#oh well. hope this is coherent. I will elaborate eventually

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I do not understand people who think Greed Island arc is unimportant. First of all. Bisky. Second of all. It’s directly connected to Ging. Third of all. Some of the cutest and funniest Killua and Gon sillies before it all goes to hell.

But personally? I think it’s significant that Chimera Ant arc comes directly after it - plunking Gon from a video game, where things can be fixed and many of the personal consequences can be swept aside for the next big adventure, immediately to a war, where things can’t be fixed at all and the damage remains.

[voiceswithoutlips]

Calico - Chapter Eight

— pairing: Hybrid ot7 x Human Reader (Female) — genre: hybrid AU, fluff, angst, slow burn (like real slow), eventual smut — word count: 3k — Rating: G — warnings: Slight mention of past abuse, description of a panic attack. — beta: Thank you @taegularities​ and @joheunsaram​ <3

Tag List || Masterlist || Schedule

— chapter summary:

Y/N is having a hard day, who will comfort her?

— A/N: Guys, I’m so bad at summaries, if this was an exam my grades would’ve been in the negative. Anyway, welcome to the new chapter! I know I was supposed to post fallen, but somehow I ended up writing Calico instead.

I’ve had a bad case of writer’s block this week so writing this chapter was really painful, words refused to come out of my brain xD I hope you like it! You guys have been so awesome, all your feedback is really helpful. Thank you so much <3

— taglist: @lovelyseomin @anaac28 @ghostkat23 @btswdwsmhrdt @sweeneyblue1 @luvtaeha @taegularities @ aajames217 @ littlewolfieposts @nochujeonjk @hamiltrashlebo @minyoonsh @hoebii @ sunshinee0-0 @egm09 @cstobitk @splaterparty0-0 @missseoulite @mirawi-fox @sea-nevermind-enthusiast @hemmofluke @seaoffangirling @gee-nee @woopetals @secretbangtnn @vminkook-ownsme

Ch. 1  Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 3.5 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8.5

I made my way downstairs in search of breakfast. Ice cream, that’s what I needed. It was that kind of a day. I was tired, jet lagged, and the tension in the house had me on edge. The flight home was fairly uneventful, except for the part where Jimin had gotten scared of flying. He had asked to hold my hand, but by the time we were in the air, the hybrid was practically sitting on my lap. Not that I minded, he was hella cuddly and his purring was downright therapeutic.

When I had asked Jungkook, if it would be okay to bring the newer hybrids home, the bunny had sounded excited, but as soon as we had gotten home, the mood had suddenly shifted. It was not the welcome I was expecting.

First, Jungkook’s hair was the color of the rainbow. His beautiful black locks were turned into a colorful mess, his white bunny ears poking out of it in stark contrast. It was a riot of colors, artfully mixed together, and I felt like I was looking at rainbow pasta. Not that the bunny didn’t pull it off, he looked really cute in it, but somehow I had a raging suspicion that it hadn’t been Jungkook’s idea.

Then, there was the growling match. I had never seen Jungkook so aggressive before. The usually sweet and well behaved bunny had started growling at Jimin as soon as we’d entered the house.. That had set off a chain reaction with Namjoon and Seokjin joining in to protect their younger packmate.

On top of that, I had to go to Seoul for three days to take care of business. I had to visit the main office to attend a few meetings and sign some papers. The whole time I felt guilty about leaving the hybrids alone. I was constantly worried that somehow they’d end up fighting. By the time I came back, somehow, someway, Jason had managed to convince Jimin to dye his hair pink. He was on a warpath.

And lastly, there was the issue of a certain stuffed penguin that went missing -  my nights were sleepless without him. All in all, this had to have been one of the shittiest weeks, and it felt like I was losing my grip on reality.

I stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, struggling to keep them open. Unlike Jason, who was cheerfully humming, I was not a morning person. Seokjin was busy near the stove, cooking something and by the smell wafting from the pan, I could tell that it was something delicious. I had thanked every existing god when I’d learned that the sugar glider hybrid was actually an excellent chef. The first morning, he had seen Jason cook breakfast, he’d been horrified, promptly taking over the kitchen after that. Even Jungkook had begrudgingly ate his food.

My stomach grumbled as I peered in the pan. Kimchi fried rice, delicious. Unlike Jimin and Jungkook, the two older hybrids weren’t really that affectionate. I wondered if it was because they weren’t used to me yet or if they just had a different temperament. I needed to do more research on that.

I plopped down on the chair with a groan, resting my head on the counter, hands securely wrapped around my stomach. Jason gave me an enthusiastic “good morning” and I shot him a middle finger, too tired to curse at him. The bastard chuckled.

I was debating if I should stab him with a fork when I felt hands wrapping around my waist, long fingers intertwined with mine. Jungkook bent down to nuzzle the side of my face. His muscular body pressed close. My lips curled into a small smile as I made small happy noises. My brain wasn’t awake enough to form coherent sentences yet. I needed my cup of coffee or better yet, some delicious ice cream.

Jungkook’s arms tightened around me possessively, I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he let out a low growl. I opened my eyes to see Jimin standing near the chair, looking distressed, hands balled into fists at his sides. His tail was swishing rapidly in agitation, ears flattened to his head. He was biting his lower lip, trying his best not to respond to Jungkook’s hostility.

“Bunny no,” I croaked, patting his hands, my voice thick with sleep. I lifted my head, extending a hand to Jimin. Jungkook took his cue and reluctantly let me go, keeping hold of my other hand. Jimin grabbed my hand and with his other one checked my forehead, a worried look on his face.

“Are you sick?” he asked, gnawing on his lip.

“I’m just sleepy.” He giggled at my pout and graced me with a forehead kiss. He sat down next to me, and now I was sandwiched between two hybrids who were holding my hands, glaring daggers at each other. I rested my forehead on the counter with a sigh. What was I going to do with them?

Once again I was in a dilemma. I could scold them and make them shake hands, like a couple of kids, or I could let them handle it on their own, like adults. Taking care of four hybrids was tiring. I shot a quick glance at Seokjin, who was now setting up the table; he was ignoring the two younger hybrids in front of him, but his tail was curled tightly, ears flat. It seemed as if he was tense too.

“Guys, I need breakfast,” I said, reluctantly pulling my hands from their grip. I made my way to the fridge to grab a tub of my favorite ice cream, ignoring the stares that the hybrids were giving me. I had to stop myself from pulling Jason’s ear as I passed him, not now Y/N. The revenge for ruining Jungkook’s hair had to be elaborately planned, something memorable, just like old days. Like the time when I had super glued his shirt cuffs closed, so he couldn't put his hands through the sleeves. He had started this war, I was going to finish it.

“I like your garden!” Namjoon said as he walked in through the back door. Ears perked up, an excited glint in his eyes. I didn’t even know he was out there. I wondered if he could help me with the hybrid situation, he was a pack leader after all. He had informed me about hybrid pack dynamics on the plane while I cuddled a sleepy Jimin. Apparently he was their alpha, the leader of their pack, Seokjin was second in command and Jimin was their maknae. He was excited to meet Jungkook, since he was a rabbit hybrid, they're usually very docile and friendly. Needless to say, we had both been shocked at the bunny's behavior.

“I’m glad you like it. Maybe you could help me with it?”

“Really? I would love to!”

We all moved to the seldom used dining table for breakfast - now that there were six of us, the kitchen counter was too small to occupy us all. I debated where to sit, I didn't want to take sides in the hybrid cold war, so I chose to sit at the head of the table, safe middle ground. I knew Jungkook would want to share the ice cream. I wondered if the other hybrids would too, so I had brought extra spoons, just in case.

"Seokjin, this is delicious!" Jason said as soon as he took a bite of the fried rice. "Where did you learn to cook like this?" I couldn't help but smile at the hint of envy in his voice.

"Madame hired a professional chef to teach me when she found out I liked to cook," he said shyly, ears turning pink from all the attention. It was his cutest trait: whenever someone looked at him, his ears would start to redden.

"That was nice of her," I said dryly, the distaste apparent in my tone.

"She was really nice," Namjoon said pointedly, clearly disliking my tone.

“Clair was kind, she saved us from our previous owners and gave us a home,” Jimin joined him.

"Oh?" Jason said, trying to coax some details. The three hybrids shared a quick look. Jungkook had abandoned his fried rice and was digging into my ice cream, his ears perked, listening in on the conversation.

“My first owner was a gambler, but he didn’t play poker. He and his rich friends were into blood sports. They had their own dog fighting ring. He had raised me since I was a pup, trained me to be a fighter, forced me to participate. One day, Clair saw me at a party and she wanted to buy me, she offered him so much money that he couldn’t refuse,” Namjoon finished with a sad smile. I wanted to go and hug him, but I was sure the hybrid wouldn’t welcome the gesture.

“I…” Jimin paused, looking down at his hands. “The lady who raised me, she brought me clients. She’d sell me to people… sometimes it was for a night, sometimes it was more. She used to tell me that I was her lucky charm. Clair rescued me from her, she was really kind to me.”

The spoon in my hand clattered on the table. There was a ringing in my ear. My limbs were paralyzed, heart pounding in my chest as I felt the panic rise, almost drowning in it. I couldn't get enough air, finding myself on the verge of hyperventilating while my brain went into overdrive. It wasn’t my first panic attack, I was aware of what was happening to me, I knew I had to get a hold of myself. I couldn’t lose it here, not in front of them.

“Y/N? Hey can you hear me?” I turned towards the voice, Jason’s face slowly came into focus, “are you okay?”

“Y/N?” Jungkook said, looking extremely worried. He was holding my hand like a lifeline. I slowly removed his fingers and took my hand back.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I murmured, trying to control my breathing. I got up from the chair with wobbly knees, making my way towards the door. “You guys finish up, I’ll be in my office.”

Redemption, what a joke.

It was well into the afternoon when my stomach informed me that I was hungry. I was swarmed with paperwork. I’d been busy the whole week, running errands, filling forms, trying to keep the hybrids from tearing each other apart, so the paperwork got neglected, and now I was paying for it. I briefly wondered if I should go back home and grab something to eat, but then I remembered the look on everyone’s faces this morning. I had panicked in front of them. I had been feeling restless the whole week without a certain comfort penguin. I was too embarrassed to ask the guys if they had seen it.

I groaned, leaning back in my chair. How was I going to face them? What would I tell them if they asked? A knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. “Come in.”

It was Jungkook, holding a bowl. He tentatively entered the office, looking everywhere but at me. His ears were drooping behind him. “I brought you lunch,” he said, setting the bowl on the table.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away this morning,” I apologized, extending a hand towards him, which he took hesitantly. I pulled him in my lap and buried my face in his chest; he smelled like vanilla.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, wrapping his big hands around me.

“No,” I whispered. “But don't worry bunny, I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Is it because of Jimin? Can’t we just send him away?”

That made me raise my head to look at him. “Why don’t you like him, bun?”

“He’s too clingy,” Jungkook pouted, jutting his lower lip out. It made me giggle.

“What about Namjoon and Seokjin?”

“They can stay, Seokjin hyung makes delicious food and Namjoon hyung is so cool.”

“Oh, did you talk to them?”

He shook his head no. I almost cooed at him - the poor bunny was too shy to talk to the older hybrids. “Why don’t you try making friends with Jimin? I bet you’ll like him if you got to know him better.”

He buried his face in my hair and shook his head, “...don't wanna.”

I took his hand in mine. “Won’t you do it for me?” I asked dramatically, trying to sound upset.

Jungkook leaned back to look at me, pout more pronounced. He knew exactly what I was doing. “Fine, I’ll try,” he agreed with a defeated sigh.

“Thank you, baby.” I kissed his palm in gratitude. At least he had agreed to try. “Why did you dye your hair?” I asked curiously, running my hands through his multicolored locks.

“Iwantyoutolikeme,” he said in one breath, hiding his face in my hair again.

“What?”

“I want you to like me.”

“You dyed your hair because you want me to like you?” Jungkook nodded. “Oh baby, I already like you!” I squeezed him tight, letting him know how much he meant to me. Is that what Jason had told Jimin? That I’d like him better if he dyed his hair? Jason was diabolical, I really needed to come up with a good plan to get back at him.

“Bun, next time, don’t listen to Jason.”

I was curled up on the sofa with a blanket. It was past midnight but I was wide awake and restless, staring at the ceiling. I had almost turned on the TV, but then I remembered that there were four hybrids in the house with phenomenal hearing, and I really didn’t want to wake them up. And thus, I suffered in silence.

I hadn’t seen the three new hybrids all day; they hadn’t been introduced to the shelter yet, so they stayed at home. When I came back from work, they were already in their room. They had insisted on staying in the same room, something about new places and pack bonding. I was giving Jason the cold shoulder, at least until he apologized for his crimes. And Jungkook was busy playing his new video games.

Clair had saved Jimin.

The thought rang in my head. Why hadn’t she saved me? Would things have been different, if she had stepped in? I had to admit, I was a tiny bit jealous of the panther hybrid. She had saved him.

Madame was so kind.

I was furious. How dare she? Clair had been a coward, had lived and died as one. I knew it in my soul, never in a million years would I ever forgive that woman. She didn’t deserve it.

“You’re angry,” a quiet voice said. I looked up to see a tall silhouette standing at the bottom of the stairs. Seokjin stepped out of the shadows, clutching a pillow in his hands.

“I was thinking. Can’t sleep?”

“Namjoon snores really loudly,” he complained. It made me laugh. The three of them were always attached to the hip, I had wondered if it was because they were uncomfortable here.

“You know we have plenty of spare bedrooms, you can take any of them.”

“Why are you here?”

“I can’t sleep.” I shrugged. Seokjin nodded understandingly, but he didn’t move an inch. “Do you want to sleep on the couch?”

He hesitated, looking as if he was unsure if he should accept my offer before he murmured, “can I?”

“Of course! But I think, a bed would be more comfortable,” I said, moving from the couch to the armchair. Seokjin sat down on the couch, placing his pillow near him.

“Why can’t you sleep? Is it because of what Jimin said?” he asked cautiously, ears erect and attentive.

“I have insomnia.” I shrugged, but Seokjin kept staring at me. I squirmed under his piercing gaze;  staring at me like he could see right through my bullshit. “I didn’t have a good relationship with Clair. She raised me, but she was cruel, unkind. I just… can’t fathom her as someone nice.”

“So it had nothing to do with Jimin being a prostitute?” he asked suspiciously.

“WAIT! Is that what you guys thought? Oh my god, I would never…” I was shocked. No wonder the hybrids were avoiding me like the plague. “I’m really sorry, if it seemed that way but it's not like that. I’m really happy that Clair rescued him. He deserves a good home, a family. I don’t think you’d believe me, even if I told you what my aunt was like. I’m really sorry, if I hurt you guys. But believe me when I say that this is not a place where you’ll be judged for your past.”

“You mean that.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I do.”

“You could sleep on the couch with me?” Seokjin offered sheepishly, ears turning the color of strawberries. I was surprised to see him be so direct. He had been very reserved around me till now, only talking when necessary.

“Are you sure? Won’t you be uncomfortable?” I asked, eyeing the couch. It was big enough to seat five people comfortably, but Seokjin was big too.

He nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

Seokjin adjusted the pillow and laid down on the sofa, leaving room for me. I stood there with my hello kitty blanket, wondering if it was okay. The sudden change in the hybrid’s demeanor was unexpected and I gave up trying to dissect the situation. I had to admit, I was feeling a bit cuddly since the loss of my penguin and I desperately needed sleep. I scooched on the sofa, covering both of us with the blanket, resting my head on his arm.

“You’re not okay,” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around my waist, his tail curling around my thigh.

“I just need some sleep,” I sighed. Seokjin was like a furnace behind me. I wondered why all hybrids were this warm.

“Lies,” he said as he lightly nibbled on my ear. I gasped at the unexpected contact, my heart beating so loudly in my chest that I was sure he could hear it.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” my voice came out breathier than I had intended.

“I do, I just didn’t know how to approach you. You seem so independent, I didn’t know where I could fit in your life. The only thing I could do for Clair was look pretty. But this.... this I can do, I can comfort you. I want to be useful.”

I turned around to look at him. “Oh honey, you don’t have to be useful. You’re you and that’s enough for me. I just want you to be happy.” I lightly kissed his cheek.

“I’m going to be your comfort blanket,” Seokjin said with a smile and hugged me closer.

Previous || Next

[fizzychocolatemilk]

The Sky is Blue (...and Kacchan Loves Deku) (Bakudeku Tropetember Drabble)

Some of you might remember this preview that I said that I was putting on the back-burner. Well...I realized that I had a free space day for tropetember, so I was like, “Why don’t I finish this fic for that?!” So I finished it. Enjoy! AO3 link  here.

The realization wasn’t a surprise. It was a quick, “oh, I love him,” but it didn’t catch him off guard. It was a universal truth, like the sky is blue or his hearing was going to go if he didn’t wear noise-cancellers with his hero costume. It was a normal day, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping happily, and Katsuki was with Deku. They were training, they usually are, but today the sun hit Deku’s hair just right and gave him a golden halo that made him look like an angel when he smiled and reached to help Katsuki up. “I love him,” he thought as he accepted the hand being offered to him, thinking nothing of the realization. It was obvious. The sky is blue, time stops for no one, and Kacchan loves Deku.

After the realization, he thought about Deku more if that’s possible. He sighed fondly when he saw him laughing with his friends; he borrowed notes from Half-n-Half or Ponytail because he could spend entire class periods admiring Deku’s reflection in the window next to their seats; he was more proud than frustrated when Deku ended up pinning him multiple times in a row during their sparring sessions.

He still encouraged Deku and he was still the best partner he could be for someone with a timeless quirk like One-for-All, but his love now encompassed his every action in a way that he never noticed before.

That’s why he noticed when Deku started pulling away.

.

.

.

It was slow at first. Deku started by making excuses to skip their hangouts every so often. First it was, “Denki-kun asked me for some help with his quirk theory homework.” or “Ei-kun wanted me to show him a new training regimen that I came up with to maximize his quirk.” 

Then the excuses became more elaborate and more often, “Ocha-chan wants Shou-kun, Tenya-kun, and I to go to the mall with her to carry bags,” “...The girls want to give me a makeover...” or “Umm...Hanta-kun just sent me a text saying that he needs my help...because he taped himself...to a tree...by accident!”

While Katsuki was very understanding about these disappearances even though he knew that Deku was lying to him, it hurt his heart that Deku didn’t want to spend time with him enough for him to lie to his face. He wanted to get angry, wanted to rage at Deku for just getting up and abandoning them, abandoning what they were starting to have—but he couldn’t. Deku had every right to choose who he wanted to spend time with; Katsuki had just thought that their friendship was worth more than flimsy excuses and missed hangouts.

.

.

.

Katsuki had been going through the motions for the past week. Deku had eventually stopped giving him excuses and just started skipping their meetings. Shark-face and Raccoon-eyes had invited him to several “squad” sessions, but he told them that he wanted to train or that he had homework. Most of the time, he layed in his bed with his eyes closed—imagining shiny green curls, a smile that rivaled the sun, and constellations of freckles under a clear blue sky until he eventually fell asleep.

He always woke up with tears running down his cheeks.

.

.

.

The next week Katsuki sat next to Deku at lunch.

Usually he sat with his squad, but he wasn’t going to give up Deku without some sort of fight. After a week of living in a grey malaise where nothing really mattered to him, he realized that Deku was his world. He would chase Deku to the ends of the Earth, shoulder every tear to see him smile, and do anything, no matter how humiliating, to see him laugh. Kacchan loved Deku, and he was going to live by him until Deku told him to leave, no excuses.

Deku had been talking and laughing with his friends, but he was blushing when he turned to look at Katsuki. “Kacchan? Are you okay? Do you need something?”

Katsuki’s heart melted at the compassion that Deku was displaying. He’d missed him so much. At that point, he was blushing slightly as he replied, “I’m fine, Deku. I just...wanted to sit by you today. Missed you last week, nerd.”

He swore that steam started coming out of Deku’s ears when he said that. Deku was stuttering incoherently, his hands were flailing without purpose, and his face was so red that it rivaled Shark-face’s shitty hair.

“Nerd?! Are you okay?” Katsuki placed a hand on Deku’s shoulder and the back of the other on Deku’s forehead. “Shit, you feel a little warm. Should I take you to Recovery Hag?”

If it was possible, Deku flushes harder, which only makes Katsuki more worried. But then Half-n-Half interrupts them. “He’s in perfect physical health, Bakugou,” he says with a barely noticeable teasing smile. In the background, Floaty has broken down in laughter on Glasses’s shoulder.

Katsuki furrows his brow but doesn’t get angry. “Then what the fuck is wrong with him?!” This just makes Floaty laugh harder.

The Candy-Cane faced bastard just smiles knowingly, “You should ask him that.”

Deku had apparently gained enough coherency at that point to blurt, “Why don’t we spar tonight, Kacchan! Normal place, normal time!”

Katsuki’s eyes had shot to Deku when he’d started talking, and his heart started doing a victory dance when Deku invited him to spar. After weeks of excuses and another week of nothingness, Deku had finally agreed to spend time with him again! Katsuki didn’t realize he was smiling until he heard a choked gasp from his right.

Deku was once again incoherent, and he was staring at Katsuki like he had killed Deku’s mother. Katsuki caught himself and softened his smile (he couldn’t find it in himself to stop smiling completely...he was so ecstatic) before slightly nodding at Deku in confirmation of their plans. Deku’s flush got redder for some reason. Katsuki flushed too under Deku’s continued attention as he turned back to his food. What was going on in the nerd’s head?

.

.

.

Katsuki arrived in the grassy field of their usual sparring location right after class. Sometimes he and Deku would spar at night or in the morning, but the afternoon was the most convenient. 

Deku hadn’t arrived yet, so Katsuki plopped down onto the vibrant grass and looked up at the sky. It was still breathtakingly blue. It reminded him of Deku. It reminded him of the day he realized his love. He smiled serenely while thinking about his nerd, his gorgeous eyes that Katsuki wouldn’t be able to adequately describe if he was given a thousand words, his smile that radiated sunshine and brightened Katsuki’s day at a mere glimpse, his bountiful kindness and optimism that simultaneously scared Katsuki and made his heart melt. Deku, Deku, Deku.

“Kacchan?” Deku had arrived, “Oh my goodness, you haven’t been waiting too long right?! I’m sorry!”

