#obviously there will be a lot of communication down the road but

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

LU Headcanon #1

In Wild’s era, it is common etiquette to leave a bite of food on your plate to signal that you’re done and satisfied with your meal—if you finish your whole plate, you obviously are still hungry, and you need another serving. With a group of travelers around a cooking pot on the road (with many of them contributing to the pot as well), it makes sense that everyone should get as much as they want, because the cook will always make an effort to ensure there will be more to go around and lots of leftovers afterwards. The people of Wild’s era pride themselves on fiercely taking care of taking care of one another, even a stranger they’ll never meet again, and to do that they can ensure they have a full belly and a happy heart for the road ahead.

Some of the other heroes (Hyrule, Twilight maybe or Warrior or Wind) instead come from a culture where not finishing one’s plate is extremely, extremely rude and ungrateful. Food is a precious commodity, nevermind hot, just prepared food—to leave a single scrap of food on your plate for any other reason that it was poisoned would be a slap in the face to the cook that has spent so much time and effort to prepare the meal. To deny any offered food would amount to a similar crime.

Anyways. This is how I imagine their first few days going, before they realize they’re having a communication issue:

Wild, tapping away at his Slate: wow, these guys really are hungry! I better up the portions, I was hoping for leftovers but they’re eating enough to feed a group three times their size! I wonder if next time I should… Twilight: (slumped over) wow that new guy sure likes to cook, huh? Wind: Ough *burp* I’m so full.... Warrior: you don’t say? I feel like a pig fattened for the slaughter Hyrule: (face down on the ground in a food coma) ……. ……. …… Time: (hesitantly) you know, you boys can just say no when he offers you another serving… The others, in panicked unison: NO Warrior: (scoffing) Hylia, Time, who raised you?

Anyways. General hilarity ensues until they figure out the miscommunication that, no, an empty plate doesn't mean Wild should silently pile it with more food. Discuss.

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo frowns at his phone.

Or more specifically, at the test on his phone.

Around him, he hears the sound of his brothers tapping their own devices, much faster than he is. Looking up just makes Leo feel worse about his own progress - or lack-thereof.

Mikey’s the fastest, speeding through the test like nobody’s business. He’d been the one to make them all do this stupid test in the first place, so it makes sense that he’s having a blast.

Raph’s slower than Mikey is, but he’s still clearly answering the questions at a steady pace. Sometimes he looks unsure, but he powers through anyway.

Donnie often looks frustrated, which relieves Leo somewhat because at least someone is struggling like him. But that “struggle” isn’t nearly as big as his own, considering that Donnie is answering about as fast as Raph is.

Leo turns his gaze back down to his own test. He’s still near the beginning, he thinks.

He’d put the same answer for the past seven questions - the middle of the road answer, neither a “yes” or a “no.” Then, whenever he does come across one that is more one direction than the other, he second guesses himself and restarts the test!

Sure, there are a few he could definitely give a yes or a no to, but…never the “strongly agree” or “strongly disagree” that the test seemed to want from him.

He eyes his twin sitting nearby, the softshell absorbed in the test. Maybe Leo should copy what Donnie put for some of these…

“DONE!” Mikey’s shout makes Leo freeze in place just as he started to lean over.

“What?” Donnie squawks, “No way you’re already finished, you must’ve been cheating!”

“It’s a personality test, Dee!” Mikey stuck his tongue out, “You can’t cheat at those!”

…

Leo settles back into his seat.

Ignoring Donnie’s mutterings about how it was “just because it’s not an academic test” that he didn’t finish first, Raph smiles encouragingly at Mikey.

“Hey, good job! So what’d you get, Mike?”

Mikey looks back down at his test, reading aloud, “Says that I got the “Campaigner”!”

“What’s that mean?” Leo asks, his phone screen going dark.

“Apparently, I’m an “enthusiastic, creative, and sociable free-spirit”.” Mikey reads, smiling at them, “You think it fits?”

“Oh, to a T, bro!” Leo laughs, giving Mikey a thumbs up, making Mikey’s smile grow larger.

Inside, Leo was feeling a lot more mixed about this. He has no idea how Mikey knew himself so well. Maybe Donnie was right and Mikey did cheat, because how could he answer those questions so easily?

Leo’s phone burns in his hand. He keeps it locked.

“Wow, that really is you.” Raph says, his eyes flitting back and forth between his own test and Mikey, “Do you think it fits?”

“I guess? It’s fun to see at least!” Mikey shrugs with a grin.

“Hold on, I think…” Raph makes a noise of satisfaction, “Okay, done!”

“Sigh, now I’m relegated to the straggler group.” Donnie grumbles, his thumbs moving faster as he tries rushing through the questions.

“Ooh, what’d you get Raph?” Mikey asks, practically bouncing in curiosity.

“Says, uh…I got something called the “Consul”?” He squints his eyes to read more, “Uh, “caring, social, and community-minded.””

“Sounds about right to me.” Leo nods. Can’t be more “community-minded” than being a hero.

“Yeah, no one’s more caring than you, Raphie!” Mikey says, moving to lean across Raph’s shell.

“You do put the community in mind, that’s for sure.” Donnie states, not looking up.

Raph chuckles, a bit embarrassed, “Aw, thanks. It’s just some test, but it feels kinda good to hear that.”

Just a test. Right.

Leo unlocks his screen.

The test stares back at him.

Right. Okay. He can do this. He can.

The screen ends up going dark again.

Frustration builds up in Leo. Was he even halfway done with the test? At this rate, soon even Donnie will-

“FINISHED.”

Leo unlocks his phone.

“What’d you get, DonTon?” Leo asks as his thumb taps the top right of the screen.

Donnie puffs up proudly, a self sure grin on his face, “I got the result “Logician” which states that I, obviously, am an “innovative inventor with a thirst for knowledge.” Truly could not have described me better, if I do say so myself.”

“It is pretty accurate.” Raph agrees with a nod, “Even calls you an inventor, so extra accurate.”

“Super accurate.” Mikey jumps in, eyes shining.

“Yes, yes, almost like reading my own character synopsis.” Donnie’s grin had not dwindled since the word “innovative” had left his mouth.

Leo just nods along, eyes on his own screen as he skims the words. “Yeah, kinda creepy how close it got. Could have called you a nerd for extra accuracy, though.”

Donnie turns to him, eyes narrowing, “Have you even finished your test? I can think of a few words that’d describe you fairly well.”

“Test-y, huh?”

Before Donnie can strangle Leo, Raph cuts in.

“Ok, ok, calm it down, guys.” He rolls his eyes before turning to Leo. “But really, you’re not done yet?”

“Leo’s taking this self reflection seriously.” Mikey sports a faux intellectual expression as he gives a jokingly serious nod. “Maybe we all should’ve taken our time.”

“Says the one who sped through the whole thing in a record time.” Donnie mutters.

Leo waves them all off, “Nah, I finished it ages ago.”

He grins when Donnie immediately shoots him a suspicious glare. “Oh, you did, did you? Then what could you have possibly gotten, Nardo?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Leo clears his throat, “Neon Leon just so happens to be an “Entertainer.””

“Ah. That confirms it. This test is meaningless.” Donnie drones.

“Hey-“

“What’s an Entertainer like?” Mikey asks with a tilt of his head, still hanging off of Raph’s shell.

“Glad you asked, Miguel!” Leo exclaims, “It says that “life is never boring” around yours truly~”

He emphasizes this “result” of his by waving his phone with said “result” on screen.

It’s just an image he found of his chosen personality result, but they don’t need to know that.

Raph nods slowly, “Well, I guess that’s true…”

“”Never boring” is one way to put it.” Donnie hums.

“You are pretty fun, Leo!” Mikey says emphatically, because he’s great like that.

“Thank you, thank you, life of the party, right here.” Leo grins, pointing both thumbs at himself.

He’s careful not to go too overboard with it, or else it might tip someone off.

Not that it…really matters. It’s just a test. Like Raph said.

As the topic around him shifts to something else, jumping away from this brief activity as fast as any other among them, Leo finds himself unlocking his phone and pulling up the test again.

Unanswered questions stare at him. He knows what answers Lou Jitsu would pick. He knows what answers Jupiter Jim would pick. Hell, he knows exactly what answers his brothers would pick.

He doesn’t know what answers Leonardo would pick.

Leo stares at the test for a second longer, before he exits the site and throws himself into the conversation happening around him.

It’s just a stupid test, nothing to worry about.

Just a test…

[qqueenofhades]

I think the veepstakes are going to continue for another week or so, both to increase the profile of her potential running mates and see how they do with the public, time to vet, and give everyone a little more incentive to be extra enthusiastic about campaigning for her, but ALSO because there's a nonzero chance Trump may drop Vance and they'll need to pivot their strategy, though I think most choices will be sound either way(I like Walz and Beshear the best). What do you think are the odds of Trump dropping Vance versus doubling down because he doesn't want to look weak or indecisive?

She is going to have to pick pretty quickly, because the Ohio GOP attempted some fuckery by putting their ballot deadline before the DNC (and refusing to grant an extension as they always did for Republicans, so you know). I expect she will pick by the middle of next week at the latest, because the virtual nomination has to be made by, iirc, August 6th in order to outwit the attempted Republican ratfuckery. The DNC is then August 19-22, where the whole thing will be made official and everyone will pledge/endorse/etc. That leaves a pretty compressed timeline to road-test Veep picks, see how they work with Harris, how they play with the public, etc. But they've been on top of it so far, so there's that. I saw someone suggest that she let it go on as long as possible in order to have 6-10 white guys hyping her up on TV every day -- which is valid, yes, but she will have to pick soon. There are really no bad options, though I too have ones that I would like in particular. I am really warming to Walz, as I think he has a great communication style and would shore her up in the white Midwest. Though I did get a fundraising email from Mark Kelly on behalf of Kamala Harris yesterday, and lbr if you can pick an astronaut, pick an astronaut.

As for Trump dropping Vance, he's in considerably more of a pickle (everyone together now: AHAHAAHHAH! HAHAHAH! HAAHHAHAHAHAHA!) because the RNC has already happened, Vance is legally and bindingly the VP nominee, and if they change it now, there are a ton of legal and procedural steps that take time and make the GOP look incredibly weak. They will also piss off the Project 2025 people (who were all over the Vance pick because obviously, Vance loves it and they are horrible) -- which, if they were at all sensible, they might do. But they're fascists and that's actually what they want to do, so they won't. Biden was able to step aside and put Harris in so easily because he was not actually the Democratic nominee yet -- he was just the presumptive nominee, delegates are technically free to vote for whoever they want and the nominee is not official until after this convention process has happened, and he wasn't locked in. But if the GOP tries to drop Vance now, it's going to be a lot of legal hassle, they'll look incredibly foolish, and they'll piss off the core fascists they have been rallying every step of the way. Too bad, so sad. No good choice, huh? Seems karmically fitting that they can't abort Vance. Oh no. They must carry his ass to term.

[1d1195]

Right Here

Hi, idk if you all know this about me, but I love tropes. ALL of them. All. of. them. So here they all are: one bed, nightmares, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, childhood "friendship," coworker Harry, grumpy/sunshine (I'll let you guess who's who), etc. etc. etc. (Don't look too close this is Zipper but reveresed)

Other warnings: angst

9.2k+ words

“Business or pleasure?” The driver asked.

She stated “business,” immediately. Whereas Harry said, “a bit of both,” with that devilish smirk of his and looked at her with delight in his eyes. He seemed to get more enjoyment out of his comment as she glared at him.

In Year 2, Harry was playing with a few of his friends by the slide. He wasn’t really aware of what was happening but there was a girl in his class playing with a couple of her friends when the screaming started. There was a huge to-do; parents were called, the principal was involved, and the girl that seemed to be at the center of all the drama would not stop glaring at Harry.

But Harry didn’t like girls. He was six. He wanted to hang out with his friends at recess and maybe learn about the shapes and the planets if he had time. So, he didn’t really care that she glared at him. Or that he had to write an apology letter (that his mum told him how to write in his six-year-old scrawl). It was just another day in the life of a Year 2 student. He didn’t even know why he was writing the little note to her. He didn’t know what happened or why he did something wrong.

Year 2 turned to Year 3 and soon Harry was kissing and hugging his mum and sister goodbye as he went off to university. He was studying English Literature and Communications. He wanted to be a book publisher—mainly because he wanted an excuse to read all kinds of books. Moreover, he could read really good books before everyone else did. Eventually, he hoped to open his own publishing company, but he would need a business partner for that.

That was still a long way down the road. For the time being, he would enjoy university: friends, girlfriends, classes, his part time job, and everything in between. His only downfall was listening to his professor who suggested he get a minor in business—especially if he planned on own his own company. Even if he didn’t fully run the business side of things, it was good to have a general idea. Some key words and concepts would be helpful. More so, if the business partner wasn’t someone he trusted.

But Harry was awful with his business classes. The very first one he took was the bane of his existence. He strongly considered never opening his own company, he would just get the other person to handle it. Needless to say, he was recommended for tutoring two weeks into the class.

That’s where he found the glaring girl. Obviously, no longer seven. She was twenty, like Harry. And she was lovely looking. Except for the scowl on her face directed at Harry. Surely, she hadn’t harbored a grudge toward Harry since she was seven?

Oh, but she was. She was curt while she tutored. Everything Harry did was wrong. She managed to correct his mistakes kindly, but he could tell it pained her. There was a lot of sighing and eye-rolling involved. But she was good, he’d give her that.

Harry tried to be friendly, but she clearly wanted no part of it. “I am not here for small talk with you, Harry,” her voice was flat. She didn’t want to talk about the weather, or parties, or anything that wasn’t part of Harry’s class. When she came to help him at the designated time in the library with tears in her eyes, she sat down, took a deep breath, sniffled, and started her help with his homework.

“Hey, we don’t have t’do this now, beautiful. You’re obviously upset—”

“What do you care?” She interrupted.

“Jesus,” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “What is your problem?” She rolled her eyes, tearfully. “Y’can’t seriously still be mad about Year 2.”

She shook her head. “Just...shut it,” she snapped and turned her attention to Harry’s assignment. He sighed, looking at her like she was on the verge of a breakdown but did as she wished. Listening intently to her lesson, Harry felt this pull of how sad he was by her anguish, and he didn’t even know what it was. He kept watching her expressions, judging her tone, in between her explanations. He was worried there was something seriously wrong.

Despite her anger towards him, he didn’t want her to be upset. He worried someone had hurt her or upset her in some way—in a way that he could fix. It didn’t occur to him why he wanted to help her until well after three other classes she tutored him in for his minor over the last two years of university.

He got very little information out of her about anything that didn’t pertain to his classes. He knew she was grumpy in the afternoon and much preferred to tutor in the morning when her mind was fresh. That was when he got a glimpse of her gentler side—for only a second. She liked coffee a lot, she smelled fresh of her shampoo, and her eyes were brighter. She would ask if he had a good weekend or if he had any fun plans. It was the only time she offered up anything to him.

If it was any time past two in the afternoon, she wanted nothing to do with pleasantries or Harry, it seemed. But she was paid to tutor him, and she did it well. Harry never would have made it through his business classes without her. He was forever thankful for her help, even if she didn’t want to be thanked.

*

“Harry, would you like to go to this conference?”

He looked up from his desk where he was reading a riveting historical fiction novel that was passed up the chain to him. Harry thought it would be a NYT bestseller for sure. “Me?” He asked, clearing his throat and putting his pencil down. One thing he hated was marking up people’s hard work in any color pen—but especially red. It felt very secondary school of his coworkers to do it that way. Someone pored over this writing and of course no one expected it to be perfect, not even the author. But there was something so ugly about red ink marking up something that your blood, sweat, and tears went into.

Harry would quit writing if he saw even one smidge of red ink on his work.

Which is why he edited and didn’t publish his own work.

Harry had been a senior editor for four years, now. He loved his job. It was everything he hoped for: he read so many good stories and felt he was still learning so much. He was promoted from junior editor to senior editor after two years. He still hoped to own his own company one day.

“Yeah,” his boss rolled his eyes. “Who else would I send? Someone from the business administration team will attend as well,” he explained.

Harry smiled; he knew the second the title left his mouth exactly who would be attending the conference with him. She was going to hate it. “I would love to go,” Harry nodded excitedly. “But between you and me, I don’t want anyone t’get jealous that m’going. D’you think y’can keep it a secret?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged. Harry loved this office. It was so carefree. When he had his own company, he would want it to be exactly like this. If he could own this one, he would. He liked all of his coworkers and would want to keep them alongside him.

Including the girl from the admin team that constantly glared at him during work parties, meetings, and office breakroom run ins. If she wasn’t there, then it wouldn’t be worth it.

