally and physically.

And as you both fell onto the bed, chuckeling, you told him how unforgettable this night will be .

Arthur gently buried himself inside of you, to dance on your insides like a weightless dream. And as you felt your heart inflaming with love he sang:

"Do you think I'll remember

How you looked when you smile?

Only forever

That's puttin' it mild"

[silent-era-of-cinema]

Colleen Moore (born Kathleen Morrison; August 19, 1899 – January 25, 1988) was an American film actress who began her career during the silent film era. Moore became one of the most fashionable (and highly-paid) stars of the era and helped popularize the bobbed haircut.

A huge star in her day, approximately half of Moore's films are now considered lost, including her first talking picture from 1929. What was perhaps her most celebrated film, Flaming Youth (1923), is now mostly lost as well, with only one reel surviving.

Moore took a brief hiatus from acting between 1929 and 1933, just as sound was being added to motion pictures. After the hiatus, her four sound pictures released in 1933 and 1934 were not financial successes. Moore then retired permanently from screen acting.

After her film career, Moore maintained her wealth through astute investments, becoming a partner of Merrill Lynch. She later wrote a "how-to" book about investing in the stock market.

Moore also nurtured a passion for dollhouses throughout her life and helped design and curate The Colleen Moore Dollhouse, which has been a featured exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, Illinois since the early 1950s. The dollhouse, measuring 9 square feet (0.84 m2), was estimated in 1985 to be worth of $7 million, and it is seen by 1.5 million people annually.

Moore was born Kathleen Morrison on August 19, 1899, (according to the bulk of the official records;[4] the date which she insisted was correct in her autobiography, Silent Star, was 1902)[5] in Port Huron, Michigan,[6] Moore was the eldest child of Charles R. and Agnes Kelly Morrison. The family remained in Port Huron during the early years of Moore's life, at first living with her grandmother Mary Kelly (often spelled Kelley) and then with at least one of Moore's aunts.

By 1905, the family moved to Hillsdale, Michigan, where they remained for over two years. They relocated to Atlanta, Georgia, by 1908. They are listed at three different addresses during their stay in Atlanta (From the Atlanta-Fulton Public Library city directories): 301 Capitol Avenue −1908; 41 Linden Avenue – 1909; 240 N. Jackson Street – 1910. They then lived briefly — probably less than a year — in Warren, Pennsylvania, and by 1911, they had settled in Tampa, Florida.

At age 15 she was taking her first step in Hollywood. Her uncle arranged a screen test with director D.W. Griffith. She wanted to be a second Lillian Gish but instead, she found herself playing heroines in Westerns with stars such as Tom Mix.

Two of Moore's great passions were dolls and movies; each would play a great role in her later life. She and her brother began their own stock company, reputedly performing on a stage created from a piano packing crate. Her aunts, who doted on her, indulged her other great passion and often bought her miniature furniture on their many trips, with which she furnished the first of a succession of dollhouses. Moore's family summered in Chicago, where Moore enjoyed baseball and the company of her Aunt Lib (Elizabeth, who changed her name to "Liberty", Lib for short) and Lib's husband Walter Howey. Howey was the managing editor of the Chicago Examiner and an important newspaper editor in the publishing empire of William Randolph Hearst, and was the inspiration for Walter Burns, the fictional Chicago newspaper editor in the play and the film, The Front Page.

Early years

Essanay Studios was within walking distance of the Northwestern L, which ran right past the Howey residence. (They occupied at least two residences between 1910 and 1916: 4161 Sheridan and 4942 Sheridan.) In interviews later in her silent film career, Moore claimed she had appeared in the background of several Essanay films, usually as a face in a crowd. One story has it she had gotten into the Essanay studios and waited in line to be an extra with Helen Ferguson: in an interview with Kevin Brownlow many years later, Ferguson told a story that substantially confirmed many details of the claim, though it is not certain if she was referring to Moore's stints as a background extra (if she really was one) or to her film test there prior to her departure for Hollywood in November 1917. Film producer D.W. Griffith was in debt to Howey, who had helped him to get both The Birth of a Nation and Intolerance through the Chicago censorship board.

"I was being sent to Hollywood - not because anybody out there thought I was any good, but simply to pay off a favor".

The contract to Griffith's Triangle-Fine Arts was conditional on passing a film test to ensure that her heterochromia (she had one brown eye, one blue eye) would not be a distraction in close-up shots. Her eyes passed the test, so she left for Hollywood with her grandmother and her mother as chaperones. Moore made her first credited film appearance in 1917 in The Bad Boy for Triangle Fine Arts, and for the next few years appeared in small, supporting roles gradually attracting the attention of the public.

The Bad Boy was released on February 18, and featured Robert Harron, Richard Cummings, Josephine Crowell, and Mildred Harris (who would later become Charles Chaplin's first wife). Two months later, it was followed by An Old-Fashioned Young Man, again with Robert Harron. Moore’s third film was Hands Up! filmed in part in the vicinity of the Seven Oaks (a popular location for productions that required dramatic vistas). This was her first true western. The film’s scenario was written by Wilfred Lucas from a story by Al Jennings, the famous outlaw who had been freed from jail by presidential pardon by Theodore Roosevelt in 1907. Monte Blue was in the cast and noticed Moore could not mount her horse, though horseback riding was required for the part (during casting for the part she neglected to mention she did not know how to ride). Blue gave her a quick lesson essentially consisting of how to mount the horse and how to hold on.

On May 3, 1917, the Chicago Daily Tribune said: "Colleen Moore contributes some remarkable bits of acting. She is very sweet as she goes trustingly to her bandit hero, and, O, so pitiful, when finally realizing the character of the man, she goes into a hysteria of terror, and, shrieking 'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!' beats futilely on a bolted door, a panic-stricken little human animal, who had not known before that there was aught but kindness in the world." About the time her first six-month contract was extended an additional six months, she requested and received a five weeks release to do a film for Universal's Bluebird division, released under the name The Savage. This was her fourth film, and she was only needed for two weeks. Upon her return to the Fine Arts lot, she spent several weeks trying to get her to pay for the three weeks she had been available for work for Triangle (finally getting her pay in December of that year).

Soon after, the Triangle Company went bust, and while her contract was honored, she found herself scrambling to find her next job. With a reel of her performance in Hands Up! under her arm, Colin Campbell arranged for her to get a contract with Selig Polyscope. She was very likely at work on A Hoosier Romance before The Savage was released in November. After A Hoosier Romance, she went to work on Little Orphant Annie. Both films were based upon poems by James Whitcomb Riley, and both proved to be very popular. It was her first real taste of popularity.

Little Orphant Annie was released in December. The Chicago Daily Tribune wrote of Moore, "She was a lovely and unspoiled child the last time I saw her. Let’s hope commendation hasn’t turned her head." Despite her good notices, her luck took a turn for the worse when Selig Polyscope went bust. Once again Moore found herself unemployed, but she had begun to make a name for herself by 1919. She had a series of films lined up. She went to Flagstaff, Arizona for location work on The Wilderness Trail, another western, this time with Tom Mix. Her mother went along as a chaperone. Moore wrote that while she had a crush on Mix, he only had eyes for her mother. The Wilderness Trail was a Fox Film Corporation production, and while it had started production earlier, it would not be released until after The Busher, which was released on May 18. The Busher was an H. Ince Productions-Famous Players-Lasky production; it was a baseball film wherein the hero was played by John Gilbert. The Wilderness Trail followed on July 6, another Fox film. A few weeks later, The Man in the Moonlight, a Universal Film Manufacturing Company film was released on July 28. The Egg Crate Wallop was a Famous Players-Lasky production released by Paramount Pictures on September 28.

The next stage of her career was with the Christie Film Company, a move she made when she decided she needed comic training. While with Christie, she made Her Bridal Nightmare, A Roman Scandal, and So Long Letty. At the same time as she was working on these films, she worked on The Devil's Claim with Sessue Hayakawa, in which she played a Persian woman, When Dawn Came, and His Nibs (1921) with Chic Sale. All the while, Marshall Neilan had been attempting to get Moore released from her contract so she could work for him. He was successful and made Dinty with Moore, releasing near the end of 1920, followed by When Dawn Came.

For all his efforts to win Moore away from Christie, it seems Neilan loaned Moore to other studios most of the time. He loaned her out to King Vidor for The Sky Pilot, released in May 1921, yet another Western. After working on The Sky Pilot on location in the snows of Truckee, she was off to Catalina Island for work on The Lotus Eater with John Barrymore. In October 1921, His Nibs was released, her only film to be released that year besides The Sky Pilot. In His Nibs, Moore actually appeared in a film within the film; the framing film was a comedy vehicle for Chic Sales. The film it framed was a spoof on films of the time. 1922 proved to be an eventful year for Moore as she was named a WAMPAS Baby Star during a "frolic" at the Ambassador Hotel which became an annual event, in recognition of her growing popularity.[13] In early 1922, Come On Over was released, made from a Rupert Hughes story and directed by Alfred E. Green. Hughes directed Moore himself in The Wallflower, released that same year. In addition, Neilan introduced her to John McCormick, a publicist who had had his eye on Moore ever since he had first seen her photograph. He had prodded Marshall into an introduction. The two hit it off, and before long they were engaged. By the end of that year, three more of her films were released: Forsaking All Others, The Ninety and Nine, and Broken Chains.

Look Your Best and The Nth Commandment were released in early 1923, followed by two Cosmopolitan Productions, The Nth Commandment and Through the Dark. By this time, Moore had publicly confirmed her engagement to McCormick, a fact that she had been coy about to the press previously. Before mid-year, she had signed a contract with First National Pictures, and her first two films were slated to be The Huntress and Flaming Youth. Slippy McGee came out in June, followed by Broken Hearts of Broadway.