They were inconsequential words, but every one made Katsuki realize more and more how much he had missed his Deku. “I would wait forever for you,” he blurted. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the words were the truth, a truth that Katsuki was no longer scared to share. “I would chase you to the fucking ends of the Earth, do any-shitty-thing to make you laugh, defeat hundreds of the most depraved villains to see your smile….Deku...Izuku….I love you. I love you so much it hurts, so much that I cannot fucking hold it within myself anymore. You have no obligation to return my feelings or even to be my friend—but I had to tell you that you mean so fucking much to me. My world is you, and without you, I am nothing.”

Green met red for a moment, a moment which conveyed the truth behind Katsuki’s words, before Izuku broke into tears.

Katsuki leaped up and pulled Izuku into a hug, rubbed his back and whispered platitudes to him until he stopped crying. They stood in silence for a moment, just holding each other, before Katsuki broke the silence, “Deku?” They needed to have a conversation.

“...Kacchan….You—How could someone as amazing as you love someone like me? How could I love you right back? I—Kacchan, what about me is there to love?”

Katsuki’s heart ached with the final question, but he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Izuku nodded against Katsuki’s shoulder, and Katsuki held Izuku’s face in his hands before giving him the sweetest kiss he could muster. It was both of their firsts, so it wasn’t very good, but Katsuki could feel Izuku’s insecurity and he hoped that Izuku could feel Katsuki’s all encompassing love.

Soon enough, their kiss broke as Izuku had broken down in sobs again. Katsuki pulled him in and placed Izuku’s head on his shoulder once again. After another stretch of holding each other and listening to Izuku’s cries, Izuku lifted his head and smiled at Katsuki before saying three simple words.

“I love you”

Izuku reached up to cradle Katsuki’s face in his hand, and Katsuki's heart warmed up as they kissed again. The world has simple truths: the sky is blue, Kacchan loves Deku….and apparently Deku loves Kacchan too.

That’s it! I hope you enjoyed! I’m considering making a part two from Izuku’s perspective...let me know if that’s a good idea. I’ll see y’all later!

[pipedream-parrish]

Happy 34th birthday, Twinyards

read on AO3

i

It is Aaron’s 14th birthday and he has just found out that he has a brother - a twin brother, an identical twin brother, who looks exactly like him and might just understand him, too. His mom didn’t do anything for his birthday - she hasn’t since he was little, or maybe those long-forgotten memories were really just dreams that have managed to worm their way so deep into his psyche that he’s accepted them as truth. The kids at school sang to him, which was fine, but Aaron can’t help but think maybe now it will be different. Maybe once he meets this brother of his, then they can celebrate their birthdays together. Maybe they can give each other presents, and eat cake, and blow out the candles using the combined forces of their breath. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

(Andrew spends this birthday choking down cake that Cas got him, trying to hide the fresh marks on his arm, and thinking about the best way to keep his mysterious brother as far away from him as possible)

((one month later, Aaron receives a letter in the mail. He couldn’t tell you everything it said - he just knows that all of these maybes have just been thrown into the middle of a busy highway to be crushed under uncaring tires.))

ii

Its Aaron’s 15th birthday and his mother has celebrated by beating the shit out of him and then throwing a random assortment of pills from the bottom of her purse in his direction as an apology, and Aaron cannot help but think that maybe it won’t have to be like this anymore. He thinks about what Andrew said (Andrew, who really does look just like him, and who seemed so angry about Tilda, and seemed to believe that Aaron didn’t deserve, that he deserved good things--) had said to him, thinks about how maybe when Andrew moves his mom will stop it, maybe it’ll be alright, maybe nothing will hurt anymore and everything will be okay and he’ll have a brother. It’ll be the two of them against the world, and Aaron may not know this other boy all that well, but he promised to protect him, so that must mean something, right? Even if before that he said he didn’t want anything to do with Aaron, he changed his mind, and thats what matters, right? Right? And so when Aaron blows out the birthday candles that he bought for himself at eh convenience store the night before, he wishes for his brother to come home soon, and for them to be a family like they were supposed to be. Like he deserves.

((Six months later, Tilda is dead and Aaron has stopped believing in family.))

iii

It is Andrews’s 16th birthday and he has not spoken more than two words to his brother for most of the year, but Nicky tries to force them to do something, to celebrate, to be normal teenagers for once. Andrew leaves halfway through the elaborate dinner that Nicky has prepared, and pretends not to see the sad look he aims at his retreating back. Pretends that he doesn’t care what Nicky thinks of him, what Aarons thinks of him. Pretends that he stopped caring about Cass, that actually he didn’t care about that, either. Pretends and pretends and pretends, and convinces everyone but himself. 

((He’s not so great at lying to himself yet. He’ll get better with age.)) 

Late that night, after he’s heard everyone else going to bed, he sneaks downstairs and steals a slice of the double-chocolate cake that Nicky got them. There are already a couple of slices out from where Nicky and Aaron had some, so hopefully, this moment of weakness will go unnoticed. 

(Aaron spends his 16th birthday sad and mourning, refusing to look his brother in the eye. When he blows out the birthday candles with no help from a magical brother, he wishes that he never met Andrew in the first place. Not that he believes in magic or wishes or anything good at all, anymore. He barely has a bite of his cake before leaving the table. He, too, pretends not to see Nicky’s teary eyes as he leaves him standing alone in the kitchen, the remnants of a wasted attempt at love scattered all around him)

((he, too, is not so great at lying to himself yet. He, too, will get better with age))

(Nevertheless, when he hears Andrew come downstairs in the dead of night, he creeps into the hallway to watch his petty theft)

((He never mentions it.))

iv

It is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he is so high off the ground that he never even realizes the date.

Or maybe he does and just forgets.

The meds are still new, and he’s not used to them yet. Not used to the loudness, and brightness, and plastered on a smile. His cheeks hurt all the time now - he is constantly working muscles that have not had much use, the last couple of years 

(the last couple of lifetimes)

Needless to say, it is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he does not even realize it, and instead, he spends it in his room, his precious room that has a lock that works, coming apart at all his frying edges. Boys like him were never meant to grow old. Boys like him were never meant to last. And so he lays there and shakes uncontrollably, and laughs, too, tells himself this is fine, he’s fine it’s all fine and knows better than to believes it. Perhaps it is a mercy, that he eventually gets used to the meds. 

Perhaps it is not.

(Aaron doesn’t celebrate his birthday, either. Instead, he picks up extra shifts at Edens and goes to bed early. 

He cannot wait to leave this fucking house)

v

It is Aaron’s 18th birthday, meaning that he is a legal adult. He finds this funny. He has always been an adult; he was an adult when he was four and creeping across the house on silent feet to steal crackers from the pantry because mom forgot to feed him; he was an adult when he was 10 and forging his mothers signature on school papers, and making excuses for why she couldn’t come into parent-teacher conference night; he was an adult when he was sitting across from his reflection in a juvenile detention facility, and promised protection. One more birthday doesn’t mean shit.

(Andrew agrees. He, too, has been an adult for as long as he can remember.)

((Still, when Nicky slips cards under each of their doors wishing them a happy birthday and telling them he’s proud of them, and that he hopes that adulthood treats them right, well. If Aaron squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can to prevent the tears from escaping, and if Andrew tares it up into a million pieces because it almost makes him feel something, then no one needs to know))

vi

It is November 4th, and the newly-coined monsters are in Columbia, just like they are most weekends. They make the same stops as always, go to the same club, the same restaurant. 

Never once is the word birthday mentioned.

vii

It is Andrew’s 20th birthday and he is about to make one of the worst mistakes of his life. For now, he sits against the windowsill, watching his smoke dissipate into the afternoon air, absently listening to the sounds of Nicky and Aaron’s video game wash over him. He’s grinning, as is usually is these days, and if he was capable of having a long-lasting coherent thought, he would want to carve that grin off his face.

Alas, he is not capable of long-lasting coherent thought. Oh well. Perhaps it’s for the best.

Renee got him a gift. Silly Renee. Always so nice, so kind, even to monsters like him. Hasn’t she learned better than that by now? It seems not.

When Nicky receives a phone call that leaves him in a panic, it is almost enough to garner Andrew’s attention. 

Almost.

When he leaves the room in a rush only to come beach with Neil, the enigma, the hallucination, the rabbit, in tow behind him, Andrew actually does start to pay attention. Only a little though. 

When Neil pulls him aside, and asks for the unimaginable, and then manages to make it seem like a good idea, well. Andrew’s interest has been peaked, and he agrees. Why not? It might be fun. Might be, might be, might be.

(It’s not. It’s not fun at all, and if nothing else then Andrew is finally allowed to leave that smile behind for good. Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Andrew, happy birthday to me!)

((Aaron spends his birthday playing video games and wondering why the new kid holds such sway over his brother. When he looks back on that day, he will not remember any of that. He will only remember that that was the day everything went wrong, and he was unable to fix it.))

viii

It is Andrew’s 21st birthday, and it might just be a good one. No alarm wakes him up in the morning, even though he’s sure he set it last night, meaning he gets to sleep in. When he wakes up it’s to Neil bustling about the dorm room, clearly searching for something.

“Practice?” Andrew asks and is told in no uncertain terms that they will be blowing it off for the day. Yes, today is shaping up to be a good one.

Instead, they go out driving, blazing down empty roads as fast as the mas will take them, eating up millage and gas money and caring at all. Neil rolls down the window and lets out victorious whoops into the still afternoon, the wind flushing his cheeks and tousling his hair. Andrew almost thinks something disgustingly sappy about that but is able to rain in his own brain just in time. 

They got greasy diner food for lunch, and Andrew orders a massive ice cream Sunday that Neil doesn’t comment on. They go back to Fox Tower and lounge around their dorm, kissing and smoking and playing video games. They have pancakes for dinner, and Kevin doesn’t bother them once about going to tonight’s practice. Andrew goes to bed full and sated, and almost, almost, happy. It’s a good birthday.

((the next day at therapy, Aaron complains that he didn’t get to skip practice yesterday. Andrew shrugs and says that he should take notes for next year. It’s almost an invitation. Almost, but not quite.))

ix

It is Aarons’s 22nd birthday, and he takes a leaf out of Andrew’s book and skips practice. He and Katelyn drive into town, and walk up and down the streets, popping into stores at random and picking out delightfully ugly things for the other to buy. In one shop, Katelyn shows Aaron a shirt made from a disgusting green fabric with the gaudiest floral pattern he’s ever seen. In another, Aaron finds shimmering, sparkle filled pink and purple shoes with a six-inch heel. They both nearly get sick from laughing. That night, they go out to the fanciest restaurant they can afford and get wine drunk. Aaron tells Katelyn that he loves her, which is something that he’s told her a million times before, but that doesn’t stop it from mattering. This will always matter. She will always matter. He looks at her, just looks at her, and thinks about how lucky he is to have this. And he thinks about Andrew, just for a second, curses him for keeping her from Aaron. But then, for an even shorter second, the thought occurs to him. I hope he’s as happy right now with Neil as I am with her. 

((Andrew may not show it the same way, but he is. He is.))

x

It is their 25 birthday now (which it longer than either of them thought they would live), and after years of therapy and working through their issues, Aaron has decided once again that he wants a brother. And so he books a flight to Boston, and buys a ticket to Andrews game, and watches his brother play exy on their birthday. Their birthday. Sometimes he still forgets that they are a “they” now. He'll still say my birthday, my mom, my cousin, my family. But it's not just his, and so he meets Andrew at the player’s exit after the game and forces him to go to dinner with him. And they spend their birthday together, just the two of them, for the first time since they were born. And its-

Well, it’s not bad. It's kind of nice, actually. Stilted, at first, and undoubtedly awkward, but. 

But they’re still brothers, even after everything. They share family and history and most of their DNA, so it seems right that they also share a dinner. And they talk, about Andrew’s pro team and Aarons residency, and about halfway through Aaron realizes that even though he was the one who forced this, Andrew isn’t trying to stop it. He came with him to dinner, and he’s talked more in the last hour then Aaron thinks he ever has before, and Aaron realizes that he wants this too. Andrew wants a brother too. They part ways outside - Andrew doesn’t offer to drive him back to his hotel or to let him stay at his apartment, but that’s ok.

Because Andrew wants this too. 

Andrew wants this too.

epilogue 

It is the Minyard twins’ 34th birthday, and as has become a tradition they are each awoken by a phone call from Nicky. Aaron only grumbles for a moment before Katelyn is handing his phone to him and he’s picking up. Andrew takes longer, turning over and burying his face in Neil’s neck for a second or a minute or a year, before finally grabbing his phone. To be fair, it’s about 2 hours earlier for him than for his brother. When he was younger he would hang up, and Nicky would call back, and he’d hang up again, until around the third call when he would finally give in and answer and phone. He doesn’t hang up anymore. He supposes that he’s grown. It’s a facetime call, so he’s greeted with Nicky’s over-enthusiastic smile and Aarons bedhead that looks so much like his own. He props himself up on some pillows so that he’s nearly in a sitting position, and gives a halfhearted wave. Beside him, Neil stays lying down, curling himself into Andrew’s side. Andrew absently starts carding his fingers through his hair. Nicky starts to talk, telling them about the business, and the adoption process, and the cute thing that his and Erik’s dog did. King jumps up onto Andrew’s chest, and then there’s a lot of cooing over how cute she is. She starts to lick at Andrew’s temple, which makes everyone laugh and Andrew rolls his eyes. It’s ok. He doesn’t really mind. Aaron talks about the hospital, and then his toddler (who is really more of a kid now, she’s getting so big holy shit) bursts into the room, climbing up onto the bed. She says hi to her Uncle Andy (Neil taught her to say that when she was a baby, and it tuck. Again, Andrew doesn’t really mind) and Uncle Neil, and her cousins Nicky and Erik. they talk more, Andrew waking up and partaking in the conversion, occasionally mouthing things to Neil in Russian to make him laugh. He loves it when Neil laughs (he’s not so concerned with not thinking sappy things anymore).

It’s a good start to a good day. They order take out and eat it on the floor, just like they do every year. Neil gets him a cake, and he sings happy birthday, just like they do every year. 

A plane ride away, Aaron and Katelyn hire a babysitter and go out to dinner, just like they do every year. Katelyn gets him a loudly collared tie, just like she does every year.

It’s a good day for both boys (who are now much closer to men), but more than that, it is a good day for both brothers. For that is undoubtedly what they are now. Brothers. 

That night, they both get a text from Betsy. It says Happy birthday, my lovely boys. I hope this year treats you well. 

And then it does.

It does.

thanks for reading! if you reblog i’ll love you forever :)

[uwua3]

Hi Bunnie! Can I please have a drabble where Taichi, Tenma, and Juza (basically the Ō High trio) are caught up in a big argument with their soft!s/o and how they make up afterwards? So basically angst with hints of fluff at the end. Thank you so much!

ah... angst is my favorite trope to write! thank you so much for this request~ i just know i’m gonna have so much #Fun ✨! i hope you enjoy it, have a great rest of your day and i love you!!! (･ω<)☆

summary: love is a choice, not a feeling

warnings: angst, arguments, anxiety, blood, break–up(?), bruises, falling out of love, fighting, lying, mental illness, panic attack, physical violence

author’s note: each of three (3) stories follow lyrics to who by lauv ft. bts !! ♡ making this a song fic :D none of taichi, tenma, or juza’s storys align with one another in the same universe, fyi! please be conscious of tw warnings listed above and know you are loved no matter what *ଯ( ॢᵕ꒶̮ᵕ)ॢഒ*♡ + dialogue from tenma’s part follows iu & oh hyuk’s conversation in the song, “can’t love you anymore” for anyone curious :)

word count: 1,438 (taichi), 1,114 (tenma), 1,235 (juza)

music: i don’t know – seventeen (taichi), can’t love you anymore – iu ft. oh hyuk (tenma), if you do – got7 (juza)

who.

🍁🛹 nanao taichi

OUTLINES OF YOUR EYES AND VISIONS OF YOU

I THINK I NEED A MINUTE

TO FIGURE OUT WHAT IS, WHAT ISN’T

Inferiority, that was what Taichi fell victim to. It didn’t matter where he was or what he did, Taichi would never change to be good enough. Not for the stage, not for Mankai, and... not for you. How could you love Taichi when he couldn’t even love himself?

You had no reason to love him, not after all he’s done, not when he couldn’t be more. Even when Taichi was lacking, you still chose him time and time again. But, why? You had to have some ulterior motive, some plan, some elaborate scheme, to use him—to break him like he deserved.

With time came paranoia, and with that came distrust. No matter how much his heart beat for you, Taichi’s overwhelming fears paralyzed him to the point of no return. What was real? What wasn’t? Did you love him for who he was, or who you thought he was?

Who was Nanao Taichi? Who were you?

THESE CHOICES AND VOICES,

THEY’RE ALL IN MY HEAD

After all, was it really okay for Taichi to do this? To accept this love even when he didn’t believe he deserved it? Was it okay for Taichi to wholeheartedly say “I love you” first even if he was aware you could have anyone else? Being in love with you was both a blessing and a curse, because while it was the happiest he had ever been, Taichi was afraid it was all a lie.

Taichi didn’t know if he’d be able to recover if you ended up leaving. Pathetic, right? He woke up every morning searching for comfort and peace in your presence, and fell asleep every night to dream of your existence. You were his source of love in all aspects of any reality, no matter where he found himself. What would happen if you disappeared one day and never came back? What would Taichi do?

Could a person like him be in love like this? Taichi couldn’t help but begin to doubt your intentions even if his heart knew you would never be a bad person like that. Taichi’s insecurities had taken over his mindset for the worse, and its effects on your relationship was becoming more and more parasitic by the day. Both of you could see it even if it took a while for anyone to acknowledge it.

When the argument happened, it was a long awaited conversation meant to be had.

SOMETIMES YOU MAKE ME FEEL CRAZY

SOMETIMES I SWEAR I THINK YOU HATE ME LIKE

You found Taichi at his breaking point. Where the thoughts became too loud, where he couldn’t hear you over his own anxiety. Even if Taichi was your boyfriend, it almost felt like he was a stranger with how little you saw him. Every excuse in the book was used just so he wouldn’t see you, and you wanted to know why once and for all what was wrong.

You soon found out everything that made up Taichi was wrong. You nearly didn’t recognize him, tired and unable to fake a smile as well as before. His room reflected his chaotic state of mind, messy and unorganized with no coherence whatsoever. Taichi sat at his desk, mindlessly fidgeting with a yo–yo with his eyes blankly staring ahead. Minature origami surrounded every surface to his name, and you realized how severe Taichi’s mental health had become.

A pang of pain struck your heart when you called his name, only for Taichi to not respond. It took a moment before Taichi shot up, stumbling out of his chair to greet you with an exhausted grin. Taichi held up his arms, about to give you a hug like always. “O–Oh! I didn’t see you there! I thought we had our date tomorrow—”

“Taichi, are you okay?”

Taichi’s smile wavered then fell, his fist clenching around his plastic yo–yo so hard to the point you questioned how it didn’t crack. His knuckles were white and his eyes anxiously watched for every little change in your facial expression, as if waiting for some sign of anger.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” Taichi lied through his teeth, moving forward to put his hand on yours. You moved back, and that seemed to put him on the edge, making Taichi almost feel betrayed by your hesitation.

“We... we haven’t seen each other in so long... You always cancel on me, saying you have practice. What is this, then? Have you even been going to rehearsal?” You snapped, all your frustrations of being ghosted boiling over. As you began pacing the room, you narrowly missed the clothes strewn on the floor and knick knacks Taichi must’ve fidgeted with.

“N–No, but...” Taichi gulped, pulling at his dirty shirt collar, willing himself to breathe. Did it suddenly get so difficult to find air? Any other time, Taichi would’ve made a joke about how you made him breathless, but his heart was pounding too fast and everything was dizzying. Before Taichi could ask you to stand still and give his head a break, you kept going, not able to keep it together anymore.

“Why have you been ignoring me? It’s okay if you need space, but, let me know! One day, you just disappeared and never came back.” “But, I’m right here.” “No, you’re not. Not, as the Taichi I know.”

Silence hung over you two uncomfortably, the atmosphere tense. The moment you turned to leave, Taichi broke.

I NEED A WALK, I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE

‘CAUSE I NEED TO KNOW

“Who said you knew me?”

You paused, holding onto the door knob before slowly turning, meeting Taichi’s eyes. “Do you actually love me? Or, am I some charity case to you?” Taichi laughed, but it was humorless like everything was to him recently. You were quick to respond, but Taichi was faster, letting everything tormenting his mind out into the real world.

“The moment I’m not who you dreamt of, I’m in the wrong. It’s my fault, I know! Goddamn it, I know!” Taichi’s voice cracked as he fell back into his desk chair, trying to maintain his breathing to be even despite the tears. “I love you, so much. But, do you feel the same? How do I know you’re not lying? Why would anyone choose to love me? I don’t... I don’t deserve you, even if I love you.”

When you rushed in front of him, recognizing the signs of a panic attack, Taichi fell forward to grip your shirt, his fists shaking and head bowed low. Taking in a shuddering sob, Taichi tried to focus on the sound of your voice to be okay.

“I... I never wanted you to see me like this. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Taichi cried after suppressing his emotions after so long of feeling numb. You rested your hands on his shoulder, trying your best to encourage him to breathe.

“Taichi, it’s okay. Can you hear me?” You asked, to which Taichi feebly nodded with his eyes squeezed shut. “Okay, can you please breathe after me?” You exaggerated your deep breaths in and out, eventually helping Taichi to mimic your pattern and stabilizing his anxiety for the moment.

Taichi thought when worst came to worst, you would already be gone. You didn’t run away even when Taichi’s anxiety got the best of him, you stayed. Taichi clung onto you a little bit tighter at that thought, even if he didn’t need to.

Maybe, you did love him.

After a while, you pulled back and Taichi’s arms automatically looked for you. Taichi hid his face in your shirt again, exhaling quietly at your warmth. You ruffled his hair affectionately, petting it softly to remind him you were there. Taichi was still somewhat shaking, drained from the panic attack and how strong it was.

“Taichi, I’m going to take a walk, okay?” When Taichi raised his head, eyes wide at the fear of you using this as a reason to leave, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll come back, I promise. When I do, let’s talk about everything. No more secrets, okay?” You reasoned, making Taichi eventually nod. You two linked pinkies, making it a promise that this was a new start for both of you.