When Harry saw her interact with their coworkers, he couldn’t help but fall more in love with her. She was so utterly beautiful, funny, and of course, absolutely brilliant. There wasn’t a question she didn’t know how to answer. There wasn’t any advice she couldn’t give. She was never condescending and was extremely helpful. Even when Harry needed her help—which was so rare he only recalled it three times in the entire seven years they worked together. She didn’t sigh, didn’t roll her eyes although he was sure she wanted to.

So, nothing made him happier than annoying her to pieces.

He told everyone he had known her since Year 2. Left notes for her on her cute little lunch box in the fridge, would constantly send random items to her office (his favorite was the look on her face when he sent her a bouquet of balloons. It didn’t do anything, but people said Happy Birthday to her all day, and she had to say it wasn’t). He would tell people they were best friends and watch her blush bright red trying to get out of it. There were so many fake secrets he told the person he was near making direct eye contact with her, just to piss her off.

It worked every time.

He worshipped her, honestly. How could he not? She was brilliant and beautiful. The whole package. Even when she was a bit crabby, he thought she was simply the cutest and went on adoring her from afar.

Harry couldn’t imagine how fun a work trip would be with her.

*

She hated flying. It was necessary but she hated it. The space was almost too small. It was stuffy and gross in a lot of ways. The seats were cramped, and it was just awful. She had her headphones in place, a relaxing, quiet playlist, a good book, and her travel pillow around her neck. She was more than ready to begin the flight. The conference was a treat, it was shorter hours than her regular workday and then she could meander the town as much as she pleased. It was going to be a great trip and she had been looking forward to it for the last two weeks.

But then Harry sat right beside her. “Hey beautiful,” he smiled sweetly. She stared at him. This had to be a joke.

“You’re kidding?”

“What?” He smirked impishly stowing his bag beneath the seat in front of him. “Excited t’see me?” She flushed that beautiful shade of red that he loved so much on her cheeks. “Ready for our vacation?” He asked. “Bring a good book?”

The plane was suddenly even smaller. She thought she was going to be sick. A whole five days with Harry. Five. She was going to lose her mind. She closed her eyes as the plane jolted forward. Harry was doing all the things he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Fidgeting with the tray table and the like. She wanted to scream.

How could she possibly get stuck with him?

*

Harry didn’t say much to her throughout the flight. At least not after asking if she was comfortable, which was objectively nice if she couldn’t stand him so much. He grabbed her bag from the bin overhead, made sure she didn’t get lost on her way to baggage claim, and held the door open for her when they reached their Uber. “Business or pleasure?” The driver asked.

She stated “business,” immediately. Whereas Harry said, “a bit of both,” with that devilish smirk of his and looked at her with delight in his eyes. He seemed to get more enjoyment out of his comment as she glared at him.

She really wished Harry wasn’t so goddamn hot. It should have been a sin to make someone so alarmingly attractive. Soft brown curls that looked like they were made to slip between her fingers. He had green eyes—how was that even fair? Those dimples made her stomach flip. He was incredibly tall and so fit; she thought about falling at his feet every day she saw him at work and just ending her silly grudge.

But she never forgave him for that day in Year 2. Call her stubborn, call her stupid. She didn’t care. It ruined a huge chunk of her young life and made her miserable.

Four days and twenty-two hours. She could survive.

“Me and the missus need a place t’eat, do y’have any suggestions?” he asked, reaching for her hand like they really were a couple. She yanked it out of his grip. She wanted to kill him. More so because she hated the way her heart took off when he touched her and the idea of being “the missus” was...ugh.

She was worried Harry wouldn’t survive the next four days, twenty-one hours, and fifty-eight minutes.

*

They arrived at the hotel and Harry was once more a gentleman, even though she didn’t want him to be. He grabbed her suitcase and sweetly pushed it through the lobby to the front desk. “Hi,” Harry said cheerfully. She wanted to shower, get out of her plane clothes, and get away from Harry. His chipper attitude was making her grumpier than normal. “I have a reservation under Styles,” he explained. “Here for the convention,” he added.

The man behind the desk nodded, smiling pleasantly as he tapped away on his computer. “It says two guests for your name,” he informed him. Her heart dropped to her feet.

“No, it doesn’t,” she murmured, but she knew it was right.

Harry was smiling like an idiot. This was too good to be true for him and his endless bouts of annoying her. “That’s correct,” Harry nodded.

“Are there any other rooms?” She asked. She already knew the answer, but she would kick herself if she didn’t at least check.

“No, I’m afraid we’re really booked with the convention.”

She didn’t dare ask if there were two beds because she already knew that answer too.

“It’ll be fine, lovie, don’t worry,” he promised. Part of her thought he really meant it too, sensing how upset she was. She was so overcome with frustration; she almost didn’t notice the new name he gave her. That it wouldn’t be torture for her to be in the same little space as Harry for the entire five days. Her heart started erratically beating at the thought. It felt like the sides of her brain were caving in like the walls surely would be when they got to the room.

She would lay ground rules. She would go buy a roll of tape and cut the room in half. Harry wasn’t going to ruin her little reprieve from work. He continued to be kind and pulled her bag to their room. “I would like to shower,” she told him as she eyed the single, king-sized bed in the middle of the room, mocking her. He settled the bags on opposite sides of the room. He chose the side closer to the window for her.

“I’ll be right in,” he winked at her.

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, which she knew was exactly what he wanted. “What if I don’t want the window side?” She asked instead.

“Well, that I don’t really care, lovie. M’taking closer t’the door in case someone breaks in. Wouldn’t want you t’get hurt.”

She just wanted to annoy him the way he always annoyed her. Maybe make him move the bags around and then move them again which she informed him she did want the window side. But she didn’t expect him to be so nice. Didn’t think he would give a reason that was kind enough to care about her well-being. Even when she was grumpy toward him.

If her cheeks were going to be red the whole week, she was going to lose it. “Don’t come in the bathroom or I’ll murder you,” she rolled her eyes.

“I would never do that,” he rolled his eyes right back at her. “I was jus’ kidding.”

Unfortunately, she believed him. He seemed genuine, as much as she wanted to kill him.

*

The shower helped her relax marginally. At the very least she got the feeling of the plane off her. “I ordered some pizza. Y’like peppers and onions on yours, right?” Harry, knowing exactly what she liked, furthered her agitation.

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“I’d like t’shower too. D’you think y’can get the pizza when it arrives and actually get mine too?” He smiled at her knowingly; like he thought she might not take his pizza from the delivery guy in protest of the whole situation.

She rolled her eyes but had to hand it to him because it did sound like her. “Yes, Harry.”

“Hey beautiful?” he said softly. She hated that she looked up, answering to his pretty pink lips calling her ‘beautiful.’ She shouldn’t have. First and foremost, she thought he was wrong. Maybe it was because of all the drama of Year 2 but she never had boys of any age fawning over her after the slide-incident. Not the way they ogled and adored her friends. It did a number on her self-esteem. While she tried to put up this front that she didn’t care about whether she was beautiful or not, it was hard to believe someone like Harry would recognize her as even pretty.

Secondly, it made her stomach flip when he said it and she hated that. It was unfair he was pretty and unfair he could make her crazy with just a word. “M’not so bad,” his face looked apologetic—like he felt bad for existing. “I promise, it won’t be that bad this week with me.” She nodded sullenly, ran her brush through her hair. “’Ve left some notes on the table there for the pizza,” he tilted his chin toward it.

“You don’t need to pay for me.”

He smiled. “Course I do, lovie. S’my treat.”

She hated the way she answered to ‘lovie’too.

*

She sat in comfortable silence while she ate her pizza. While eating, she looked at the itinerary on her phone. Made plans in her mind and thought about some of the things she wanted to do during her free time.

“Oh good, m’starving. Smelled it while I was showering.”

She did a double take, her jaw falling open instinctively. She nearly dropped her pizza on her lap and then her phone right after it. Harry was hurrying across the room to get to his pizza. A towel low on his hips showing off glistening, taut muscles. Her heart hammered against her chest. “Jesus,” she whispered to herself looking away.

“Did y’say something, beautiful?” He asked, taking a bite of his pizza. She shook her head. Once more, angry she answered with the word ‘beautiful’.  His hair was dripping, and she followed the little droplets as they slid down his broad shoulders and across his defined pectorals. It wasn’t fair. She wanted to hate him easily. But his pretty tattoos and his gorgeous body were making it so difficult.

“I’m think I’m going to sleep on the floor,” she told him. He frowned around a bite of his pizza. When he finished chewing, he had a bit of grease on each corner of his mouth. She wanted to reach out with a napkin and wipe it away.

Or lick it away, along with the rest of his body.

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” he promised. “M’not gonna let y’sleep on the floor, lovie,” he rolled his eyes. “If you’re that uncomfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

She couldn’t help but feel bad that her awkwardness, her annoyance for Harry, would have him sleep on the floor. He didn’t truly deserve that. This was a work trip for him as well, after all.

Maybe if he was fully clothed, she would have taken him up on his offer. Accepted him sleeping on the floor in her place. But her modern-woman, intelligent brain that she had spent years cultivating so she was independent, and worked so hard to make sure she didn’t go ga-ga over a man was malfunctioning from travel...and knowing she was stuck with Harry in such close quarters for almost a week.

Plus, Harry had the prettiest stomach she had ever seen on a man.

Her primal brain, the one that seemed to be screaming from between her legs, couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

“It’s…fine,” she mumbled focusing on her pizza and phone again.

“Are y’sure, beautiful? I don’t want t’make y’uncomfortable.”

She believed him. He seemed so eager to please her and ease her worries. She nodded. “It’ll be fine,” she was telling herself in hopes it would be true. “But I’m making a pillow wall.”

He smiled around his pizza.

*

“Would y’prefer I sleep with or without a shirt?” He asked. Harry went to use the hotel gym and then took another shower. She used the time to read her book and sit on the balcony while the sun was setting. It wasn’t a picturesque view or anything, but the sky was a bunch of beautiful hues of pink, blue, and orange.

When Harry exited the shower, it was awkwardly silent for a bit. Harry tended to his after shower-care. She was looking at her book but not reading. She yawned, and that was when Harry asked his question. The inquiry felt like a double-edged sword. If she said with a shirt, it might imply she wanted to hide him from her view because she couldn’t help but look at him. If she said no, it would make it seem like she wanted to see him. “Whatever makes you comfortable,” she decided on.

He smirked and pulled his T-shirt off. “‘Fraid you’re not privy t’that sleeping habit, lovie.” She wondered if anyone had ever been murdered with a hotel phone cord. She felt extremely self-conscious about her t-shirt and leggings combo. “Feel free t’do the same, beautiful,” he grinned wickedly at her as he slipped into his side of the bed. She had two pillows under the blankets and two on top. She was certain that even if she had her own room, it wouldn’t be enough distance between them. “What if I want another pillow?” He asked mischievously.

“Go fuck yourself, Harry,” she grumbled.

He frowned. “C’mon, lovie. S’not so bad.” She didn’t say anything in response and turned to her side facing away from him. She scrolled mindlessly on her phone. “D’you want t’watch something together?” He asked.

“No, thank you,” she murmured quietly. “You can though,” she shrugged. “I’ll sleep through most anything.”

He nodded. “Okay...well...good night, beautiful. Sleep well,” he said sweetly.

She didn’t fall asleep right away. Instead, she imagined the nice museum she saw online. The picturesque street about a mile away with cute little shops. There was the coffee shop she wanted to go to. All the things that Harry couldn’t ruin with his annoying little remarks.

Or his stupid hot body.

Other than some gentle laughter, she didn’t hear or worry about Harry sleeping less than six inches from her own body. The pillows provided the perfect barrier between them so that she could sleep easily knowing that he wouldn’t bug her.

Only four days until it was over. She could do this.

*

Harry heard her phone drop from her hands to the floor about an hour later. He hurried to her side of the room and made sure her alarm was set, locked her phone, and placed it on her nightstand. He saw the way she seemed to shiver in her sleep. Probably because she was right under the vent. The space between her brows puckered due to her discomfort. He draped the blanket that was at the end of the bed over her. Almost immediately, the skin between her eyebrows smoothed back out. He wanted to kiss her in the very same spot but of course would never do that without her permission.

The movie Harry was playing was funny and he enjoyed it immensely. True to her word, she slept through his laughter and the sound of the movie itself. She was wiggly when she slept. The pillows and blankets balled all around her and Harry wondered how she slept like that each night. It looked nearly painful at times.

Of course, the movie came to an end, and she was still sound asleep when Harry finally turned the TV off and hunkered down into his side of the mattress. He tried not to disturb her pillow wall, but she had managed to throw all of them every which way. He smirked to himself, shaking his head at her.

Harry must have gotten only an hour of sleep under his belt when he woke up to her kicking and mumbling under her breath. The light coming through the window allowed for his eyes to adjust a bit to the darkness against her figure sprawled in the sheets. He shook his head glancing over at her in complete disarray.  Her body was still twisted around the pillows and blankets. Harry was left with just the sheet. He smirked at her.

He threw his arm over his eyes and ignored her fitful movements. But they kept going and going. The mumbling too. He felt bad about whatever she was dreaming about, but he didn’t dare touch her. If she woke up to him touching her, even if it was for comfort, he was certain she would kill him.

Harry was a pretty heavy sleeper himself, so her fussy movements didn’t bother him in the slightest. Whatever she was dreaming about had to be a kick for sure and for that he felt bad.

But then Harry heard small whimpers coming from her and he felt his stomach knot. It felt like he was dying at the mere sound of her discomfort. The anguish he felt coming from her was brutal and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and fix it. “Oh, hey,” he hummed, sitting up against the headboard. He looked her over and thought incurring her wrath would be well worth it if he could stop her from whimpering miserably. “Lovie? Y’okay?” He gently shook her by the shoulder. She seemed to be fighting whatever she was dreaming about, and the blankets were keeping her trapped. Harry grabbed the pillows that were on top of her. Her arms were nearly swaddled against her body with the blanket wrapped around her and pulled up to her neck tightly.

Harry flicked the light on his nightstand so he could get a better look at her.

The poor thing was glistening with sweat around her hairline, tears were leaking from her closed eyes, and that space between her brows was cinched together like she was in pain. “Oh, no,” he murmured and crawled out of his side and came around to her side. “Hey,” he cooed. He crouched in front of her and began tossing the pillows to the floor. He unraveled the blankets from around her. “Lovie,” he murmured. He called her lovie at the start of the evening and he couldn’t stop. He loved to call her beautiful and enjoyed how readily she answer to it. But something about her sweet face just made the word ‘lovie’ roll right off his tongue. It was effortless; like it was the only thing he should call her. Once she was without the swaddle of blankets, and the pillows attacking her, she was practically gasping for air in her sleep. “Lovie, you’re having a bad dream,” he gave her a good shake causing her eyes to flash open. Harry gazed at her in alarm. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to hide from Harry. But it was far too late for that. “Are y’okay, beautiful?”

She ignored him. Her breathing evening out. She turned away from him. “Lovie...”

“Would you stop calling me cute names?” She asked, the exasperation thick in her voice. But she was still distraught. He could tell. He was quiet for a minute letting her work through whatever just happened. “Please don’t tell anyone about this,” she whispered.

He blinked. He felt so sad she believed so little of him. “I would never tell anyone anything ‘bout you—”

“You whisper about me all the time,” she snipped.

His mouth fell open in disbelief. “Lovie, you have t’know I don’t whisper anything ‘bout you. M’telling them how pretty I think y’are and how you’ll get all flustered that m’whispering nothing ‘bout you. They know I adore you and think nothing short of wonderful things ‘bout you. Y’seriously don’t get it do you?” He felt so utterly annoyed by her, himself. He thought she was lovely and yes; she was fun to annoy but he would never say anything about her that hurt her reputation. He was sad she thought he would. It never made sense for her to dislike him so intently. He never really cared and turned it into a joke. But knowing she truly didn’t like him made his heart heavy.

She refused to look at him. It was silent for several beats. Harry stared at the back of her t-shirt, her shoulders trying to find an easy rhythm. He wanted her to explain it. Right now. In the middle of the night when they were stuck in a small hotel room together. “Why did you trap me in the slide?” She whispered.

Of all the things he expected her to say, that was not one of them. “What?” He shook his head.

“In Year 2? You and your friends trapped me in the slide, now I’m embarrassingly claustrophobic. If I have anything covering my face, I have a meltdown. It feels like I can’t breathe. If someone...holds me the wrong way for too long, I get overwhelmed. It’s ruined so many relationships and it’s...” she sniffled, her shoulders staggering a bit at the effort.

He frowned. “Is that why you hate me?” He whispered. She didn’t answer him. “Lovie, I had nothing to do with that.”

“Well, they blamed you.”

He sighed. “So, all this time you’ve hated me, and it wasn’t even my doing?” He asked.

It seemed to appeal to the logical part of her brain. She was still for a moment longer, her breathing evening out. But then she rolled to her other side and stared at Harry. He hated the tears that stained her cheeks. That little crease between her eyebrows. He reached out and pressed his fingers there to smooth it out and she let him. It didn’t even bother him that she hadn’t liked him for so long.