Moore and John McCormick married while Flaming Youth was still in production, and just before the release of The Savage. When it was finally released in 1923, Flaming Youth, in which she starred opposite actor Milton Sills, was a hit. The controversial story put Moore in focus as a flapper, but after Clara Bow took the stage in Black Oxen in December, she gradually lost her momentum. In spring 1924 she made a good but unsuccessful effort to top Bow in The Perfect Flapper, and soon after she dismissed the whole flapper vogue; "No more flappers...people are tired of soda-pop love affairs." Decades later Moore stated Bow was her "chief rival."

Through the Dark, originally shot under the name Daughter of Mother McGinn, was released during the height of the Flaming Youth furor in January 1924. Three weeks later, Painted People was released. After that, she was to star in Counterfeit. The film went through a number of title changes before being released as Flirting with Love in August. In October, First National purchased the rights to Sally for Moore's next film. It would be a challenge, as Sally was a musical comedy. In December, First National purchased the rights to Desert Flower and in so doing had mapped out Moore's schedule for 1925: Sally would be filmed first, followed by The Desert Flower.

By the late 1920s, she had accomplished dramatic roles in films such as So Big, where Moore aged through a stretch of decades, and was also well received in light comedies such as Irene. An overseas tour was planned to coincide with the release of So Big in Europe, and Moore saw the tour as her first real opportunity to spend time with her husband, John McCormick. Both she and John McCormick were dedicated to their careers, and their hectic schedules had kept them from spending any quality time together. Moore wanted a family; it was one of her goals.

Plans for the trip were put in jeopardy when she injured her neck during the filming of The Desert Flower. Her injury forced the production to shut down while Moore spent six weeks in a body cast in bed. Once out of the cast, she completed the film and left for Europe on a triumphal tour. When she returned, she negotiated a new contract with First National. Her films had been great hits, so her terms were very generous. Her first film upon her return to the States was We Moderns, set in England with location work done in London during the tour. It was a comedy, essentially a retelling of Flaming Youth from an English perspective. This was followed by Irene (another musical in the style of the very popular Sally) and Ella Cinders, a straight comedy that featured a cameo appearance by comedian Harry Langdon. It Must Be Love was a romantic comedy with dramatic undertones, and it was followed by Twinkletoes, a dramatic film that featured Moore as a young dancer in London's Limehouse district during the previous century. Orchids and Ermine was released in 1927, filmed in part in New York, a thinly veiled Cinderella story.

In 1927, Moore split from her studio after her husband suddenly quit. It is rumored that John McCormick was about to be fired for his drinking and that she left as a means of leveraging her husband back into a position at First National. It worked, and McCormick found himself as Moore's sole producer. Moore's popularity allowed her productions to become very large and lavish. Lilac Time was one of the bigger productions of the era, a World War I drama. A million dollar film, it made back every penny spent within months. Prior to its release, Warner Bros. had taken control of First National and were less than interested in maintaining the terms of her contract until the numbers started to roll in for Lilac Time. The film was such a hit that Moore managed to retain generous terms in her next contract and her husband as her producer.

In 1928, inspired by her father and with help from her former set designer, a dollhouse was constructed by her father, which was 9 square feet with the tallest tower 12 feet high. The interior of The Colleen Moore Dollhouse, designed by Harold Grieve, features miniature bear skin rugs and detailed furniture and art. Moore's dollhouse has been a featured exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, Illinois since October 30, 1949, where according to the museum, it is seen by 1.5 million people each year and would be worth $7 million. Moore continued working on it and contributing artifacts to it until her death.

This dollhouse was the eighth one Moore owned. The first dollhouse, she wrote in her autobiography Silent Star (1968), evolved from a cabinet that held her collection of miniature furniture. It was supposedly built from a cigar box. Kitty Lorgnette wrote in the Saturday, August 13, 1938 edition of The Evening News (Tampa) that the first dollhouse was purchased by Oraleze O'Brien (Mrs. Frank J. Knight) in 1916 when Moore (then Kathleen) left Tampa. Oraleze was too big for dollhouses, however, and she sold it again after her cat had kittens in it, and from there she lost track of it. The third house was possibly given to the daughter of Moore's good friend, author Adela Rogers St. Johns. The fourth survives and remains on display in the living room of a relative.

With the advent of talking pictures in 1929, Moore took a hiatus from acting. After divorcing McCormick in 1930, Moore married prominent New York-based stockbroker Albert Parker Scott in 1932. The couple lived at that time in a lavish home at 345 St. Pierre Road in Bel Air, where they hosted parties for and were supporters of the U.S. Olympic team, especially the yachting team, during the 1932 Summer Olympics held in Los Angeles.

In 1934, Moore, by then divorced from Albert Parker Scott, returned to work in Hollywood. She appeared in three films, none of which was successful, and Moore retired. Her last film was a version of The Scarlet Letter in 1934. She later married the widower Homer Hargrave and raised his children (she never had children of her own) from a previous marriage, with whom she maintained a lifelong close relationship. Throughout her life she also maintained close friendships with other colleagues from the silent film era, such as King Vidor and Mary Pickford.

In the 1960s, Moore formed a television production company with King Vidor with whom she had worked in the 1920s. She also published two books in the late 1960s, her autobiography Silent Star: Colleen Moore Talks About Her Hollywood (1968) and How Women Can Make Money in the Stock Market (1969). She also figures prominently alongside King Vidor in Sidney D. Kirkpatrick's book, A Cast of Killers, which recounts Vidor's attempt to make a film of and solve the murder of William Desmond Taylor. In that book, she is recalled as having been a successful real estate broker in Chicago and partner in the investment firm Merrill Lynch after her film career.

Many of Moore's films deteriorated, but not due to her own neglect, after she had sent them to be preserved at the Museum of Modern Art. Some time later, Warner Brothers asked for their nitrate materials to be returned to them. Moore's earlier First National films were also sent, since Warners later acquired First National. Upon their arrival, the custodian at MOMA, not seeing the films on the manifest, put them to one side and never went back to them. Many years later, Moore inquired about her collection and MOMA found the films languishing unprotected. When the films were examined, they had decomposed past the point of preservation. Heartbroken, she tried in vain to retrieve any prints she could from several sources without much success. In 1956, the material from WB and FN was sold to Associated Artists Productions, later to MGM/UA and then, Turner Entertainment.

At the height of her fame, Moore was earning $12,500 per week. She was an astute investor, and through her investments, remained wealthy for the rest of her life. In her later years she would frequently attend film festivals, and was a popular interview subject always willing to discuss her Hollywood career. She was a participant in the documentary series Hollywood (1980), providing her recollections of Hollywood's silent film era.

Moore was married four times. Her first marriage was to John McCormick of First National Studios. They married in 1923 and divorced in 1930. In 1932, Moore married stockbroker Albert P. Scott. This union ended in divorce in 1934. Moore's third marriage was to Homer Hargrave, whom she married in 1936; he provided funding for her dollhouse and she adopted his son, Homer Hargrave, Jr and his daughter, Judy Hargrave. They remained married until Hargrave's death in 1965. In 1982, Moore married her final husband, builder Paul Magenot. They were married until Moore's death in 1988.

On January 25, 1988, Moore died from cancer in Paso Robles, California, aged 88. For her contribution to the motion picture industry, Colleen Moore has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 1551 Vine Street.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote of her: "I was the spark that lit up Flaming Youth, Colleen Moore was the torch. What little things we are to have caused all that trouble."

[sachigram]

Telescope Now Chapter 6

((click here to read on ao3!!))

After the swirl of colors dissolves into nothingness, and Izaya can't tell up from down anymore, the first thing he's truly aware of is a bright, all encompassing light. He stares at it through blurry eyes, his lips turned down as he blinks and tries to make sense of it. His fingers twitch, and he looks down at his feet as best as he can, but he can't lift his head very much.

The second thing Izaya notices is that he's not alone.

“Iza-nii!”

He glances to his right and sees Mairu there, her eyes wide. Kururi is on the left, a soft smile on her face. Both of them are crying, and both of them are holding his hands.

“Am...” Izaya croaks. He clears his throat, swallows. “Am I dead?”

“Almost, you dumbass!” Mairu says. She takes the liberty of sitting on Izaya's bed. “You got hit by a truck! We didn't see it, but a lot of people did! They said you flew, and they said there was blood everywhere—“

“You died. Then you came back,” Kururi says, her gentle voice somehow cutting through Mairu's passionate spiel.

“Yeah, I was getting to that! A civilian gave you CPR on the scene, and then you got to the hospital and died! But they brought you back. You've been asleep so long.”

“Coma,” Kururi adds.

“How long?” Izaya asks. His entire body is stiff. He doesn't feel much like himself, but he imagines it might take a while to feel normal again.

“A month! A whole month!” Mairu says. She leans on Izaya and peers up at him. “We didn't call Mom and Dad. Your will said not to unless you died.”

“Oh, good. I don't want to deal with them,” Izaya says. He grimaces. “My throat hurts.”

“Water,” Kururi says, holding up a glass with a straw in it. She holds it still while he drinks.

“You had a tube in your throat. They said it'd be sore when you woke up.” Mairu nuzzles her face into his chest.

“Wow... Who knew you two actually liked me?” he jokes.

“Shut up! Fuck you! We just wanna be there to watch it happen when you die!” Mairu lifts her head and glares at him, her eyes watery. “You gotta pick something way cooler than getting hit by a truck. That’s way too easy!”