Right before you closed the door, Taichi called out to you, weakly smiling. “I love you.” You didn’t hesitate to respond, knowing your love for Nanao Taichi to be true. “I love you, too.”

Taichi believed you this time.

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

WHO ARE YOU?

‘CAUSE YOU’RE NOT THE PERSON I FELL IN LOVE WITH, BABY

“Hello?”

Tenma could tell it was you on the other end of the line, with your heartbreaking silence ruining the city for him. Leaning his head on the glass of the taxi window, Tenma watched the dazzling and glamorous skyscrapers pass by slowly in the late night traffic. While the driver tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, the star power of Japan’s biggest idols were advertised in every billboard high in the sky. Tenma waited for your answer to his sighed greeting, catching his own face smirking back at him from a commercial playing near by.

“Where are you?” You finally asked, your voice just the same as Tenma’s: exhausted. What had you done all day that made you this tired? Even Tenma didn’t know... weren’t boyfriends supposed to know? Tenma looked around, lost in the middle of Tokyo, a city that he could never keep up with despite being born in the center of it all.

“In a taxi.”

“Are you almost home?” Your voice cracked towards the end, and Tenma quickly sat up once he realized something was wrong. Before he could ask what happened, Tenma suddenly leaned his head back onto the seat, closing his eyes. He couldn’t bear to accept what he had done—or, not done—this late into the evening.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.”

WHO ARE YOU?

‘CAUSE SOMETHING HAS CHANGED

“For what?” You both knew the answer, however. Tenma couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. The date displayed upon the dashboard of the cab seemed to remind Tenma of everything he had done wrong. It was your one–year anniversary, and Tenma had forgotten until now.

“Just, for everything.” Tenma forced out, his visage suddenly no longer the splitting image of teen fame anymore. He looked much more normal, no longer sporting a wealthy air to him but rather a troubled kid with the public eye watching his every move. Luckily, no paparazzi stood outside his vehicle’s tinted windows, flashing their cameras to publish any negative headlines. Instead, it was just Tenma, his taxi driver, and you waiting for him at home.

“Please come home, Ten.” You whispered, sounding like you were begging for this one small thing from him out of his busy schedule. Tenma ran his hand through his hair, trying not to lash out and hit the closest thing around him. He didn’t need a scandal to his name, especially since that meant ruining your reputation and Tenma had already made you hurt enough. Acting like the perfect romantic boyfriend was so, so easy on screen... how come he couldn’t do it in real life?

“Why should I?” Tenma angrily retorted, and that’s when he knew he made the biggest mistake of his life. You couldn’t hide it this time, and a pained cry was muffled behind your phone as you tried to not care as much. Tenma didn’t know why he snapped at you when all he felt was frustration and shame at himself.

“Am I not a good enough reason to stay?”

“Of course you are—”

“Then, why won’t you come home?”

“...”

“Do you love me?”

I do, but I don’t deserve you. “I left my wallet back at the studio. I might not make it back tonight.”

YOU’RE NOT THE SAME

I HATE IT

“Goodnight, then.”

“Tenma, wait—by the way... Nevermind.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t think we’re in love anymore, Tenma.”

Tenma opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the taxi as it slowly moved forward. Why was it so blurry? Tenma thought, pulling his hand back only reveal a tear upon his finger. He was crying in public, how could a Sumeragi do this? But, Tenma couldn’t stop, he simply just dropped his cell phone into the seats and listened for the click of the call ending. It came after a few moments or so, and Tenma could feel a pair of eyes glancing at him from the review mirror.

Before Tenma could tell him he couldn’t do autographs at the moment, the driver silently passed him a tissue. Tenma took it gratefully, trying not to sob in front of a complete stranger. The driver seemed satisfied before he turned off the radio in the background, clearing his throat before speaking.

“What’s the matter, son? Do you want to talk?” He asked, but it didn’t sound ill–intentioned like an interviewer. It held a fatherly tone, one that automatically made Tenma want to trust him. Taking a minute to compose himself, Tenma slowly began retelling what had happened during his most recent call, his hands still shaking from the aftermath. As traffic stalled, the driver listened to Tenma’s relationship problems carefully before sighing, tapping his fingers against the wheel.

“Boy, how old are you?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“You are too young to be this heartbroken.” The driver said, pausing to turn and gesture for the car to pass them. “Well, first thing’s first, do you love them?”

“With all my heart, sir.” Tenma responded without hesitation, knowing his love for you was truth.

“Then, why didn’t you say so back then?” The driver commented exasperatedly, his old wisdom and infinite experience with relationships making Tenma’s boyish actions seem like child’s play. Tenma sighed, putting his face in his hands as he admitted the inevitable that had been eating away at him for a while now.

I’M SICK OF WAITING FOR LOVE

I KNOW YOU’RE NOT THE ONE

“They deserve better. All I can give them is love, but, even I can’t do that right. What if I’m not the one for them even if I love them?”

“Listen, boy, and listen good. They love you for one reason only: because it’s you. They chose to love you, not anyone else. You may not be the future, but you’re the one right now. Isn’t that enough?”

Tenma truly took in the words, feeling a sense of comfort he didn’t know he needed after all this time. Without wasting a second, Tenma rapidly passed a large sum of bills with the most excessive tip ever, profusely thanking the driver. Before the taxi driver could refuse such money from a young teen, Tenma opened the car door and left, slamming it shut with random adrenaline.

The driver stuck his head out the window, yelling down the street, “Where the hell are you going, kid?!”. Tenma looked over his shoulder, already halfway down the sidewalk with his phone screen open to your contact. He smiled, not his classic Sumeragi grin, but a true, genuine smile filled with hope to make things right.

“To go celebrate my one year anniversary!”

🍁🍰 hyodo juza

FEELIN’ HYPTONIZED BY THE WORDS THAT YOU SAID

DON’T LIE TO ME, JUST GET IN MY HEAD

Juza hated everything to do with fighting. You could never count on Juza to throw the first punch, to start something with someone, to look for trouble anytime. Yet, you couldn’t help but despise his violence, even if it was provoked.

Juza had too many scars on his fists to forget his reputation around O High, but he didn’t mean to hurt anybody. Especially, not you. But, how could Juza say that when he came to see you after every back end alley way fight? It hurt you to see your boyfriend like this, used as some entertainment for no good thugs. Juza fell to the bait every single time, no matter what you said to convince him otherwise.

Juza promised he’d never hurt you, but how could he keep getting into physical fights like this?

WHEN THE MORNING COMES, YOU’RE STILL IN MY BED

BUT IT’S SO, SO COLD

You couldn’t sleep last night, not when Juza showed up at your door, bruised and dazed. You knew how strong of a fighter Juza was, so his opponent must’ve been formidable if he could barely find his way to your house. It was too late for a school night, but here he was, finally deciding to ask you for help.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have come, but...” Juza raised his hand, the bandage messily done and already falling off. Juza was always amatuer at first aid for some reason, and you could see the rough cuts underneath the blood–stained cloth. You couldn’t leave him alone at god knows what hour, so you invited him inside.

Juza made sure to never let it become a habit to rely on you, so you helped out whenever you could, even if it pained you to see him so hurt like this. Underneath the yellow bathroom light barely illuminating the cramped space, you rummaged in your cabinets for the first aid kit as Juza sat on the closed toilet, fidgeting with his school uniform jacket.

When your eyes lingered on the torn hem of his blazer for a moment too long, he ducked his head to focus on your bathtub curtain. “Better not to ask.” Juza simply stated, and you believed him. You held in a sigh and took out the minature white box to start working.

Juza didn’t flinch whenever you disinfected his wounds, and you wondered how much pain he really felt. When you asked him to stay (more for your sake than his), Juza agreed and thanked you softly. Seeing such a sweet boy bandaged in your bathroom nearly made you cry, so you just nodded and kissed the band aid by his lips.

Juza waited until you were fully asleep until he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.” Juza whispered out loud.

You woke up to Juza still sleeping, his breath quiet and arm wrapped around you gently. You were about to smile, but you couldn’t bring yourself to after seeing his bruises had gotten even worse.

How could you keep doing this when it took everything in you not to cry from Juza getting hurt?

WHO ARE YOU?

‘CAUSE YOU’RE NOT THE PERSON I FELL IN LOVE WITH, BABY

Juza didn’t come to you after that. Perhaps Juza knew how affected you were by his late night challenges, or he couldn’t wake up to your disappointment anymore, but he was gone. During the day, you attended classes with O High’s delinquent as usual. However, after school hours weren’t yours anymore. It must’ve been hierarchy season, where arrogant boys thought they had a shot against the Hyodo Juza.

Even if Juza didn’t come by anymore, you still couldn’t sleep. How could you when all you thought about was if Juza was okay? Did he make it back to the Mankai dorms that night? Who’s making sure he’s okay? Is he even okay? Every time you closed your eyes for a split second, you’d see Juza’s gentle smile with a band aid on the corner of his lips. Day became night and it was all the same, since you were awake to experience it all.

You kicked off your blankets, throwing your pillow off your face as it landed with a thud on the other side of your pitch black room. Turning on your phone screen, your tired gaze read the time of 1 A.M. Juza was surely still awake, it wouldn’t hurt to just call him... right? You unlocked it as your finger hovered over Juza’s contact, hesitating.

What would you even say? That you missed him? Did Juza even miss you? You called Juza anyways, anxiously listening to the rings go through before hitting voicemail. Juza always answered your calls before... what happened?

“Meet me soon. We need to talk, you know where to find me.”

WHO ARE YOU?

‘CAUSE SOMETHING HAS CHANGED, YOU’RE NOT THE SAME, I HATE IT

You were right to bring your first aid kit.

Behind the fence was a sunset casting a boy’s shadow across the pavement. Juza hopped the gate easily, landing beside you and avoiding your judgement in the process. You knew exactly why—all because of that unmistakable mark on his face. He couldn’t even hide it.

“Heard your voicemail. Is everything okay?” Juza roughly cleared his throat, settling to lean next to you. You shook your head, unable to find the words in the moment. You just held your hand out and Juza’s put his on top of it automatically, fingers tensing before holding yours. When Juza squeezed your hand once, you wished he could be with you forever, away from all that violence and high school fights.

“You didn’t answer my call. Why?” You questioned, straight to the point. Juza never lied to you, so he looked away and frowned, trying to phrase it in a way so you wouldn’t worry. “Better if—” “If I don’t know, right?” You interrupted with a sharp tone. Juza winced, knowing your anger was justified.

“Juza... I’m so tired.” You started, knowing it was both physically and mentally. “I love you, but I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Juza’s eyes widened, standing up straight and putting both your hands in his. You shuddered and tried to keep your breath steady, looking towards the ground. You never noticed how scuffed his shoes were, you wondered what they’ve seen.

“What? I thought we were happy, I love you—”

“Do you really? Then, why do you keep fighting?”

Juza didn’t have an answer. Even he didn’t know himself.

I’M SICK OF WAITING FOR LOVE

I KNOW YOU’RE NOT THE ONE

“I can’t be with you if I don’t even know if you’re okay.”

“I always win—”

“That doesn’t matter! I just want you to be safe, why do you entertain them? What would your family think?!”

“Don’t. Don’t... bring them up.”

“Juza... this isn’t right for you. Please, give it up.”

“I can’t lose—”

“So, you’re choosing to lose me, instead?”

You didn’t wait around this time. “Call me when you change your life for the better.” You left, leaving behind a boy with a broken heart this time.

Juza stared at his hands, their surfaces uneven and calloused from all his years of violence. Something had to change, Juza couldn’t lose you.

When you received a call from Hyodo Juza, you accepted it.



[bella-caecilia]

hi! first of all let me say i’m a HUGE fan of your page here and i love all your fics on ff.net, the quality of your work is just so incredible! i would love to read about the prompt numb. 4😍😍 love all of them really❤️

Oh my gosh! Thank you so much, darling! 😊 It’s crazy that you adore my work so much! This means so much to me. Here is #4 for you <3 It’s set pre-canon when Robert comes back from the Boer war. And it turned out a bit longer than my former prompts. Take it as a treat… Hope you enjoy it! 😊💕

4 – a hug after not seeing someone for a long time

1902

The nervousness made it impossible to form a coherent thought. It was the beginning of June and there was a stifling heat accompanied by stark humidity, rather untypical for Yorkshire. Cora sat in the shadow of some trees near the house. Her hand waved the laced fan continuously. She observed her girls with their nanny in the distance. They were as excited as everyone else, but had this internal ease none of the adults felt. They were to be envied.

A few days prior the telegram had reached Downton and since then, the house had been in a flap. Cora had not dared to hope for this news, but she had definitely not thought her reaction would be the one it had been. She had never been a lady with frail nerves. She had managed to lead the house for two years as Countess without Robert by her side. Sure, Mama was there, but that meant even more challenge sometimes. Not always; but the uncertainty of when there was praise to be expected and when there was criticism didn’t help the task of hardship. There was not a word of complaint from Cora. She didn’t question her challenges or the queries that she was approached with. It was a matter of course. She tried to do everything that was expected to the others’ contentment and relished the moments she could spend with her darling daughters or the few times a letter from Robert arrived. She read them on end. They never got shallow, always held the same emotions as the first time she read them.

And then, there had been the final telegram. She was glad that there had been seats nearby as she had received it. The state she had been in hadn’t been the best precondition. The dizziness clung to her for days now. She had this drag in her stomach and it wouldn’t really subside. Carrying on had become ever harder, but she didn’t allow herself many such thoughts. It just wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t help anyone.

And then, she had held the telegram. She was in her sitting room with Mama and young Carson had delivered the note. She became cold sweaty as she fumbled with the paper. Robert. He was coming back. Eventually. Her legs gave way and the broad butler was by her side in an instant. She couldn’t really process what her mother-in-law uttered. She was glad about the cushions beneath her but other than that she was numb. Only then, she felt the extent of the tension that had took hold of her the moment Robert had told her he had to leave. It had been there all the time. And now, it was letting go of her and tightening its grip one final moment on her at the same time. Robert was still absent from her and the safety that Downton meant. She still had to wait for him to return safely. Her heart leapt at the joyful news and drowned in her depths of worry simultaneously. She didn’t quite comprehend this emotional confusion. From afar, she had noticed that Mama was handing her a glass of water. The cool liquid had helped her regaining as much composure to plan her husband’s impending arrival with the butler.

Now, she sat near the house waiting for the afternoon to come when Robert’s train would reach the station. They had planned a great welcoming committee at the Abbey. Mama had discouraged Cora to greet him at the train station. It wasn’t necessary and it wasn’t proper. Cora hadn’t had the energy to object. She had told Carson to plan the reception while she had chosen gowns for the girls and her.

“Your Ladyship,” the baritone of the butler required. She turned on her chaise lounge to face the servant that stepped out of the house.

“It’s time to make the last preparations,” Carson reported. Cora got the hint and rose from her seat.

“Thank you, Carson. Is someone informing the nanny to prepare the girls?” she asked and immediately regretted lowering the fan. A blow of heat hit her and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. It was as if the South African was announcing Robert’s arrival.

“I sent a footman, milady.”

She nodded and made her way inside. The cool air that met her did her good. Her heart pounded at a fast pace, but her dizziness and perspiration were eased by the coolness radiating from the walls.

…

Everyone was lined up in front of the great house. The air above the hot gravel shimmered. Cora observed the carriage approaching from afar. He was inside, wasn’t he? She smoothed her hands over the bodice of her pale pink gown. The girls wore sweet dresses that matched the tone of her elaborate silk gown. She attempted to take deep breaths to combat the nervous knot in her stomach, but the corset that accompanied her gown didn’t leave much space. She got on rather well with corsets and didn’t despise them as others might. But on the hottest days of summer, she got somewhat fidgety with the increasing struggle to cope with the heat. She tried to keep her hands still, already sensing the scrutinising eyes of her mother-in-law.

The carriage neared in a cloud of dust. Robert. The horses slowed some distance of the neatly dressed and assorted reception committee. Cora suppressed a cough as the kicked-up dust reached her. There was a hollow silence when the carriage came to a halt and everyone waited for the door to open. It seemed as if her increasingly pounding heart tried to loosen the knot in her chest of its own accord. Robert. She rubbed her corset lightly in an attempt to steady her welling blood. Robert. His name was the only thing on her mind, and her heart pumped it through all parts of her body with every beat. Robert.

She focused back on the vehicle in front of her and there he was, emerging from the family’s best carriage. She sighed. He was there. His skin was tanned, his posture seemed exhausted, but he was there, and he was safe. With her exhale the worries left her body and her expression softened. His eyes found her form immediately. Her eyes took him in completely, memorising every bit of him. He made his welcome. He approached Mama first, as was expected. Then he stepped towards Cora and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She felt his lips peck her cheek. She inhaled as much of him as possible, taking in his scent, the dust of the journey, the light perspiration. She clutched his shoulder blades and breathed his name into the crook of his neck, “Robert…”

He hummed lowly into her flowery hair, his hands holding her waist firmly. The moment lasted mere seconds, then he had to pull back to resume his greetings. Her knees felt weak at the loss of his contact. Her gaze followed his every move as he bent down to cuddle the girls. She clasped her hands. Robert now turned to Rosamund. It seemed endless to Cora that he greeted everyone in turn; she wanted him just for herself. Everyone should make themselves scarce and leave them to their own devices. Her nails dug into the skin of her knuckles. And then, when everyone had been greeted, Carson gestured for Robert to enter the cool house. Robert, however, gave way for his mother and waited for the ladies to go inside first. When Cora approached the front door, he locked eyes with her she understood without further communication. She stood by his side and Robert nodded to Carson. Robert’s hand found hers and he softly brushed over her fingers with his calloused fingertip. Her breathes felt lighter with every gentle stroke he made. Carson grasped the cue and motioned the servants back to work.

“Cora,” it was as if she heard his voice for the first time. It filled her mind completely as he spoke next to her ear. He grabbed her arms at her elbows and turned to her. Their eyes locked and they drowned in the familiar blue. And then she couldn’t hold back anymore and threw herself into his arms. She pressed her temple against his chest and encircled his back firmly, nearly desperately. He shushed into her hair and drank in her warm and soothing fragrance. He was home. He was safe. Robert held her close, his brawny arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He blew soft kisses into her curls. He felt the tension that still clutched at her. Her heaving chest pressed against his was as much a sign of this as her hammering heart beneath the corset and her tight grip. But it became most apparent when the tension lifted after a few minutes and she sank weakly down in his arms. Her legs didn’t hold her anymore, but he did. Her posture softened and her whole weight leaned against his broad frame. He didn’t know about the tears that slipped from her closed eyes before she lifted her head weakly to reassure herself of his presence by taking in his facial features. His soft eyes, his straight nose, his stubbly cheeks, his sweet chin; it was all right in front of her eyes. More tears welled up from her watery eyes and a touched smile broke out on her face.

“Robert,” her whisper was fainter than she had expected, but she just couldn’t bring up more strength. It took all her energy to hold onto him to stand tall. She also couldn’t utter more than his name over and over again. Robert. There was nothing else in her mind. Robert. Only Robert. The tension had let go of her but the dizziness cast a spell with new intensity over her. Her field of vision grew dark at the edges but Robert’s face was still clearly visible and she didn’t need anything else. With a last breath of “Robert…” her world went dark.

…

Her limp figure was pressed to his body as he carried her up the great stairs he knew so well. He would talk to Mama later and rebuke her for not taking care of Cora’s well-being better. He knew it the moment his eyes had fallen upon her tired face; her angelic but tired face. She had appeared otherworldly how she had stood there between the tight-lipped others in her rosy silk gown with a soft glow upon all her features. He came back from a world of horror and violence to the vision of his gentle and adorable wife. The first wave of ease that washed over him couldn’t be imagined in foresight.

And now, he had to carry her soft body into her room. He had met Rosamund on his way to the staircase. She had understood right away that Cora and he both needed a rest at that very moment. She would inform everyone else. He reached Cora’s bedroom and set her down on the covers gently. He rang for her maid. After the woman arrived, he undressed himself next door. He took off the attire of the long journey and decided it would be best to sink down into the sheets next to Cora in an instant. He could take a bath later. Now he needed to be by her side to guarantee each other’s peace and comfort.

When he re-entered her room, she lay blinkingly beneath the duvet, her curls loose and dressed in a soft cream-coloured cotton gown. Her eyes fixed on him and he approached her briskly. He hadn’t bothered with a dressing gown and slipped beneath the covers right away. He saw Cora fighting her exhaustion and fatigue and he wrapped her in his arms.

“Let’s rest. Everything else comes later,” he spoke softly.

…

She scolded herself for being so weak when her husband had come back from the front for good. He had endured the hard battles. He was the one needing relaxation and rest. And yet it had been her that had collapsed in his arms. She forced him to keep up his strong posture and she stole the attention that should be on him and his well-being. She had failed the only task she had had today.

But then there was his soothing voice. And the few words he murmured against her temple sounded so good and so right. And everything was indeed right, for he was back. Back for good. And she was back in his arms. Back in his arms for good.

[gwenbrightly]

Redwall Falls Chapter 2

“He’s looking at me...” Brome heard his sister whisper to herself. She was not so inconspicuously watching Martin, one of the Mystery Shack’s teenaged employees, while she cleaned bobbleheads made in the image of their Great Aunt (or Graunt) Polly. The siblings had been put to work helping out around the tourist trap as soon as they’d had some time to settle in.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him?” he suggested with an eye roll. Rose stared at him.

“After what happened last time?” she cringed. Yesterday, when they’d met him (and the handy-squirrel known as Feldoh), the mouse had introduced himself before saying something about a “rosty nose”, which had taken several minutes to decipher. Brome still wasn’t sure what that was about, but it had definitely been awkward.

“Well, he’s proven that he can speak coherently,” Brome observed, nodding his head at the customer Martin was currently ringing up, “so maybe this time you guys can make it through an entire conversation without crashing.”

“I... Don’t be so pushy, Brome. These things take time. And besides-” Rose’s protests were cut off by Graunt Polly’s appearance from the back room.

“All right, all right, look alive, everybeast. I need someone to go hang up these signs in the spooky part of the forest,” the mole announced, displaying several signs that had advertisements with question marks and directions to the Mystery Shack on them. Rose, Brome, Feldoh, and Martin all glanced at each other.

“Not it,” Rose said quickly.

“Not it,” Brome followed suit.