Her lips rolled into her mouth as she thought over the last twenty-something years of their lives. It may not have bothered Harry but now it bothered her. “Why have you liked me even though I’m so...crabby toward you?”

He smiled excitedly. Like he was getting a Christmas present or told he won a raffle. “What isn’t there t’like ‘bout you, beautiful?” His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb gently rubbed at the stain of salt on her cheek. The back of her head was warm with sweat and if it wasn’t so late at night, she would feel more self-conscious.

“You’re a glutton for punishment.”

It was progress though because she didn’t push his hand away from her face. “Can I get back on the bed? I won’t touch you, but I don’t want you t’have the pillows and blankets attack you.”

“You can touch me,” she mumbled.

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh yeah?” He rose from the floor to head back to his side of the bed.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I hate you.”

“I don’t think y’do, actually,” he said smugly.

“Are you going to annoy me the entire time?”

Harry turned off his bedside lamp and crawled under the sheet. “Probably.”

She sighed; he imagined her pretty eye roll the way she always did. Harry put his arm behind his head, closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep. “You really didn’t trap me in there?” She asked.

Harry turned to his side and looked at the shadow outline of her staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to reach out and trace the shape of her profile, follow it down her arm and hold her hand. “Even as a six-year-old, lovie, I couldn’t hurt you. If...I knew...I would have gotten y’out of there so fast,” he promised. “Poor baby,” he murmured and bravely reached out and grabbed her hand. She didn’t pull from him. She let his fingers fit between the spaces of hers, gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know why you were mad,” he shrugged.

“You were really just going to let me hate you for the rest of our life?”

“Hate and love are very close together in the brain,” he said knowingly. “Given y’said the rest of our life,” he smiled excitedly, “I had a feeling y’couldn’t keep it up forever. And I’d wait forever for you, beautiful.” He sounded so arrogant she wanted to hate him just to spite him. But she couldn’t argue with him. It was exhausting hating him. Being in the hotel room with him—especially when he was in a towel—was ruining her grumpy front. Even with sleep still on her brain, she couldn’t help but think about how gentle he was with her and her anxious mind. He was so utterly accommodating and kind to her. He would have slept on the floor if she asked. But she rather enjoyed the feel of his fingers holding hers. “Do you have nightmares a lot?” He asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She shook her head. “Not anymore...Only when I get all twisted like that. I usually sleep better with a weighted blanket to help my anxiety about it. It also keeps me in place, mostly. I’ve had a lot of therapy to help cope with it and the blanket usually helps but obviously y’can’t really travel with a fifteen-pound blanket.”

“Can you snuggle?” He asked.

She blinked at the darkness in front of her. “Can I what?”

“Can you snuggle with someone?” He repeated.

She bit the inside of her lip. “As long as my face isn’t covered,” she muttered. “But it’s definitely been a problem in past relationships if that’s what you’re asking me ab—”

Harry had his arms looping around her and he pulled her toward him so quickly, she barely had time to process. His body spooned behind her, one arm snug beneath her neck and the other draped around the front of her hips. Her heart rate had to be approaching a hundred and fifty. “Is this alright, beautiful?” He murmured into the back of her hair. She was speechless, truly. Harry holding her like...like she didn’t just have a major meltdown. Like he adored her still. “Lovie?” He said, nearly releasing her when she didn’t answer. Worried that her heart rate was too high—he could practically feel it through her back pressed to him. Maybe this was too much.

But right as he started to pull away, her arm pressed against Harry’s. She sighed softly. “No...m’fine,” her voice was quiet.

“Are y’sure? I don’t want t’upset you,” he promised. “Been dreaming ‘bout snuggling with you... but not at the expense of your comfort or anxiety,” he assured her.

“You dream about cuddling with me?”

“Among other things,” he spoke to the back of her hair, his lips smiling against her head.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“I really didn’t think y’could hate me forever, lovie.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was the first time she ever apologized to him. His heart skipped a beat.

“I know, beautiful. How would y’have known, though? I wish y’told me, but I know why y’didn’t.”

More silence. Harry’s bare stomach was touching her t-shirt, his legs were crooked up against the back of hers. They fit like puzzle pieces. She bit the inside of her lip feeling exhaustion pull over her mind. How was she supposed to sleep knowing Harry was sleeping right next to her?

“Good night, lovie,” he murmured.

She sighed, relaxing, and drifting to sleep almost immediately.

*

The first day of the conference went by quickly with not much to really show for it. Harry enjoyed it immensely and had a thousand new ideas that he suggested to her over their lunch together. She enjoyed it as well but after her night snuggled up to Harry nothing else seemed remotely important.

“Hey, lovie?” Harry said, trying to retrieve her attention. “Did y’have plans this afternoon? M’gonna catch up with a friend,” he nodded toward another table. The idea of Harry leaving her alone actually saddened her, but of course...they’d have the night.

Unless the friend was a girl. In which case he very well could not come back to their shared room. She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Have fun,” she encouraged.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Keep the bed warm for me, yeah?” He winked at her as he pulled away.

She thought maybe killing him would still be an option.

She perused the little picturesque street taking a whole bunch of pictures and stopping in nearly every shop on the street and making a purchase in almost every single one. It was actually really nice. Not too hot, not too cold. She even sort of wished Harry had gone with her on her little adventure. She thought he would have liked some of the shops as much as she did.

It was precisely when she wished Harry had gone with her that she realized she really liked him. All this time.

Maybe he was right, and her brain mistook her affection for him as hatred. She wasn’t ready to say love yet. Even if her subconscious was screaming about how lovely he was.

Even last night when Harry was comforting and gentle about her phobia. He didn’t make her feel bad...in fact he made her feel normal and wonderful. The new information about the slide was a revelation. She had spent so many years with ill-harbored feelings toward Harry. It seemed wasteful after last night. He was kind, understanding, attractive—

She was not in love with him.

She couldn’t be, right?

He was annoying. Even if he wasn’t whispering about her, he was still making her feel grumpy. The constant gag gifts and deliveries were vexing beyond compare.

But those dimples when he smiled? They could undo all those negative emotions she felt. She was certain that there was some pheromone or chemical released in the air when he smiled. One that made her mind momentarily forget that he had been the cause of the slide thing.

However, that wasn’t true anymore.

So...

No. It’s like meeting someone for the first time. You don’t love him.

Not when he called her beautiful or lovie. Not when he openly flirted with her or held her against his warm body in the middle of the night and kept the nightmares away. She did not love him.

But maybe she just really, really, really, really, liked him and wanted to spend all her extra time with him now and show him the little shop she found because she smelled three different kinds of soap that she thought he would enjoy.

Obviously, that wasn’t love.

She looked more like some shopping bag monster than girl, when she made her way into the hotel elevator. Harry was already in the room when she got back. “Have fun?” He asked, putting the new file he brought with him and his pencil aside. His smile was so bright she really wondered how she could have ignored him for so long.

“Did…you catch up with your friend?” She asked. She was gone for almost three hours, she worried that she would come back to find Harry with someone, or someone in the shower...

Or in our bed. One part of her mind was grumpy at the thought. Not our bed. The one brain cell left on the rational side of her mind shouted back.

Harry began untangling her wrists and fingers from the bags she held while her brain had its own conversation. The bags left angry red marks on her skin. He nodded, placing the bags on the floor. “Yeah, jus’ had a quick stop at the pub for a drink,” he gently massaged the inside of her wrists. “I missed you,” he said cutely. She stared at him almost suspiciously. Like maybe all of this was a trick. Her distrust seemed palpable because he frowned. “I did, beautiful. Really missed you,” he brought her wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss on the soft inside skin. She missed him too. Even before she went to the shops, she was dreading leaving his side, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Her face must have softened a bit because the left side of his face turned up in a gorgeous half smile. It made her wonder how Harry had decided on editing and publishing and not modeling. “Would y’like t’get dinner with me?” He asked.

“Like a date?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Yes, lovie. Like a date,” he rolled his eyes.

She frowned. “I don’t really have anything...date-worthy to wear.”

“Well, y’could go naked, but they might throw y’out.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Y’look beautiful now. I’d take y’out in the sexy pajamas y’wore last night.”

She wondered briefly if Harry had ever been hit in the head over the years and suffered irrevocable brain damage. “Sexy?”

“Your leggings?” He smiled mischievously. “M’almost jealous of ‘em touching all of your legs.”

Definitely hit in the head.

“Can I just...have a few minutes to touch up?” She asked, ignoring his comment.

“Course, beautiful. Not that y’need it.” He was good. She would give him that. He was very good at making her feel gooey and pretty. Harry said all the right flirty things. Dinner would be fun, and she was quite hungry.

She exited the bathroom after touching up her makeup and switching out her casual business blouse for a tank top with a cardigan. She swapped her slacks for a pair of jeans. The flats she wore stayed to complete her outfit.

“Will you marry me?” He sighed dreamily as she exited the bathroom.

He was going to give her an aneurysm.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Ve’been waiting for this date for...” he smiled. “Oh, I don’t know, lovie. Least since university.”

Harry had to have a death wish. “You’ve...liked me? Even though I was mean to you?”

“A glutton for punishment, as it were,” he winked bringing her words back.

She grabbed her little cross body bag and Harry followed her out their hotel room door. Since the slide incident, she had been to at least four different therapists to help alleviate the worry and fear she had. In all honesty, she was much better than she used to be. The airplane was a little daunting during takeoff but that could have been due to a fear of flying, not claustrophobia. Her small attic or the cramped closet in the hall of her place didn’t bother her any longer. Being on a train in public transport rush hour—even when the train came to a standstill in the middle of the dark tunnel—didn’t really bother her anymore. It was only when her face was covered for too long without her ability to get out quickly, sleeping, plagued with nightmares, or swaddled in her blankets too tightly that she felt the waves of anxiety suffocating her like that day on the slide.

Or when the elevator clanged to a stop and jolted her so hard, she nearly fell into Harry.

It was three seconds of pure silence before she realized what happened. Before Harry realized.

“Shit.” Harry whispered.

“Oh no,” her pulse quickened. Her head started to ache, and it felt like the elevator was suddenly the size of an Amazon box and she was crammed inside. It took her a moment to realize the wheezing was coming from her.

“Hey, hey,” Harry quickly grabbed her shoulders. Her eyes welled with tears, and she was heaving on her breath. One of his hands reached for the emergency button causing a monotone ring to take over all sounds in the small space; the volume was louder than her heavy breathing. “Lovie, tell me what t’do,” he begged. “M’sorry,” he whispered. She felt lightheaded and scared. So scared she obviously was having trouble breathing. She worried that she would pass out right into Harry’s arms.

“M’scared,” she croaked.

“I know, beautiful,” he squeezed her shoulders. He held her away at arm’s length afraid to bring her closer in case it would make matters worse. All he wanted to do was wrap her close and console her. “But...s’okay,” he promised. “Really, s’okay.” It wasn’t; he wasn’t trying to make light of her fear either. He knew how bad it was because he had spent the last twenty years waiting for this moment. For her to say she didn’t hate him. For the last ten, he longed for a date. One measly dinner to change her mind. But the broken elevator was going to ruin it all. Honestly, that didn’t even matter to him. All of it didn’t matter. He had to try something to ease her worry. Something to help her scared mind. “I would never let anything happen t’you. Would never let anything hurt you,” he was gazing right into her eyes. He definitely didn’t cure her, but she could feel how devastated Harry felt. He meant it; he wouldn’t let anything harm her as much as he could possibly control. “Deep breaths? Does that help?” He asked. She nodded. She tried but it was hard, the air she sucked in and released was shaky and not very deep. It was hard to think about breathing deeply when all she could think about was dying in this tin box. “Easy, lovie. S’okay,” he squeezed her shoulders again.

The alarm was plain on his face, and she wondered if he wanted to hold her. She wanted to be held but wasn’t sure it would work. Her stomach felt so knotted. Thought maybe she would throw up and she couldn’t imagine a worse first date with Harry than throwing up in an enclosed space. She sank to the floor, her legs scrunched up so she could rest her forehead against her knees. Harry crouched in front of her, clearly still nervous and unsure of what to do. The one part of her brain that still had some rational thought left thought it was a travesty that she would lose Harry from this. She thought if she made it out, she would have to just go home. She couldn’t share a bed with him.

“They’re probably getting someone t’help right now, beautiful. S’okay,” he placed his hands on her ankles. It seemed like the safest option. He was so mortified this happened. To her of all people. The ringing of the elevator seemed to die down with the ringing in her ears. “Lovie?” He asked; he felt anxious that she was breathing so hard. She looked at him, her vision blurred by the tears. “Tell me what t’do,” he begged. He felt so useless. So worried that she was going to pass out or have a meltdown that she would inextricably link to him and never forgive him. After he just made some progress.

He thought about her six-year-old self. Trapped in that slide, her little brain all terrified. He wondered if that little version of herself still existed inside her. It hurt him to think about that poor little girl scared to pieces. He leaned forward and pressed his lips on her forehead and kept pressed there for a moment. That moment in time seemed to stretch on for eternity. But, as he kept his lips on her skin, he noticed her breathing slowly calmed. Her muscles seemed to relax.

“That feels nice,” she murmured almost serenely. He smirked against her skin. Slowly, he pulled away. Her eyes watched Harry with worry, but he slid beside her before he moved too far away. The shaky breathing picked up just a little. Her heart still fluttered with anxiety. She rested her cheek on her knee facing him.

“I...I could...do it again if y’want. If y’think it would help,” he suggested, turning toward her a little more head on. She lifted her head, it felt so achy and heavy. Harry cupped her face and pressed his lips on her skin again. She sighed softly. The ache seemed to ease at his touch.

Ugh. Harry was medicine that she didn’t know she needed. He dragged his lips across her skin, peppering her hairline with soft little presses. She wondered if he would always be this gentle with her.

She still wasn’t sure how she felt about her mind thinking about things like always with Harry. She was fairly certain she would die of humiliation the moment her brain returned to normal once they got off the elevator. There wouldn’t be an always after this. Harry would think she was nuts or ridiculous. There wouldn’t even be a sometimes.

 “Are y’okay, lovie?” He hummed against her skin. “As y’can be right now?”

She nodded, feeling utterly safe with Harry beside her. She enjoyed the way his hands felt on her skin. His lips on her face. It was too bad she didn’t know all these years he had nothing to do with her childhood trauma. She thought she really could be in love with him.

*

It took an hour, but they were finally freed of the metal tin. The moment she had fresh air, she felt infinitely better. Harry could see it on her face and in her body language. She was entirely at ease. Back to normal. After a flurry of questions and the hotel offering a few extra nights, they left for a nearby restaurant. Harry held her hand, fingers twisted together. He didn’t say much, because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say after that. He knew she had to have felt so exposed and vulnerable.

“We...don’t have to go out, if you don’t want,” she mumbled.

Harry frowned and stopped the pair of them in the middle of the sidewalk. “Do y’want t’go back?” He asked.

She bit the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked in surprise. “For what, beautiful?”

“For being crazy?” Did he forget what just happened?

“Crazy?” He repeated in surprise. “Lovie, s’not your fault. M’glad you’re okay.”

“You’re not...you don’t think I’m...weird?”

His heart felt such sadness for her. “No, lovie. Course not. Think you’re lovely. I was so scared y’were going to hurt yourself in all the worry. M’so glad you’re okay. M’sorry y’had to—why are y’crying, beautiful? Are you alright?” He asked, her eyes spilling with tears. He thought he might cry right with her. Harry had a good six or seven inches on her and he bent his knees a bit so he could be eyelevel with her teary gaze. His hands cupped her face just like on the elevator and he looked pained that she was crying.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t know why she was apologizing. But he let her and pulled her toward him, careful not to cover her face with his embrace. She sobbed into his chest. Harry kissed the top of her head. “S’okay, beautiful. Don’t know why you’re apologizing. But s’okay.”

It felt so embarrassingly awful that she and Harry would never be.

*

They ordered takeout, had a drink while they waited—barely speaking as they did, and headed back to the hotel. Of course, they took the stairs. She didn’t even feel like eating as she sat across from Harry on the balcony. He ate his veggie stir fry quietly while she poked at the pasta in her takeout box. “That’s pasta, you remember?” He smirked at her. “You’re supposed t’eat it,” he encouraged. Trying to joke so she would feel a little better.

She couldn’t even muster an eye roll for him. Ending before they started...after a whirlwind of one night and day of the convention seemed utterly unfair.

“Lovie?” He asked quietly. She didn’t respond. She was worried she would cry. “Beautiful,” he murmured setting his food aside, crouched beside her seat and pushed her food to the side as well.

“I...I think I really like you,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Well finally, lovie. But y’don’t have t’cry ‘bout it, m’right here,” he gave her knee a gentle squeeze. Like he was consoling her.