“Your crying face is so ugly,” Izaya says, and then he smiles when she starts crying even harder.

“Oh, yeah? So's yours! Yours is uglier!” Mairu swats him, and it's only then Izaya realizes he's crying, too.

“Must be a family trait.” Izaya groans at how heavy his body feels. “I'm still tired.”

“You can sleep again, if you want. But the doctor might want to check you first. Do you remember anything?” Mairu asks.

“A lot of things.” Izaya looks between her and Kururi. “You were dead, weren't you?”

“Huh?” Mairu frowns. “Us?”

“Yeah. You were dead, but then you weren't. We had a funeral.” Izaya struggles to remember details of it, closes his eyes when they become too heavy to deal with. “You haunted me... Was Shizu-chan here?”

“He was there when you got hit... Hey. Iza-nii?”

“Mm?”

He doesn't hear her reply before he falls unconscious once more.

***

Time passes. The first few days, Izaya isn't able to stay awake for long periods of time. Despite being out of it for a month, he feels his sleep wasn't restful, and he slips in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he wakes to the twins at his side, sometimes to the doctor, a stern looking woman with her hair swept in a tight bun. Sometimes there are nurses. Sometimes he's alone.

His injuries were extensive, a long list of things Izaya tunes out because it reminds him too much of Shinra's rambling. The doctor insists he stays a few days for observation, so he spends most of his time bored, but it's better with the twins around. They keep him company when they're not in school, and they don't leave until the hospital staff makes them. Izaya doesn't remember ever spending this much time with them, even when they lived together, and despite his eagerness to leave, he enjoys it. He missed them, he realizes, and he didn't even know how much until he almost died.

One day before he's discharged, he finds himself engrossed in playing Go Fish with them. They're all cheaters, so it erupts into a lot of arguing, and the twins keep ganging up on him, swapping their cards like they think he can't see. Sometimes he allows it, but for the most part, they fight until suddenly hours have gone by.

“Do you have any queens?” Mairu asks during their last game. Visiting hours are almost over, but they asked the nurse if they could finish their current game before the twins leave.

“Go fish,” Izaya says, and she pouts at him.

“Are you lying?”

“If I was, why would I tell you I was?” Izaya asks. Her eyes narrow suspiciously before she draws from the deck.

“Kururi, do you have any queens?” Izaya asks, and Mairu throws her cards at him.

“ Cheater! You're a cheater, Iza-nii!”

“Oh, you said queens. I'm sorry, I thought you said something else,” Izaya says, holding her off while she tries to jump on him. Kururi watches with an indulgent expression, and she quietly gathers all the cards back together.

“So you're going home tomorrow?” Mairu asks after she's worn herself out.

“Yes, and it's about time. I hate hospitals. It's the whole reason I have my own doctor,” Izaya says. Shinra hasn't visited, but Izaya isn't surprised. The only one to see him aside from the twins was Namie, who only did so after he blew up her phone and threatened to dock her pay.

“Okay, well we're coming over tomorrow night! And we'll watch movies. You have all the subscription services, anyway. Make sure you buy snacks!” Mairu smiles excitedly, and Izaya scoffs.

“You both have access to all my subscription accounts. You're like parasites. I'll make sure to buy lots of vegetables for you to snack on.”

“No! You better buy good snacks! I mean it!” Mairu raises her fists, and for a brief second, the twins look younger, the way they did when they'd cling to his legs and torture him for hours on end. He blinks and they're back to normal, young women who still torture him for hours on end, though they grew out of clinging to him long ago.

“Okay, okay. Text me what you want,” Izaya relents, leaning back into his bed. Both of them watch him thoughtfully.

“You're being much less of an asshole than normal,” Mairu says. “Is it 'cause we died in your coma dream?”

That's what the twins have taken to calling it, “Izaya's coma dream.” He recounted as much of it as he could to them, excluding the parts about Shizuo for obvious reasons, as well as omitting just how much he missed them. As it turns out, there were some accuracies to the things he dreamed, overlap between the dream and reality. Some of the things he experienced really was because the twins were speaking to him, usually while poking and prodding at him, demanding he wake up. His binder of old poems sits on a little bedside table, brought by Mairu, who read a few of them out loud and threatened to post them online if he didn't wake. Next to the binder are two vases of flowers, one sent by Simon, a coupon for sushi pushed into the stems, and the other sent by Shiki, a brief wish of wellness written on the card that came with it, though Izaya is certain it was for the twins' sake rather than his own. Izaya can recall the brief recognition of a floral scent in his dream.

The parts of his dream that didn't happen were his own torturous thoughts, some of them guilt-related, while others were things he's longed for but would never admit, even to himself. As for Shizuo, Izaya has no idea if Shizuo was ever really there or not. The twins say they don't know, but they think so, as they've seen him around outside the hospital. The nurses say they haven't seen anyone else when Izaya asks, though a few of them have conspiratory smiles he doesn't quite trust.

“Maybe my head injury changed my personality a bit,” Izaya suggests. “Turns out you don't annoy me as much as you normally do, but I reserve the right to change my mind on that.”

“Oh, blah blah. We'll see you tomorrow!” Mairu chirps, and she tackles him in a hug. Kururi joins a moment later, though her embrace is much gentler. They wave at him one more time before leaving him alone. He sighs and picks up his phone, planning to work a little to occupy himself, but someone else peeks into his room.

“Izaya-kun!” Shinra waltzes in, a ditzy smile on his face. “So, you cheated death again, huh? You really are like a cockroach!”

“How wonderful of you to say. Took your time in visiting, didn't you?” Izaya sets his phone down and smirks at Shinra, who rolls his eyes.

“What fun is there in visiting someone in a coma! You wouldn't have known I was here.”

“I've been out of the coma for a few days now. Besides, as it turns out, I was aware of a few things.”

“Really?” A spark of interest lights in Shinra's eyes.

“It was like a fever dream. Everything was just...jumbled. It was a strange experience, like my normal life mixed with nightmares and bits and pieces that didn't add up. I've already forgotten a lot of the details.”

“ Fascinating! Well, you're not the first to say such things. Some people can wake up speaking an entirely new language, you know? Some people live their lives as normal before finding themselves waking in the hospital.” Shinra takes a seat beside Izaya and pats his arm. “What parts do you remember about your dream?”

“The twins were dead,” Izaya says, looking down at Shinra's hand on his arm. “I couldn't really figure out how they died, and I kept seeing and hearing them even after they were supposed to be gone. It was like the more they haunted me, the more I realized they were actually alive, but no one believed me, and the more things I couldn't make sense of, the more I thought I was crazy.”

“Well, you are crazy, but not because of that. Sounds like some part of your brain knew you had experienced a trauma. It's not surprising you convinced yourself of a death in the family.”

“I thought of the truck a few times, too. Hell, maybe I was trying to tell myself they were the ones who got hit. Who knows?” Izaya sighs. “You were in my dream as well.. Possibly most suspicious of all was you actually being a decent friend for once.”

“What! I'm the best person you know!” Shinra wails.

“That's not saying much, but no, you're still one of the worst.”

“I won't take that personally because of who's saying it. Like you're a good judge of character.” Shinra crosses his arms. “Well. I'm glad you woke up, anyway. As much as you deserve horrible things, you're still my friend. It'd suck if I was suddenly down to one.”

“You're too kind, Shinra.”

“Shizuo-kun has been really...ah. He'd kill me if he knew I was talking about him to you!” Shinra shivers and makes a face. “But it's not like you'll be going out of your way to see him since you've got a broken leg. Not unless you want to go back into a coma.”

“I can't say I enjoyed it all that much,” Izaya says, though he certainly enjoyed certain aspects of it.

“He was pretty distraught. He said he was chasing you when it happened, said he tried to grab you, but it was too late. He hung around until the ambulance got there. I think he blames himself for it,” Shinra says.

“Well, I've gotten him hit twice now. I suppose he owed me one,” Izaya replies, and Shinra clicks his tongue.

“He owes you more than that! But Shizuo-kun is a good person. I'm sure he'll be happy to know you're going to be fine, at least until he kills you himself.”

Izaya keeps his face as impassive as possible, though Shinra has always been the one to see through it. They watch each other for a moment, lapsing into an easy silence. They've always coexisted well together, well enough that Izaya knew the dream Shinra was off, even if he couldn't place why.

“I don't suppose you want to play a quick game of poker, do you?” Izaya asks.

Shinra laughs. “Not with you! You're a cheater. Anyway, I only had a few minutes to drop by. I better be going now.” He stands, puts his hands in his pockets while he hovers.

“I'm going home tomorrow. I guess I'm stuck making dinner for the twins, so you can come mooch off me, if you want.” Izaya swallows, already knows what Shinra will say.

“Nah, I've got plans with Celty. We've gotten even closer and more in love in the month you've been asleep! I'll regale you sometime, since I know my true love gives you inspiration in your life!” Shinra grins, and then he pauses, tilts his head as he scrutinizes Izaya. “What's that look for?”

“Nothing. You're right, you're busy. I'm just still a little loopy,” Izaya says, and Shinra hums thoughtfully.

“Well, get some rest. Allow yourself to heal before you get back to your usual vile ways, and call me if you need! I don't know how often I'll answer, since it depends on what Celty and I are up to, but I'll get back to you.” Shinra smiles once again, and as soon as he came, he's gone.

Izaya shakes his head before he falls back in bed, laughter bubbling up before he can help it. He laughs and laughs, holds his sides when it starts to hurt, but he keeps laughing anyway.