“Also not it. You needed me to switch out the lightbulbs upstairs, remember?” It was Feldoh, this time. Graunt Polly looked annoyed.

“Martin, go hang these signs.” She ordered. “Oh, I would, but it’s so far. And I just realized I never had my lunch break so...”

“I’d fire all of you if I could,” Polly complained, frowning at Martin’s lame excuse. Her statement didn’t seem to have the desired effect, for she looked rather disappointed when no one took the hint and volunteered as tribute.

“Fine, then. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way,” she said, “let’s make it.. Eanie, meanie, minie… you,” she pointed a paw at Brome. He groaned in dismay.

“What? No. Graunt Polly, there’s something off about these woods… they’re creepy and I always feel like I’m being watched.”

“Noonvale doesn’t have much in the way of real forests, Brome. It’s gonna take some time for you to adjust to, well, the great outdoors,” Polly told him, giving his headfur a ruffle. He looked to Rose for backup, but she didn’t offer anything.

“I’m telling you – there’s something weird going on in this town. Homesickness can’t explain why the mosquito bites on my arm spell out ‘beware’.” Brome pointed out, rolling up his sleeve to show the others. Feldoh made a gagging noise. Rose raised an eyebrow and said,

“It looks more like ‘bewarb’ to me, and that’s really only if you squint.”

“Look, kid, that whole ‘monsters in the woods’ thing is just a local legend drummed up to attract more tourists,” Polly tried to assure him, but Brome wasn’t convinced. He had only been in Gravity falls for a day and he’d already seen bizarre glowing lights, heard strange noises, and been accosted by possibly radioactive mosquitos.

“But...” he protested as Graunt Polly plopped the signs into his reluctantly waiting arms.

“Stop being so paranoid and try to have some fun with this, eh, Brome?”

_______________

“No one believes anything I say,” Brome muttered to himself as he nailed a sign to a tree. It felt like he had been out in the forest for hours. All by himself. With no one to talk (complain) to. Was it even legal to send children out into the forest to perform manual labor without supervision? He’d have to check the local child labor laws once he got access to wifi – yet another thing the Mystery Shack seemed to be lacking in.

“Ugh!” he cried. “Stupid Mystery Shack! Stupid signs!”

Kathunk! Brome kicked the next tree he came to and immediately recoiled. He yelped in pain, then cocked his head. Trees didn’t make weird echoey noises… did they?

“Weird…” he commented, dropping the remaining sign on the ground so he could investigate further. Rapping gently on the tree – he didn’t want to hurt himself – Brome listened to the oddly metallic sound the tree made on impact. Something was definitely off about it. He took the sleeve of his sweatshirt and rubbed away at the trunk. Textured brown paint and a healthy coating of dirt and grime gave way to old metal. Ahah! The entire tree was fake. In full detective mode, now, Brome examined the tree until he spotted a small handle.

With slight apprehension, for there was always a chance his actions would activate an army of laser equipped robots, he grasped the lever with both paws and yanked it down. Nothing happened. No grand reveal. No explosion. Just the sound of birds chirping in the distance.

The young mouse huffed in disappointment and turned to leave, wishing he hadn’t gotten his hopes up. All his Sci-Fi TV shows and books had lied to him. Cool things never happened in real life. The world just didn’t work that way. But then, the creaking of a rusty hatch forcing its way open somewhere nearby caused him to stop in his tracks.

Brome circled the area, searching for the source of the sound. The switch must have done something, after all. He checked every nook and cranny, below each bush and on top of every rock and stump. His query remained elusive. Whatever the lever had opened was clearly well hidden.  Brome took a step backwards, hoping the action would give him a different view of this patch of forest.

In a way, he got exactly what he wanted; the fallen tree he tripped over certainly forced him to see the area from a different angle. But the unexpected fall wasn’t very pleasant and Brome couldn’t help but wonder how badly he’d have to hurt himself before his parents would let him come home. He lay on the ground for a moment, half tempted to sink into the dirt and become one with nature. Thankfully, such drastic actions did not end up being necessary.

It was no wonder Brome hadn’t noticed the bizarre hole the switch had uncovered. Half buried by the log and built from camouflaged materials, he would have missed it completely if not for the fact that he’d practically fallen right on top of it. He sat up, thoughtfully. Whoever had installed this hidden treasure trove obviously hadn’t wanted anyone to find it. How long had it been since someone sat where he now sat? Since somebeast had peered into the hole to examine its secrets? Brome gently removed an object wrapped in old newspapers, bursting into a fit of sneezes at the resulting cloud of dust that had floated into the air.

It was old. Old-old, as in more than just a few years old. The newspapers were from several decades ago. Their edges had curled with age, and some of the lettering was too faded to be legible. Fortunately, Brome had little interest in the newspaper; the item it protected was far more intriguing. A journal. And journals always had juicy secrets written in them – he’d learned that from snooping in Rose’s bedroom (though this journal would inevitably be much more interesting than his sister’s diary).

The journal’s design was simple enough. It was made of thick brown leather with the insignia of a paw print on the front cover. Brome wasn’t sure what kind of creature would have an entire extra toe. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. What if the journal contained something bad? Something he wasn’t supposed to see?

It must have been hidden for a reason, after all. The young mouse sat for a moment, pondering his options. He could, of course, bury the journal and get back to work hanging Graunt Polly’s signs. He could also take his chances and open the book regardless of ancient curses or government Intel. It was a difficult choice.

“Alright, mystery beast. Let’s see what you’ve been hiding,” Brome muttered when his curiosity finally got the better of him. He hummed thoughtfully and flipped through the first few pages. They were covered with sketches of creatures he had never seen before. Detailed notes and memos accompanied many of the sketches.

“It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls,” he read aloud from the page that had the most writing. Six years was a long time to be stuck in this place. The author must have had an awful lot of spare time on their paws to create such an elaborate journal. Flipping through the journal some more, Brome found himself growing more intrigued with each page he read.

Eventually, the writing and sketches grew increasingly erratic and less caretakingly organized. Notes that made no sense lined the margins in some places. One page in particular had the words Trust No One scrawled across its top in large lettering. Brome read the rest of the entry with bated breath, “Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this book before he finds it. Remember: in Gravity Falls there is no one you can trust." He paused, confused. That seemed… harsh. But if Gravity Falls really did have a dark side-

“Watcha doin?” someone said, sending Brome into a frenzied attempt to hide the journal behind his back. He groaned when he realized who it was. His sister gave him an awkward wave.

“Rose! Thanks for that. I really needed a heart attack today,” he stated flatly.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rose told him, sitting down on the fallen tree, “Graunt Polly sent me to check on you.”

“Oh,” he said. He felt a little foolish for being so easily shaken. The journal’s tone was clearly getting to him.

“So… what were you reading that you didn’t notice me coming your way?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Brome said quickly. Rose hummed in response, clearly skeptical.

“Seems like pretty interesting nothingness. You were really invested in it.”

“Well… it’s not nothing nothing,” he admitted, “Just not something I should show you out here where anyone could happen to walk by. Let’s go somewhere more… private.”

“Alright. But now I’m curious. This better not be evidence of aliens, or I’m going to be very insulted that you didn’t show me right away,” Rose teased, ruffling his head fur. Brome winked at her and stood up. He waved the journal at her before taking off in the direction of the Mystery Shack as he said,

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

After all, surely the book journal hadn’t meant sisters when it said trust no one… right?

[ariadoesntwrite]

Viktoria frowned and crossed her arms in front of herself. “Tyler, leave the seagulls alone.”

Tyler grinned cheekily as he tried in vain to wave her off. “Mr. Boss said to bring something back from the beach for him!” Viktoria shifted her weight and glanced over her shoulder in Tegan’s general direction, but it was immediately clear to her that he wasn’t going to be any help whatsoever in this sort of situation.

“You and I both darn well know that he didn’t mean the wildlife!”

 Tyler pointed at her. “He didn’t specify. So, there is still a very slim but entirely probable–”

Viktoria threw her arms up in the air. “Dude.” “Do it for the meme,” Tegan called from under his frowny-face umbrella.

Victoria turned and looked straight at him for the first time that day, hands resting on her hips. “Where did you even find that thing?” Tegan shrugged nonchalantly. Well, as nonchalant as one can be while sweating to death, at least. “The internet.”

Viktoria sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, then directed her attention towards the mock volleyball court that Raquel, Alistair, and Axel had set up. Axel and Ellie were up against Raquel and Alistair, and it was not going very well for the former team.

On Viktoria’s opposite side, Tadashi seemed lost inside his own little world as he drew a large square in the sand with a big stick, then started writing in large block letters underneath it. “D...E...T…”

That was clearly going to take him a while, and she was already bored watching.

Tegan shot Tyler a look that Viktoria couldn’t even begin to decipher, but she could tell it meant something meaningful.

Tyler began loudly heckling Axel, mocking his (admittedly lackluster) volleyball playing style from what he probably assumed was a safe distance away.

“I hope your vocal warmups aren’t as weak as your physical warmups are, AHAHAHA– OW!” Tyler was cut off abruptly via an inflatable beach ball to the face, courtesy of a smirking Axel.

Tyler snatched it out of the air with his hands before it had a chance to fall and raised it above his head, then ran straight towards him with a battle yell.

The smirk quickly disappeared off of Axel’s face, replaced by a scream of “SHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII–” that completely drowned out Tyler’s voice as he started running down the beach, both of them being deliberate in their avoidance of Claire’s very elaborate sandcastle, of course.

Viktoria raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very impressive lung capacity right there. And here I thought ‘singing on a treadmill’ was just an exaggeration.”

Tegan ran a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath that Viktoria couldn’t quite catch. Something about someone owing someone, perhaps? Viktoria grinned to herself at the mental image of Tegan as a mob boss.

Karolina and Neha relaxed on lounge chairs a good few yards away and pretended not to know any of them. Neha took a long sip of her iced lemonade as she sketched out ideas for a swimwear line while Karolina thumbed through a magazine, protected from the sun’s harsh rays under an umbrella, a very fashionable floppy hat, Guccy sunglasses, and three layers of 100 SPF sunscreen.

Speaking of which… “Did you at least put some sunscreen on?” Viktoria turned and asked Tegan suddenly. He fell silent, then gave her a guilty smile. “That would be a no.” Viktoria sat down beside him and pulled a brightly colored tube out of her tote bag despite Tegan’s protesting.

Axel and Tyler ran by, still screaming at the top of both their lungs as they went right on past Tadashi’s…

“DETENTION DUNGEON,” Viktoria read aloud.

The beach ball must have gotten lost somewhere along the way, as Tyler was now just flailing his arms around above his head as he chased Axel.

Viktoria blinked dumbly. “Huh. Interesting. I guess old habits die hard.” She shook her head and squeezed a generous amount of sunscreen into her palm, then moved to apply it to Tegan’s arm.

Tegan gasped as the cold cream made contact with his uncomfortably warm skin. “You uh, you really don’t have to fuss over me like this...” Viktoria grinned as she slathered it up and down the length of his arm. “Awwh, but I want to, though.” She set to work, watching Tadashi out of the corner of her eye.

Tadashi scooted over to the ‘entrance’ of his detention dungeon, then started drawing what seemed to be some very elaborate puzzles and traps.

Viktoria paused and sat back on her heels, squinting. It was difficult to tell where exactly the sunscreen ended and Tegan’s pale skin began.

“What exactly is Tyler going to do if he catches Axel, anyway?”

Tegan rolled his eyes as the corners of his mouth turned upwards. “Well, you know the four F’s? Axel’s doing one of them right now, and then two out of the three remaining ones are… take your pick.”

Viktoria groaned and smacked her forehead against the armrest of Tegan’s chair. “Tegaaan!” “Viktoriaaaa!” Tegan whined back, matching her tone.

Viktoria raised her head and grinned suddenly as a thought struck her. “Hey, do you think Tadashi would throw people in his detention dungeon for PDA?” Tegan nearly fell out of his chair as he sputtered, barely coherent. “I– What– are you– I mean, he– you mean like–” “Because Ellie and Alistair have been making googly eyes at each other all day,” she continued, seemingly oblivious.

Was that a hint of a genuinely relaxed smile on his face as Tadashi added an extra leg to his manticore? Maybe it was a trick of the light.

Tegan took a deep breath to steady himself and sank further into his seat. “You are going to be the death of me, Viktoria.” He pulled his hood up over his head and covered his face with it, the corner of his glasses getting hooked on the fabric in the process.

“You… have a T-shirt... with a hood attached to it?” Viktoria asked incredulously, eyebrows raised.

Tegan stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout and crossed his arms, the effect only enhanced by his askew glasses. “Don’t judge me.”

Viktoria smiled as she moved from his left side to his right. “Well, at least it’s on-brand.”

Tegan lifted his hood to pull it back just enough to uncover his eyes and fixed his glasses. “So, what, I’m predictable now? I gotta change things up a bit.”

Viktoria motioned towards Tyler and Axel. “You could go join them, nobody would expect that.” She involuntarily cringed as Axel’s scream went shrill and went just sharp of the high C.

“Ugh, exercise. Never mind, I’ll stick with predictable.”

Tegan rolled his eyes again and wiped the palms of his hands on his shorts. “Lovely weather we’re having,” he said sarcastically.

Viktoria slowly inclined her head. “I don’t want to pry or come across as rude, but…” She trailed off, electing to stare at the crook of his elbow instead of his face. “Why are you out here instead of inside with the sweet, blessed air conditioning if you hate it so much?” She glanced up to gauge his reaction.

Tegan’s mouth twisted to the side as he avoided looking straight at her.

“...An hour of pure torment is paradise if I’m spending it with you.”

Viktoria inhaled sharply. “Tegan, I…”

Oh no, She thought to herself, not emotions and feelings! Not here! Not now!

She racked her brain for a fast and simple way to deflect. “If Axel ever decides to rebrand as darker and edgier, you could totally be his songwriter.”

“Like, what,” Tegan gestured grandly into the air with his arm, “The night sky is dark/just like my soul/and like the full moon/it swallows me whole?” Viktoria squeezed Tegan’s shoulder. “Pure poetry.” Tegan ran a hand through his hair, laughing in disbelief. “I don’t even know what it means!” Viktoria shrugged and shifted her weight. “That’s what makes it so perfect, though. Even if it has no meaning, people will eventually find one, anyway.” Tegan nodded slowly. “Wow. That got deep.”

Just then, Axel and Tyler came running by for the second time and collapsed on the sand, panting heavily.

“I’m,,, never,,, doing,,, that,,, again,,,” Axel gasped, arms wrapped around his middle.

“Me,,, neither,,,” Tyler agreed, nodding weakly as he stared straight up at the crystal blue sky.

“Okay, that dragged on for way too long.” Tegan stretched his arms above his head and let out a satisfied groan as his joints cracked loudly.

Tadashi’s head snapped to attention. “WHO BROUGHT FIREWORKS?!”

“Ooh, Tadpole’s gonna throw you in his detentsand,” Viktoria teased, resting one arm across the back of his chair.

Tegan pointed with his pale, ridiculously slender index finger. “Out. Get out.”

“I just—“ Viktoria started.

Tegan shook his head vigorously. “Nope nope nope, that was too horrible.” His glasses fell off. He retrieved and replaced them as nonchalantly as he could, which was difficult since he dropped them back onto the sand twice during the process.

Viktoria wandered over to the volleyball court, palms turned upwards. “Looks like I’m booted, so–” “Oh, good.” Ellie grabbed her arm. “We need another player to balance the teams, since–” she gestured vigorously at Axel and Tyler, who looked like a couple of stranded fish.

Viktoria grimaced and shied away. “Oh no, I’m terrible at all sports.” Ellie placed her hands on her hips. “Do you run away from the ball when it comes toward you?” Viktoria shuffled her feet, reluctant to answer. “...Yes, except for in dodgeball, because that’s an easy out.”

Ellie groaned and threw her head back. “Well, at least you’re capable of running, so there’s a start.”

Viktoria pursed her lips and cocked her head, crossing her arms behind herself.

“That depends on your definition of running. Because ‘moving as fast as you can, which is still not a lot’, is just about all I can muster.”

Ellie gave her a deep frown. Viktoria didn’t even know that mouths and eyebrows could turn like that before.

Viktoria gave a backward glance at Tegan, who seemed to be doing a decent enough job of entertaining himself on his phone. Little did she know, he was most definitely taking photos of her. Tasteful ones, of course.

“Okay, fine, I’m in. What do we need to do?” Viktoria began stretching, then started pulling her hair into a low ponytail.

Ellie offered her a spare hair tie and clapped her on the back. “Win, of course!” Viktoria’s jaw dropped open, almost cartoonishly. “Against Raquel and Alistair?” She shook her head, eyes wide. “I’m just gonna hold you back, hon. This has ‘bad idea’ written all over it.” 

Alistair looked in their direction and shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m open to switching if you want.” “Tired of winning?” Raquel teased, spinning the ball on the tip of her finger. Viktoria watched enviously.

“Nah, but it sounds like you are.” Alistair chugged a bottle of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I am very in over my head I’m not competitive at all this isn’t going to end well for me–” Viktoria very much resembled a deer that wandered onto the highway and was now caught in a rapidly approaching car’s headlights.

Claire rose to her feet and carefully stepped over her completed sandcastle and matching sea dragon, dusting the sand off herself.

“I can join in too, if you want? To take the pressure off of it being two vs. two.” She gave her a tentative smile. Viktoria made a noise of appreciation and threw her arm around her shoulders. “You’re the best, Claire.”

Claire pulled her thick hair over her shoulders and smiled down at her feet. “Now we can suck together. Yay?” Viktoria stared at her in shock, then doubled over laughing. “I can’t believe you just said that! You’re not wrong, though!”

Raquel stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled, one fist in the air. “ALRIGHT, PANSIES! HALFTIME’S OVER! LET’S GOOOO!”

“Y’all are going down!” Ellie bounded over to the other side of the net, game face on.

Alistair placed his hands on his knees and planted his heels in the sand. “In history, maybe!” He hollered back, then to his teammates, “Don’t let them intimidate you, they’re all talk.”

The fire in Raquel’s eyes and the way Ellie pounded her fist into her opposite palm said otherwise.

Claire and Viktoria shared a tight-lipped, ‘we are doomed’ glance.

Claire reached over and weakly touched her fingertips to Viktoria’s. “That’s our team high-five,” she whispered.

“Dream tea–” Viktoria started to whisper back, but was rudely interrupted by Alistair’s shout of “BALL!”

Viktoria flailed her arms outwards. “Ack!”

Claire shielded her face as it headed in her direction. “Eep!” Raquel threw her arm out to the side, palm flat. “OUT!” She called, gleefully.

Viktoria scrunched up her shoulders and reached over to tap fingertips. “Yay, Claire! You got it over!”

Claire returned the gesture, eyes shining. “Dream team!”

[antikristvs]

Well, I'll ask for advice I guess! I'm in a situation where I want to end an old friendship because I have no affinities with that person anymore. I've been sort of ghosting but they're too oblivious to realise that, forgiving me on the account of my studies taking a lot of time. They're also in depression and I'm the only one they rely on, which is dragging me down. What would be a way to let them know or make them understand, ideally without causing a potential suicide or self harm?

Well, that's a tough one... I'd definitely advise ending the friendship. Otherwise you'll clearly bleed yourself dry. No matter how hard it may be on her, at the end of the day, you have to put yourself and your psyche first. Besides, making more excuses or staying her anchor against your psyche will definitely worsen the situation - it only leads towards resentment, and when that comes to play, there will be no chance for tact at all. But I also understand how cruel it would be to leave her on ice.

Thing is I don't know the full story, so it's hard to say what I would do in that exact situation. To me it sounds like she needs professional help - psychiatric and therapeutic. I don't know if she's getting it. If she's strictly against it there's a good chance she's manipulating you to "hog" all your attention. I just want to point that out because I've seen that happen and I have heard a lot of stories of it happening. Some people just latch onto you and try to become emotional siamese twins. People with mental illnesses in general are very prone to that. Many folks also use their woes as a trump card. At times subconsciously. Because it just... works. And often they don't want to get out of the pit because it's familiar to them, and familiarity is an illusion of safety. I say so because I have been there - I have menipulated others using mental illnesses, consciously and unconsciously, and oh, I was good at it. I did nail myself to the cross - because it was familair on it, and because getting off of it was more painful than staying on it. Again, I know too little about the situation, so I want to explore all possibilities, you know - I'm definitely not saying she is manipulating you, just that she could be. And there's the fact sometimes people will get off the cross only if there's a fire under it. At times a smack across the face with a wet rag is the spur one needs to start crawling towards healing. It's what worked for me. Heartbreak to be sincere. So there is a possibility that taking away her only link of support will be the spur she needs and help her as well.

Aside from professional help, no matter how cheesy it may sound, she needs hobbies. Something to occupy her mind and rebuild her self identity. Besides, that could also rack in a new group of friends she actually has something in common with. Even something as simple as scrolling reddit, playing a mobile game or making creative sandwitches.

Now how to "break the news"... Complete ghosting is an option. Cut off contact. Blocking or just not replying to her messages, comments, whatever. Not even reading them. As if she ceased to exist. Not saying it's good option, but it's an option. You can also explain things are moving in your life and sadly, you won't have time to communicate - no "I'm busy with studies" excuses, no elaborations, just "life moving forward", then either clean cut contact or gradually disappearing. In the gradually disappearing case I'd advise to never have a conversation further "hello, how are you" pleasantries until eventually you just cease replying. This would be less abrupt... Lastly, I suppose, you could approach her with transparent truth. "I will always cherish the friendship we had, but it's beginning to drain me and it's unfair to us both, it'a time to move on". I don't know what would work best for your situation. Again, I'm not a part of it nor am I a professional. I can only speak from experience, and those are the approaches I can think of.

If she threatens to harm herself, or if you suspwct she will, I'd suggest alerting the authorities. Making sure they take it seriously of course, but removing yourself from the situation.

Whoah, sorry for the litany :) I don't know how coherent this is, but I hope it will help.