She shook her head. “S’not fair to you or all that time I wasted. And I’m so weird.”

“You’re not weird, lovie,” he promised.

“Yes, I am, Harry.”

He shook his head. “Y’seriously going t’continue pushing me away when m’literally on my knees in front of you, beautiful? I don’t care if y’weird or not. I don’t care if y’cry on elevators or if y’sing in the shower. You’re m’favorite person t’annoy and I want t’do it, knowing I can kiss you after every joke,” he looked up at her eyes from his crouched position. “Y’don’t have t’waste any more time, lovie. M’right here.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, worried she was going to say no or something just because she was so nervous about all of it. It was twenty years of disliking Harry (well, not really, but yes really). That was twenty years of hating small spaces of getting nervous in crowds and explaining to boyfriends that she couldn’t attend some events even when she wanted to.

But Harry didn’t care.

And she believed him.

She should have begged him to leave her alone because it wasn’t fair to him, and she truly believed that. Harry was so much kinder than she ever, ever imagined. Now he was right, of course. He was right here. Right in front of her. Literally on his knees telling her he wanted her. Despite everything. So instead of opening her mouth where she might say no, she nodded slowly.

He sighed with relief and wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her toward him. He carefully squeezed her rubbing his hand up and down her back so soothingly she wanted to cry some more. Harry had the gentlest touch, and it was melting her—inside and out. She sighed into his chest, arms wrapping back around him. She even pressed her face right into his T-shirt and didn’t feel the creeping sensation of doom surrounding her. Instead, all she could smell was the scent of Harry’s laundry detergent and the very essence of Harry.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he sighed into the top of her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. He pushed her away from his body but kept her in between his arms. He really loved touching her face. “Can’t wait t’join you in the shower, now,” he winked.

She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t going to quit, that much was certain. “You should be better than that detachable shower head,” she murmured.

He stared at her fully for at least half a minute, unable to speak. He cleared his throat after what seemed like a lifetime and then kissed the center of her forehead followed by the tip of her nose. Right before he kissed her lips for the first time in their lives, he whispered, “that I have t’see, lovie.”

--

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[marzipanandminutiae]

Hello!

I am an aspiring author who struggles with accurately portraying historical clothing, and I stumbled across your blog while searching for photographs and information on late 19th century/USA Gilded Age fashion. From the research I've seen compiled across books/the internet, the clothing of the upper class from that area is very well documented in paintings, garment catalogues, photographs, museums, etc....but finding information on what the day-to-day wear of normal people was like is proving much more difficult. Since you seem to be knowledgeable in the subject of historical clothing in this approximate time period, I was wondering if you knew about any good resources to learn more about what people who couldn't afford to follow upper class trends were wearing in the general era as well as any general information around these items.

If it helps, I'm focused on eastern and southeastern United States farming/small railroad town/mountain mining/gulf coast wetland communities, but even just more general resources about what sort of clothing that the average poor person during the Gilded Age wore would be greatly helpful. I've been able to find a few photographs here and there, but these probably aren't an accurate depiction of a persons' 'day-to-day' wear, and I also haven't found much on how women learned to sew homemade clothes, what garments if any would have been bought, where people in rural areas would have sourced their cloth, what undergarments were like, how work shoes were made & aquired, ect.

Please feel free to ignore this if it isn't something you're interested in answering as I'm sure you get a lot of asks, but I'd greatly appreciate it if you have any pointers!

So here's the thing about 19th-century clothing:

in many ways, it's the same all the way down

now, that's a serious generalization. is a farm wife in Colorado going to be wearing the same thing as a Vanderbilt re: materials, fit, and up-to-the-minute trendiness? obviously not. but because so much of what people wore back then has only survived to the present day in our formalwear- long skirts, suits, etc. -we tend to have difficulty recognizing ordinary or "casual" clothing from that period. I also sometimes call this Ballgownification, from the tendency to label literally every pretty Victorian dress a Ball Gown (even on museum websites, at times). Even work clothing can consist of things you wouldn't expect to be work clothing- yes, they sometimes worked in skirts that are long by modern standards, or starched shirts and suspenders. Occupational "crap job clothes" existed, but sometimes we can't recognize even that because of modern conventions.

A wealthy lady wore a lot of two-piece dresses. Her maid wore a lot of two-piece dresses. The trailblazing lady doctor working at the hospital down the road from her house wore a lot of two-piece dresses. The factory worker who made the machine lace the maid used to trim her church dress wore a lot of two-piece dresses. The teenage daughter of the farm family that raised the cows that supplied the city where all those people lived wore a lot of- you get the idea. The FORMAT was very similar across most of American and British society; the variations tended to come in fabrics, trims, fit precision, and how frequently styles would be updated.

Having fewer outfits would be common the further down the social ladder you went, but people still tried to have as much underwear as possible- undergarments wicked up sweat and having clean ones every day was considered crucial for cleanliness. You also would see things changing more slowly- not at a snail's pace, but it might end up being a few years behind the sort of thing you'd see at Newport in the summer, so to speak. Underwear was easier to make oneself than precisely cut and fitted outer garments for adults (usually professionally made for all but the poorest of the poor for a long time- dressmakers and tailors catering to working-class clientele did exist), but that also began to be mass-produced sooner than outer clothing. So depending on the specific location, social status, and era, you might see that sort of thing and children's clothing homemade more often than anything else. Around the 1890s it became more common to purchase dresses and suits ready-made from catalogues like Sears-Roebuck, in the States, though it still hadn't outpaced professional tailoring and dressmaking yet. Work shoes came from dedicated cobblers, and even if you lived in isolated areas, VERY few people in the US and UK wove their own fabric. Most got it from the nearest store on trips to town, or took apart older garments they already had to hand and reused the cloth for that.

I guess the biggest thing I want to emphasize is that, to modern eyes, it can be very hard to tell who is rich and who is anywhere from upper-working-class to middling in Gilded Age photographs. Because just like nowadays a custodial worker and Kim Kardashian might both wear jeans and a t-shirt, the outfit format was the same for much of society.

Candid photography can be great for this sort of thing:

Flower-sellers in London's Covent Garden, 1877. Note that the hat on the far right woman is only a few years out-of-date; she may have gotten it new at the time or from a secondhand clothing market, which were quite popular on both sides of the Atlantic.

Also London, turn of the 20th century.

A family in Denver, Colorado, c. early 1890s.

Train passengers, Atlanta, Georgia, probably 1890s.

Hope this helps!

[intuitive-revelations]

I've got a kind-of crack theory about Ruby's mother...

Back in The Church on Ruby Road, Ruby is invited onto Long Lost Family, a genealogy TV program hosted by Davina McCall, with the hope of finding some information about her bio family. Unfortunately, they come up with nothing.

[ID: 6 gifs showing Ruby and Davina McCall talking to each other on the phone from The Church on Ruby Road. Davina apologies to Ruby, who tries to hide her upset at the news.

DAVINA: "There is no trace of your mum or dad. I'm sorry. It happens sometimes." RUBY: "No, that's fine... Thanks but, um, could you keep looking?" DAVINA: "No, there's nothing more we can do. If your parents aren't on some kind of database, we can't find them." RUBY: "Ok, um... isn't that unusual though? There's not a single trace anywhere? I mean... in the whole wide world, my mother's never left a blood sample or anythin'?"]

Now obviously, I know tracking down family is hard and, especially for orphans and adopted children, there's no gurantee that you'll be able to get the information you need. But I do find it odd there's seemingly "no trace" of Ruby's parents.

The section where I go on an odd tangent about genealogy

Speaking as someone who isn't a genealogist, but does enjoy researching family history in what little spare time they have... in my experience, close DNA matches aren't that hard to find. Especially if you're of white european descent, as Ruby is (presumably).

(It's generally harder for other ethnicities, as most research resources are white english/american focused. I know this is especially tricky for people like african-americans, where many of one's ancestors may have been enslaved. I've personally also found it tricky with Jewish communities as historically many of them used patronymic names prior to the 1800s, plus you have to account for immigration name changes, pogroms etc.)

For example, as someone who is white, with a mix of various british, mainland european, and ashkenazi ancestors, I actually have thousands of DNA matches, just from an autosomal test on Ancestry alone, let alone something like an mtDNA, xDNA or yDNA test:

[ID: Edited screenshot showing maternal and paternal DNA matches on my AncestryDNA profile. There are 16279 maternal matches and 9745 paternal matches.]

Obviously, due to the way family trees work, most of these are distant matches, however it does include plenty of close ones too, which I've been able to trace to real records and identify relationships with. Personally, my matches even already include many 1st and 2nd cousins, albeit usually a one or two degrees removed, especially as the userbase tends to swing older on these websites. This includes a few people close enough for me to have already known them from family functions and shared annecdotes. Meanwhile, where I did have blank spots, from immigrations, estranged family members, early deaths etc, I've been able to fill in a lot of information.

So what does it mean that there's "no trace" of Ruby's family?

Deliberate or not?

The big question I've had since The Church on Ruby Road is: just how untraceable is Ruby's family?

On one hand, I feel like if this was real life and professional TV genealogists were helping you, you'd get a bit more information than a quick phone call saying they've got zilch. If they're sharing nothing... do they literally have nothing?

On the other hand, this also feels like a writing shortcut. We don't really need 3 hours of Davina McCall sat with Ruby at a computer breaking down every question and theory about possible family members. Ultimately, this was probably just a way to quickly get some major exposition out there, plus throw in a Christmas celebrity cameo for casual viewers. The fact they only talk about Ruby's "parents" being in a DNA database, and no-one else, doesn't give me a lot of faith in the care for accuracy RTD took with this plot point tbh.

Indeed Davina does say 'it happens sometimes', which could indicate it's not as extreme as having zero close relatives...

...but Ruby also asks if it's unusual for there to be no trace of anything, which Davina doesn't answer. If we're asking that question, it sounds like things really could have turned up that blank.

It may not be easy for orphans and adoptees to find family, but I assume it must be quite rare to have zero possible leads? Especially if you're a younger person, and thus may have a good number of people of the right generation to know/remember your family members still alive. Worst case scenario, I can imagine having some leads, only for someone to be uncontactable, or lack the information that would be useful. That being said, maybe I'm being too optimistic, as someone who had the priviledge of never having as much difficulty.

The weird sci-fi parallel (TW: incest (kinda), intersexism)

This is where we get to my theorising. Because in a science fiction context, and specifically a time-travel one, there is one quite famous short story that has a protagonist with zero family connections: '—All You Zombies—' by Robert A Heinlein.

(Fun fact: "All You Zombies" is also the name of a planned Class Ongoing story, once I get the time to resume that.)

You may also be familiar with the movie adaptation: 'Predestination'. It's also seemingly the inspiration for all sorts of similar stories, from 'The Man Who Folded Himself' to Red Dwarf and Futurama.

You might see where i'm going from that last one...

(Again disclaimer: if you seek it out, that this story may be quite triggering. It also was written in 1959. While it's actually somewhat respectable of a trans (kind-of, you'll see what I mean - I'll generally use the pronouns used in the text below) protagonist, it includes sexism, intersexism bordering on medical horror, and selfcest/incest.)

In 1963 (funnily enough), a lonely, orphaned 18 year old woman named Jane has a sexual encounter with a man in a park which ends up leaving her pregnant. When complications arise, the doctor discovers during a successful caesarian she's actually intersex, with a form of ovotesticular syndrome, with her immature, partially developed organs "a mess". He removes the now damaged womb, ovaries etc and, without consent, 'rearranged things so that [they] can develop properly as a man".

A few weeks later, the baby is stolen from the hospital by a man.

Despite all this tragedy, they do decide to complete their transition, restarting life as a man. He struggles to find work, but eventually finds himself making a living selling fake confession stories to magazines as "the Unmarried Mother".

Years later In a bar, he tells his story to a Bartender. After it all, the Bartender reveals he's actually a time agent and offers the chance to see his baby's father again. He drops him off in 1963 to find the man.

Meanwhile, in 1964, the Bartender steals a baby from a hospital, and drops her off at an orphanage in 1945.

The Bartender returns to the Unmarried Mother a month later in 1963, just in time to see him leaving a lonely young woman he met with in a park...

"Now you know who he is", the Bartender says, "—and after you think it over you’ll know who you are... and if you think hard enough, you’ll figure out who the baby is... and who I am.” He drops the Unmarried Mother off in 1983, where he can be recruited by the Temporal Bureau.

The Bartender, Jane, the Unmarried Mother, the kidnapper, the Father, and the Baby are revealed to all be one person, a family tree onto themself. The perfect time agent, causally disconnected from the rest of humanity and thus safe from Faction Paradox - if they are truly human at all (possibly explaining their biological bi-sexuality).

Thus, literally, having no relatives.

NO, OF COURSE I don't think this is what's up with Ruby!

But...

A lot of people have suggested that the woman who drops off Ruby could be herself. Obviously this doesn't necessarily mean Ruby is her own mother - let alone her own intersex father, child, and recruiter too!

But the story did come to my mind watching the Christmas special, and I do think the less squicky side of it, the 'perfect time agent' angle is worth considering. Could Ruby really be causally/genetically disconnected from the rest of humanity? Could she literally have no close relatives?

Assuming her DNA is not taken from any other person, but some semi-random mix of genes, she really may not match with anyone. At most, she would have some distant false matches, who share very small portions of DNA with her just by statistical fluke.

"BUT", I hear you say, "Didn't she get rewritten by the literal butterfly effect in episode one? She must be connected to humanity!"

Yes she did. But you know else happened?

She was still there.

Seriously think about it. Time travel fiction often doesn't think about the full consequences of time being altered even slightly, especially for a gag, but think about it literally. If all of human history was changed and a whole new species, possibly descended from Silurians, became dominant on the planet...

... why would the Doctor still happen to be travelling with someone with a name beginning with 'Rub-' who looks like Millie Gibson? Remember her name comes from Ruby Road... so does 'Ruby Road' exist on Rubathon's Earth? The Church presumably doesn't, unless there's a lizard Jesus...

At the very least we can point to the Web of Time being particularly reinforced around Ruby for some reason, even after all the damage it's taken between Flux and now, letting Ruby persist into the new timeline. This is explicitly confirmed in the last episode, with the Doctor calling it a fixed point.

At worst, it may imply whatever 'designed' Ruby just needs her to meet the Doctor, no matter what the dominant species on Earth is.

Mind you, both of these do open questions about what happened in the timeline where Ruby was eaten by the Goblin King. Maybe targetting her after her birth left her temporally vulnerable? Or maybe it was a necessary event, to bring the Doctor to Ruby Road...

Add this to some other things we've seen this season:

In Space Babies, we're introduced to the concept of 'baby farms', allowing people to be loomed born without a parent.

We also know, at least, that Ruby registers as human to the TARDIS (though given Sutekh's influence, who knows how trustworthy that scan was now!).

In The Devil's Chord, Ruby is not erased by Maestro destroying humanity. Granted we can put this down to the Doctor/TARDIS, and how time travel effects people's biodata, but I think it could be a misdirect.

(Interestingly there was a very similar plotpoint in "City of the Daleks", the Eleventh Doctor adventure game, which saw the New Dalek Paradigm invading Earth in...1963. Unlike Ruby, Amy eventually actually does start to fade, needing a 'chronon blocker' to stabilise her. Hey remember how we just heard the word 'chronon' used a bunch in the show.)

In Boom, the Ambulance is entirely unable to find a next of kin for Ruby, despite seemingly having her in its records. This is a little hard to dissect, as you could take a lot of different interpretations away from it. At the very least, it suggests Ruby doesn't have any living descendents in the 51st century. Carla probably doesn't either (which makes sense with her not having any bio-kids, and Ruby seemingly being the only child she fully adopted rather than fostered?) But for its extensive records, it's notable it still couldn't find anyone after that, even presumably with access to Ruby's DNA like the genealogists had.

Everything in 73 Yards.

Between the snow falling in each episode, plus context in The Legend of Ruby Sunday, we know that Christmas Eve on Ruby Road, while fixed, is also uniquely vulnerable and 'raw'. With the woman's changing reactions to the Doctor, it's also flexible enough to change, somewhat.

Similarly, the possible connection between the woman who dropped Ruby off and the woman in 73 Yards, between her face not being visible and the CCTV camera being around 73 yards / 66.6 metres away. And if that woman really was Ruby, then maybe the parallels to All You Zombies may not be as insane as they sound.

[erisenyo]

I've been processing and reflecting to try to make sense of things, and it strikes me that Trump won because he:

incited fear

of tangible things

And positioned himself as the solution

He tapped into people's fear of the other (immigrants, trans people, etc) which *feels* immediate as you experience it, and therefore tangible. And maybe more importantly for the swing right we saw compared to 2020, he tapped into fear of economic harm--which people are experiencing today, now, in real ways.

And then he presented himself as the solution, with a few specific consistent talking points that might have been ridiculous and extreme but that people could hold onto. As a result, voting for Trump becomes a direct solution to your immediate fears.