“Vacation's over,” he says to himself, closing his eyes when they start to burn. He rolls to his side and keeps laughing, and when a nurse wanders in to ask if he's alright, he can't quite figure out how to answer.

***

Once he's back home, he begins to feel more like himself. Namie returns with her usual sour attitude, and he's taken by surprise when she volunteers to cook dinner. Usually, he has to torment her, and even then she'll sometimes still mess up the food she makes, usually by making it too sweet or too spicy. He watches her suspiciously as she bustles around, her back to him.

“Am I still in a coma?” he asks, pushing himself away from the desk so he can follow her around in his office chair. She scowls at him.

“I've been off a month, so I've had enough downtime. Besides, I expect overtime for this.”

“Right, that's fine. Hey, make extra, okay? My sisters are coming.” Izaya scoots back to his desk and starts typing, not realizing at first that Namie is staring. “What?” he asks when he finally notices her eyes boring into him.

“I thought you didn't like them?” Namie asks. She puts her hand on her hip. “All you ever talk about is how much they annoy you.”

“Yeah, well, they do annoy me, but they were pretty distraught by all this. I'll let them hang around until they remember they can't stand me.”

“Shouldn't take too long, then.”

“You can stay for dinner too, if you want. Mairu thinks you're pretty since she doesn't know any better.” Izaya leers at Namie, who looks very much like she swallowed a lemon.

“No thanks. Your sisters are almost as creepy as you,” she says.

“Ah. Well, the invitation is still extended.”

“Look at you, all hospitable. Never would've pegged you as the generous type.” She turns her back to him, and his grin stretches wider.

“As if you'd peg anyone other than dear Seiji-kun.”

She drops the spoon she's holding and stomps towards him, and since he can't run, he winds up scooting around in his chair, cackling as she slaps at him and chases after him, yelling about what a horrible pervert he is.

***

A month later, Izaya is meeting with Shiki about a job. Shiki has opted to come to him, since Izaya is still recovering, and Shiki can be surprisingly accommodating when he wants to be. Shiki arrives with two men who stand on either side of Izaya's door, and Shiki enters the apartment, bowing to Namie when she lets him in. He raises a hand when Izaya starts to stand.

“No need. You're in a cast, after all.”

“Thank you, Shiki-san,” Izaya says, leaning back into the couch.

“You look well.” Shiki walks to a cushy chair he favors during his visits. Izaya had Namie help him move it in front of the couch just for this meeting. “I hope your injuries aren't still bothering you?”

“Ah, just the leg. It broke in a couple of places, so the cast is on for at least another month.”

Namie returns then, places a cup of tea on the coffee table for Shiki, bowing before she goes back to the desk.

“My lovely secretary really makes this all so much easier. I'm truly blessed,” Izaya quips, and when she cuts her eyes at him, he winks.

“I hope she's being paid extra,” Shiki says, picking up his tea. He blows on it, watches Izaya with an amused expression.

“Oh, of course. She insists.” Izaya crosses his good leg over the cast. The worst part of it all is the itching . He can't reach inside the cast, and he's had an itch for the better part of the day.

“I'm glad you're doing well. We have other sources, but I admit you're one of the more pleasant to interact with,” Shiki drawls.

“What a compliment! Comparing me to the scum of the city is cruel, Shiki-san!” Izaya laughs. “I wanted to thank you for the flowers. I know you and Akabayashi-san checked in with my sisters while I was out. They kept the flowers you sent, dried them and made them into bookmarks. I'm glad to know they weren't alone.”

“Your sisters have quite a few friends, all seemingly older than they are,” Shiki says. “I often spot them around the city traversing with the wrong sort of crowd.”

“Family trait,” Izaya responds with a smile. “There are too many things to get involved with in the city, after all. At least they have people looking out for them.”

“It's heartening to hear you care for them. Usually you're so detached, Izaya-san.”

“You think so? We're just not an emotional family. Rest assured, I watch out for them in my own way. I keep them from kidnapping famous actors, at any rate.” Izaya reaches beside him, places a folder on the table for Shiki. Izaya spends most of his time online, but there's something so charming about paper files. He's glad to know Shiki feels the same.

“You're already done?” Shiki asks, leaning forward to take the folder. He looks impressed. “You've hit the ground running, Izaya-san. Ah...in a manner of speaking.”

“Hit the ground limping, at the very least.”

“Thank you. Akabayashi-san will be happy to put some hoodlums in their place. He's been getting antsy. It's been quiet without you around.”

“Coincidence, I'm sure! I'm happy to hear the city was quiet while I was in the hospital. I'd hate to miss too much excitement.” Izaya falls silent as Shiki reads over the papers. The TV is on, but it's muted. A home improvement show is playing.

“Very good, Izaya-san,” Shiki says, standing. “Sorry I can't stay and finish the tea, but I have work to do.”

“No apologies necessary. I hope you'll forgive me for not walking you out?” Izaya says, and Shiki arches a brow at him.

“I've excused you for more, haven't I? Get well soon, Izaya-san.”

Shiki leaves with the men, and Izaya uncrosses his legs, flops dramatically into the cushions.

“God, how pompous. Being in a room full of men in the middle of a 'Mine's Bigger Than Yours' contest is the worst,” Namie drawls from the desk.

“Oh no worries, Namie! Yours was definitely the biggest in the room!” Izaya looks up at the ceiling as he puts his arms behind his head. “We should order lunch.”

“You're not going to insist I cook for you today?” Namie asks.

“I'm craving ootoro! I haven't had it in so long. Doesn't Russia Sushi sound good?”

“I'll order it,” Namie says. “Can't risk you changing your mind, after all. I'd rather not have to make anything.”

“You can have Simon deliver it. We both have too much work to do to leave the office. As it turns out, I have a coupon!”

Simon arrives about an hour later with his usual booming voice and blinding smile. He waltzes inside and places his giant hand on Izaya’s shoulder.

“Izaya! Good to see you. I heard you lost fight to truck!”

“Oh, yes, it was a close one. Thanks for the flowers,” Izaya replies.

“Flowers good for health, but sushi better. I'm glad you used coupon!” Simon hands the bag to Izaya and waves joyfully at Namie, who waves back before going into the kitchen to grab drinks.

“Would you like anything before you're off, Simon? I have some bottled tea,” Izaya says.

“No, no. It busy day. I best get back.” Simon looks closely at Izaya and gives him a smile. The next time he speaks, it's in Russian. “I don't guess this near death experience changed you much?”

“ Of course not. A tiger never changes his stripes, does he?” Izaya says, also in Russian.

“ No, he doesn't. I hope you return to the city soon, Izaya. It misses you. But I also hope you don't mess it up too much. I love the city.”

“ As do I, Simon.”

Namie returns and hands Izaya a glass of iced tea. She sits in the chair Shiki vacated and opens the bag, passing Izaya his food before opening her own container. She frowns.

“We didn't order all of this,” she says.

“On house for pretty lady and Izaya!” Simon says, and then he bows to her. “Get well gift.”

“Thank you,” Izaya says, happy with all the extra sushi. He pauses. “No specials, right?”

“No. We know you picky.” Simon offers one last smile before he makes his way out. He stops when he reaches the door, turns to look at Izaya over his shoulder. “Shizuo was there today. He asked about you.”

“Did he?” Izaya asks, keeping his face neutral. That was definitely the kind of thing Simon could have said in Russian, so he knows there's a reason Simon said it where Namie could understand.

“He troubled by what happened. You should call him, make amends. You two have been fighting so long.”

“Shizu-chan knows where to find me. He also has my number. Trust me when I say I have no desire to see or speak to him, especially with my leg the way it is,” Izaya says, and then he eats a piece of ootoro, keeping his back to Simon.

“I see,” Simon says. “Tigers are not cowards, Izaya.”

He leaves before Izaya can respond.

“What was that about? Even Simon knows about your monster crush? How pathetic are you?” Namie asks. She never looks as happy as she does while being antagonistic. Izaya likes that about her.

“It's not exactly a secret Shizu-chan hates me. Apparently we're a bit of an urban legend around here.” He withholds a comment about Seiji, knowing they'll only bicker back and forth. Mealtimes are meant to be enjoyable, and Izaya doesn't want either of their bitterness to taint the food.

The door bursts open suddenly, halting the conversation.. Namie jumps, almost dropping her takeout, but Izaya has gotten used to Mairu's grandiose entrances by now. She gallops inside, Kururi trailing behind her, and she pounces on Izaya from behind, leaping over the back of the couch.

“I-za-nii!” she sing-songs, and then she steals a piece of his sushi. “We're staying the night tonight! We didn't ask first, since you might've made some excuse for us not to.”

“Great,” Izaya says. Kururi rounds the couch to come sit beside him, and he hands her the takeout bag.

“Oh, guess who we saw today!” Mairu chirps, rearranging herself to sit on Izaya's other side. Her legs kick out, shaking the whole couch. “Shizuo-san! He was working with that guy and that pretty girl! He asked us about you, and I told him if he wanted to know, he should see you himself, and you know what?! He didn't get mad! Isn't that amazing?!” She bounces in place.

“Mairu,” Kururi says calmly, and Mairu stops moving as if she's been shocked, looks wary of Kururi, probably due to the spray bottle Kururi keeps for these occasions.

“Since when did everyone decide to mention that moron to me so cavalierly? I thought we all knew not to mention us to each other,” Izaya says, and Namie rolls her eyes while the twins both sigh in unison.

“Iza-nii, how are you this stupid?” Mairu asks, and Izaya glowers at her.

“All men are stupid,” Namie replies.

“Oh yeah? Even your darling brother?” Izaya asks her, and rather than react to it the way he hoped she would, she just shrugs slightly.