[loptgangandi]

so! literally no one asked, but these last 3 weeks have been a hell of a ride let me TELL YOU 

so happy mun-day now you get to hear all about it!! (with pictures, I’m not a monster)

here’s the cliffnotes version: 

december week 1: simultaneously moved back into a place and took classes then moved out of that place while taking classes and planning a 2-day overland trip from sweden to madrid. took said trip. 

december week 2: attended the unfccc climate conference COP25 in madrid, got kicked out for protesting in solidarity with indigenous ppl & kids, got let back into COP the next day & proceeded to go to more panels and also protests. no i did not see greta thunberg but she was there. I did not see harrison ford either. I did shake al gore’s hand tho.

december week 3: week #1 with my mom’s new twin one-eyed cyclops kitties (yes both of them), spent the week frantically writing 2400 words of nonsense that hopefully resolved themselves into two coherent enough papers to snag me a nice grade then took a 36-hour trip up to london to see my sister perform at her bitchin new job.

elaboration under the cut.

Hell Week (or) Why You Sometimes Should Fly to Climate Conferences

So, after the nonsense with The Roommate From Hell (reddit rant here), I moved out of my room at her place and back into the dorms (where I still had a lease through the end of December). That required a fair bit of effort, but I moved things bit by bit over the course of about a week, and it was manageable. 

But I had to be out of the dorms and have the place clean by the time I left for the climate conference, which in itself was a whole lot of coordination. Wednesday the 4th of December was probably among the worst, most frustrating days I have ever had, and I desperately hope I never have to deal with that level of fuck this fuck you fuck me fuck everything for a very, very long time. Somehow -- by some miraculous act of the gods -- I pulled it out, and managed to get my stuff into my friend’s basement, my plants into another friend’s apartment, my bags packed, my room clean as a whistle, my self moved into my hostel, and to every damn class that week. My interrail tickets came the day I planned to leave -- it was a tight fit -- and I managed to book trains and busses from Uppsala to Madrid with half an hour to spare, and get on the first train (Uppsala to Stockholm) in good time.

The next 48 hours went like this:

Stockholm -> Copenhagen (by train): uneventful, but Copenhagen train station on a Friday night is a little dicey, especially when you’re dragging around a 45 lb suitcase and another 15 lbs on your back

Copenhagen -> Hamburg (by overnight FlixBus): Uneventful, and I was sitting by a window with no one sitting next to me, so I was able to doze a bit on the trip. 

Hamburg -> Basel (by high-speed rail): This one I should have booked. The website said that a reservation was recommended, and I understand why. If I’d had a quiet cabin -- or even just a consistent seat for the whole 7-hour journey -- I’d have been able to get a decent night’s sleep. Instead, I kept having to move to give people their reserved seats, and didn’t get more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep.

Basil -> Olten (train): this one was a mistake

Olten -> Brienz (train): where the fuck am I

Brienz -> Lausanne (train): oh right yes that’s the direction I want to go yes good get on that one

Lausanne -> Geneva (train): oh thank fuck, I 100% know where I am and am back on track. Sunglasses & 30 hours without sleep is a Look.

Geneva: Spend 3 hours with my mom, put a week’s worth of clothes into a considerably smaller suitcase, eat dinner. meet mom’s new kittens, Saga and Luna

Geneva -> Lyon (bus): Get confused about which bus to get on, get told off by the bus driver we were trying to convince to let us on his bus, realized mom had been trying to put me on the wrong bus. Get on the right bus. Go to Lyon with bus driver who speaks no French or English, only Spanish.

Lyon -> Barcelona (night bus): Hell. Just. Absolute Hell Bus. Wanted To Die all night. Assigned to aisle seat just before the very back next to a very, very tall man who was quite polite but had no room for his legs. Behind us were two men, one of whom was loudly chewing gum until he took off his shoes and fell asleep, the other of whom snored like a gd bulldozer. Aisle seat and wailing baby a few rows down meant that my chances of sleeping comfortably were 0. I did manage to doze off a bit, but only because I was so strung out from not sleeping the night before. Eventually made it to Barcelona alive and lent my phone to the very nice lady with the wailing baby (plus like 5 other family members, none of whom had cell service). 

Barcelona -> Madrid (train): Absolutely gorgeous train ride through the Spanish countryside that I really did want to stay awake to enjoy. Managed to do so until we got to an elevation where it was just thick, dense fog and I let myself fall asleep. 

Madrid: I arrived at my hostel groggy, dazed, and in pain from two bad nights in a row. I considered a nap, but also considered that I’d need to wake up early the next morning and would need to fall asleep. Opted to try to set up my COP25 blog instead. Failed due to aforementioned grogginess. Walked to the corner to get some food and tried to pay for it with Swedish kronor, which didn’t work. Apologized, explained to the amused man that it had been a long weekend, paid him in Euros instead. Used the hostel’s dry sauna (!!!!), took a shower, and went to bed. 

COP25 - The Old White Fuckening

So, listen, I’m not going to go into detail about COP. If you want to read about how much of a tonedeaf clusterfuck the negotiations were (as opposed to the really interesting, inspiring stuff happening in the side sessions), BBC has some good articles. 

If you want to listen to some of the press conferences and plenaries, here they are. I especially recommend the ones by the Women’s Earth and Climate Caucus, Fridays for Future, and as many of the Indigenous Peoples’ statements as you can (most of them are in Spanish and/or Portuguese. Because the COP was supposed to be held in Chile, many of the registered Indigenous participants were from Amazonas because it was supposed to not be far to travel). 

If you want to listen to some of the side events, the webcasts have been recorded here. Click the link, and then click “Join the event.” I again recommend the ones by Indigenous groups (if you can understand them -- we all had translation headphones in the sessions, but I don’t speak Spanish, so I can’t really go back and revisit them). Also, this "feminist attempt at connecting the dots” on “climate crisis, corporate power, and climate finance” and this one session from a Nigerian NGO and the government about One Health and the connection between climate change, disease, and other health risks -- and how badass Nigeria is at tackling them. 

On the subject of tonedeafness, some absolute bullshit went down on Wednesday, December 11th. 

Here is the article on BBC, but it’s a bit incomplete.

Here’s what happened.

COP25 2: The Old White Fuckeninger (Starring Military Police!)

So on Wednesday, December 11th, Greta Thunberg -- environmental wunderkind with truly glorious bitchface -- sat on a panel before a hall full of condescending adults in which she demanded accountability and immediate action from national leaders. 

At the end of her speech, the delegation of Fridays for Future -- Greta’s own youth movement, which has become a global phenomenon -- stormed the stage. Representatives of Fridays for Future admitted that they knew what they were doing was against the rules, and they were ready to face the consequences: having their admission badges taken away (being “debadged”), and not being blacklisted from future UNFCCC events. 

Neither of these things happened. Instead, UNFCCC praised the young activists, and let them keep their badges. 

A few hours later, another activist group in attendance -- not an Indigenous one, a point that was raised by a young Native American man during the Fridays for Future press conference -- staged a sit-in outside the main hall where a large plenary meeting was scheduled. Said meeting was full of gimmicks, including a live call to the International Space Station so an astronaut could talk about the view of climate change from space. 

I was going to attend the plenary. I joined the protest instead. 

Admittedly, the decision was partly made for me by security. After pushing, shoving, and jostling the (mostly adult, heavily Indigenous, mostly PoC, heavily female, heavily Queer) protesters, as well as violently snatching their badges off their lanyards, security started herding them -- as well as anyone in proximity -- out into the open docking area outside the hall. One woman nearby, who hadn’t meant to join the protest and who had just been filming, tried to duck out of the group and got sternly told by a security guard “No. Keep going forward. No turning back.” A similar thing had happened to me -- I hadn’t made up my mind about joining the protest, because I didn’t have all the information -- but security made the decision, and in the end, I’ll always prefer to be with the people facing the police rather than those they’re protecting. 

It was... furious. It was emotional. The leaders of the protest had us form a circle and turn our backs on security and the door. WoC -- many of whom were Indigenous -- led not just standard protest chants, but songs. Renewal songs, fight songs. The common theme was the intersection of environmental justice and femininity, queerness and suffering under colonization, anti-capitalism, anti-exploitation, and a call for colonizers to repay the colonized for all of the loss and damage already caused by climate change (climate reparations). 

Eventually, UNFCCC made a decision. They decided to close the door on us. Security “escorted” us to the docking bay entrance, and the military police took over. Fortunately, none of them started anything. Obviously, none of the protesters did either. We made it back to the venue entrance eventually, but only those with journalist/media badges were allowed back in; the rest of us were not. Even people with Observer badges (like mine) who hadn’t been part of the protest weren’t being allowed in. But some people who were panelists, delegates, etc. came out to stand in solidarity with us. 

Once it became clear that no more joint actions would be taking place, I went home, and waited to see whether the negotiators would be able to talk UNFCCC into letting us back in. 

They did. Can you imagine the headlines? “UNFCCC Kicks Out Protesters, Bars Civil Society Observers From Climate Talks.” 

Talk about going down like a lead balloon.

Which is about what the conference in general did. I was able to go back and get some more stuff out of it... including another big protest, this time led by Fridays for Future and sanctioned. It was so, so good. Many of the people from Wednesdays protest were also there, and while spirits weren’t exactly high, the emotions being expressed were more along the lines of determination and tenacity than fire and fury. Both are valid, and both have their place, and it was nice to have a balance -- especially at the end of the week, when we were all flat-out exhausted. 

The Aftermath

And then I just didn’t stop moving. Saturday and Sunday I spent exploring Madrid and staying out late, Monday I flew back to Geneva from Madrid (because absolutely fuck Spanish busses and also absolutely FUCK FRANCE’s weeks-long general strike that I’m sure was for something very important. I’m sure. Because France never strikes over trivial things). 

Tuesday-Friday was a takehome exam that I swear to god was more labor-intensive than my actual undergrad thesis, and Saturday-Sunday I flew to London to visit my sister at her new job as an actor in Shrek’s Adventure. Mom was supposed to go with me, but she has a slipped disk and sent me up alone. Which was nice -- my sister and I almost never hang out just the two of us. But that’s another thing I’ve been dealing with -- quite a bit of extra Stuff To Do that Mom Can’t Do because Back Hurty and there have been days when she literally could not move. 

But now I am here! I still have work to do, and it’s holidays so there’s Holiday Stuff happening, but I’m hoping to get back to writing here in the next few days. 

And if you’ve read all of this, you’re fucking incredible and I love u and here are some one-eyed black babie kitty gremlins for ur viewing pleasure.

<-Saga | Luna ->

They’ve got little bare patches on their tummies because bbies gotta be spayed

They got this tower two days ago and have learned to share, but the learning curve was steep

Saga doesn’t like cuddles but she likes pats and being in the vicinity of humans

Saga says hello

Pictured: Luna in my arms, Saga in Proximity

Luna stole my Spot!! >:C

If Saga steals something and then tells u to answer a riddle to get it back pls let me know. she does that sometimes. it’s very naughty.

[writinginstardust]

Always Be Yours

Pairing: Dorian Havilliard x reader

Request: anonymous asked “The Nsfw was mind-blowing!I would love to get a romantic imagine with that throne ;))”

Warnings: They do the do

A/N: This took a while to get to but I hope whoever requested likes it! I know I put this disclaimer on all smut I write but again I’m not necessarily the best at it, I don’t find it particularly easy to write in a way i’m happy with, and I personally don’t have bucket loads of actual experience so never expect it to be incredible. That being said, I’m pretty happy with how this turned out which is pretty amazing for me so yeah, here it is!

Word Count: 2329

*

“(Y/N)? You in there?” Chaol’s voice was muffled by the door but she still managed to hear it from across her chambers.

“One second!” She called out as her maid finished doing her hair and gave an approving nod after inspecting her appearance. She hurried across the room to open the door, not wanting to keep her friend waiting. “Hi.”

“Hi”

“To what do I owe the pleasure? It’s rather early for dinner isn’t it?”

“It is, Dorian wishes to see you, he’s in the throne room.” She furrowed her brow in confusion. He’d said he was busy until dinner so she hadn’t seen him all day, why did he need to see her now? And why did he send Chaol to get her? She was happy to get to see him of course, just surprised at the circumstances.

“Alright, I’ll head right down. Any idea what this is about?”

“Yes.”

“Feel like sharing?”

“That would ruin the surprise. He’ll tell you himself, just be patient. I know that’s difficult for you.” He smirked for about a second before she playfully elbowed him in the side.

They reached the throne room and Chaol gave her a wink which only made her more confused before gently shoving her into the room and closing the door behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the comparative dimness of the room and she looked around, taking note of the closed blinds on all the windows, the astounding number of candles littered around the room, and the vines and plants wrapped carefully around stone pillars and hanging from the ceiling. The overall effect was breathtaking and had clearly taken a lot of work. Had Dorian done all this for her? Why?

“Good Evening my love.” She snapped her eyes forward to see Dorian lounging on his throne across the room and smiling softly.

“What’s all this about then?” A smile to match his made its way onto her face as she took a few steps further into the room. He stood as well and moved to meet her half way, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“Can’t I do something nice for you?”

“You can and you do, but this feels...different...” she slid her own arms around his neck and tilted her head to the side, considering, “...more...important.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Patience darling.”

“Don’t you all know by now that i’m not a very patient person?”

“Oh we’re all well aware of that.” He smirked and pulled her closer, beginning to sway slightly and move slowly around the room in a small, silent, dance. She sighed in contentment and rested her head on his chest, allowing herself to be led wherever Dorian chose. She still had no idea what all this was about but it was nice and she was happy for now to just...be. It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

“(Y/N), you know how much I love you right?” His voice was low and soft, almost nervous.

“Mmmhmm.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve never cared so much about anyone or anything than I do about you, and I don’t think I ever will. You’re the most amazing thing in my life and even if I lost everything else I’d still feel like the luckiest man in the world just to have you.” He stilled and pulled back from her so he could look into her eyes and she sucked in a breath as they locked gazes. It dawned on her then just what this was. She wanted to cut him off and just say yes right then but decided to let him at least ask first.

“You have my heart, I am yours, now and forever and I want you to be mine too. So…,” he stepped away, pulling something from his pocket and dropping to one knee like the cliched romantic he was, “(Y/N), light of my life, would you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” He actually sounded unsure of himself when he asked, as if there was any other answer she’d give than yes.

“Dorian, I’ve always been yours and I always will be. Of course I’ll marry you, there’s nothing I’d love more.” A blinding smile spread across his face and he practically jumped to his feet, picking her up in a crushing hug and spinning her around until she couldn’t stop giggling. He finally put her down and slipped the simple but elegant ring onto her finger before pulling her into a heated kiss. She melted into him and kissed back with all she had, pouring all the joy and love she felt in that moment into it and making her feelings unquestioningly obvious to him.

As their kisses got more and more intense they both decided that they wanted each other now, wanted to celebrate this a bit more intimately, and they didn’t much care that someone could come in looking for them. Everyone had been told not to interrupt anyway but you never knew. It didn’t matter though, neither of them felt like going all the way to their rooms.

With ease, Dorian lifted her in his arms and carried her over to his throne, sitting on it with (Y/N) in his lap. They continued just kissing for a while, hands exploring each other, roaming where they pleased and slowly making their way under the layers of fabric between them as their lips and tongues moved in sync. The small noises coming from each of them were muffled by the other, kept only for the two of them to enjoy, but the sounds of ragged breathing every time they broke away filled the air and seemed to raise the temperature of the room until it was stifling.

Dorian’s lips trailed a burning path down the side of her neck and she couldn’t contain a soft moan as he sucked on the sensitive skin just above her collar bone. The sound reverberated through his body and caused him to let out one of his own as he suddenly became a lot less patient. He made quick work of the ribbon at the back of her dress and watched as the fabric slipped down her body to pool at her hips. It was a matter of seconds before he’d completely rid her of her clothes and sat her down, kneeling down before her. As a last second thought he reached up and placed his own crown on her head before sitting back and admiring her.

“My queen.” His smile was positively sinful and she couldn’t resist its pull, leaning down to kiss it away. He gently pushed her back until she leaned against the back of the throne before breaking the kiss and tracing a path down her body with his lips, pausing occasionally to give more attention where he knew her to be particularly sensitive. The gasps he drew from her fuelled his desire and made him smile against her skin.

As he reached her hips and set about sucking a mark there, his hands came up and pulled her to the edge of the seat and he felt her shiver in anticipation as he began to move lower, his lips barely ghosting over her skin. He looked up just before reaching his destination and groaned at the sight of her above him, already looking half wrecked.

“Gods, I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful you are.” It came out breathy and almost as wrecked as she looked as he drank in the sight of her, bare before him and gazing at him in awe. Without another moment of hesitation he brought his mouth down on her, relishing in her sudden intake of breath and the way her back arched away from the seat, her hands gripping the armrests like vices. “So, so beautiful,” he murmured as he set about worshipping her with his tongue, each flick of it against her drawing out more beautiful noises.

Minutes later he finally put his skilled hands to better use than holding her still. One loosened her grip on the chair and entwined their fingers together while the other joined his mouth in its slow, almost torturous ministrations. I love you was the only coherent thought in his head and what he tried to convey with the movement of his fingers and tongue against her, even going so far as to trace the words themselves and imprint them on her skin whether she realised it or not.

The moans and gasps spilled with abandon from her lips as Dorian brought her closer and closer to the edge, the knot of pleasure in her stomach finally releasing as she gripped his hand tighter and he gladly worked her through it. His name was the last thing she’d gasped out as she’d fallen into blissful oblivion and it caused a fluttering in his heart that had yet to diminish since the first time and he prayed never would.

He gently ran his hand up and down her thigh as he waited for her to recover and looked up at her from his position between them, almost dying on the spot at the image which greeted him. His soon-to-be queen, glowing and content and his. He’d never seen anything as precious in his life.

“Come here.” (Y/N) spoke so softly that he almost missed it but the gentle tug on his hand got the message across well enough anyway. He rose up on his knees, tilting his head up and sliding a hand to the back of her neck to pull her lips down to meet his. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips and he instantly whispered it back, smiling against her before kissing her properly again.

He slid his hands under her thighs and he stood, turning round and settling himself on his throne with (Y/N) straddling his lap. She untangled her hands from his hair and slid them down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and running her fingers over the toned plains of his stomach. A barely noticeable hitch in his breath caused her to smile against his lips as she let her hands trail lower.

It took some fumbling and wasn't terribly efficient as they refused to stop kissing for a moment, but eventually Dorian's trousers were out of the way and they were finally able to join together in the intimate way they craved. Every rock of her hips was unhurried, every touch of hands lingering as they moved together harmoniously. They both knew the perfect angle, the exact patches of skin to focus on to have the other gasping and moaning. Soon those sounds of pleasure had filled the room and with each movement a new one joined, pressing against them and heating their skin to the point that it was almost unbearable.

Eventually their slow languid pace was not enough and Dorian’s grip on her hips tightened as he began to move his own hips to meet her. Their noises of pleasure grew louder as they sped towards their release, gasping out sweet words between them before finally falling over the edge within moments of each other.

For a while heavy breathing was the only sound as (Y/N) collapsed onto Dorian’s chest and he in turn leaned heavily against the back of the throne. Her exhausted pants slowly faded as her heart rate returned to normal and, as she waited for him to get his own breath back, she began planting soft kisses to the skin of his chest and up his neck, fingers trailing nearby. The little shivers she caused brought a tired smile to her face and she sighed happily as he started to rub comforting circles on her lower back in return. When he dropped a light kiss on her forehead she finally tilted her face up and their lips met again.

“I don’t ever want to move,” she mumbled when they broke away and she snuggled back into his chest.

“Me neither. We can stay here a while if you want? We have time.”

“How much time?”

“An hour or two.” She looked up at him with a meaningful smirk which made him twitch in anticipation where he was still inside her.

“Well if we’ve got so much time I see no reason to go anywhere yet.”

“You’re not wrong. Is there something you’d like to do with this time?” She shifted her hips a little in answer.

“I can think of a few things.”

“Hmmm, I think I can see where you’re going with this,” he got out through a groan at her movement, “and how could I say no to my queen?”

“I’m not queen just yet darling.”

“Maybe not of this kingdom but you have ruled my heart for as long as I can remember. You’ve always been a queen.” She just gaped at him for a moment before surging forward and locking their lips together in a heated kiss that had them both clutching at each other desperately in an impossible attempt to be closer.

“I love you...so much...you have no idea how much.” She whispered between kisses and started moving against him once more, eliciting a string of moans from him.

“Maybe you...could show me?” He grinned even as he struggled to get the words out.

“I’d love to.” No more words were exchanged as they got lost in each other once more, gasps and moans becoming their only communication. They may have been late for dinner with flushed cheeks and messy hair but the complete adoration in the smiles they shared with each other throughout the evening stopped anyone from saying a word. They were content and in love and looking forward to spending the rest of their lives together. Nothing in the world could dampen their joy.

*

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness

Dorian Havilliard: @myblackconfessions

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Chapter 14

Title: Falling for the Holidays

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 4719

Summary: With October ending and the holidays underway, that only meant one thing for Dean Winchester. It meant returning to his childhood home and spending time with his family. It meant listening to his parents, especially his mom, ramble on and on about when he was going to find himself a nice girl, bring her home for the holidays, and then eventually get married and have children.  However, Dean wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, so in order to get his family off his back, he comes up with an elaborate scheme! But like the saying goes, “sometimes lies become truths.”

Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Arguing, Terribly written Donna (I can’t write her to save my life so I don’t know why I used her as a character), Consumption of Alcohol, Drunkenness, and I think that’s it. 

A/N: Sorry everyone for taking so long with this chapter. I’ve been struggling a little with my personal issues so writing had proven a little difficult. But now I’m feeling a little better and banged out this baby in two days. And to make up for the long wait, this chapter is pretty lengthy. This is a loaded chapter and it moves fast paced, so I hope it’s okay and that it doesn’t seem a little too rushed. I just needed to move the series along so that we can get to the good stuff! Please let me know what you thought! I adore and appreciate the feedback! Thank you everyone for being so patient with me! xx

Series Masterlist

Dean knew all along, but despite that, it didn’t prepare him for the confirmation out of Lisa’s mouth. Ben was his. He had a four-year old kid. One that he didn’t even know about since recently.

Lunch was eaten in silence, Dean trying to wrack his brain around everything, while Lisa was just too afraid to say anything, not wanting to chance it and make him angry. It wasn’t until Dean was nearly done with his food did he finally speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked. It was a simple question but it was a loaded one as well.