You can counter fear by

alleviating it

explaining why it's unfounded

giving someone something worse to be afraid of

And at least from what I saw from the messaging I received as a swing state voter...Kamala tried to mainly do the latter but with *hypothetical, conceptual fears.*

Loss of rights, decline of the conceptual institutions of democracy--for some people these are immediate. But for most they're intangible, vaguely situated in a future that may never come to pass. Which means they are less acute, less likely to balance out today's active, tangible concerns.

She didn't explain how she would alleviate those immediate fears of the other (I would say her foray into immigration policy was poorly received by all sides, and reinforced Trumps stance). And probably more importantly, she was unable to cogently explain why people's tangible economic fears were unfounded OR how she would solve them. While rhe ad buy format is obvipuslt limited, her economic stance *as communicated* was about how Trump would make it worse (future oriented, hypothetical, non-immediate), not about any tangible solutions and policy she would put into place.

Which means her campaign basically came down to relying on a large, motivated group of anti-Trump voters...and those people were already activated against him. And she wasn't able to present anything to build on that beyond intangible, hypothetical fears and she just...wasn't going to win with that.

So what does that mean? It feels like future policy communications may be more effective focusing on specific policies that appeal regardless of demographic group (free daycare, broad healthcare affordability, education costs) rather than appeals to ideals like rights and freedoms. And that there likely needs to be a shift away from why the opposition is so scary and ridiculous, to why the opposition is *wrong.*

A move toward the tangible, and a reconceptualizing of major goals that *are* more focused around rights and freedoms in terms of the tangible steps to realize them--which will also provide a road map to follow.

(Theres obviously the confounding factor of Kamala being a woman - a lot of people wouldn't necessarily articulate that as a reason not to vote for her, but they'd be the person shaking their head at Trumps rhetoric but just believing he'd be better at managing the country no matter how nasty his language)

[goatisbetheres]

good golfer, childhood friends with nate, a reader, dog dad and AMAZING HALLOWEEN COSTUMES… i’m in love

also i loved this parts:

“We’re like, old people,” Ryan said with a laugh. “We bring chairs down. We have the nice ones that are backpacks. We walk down, we bring a cooler, a couple snacks and a book and just go down there and chill.” A couple tomes Graves has read recently are ‘American Kingpin: The Epic Hunt for the Criminal Mastermind Behind the Silk Road’, and ‘Red Notice: A True Story of High Finance, Murder, and One Man's Fight for Justice.’

Finally, Graves hosts a hockey school in his hometown every summer to make hockey more accessible for kids in his Maritimes community.

Until Ryan moved away to play Midget hockey, their closest game would be 90-120 minutes away from Yarmouth. Which was fun for the kids, who had a blast carpooling with teammates. But as Graves got older, he realized what a time commitment that was for the parents – not just time-wise, but financially as well.

“So when we kind of threw around the idea of doing the hockey school, there was two motivations,” he said. “Obviously, the first was to bring a camp to Yarmouth that was quality and parents didn’t have to travel for, and kids could sleep in their own bed at night.

“The second was financial. I know that it’s a big burden to travel. Hotels, and I think the price of hockey camps and things like that, are crazy now. So, we keep our camp honestly pretty cheaply-priced just to make it accessible for anybody that wants to come. We put a good product together. I’ve been very fortunate to do this for a living and I’ve had a lot of good people in my life that have, hockey-wise and just in life in general, that I’m able to pass on to the kids and create a hockey school that something that would honestly be what I would want to do. We play a ton of games on the ice, off the ice. It’s just a lot of fun for the five days that they’re there.”

[urhoneycombwitch]

Hiya I remember awhile ago you did a blurb with autistic!reader and I was wondering if you’d be open to doing another one? I haven’t found many fics with an autistic reader and would love love love to see more ❤️

foreword: thanks for requesting, anon. autistic!reader is very close to my heart <3 this is based on personal experience with autistic shutdowns, I obviously do not speak for the entire autistic community as this looks differently for everyone, but hopefully some of you can find yourselves reflected here.

cw: descriptions of autistic shutdown, R goes nonverbal, gender neutral!R, pet names are used

___

You can feel it coming from a mile away- that slow, sticky, sinking feeling that starts in your stomach and ends trapped in your throat.

Words come fewer and far between, near the end of your shift- everything feels too loud and too bright and too much.

In the relative quiet of the driver’s seat, you idle in the parking lot, head thunked against the worn headrest, hands limp on the wheel. It’s like someone is walking through the halls of your brain, flicking off all the light switches as they go, leaving you empty and hollowed out.

Starting the drive towards home, you will yourself to feel something, anything, but know from experience that’s not how this works- you’re gonna have to ride the wave. Which normally would leave you feeling claustrophobic and panicky, but right now, you barely have the energy to keep your eyes on the road.

Hawkins is lush and blooming with spring, wildflowers growing alongside the roads, daisies poking out from the cool shade the row of trailers provides. It’s usually your favorite time of year, the sun easing any leftover aches from winter- but as you step out into the cool air, work bag slung over one shoulder, the sun can’t touch the dark shroud of your mind.

The trailer smells like heady herbs and spices, steam billowing from stovetop pots; Eddie’s monitoring them closely, wooden spoon dipping between the two to stir. When he hears the front door close, he half-turns to you, keeping his eye line on the stove- “Hey, sweetheart- pasta’s almost ready then I’ll kiss ya. Want parmesan on yours?”

“Mhm.” A soft noise, in the back of your throat, just barely louder than the buzz of the overhead fan. “I’m gonna… change.”

The words feel clunky, like you’re chewing on them before letting them out, leaving them thin and stretched; you don’t give Eddie time to engage in more conversation, moving at what you hope is a normal and not strangely-slow pace down the hall.

It’s quieter, in your room, the clanking of kitchen noises dimmed by the half-closed door. Your work bag drops with a thunk to the carpet. With movements syrupy-slow, you sit on the edge of the bed, toeing off your shoes, not bothering to strip off your jean jacket before curling onto your side, facing the wall.

Your hands cup the insides of your elbows, absently squeezing, your vision fuzzy with paint-chipped wall, the corner of a Dio poster. The overhead light is searingly bright, humming with energy, but you’re not ready to close your eyes and give in just yet, wanting to delay the strange and upsetting dreams that are sure to plague your sleep tonight.

Distantly, you hear the kitchen fan go quiet, then some more clanking, heavy footsteps down the hall- and then the click and subsequent gentle darkness of the bedroom light getting turned off.

With all the sources of indoor noise gone, you can track Eddie’s path through the room easily- first he cracks open the window, the far-off sound of birds twittering, a gust of sunset-tinged air breezing in; then he clicks on the bedside lamp, a glow much warmer and softer than the overhead light settling into the room.

”Oh, baby,” he murmurs, deep-timbered voice rich with compassion and worry. Under normal circumstances it’d bring you to tears.

You feel the mattress dip under Eddie’s weight before he asks, “Can I hold you?”

When you manage another hum, Eddie stretches out behind you on the mattress, your body molding easily into him. His arms wrap gentle but firm around your middle, legs slotting into the space made by your stacked knees, his chin resting securely over the crown of your head.

Your breaths come easier, with the pressure of his body; Eddie smells good, familiar- like spiced deodorant, cooking basil, lingering cigarette-smoke. You can feel his voice vibrating from where his throat is pressed into you as he speaks again.

”Thought something might be up when you got home- either that or you were trying a new method to break the time loop I was trapped in, ‘cuz that’s the only other reason I can think of as to why you wouldn’t kiss me immediately.”

He’s teasing, and while you can’t bring yourself to laugh, you slip your hand into one of his, fingers interlacing, giving him a little squeeze.

Eddie returns the gesture, rings cold but quickly warming against the back of your hand. “Your mean ol’ brain lock you out again?”

When you hum again in weary admission, Eddie clucks his tongue, pulling you into himself a bit tighter- “Gonna look around for that damn key, it’s gotta be around here somewhere. Y’know, if you wanted me on my hands and knees you could’ve just said so.”

Another squeeze from you, returned as Eddie lifts his head to press his lips to the side of yours. “I’m gonna help you out of this jacket, get you something comfy to wear, and then we’re gonna eat our pasta in bed because we are goddamn grown-ups with grown-up privileges. Sound like a plan?”

You nod, and Eddie reluctantly moves away from the warmth of your body, pressing another kiss to your exposed cheek before going over to rummage through the dresser drawers for some pajamas.

The tightness in your chest loosens, just slightly, but enough to draw in a full breath for the first time in hours.

The fog in your mind remains, but as Eddie starts telling you about his next campaign plans, filling the air with a steady and welcome stream of chatter, you feel light in the distance, a bit of hope leaking through the dark.

[slashers-and-rats]

texan nights.

thomas hewitt x fem!reader | sfw | fluff and confessions (sorta)

a/n: this is another character i write, but i don’t have as much experience with it as i do billy. either way, i love a big sweet boy.

thomas was not supposed to be out this late.

luda mae always told him his rest was very important, especially for such a big guy like him. he had important things to do during the day, things that required having a full night’s sleep and an abundance of energy. he didn’t ever disobey the rules, because they were there for a good reason. they were there because they benefitted him, he thought, they were for his best interest.

but you were the same way. from the day he saw you at the slaughterhouse, to the last day he was there and being yanked out, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. during hunts, during household chores, during the warm texas nights- it was you. he had never really experienced love before, but from all the stories he had skimmed through, he wanted it. or, he wanted something like it. he didn’t think he’d ever be like a normal man, but he wished he could at least feel what it was like to be somewhat average. just an average guy, with a woman he was so desperately in love with.

that’s why he was here. he was out past his curfew, listening to the crickets sing and watching the fireflies buzz around his head. he was just out past the property lines of his home, waiting.

when the slaughterhouse had shut down, you had given him your phone number and address. you two had become good friends while working there, and not having a place to meet up anymore was a little heartbreaking. he hadn’t ever really talked to you, obviously, but you had taken a liking to the strong, silent man. he enjoyed listening to you ramble, despite how brooding he looked while you did it.

you two had developed a routine. he’d wait until everyone was asleep, and sneak to the landline to give you a call. when you answered, and heard his breathing over the receiver, or sometimes a low grumble coming from his chest, you’d know it was him. the first few times it was hard to communicate. but, you got used to it, and with lots of work you managed to figure out how to get to his place, so you could have these little rendezvous.

tommy looked up when he heard your car. it was as quiet as could be along the dirt roads, and the lights had been turned off to keep suspicion low. you didn’t know why he had to sneak around, but you respected his wishes. you slid up beside him, parking a few feet away and hopping out of your car.

“hey! i hope i didn’t keep you waiting long, it’s a pretty chilly night out. you shoulda grabbed a sweater or something!” you spoke as you neared where he sat on a patch of grass. he gazed up at you.

you looked so pretty to him. he was much bigger, much rougher around the edges. he was so much different than you were. despite all this, he had tried to clean up the best he could. he had washed real good before bed, and had scrubbed his mask the best he could too. he had tied his hair up and out of his face. you always said you liked his eyes, and anything he liked he wanted you to have. he had even cleaned underneath his fingernails, just to make sure no dirt got anywhere on you. you weren’t dirty like him. you weren’t always covered in blood, digging through corpses and peeling skin off of cadavers. you were pristine in comparison to him, and he wanted to keep it that way.

you stepped up in front of him. his head was at the same height as your stomach, and he had to crane his neck for once to look at you. your smile shone in the moonlight. it was like twinkling stars. he reached up, grabbing at your hand and tugging you down into his lap, his arms immediately wrapping around your middle. he nestled into the top of your head and your hair, a content rumble coming from his chest.

“did you miss me?” you asked. he nodded wordlessly, running his hands up and down your sides. sometimes, after going awhile without seeing you like this, he took the time to track all of your details over again. he committed every nook and cranny to memory, so that when he was alone he could dream of you. even now, as you were pressed so closely to his body, he wondered if it was all a dream. maybe he was back home, and soon would hear the birds singing and the family begin to stir. “what’re you thinking about?”

your voice cut through his thoughts, and he pulled his head back so he could look down at you. the way you met his gaze, so gentle and sweet. he had to look away yet again, turning his head to stare off at some unimportant blade of grass. he wasn’t used to all this, you thought. he wasn’t used to being cared for and touched, at least not in this way. you weren’t his family, you weren’t roughhousing with him or tugging his hair to tease. you were being sweet. gentle. everything he knew you were.

he looked back down at you, studying each little detail of your face. the darkness obscured some of it, hiding away some of the finer features, but he knew how to fill in the blanks himself. he had much practice.

you leaned yourself against his chest, resting your head in the crook of his neck. your breath tickled his skin and made him whimper slightly. he hoped you hadn’t heard. the sound of the texan night was loud enough that maybe it had been drowned out. the way you giggled made him doubt this idea, though.

“hey, tommy? can i ask you something?” you pulled back enough that you could see his face yet again. he stared down at you with such intensity. he couldn’t fathom what you’d want to ask him. he didn’t know much, education never being something he cared for, and it’s not like he could answer with a long, eloquent response. he nodded slow, barely moving. “do you… um… do you like me?”

he nodded immediately, almost bewildered by such a question. was he not out passed curfew for you? was he not sitting out of his own comfort zone in the night, holding you to his chest, barely able to contain himself from squeezing you until you popped? how could you think he didn’t like you?

this must have all shown on his face, because you shook your head. “no, no, i mean… do you… ugh, this is so childish, but- do you like like me?” tommy still wasn’t following. his head tilted to the side in confusion, eyes boring down into you. you huffed, wishing he’d understand. you clarified, yet again, by saying, “tommy, do you like me the way a boyfriend would like a girlfriend?”

ah, now he understood. it made his face go hot immediately, and you could feel him shift awkwardly underneath your weight. he started glancing around again. usually he’d drop his head down so he could hide his face behind his hair, but he couldn’t with it tied up so nice. darn him for wanting to look like a gentleman for you! after some silence, he nodded. it was hesitant, but clear. it made you smile wide.

“i like you too,” you said, and he could barely take it. it was like he was just shot through the chest. it was the first of this kind of feeling for him. it was almost worrying. his heart was beating so fast, and his stomach was rolling around like a pig in mud. he was sweating too, despite the cool breeze rolling through the field.

“do you wanna kiss me?”

the question punched the air out of him. you could hear his breath hitch, and his head darted up immediately. he was staring through you, into you, as if to be looking for some sign this was all a sick joke you were playing. but it couldn’t be. you were you, you’d never play with him like that. no, that must’ve meant you were being serious…

tommy breathed in deep, before nodding again. he wanted you so bad. he had thought about this so many times. he had fantasized about what your lips would feel like against his. he wondered if you’d taste as sweet as you looked, or if maybe you were more of a well seasoned kind of woman. either way, he’d love it.

“can i kiss you now?” you asked, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. he pressed his lips to yours through the small hole in his mask. it was awkward at first, just a firm press of your lips together, and you hummed softly against him. you pulled away. he began to fret, wondering if he had messed up, but you just shook your head. “just follow my lead, okay?”

he watched you. you shut your eyes tight, hand pressing into the side of his face, before sliding around to the back of his head. he gasped, going to pull away, but you piped up, “i won’t look. i know how you feel about your face, but i promise i won’t look. not until you’re ready. i just wanna kiss you. properly.”

he sighed shakily, before nodding and helping you unbuckle his mask. it slid off and into your lap, and soon your lips were pressed soft against his. it was much better this way. you were so soft, so gentle, so caring in the way you guided him. your hands held his shoulders while you kissed him, so slow at first, but soon picking up a bit. a tongue darted out across his lips, and he gasped, allowing you to slip your tongue past his teeth. he was so happy he had brushed extra good today, because the way your tongue danced against his let him taste you just how he wanted. you were like a dessert in paradise, you were like the forbidden fruit, you were so tasty.

he pulled you closer by the hips, arms coiling around your middle and holding you in place as he licked into your mouth. it made you moan. he wanted you to make that noise again and again and again… he was learning quick. he bit at your lips, sucked on your tongue, pulled away occasionally to nip at your jawline and neck - he did everything he could to make you make those delectable noises. it was a song he never wanted to end.

he glided his mouth down your jaw and to your throat, sinking his teeth into the soft skin there. it made you gasp his name. the words sent a shock through his body, a feeling he couldn’t explain. it just made him squirm, hearing you call to him like that. it made him bite more, and suck along your skin, and purr low in his chest in pleasure. he was so happy to see you coming unravelled just for him. you were all his.

his lips travelled lower and lower, now in between your breasts, kissing over the exposed skin. your hand tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, pressing his face deeper into your flesh. you gasped and writhed on his lap. you were two slugs, intertwined. he thought that was so romantic. he sucked your skin into his mouth and bit at what he could, and your sounds only got louder, higher, sweeter, and then-

“tommy!”

thomas darted up from his bed, sweaty and flushed, body shaking slightly. his eyes darted around, finding he was in the familiar confines of his room back home. it made him feel sick, almost. you had been right there, right in his grasp, and right through his fingers you swept.

he dropped back down against his mattress, a heavy breath escaping him out of frustration. every day since the slaughterhouse closed, he had had these dreams of you. he wanted to see you again. he needed to. you were everything he wanted.