“Sure. He's with that bimbo, after all.”

***

By the time Izaya gets the cast removed, he's so pent up with extra energy that his skin feels as if it's vibrating.

He hasn't stayed locked inside the entire time by any means, but he's had to be careful and on guard, usually accompanied by Namie or Shiki's men, who generously drive him to and from headquarters when Shiki is too busy to meet at Izaya's apartment. Izaya hasn't been able to go off by himself the way he likes, and he definitely hasn't done any work outside of his office, not wanting to risk being injured again while he's been on the mend. If there's anything Izaya hates about humans, it's their limitations, and that goes double for his own.

He opts to have Shinra remove the cast rather than go anywhere else. Shinra's chatter is obnoxious, but he's more convenient to deal with the majority of the time. He's cheerful as he works, prattling on and on about Celty, speaking so fast that Izaya can hardly decipher any of it, not that he's trying very hard to.

“There we go! All finished!” Shinra says happily when the cast is fully off.

“ Finally,” Izaya groans, reaching down to scratch at his skin. “It's been driving me insane.”

“So what now?” Shinra asks. “You're all healed. It's like the accident never happened.”

“I wouldn't say that. I certainly remember it well.”

“What about the dream you had? Do you still remember it?”

“Parts of it,” Izaya says. “Some of it's fuzzy, but I remember highlights.”

“You got off easy, but I'm sure you know that. Fate's always been kinder to you than you deserve!” Shinra stands and stretches before he gathers his things. “You should talk to Shizuo-kun, by the way. He's been moping around lately, and it's intruding on my time with Celty!”

“ Why does everyone insist I speak to that imbecile?” Izaya asks with a grimace.

“Because you want to, and because he wants you to.” Shinra grins and closes his briefcase. “Sometimes things really are that simple, Izaya-kun.”

***

It's business as usual after the cast comes off. Izaya leaves Namie to handle the paperwork and the computer files, and he roams around the city, happily resuming his usual activities. He's on his way to a cafe to grab some coffee when he sees a familiar van parked across the street, anime girl on the door shining as if she was just washed. Izaya chuckles to himself and makes his way over, lifting his hand in greeting when the van's occupants notice him.

“Izayan!” Kawisawa launches out the door and is in front of Izaya before he can so much as blink. You're all better! Did your brain get scrambled in the accident? Have you seen the error of your ways?”

“Rest assured, if anything, I'm worse now,” Izaya says, and she grins at him.

“You look well, Izaya,” Kadota says.

“Aw, Dota-chin, don't flirt with me in public! I'm shy, you know?” Izaya asks, batting his lashes playfully. Kadota rolls his eyes, clearly trying to hide a smile.

“Tell me, Izayan, is it true Shizu-Shizu was there when you got hit?” Kawisawa asks, yanking on Izaya's arm. He frowns at her, worried she'll rip his coat sleeve. “Did he carry you to safety? Did he give you mouth to mouth?! I need to know! Paint the picture for me! So there you are, injured, gasping for air, and in your line of sight, before it goes all dark, you see him, the man of your dreams, crying and gripped with fear at the very thought of losing you—!”

“Kawisawa-chan, you've got quite an imagination,” Izaya says, tugging his arm free from her. “I can't tell you what happened, unfortunately. I was a little busy trying not to die.”

“If you don't know, that means I could be right!” she shouts, practically foaming at the mouth. A hand reaches out of the van and grabs the back of her collar, tugging her inside.

“She's been like this since it happened,” Yumasaki says, poking his head out and giving Izaya a little wave. “She's asked Shizuo too, but he won't answer her at all, so she's just been going wild with the theories. She wrote a story where Shizuo was on a horse when he saved you.”

“A horse?” Izaya asks.

“It's not impossible! Celty-san has a horse, and they’re friends!” Kawisawa shrieks, and then the van shakes as she grapples with Yamasaki. Kadota sighs before he hops out of the van and slides the door closed on them.

“So you're doing better?” he asks.

“Can't complain. Should I take it personally that you didn't visit me?”

“They were only allowing family when I tried. We spent some time with your sisters, though. Made sure they were eating and gave them rides home when visiting hours were over. They were pretty messed up over the whole thing.”

“I'm glad they had some friends around. They're still being a little clingy, but I suppose that's understandable.”

Kadota grins and puts his hand on Izaya's shoulder. “Maybe the truck did scramble your brain, huh? You're being nice to your sisters. Never thought I'd see the day.”

Izaya shrugs. “They're not so bad as long as they don't get splashed with water or fed after midnight.”

Kadota laughs loudly, and Izaya smirks up at him.

“So what brings you here, Dota-chin? Did you need a caffeine fix, too?” Izaya asks.

“Nah, Togusa is in the store over there. Some kind of magazine article on Hijiribe Ruri. He's still obsessed with her. I'm sure he knows all there is to know, but he buys everything they release on her anyway.”

“How tragic for him she's taken,” Izaya says.

“He'll get over it. Hey— Do me a favor okay? Between us. Wait a while before you fuck with Shizuo again. He's working through some stuff,” Kadota says.

“I've got no desire to see him, believe me. It's more likely he'll spot me and attack all on his own.”

“I dunno, man. He's pretty messed up about what happened to you. Maybe you guys could use this as an opportunity to finally bury the hatchet. It's been peaceful lately.”

“The natural state of things isn't 'peaceful'. Something will happen whether I'm involved or not,” Izaya replies. “Besides, Shizu-chan will get over whatever he's working through, and he'll be the one to throw the first punch, just like always.”

Kadota makes a face. “I really, really don't want to prove Erika right here, so all I'm gonna say is that Shizuo isn't acting like someone who saw the person he hates most almost get killed. He's acting like he almost lost someone important to him. Maybe you guys should talk, at least. I'm not saying you’ll be all buddy-buddy, but it's worth a shot, right? I know you don't hate Shizuo as much as you claim to. You're actually pretty easy to read.”

“Am I?” Izaya asks. “Careful, Dota-chin, you're making a lot of assumptions.”

“Somehow, I think I can take you if I had to.” Kadota ruffles Izaya's hair, and Izaya huffs, shoves Kadota away, and tries to straighten his hair with his fingers. “I mean it, okay? Just talk to the guy. Shizuo is level-headed when he wants to be. Just don't piss him off and he’ll listen.”

“You're giving me an impossible task, you know?” Izaya mutters petulantly.

“Yeah, but you're smart. You'll figure it out.” Kadota smiles and crosses his arms before he chuckles softly. “You crazy kids.”

“Just kiss him when you see him!” Kawisawa shouts, and Izaya looks up to see her face pressed in the window of the front seat. “Words don't matter! It's about the passion!”

“Christ.” Kadota grumbles and shakes his head. “I'm really never gonna get a moment of peace if she's right about this.”

“As if you've ever been a huge fan of peace,” Izaya says. “Personally, I find it to be overrated.” He waves before he makes his way over to the cafe, and when he looks back at the van through the window, he sees Kadota and Yumasaki fighting to hold Kawisawa down, and when Togusa returns to the van, he takes one look at the scene before turning and walking away.

***

Funnily enough, Izaya sees Shizuo again at Sunshine 60.

Izaya is finishing up a meeting with a client, exiting the restaurant when he spots Shizuo walking past with Tom. He wonders if Shizuo is there for work, but it's more likely they're just hanging out. Tom and Shizuo are actually friends more than coworkers, and Izaya keeps in mind that Vorona might be lurking around too, as fixated on Shizuo as she is. Rather than approach as he's always done, Izaya stays still and waits for them to pass, and as soon as they're out of sight, Izaya finds himself taking the familiar path to the roof.

It's a clear night out, and it's freezing. Izaya huddles into his coat and stands near the edge, looking down at the specks of light below. So many people, all of them living their lives, and despite their numbers, Izaya finds he feels alone. Part of him wishes he bought a bottle of sake along, but it would've just been for the sake of nostalgia. Izaya still tries hard not to think of the dream, but like most things to do with Shizuo, Izaya finds it creeping into his mind often. He sighs loudly, watches his breath cloud in front of him.

“Why the hell am I mourning something that never even happened?” he mutters. The twins are alive, he's alive. In the end, that's all that really matters, right? Everything else is just remnants from a dream.

He tenses when the door opens behind him. He already knows who it has to be, but he's surprised all the same to see Shizuo there, hands in his pockets, a weary look on his face.

“Shizu-chan, what a surprise. Did you follow me?” Izaya feels the weight of his knives in his pockets, and they comfort him. This is the real Heiwajima Shizuo, one who hates Izaya and wants him dead, one who chased him into the path of an incoming truck, intentional or not. Izaya can't let his guard down.

“Haven't seen you in a while,” Shizuo says. He's not wearing his shades for once, Izaya notes. Shizuo's eyes are oddly earnest when they're not covered and aren’t full of rage. That's one detail Izaya got right in his dream, at least.

“Aren't you always telling me to stay out of the city? Maybe all it took was a truck ramming into me to make me listen. Really drove the threat home.” Izaya sits on the ledge, facing Shizuo, his back to the abyss below.

“Don't,” Shizuo growls. “Don't make it into a joke.”

“Why not? It's kind of funny, isn't it? Some part of you must think I deserved it. I certainly think I did.” Izaya tilts his head to the side, studying Shizuo. “What's eating you, Shizu-chan? Usually you would've launched at me by now. Look, I'm even on the edge of the building! I've made myself an easy target for you!”

“I said to fucking quit it!” Shizuo shouts. His voice echoes around them. “I didn't come here to fight with you, okay? For fuck's sake, flea, you almost died in front of me, so stop being an asshole for once in your life and listen to me, 'cause I have shit to say.”