“I was too afraid to tell you. I know that’s no excuse, but we were broken up and you were leaving for college. I’m sorry. I was just… I was too scared.” Dean sighed. He couldn’t blame Lisa for being afraid, but Dean deserved to know. But he knew now, and that’s all that mattered, right? Dean was an understanding guy, wasn’t he? Yes, he was. His mom raised him to be a gentleman, and that was how he was going to handle this. Like a real man.

“You should have told me. We could have figured things out.”

“I know… I’m sorry,” Lisa choked, trying to keep her tears at bay, not wanting to worry her son… their son.

“Hey, hey. Come here,” Dean called, opening his arms for Lisa.

She wiggled out of her seat and slowly made her way towards Dean, letting him hold her as she sat next to him. She quickly felt at ease, meeting Ben’s eyes before smiling. Ben smiled in return, taking another bite of his burger, smearing ketchup and mustard over his cheeks.

As calm as Dean pretended to be on the outside, he was a floundering mess on the inside. He had no idea how to be a father, and he had no idea how he was going to build a relationship with his son and not fuck things up.

Speaking – or thinking about – fucking things up… there was the ordeal with you. You kissed him, and despite needing to be with Lisa and their son, he wanted nothing more than to rush into your apartment and kiss you again. Show you just how much you mean to him and how much he wished he was with you, but things were just too complicated. Life wouldn’t be life it was easy, right?

While Dean was with Lisa and Ben, you were alone in your tiny apartment laying face down on your comfortably worn couch, with your head buried in your favorite plaid throw pillow, the one Cass made for your birthday. It was lumpy and was a far cry from a square shape, but the fact that he made it didn’t only make it hilarious, it was genuine. You loved it so much.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door. The tapping timidly soft. Your heart clenched wondering who it could be, until you heard a familiar face.

“Y/N?” It was Cass! Coincident? You think not. You had thought about him and the universe delivered him to your doorstep!

Without hesitation, you sprung off the couch, retching the door open before colliding your small body into his much larger and muscular one. You could feel his body tense under your grasp, but quickly relaxed as his arms cradled around your back.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out mumbled against his chest, but still coherent for him to understand.

“Jo called me. She said she saw Dean at Lafitte with…” he cleared his throat, “... with someone from his past, so I thought I’d come check on you.” You wanted to laugh at his use of words however, you were glad that he didn’t say her name. You couldn’t bare it at the moment.

“Did I ever tell you you’re an angel?” You muttered. Cass didn’t say a word, but he smiled, tightening his hold around you.

Meanwhile, Ketch was sitting outside your apartment in the parking lot, thinking about what he was going to say to you. He had witnessed you kiss the man you were in love with and he was beginning to get frustrated. He wasn’t making any progress with you. He needed to think of a way to get you on his side and start believing that you didn’t need Dean, didn’t want Dean. He needed you to believe you wanted him.

“C’mon Ketch, get it together. You can do this. You have women eating out of the palm of your hands. You can get one girl to fall in love with you...” he gave himself a pep talk.

With one final breath, he hopped out of his car, taking his time to get to your apartment, still processing what exactly he was going to say to you. He was sure that you already had some sort of feelings for him, how strong were they? He wasn’t sure, but he just needed to get himself out of the friend zone and into the potential zone. You were the first woman he really had to work for and it was infuriating, but at the same time, there was something inside him that was being a tad irrational. He was getting confused.

You and Cass had just sat down on your couch, the angelic man eyeing the throw pillow next to you. “When are you going to throw that horrid thing away? It’s been two years,” he spoke, referring to the gift he had given years ago.

“What are you talking about? I’m never throwing this away! You made it for me, and it happens to be my favorite pillow!” Cass has heard you say those words a million times, but he still can’t believe you actually like, let alone love, the pillow he made you. But regardless, it warmed his heart. You were like the little sister, or cousin, he wished he had. His family were a bunch of dicks, with a few who were tolerable.

Just as you and Cass got comfortable, another knock came from your door. You started at crystal blue eyes as they stared back at you with confusion. “Who could that be?” You pondered out loud, a little disappointed. You wanted to tell Cass everything that happened, but was rudely interrupted.

“Would you like me to answer it for you?” Cass offered. You nodded in response, your heart hammering in anticipation.

What if it was Dean?! What would you do or say then?

Cass lifted himself off the couch and made his way towards the door, twisting the knob slowly before peeling the wooden surface ajar. He was met with a strange man he’s never seen before, his brows furrowing together, lips parting, in his signature lost puppy look.

“Oh. I wasn’t aware that Y/N had a visitor. I’m sorry, is she home?”

“If you mean Y/N has friends, then yes she does. A lot actually,” Cass sassed, not liking the aura he got from the man before him. Cass was pretty intuitive.

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Is she here?” Ketch asked.

“And whom should I announce is here to see her?”

“I’m her friend, Ketch. She left her things in my car so I thought I’d drop them off.”

“Cass, who is it?” You asked, now standing beside him. When he didn’t respond, busy starting down whoever was at the door, you shifted to his side so you could peek around him. Your eyes widened, completely forgetting about Ketch. “Ketch!”

“Y/N,” he greeted, giving you a sweet smile.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! Please come in,” you slipped from under Castiel’s arms so that you were standing in front of him. You used your body to press up against your long time friend, shoving him backwards as he adamantly resisted you. Cass kept his eye on the British man, squinting, unsure if he could trust him.

When you were finally able to get Cass to step back enough to give Ketch enough space, he walked in, setting your bag on the faded love couch. “You forgot your bag, so I thought I’d come drop it off, as well as see how you were doing, but it seems you’ve got someone else already doing that,” he forced a smile on his face as he glanced over at Cass again, who was still glaring.

“Uh, yeah. Cass is a really good friend of mine. Cass, this is Ketch. He’s a friend I met on the plane ride back here,” you introduced.

“I see. It’s ni—,” Cass cut himself off, “it was unexpected to meet you.”

“Yes. Quite unexpected,” Ketch replied, clearly not happy with Castiel’s presence, as he eyed him down. He wondered if Cass was another hurdle he’d have to jump over to have you. “Let me guess… the Lincoln outside is yours?” Ketch asked.

“Yes. Is there a problem?” Castiel replied.

“Not at all. It’s just… it matches your trench coat,” Ketch scoffed, as if it was supposed to be a compliment.

“What’s wrong with my trench coat. It was given to me by my dearest friend,” he defended. That trench coat was indeed given by a dear friend of his – Dean.

“Umm, anyways…” your eyes shifted between both men standing in your house. Ketch I am so sorry for ditching you like that. I hope you didn’t worry too much about me. That’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to cause you trouble. I just had a lot on my mind, and I guess I was a little overwhelmed.”

Ketch’s attention fell on you while Cass was transfixed on the other man, untrustingly. “It was no trouble, and I completely understand. I just want to let you know before I go, that I’m here for you. If you ever need to talk, you have my number. I’ll pick you up, meet you here, and we can go anywhere you’d like.”

“Thanks Ketch. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ketch leaned in, giving you a hug, and behind his back, you could see Castiel tensing.

When Ketch pulled away, he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, a sentiment he’s never done before. To be honest, it was a little weird. Kind of like he was overstepping the boundary. Yes, you liked him, a flicker of a crush in your heart for the man, and stray thoughts of maybes and what ifs swarming around the idea of being with him, but on the scale… your feelings for him had no match for the feelings you held Dean. If Ketch had a chance, he’d be waiting a long time for that to happen, unless you sold out on yourself and tried to use him as a means to an end, but also to the beginning of something that could work?

Once Ketch was gone, Cass glared at you like a father waiting for his guilty child to explain. You let out a deep sigh, falling onto your couch, Cass along with you, and you told him everything. Every. Single. Thing.

After that, Jo came around and you had to explain it a second time. A day latter, you found yourself explaining to Castiel’s girlfriend, Meg! Why? You weren’t sure. You didn’t even know her that well. But after a week had past, everyone was caught up and has accepted everything that’s happened. A fake relationship gone terrible wrong.

One week turned to two weeks, and soon Christmas was only a couple of weeks away, and no one had barely talked to Dean. Jo had a handful of short conversations, and Castiel was able to get one heart to heart talk with his best friend, but that was it. You had gotten no contact from him, and when you’d try to call him once, it rang twice before going straight to voicemail. Obviously, he had ignored your call, and that was enough to crush you.

According to Cass, Dean had found out that Ben was his kid. That was news you ever not expecting. It had taken a few days for you to settle with that information, but it made sense why Dean was always MIA. He has been busy trying to jump into fatherhood. Balancing school in hopes to graduate and learning to be a father was apparently time consuming.

BUT – and maybe you were just bitter – you were damn sure that if his friends mattered, he’d make the time. He’d make the time to have lunch with you and the others, he’d try to talk to you, even if it was through texting. He’d try something. But alas, Dean was drifting further and further away from you. From all of you. Just because of some girl. Just because of some kid.

Wanting to beat yourself up, you scolded yourself for having those thoughts. You didn’t give a rat’s ass about Lisa, but Ben wasn’t just some kid. He was Dean’s kid. And you couldn’t blame the four-year old for who his parents were. And you couldn’t blame yourself for feeling disappointed either.

Not only was Dean back with his ex, his first love, he had a baby with her! A living breathing person!

But what could you do about it? Zilch. Nada. Nothing what so ever.

With everthing that was happening, you had hung out with Ketch a few times since the encounter with him and Castiel, and eventually, your relationship had diminished into mostly texting everyday with a possible phone call. Once in a while you’d catch him around town and you’d stop to say hello, or sometimes he’d walk into your workplace ordering a coffee and scone, all the while flirting with you shamelessly. Even your co-workers couldn’t keep to themselves, butting into your conversations and business.

Things were starting to get better – which surprised you.

One night, you decided that you were determined to get the old you back with a night out with the girls! You and Jo rallied up all your lady friends, and headed out to the local bar, on a Friday night, and the place was packed as always!

“I’ll find us a table!” Charlie shouted over the blaring music, “you know what I like!”

“I’m gonna go with her!” Bess announced. Bess was a good girl. She never drank and was always happy to be the DD. All that mattered to her was having a good time and making sure everyone got home safe. You loved Bess. Every group of friends needed a Bess.

After grabbing the first round, and a few shots later, everyone was on the dance floor, grinding against one another, laughing, drinking, just letting loose, and for the first time in a long time, it was like you and Dean never happened. You were having fun.

Lost in the music, you found a strong grip around your waist, pulling you closer to their tall and muscular body, and you flipped your hair to one side of your neck, peeking over your bare shoulder to meet deep brown eyes staring back at you and a cocky smiled playing on his lips. It was Michael. Castiel’s big brother, Michael. The same Michael that Dean despised.

Oh… if only Dean could see you now. You’d rub it in his face just to spite him.

Jo and the other girls shared a look at each other, smiling in approval of the surprise guest. With a chorus of giggles, the girls wiggled elsewhere on the dance floor to give you and Michael some privacy. They knew if Cass or Dean was here to see this, they’d flip their lid! But they weren’t. And an attractive man is an attractive man. Why not have a little fun?

You were grinding up against him, your confidence back at it’s peak. You didn’t need Dean, you didn’t need to settle for Ketch, no – you could be single and have fun with no restraints.

Swaying your hips against Michael’s crotch, you slithered down before bending over and sliding your ass over his hardening length. That’s the moment you knew you were in control. You had the power. Then suddenly his hands were quick to pull you upright, one hand locked in your hair while the other pressed on your stomach, keeping you flush against him, allowing him to squirm his hips against your ass, letting you feel just how hard he was for you.

Fuck.

You shivered in his grasp, and Michael smirked. “I’m always in control,” he growled in your ear. His voice more intoxicating that the alcohol you consumed.

“Fuck,” you gasped. You had never met someone like him before. You’ve only seen him from afar, heard stories about his reputation, but this was the first time you’ve ever come face to face. This was your first time ever interacting with him, and shit. The rumors did no justice.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “If that’s what you really want.”

Before anything could escalate, someone interrupted. “Mind if I cut in?” a familiar accent filtered through your ears.

“Can’t you see we’re busy?” Michael hissed.

“K-ketch?” you questioned, pulling yourself out of Michael’s grasp. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopped by for a drink when I saw you dancing with him,” Ketch squared up against Michael. This was the first time you’ve ever seen this side of Ketch before. Was he drunk? What the hell was up with him? Was he seriously acting jealous right now?

“Sorry, is she your girlfriend? Maybe next time you should keep her on a tighter leash,” Michael chuckled.

Your jaw dropped at his words. You were offended. “Excuse you,” you stormed back in front of the cocky bastard. “I am nobody’s girlfriend, and you are a sexist asshole!”

“Feisty. I like my woman feisty. Bet you’ve got a filthy mouth in bed –” His words were cut short when threw him a right hook.

“Jump off a cliff, asshat” you spat before storming off, Ketch giving Michael a smug look before following you out of the club.

“Wow, that was impressive,” Ketch chuckled, swaying a bit on his feet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You barked. Ketch stared at you wide-eyed, not expecting you to lash out like that.

“What do you mean?” He asked flatly.

“Coming over like some jealous boyfriend! News flash, you’re not my boyfriend!”

“Sorry. I’m not sure what came over me. One minute I see you dancing with so random guy, and the next I’m walking over and the words just come out.”

“Look, Ketch. We’re friends. That’s it,” you sighed. After the few weeks, you’ve realized you didn’t like Ketch in any romantic form. You didn’t have a crush on him. You only liked the comfort he gave you. But now you had your other friends to help, and they were also getting you back on your feet. You had an actual support system and you were beginning to think for rationally rather than emotionally.

“I thought we had something?”

“Ketch… maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. We’ll always be friends but I don’t like you like that. I’m sorry.” Your words seemed a little harsh, but that’s what happens when you’re a slightly drunk. The filter comes off. “I think what I liked about you was the attention and comfort you were giving me during a vulnerable time, but I’m starting to feel like myself again. I mean, we’re still friends. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow or something?”

Ketch just stood there, eyes boring down on you. “Are you kidding me? Are you seriously turning me down right now?” He asked offended. “I spent weeks trying to help you and this is how your turning me down?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m a little drunk. And you gave me no other choice. I like you. I really do, but only as a friend. But don’t worry. Look at you. You’re a handsome fellow with a dreamy accent. You’ll find yourself a woman easy!” you tried to build up his ego.

Ketch let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger. “You are exhausting. Ever think that Dean doesn’t like you because you’re just too much to handle? That maybe he likes simpler woman, like Lisa?”

Your stomach sank. His words hurt and they were meant to.

“Wow…” you laughed defeated, “Just… wow. How would you even know if Lisa is a simple person or not?!” You retorted.

“Y/N, look… I’m sorry. I didn’t –”

“No. No, you did. You meant it. Thanks. I was having a great night and you come crashing in like a big stupid British wrecking ball! Thanks a lot. I’ll see ya around,” you dismissed him, turning on your heels. “I need a drink…” you muttered to yourself, before entering the bar.

By the end of the night, you were plastered and Bess was having a hard time getting everyone in the car. Everyone was pretty shitfaced and she didn’t know how to handle it, so she called for back up.

She called Benny to grab Jo, Castiel to get Meg, and Dean to get you. She was surprised that she was able to catch a hold of him. Bess was well aware that Dean had been distant from all of his friends. The only person who saw him the most was Benny, because Dean would bring over his little “family” over to eat all the time.

When Dean arrived, everyone was shocked. “I told you he was coming,” Bess chided at those you didn’t believe her. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, and Dean didn’t fail her.

Dean approached the group, awkwardly greeting everyone. He quickly searched around for you, knowing that he was there to bring you home. He didn’t spot you and was about to ask Bess where you were when the loud voice of a certain, tiny redhead, boomed through the parking lot.

“The idiot knight in shinin’ armor arrives!” Charlie shouted obnoxiously, her words slurred. Castiel glared at her exasperatedly, grabbing her arm and shoving her into the back seat of his car. Dean sighed, instantly knowing that they’ve definitely heard your side of the story.

“I’ll bring her home too,” Castiel nodded, before giving his best friend and apologetic stare.

“Yo, Donny! Jump in! Us blondes need ta stick together, ya feel me?!” Jo yelled at Donna, who giggled before taking large awkward steps, as if she was trying to avoid falling into lava.

“How much, exactly, did they have to drink?” Castiel questioned, all sober sets of eyes on Bess.

“Well… Y/N kind of got into a fight?” She noticed all three men twitch at her words and quickly spoke again. “Not a fight! It was more of… uhh… she punched a guy, and this other guy followed her outside, and when she came back, she ordered a round of shots, and then another, and then random guys started buying everyone shots and well, by the time Abby was dancing on the bar, that’s when I called you. You have no idea how hard it was to get them all out of there.”

“She promised us doughnuts!” Donna shouted from the back of Benny’s pick up.

“Donna, what ya doin’ back there? C’mon and get in the truck. You’re sittin’ next to Jo!” Benny left to help Donna out of the bed of the truck and into the cab. Jo giggled while Donna attempted to climb in.

“I betcha thinkin’ I need to get some climbing lessons, dontcha? Well, that’s because I do,” she joked, making Jo laugh harder.

“Hey! What ya laughing ‘bout over there!” You slurred walking out of the bar, a beer bottle in hand.

“Y/N!” Bess shrieked.

“Oh yeah! The night’s still young, bitches!” Abby walked out right after. “Hey boys, care for a drink?” She wiggled her eyebrows before slinging her arm over your shoulder.

“What’s he doin’ here!” You grumbled, wobbling as you pointing at Dean with your beer, some of it’s contents flying out of the bottle. “We didn’t invite boys! No boys allowed! They’re goss!” You yelled, throwing your bottle at Dean. Luckily, he caught it, bringing the brown bottle to his lips and chugging what was left of it. “Hey! Dude, what the fuck? That was my beer!” you chided.

“We’re going!” Dean snapped, taking three long strides and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Who do ya think ya are? I’m gonna rip your head off!” You were punching his back and butt, his arms easily pinning your legs.

“I’d like to see you try, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that. Only Dean can call me that!” You voice croaked.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Dean nodded in goodbye before hauling you to his truck.

Reaching his Ford, he wrenched the door open and swiftly set you in. But as he tried to buckle your belt, you resisted.

“I don’t like you, get away!” You whined, pushing at his chest, head, shoulders, anywhere you could. “Stop! I don’t need ya. I don’t need anything from ya,” you bonked his head with your fist like a hammer.

“Would you just stop! Just for like two seconds!” Dean hissed, grabbing each of your wrists and glaring at you. His eyes quickly softened when he noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I hate you…” you muttered before snatching your hands away and buckling yourself in, although it took a few tries.

By the time Dean had climbed into the driver’s seat, you were already out cold. He let out a deep sigh, sitting in his truck, watching you. If things were different, if Lisa hadn’t come back into his life, if Ben didn’t exist (or at least wasn’t his), he was sure he’d make sure that you were his and he was yours. You wouldn’t be out at the bar with the girls. Instead, he would have taken you out on a date, and you’d be wearing that little black dress to dinner. You would both have dessert, and then he’d end the night by taking you home and showing you how much he cared about you, prove to you how much he was in love with you. Make you believe that there was only you.

That it is only you.

As he parked in his usual parking space outside your apartment, he hopped out of the truck, and carefully opened the passenger door that you were leaning on. He held you steady as he widened the door, hooking his arms under your back and knees. As if you were light as a feather, he easily picked you up, using his hip to shut the door, before quickly locking it with his beat up key fob and shoving it into his back pocket.

It was late so no one was walking around the building halls, which Dean was a little thankful for. It saved him the trouble of explaining to anyone, and all he wanted to was to get you in bed safe and sound.

When he arrived at your front door, he raised his foot against the wall, using it as leverage so he could rest some of your weight on his leg while he dug for his spare key. He was able to easily get the key in the slot and twisted the door open, kicking the door closed with his foot until he heard the click of the lock fall into place.

He brought you over to your room, laying you in the middle of your unmade bed before removing your strappy heals. He cursed quietly to himself about how girls shouldn’t wear straps. That were so difficult to undo. When he eventually got it off, you were sitting up on the bed without him noticing.

“Oh, shit!” Dean whisper-yelled when he realized you were awake, intensely watching him. He was about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Stay—” your voice sounded small.

“What?” He asked, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Please stay. Don’t leave. Don’t leave again.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Please! Please Dean, stay. Just for one night. All I want to do is sleep… so please.”

“Y/N—”

“Stay…” you whispered. And that was all it took.

“Okay.”

Say Something Nice Here!

Falling for the Holidays Tags: @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @winchesterprincessbride @amanda-teaches @dancingalone21 @a-winchester-fairytale @dolphincliffs @oneshoeshort @brewsthespirit-blog @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @atc74 @natasha-baggins @heavymetalhauswife @linki-locks11 @spnwoman @veevm @chameleah86 @kdcollinsauthor @claitynroberts @roonyxx @rainflowermoon @ladylaylo @closetspngirl @mirandaaustin93 @salt-n-burn-em-all @flamencodiva @fangirlanotherjust @winchest09 @shamelesslydean @couldabeenamermaid @alexwinchester23 @algud @gracefultrenchcoat494 @prettyinplaid94 @shhhs3cret @cookiechipdough @justkending @adoptdontshoppets @screechingartisancashbailiff

[freerange-rude]

Heat Me Like A Filament: Chapter 2- You Burned Me and I’m Smoking

Chapter two is up! light sexual themes, ABO, and dub/noncon bath watching  Can be read and commented on here as well! 

Will had adjusted to the cold of the basement. When he was initially left alone, he had spent a fair amount of his time just thinking and shivering. Logic told him to get up and move around to get the blood moving.

Poking around, he found a rather immaculately adorned chest in a corner, padlocked shut. He tried to tinker with it to see if he could peak inside, but it didn’t budge. There were some paddles and crops hanging on the wall, and he really hoped those were just odd keepsakes of some time.

His bed was surprisingly comfortable, but he was hesitant to lay on it after seeing the special items on the wall. He opted to lay on the floor for the nap he had taken earlier. It hadn’t really been worth it, since his whole right side was sore now.  

He could hear footsteps above him. He counted them, and kept track of the sounds. Just one set. It was puzzling then why Hannibal whispered so quietly, as if someone else was there to hear them. It was also puzzling as to why Hannibal seemed to run through the house on occasion. Quick steps could be heard pounding from above him, and then further into the house, then a slight pause, then back to normal steps.