“tommy, c’mon, big guy, we gotta get to work,” hoyt hissed in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.

tommy gave an unenthusiastic thumbs up, and it was enough of a response that hoyt walked out of the doorway and to wherever luda mae needed him to be. tommy stayed there for just a moment, trying to gather the remnants of his dreams back into his arms to no avail.

soon, he gave up, slinking out of bed to go get ready for the day. another day of chores, and another day of wishing you were in his arms.

[verdemoun]

Kieran learning spanish for Javier

MY FAV

javier has a habit of talking to himself aloud, which he developed during the gap between 1899-1911 because he was so lonely sometimes he would go weeks without actual human contact.

also, being around the 1899 gang again, he fell straight back into the habit of using spanish as a way to express himself and make snarky comments under his breath without fear of starting a fight because still, none of them know spanish

as a result, the day he realized wait a second why does kieran look hot rn while kieran basically walking him around a few blocks near bessie's house to get an understanding of the layout, and kieran being very quiet company, he started muttering to himself. because there's no way he actually wants to kiss the o'driscoll stupid o'driscoll looking pretty and making him hold his hand crossing the road god is going to smite him down how is this the second greasy dark haired white boy he's had a crush on his ancestors really lived fought and died for him to have a thing for malewives

kieran doesn't say anything, despite a very faint smile growing on his face, until they reach his absolute favorite food van like they know him he is a regular customer every monday and thursday is kieran's mexican food van lunch day and they know his order by heart

but damn straight does javier's heart stop when semi-verbal ten years into timewarp kieran duffy orders in absolutely perfect spanish, then leans over and says in spanish 'also you should probably know 12.5% of americans speak spanish nowdays'

kieran already speaks very basic conversational spanish but as the situation very quickly spirals into a very passionate affair kieran does secretly start practicing and trying to be more fluent in spanish. and for some reason his brain decides oh wait language is fun and he's a lot more comfortable talking in spanish

when javier catches him he laughs and tells him that he's silly and there's no need to learn spanish but then he gets a lil quiet and emotional because christ he never actually considered how much it bothered him that there was so much pressure to learn english with the vdls and part of him never trying to teach the gang any spanish is just how obviously disinterested they were

definitely not hiding his face cuddling his bf because he's actually struggling not to cry because someone caring enough to try to learn a whole ass language for you is not a level of love he has ever experienced before

not only that but when kieran makes mistakes in spanish and javier realizes it's okay to correct him kieran is always grateful first and gives him a little kiss thank you before returning to complaining why is language in general so hard what do you mean the table has a gender

naturally javier also makes an effort to learn asl because kieran still relies pretty heavily on asl. they will communicate in anything other than english

it is not an uncommon sight to see them at gang catch ups completely entangled in each other but also muttering to one another in spanish because they're both snarky little sass gremlins like 'do you think for every year bill spends in the closet his hairline recedes another inch'

[dira333]

To be loved is to be changed - Kisame x Reader

Words 4,9k

Angst and Fluff, Canontypical Violence and Death mentioned - requested by @snuggleboots for the Follower Celebration

Soul Mates

Two people bonded over time and distance, who are able to communicate via thoughts. Unlike the Yamanaka Family Jutsu, sight or Chakra usage is not needed. It has been reported that the two parts of the bond do not have to know each other before activating the bond.

The first ever documented case was reported in Yugakure. The subjects noted that they could only hear the voice of their partner the moment one of them turned eighteen. 

Ever since then it has been hard to find test subjects since the existence of a bond can only be proven after they’ve turned eighteen.

Soul Bonds are not a genetic inheritance, since their existence is not inherited, as the Hyuuga-Study proved. They can also not be transferred, as a study from Iwagakure proved.

It has proven wise, however, to eliminate bonds between different Nations since the bond can be used to transfer state secrets, willingly or unwillingly. 

Most female bond partners die shortly after the male bond partner has been eliminated, as an extensive Study from Konohagakure, Orochimaru, showed.

-

It had been business as usual.

A Shinobi life did not offer much chance for celebration. A birthday is nothing more than a way to calculate age. Kisame knew people who celebrated every day they survived, but he’d never been one for celebration. He certainly didn’t learn it from his parents.

His shoes are filled with liquid and he doesn’t bother to check if it is blood or water. It had been raining all day, making the mission harder for his opponents and a hella lot more fun for him.

But he’s hungry, and cold, and he could use a bed instead of the damp ground.

He’s still pretty far from Kirigakure, but he remembers a small village he had come by a few days earlier and directs his feet toward the approximate location.

Soaring through the air, the rain pelting his face, he wonders what time it is. Not that it matters, but he was born around four p.m., something his father liked to remind him of because his mother had missed making lunch because of his birth.

A branch snaps under his foot and he topples through the air, cursing loudly as he manages to land on a different tree. A shiver runs down his back but before he can think too much about it, he can hear a voice, sweet and distinctly female.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” He turns around, and squints through the rain. He’s pretty sure he’s alone.

“Are you a Yamanaka? I heard about your Jutsu!”

“What the hell is a Yamanaka? Where are you? Show yourself?”

“I’m in the middle of the street, how can you not see me? You’re the one who started cursing at me!”

“What the- I wasn’t cursing!”

“Oh, of course you were! I’ve never heard such foulmouthery before! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” The voice is sweet and young, but the choice of words is a bit old-fashioned for his taste.

“My mother is dead.” He waits, can’t help the smug grin when the voice falters in its reprimand.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! When did it happen? And how? Are you okay?”

“Easy there, just tell me where you’re hiding and we’re going to get this over with.”

“Again, I am not hiding. But since you’re so blind, obviously, I am going to walk across the street and into the bakery. Can you see me? Can I see you?”

“What bakery?” Kisame’s pretty sure he’s still a long way off any bakeries.

“The main one, you know. Yamamoto’s golden bread, right at the main road.”

“What village?”

“What village? Are you kidding me? What village could I be talking about?”

Something heavy, most likely the truth, settles in Kisame’s gut. His feet suddenly feel a lot less sturdy and he lowers himself until he’s sitting securely on the thick branch.

“What time is it?”

“It’s a bit after four p.m. why? Are you okay?”

“Have you ever heard about soulmates?”

There’s Silence and it’s shocking how unwelcome it is all of a sudden. He hadn’t known a different voice in his head before, but its absence feels so utterly unwelcome now.

“You there?”

“Yeah, I’m just… Are you saying you’re my soulmate?”

“I guess so.”

“That means you just turned eighteen.”

“Guess so.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, you know how old you are, right?”

He laughs, can’t help it. You’re a whole other thing when you’re being sassy with him.

“What does it matter? It was nice meeting you. I will make sure not to bother you again.”

“Wait! WAIT!”

“What?” He blinks into the rain. This, this whole Soulmate thing, is just a big fat joke. Fate hates him, and always has. A Shinobi can hardly hold up a relationship as it is, no less a happy one. A Soulmate Relationship? Where your partner's life is bound to yours to the point that you cannot survive without your other half? That’s just cruel.

“What’s your favorite cake flavor?”

“What?”

“Cake. What kind do you like most.”

“I don’t know. We don’t have much cake here. What’s yours?”

“I like Chocolate Cake. Would it be okay if I got one? For you? For today.”

“You can do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

-

He keeps the promise he gave himself.

He does not bother you. Well, at least he will as soon as he figures out how not to talk to you. 

You, however, have no qualms in talking to him.

“Today I got plums. I love plums. I’m going to make a Plum Pudding for my Grandmother, and some jam for my neighbors and if there’s something left over, I’ll make a cake with it. Do you like Plums? What’s your name anyway? Is it Ume? Like Plum? Or do you have purple hair?”

He’s pretty sure you’re not Shinobi. A Shinobi would not act so casually with a Soulmate bond. They are trained to be cautious about any attempt of espionage but you don’t seem to care that you blabber out too much that he should not know.

You’re from Konohagakure, it seems. Your parents died young and you’re raised by your grandmother, hence the old-fashioned way of talking. You like to bake and cook and play good housewife, but sometimes, when you pass a Shinobi on the street, you wonder how their life is. If you could be good at something that is dangerous. Something your grandmother carefully keeps you shielded from.

Your voice is as sweet as the jam you keep blabbering about. 

He wonders, not for the first time, how you look like. Are you as plump as the women of Yura? Thin and elegant like the people in Ishi? Maybe you like to put on colorful makeup and dance around in wild clothing like the people of Kimmun? 

Whatever you look like, he cannot imagine your body next to his, your life entwined with the one he leads.

Kirigakure has gotten scarier and he’s growing fed up with orders that make no sense, superiors who are more corrupt than the criminals he’s paid to bring in.

***

On your eighteenth birthday, you see the sun rise over an ocean. It’s a breathtaking view and you enjoy it from the safety of your bedroom, the windows facing the forest.

You’re not sure if your soulmate is a quiet man or simply has the self-discipline of a god. 

He rarely ever answers your questions, lets nothing slip beside a lot of curse words. But his dreams are vivid and wether he does it willingly or without his knowledge, he shares them with you.

You know they have to be his dreams. You’ve never traveled further than the next Village outside of Konoha. But you dream of lush landscapes, of mountains that pierce the sky, of the sea stretching further than your eyes can reach, of a village hidden in the mist.

He must be from Kirigakure. And while he kept quiet, you’ve read everything about Soulmates you could get your hands on. Most Hidden Villages demand of their population to come forward as soon as their Bond is forged. And while you’ve not heard of a execution in years, you don’t want to know what would happen to you if it got known that your Soulmate is from Kirigakure.

And a Shinobi too.

Some nights his dreams are gruesome and you wake up crying, your mind filled with pictures of dead comrades, of heavy rain that washes away the blood.

He never answers after that and you wonder what he feels about your bond. Is it guilt or would he rather have someone else?

But everytime you tell yourself to give this up, to stop your stories, to let his silence be silence, the wall he’s put up crumbles.

Like today. When he thinks of the ocean and allows you to see it too.

-

“I got a Kunai.” You tell him, the weapon heavy in your satchel. “Will you tell me how to use it?”

“Why do you need to know?” It’s been days since you’ve last spoke. You’re a little surprised that he’s answering.

“I want to be able to defend myself.”

“You’ll do more harm than good with a Kunai.”

“Don’t belittle me.”

“I’d never.” There’s sincerity in his voice. Exhaustion too.

“Bad timing?”

“Hide that Kunai away. Don’t use it until I tell you how. First you need to learn how to use your Chakra.”

“Should we do that later? You probably want to rest.”

“It’s okay.” You wonder what he’s doing right now. Does he sit down to focus on you or is he on the move? You think of him, a voice without a body, tucked into a bed and feel his amusement.

“That is new.” You comment. “I could feel your feelings.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.” You interrupt him. “I want to know you.”

“I don’t want you to know me.”

“Oh…” He must feel it too, the pang of disappointment going through you, because he rushes to apologize.

“It’s better for you. Safer. I’m sorry you’re bound to me. I know if I die, you’ll most likely die too, but I don’t have to drag you down. As long as I am alive, somewhere far away from you, you can lead a happy, easy life.”

“Do you think I could love another men with your voice in my head?”

Silence. No matter how much you call, he does not answer.

-

Two weeks after your eighteenth birthday a pair of Shinobi knocks on your grandmothers door. 

You’re in the kitchen stirring a pot of compote, but your grandmothers quivering voice pulls you away from the stove. She sounds scared.

“Sit down,” you tell her, her frail shoulders shaking under your hands as you lead her to the kitchen table. “I will handle this.”

“But-”

“It’s all good, obaa-chan. The Shinobi work to help us. Drink some water, it’s all good.”

You return to the door, the woman already inside your house.

“I’m sorry, her health isn’t the best. How can we help you?”

“It’s just a checkup.” The woman smiles but it’s not a friendly smile. “You turned eighteen recently and you got quite a few books from the library, yet you never came to the office to register your soulmate.”

“Oh, of course.” You nod, for the first time glad that your Soulmate is so keen on keeping quiet. “I understand. Sadly I do not have a soulmate. I was hoping I would have one, since my parents were Soulmates, but the books were right. It cannot be inherited.”

“I’m afraid we cannot go by your word alone.”

“I understand.” You nod again. “What do you require me to do?”

The two of them stare you down and you blink up at them innocently. You might not be a Shinobi or have any talents beyond following recipes, but you certainly know how to lie.

“That will suffice.” The man nods curtly. “Sorry about the bother.”

“Oh, of course. Do you want to stay for some tea? I am just making a new batch of cake if you want to stay or come back later for a slice.”

“We cannot stay.”

“I understand. But please don’t hesitate to come back later. It was always important to our family to feed the Shinobi.”

“Why?” The woman puts her hand on her partners arm, halts him in his movements as she stares you down. You wonder what she’s thinking. She’s clearly not trusting you.

“We are only able to live in safety because of the Shinobi’s work. My mother was too sickly to work as a Shinobi and my father was a tradesperson and they instructed me to always be thankful for the hard work of the Shinobi. I wouldn’t dare to disappoint them.” You bow.

“I always wanted… to train too. But I do not have any talent, it seems.” You look at the floor in a show of shame and that seems to pacify them for good.

“There is no cake needed.” They agree quietly. “But thank you for the offer.”

The door closes behind them, but you don’t trust it to keep you safe. You heard of Shinobi who can see through walls, so you don’t dare to exhale in relief and instead keep yourself as busy as you would normally, tell your grandmother in a cheerful tone all about the conversation.

“Oh, I am so sorry that you do not have a Soulmate.” She clutches her chest as she speaks. “It was so lovely for your mother to find your father.”

“Like I’d ever leave you.” You tell her and she pulls you down to kiss your temple before leaving for another nap. She’s been tired a lot these last weeks.

***

“I want to see you.” Kisame shudders at your words. But no, it’s not the words but your longing. He can feel it so intensely, that he’s no longer sure if it’s yours or his.

Life has gotten lonely as a Missing-Nin, his Hitai-Ate no longer a thing he wears with pride.

He’s been building a home, telling himself that it’s meant just to house him and no one else, but his body betrays his mind when he builds it large enough to house a family. 

Yet, how can he tell you about it? How can he take you from Konoha, the safe village you grew up in, the arms of your grandmother, to a house on the shore with no neighbors 

“It’s not safe.” He tries to answer, but you’ve gotten better at getting him to answer.

“I’ve gotten better. I can already walk on water! I barely miss any more when I throw a Kunai. Please, I just want to see you!”

He doesn’t say no, cannot bring himself to accept the reality so how could he convince you?

But he dreams of you, of all the bits and pieces he’s gotten to know in the last five years. 

-

“I’m going to be in Kimmun next month.” You tell him a few days later, resolve audible in your thoughts. “It’s at the edge of the border. I’m going to be there for at least two days and there are plenty of hostels that won’t look too closely at either of us if we pay good money for a room.”

Anxiety closes up his throat. Kisame knows those hostels well enough, has killed in more than one of them.

“You will not go near them, do you understand me? I’ve got my ways, I can get into any room you could stay in.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Let me think about it.”

“Okay.” You give in easy. Too easy. He realizes why a few days later when you pick the topic back up, intent on making sure he knows exactly how much you want to see him.

He should feel flattered and he would, maybe, if not for the forbidden Jutsu that he took with him when he left Kirigakure. The Jutsu that transformed his body in more ways than one. 

No matter how sweet you are, no matter how much you’re supposed to be suited for him, can he really expect you to be fine with that?

-

Kimmun is lovely at this time of the year. The streets are bustling with people to the point hardly anyone takes notice of him.

It’s an important time for a merchant like you when everyone’s offering and you have to have a good eye and a quick mind to gather the best of the best.

Kisame spots you easily. You’re like a Sakura Tree in a field of wildflowers, all the colors in the world doing nothing but emphasizing your beauty.

You work alone and he wonders when you started, how you convinced your grandmother to let you. You don’t seem a novice anymore, he can see it in the way your eyes seem to catch everything, how you won’t let even the most charming seller convince you to buy something you don’t want.

He follows you up to the Hotel you’re staying in, not too cheap but not too fancy either. As the day turns into night he can see you at the window, looking out into the darkness. You’re obviously waiting for him and he wonders when he turned this way, when the fearsome warrior became a man following the mere wishes of a woman.

But you’re different, aren’t you? You were picked to be with him or maybe he was picked to be with you, either way, it’s a cruel choice for either of you. 

It’s best to get this all over with, so he moves even when he dreads it. He didn’t get out of Kirigakure because he was too shy, or unwilling to get uncomfortable.