Izaya mimes zipping his lips, and then he gestures for Shizuo to keep talking. Shizuo glowers at him, seeming to be on the edge of some kind of breakdown. It's fascinating, and Izaya feels the innate urge to keep pushing Shizuo towards that edge, eternally curious as he is to observe results.

“Well? Are you going to talk, or is the fact you're having thoughts at all making you short-circuit?”

“I hate you,” Shizuo says in response, and Izaya wonders if this is supposed to be profound in any way. “I really do, okay? I hate you so fucking much that it keeps me up at night. Every problem I've had, every time some fucker comes at me with a weapon, all I think about is you, and how you probably had something to do with it. You're a terrible fucking person, and I've spent years thinking of how I wanted to kill you, how much better my city would be without you in it.”

Izaya keeps his face impassive as Shizuo starts pacing. Clearly Shizuo is experiencing enough emotion for both of them, after all. It looks exhausting.

“I told myself at first that no matter what happened to you, whether you woke up or not, that I didn't care. I didn't want to care. It was what you deserved, and maybe you actually deserved worse, but goddammit, Izaya, I keep reliving that day over and over again, and all I can think of is how I wasn't fast enough to save you.” Shizuo stops pacing, turns and looks at Izaya, a helpless look in his eyes. The strongest man in Ikebukuro, helpless. What a thought.

“I see,” Izaya says, not really knowing how else to respond. “So you feel guilty.”

“'Guilty' doesn't seem strong enough,” Shizuo says, back to pacing. “I don't feel responsible, I don't feel like it was my fault, I just—“ He pauses, throws his hands in the air, and growls in frustration. “It felt like a waste, Izaya.”

“Because you wanted to kill me yourself?” Izaya prompts.

“No, because it was too fucking easy, too fast for that to be the end!” Shizuo snarls and exhales deeply before continuing. “You know, all that time I chased after you, and you were never scared. You came back over and over, and I never even thought about what I'd do if I actually caught you. It was just a goal, one of those things you tell yourself to keep you going, but I think... I think I was happy you kept coming back, in some weird, fucked up way. You were the only one who kept fighting with me no matter what. I hated it, but I think it was...a comfort, too. I got used to you coming back. I thought you always would.”

Izaya thinks of the Shizuo in his dream, the one who laughed and toasted his whiskey mockingly to Izaya. “You're the most stable thing in my life.”

“Part of me kept waiting for you to show up and say it was all a joke. I didn't... Fuck.” Shizuo groans, makes a violent gesture with his hands. “I didn't want to think about you actually being gone.”

“Tell me, Shizu-chan, did you come to see me in the hospital?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo looks up at him sharply, an oddly bashful expression on his face. “Would you believe me if I said I could feel you there?” Izaya remembers the comforting pressure of a hand in his, one too large to be either of his sisters'.

“Shinra said you dreamed...” Shizuo mutters. “Said you woke up spouting some shit about the twins being dead.”

“It was my life, but it wasn't. There were details that didn't add up, and the people around me were... wrong. Not necessarily better or worse, but not themselves. I found myself surrounded by others, and wouldn't you know it, that's when I realized it couldn't be real.” Izaya leans back a bit, crosses his legs in front of him. Shizuo looks on warily, as if prepared to leap forward in case Izaya leans back any further. “I was forced to take a good look at things, at various versions of my life, like hundreds of mirrors surrounding me. It was like being inside a telescope.” Izaya forces a smile. “Part of me didn't want to wake up.”

Shizuo sighs softly, and he steps forward, takes the liberty of sitting beside Izaya on the ledge. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes.

“So what now?” he asks.

“Well. I suppose this is the part where I tell you that your feelings are a normal trauma response to what you saw. I could've been anyone, Shizu-chan, and you would've felt just as guilty because you were there to see it happen,” Izaya says.

“Fuck that, it wasn't anyone. It was you.” Shizuo lights his cigarette and inhales deeply. “You were just so lifeless, folded all wrong like a ball of paper. I got your fucking blood on me.” His head tilts slightly towards Izaya, though he keeps staring forward. “It was you, flea.”

“Mm. So it was.”

“You're being weirdly understanding about all this. I kind of thought you were gonna throw a knife or something when you saw me,” Shizuo says, flicking some ashes away.

“I'm not ruling it out,” Izaya promises. He turns to Shizuo and smiles at Shizuo's perplexed little frown. “I suppose I'm just not surprised. To me, this isn't our first conversation about this.”

“Huh? What, was I in your dream or something?”

“You were. You were there more than anyone else, if you can believe it.”

Shizuo's face flushes, and he coughs slightly on his next exhale.

“You know,” Izaya begins, “I'm not sure exactly what it was I experienced. I can say it was a dream, but at the same time, it could've been a glimpse into another universe, another timeline. I saw so many things, some of them I can't remember clearly, but I remember you being there. It made me happy, Shizu-chan, and it was hard to know you wouldn't be there anymore when I woke up.”

Shizuo stiffens, his fingers clenching around the cigarette until it snaps. He curses when it burns him, and he throws it away with an angry little huff before he turns back to Izaya.

“I had dreams, too,” he says. “Nothing as weird as yours. Mostly just about us in high school, I guess since that's the most time we ever spent together. I kept wondering how different things might be if we ever tried to get along.”

“'What if' is a dangerous question, isn't it? Let's consider it progress that we're sitting here now.” Izaya smirks at Shizuo, who immediately narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Shizu-chan missed me.”

“I did not,” Shizuo says defensively, and then his eyes widen as if the thought only just now crossed his mind. “Or...I did? Fuck. I think maybe I did.”

“You don't know?” Izaya asks, and he can't help but laugh at the bewildered expression on Shizuo's face. It's been so long since he's laughed like this, without bitterness or malice. It really is just funny.

“Fuck you! Stop laughing!” Shizuo glowers, seeming to sink into himself when Izaya only laughs harder. “You're the worst. I hate you, I really do.”

“Then why did you miss me?” Izaya lilts, and Shizuo crosses his arms, looking pointedly anywhere but at Izaya.

“Maybe I'll still kill you. Shitty flea, you piss me off,” Shizuo mutters, mostly to himself. Izaya can hear his teeth grinding.

“Relax, would you? I missed you, too.”

In an instant, all the anger drains away from Shizuo's face. He turns to Izaya, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

“You were with me, but it wasn't really you. I missed my Shizu-chan! Another is no good for me.” Izaya stands and stretches, aware Shizuo's eyes are still on him. He takes a few steps towards the roof entrance.

“Wha... Hey! Where are you going?” Shizuo asks, following after, as always.

“It's cold. I'm cold.” Izaya stops abruptly and turns to face Shizuo, who stops just short of ramming into him. “Let's go get a drink somewhere warm.”

“Like, uh. Like a date?” Shizuo clearly has all the experience of a fumbling teenager, and it's so charming somehow, so unlike the Shizuo in Izaya's mind, and that's enough for Izaya to know this is really happening.

“Yes. Like a date.”

Shizuo smiles, and Izaya finds he doesn't mind that he can't recall what the other Shizuo felt like or smelled like, doesn't mind having to learn it all over again. All that matters is this: Shizuo walking behind Izaya, holding onto the back of his coat with a gentle hand, directing him to a bar down the street that has a special on half-priced bloody marys. Shizuo laughs, says it's perfect for a flea like Izaya, and Izaya savors every second of it, orders a bloody mary just to make Shizuo laugh harder.

In another universe, they never come near the truck, and life resumes as normal. In another, Izaya doesn't confront Shizuo that day, and Shizuo never knows Izaya is in the city. In another, Izaya is killed instantly, and in another still, he never wakes up, and Shizuo is consumed by grief he can't explain, and a confession he'll never voice.

But in this universe, Shizuo sits in a cozy booth across from Izaya, their feet touching under the table as they talk and laugh together until the bartender is closing down. They step outside, and Izaya turns to leave, is startled when Shizuo's hand grips the back of Izaya's coat and tugs him closer. Izaya laughs delightedly, and he tugs Shizuo along to Shinjuku while Shizuo tries very hard to look annoyed by it. They wind up sprawled together on Izaya’s couch, TV playing lowly in the background, and when they wake up curled into each other, Izaya smiles sleepily, lifts his hand to Shizuo’s cheek, and kisses Shizuo as easily as if he’s done so a thousand times, and will do so a thousand times more.

[himbowelsh]

Would you be willing at all to do a similar thing to the BoB boys falling in love for the Pacific boys? Or if that’s too much maybe just Leckies crew? Please and thank you if you do! ✨✌🏻🥳🦖🍰🎉🤸🏼‍♀️🍺🍆🦷🦞🌈🗿

of course!!  i love all of these boys, so getting to write any headcanons for them is a treat and privilege  (and how could i say no to all those emojis?)

Robert Leckie

more confident than he has any right to be.

umm, excuse you sir, the wedding ring isn’t on their finger yet, hold your goddamn horse

bob is vocal about his affection.  actually, he’s kind of a loudmouth about it; when he’s in love, all his friends get to hear about it.  his diary gets to hear about it.  his dog gets to hear about it, and he’s pretty sure hoosier jr couldn’t care less.   if someone’s willing to listen, bob’s gonna wax poetic.

the louder he proclaims his love, the more real it feels to him...  concrete, like the next torrential rainstorm or wicked nightmare isn’t going to wash it away.   bob’s confidence isn’t a front  ---  he’s really just like that  ---  but there’s more underneath than meets the eye.

he likes to dedicate his writing to them.  while he eventually grows out of the love poems phase  (the smartest choice of his literary career)  his love interest remains his muse.   he’ll bounce his ideas off of them, seek out their opinions on the things he’s written...  yes, he’s hungry for their attention, but knowing that they’ll be reading gives him the motivation to write better.

he’ll rarely admit his feelings outright, always dancing around it in smirks and sly double-entendres.   is he talking about how great the filet mignon at this restaurant is, or that he wants to get married soon? knowing him, both, and that’s exactly what he wants to leave them wondering.