Boredom set in quickly, and he got brave and laid on the bed. He let his eyes slip closed, enjoying the relief to his aching side. Sitting quiet, the smell of food wafted from upstairs, and his stomach growled in response. It must have been some time since he had been back home.

The last thing he had remembered was going out to his shed to get some fish. He had opened the freezer, and had immediately felt like someone, or something was watching him. Before he could even call out, he was knocked out.

He must have drifted off, pondering about his unfortunate situation, because he was startled by the door shutting.

“I cooked for you!” Hannibal said cheerfully, voice no longer so low as a whisper, but still quiet. “I hope you like it.”

“What is it?” Will asked as he sat up, peaking at what he had.

“Loin, with a cumberland sauce.” Hannibal said proudly, and gave him the tray.

Will knew that the food was most likely drugged, and that he was about to be knocked out again. His growling stomach really didn’t care, and it genuinely looked good. The presentation was surprisingly meticulous, how he would imagine it would be at a five star restaurant. He took a careful bite. It was as good as it looked.

“You’re a good cook.” He noted, “This is very good. Thank you.” A little brown nosing never hurt. Besides, it was genuinely good.

“I’m so glad you like it.” he grinned, sitting down on the floor to eat his own meal. “I like to cook. I’m very good at it… Good boy at it.”

“You are a good boy at it.” he reassured with a soft smile. It felt too genuine once it came out. He couldn’t push away the recognition that this was a broken person, who needed genuine help. He just didn’t think he could be the person to do it.

“Is it good?” Hannibal asked again, as if he hadn’t just been reassured mere seconds ago.

“Yes, it’s very good.” He reassured, and smiled softly to him. Hannibal seemed very pleased with the compliment, and went back to eating. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the low hum of the central cooling system.

“May I have a jacket, or some blankets? It’s chilly down here.” Will assumed Hannibal didn’t notice, since he was in a five piece suit. He realized he was in a different suit, this one more elaborate than the last. A blue patterned jacket, with a red paisley tie. Gaudy as hell, in Will’s eyes. But he was in a grey t shirt covered in dog hair, with the essence of fish. Perhaps it wasn’t his place to judge.

“You’re cold? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he set down his food, spilling some of the sauce. “No! Oh no!” He cried, the desperation making Will’s gut tense.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it. You go get whatever you were getting.” He stood up quickly, and Hannibal stood, staring at him, pondering the offer.

“Okay…” He finally relented, and rushed upstairs.

Will took a deep breath once he was gone, then tugged his shirt off to dab up the mess, and fix the plate.

“We’re just trying to stay alive.” Will reassured himself. This wasn’t out of kindness. This was out of survival.

Hannibal came back with towels, jackets, a blanket, and shirts. “I don’t know if these will fit. I’m sorry if they don’t. They shouldn’t be too small at least.” He set them on the bed.

“You’re really nice, Will.” He commented, seeing that the mess really had been cleaned up. “I thought maybe you were tricking me.”

“I’m not one for tricks. I’ve been tricked too many times myself.” His thoughts wandered to Jack. He wondered if anyone was looking for him. Jack’s prime worry was probably just that Will wasn’t there to help solve the latest case, and less about his well being. It made something dark stir within him. He always felt played. Used. He was only valued for what he could do, not who he was.

“That’s not very nice.” Hannibal noted, looking somber.

“It’s definitely not.” he sighed, finishing his meal. “Thank you, for the meal.” “You’re welcome. Would you like dessert? I didn’t make the first course I’m sorry I just- I feel so tired lately.”

“You made dessert? Yes, I’d like some.” He was feeling drowsy, but noted that was more from his full belly than anything artificial. Hannibal manically snatched up the dishes, and rushed up the stairs. Will watched him go. He could possibly use his frantic behavior to his advantage to get out.

Hannibal was back after a moment, carrying too small pieces of cake. He gave one to Will with a glass of milk, then sat down with his own. They ate in silence, but Will kept an eye on him. He seemed very somber now, and he wasn’t about to instigate. As soon as he was finished Hannibal collected the dishes, and went up the stairs silently.

--

Will was unsure about the passage of time, there were no windows to tell him when the sun was out. He judged night and day on whether he could hear Hannibal shuffling above him, and when breakfast, lunch, and dinner dishes came. Counting how many breakfasts he’d had, it had been two weeks since he’d last been home. He hoped his dogs were okay. Alana probably went to check on him, and found the dogs alone. He hoped at least.

Each day was pretty much the same for a while, Hannibal would bring down his necessities, make small, fragmented talk, then go back up the stairs. Will could’ve died from the boredom. He felt he may be going mad himself.

He’d started making conversation with himself, and had made a game out of counting the wrinkles on his fingers. Worst of all, he could really smell himself. He really didn’t want to ask for a bath, because he could only imagine where it would lead.

Something changed after the first week though. Hannibal started spending more time down with him, having casual conversations with him. At some points, Hannibal could even make sense. It seemed the more time he spent down there, the more coherent he was.

Will discovered that Hannibal was once a psychiatrist, but something had happened to him. He wouldn’t tell him what it was, and Will didn’t push it out.

Will had told Hannibal about his dogs, about his fishing. He eventually had even confided in him about how much he hated his work, and how unfair his treatment at the bureau was. It seemed that Hannibal could relate, and sympathize in some surface level way. Will hated that it made him feel good.

Hannibal also became his conduit to the outside world. He told him about the recent news, about funny things he had seen on the internet. He had shown him some things, but never allowed him to hold the phone.

Despite being his first victim, Hannibal still had obviously planned this out for the long term. The clothes he was providing were starting to fit him perfectly now. As if they were tailored just for him.

He was also beginning to anticipate him coming down to talk.Yet still trying to convince himself that it was just out of boredom, just some form of interaction. Despite the fact now he was getting up to change once he heard Hannibal’s footsteps, and trying to make himself look proper.

He was laying on the bed, playing his finger game, when he heard footsteps coming down, and then the door opening and closing. “Is it morning?” Will asked.

"It is! I brought breakfast. Protein scramble." Hannibal smiled proudly, and set the tray down for him.

Will sat up, eager to eat. He dug in, savoring each bite. He had grown to love Hannibal’s cooking. It exceeded anything Will could muster.

Something was different this time. Not with the food. He could smell something. Musky and primal. His gut tensed. He hadn't even thought about the implications of not having suppressants.

He could smell Hannibal. And surely Hannibal could smell him.

"You smell good, pretty." Hannibal noted immediately after Will had the thought. He felt a bit flushed at the compliment, and cringed inwardly.

"I shouldn't. I need a bath." He mumbled.

"Would you like to? I could let you take a bath. I think. Maybe…" Hannibal stopped eating to think about it, zoning out for a few moments. "Yes you can take a bath." He decided once he came back to reality. "As soon as we're done eating."

Will wanted to crawl under the bed. He knew what taking a bath would mean. He knew there would be no privacy in it. He clenched his teeth, but nodded in agreement. He decided to slow down his chewing, prolonging breakfast. But then he could feel Hannibal's eyes on him. He really couldn't win.

"Alright, I’m ready.” He didn’t finish all of the food.

“Was it not good?” Hannibal asked worriedly, staring at the plate.

“No, it was. I’m sorry, I’m feeling a little ill.” He reassured.

“Oh okay… Let’s go.” Hannibal stood up, and offered his hand to Will. “I trust you.”

Will took his hand, and swallowed roughly. Just the idea of doing anything suddenly made him feel guilty. “Okay.”

Hannibal led him up the stairs. Will’s eyes had to take time to adjust once they reached the top, and he shielded them. They adjusted quickly, and he admired the kitchen he had been under this whole time. It explained a lot of the rustling around he had heard.

He was led down a small, dim hallway, decorated in paintings. Then into a very extravagant bathroom. Everything looked straight out of the victorian era. There was a small couch even, red velvet just like his bed. It was all so lavish, but he was mostly focused on the big brass tub.

It was huge, probably big enough to fit several people into it. Enough to drowned several people in it. Will shuttered at the thought, and looked to Hannibal briefly. Hannibal was still grasping his hand, and smiled to him. “This is it! Your bathroom!”

Will was a bit puzzled by the wording, but shrugged it off. “May I have some privacy?” He asked as politely as possible, but Hannibal’s face pinched.

“I don’t know. I don’t have the right locks on the windows… No no. You can’t leave me! Not now. I’m doing so good now. I’m doing so good boy now. You can’t go.” His breath was becoming uneven, and frantic.

“Okay. Okay. Can you turn away?”

Hannibal seemed to consider this, staring at him for a long moment. He set his jaw, and growled out “No.”

Goosebumps raised Will’s hair on the back of his neck, and he nodded meekly. Hannibal put the water on, his mood had now shifted. His body language was tight, and guarded. Will hesitated before slowly peeling his layers off. He instinctively covered himself while he stood there, exposed. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his cheeks were flushed. Yet somehow, this was not the worst humiliation he had ever suffered.

Once it was filled, he slowly crawled in. His eyes rolled back briefly, goosebumps raising once again. This time from the wonderful heat surrounding him. He sank down into the water, submerging completely.

Memories of of the times he had done this at home came to him. The times he spent toying with the idea of letting all of the air out of his lungs, and letting them fill with the water around him. How many times Winston had came to the tub, and barked for his attention. Oh Winston…

Will came back up out of the water, and took a deep breath. It was a cruel irony that now of all times he didn’t want to drowned himself in the tub. He doubted Hannibal would allow it anyways. It struck him then. How peaceful he had been feeling. He worried about his dogs, but even that was calmed knowing Alana was surely keeping them safe.

He slept at night. He slept through the night. He hadn’t sweat through a shirt since a week after being here.

He rubbed his face, and took a deep breath. What was happening to him? This wasn’t the life he had dreamt about. Being trapped in a basement wasn’t the relief he had expected. So why was it just so peaceful? He already knew the answer, but wished not to admit it to himself. Jack wasn’t banging on his door, manipulating him on puppet strings. Dragging him to more and more crime scenes, using the strings to make him look. To make him see. Shoving him deeper and deeper into a darkness he was finding harder and harder to climb out of.

“Are you alright?” Hannibal inquired softly, and Will let some of the tension out of his shoulders,

“Yes, I’m alright.” He started washing himself, again aware of Hannibal’s eyes on him. He ignored them. He didn’t hate it as much as expected, but he just assumed that was the impending heat.

He finished washing himself, but wasn’t ready to get out of the tub. He sank himself under the water again, this time just enjoying the absolute silence it created. He lingered as long as he could, then came back up for air.

“Alright, I think I’m done.” He pushed his wet curls out of his face. Hannibal was waiting with a towel for him.

“You can change once we’re back to your room.” Will stood, and took the towel. He stepped out, and dried off before wrapping it around himself.

“Thank you.” He took Hannibal’s hand, and was led back to the basement. Led back to his room.

Hannibal watched him dress, and Will pretended not to notice. Despite ignoring it, it stilll made his cheeks feel warm. Once he was finished, he sat down onto the bed.

“Do you like watching me?” Will asked, trying to pick his words carefully. He knew by now that any kind of confrontation made Hannibal either lash out or shut down.

Hannibal nodded unsurely, “Yes, you’re very pretty. I always wondered what you would look like. Without your clothes I mean. You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Will smiled at that, entertained at the thought of Hannibal jerking himself to just the idea of him. His smile disappeared when he realized he was getting away from himself.

“Do I smell different?” He pressed, wondering if Hannibal could smell his heat, like Will could smell his musk.

“After your bath? Yes, you smell nicer now.” This just made Will crack another smile,

“I mean, besides my bath?” Hannibal seemed to ponder this for a moment, before he came right up to Will, hovered just by his neck, and inhaled deeply. It wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting, and he lamented the way he submitted to it, tilting his neck ever so slightly.

“You do. It’s sweeter than usual… Not like a fever though. Not like inflammation… It’s something else.” He murmured, not moving from his position, bent over him. He let out a strange noise from his gut, then straightened, and fixed his suit jacket.

Will squeezed his legs together, and clenched his jaw. “Why do you wear suits all of the time?”  He was searching for anything to change the subject.

“Good boys always dress nice. If you look nice, you are nice. Dressing badly makes people think badly of you.” He explained, and rubbed the front of his suit out incase it was wrinkled.

Will nodded softly, “I guess that makes sense. I don’t like suits. They make me feel trapped.”

“Sometimes it’s good to be trapped. Sometimes you’re safer when you’re trapped.”

Will wondered if Hannibal was aware at how profound that had sounded, and nodded, “maybe you’re right.”

Hannibal smiled fraily, “I should go back upstairs. I have some business to do.” he then quickly went back up the stairs. Will was left with himself, his thoughts, and the little bit of slick that had accumulated beneath him.

[naernon]

i’m making some changes to what i’ve previously said of various OCs. you can’t count the amount of plot holes, contrivances, and weak points in my OC verse and while i’m not in an OC mood lately anyways aside from maybe ryvrinei... oh well. i figured to fix it. i wrote all of this late last night and im really not willing to proofread it right now so i hope it’s coherent enough. if it sits too long in my drafts i’m going to forget it exists and never post it.

i previously had that ohtehil, after deserting from the thalmor, disguised herself when residing in whiterun (which, IIRC, was implied in-game to apparently be a safe-place from the thalmor-- sort of. in which. they don’t seem to be allowed in? forget which quest and all) through various shit, which included dying her hair black. we only see a few black-haired altmer in ESO, which leads me to headcanon that while it is possible, it’s not common. which is... fine. but does not make sense if you’re trying to blend in as an average, totally-not-wanted by the thalmor altmer in skyrim, which has a small altmer population to begin with. i’ll try different colors out on her disguised, post-desertion version tomorrow, but either way, her hair color will be changing. im thinking an auburn or something? just a shade of ginger. her hair prior was platinum blonde. anything that is different enough from that yet doesn’t draw attention would suffice.

this is not really a change but just a clarification. i’ve stated ryvrinei is a dog person and has a immortal dog herself based on a particular husky mod (garm. but i need to do changes to fit it more into the lore)-- and then also said she liked cats. she likes both. she did have a moonlight senche tiger during the time of ESO but it... did die. eventually. or maybe not, if i decide to somehow make it so it’s immortal because i’m a pussy and the idea of pets dying makes me sad. but. yes. ryvrinei. dog person, but also very much likes cats. both. both are good

estryon, after a certain array of events combined with his mental state in skyrim for a while, would make the decision to adopt two kids. human kids. not one immediately after another, but yes, he does it. he is my character and i say he would so he would. great. fine. but, with the personality i’ve mentally built up for ondolemar, ondolemar would not stand that. i don’t think ondolemar is a frothing bigot who’d hate the idea of adopting human children but even that aside, obviously getting a kid, nevermind TWO, is a lot.. i just have a hard time believing he’d be the type to agree to adopting two whole ass kids even if estryon wished. and estryon wouldn’t wish, at least in so little time. estryon still adopts lucia and sofie respectively. but-- i’m changing when he does in my “timelien”. this all will also change when i settle on a time that ondolemar and estryon do actually get together in an actual damn relationship, but estryon does have sofie by that time and before that. he adopts her well into the skyrim main questline, assuming that that questline would realistically last months. the chain of events and thought processes that lead estryon to full-on taking a nord orphan in windhelm under his wing is the embodiment of “it’s a long story”. my first thought as to where estryon kept sofie when he was away was in dragonsreach-- a demand met with SOME protesting from those already residing but estryon has his ways of convincing, which includes both glared AND literal daggers. ha, ha. anyways, ondolemar eventually gets with estryon. he does not find out about sofie until a startling amount of time into the relationship which causes a reasonable amount of early difficulty. a few years past. they have a nice manor. dragonborn happens, a couple years after dawnguard. estryon is so fucking done with skyrim and being the stupid thane of stupid fucking whiterun but it eventually hits him that lucia is still an orphan in whiterun and had been the entire time, by then around 13 or so, and he feels bad-- but doesn’t wish to adopt her at that point. he did adopt sofie, but that was rather impulsive and at a weak mental point for him, plus he’s not the biggest fan of children. considering he is thane of whiterun however, he tries to remotely do something involving his city for once in his damn life and takes it upon himself to try and find someone in the stupid fucking dusty city that would take the kid in. no one. long story short, he then adopts her. great. sorry for the long tirade but i just wanted to put that all down for the first time. but yes. that’s... hopefully a bit more elaborated on now. because it too confused me how two ex-thalmor would end up goddamn adopting TWO human children in the span of a few years.

that’s it

[sunsetinmyvein]

Just Off the Key of Reason - Chapter Six - I Could Walk This Fine Line

Saturday, 17th of March, 2007 – Orlando, Florida

They hadn’t been able to find anywhere to sleep after their show in Florida, nobody had any friends this far down South and most motels nearby had been booked out, which meant an uncomfortable night on the bus was in order. After three nights in a private room and a hotel bed, it was a tolerable change but certainly not desired. The bus only comfortably fit them sitting down; sleeping on it required two people to sit in the driver and passenger seats up the front and then the other three people to share the remaining two benches in the back. The boys were fairly used to being forced to huddle up together from their early days of sleeping in cars to get to and from venues on time, so they had said that they would always leave the back bench totally free for their new companion who might not be as comfortable with being spooned in the middle of the night. Patrick had found himself unable to sleep, and surprisingly not because of the snoring of the man next to him who had an arm draped across his mid-section. He stared up at the roof of the bus, trying to work out what his next step was to not fall deeper into this pit of one-sided despair. Avoiding the issue hadn’t worked, distracting himself from his feelings was a no-go due to his own moral dilemmas, what else could he do? Maybe Andy wasn’t too far off the mark. How hard could it be to fake his own death? As his eyes slowly focused on the darkened surroundings, he could see a soft blue light slowly fading in and out against the roof of the bus. He sat up slightly, glancing behind him to see that he was not the only one still awake.

“Hey.” She mumbled quietly, looking up at him from her phone.

“Hi. Can’t sleep?” He whispered. She shook her head in response. He turned around to look in front of him at the sleeping car, figuring he had nothing better to do than clamber over into the back. Patrick was not the most graceful of people, particularly in a cramped vehicle while he was trying to free himself from the vice-like grip of a bassist who hadn’t had any affection in a while. But he managed to get over into the back seat without causing too much noise.

 He paused for a moment before speaking; making sure that everyone was still asleep. The sounds of Pete’s uninterrupted snoring gave him the impression that he had done a half decent job at being stealthy. “What’s the time?” He asked finally.

“About four in the morning.” She answered, sitting up slightly and moving to have her back pressed into the side of the bus so that she could face him properly. Her eyes looked past him and out into the darkness beyond the window. It looked almost like the light blue hues of sunrise were starting to seep into the skyline, but she knew it was probably just the lights from the city. “Why are you still up?” She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. He shrugged, not overly wanting to answer the question in case his lie was caught out. Eventually after a minute or so of silence that implied he should elaborate on that, he made up something that sounded half plausible.

“Just nervous about the shows I guess. You?” He asked back, wanting to quickly get away from his own answer. She studied him for a moment, and he worried she was trying to work out the authenticity of his answer, but she was warring about whether or not to truthfully give her own.

“My brain isn’t liking me right now.” Was the answer she settled on. He frowned at her in the dimly lit backseat.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked in concern.

“Not really.” She smiled at him. He held her gaze for a while, wanting to press her on the topic in the hopes of being able to help, but deciding to drop it.

 They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk since the night at the club. Even on days off the band was escorted from interview, to photoshoot, to radio appearance, to anything in between that the label wanted them to do. Their time in Georgia had been non-stop until they had to leave for their show in Florida. Even after the show, the guys had only wanted to sleep so that they could make it to North Carolina early enough to find a bed at a motel near the venue and not deal with sleeping on the bus for another night. “How was your night at the club in the end?” She asked quietly, breaking the silence around them.  

“Oh, it was uh… all right.” He lied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Mmmm… no, it wasn’t.” She smirked.

“What? It was fine.” He shrugged, breaking their eye contact and looking back into the bus to make sure everyone was still sleeping. The crescendo of snores implied he was still safe.

“You fiddle with your glasses when you’re nervous. So, I’d guess that you’re lying.” Once she had said it, a part of her regretted it because she expected the answer to really be ‘it was amazing’ and then for Patrick to launch into the details because she probed him about it.

“I…” Patrick opened his mouth to try and back up his lie, but he couldn’t think of anything to say and closed it again. “Well, yeah. You got me.” He sighed deeply. She winced slightly, preparing herself for the worst. “It was pretty terrible.” He admitted. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t continue.

“How did you manage to mess that one up? That girl seemed like a sure thing.” She asked.  Quiet returned to the vehicle as he tried to find the balance between the truth and not spilling his guts right there and then.

“It’s never a good idea to mess around with fans. Trust me on that one. Pete and Joe’s experiences have taught me second-hand that more often than not it ends in a lot more…”

“Effort?” She offered.

“Heartbreak and tragedy is more what I was going for.” He chuckled. “A lot of the fans think that I’m the talent behind the words, they assume that I felt the words they fell in love with and by extension they put all that on me. They want me to be this… tortured soul that they can repair. Which I know Pete gets all the time and he loves it to a degree.” He eyed the foot of the man in question that was sticking up over the back of the bench in front of them. “He loves the girls who think he’s a poet and think that they understand his brain, for a while anyway. Just like Joe loves the girls who think he has amazing skills with his guitar.” He could see the guitarists mop of hair hanging in the space between the passenger and driver’s seat. “But in the end, all these girls want to change them. They want to fix Pete and make him write happy songs about them. They want to be Joe’s one and only and be the one he winks at in the crowd. I’ve seen it a million times; they charm a girl and she thinks she’s special and then gets heartbroken when it turns out she’s not. Then we have a week of damage control and a lifetime of LiveJournal and Myspace posts written about what assholes we are. I don’t like being known for that…” He stared down at his hands, picking a little at the side of his nail. “I’m just me. I’m not the lead guitarist, I’m not the mind behind the words. I’m just the means by which they’re broadcast, the shy guy who forces himself on stage for the sake of his friends. I’m the dork behind the spotlight. I’m not the one who breaks hearts.” He finished, shaking his head slightly.

 She stared at the man opposite her, feeling her heart swell somewhat at his words. Her thoughts raced at all the information he’d just laid out that she was trying to process. For a start: he hadn’t done anything with the girl everyone assumed he went home with and talked about the whole taxi ride back to the hotel. That was an instant load off her mind that she didn’t realise she was carrying. In addition to that, he had also just confessed to not even wanting that lifestyle.