…

“Close your eyes.” Your back is turned to the window - a grave mistake he will have to make you unlearn. But no, he will not, because this will end here.

“You’re here.” You say, and your voice is filled with too much delight. It makes him feel sick.

“Whatever.” He mutters before he can say “Of Course.” 

“Can I look?” You ask, hands over your eyes as you move from one foot to the other.

He puts Samehada down, closes the window behind him, and draws the curtain closed. Anxiety pools cooly in his stomach but he nods first and confirms loudly second.

His eyes are on you, can’t look away no matter how much he wants to. He doesn’t miss one second of your reaction. He waits for the disappointment, for the giddiness to flake at the edges. But you curl your hands into fists in front of you and look up at him as if he hung the moon and the stars. 

“What are you looking at?” He asks, his voice a bit too harsh. You’re too delicate to be treated this way, no matter his feelings.

“Can I hug you?”

…

When he wakes up from a nap he didn’t mean to take, your head rests on his chest and his water clone looks over with envy written over his face.

“Get one yourself,” he tells his clone, which is childish, but there’s no one to witness it but himself.

You’re a warm weight, your presence enough to convince him to stay in bed. No one’s been following him, he tells himself, he can enjoy this short time with you.

And even though he knows that he shouldn’t, that he should get as far away from you as possible, for his sake as much as yours, he finds himself bound to you through more ways than one. There’s the look in your eyes when you wake up, or the way you hold onto his hand when he pulls away - just to brush his teeth, okay - or how you insist on getting breakfast in bed and lean in to kiss jam from the corner of his mouth.

By the time another evening rolls around he’s lost sight of who’s the dangerous one of the two of you. You know what you want - him - and he’s never been able to say no to you, it seems. Not when Kisame wants you just as much, not when he’s never gotten anything that belonged to him and only him, before. 

He wants to take you home, to the almost-finished house at the shore. 

For you, he’d become a merchant or a stay-at-home Dad. 

He tells you, whispers it into each kiss until he’s sure you know, repeats it in the realm that houses just the two of you, and tells you over and over again even as you sleep to the point that he knows you dream of him too.

And Kisame’s convinced, he knows it must be, that he will not leave this town without you…

Until one of his Clones goes down, alerting him of the imminent danger.

He needs to leave, right now, when the morning is not even a thought yet in the minds of this city, when your head rests easy right over his heart.

Kisame needs to leave you behind, because there are at least three high class Nin looking for him and if he cannot lead them away from the city, divert their attention with a fight, they will keep looking and they will find you. 

He might not want to leave, but he will if it’s the one thing that keeps you safe.

So he does.

***

The bed feels empty when you wake up. His sword is gone from where it leaned against the window sill. Your mind is empty too and there’s no note left out for you to find. When you call out his name, out loud and in your head, you don’t get an answer. 

You want to wait, tie yourself to your bed until he shows up again, until he at least answers your questions in your head, but you’ve came here with a group of other merchants - for safety reasons - and you’re expected to leave today, having only a few hours to spare. 

So you make yourself go through the motions, wash the memories off your body as best as you can and leave Kimmun so unlike you’ve entered it.

Gone is the hope and anticipation. With every hour spent without his voice in your mind you feel surer of his decision. 

To you it might have been a beginning. To him it was an end.

-

One week after your return your grandmother has to be hospitalized.

You hold her hand as she fights for breathe after breathe, as her heart stutters to a stop. 

You don’t cry when her body burns, when all that’s left of her is ash and bone shards, happy memories and the ghost of her kiss, the feeling of her lips pressed to your temple or her hands folded around yours as she teaches you.

You return to your now empty house, wondering when you turned this resilient, this cold.

They say that to be loved is to be changed, but in your case it has to be different. Loving Kisame has changed you. You wonder if you changed him too, even just a little.

-

Work consumes you. 

There’s no time to bake, no time to make jams. 

You don’t dare stop to taste the plums, fearing it will unravel you at the seams.

They say one woman can’t manage a whole business alone, so you smile and nod and ask for their assistance, collect their money and open another shop in Kimmun, because why not? 

You keep yourself busy until you search for a painkiller and find your tampons, unopened, unused in, what… a month? Two?

That’s when you break, because what are you supposed to do?

You’re unmarried, have no relationship to name and your business is riding on your good reputation.

It’s on the bathroom floor, hugging your knees like a little girl, that you call out to Kisame for the first time in weeks, call upon his name like he’s God and you’re the sinner.

-

His response is the view of moldy ceiling, the wooden boards covered with black spots.

“What?!” Even your inner voice breaks with confusion.

Memories flood your mind after that. 

Running from Kimmun, someone following closely. A fight. Blood, so much blood.

Intense pain shoots through your left leg. A nameless nurse taking care of you.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“I’m hiding.” He says. “I’m not even sure this place has a name.”

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“I couldn’t. I had to focus on the fight and by the time I could answer you’d gone silent.”

“So? You could have called out to me first.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere. Not for the first time you curse your connection. You can tell that he means it.

“What happened?” He asks.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence follows, but it is not empty. You can feel his doubts wage war on him.

“Is it mine?” He asks, voice quiet, almost subdued.

“Of course it is yours!”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Take me with you. Please! I am all alone here and we could live together, right? I don’t care where we’d be, just let us be together, anywhere is fine.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I care.”

“If you die, I die. It will always be dangerous.”

“Let me think about it. I want to, I do, but we need to be smart about this.”

“I love you.”

He does not say it back. But you can see what he sees, your head resting on his chest back in Kimmun, your hands joined together. And that is just as good as hearing those three words.

***

Your growing belly is hidden beneath a wide skirt.

You have not complained once since the two of you left Kimmun in the early morning hours.

It will take months for those back in Konoha to learn that you sold your shares in Kimmun too, just like you did with all of your belongings in Konoha. By then it will be impossible to find a trace of you, to hear even a faint whisper of what happened with the lone young girl coming from the village.

The scars on his leg have healed up. Kisame feels no pain as he lifts you up and carries you over the threshold like one does with their new wife, the future mother of their children. Like his father should have done with his mother. Like your father has done with your mother.

He’s twenty-four, a criminal by the laws of Kirigakure, and a Soulmate by the laws of nature. He’s a husband, a homeowner and in a few months, he’s going to be a father too.

Your savings will keep you two afloat for quite some time and there’s a small village a few hours by foot, that will sell them whatever they could need.

He’s not yet convinced that this can last, that you can be happy in a place as lonely as this, that he can keep you safe, but he wants to try.

-

Mikio is six when he takes up the black coat with the red clouds. 

He doesn’t do it for the money and not for the name.

But the twins just turned three and you’re pregnant again, yet there have been Kiri-Nin asking for him in the village and he knows he cannot run forever.

Pain’s way might not be the nicest, but he promises peace. 

Is there anything he wouldn’t do to make sure you’ll be safe?

“Say goodbye to Papa.” You call out to Mikio who’s drying shells in the sun. The twins are running cirlces around him, probably thinking he’ll be back tomorrow from another trip to the neighbouring village. They don’t know yet about the meaning of missions, or how long three months really are.

But Mikio comes after you. He’s got a nose for things he shouldn’t know about.

“I don’t want you to go.” He says when Kisame steps closer. 

“I don’t want to go.”

“So don’t go.”

“‘s not as easy as that.”

Mikio looks away again.

“Listen.” Kisame kneels down beside him, aware how much he’s growing. He’s coming after him with his height. “I’m not going to tell you to look after Ma. That’s not your job. You’re a kid. I have to leave so that you can stay a kid until you grow up. That’s not easy, but I’m doing it for you.”

“Okay.”

“Can I have a hug goodbye?”

Mikio ponders it for a second before crawling into his lap. He’s much too big for that now, growing too heavy for it too, but there had never been a chance for this when Kisame had been a kid, so why should he deny his son something he’d never knew he could have for himself?

-

When he leaves, he takes your voice with you.

It follows him wherever he goes.

Kisame knows when you’re safe, he knows when you’re in trouble. 

Sometimes it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

To be loved is to be changed, you’d told him once when he’d complained about how his life had hardened you.

Kisame wonders how he’d have turned out without you.

He finds he doesn’t want to know.

[prapaiwife]

Yei, this episode, we can clearly see what he has been doing behind chers' back and yak's, too. And It's all just going to implode eventually. He clearly owes those people back the money he borrowed from them. And it is so sad because I just think about that scene when cher was telling him how he would help him he would even ask his mom for some money to help them out. And i get yei doesn't want to, cause him just being able to have cher in of itself is enough he's grateful to have his mom's blessing. Unlike how It seems he doesn't have his father support at all. I think in my little prediction that if anything yak and yei's Dad felt disappointed or like it was a disgrace to the family and the boxing Community in general for his son to be gay and he couldnt accept that nor want to be a part of that and left them with the gym to manage with all of it's financial burdens to them.

But cher is just as worried and feels the burden with all of the gym and it's finances and supporting their boxers. Cher has been such an open ear to yei he will listen to him on whatever. Cher has stuck out through this whole thing with him up till this point. When things are getting hard he's still in this with him because he wants to help, because he sees how much the gym means to yei and the gym itself has became a place that he has also grown to love so much it's basically thrur second home away from home.

He just needs to stop feeling like he needs to do it alone because he doesn't have to. It's like as if he needs to prove to himself and to his dad that he could be that man, that provider. My friend and I were discussing this, and she said thus, which I think is so true in yei's situation. It's in dark blue kiss when pete says queer people feel they have to be perfect to make up for being queer to their parents.

But the thing is, yei already is doing his best. He's taking care of his little brother, helping him out in any way that he could. He's taking care of cher, and he's happy with him and only wants the same for him.

What yei is doing now is not going to work in the long run it's only going to be more of a problem as time passes. And with him doing this behind cher back, can be seen as him being unfaithful as cher told him last week, or come up as you are doing this because you don't trust him. Cause u felt that you had to go behind his back and do this because you know that cher was not going to accept that no matter the circumstance.

In this episode, he took them out on this trip, and I know how he was able to pay for it because of the money he borrowed from those guys. And when they were talking at the river about when they first met and how he saved cher from being assaulted, And how share came to we know they fell for each other very hard.

He was telling him that he's sorry if he was ever a sucky boyfriend and making these nice romantic gestures for him because obviously he loves him, no doubt about it. But also because he knows that what he's doing is going to catch up to him sooner rather than later. And when cher finds out he's going to be mad but I also think he's just going to be more disappointed that he didn't trust him enough to tell him this is what he was doing all this time. He's putting himself and cher and his yak in danger this way. A relationship is a two-way street you have to communicate yes they talk about the words of the gym multiple times but he never went down this road possibly getting a laundry money from some people who he's going to have to pay back to. So it's just that when this all comes down, it's going to be a lot. I know it.

Cause now. What if those guys come to look for him at the gym?And they don't see him, they only see cher. And cher has no idea what is going on!? 😭😭 this is gonna be a disaster.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 12 thoughts

didn’t watch an episode last night because i was sad. and by consulting the people, i knew that this episode would ALSO be sad. but now in my infinite wisdom, i realize: how better to distract yourself from your own sorrow than to watch some fictional characters writhe in their own grief? which brings us here.

“a headless corpse walks out of a hospital morgue” well that actually just sounds silly. i know it’s not gonna end up being silly, and i’m sure my heart will be on the floor, but you have to admit, it sounds silly.

author’s note: the episode about the dude with no head is now the second episode EVER to make me cry. and editing these notes is gonna SUCK SO BAD😭😭😭I WAS WRONG ABOUT DROWNING MY SORROWS IN FICTIONAL WOES. I HAVE NO INFINITE WISDOM. ONLY TEARS.

let us begin below. join me. hold me. comfort me.

ambulance time :3 we see a guy named leonard, who i presume will be the star of the episode given its title. he tells michele driving the vehicle that this guy having a heart attack is “up to his ass in alligators”, and idk what that means, but it doesn’t sound good

oh a needle. mmmm no no. NO. no. <- girl who cannot look at the screen

NO! no. crash. oh god, that’s my worst fear. EMS lady michele who made the mistake of looking behind her while driving is now covered in blood. i assume that we will see leonard's head soon.

(little did i know!!! little did i know. i have a fear even deeper than causing a car accident that decapitates someone)

ah, yes. the head is not attached to anything. michele, covered in blood, is leaving after leonard is dropped off in the morgue.

the guy in the morgue is trying to stream casual by chappell roan (obviously) but he hears some thumping in the distance. leonard has escaped! without his head!

oh god, he killed morgue guy. you see, i thought we were going to get an episode where the mystery was how the headless man got around and lived his daily life, not that the headless guy was also going to be a murderer. i thought we were gonna get scenes of his headless body using sign language to communicate and question how he’s gonna eat in a semi-comical fashion. but now. now he’s evil. sigh.

and leonard is naked. do they put you in the morgue naked??? i always assumed there’d be a little bit of dignity…

SCULLY TIME!!! i can feel all pain in my body evaporating. she is looking in the little morgue case he escaped from. there are a lot of bloody footprints. and mulder is here, too!

it’s funny how i sit down to watch the scully and mulder show and then when i see them on screen i think “oh boy, it’s scully and mulder time :D”

good news! the morgue guy who was certainly streaming chappell is NOT actually dead. he was just knocked out. and had all his clothes taken, which is unfortunate.

scully is gagged at the idea mulder thinks a headless body escaped from the morgue, and me too girl, but i feel you should be used to it by now. we probably both should be, actually. 

she thinks it’s some sort of coverup for body snatching! oh, compelling. even mulder seems to nod along. god, wouldn’t it be funny if they just had a normal case once? please. i beg.

they’re looking at security camera footage from the night it all went down, and see the clothes that were stolen from morgue guy being worn by someone. scully thinks maybe the thief got scared and dipped, which led to this wonderful exchange: “where could he hide an adult body where it wouldn’t be found?” “i’ll show you” <- YEAHHHH I LOVE WHEN SHE SAYS WEIRD AND UNSETTLING STUFF

time to check the medical waste. are you telling me surgical byproduct gets turned into roads??? i don’t think i can handle that information, so i’m going to simply not fact check it. but she would never lie to me.

mulder looks freaked tf out as he hands the flashlight to her to inspect the waste LMAOOO

“mulder i think i’m gonna need your help, your arms are longer” (cut to visible distress on his face) LMAOOOOO

he’s groaning as they rummage through bags of human stuff, but they find leonard’s head!! noticeably, NOT the rest of him

they are going to split up, and mulder will go to leonard’s house while scully looks at his head. and she makes a pointed correction that he is no longer living. damn. 

his head weighs 10.9 pounds! the head looks a little… wow, i was gonna say it looked fuzzy, but now we get a closeup and it’s actually very convincing. no rigor mortis or clouded eyes, which is inconsistent with the time of death. and she’s gonna go to brain town when he opens his eyes!!

well, bodies do that sometimes. and he’s opening his mouth. and closing it. so uh. what’s that all about?

something or someone is running as mulder enters leonard’s house. he finds a bathtub full of blood, which is not promising. and blood out the window. 

bro stuck his fingers in the blood and sniffed it….. OH! it’s not blood. it’s iodine. okay. that’s less freaky. 

scully says it seems the head has been effected by radiation that is preventing any sort of scanning, and also that she hasn’t cut into the head yet, even though she knows it’s just extra energy stored in the cells that made him blink, but still! aww mulder be NICE TO HER!

“maybe he was home” "leonard betts." “yeah” “without his head.” “yeah :)” LMAO

OMG his headless ass was IN the iodine!!!

WAIT.... HE HAS A NEW HEAD??????

wait… he was a really good EMT… and his head somehow grew back… is he one of those aliens that can heal people???

(author's note: it was a really good guess on my part, but i think he was some sort of new freak not previously established in canon)

he could diagnose illness very well… but he kept his distance from his coworkers. hmmmm. and he never got sick. hmmmm. or injured. HMMMM. michele is suspicious.

they’re gonna mummify his head. sort of. and mulder is smiling at scully over his own stupid joke, and i want to punch his stupid face (affectionate).

man. i do not care for this slicing of heads process. 

oh no!! leonard was like, entirely made of cancer. was he absorbing the cancer of his patients… is that a thing you can do….?

he should have died a looooong time ago. or maybe the process of slicing distorted the findings?

michele is pulling into the hospital as she deals with another case, but she hears someone say “up to your ass in alligators” over the radio… and she recognizes leonard’s voice! he’s making another correct ID on what is wrong with a patient!!!!!!!

the agents are off to one of the professors at a maryland university that mulder keeps on call at all times, who is going to look at the head slice. oh…. this guy does aura photography. okay, so not super promising.

she’s like yeah yeah yeah i know about eastern medicine but WHAT does it have to do with this. i respect her knowledge and her focus.

it looks like the aura photography captured some shoulders? that i guess mulder thinks proves leonard is still alive somehow?