Runner Conley

runner in love is very earnest.  he doesn’t feel the need to brag  ---  sure, his friends can tell just by looking at him, but how he feels for the person he cares about is their business alone.   

still, he can’t help talking about them.   they’re on his mind so much that he’ll just bring them up out of the blue  ---   his crush said this, his crush thinks that, this reminds him of the time he and his crush did blah-blah-blah...  he completely gives himself away.    his friends will take the piss out of him, but runner legit doesn’t even notice he’s doing it; he can’t stop.

he is right there with the favors.  they need a ride somewhere?  they need something picked up at the store?  just tell him, and he’ll do it, no questions asked.  he gets things done in record time.  (meanwhile, leckie asked to borrow his can opener two weeks ago, and runner still hasn’t gotten around to it. the preference is clear.)

loves to just spend time with them.  he’ll ask to hang out all the time, inventing excuses just to spend time together.  being in their space, enjoying their presence, is the best part about being in love for him.

Hoosier Smith

hoosier’s love is measured in tolerance.   if he’s willing to spend time around somebody, he likes 'em. if he’ll spend the whole day with 'em, he’s head-over-heels.

lowkey, no one would be able to tell hoosier’s falling in love.  he plays his emotions close to his chest, and doesn’t analyze them too much.  yeah, he’s caught feelings, but no sense making a big deal out of it.  they’ll probably go away on their own.

except they don’t, and the more they grow, the easier hoosier finds it is to be around them.  he’s not taxed by their presence, and hardly ever annoyed with them; it’s easy to banter with them, and when they laugh at his quips he feels all warm inside.  it’s weird.  he’s not sure he likes it.  but damn him if he wants it to end.

the day he finds himself eager to hang out with them...  he knows he’s done for.

hoosier is much more relaxed around the person he loves. all his blunt edges have softened; he’s a little gentler with them, a little fonder.  he’s not loud about it at all, but as soon as his partner picks up on it, his love becomes obvious.

Chuckler Juergens

he has absolutely no filter, and there is no way he can hold these emotions in.  when chuckler is in love, it’s like a golden retriever with a crush.

everything they do is amazing in his eyes.  he has to actively work to recognize their flaws; for a while, he definitely wears rose-tinted glasses when it comes to his love interest.  he just loves so sincerely, with his whole body, that holding it in threatens to overwhelm him. 

that said, he doesn’t rush into love.  it builds up slowly in him.  he can’t really say he loves someone until he’s known them for a while.  by then, they’re pretty comfortable around each other, and on a level of intimacy that he doesn’t feel shy admitting it when he’s certain.  (he also wouldn’t have luck hiding it if he tried; to all his friends, chuckler’s pretty transparent.)

he laughs at all their jokes, and would go miles out of his way for them if they just asked for it.  his smile is always broader around them, painfully genuine.  chuckler’s a social guy, so he loves being out in crowds, but around the person he loves he loves it when it’s just the two of them.

he needs his partner to say “i love you” first, but he’ll say everything but.  “you look amazing today,”; “no one dance like as you,”; “i could spend every night like this with you”.    he’s confessed his feelings a dozen times over before the word “love” ever passes between them.

Sid Phillips

sid genuinely enjoys falling in love.  it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, right?  (for most people  ---  his aunt janine has fallen in love four times and counting, but if she were the gold standard for romance, she’d still be invited to the phillips family christmases.)

he kind of becomes...  not oblivious to everything else, but his mind is very clearly in another place.  he’s not as sensitive to his other friends’ feelings; he drops plans without much notice because he’d rather be with the person he loves.  sid falling in love becomes self-absorbed without realizing it, and would have to be snapped out of it by a well intentioned  (very annoyed)  friend.

with his partner, however, he’s tender.  sid is a very good listener, empathetic and kind; he’s open about his feelings from the start, valuing communication in a relationship, and nothing makes him grin harder than hearing his partner feels the same way.

sid is a gentleman  ---  he’s eager to help them out with anything they need.  he’s very conscientious of his partner’s feelings, careful not to overstep boundaries.  he wouldn’t do anything, even kiss, unless his partner gave him plenty of encouragement.

Eugene Sledge

eugene does not all in love easily.  it takes him a long time to ease into it.  he doesn’t tumble head-over-heels, so much as cautiously inch down the mountain, taking frequent breaks to have a snack and psyche himself up.

somehow, he’s quieter around the person he loves.  it’s noticeable because he wasn’t always like this.  eugene as a friend is quite different to eugene as a lover, more tentative and tender in all the ways that count.  he gets...  not shy, really, but more reserved around them.  he doesn’t want to let his feelings show, so the casual banter and easy dynamic they used to have grows stiff and uncomfortable.  he’ll jump through hoops to avoid hanging out alone with them.

why is he doing this?  god help him, even he’s not sure.

if anyone confronts him about it, he’ll get mad.  of course he’s not treating them any differently!  this is how he’s always been, he’s fine  ---   but just as quickly as he flares up for his own sake, he’ll get even more riled over any slight to his loved one.  being in love awakes a defensiveness eugene never realized he had.  suddenly, he’d do anything for his partner’s sake.

it takes a while for eugene to come to terms with his feelings, and trust himself enough to love.  hopefully his partner’s patient  ---  and straightforward about their feelings, because eugene’s probably going to need a push.

Snafu Shelton

his crush starts finding weird gifts hidden around their house, and no, they have no clue how they got there.  

merriell’s not a romantic, okay?  he doesn’t know how all that wooing-and-courting works, but he gets the general idea.  nothing romantic about coming up to someone and saying outright   ‘your hair looks like it’d be cozy to wear as a sweater, when you smile i want to touch your teeth, this feels like love’.  like.  it’s all true, but that doesn’t mean he can say it.

frankly, he’s still cursing himself for falling in love in the first place, because merriell did not sign up for all this mushy-gushy feeling stuff.  

some people just...  aren’t meant to fall in love, and he’s one of them.  not love that feels like this, that feels...  so real.  it scares him.   he doesn’t know what to do about it.

he’s a weak man, though.  it’s not like he can just stay away.  merriell can’t help but want to be around them constantly, looking over their shoulder and watching out for them; he’s fascinated by them, and it only grows more obvious as the feelings continue to swell in his chest.

so, he sneaks tiny gifts  ---  things he finds or things he likes, things that make him think of them  ---  in their stuff, and watches raptly when they find it.  no, he’s not gonna confess to leaving them there.  it’s just...  nice to watch.

he stares at them for a long time  ---  not unusual for him, to be fair  ---  but when they look up, he looks away immediately.  very out of character, and honestly more unnerving than if he just kept staring.

able to carry on like normal, unless the topic of romance is brought up at all.  then he gets ornery and annoyed, especially if his love interest talks about any past romantic relationships.  he’s possessive in love, especially because he’s not sure where he stands in the other person’s affections.  merriell hates the idea of them with anyone else, but can’t really believe they’d want to be with him.

RV Burgin

well, next to the hot messes that are sledge and snafu, burgie’s a disney prince.

literally, he goes so far out of his way to not make the person he loves uncomfortable.  he’s a gentleman to his core.  the idea of caring for someone who doesn’t feel the same way stings  ---   but even worse is the idea that he could be forcing affection on someone who doesn’t want it.

because of this, he might keep it all a bit too much to himself.  he won’t come out and say it, and will be notably more hesitant around them.  no casual touches  ---   if he accidentally does, he’ll draw back like he’s been burned.  if his friends  (re:  snafu and leyden)  say anything perverted around them, he’ll quickly steer the conversation away.

still, it would be impossible to think he isn’t interested.  sometimes he can’t help staring at his love interest, eyes warm in admiration...  and when they catch him, he holds their gaze for a moment, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face, before looking away.

oh yeah, he’s a goner.

when he does let his feelings slip out, it’s always quick and sincere.   “you’re the strongest person i know,” he says once, while trying to encourage them in his typical burgie way;   “i admire you very much.”   he gives compliments without meaning to, or even realizing how he’s selling himself out.  he’s just so besotted that he can’t help it.

Jay De L'Eau

he gets nervous, he gets clumsy, and he gets giggly.  this is a horrible combination.

he once knocked over an entire candle, set a curtain on fire, and was desperately trying to laugh it off while stomping the flames out...  all because he crush complimented him.

jay wants to look cool in front of his love interest, but he’s decidedly not.  poor boy hasn’t got a chance.   there isn’t a suave bone in his body, and no one knows this as well as jay.

so, he becomes earnest instead.  he’s always on hand to do favors for them, always willing to help out whenever he needs it  ---  jay could be corralled into doing couple’s yoga with little resistance, just because his love interest wants to.

this extreme generosity can get exhausting after a while  ---  he really has to figure out how to rein it in  ---   but if it shows how much he appreciates them?  and if it means he gets to spend extra time with them?  yeah, jay doesn’t regret a thing.

Bill Leyden

he’s being???  nice??  leyden’s being nice??

his friends check him for a fever.  they worry he’s been lobotomized.  clearly he’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person!

leyden is a prickly bastard in general...  but when he’s falling in love, the entire world is puppydogs and rainbows, and he’ll sing showtunes to the heavens.

he’s just so much happier when he’s falling in love.  it’s hard not to spread that happiness around.  he has way more patience for his friends’ bullshit, and is eager to listen to their problems and offer his  (still very leyden-esque)  advice.

god forbid when his love interest’s actually present.  leyden doesn’t have eyes for anyone else; it’s all about them, and he’s a goddamn prince to them.  peeling fruit for them, laughing at all their jokes, making cow-eyes...  he turns into the person he’d be disgusted by in any other circumstance.

Andrew Haldane

it’s all about the emotional intimacy, boys.

andy could never truly fall in love with someone until he already knows them very well; he has to be comfortable with them, to have an easy rapport.  understanding each other is the first step to winning his heart.

he definitely gets a sparkle around them, though.  he just looks brighter, younger, less burdened by his many responsibilities.  maybe it’s because he knows he can share them with his partner...  but andy feels so much lighter when he’s with them.

he’s very generous with his praise. when they do something well, he lets them know it; the last thing he’d want is for them not to understand how much he appreciates them, how valuable they are to him, how glad he is to have them close...

absolutely overthinks it.  he’ll turn his feelings over and over in his head for ages, trying to process them before admitting anything out loud?  is this real?  is this plausible?  are they both in the right place in life to be in love?  do they really love him back?  he’s not an indecisive man, but he puts so much thought into this that eventually, a friend like hillbilly would need to shake him a bit, and tell him to just go for it.

Hillbilly Jones

he’s not going to say it outright.  he’d rather eat a live squid than do something that dumb.   when hillbilly feels himself falling for someone, he grips a railing all the way down.

anything they need, he’s there to do.  his affection reveals itself through how quick he is to help the person he likes.  loyalty drives his urge to make their life easier.  if they need some repairs done around the house, or some errands taken care of, he’ll offer to do them without a second thought.   “not a problem,”  he replies with a tiny smile when they worry he’s going to too much trouble.   after all, he wouldn’t do it for just anyone.

master of wordless communication.  his love interest doesn’t need to hear things outright from him, because they become well-acquainted with all of hillbilly’s various (extremely sarcastic)  faces.  he loves this easy communication.

he’ll talk them up to anyone who needs to hear it.  hillbilly does not take kindly to his partner being disparaged, under any circumstances.  it’s not overprotectiveness, he’ll insist to himself  ---  the protection is completely warranted, and he’s not ashamed to punch someone if his partner’s good name is on the line.

John Basilone

he gets all the points for persistence.  

john’s greatest virtue is his determination.  no matter what the world throws at him, or how many ways it tries to kill him, he’s going to keep going until he physically cannot anymore.

and...  not gonna lie, there are moments when he sees his love interest smile, and it feels like he’s been shot through the chest.  he’s got to stop, just to catch his breath, because they sweep the ground out from under his feet. 

the first time it happens, he knows he’s in love.  yeah, he knew he liked them already, but...  like and love are different things.  he likes his mama’s panna cotta, but he’s not going to marry it.

when john’s falling for someone, it’s important to him that they know it.  no beating around the bush for him; if they don’t feel the same way, they can respond however they like, but they’ve at least got to know.

he misses no opportunity to make his admiration clear.  if they do something impressive, he’s the loudest voice on the sidelines cheering them on;  if it’s their birthday or a holiday, he hands his gift to them personally, with that irrepressible charming grin.  

john is very confident in love, but he’s also very optimistic.  it’s not that he’s never been rejected before, or can’t take it...   he just genuinely doesn’t believe his heart can break.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #399

“i was raised by the devil’s own kin, taught me that a good time was never a sin”

Do you like wine? NOOOOOOO that shit is gross. Explain the grossest thing that's ever happened to you? Having an infected pilonidal cyst drained. Would you rather go on holiday somewhere warm or somewhere cold? Cold, for sure. What would be your ideal pet? I reeeeaaaally want a very visibly sunset morph ball python one day. The really pretty ones are expensive as fuck, but omg, I want one so badly. What was the last book you were required to read for school? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It was fantastic. Would you chew somebody else's gum? EW FUCK NO. What was the last type of meat you ate? Chicken. How old were you when you had your first kiss? 16. At what age would you allow your kids to dye their hair? Whenever they wanted, as long as a professional did it. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? Probably McDonald's. Bats are not spooky or are they? I adore bats. Do you like the song "Womanizer?" Unabashedly, yes, haha. I love the beat and it's really catchy. Do you know how to change a tire? Nope. How big is your backyard? Very small. What is your favorite Nintendo 64 game? I've actually never played a Nintendo 64. If you want children, what are some of your reasons for wanting them? I don't want any. Does a career in finance sound interesting to you? Absolutely not. When you cook a dish that has beans in it, do you prefer to use canned or dry beans? I. HATE. Beans. What’s something that makes absolutely zero sense to you? Those that deny the existence of dinosaurs. Fossils don't lie. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s your favorite dessert? That's so hard, but probably cheesecake. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? Vanilla ice cream. Do you know anybody who is ambidextrous? Sara. Have you ever been 4-wheeling? Yes. Will you be attending any weddings in the near future? No. If you have glasses, have you ever smashed them? No. What was the last thing you got a really good deal on? My APAP mask. Insurance covered it way more than even the women in the office were used to so had to look into it. Insurance has been nice to me lately, from TMS to this. What was the last reason you took medicine? I had a massive headache. Any important birthdays coming up? My older sister's was today, and her eldest daughter's is in two days. Mark's birthday is the 28th, and that's like a holiday in my book lmao. What colour are your headphones? These earplugs are pink. How do you express your creativity? I mostly write RP and rarely poems. I also like to draw sometimes, and I'm big into photography. Gypsies or gnomes? Gypsies. Dragons or fairies? Dragons are my favorite mythological creatures. Elves or pixies? Elves. Where is your favourite place to get breakfast? Maybe Cracker Barrel? Or Waffle House. What was the first sport you learned how to play? I want to say soccer. I hated it. Nickname you’re called the most? "Britt" is the most used. Do you sleep on your stomach? I can't now with my mask. -_- That's how I usually slept. Have you ever been called a bitch? Yes. Would you ever want a super-realistic baby doll? Fuuuuuuuuuck no. I don't like dolls, never mind realistic ones. Ladybugs or bumblebees? Ladybugs. <3 What is the best thing that ever happened to you? My first round of a partial hospitalization program and meeting my psychiatrist. Both that therapy and proper medication is the reason I'm alive. What is something really hurtful someone you love has said to you? That I was an "ungrateful bitch." What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? One for advanced ball python husbandry. There are some SERIOUS elitists in there, but it does have great information. Did your mom ever own a typewriter? I think she did? We used to have one, so. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Maybe orange. I want to wear a black dress and get married in the fall, so, Halloween vibes! :') Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska. Do you wear a watch every day? I never do. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? No, thankfully. Not yet, anyway. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I am much happier with pets. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic ones. Who is/was the best friend you have ever had? Sara. Do you own a trenchcoat? No, but I wish. They're badass. Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? My iPod that I've had since middle school. That bitch STILL works, and I use it heavily. Are you currently in a smoking environment? No; people aren't allowed to smoke in our house. Have you ever owned a tire swing? No. Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? My old friend Alex did. I don't know if I can call her my "friend" anymore because I haven't seen or heard from her in well over a year at the bare minimum. Do you ever not speak to someone because you’re afraid you’ll annoy them? STORY OF MY LIFE. Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? No. But I don't really have a "circle" of friends to begin with. Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? No. Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? I don't go on rollercoasters. If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? No. Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? No. How many pills do you currently take a day? Ugh... Now keep in mind this number encompasses medications that I just have to take a larger dose of that particular med; I don't take this number of different prescriptions. AS a whole though, I take uhhh. Somewhere around nine or ten in the morning, and six at night. I might be off about my morning pills. What do you take medication for? Bipolarity and depression, anxiety, OCD, severe heartburn, even more intense nightmares, uhhh... maybe I'm forgetting others? Idk, man. I'm on too many. Have you ever had a bag stolen? No. What class from high school did you love the most? Art. What class did you hate the most? Economics. If you don’t have a car, do you wish you did? Not at this very moment, because it'd be useless as I don't currently drive. Have you ever had a job you loved? Nope. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I just eat normal fries when they're offered. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? At least twice. Have you been best friends with someone of a different race? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? I think only my grandmother has done that. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes, while Dad doesn't have one. What do you absolutely have to have to make your birthday feel special? My family. Mice or roaches? I love mice, but roaches creep me out. Have you ever received a gift and truly did not know what it was? Yes. A family friend is good at that. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No. Do you like being in pictures? NO. Do you travel a lot? Not at all. Have you ever eaten a dog treat? No. I've eaten a guinea pig treat though, haha. And it wasn't awful. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but turns out my alcohol tolerance is too high while only liking weak alcohol to begin with. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't do that, I'd get way too dizzy, and besides, I don't want a headache. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I've been wondering if I should (for the most part) abandon human photography. I've lost so much passion for it, and besides, I feel like I'm going nowhere with it. I know I really, really shouldn't, though. Have you ever captured a moth? I put a caterpillar in one of those little plastic habitats once as a kid that grew into a moth. I then released it, of course. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? It's been months. Do you have a really fat cat? No, he's healthy. Do your initials spell a word? No. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? Yes, that was my favorite! Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multiplication times tables? No. Do your parents allow you to have your privacy? Yes. Have you ever been severely burned? No. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've had many, actually. Guess with who. What was the weirdest thing you've ever seen cross the road? I want to say a turkey? Or maybe it was beside the road.