“are we happy with the results?” <- something about the way he said this made them sound so married. i'd be happy to live in that brief moment forever.

scully looks pissed off into another dimension at this whole process LMAO

mulder wants to know if there is a good kind of cancer that is actually regeneration…. and the iodine helps regeneration! which has been used in labs for creatures whose limbs regrow, i guess 

“there isn’t a creature on earth that can regrow its head” “worms. you cut a worm in half, you get two” <- and that’s why you’re the FBI’s most unwanted, because you advocate for worm murder 😭😭

“mulder, they’re worms” <- LMAOOOOOOOOO STOP i saw that line out of context once 

scully gets a phone call! and it turns out leonard had an alter ego named albert- whose fingerprints match his? but albert has a living relative. visit time?

yes, it is visit time. oh! the picture his mom has on the table is the same as the picture we saw earlier of leonard when he was featured in the newspaper!

they try to tell his mom that “her son” died recently, but she says he died 6 years ago!! well, that is confusing.

michele is also on the case, looking for whoever it was who she heard on the radio earlier using that distinct phrase and accurately diagnosing people. the others pointing him out to her refer to him as “the new guy”.

and it is leonard! michele is chasing him…. he hugs her and reassures her that it’s okay. at first it's touching, and i realize too late that he is going to kill her, which he does while apologizing. then he lays her down???? but he gets caught!!

he is running and running…. but he gets tackled by the cops and handcuffed. with a very conspicuous head bruise.

OH MY GOD he PULLED HIS THUMB OUT OF THE HANDCUFF BLEUGHHHHHHHHH all the cops return to is some blood and a finger 😭😭😭

no no bad…. body horror… bad…. not for junis, who are weak and frail… 

michele was given a lethal dose of something that occurs naturally, so it usually misses detection. and leonard was ID’d as the attacker!!! oh i just know everyone at that hospital is SO confused

mulder and scully are fighting over evolutionary theories…. while holding umbrellas in the snow… sigh. so beautiful.

GAG! the trunk of leonard's car is filled with cancerous tumors. that scully can name as she sees them. a massive flex of her knowledge.

OH. maybe he eats cancer. well. this is a bold theory, mulder, and what a lovely time for you to propose it, as i am just thinking of how lovely they look in the snow, and how they should go ice skating and other such winter activities. sure. the guy eats tumors.

and the car leonard was driving traces back to the mom!!! so they go to her place with a warrant. scully confronts her, saying they know she’s lying about her son being dead, and he killed someone, so lying to protect him isn’t gonna get her anywhere except JAIL.

mulder finds iodine while she recounts a tale of her son being beaten up as a kid. and she says god means for leonard to stay even if people don’t understand. crazy thing to say about a guy who just killed someone. 

leonard is at a bar watching someone smoke and looking at him hungrily. while his baby thumb pulsates and regrows. NASTY! nasty. 

he’s getting up after the cigarette dude and following him outside like he’s hunting some prey. he says that “you’ve got something i need” and whips out a tiny knife. uh oh.

back at mom’s house, they find a storage locker receipt. off to track it down.

oh. leonard was straight up eating that dude inside the storage locker. see, i don’t care for that. and also he is screaming while this happens and also his body is pulsating and oh my god. OH MY GOD HE JUST GREW A NEW HEAD???? out of his mouth. whyyyyyy

at the storage unit, the agents find blood flowing from beneath the door, and then the dead cigarette guy. but leonard comes out in a car at them!

i like how mulder grabbed scully to keep her safe... it was very nice. 

leonard is speeding off. and they shoot at him, which causes the car to go up in flames. damn. good shots, those two.

so the cigarette guy had his lung removed, but now leonard seems to be burnt to a crisp. BUT! when they dig up the guy under the pseudonym who had allegedly died 6 years ago, he looks also very dead!!

so he just keeps dying and coming back? i ask myself.

no! mulder thinks that the car crashes- both times- were decoys, and that “leonard” is still at large. scully does not seem pleased by this. 

and back at his mom’s house, she’s washing him in iodine, saying they “found your friend”. she says the FBI aren’t going to leave him alone…. you know what you have to do…. WHAT TF DOES THAT MEAN???

the agents are watching her house. but then an ambulance rolls up, saying that an old woman has had massive blood loss. did he eat his mom?? how would anyone know?? is this a trap???

scully finds his mom, who has a surgical cut…. and they’re taking her to the hospital… scully is helping her out…. she is so kind

but as they take leonard's mom out, scully notices IODINE ON HER HEAD! is he waiting on top of the ambulance? she tells mulder to get over here RIGHT NOW. 

and leonard grabs her!!!! and says she has something he needs. NO!!!!! no that means…… no. 

she’s beating the hell out of him though which is a major slay. she defibrillates him. queen.

it seems he really died. for now.

mulder’s telling her she should be proud, but she just wants to go home. that's what she says: "i want to go home". oh my goooooooood. oh my gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood.

wait it’s still going. she’s coughing. NO, SHE’S COUGHING BLOOD?????!

no it’s her nose. oh my god. the end.

FUCK YOU ALL I HATE EVERYTHING (punches wall) (punches table) (punches everything in an arm’s reach) (keeps punching until i collapse into a ball of sobs)

well. for most of this, distracting myself with fictional character’s problems worked. but now i’m just sad about my own life AND scully’s.

okay. i won’t lie. you want me to tell the truth? fine. i’ll tell you. i’d never lie to you...

i knew about the scully cancer arc. 

there. i said it. i know, i know, i too wanted everything to come as a surprise. but in all honesty, i’m glad i knew about it, because if i didn’t i’d probs be straight up ugly crying right now. 

yes, i saw it in a gif set a while ago- not this part, but from a later episode- and i find myself still deeply saddened despite knowing it was going to happen. i think it’s just so awful that cancer is a thing that happens, and even knowing that scully isn’t real doesn’t it make it less of a reality for other people, and that breaks my heart. of course i want my fave fictional girl to be okay- and this was foreshadowed after the abduction arc anyway- but cancer…. god, it’s just horrific. i think we all know someone who has it and have had to see what they endure. and it’s so genuinely and horrifically fucked up. luckily i can look at this leonard guy and be like damn, wouldn’t it be fucked up if a guy grew a new head? and i can rest knowing that it shall never happen to anybody alive, but this? like. you just don’t know. it could happen to anyone. 

and that really scares me, i think. more than anything else. so at least we learned about my deep set fear together? glad we had that bonding experience.

gooood. i’m gonna cry. okay yes, check it write it down- the tears are in my eyeballs. you can’t see it, but it is happening. yes, and now they are leaving my eyeballs and going down my cheeks. okay so. that’s fine i guess.

fuck me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this episode was fine, other than that, i guess? i mean i laughed a bit but then i laughn’t. the laughter was cancelled. his face when he was digging around in the body part jumble was really funny, i love when he is squeamish. and i liked him laughing at his own joke and how beautiful they looked in the snow. the idea of this as a monster was kinda interesting and very disturbing in practicality- body horror is always gonna get me- but leonard himself wasn't super compelling. you can't really be that good of a healthcare worker if you're in it just to eat people. his mom was more interesting to me, but also she was annoying because how tf are you gonna sit there and say your baby boy eats people because he is so special?

scully, why do they do this to you……….. i need to save you from chris carter myself……. 

s4 loyalists: you scare me, because how can you endure this willingly? bro, i love angst too... but this is just straight up masochism 😭

[tirfpikachu]

as a wheelchair woman who isn't validated by all the terms or sayings in the english language, trans ppl need to start giving eachother the advice to build resilience as a community instead of inciting bitterness against The Cissies and actually accept being the exception to the rule. you need to realize that language, especially language important for activism reasons, doesn't need to completely change to include you in every single area. sometimes someone will say something about walking or stairs or driving or lots of things that i physically cannot do, and at first it pissed me off when i still was feeling jaded about being disabled, but i really did find so much peace after i actually accepted it. i don't think many trans people have actually fully accepted being trans, being different. if it was a close friend i was having a one-on-one talk with, the difference not being acknowledged might feel a bit weird at times, but i would never expect a total stranger to alter their language just to include me. that would feel super awkward and clunky and just feel like trying to pander to me out of excessive politeness. i nowadays understand that sayings and og definitions of terms may not include me... and that's okay!! even as a gay person, in feminist spaces, women will talk about men in dating and it's obviously implied that they're talking about straight & bi men without them needing to specify the straight part every single fucking time. it would be so tedious and unnecessary. i totally accept them using it that way in certain contexts. it took me a while to get there, but i now see it neutrally.

the thing is trans ppl themselves even use sex/agab-based language for the overwhelming majority of people and only ever care when the person is considered too gnc to look/act like a "normie" male/female person. they also will talk shit about men without saying cishet before it everytime, it's just implied, and you can tell from context clues. why isn't that the case with women/womanhood? why can't woman be both a biological sex and also a gender role that some may transition into or wish to? why can't feminists use the first definition, the og version of the term, when talking about generic female issues? why can't trans ppl add nuance if needed, but also sit back and understand that marginalized groups need to discuss things at length and having to insert a billion caveats every single time when using a term that applies to the GRAND MAJORITY of people living as men/women slows down our activism and just frustrates everyone for no good reason? you have to understand that you're an outlier. you have to understand that you're outside the norm. blm activists don't mention people with skin disorders every single time they discuss race dynamics. gay activists don't need to mention trans ppl who live as the opposite sex/agab every single time they talk abt gay issues. female folks don't need to mention male/amab ppl in every single female/afab-specific discussion unless it's relevant. just as trans ppl can focus on their own issues too without needing to watch their tongue excessively to cater to non-trans feelings. sometimes you need to know that you're the exception, and as such ppl won't need to mention that not all people can drive when talking about road accidents, or that not everyone can get the vaccine done in their arms if they're amputees, or that some gay people are ace so they don't need to worry about being caught having gay sex and facing homophobia for it. sometimes you gotta learn that you're not always gonna be the center of the conversation, especially in conversations involving differently marginalized people. bio women & transmasc ppl don't need to mention transfems on issues of abortions or genital mutilation or sex-specific laws. bio men & transfems don't need to center transmascs to validate their identities when talking about the aids crisis, which primarily affected male homosexual people. feminists should be allowed to use women in the biological sex definition, and trans activists should be allowed to use women to mean anyone living as a woman in society.

the overwhelming majority of people aren't trans, and cis/bio women are an oppressed class in huge numbers. so sometimes trans ppl have to learn that men & women as terms are primarily used referring to one definition, while they, as trans people, fit another definition of the words. and that's not the world being cruel to spite you. people of course can be cruel to trans folks; if they purposefully misgender somebody or outlaws adult transition completely and mock trans bodies etc that can really harm someone's mental health. but you cannot seriously expect words like man & woman, words that initially have always referred to body types and were made to facilitate communication between two radically different people with different needs and baggage, to be used with endless trans-related caveats every single time. even trans people themselves often don't do it! same with using they/them for people without them asking you otherwise being called a bigot. that's getting into silliness territory for me. as much as being trans sucks, trans people need to build resilience to being different than the norm. and not just through inside jokes and memes and snarky discourse. they could learn a lot from the physically disabled community, honestly. i know how much it sucks to realize how someone is talking doesn't reflect your own personal experience. but sometimes you have experiences that differ from the norm, and that's okay! you can chuckle a bit and shake your head and move on with your life. it doesn't need to be seen as an attack or make you feel totally abandoned by the leftist community. you won't always be included in every social justice conversation. someone's definition of something might not include you everytime. and it's tiring. it's annoying at times. but it can also be okay. the more trans people try to change the fabric of society to an extreme amount and give extreme demands, the more the world will see them as emotional, impulsive toddlers who are out of their minds. they're actually worsening the image of their movement instead of helping anyone. they're leading to more transphobic prejudice, not less. why not just understand that words can have different meanings? that as long as someone doesn't have bad intent and otherwise is a good ally, them using words meant to make conversations easier and more succinct can be literally no big deal? you can be like "oh okay, this is about cis/bio women" and move on if it's super obviously the case. if you have an interesting insight as a trans woman or a transmasc person you can chime in, but otherwise just read between the lines and not interrupt important feminist discussions.

sometimes you actually do need to desensitize yourself to these things and practice radical acceptance of exactly who and what you are. you don't need to try to tear up leftist spaces and reshape them to awkwardly fit every single micro experience marginalized people can face all at once. you can have different discussions for different things and use words in different ways. having control issues about that is actually making things worse for you in the long run! and making you look pretty dumb to your allies who really are in your corner, but have issues of their own. i don't need people to mention not everyone can walk, drive or work every 5 seconds to include me. especially not on a random post. it would feel weird!! it's okay to not fit every average conversation. you don't need to harass people, especially feminists, into changing their language in every single conversation and make debates last 5000x longer. sometimes you just wanna talk shit about men without having to specify that it only applies to xyz type of men. sometimes you want to complain about being a woman and refer to body issues that typically come with being a woman. sometimes you talk about man/woman dynamics and it'll mostly apply to non-trans folks. it's okay! trans ppl can definitely add comments for nuance if it's of interest, or make their own posts on their own very complex experiences. but you cannot keep slowing down the feminist movement and try to force other activists to do things that are just unreasonable, things that many trans folks don't even do themselves!!

[aihoshiino]

i wonder how different the story would have gone if, instead of sending ryosuke, kamiki would have visited ai on his own.

the part of me that needs them to be happy says that while he isn't necessarily enamored with the twins at first, he still tries to his best with them. maybe they think he's their new babysitter at first, that'd be funny.

anyways, kamiki awkwardly co-parenting with ai and both of them fumbling through being exes and parents and still caring so deeply for eachother but also being too traumatized to properly communicate.

aqua and ruby are first hostile when they realize that this is the man that got ai pregante™, and then they become the twos biggest shippers. cue incredibly convoluted attempts to get them together again. (i feel that it is important to point out that they're still toddlers at that time, which would make this extra funny)

So the thing about HKAI and the mess that was their relationship is that Hikaru sending Ryosuke in his place is ultimately a symptom, not a cause. It is a consequence of his arrested development in regards to Ai and his inability to conceive of a world where the two of them exist separate of their relationship. To a degree, asking 'could Hikaru and Ai be happy if he didn't send Ryosuke' is kind of asking for Hikaru to be a different character, because at the place he's at at the moment he makes that decision, he can't not make that choice. I've described Ai's tragedy in the past as being simultaneously preventable and unavoidable and the same goes for Hikaru. It's like a fucked up reverse Oroborous - in order to create the conditions for him to be a happier and healthier person, he must already have started taking the steps towards becoming that person - or at least to be further down the road than he is at the equivalent point in canon.

Even if we remove Ryosuke from the picture, I can't really imagine things going that well. I kind of touched on it in a previous ask but even the one-sided conversation we hear that seals Ai's fate raises a lot of red flags for me. He leaps to assuming that Ai is trying to get back together with him and when gently turned down romantically but still offered an opening back into her life as the father of her children, he chooses to betray her trust and send someone to terrorize and potentially hurt Ai and their children so she could 'feel his despair'. Even if we believe his insistence that he really didn't think Ryosuke would kill her, this is still an utterly reprehensible thing to do. It implies a level of not just desire but outright entitlement - that he feels he has the right to 'punish' Ai for… what? Not wanting to rush back into a relationship with him after like, five years of minimal-to-no contact? When he's gone right ahead and proved that the issues that caused their breakup have not been resolved?

Obviously, this is not to say that Hikaru doesn't sincerely love Ai with all his heart or that he doesn't care for her at all. I actually think that contradiction between his clearly observable feelings for her and the actions he nevertheless chooses to take is really fascinating in what it adds to him as a character. A big part of the reason why Hikaru's so fucked up is because he's so deeply in love with Ai and so utterly unable to cultivate a nuanced or healthy relationship with his idea of her.

So… I guess if I'm honest, my vision of it is more Hikaru using visiting the twins as a way of leveraging his way back into Ai's life, successfully or otherwise. I don't really see a scenario where Hikaru is able to work out his shit and become a decent father or partner for Ai, just because too many of his issues are tangled up in this longed-for codependence with her. Maybe this older and wiser Ai could find a way to save him like she wished for, but… is it really fair to put that weight on her shoulders? Why should she, a person with her own desperate struggles and lack of support, go right back to performing the backbreaking emotional labor that contributed to that all-consuming codependence in the first place?

To be clear, I'm saying this as a proud HikaAi shipper who loves a fucked up life-warping codependent romance, but in the context of Oshi no Ko and when we're talking about what would actually make these characters happy, I think Hikaru and Ai, at the place they are at the time of the tragedy, are not in a position to make each other truly fulfilled and happy.

askslmdslkdlsmdsl i'm so sorry anon you sent me such a cute prompt and got this utterly harrowing essay in response 😭 I'M SORRY THAT'S JUST HOW IT CAME OUT