“I-I’m sorry. I was just rambling, don’t mind me-” He spoke, breaking her train of thought.

“No! No, don’t be sorry.” She quickly interjected, not realising the volume of her voice and hearing Pete grunt in response from the bench in front. They both instantly stopped talking, expecting him to have woken up and be about to make his presence known, but his snoring resumed shortly after. She took in a breath, trying to make sure her thoughts were halfway coherent before speaking. “You’re a great guy, Pat, and super talented. You may not write the words, but you sing them better than anyone else could and you help Pete put it all together. You may not be lead guitar, but you compose most of the songs, right?” He nodded. “Exactly. You do a lot for the band, even if it is behind the scenes. They’d fall apart if it weren’t for you holding them together. But the fact that you’re happy to do these things without getting the recognition from the fans, without being the one plastered on magazine covers like Pete is, and without using it as a pickup line, makes you an even better guy.”

“Nah, I’m not that great…” He dismissed, tearing his gaze away and scratching at the hairs resting at the base of his neck.

 She didn’t know what more she could say to convince him, but she felt the overwhelming need to do just that. Staring at the overly modest boy opposite her, she did the only thing she could think to and tackled him in a hug. A small ‘oof’ escaped his lips at the sudden pressure on him, and it took him a moment to realise what was happening.

“Just accept it, you’re awesome.” She muttered into the side of his chest. He felt his face burn up as he looked down at her and was suddenly very grateful for the fact that it was 4am and it was unlikely she’d be able to see it in on his face. Though, she didn’t seem like she was moving any time soon either. He slowly moved his arms to wrap around her, figuring that it wouldn’t be so bad to return the gesture when his common sense was shouting at him to move back to the other bench. She had said she wasn’t feeling great, he was just being a good friend. Right? It sat at the back of his mind that he was pretty sure this was the first time that they’d actually hugged. She mumbled something in his shirt, her words heavily slurred by what he imagined was tiredness; he thought he heard the word ‘sleep’ mixed in there somewhere. Sighing quietly to nobody in particular, he shuffled slightly to make himself more comfortable, figuring they wouldn’t be moving any time soon. He found his hand resting in the hair falling onto her back, it still smelled of free hotel shampoo. His brain warned him repeatedly that he was walking a very fine line between falling deeper and friendship. But, what else could he do other than resign himself to his fate?

 Sunday, 18th of March, 2007 – Orlando, Florida

He was awoken with a start the next morning by someone poking him in the face. His eyes fluttered open to see Pete leaning over the bench in front of him, grinning like a maniac. Looking past him slightly he could see that Andy and Joe had already left the bus. The sun was well and truly shining outside and it looked like cars were passing by on the road near where they’d stopped to sleep. What time was it? “Sleep well, ‘Trick?” He all but giggled.

“What?” He asked in confusion as he frowned slightly, his voice hoarse from having not been used in hours. The bassists’ eyes flicked down and he followed his gaze to see that he still had his arm protectively wrapped around her shoulders. His mind raced as their conversations from last night poured back into his mind. “Out.” He glared back at Pete. This time he did giggle as he exited the bus, closing the door quietly behind him and shooting Patrick a wink as he walked in the direction of the nearby roadside diner.

 When he was sure that Pete wasn’t going to charge back and press his face to the bus window, he nudged her awake, removing his now dead arm from around her. She looked about as tired as he felt as she sat up, blinking a few times and eyes eventually focusing on him.

“Where is everyone?” She asked as she looked at the now empty seats in front of them.

“Already at breakfast I think.” He answered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You feeling any better?” He asked as he began trying to clamber back into the front bench so that he could access the door. His brain was starting to drive him crazy and if he didn’t get out of this confined space soon, he’d probably regret it. Witching hour thoughts of being okay with how close they had been were one thing, but in the cold light of day it was once again a terrible idea to try and pursue his feelings. He could see the band’s contract getting ripped up before his eyes, the looks on their faces. She looked at him for a moment, trying to remember what he was talking about.

“Oh, that.” She mumbled, remembering having admitted to him that her brain had been working against her last night. “Uh, yeah… I am actually.” The feelings in her chest fluttered uncomfortably and she tried to ignore the fact that she knew exactly why.

“Good.” He nodded, stepping out of the bus into the daylight. He waited for a moment for her to follow suit before throwing a blanket over his Gretsch to hide it from any thieves and locking the bus. They walked into the diner, and he chose to overlook the shit-eating grin plastered on Pete’s face.

[misedejem]

Florem Gardens

Six years after leaving the Glanz Empire to start their lives together, Aimee and Angelo return to the place they once called home - the place that had always shaped the course of their lives. Little did they know was that leaving it behind could not stop it from doing so.

Word Count: 6,070

(Spoilers for up to Chapter 6 of Bravely Second. Written for Day 7 of ship week using the free prompt)

“Everythin’ alright, darlin’?”

Angelo had been staring off into the distance, his beautiful face marred with a discomforted expression. Apparently, he had been deep in some unsettling thought, because the moment Aimee began talking, he looked startled and almost dropped his spoon.

“Hm? Oh, uh… I’m fine.” He shook his head. “I just have a headache, is all…”

“Really? But y’ didn’t drink that much last night, did’ya?”

Angelo was something of a lightweight compared to Aimee, but she didn’t recall him acting even a little bit tipsy during the evening, and she knew there was no way alcohol could be messing with her memories. She had spent the whole night avoiding the stuff for once.  

“Oh, no, it’s not because of that… I’m just tired. Yesterday was a bit much, is all.”

Aimee pouted and rubbed his arm in an attempt at comforting him, completely overlooking the fact that her hands were coated in flour until it was too late. She swore loudly the second she noticed, and began frantically brushing away the white powder that stood out starkly against the red fabric of Angelo’s jumper. Despite her best efforts, part of it still clung to the fibre.

“You’re too honest,” Angelo said, tugging the dirtied material into his line of sight. “It didn’t even cross my mind that you had that on your hands. Now I have to get payback.”

He proceeded to dig his own hands into the bag of flour on the counter and then pull Aimee into a tight hug before she could react, making sure to pin her arms to her side so she could not exact a further layer of revenge. She muttered vulgarities into his chest between bouts of laughter.

“At least it made ya smile,” she mused, lifting her head up. “I’d say that’s worth the sacrifice of this shirt.”

“It’s my shirt anyway,” Angelo said in a mock sour voice, letting her go and pulling gently at the loose, black fabric of the t-shirt that hung from her shoulders.

“Mine now. You never wear it.”

“Because you stole it! Anyway, I apologise if I worried you, sugarcake. I really am just exhausted… The Flower Festival takes a lot out of me. I really can’t stand being in the city that long.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna make the mistake of hugging the guy stupid enough to wear red while baking with me again, but just know that I get why you feel that way, an’ if you ever think talkin’ it out’ll make you feel better, I got all the time in the world.”

“Thank you, Aimee. I think I’ll be okay though.” He bent down to kiss her cheek and then flashed a smile at her. “Anyway, I’m done with the apple-based filling. What other flavours do you think we should make?”

“Hmm… Cherry?”

“Mmm, good choice. I think I have some left over.”

As Angelo went in search of the cherries, Aimee began digging at a groove in the wooden counter nonchalantly with her finger. She recalled a day, about six years ago, when Angelo had returned from Gathelatio after signing a lease on their new property with the grim news that Denys Geneolgia had died. She had made the groove in the counter with a meat cleaver in a fit of frustration directed entirely at Janne Angard – who was allegedly going by Janne Balestra now – after hearing that he had not invited them to the man’s funeral out of spite. She’d seen him perusing the market in Gathelatio one day two years ago and had punched him in the jaw then and there. They’d spent the night in a cell in the Sanctum for it, but she felt it was worth the punishment.

The two of them had moved to Gathelatio a few weeks later, only returning to their home country to visit Angelo’s mother, or for events he’d been hired for. As a result, that had been the last time in years that she had cooked in the tiny kitchen they had in their little pancake house in Florem Gardens. She had never been all that great at cooking, even with the best baker in the world as her teacher, so usually both she and Angelo thought it best if they left all food preparation that involved an oven to him. But occasionally, if it was just the two of them eating, or if Angelo was feeling unwell or tired, she would step in to lend him a hand. She would never be as good as he was, but he had some twenty years of experience, a professional teacher, and an asterisk that specifically enhanced his talents in the kitchen. She vaguely knew how to work with shortcrust pastry now, and that was enough. After all, ten years ago, when they had first met, she didn’t even know such a thing existed.

When the two of them were fourteen years old, a division of the old Eternian army known as the Bloodrose Legion had been ordered to ransack Florem Gardens to procure, en-masse, the tiny spirits that lived there known as a Flories. When the locals who lived alongside the Flories fought back, the army set the forest ablaze and let them die. Florem had no army of its own, instead protected by the largest guild of mercenaries and hitmen on Luxendarc, capable of bringing down the mightiest of foes. When they came to the rescue of the Gardens, they, too were slaughtered.

Aimee’s entire family perished in the attack, and she very nearly joined them, had she not been rescued and brought straight back to a medic in Florem by one of the mercenaries who had managed to survive. She had been told that she’d almost drowned, having fallen into the river that ran through the forest, but she hadn’t been able to recall that experience then, nor could she now. All she had retained from the day were an ugly scar on her leg, and two distinct memories. She knew she had been spared by a woman who would later be identified as Einheria Venus, a commander of the Bloodrose Legion and now a good friend of hers, and she knew that she had eaten the most incredible thing she had ever tasted. She’d been fished from the river by a boy about her age, and he’d quickly tried to bring her back to her senses with some pancakes - the quickest thing he knew how to make - at least according to him. All she remembered was the indescribable taste and the fluffiness of the elixir that had helped to save her life. That, and the beautiful face of the boy who had made them.

A face that, in the present day, was twisted into a pained grimace.

“If it’s that bad, go lie down.”

Angelo cast a glance at Aimee, holding the box of cherries in one hand and kneading his forehead with the other.

“No… It’s fine.”

“It clearly ain’t fine,” she snapped, a little more forcefully than she had meant to. “…Sorry. I’m just a little concerned. You look dreadful, darlin’.”

His face dropped, but then after a moment it softened, and he smiled.

“…I’ll lie down for ten minutes.”

“Want me to join you?”

“Mmhm… That’d be nice.”

The downstairs of the pancake house was all one room, most of it understandably dedicated to kitchen, so they could only squeeze one sofa into the space they had, and not a hugely sizeable one at that. It was big enough for Aimee to comfortably lie down, but Angelo was much, much taller, and had to curl up tightly to make himself fit. He had placed his head on her lap and brought his knees up to his chest. She began to run her fingers through his hair.

“If I fall asleep, I give you permission to poke me,” he murmured after a few minutes of silence.

“Nah. I’m lettin’ ya sleep.”

“But the pastries…”

“They can wait. It’s prob’ly better if ya don’t stuff yerself with dessert right now, anyway. Not if yer feelin’ sick.”

“I’m not sick… I have a headache because I haven’t slept since yesterday.”

“Angelo!”

“I know…”

“Couldn’t sleep? Or didn’t want to?”

“Couldn’t…” He paused for a moment, then murmured: “too much on my mind…”

Aimee bit her lip. “It wasn’t those dreams again, was it?” She didn’t elaborate, but no doubt Angelo knew what she meant. Both of them knew, all too well, of the dreadful nightmares that had started haunting them during their days in the Glanz Empire, and that had lingered even after they left.

“No, I…” He lifted his head slightly to look at her. “You know, I don’t think I remember the last time I had them.”

She sighed in relief. “Me either. Reckon I must’a been desensitised to them a while ago, if they’re even happenin’ at all. Thought of them comin’ back is pretty fuckin’ scary though…”

“Mmm…” Angelo lay his head back down. “But no… I was just thinking too much.”

“What kinda stuff were ya thinkin’ about for it to keep you up of all people? I think the cat sleeps less than you.”

She began regretting her attempt at a joke when Angelo did not reply, or even react at all.

“It’s nothing.” He murmured eventually, and then promptly sat up. “I doubt any of it would be coherent if I tried to explain it… but anyway. I’ve had ten minutes. I want to finish the pastries. Helping?”

Aimee knew it would be pointless to press him any further. He was impossibly stubborn when it came to personal matters, and he absolutely would not share his feelings if he didn’t want to. Instead, she just nodded and returned to the kitchen area with him, hoping that this wouldn’t be one of those things he’d keep inside him forever.

When Angelo had asked her earlier that day if she wanted to make some pastry for him, Aimee had been left feeling a mixture of both flattered and confused. Flattered that he actually thought her pastry tasted good enough for his finely tuned palate, and confused that he, a man whose enormous sense of self pride when it came to his talents prevented him from even entering another bakery, would willingly pass up the reigns to someone else when he had the opportunity to shine.

But then again, it was just the two of them. That kind of stuff no longer seemed to cross his mind when they were alone, especially not when he wasn’t feeling himself. She recalled the time the previous winter, when he’d caught a bad cold and had spent the whole day curled up on their sofa in Gathelatio, letting Aimee look after him (as best as she could), instead of covering his face and hiding in his room as he often had when they had been teenagers and he had come down with a bug. He’d always let his narcissism get the better of him in the past, but now it seemed like Aimee was its exception.

“So, I’m right in sayin’ that I’m only makin’ the pastry because yer too tired to do it yerself?”

“…In essence, yes.”

“Isn’t that the reason ya still use yer asterisk though? I thought it sped up all the stuff that takes effort in cookin’ so it’s not as tedious?”

“Cooking is never tedious, it’s just a bit strenuous is all. And yes, that is why I still use my asterisk.” Angelo patted his chest where the little hunk of orange crystal hung from a necklace beneath his shirt. “But… Well, you know how it works. You can still overwork yourself even with these things enhancing your abilities.”

“And pastry is now overworkin’ yourself?”

“It is when you’ve already thoroughly burned yourself out dealing with hundreds of screaming fans. Plus, I spent all day before the festival baking for them.” He shrugged, though maintained a keen watch on the cherries he had begun preparing. “It’s easy to get tired when you have so many people you have to please.”

“Yer not exactly a social person either, so no wonder.” She paused briefly to check Angelo’s handwritten recipe book to make sure she knew what she was doing. “Honestly, if ya weren’t so incredible at bakin’, I’d say ya had the wrong career.”

“One of the misfortunes of being both attractive and talented, no doubt. Aah, sugarcake, how do we cope sometimes?”

“I don’t kn- wait, we?” She felt her face heat up. “Well, ain’t you a smooth motherfucker?”

Angelo began to laugh, only making her blush more furiously. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.” He flourished his arms dramatically. “Why, I think you’re radiating such a pure positive energy that all my maladies have been cured!”

“Aaagh, stop it! Yer gonna make me drop dead on the dough. Then you don’t get pastries.”

The two of them continued to make jokes as they prepared their portions of the snacks. By the time they had spooned as much of the filling as they could into the little pouches, Aimee’s jaw hurt from smiling so much.

Angelo scooped up all the remaining scraps of pastry in his hands once Aimee thought they were done, and she presumed he meant to throw them away until he placed them back down on the counter and began to roll them flat again.

“We’re not done?”

“You’ll see.”

He took up a knife once it was rolled flat, and then began carving tiny, perfect shapes out with such fluid motions that the knife seemed a part of his body. He then began moulding the shapes into a tiny pastry flower, as dainty as the hands that made it. Aimee just watched in awe as Angelo placed it on the baking tray next to the little pies.

“It’s for you,” he said, smiling warmly at her face, which she was sure would be permanently set agape after seeing what she had seen. She knew the incredible, delicate things he could make, but she’d never seen him do it. “It’s a little sloppy, I’m afraid. I’m not as precise when I’m tired.”

“Sloppy? You need to get yer eyes tested, mister. It’s amazin’. Everythin’ ya do is amazin’.” She sighed wistfully. “I can’t get my head around the crazy stuff you can do with food. Shit, I barely know how to cook.”

Angelo folded his arms. “Well, cooking is my specialty. You thoroughly take the cake when it comes to, say, engineering or hunting.”

“Well, I guess…”

“And your aim is second to none. I can’t even throw a dart straight. You could shoot a target from miles away.”

Aimee felt her face heating up, and she pressed her hands to her cheeks to try and hide the redness. She turned her head away as well, instead pretending to be deeply engrossed in the recipe pictured in Angelo’s open book.

“You have many talents, Aimee. There are so many things you can do better than I can. It’s simply a matter of different experiences.”

“…Yeah, yer right there. They ain’t exactly skills you’d need, but y’are shit at ‘em, I’ll give ya that.”

“There are other things you’re superior at as well. Likewise, there are things I excel at above all others.”

“I’m better at namin’ things…” Aimee muttered, noticing the abysmal title at the top of the page she’d been distracting herself with. Angelo always came across as so elegant and serious that his taste in names – for recipes, for his weapons, and even the pet names he gave her – were shocking to see. Nobody would associate such a weird sense of humour with a guy like him.  

“Huh? I… Says the woman who came up with ‘Guncleaver’…!”

“Yer puns are actually the worst thing you have ever done. And you have killed people.”

“They’re witty!”

“They’re cheesy as hell.”

“Hmph…” Angelo cracked a grin. “If the intention was to make something cheesy, then I think I did quite well.”

Aimee sighed loudly, struggling to supress a grin as well. “Still, I’ll tell ya now, yer not naming our kids.”

“I… Uh, well, nor are you,” he replied quickly. Perhaps it was just that he was tired, but Aimee could swear she heard his voice break slightly.

“Hey, go get some sleep. I’ll sort these out,” she nudged the tray of pastries.

“If you don’t mind, I think that would be best.” He nodded, then bent down and kissed her. She still had to stand on tiptoes slightly to reach his face. “Goodnight sugarcake… Uh, afternoon, even.” He cast a glance at the clock and laughed at himself. “I love you.”

He looked like he was stumbling as he turned to leave the room, and Aimee regretted leading him on such a tangent in their conversation when clearly all he needed was rest. She supposed it would be best if she left the house for a bit, as to not make any accidental loud noises and wake him.

“I love you too… ya big softie.”

---

“Not a lot of monsters about this afternoon,” Aimee mused, stepping around a puddle that had stagnated in the rock formations that marked the very edge of Florem Gardens. “Just cats… Minette’d have a field day here, that’s for sure…” She made a mental note to tell Minette about it once she returned home. She was actually at the bakery in Gathelatio for the duration of the Flower Festival, looking after Cinnamon Roll – their cat (named by Angelo) – so contacting the girl would not prove too difficult.  

Aimee reached a patch of grass that was neither damp nor occupied by feline, and placed a tarp down, alongside a selection of tools, weapon parts, and a blueprint. The Crystalguard wanted to upgrade their firearms, so she had brought along one of the prototypes she had been working on in the hopes that she would be able to finish it before she returned home.

She still wasn’t quite sure how she had ended up being a weapon engineer for Gathelatio’s army in her free time. She’d been doing odd tinkering jobs about Florem since she’d arrived in the city as a young teen, and still did the same thing in Gathelatio ten years later, in their local mechanics, but that was a career she’d actively perused. All she could really explain about her side-job was that one day, she’d mentioned designing Vucub Caquix, the Empire’s transforming mech, around Yew Geneolgia, and the next day a soldier had shown up on her doorstep with a job offer.

She stared out into the distance, past the spiral of rocks that twisted the horizon, and towards the forest that lay beyond them, at the foot of the cliff. Had it not burned all that time ago, she would likely have taken up a career in the village, doing gods know what. She’d certainly have never been an engineer though. Nor a mercenary, for that matter. She wondered what her parents or siblings would think of what she was doing now. They’d probably be happy for her – she was, after all, doing what she loved.

“This place feels different now,” the ethereal voice of Mephilia Venus mused. She stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the forest, the Flories that were flourishing there once more dancing at her feet.

“Different?” Einheria, her older sister, asked, folding her arms across her armoured chest. The youngest Venus sister, Artemia, cocked her head.

“Yes. It’s quieter now. More peaceful.” She gazed up at the sky, watching the pink blossom drift by on the gentle breeze. “During the war, I remember hearing... voices. Angry voices, coming from the forests we destroyed. So much of that time is lost to me now, but that, I remember clearly.”

“The Bloodrose Legion killed everyone in those forests,” Einheria said, her voice taking on a sour tone.

“Yes… Maybe so… But sometimes a soul can remain on Luxendarc even after their body had died. I believe the people of the forests lived on in spirit… But now they lay silent.”

“Maybe because we kill DeRosa? Maybe because they know what he did?” Artemia suggested. Mephilia made an affirming noise.

“Perhaps… Maybe his death means that his victims can… move on. They can rest in peace. What do you think, Aimee? Has your village finally forgiven us our crimes?”

Aimee hadn’t realised until Mephilia had turned to address her that her eyes were welling up with tears.

“That’s a nice thought… I’d like to think they’d forgive ya… I mean, it’s not like the Bloodrose Legion had any choice…”

All three of the sisters bowed their heads.

“I mean, the people of Florem have been worshippin’ the Flories and the Orochi for centuries. We know how they work, so everyone in that village… If they knew that scumbag was poisonin’ y’all with their essences, of course they’d forgive ya. They’d know what that stuff would do to yer heads.” She pounded her fist into her hand and forced a smile through her tears. “And now they can finally be happy…”

Einheria placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “Thank you for helping us find him. This country still has a long way to go, but I’d like to hope that it’s people, both living and dead, can find solitude in the fact that the people who have ruined it will never wreak havoc again. It’s the least we can do to make up for our role in the suffering Florem was caused.”

“Nah… I should be the one thankin’ you.” Aimee shook her head. “I always planned to kill him. Ya didn’t have to help me – just knowin’ he was brainwashing yer soldiers along with everyone else was enough to know you weren’t the awful people I thought you were.”

“But I just went along with it. I’m afraid I’m the only one underserving of your thanks.”

“Nah, you were just followin’ orders. DeRosa killed hundreds of innocent people because they got in his way. I reckon he’d have killed you if you objected. And given that my darlin’ and I left the Empire because we didn’t want to die, I can’t blame anybody for doin’ a shitty thing just to save their own life. Besides, the three of ya have done so much for this country over the past year anyway, and that’s more than we could ever ask. So seriously, thanks! I’m sure all of Florem feels the same way.”

When the Venus sisters had departed, Aimee remembered falling to her knees and sobbing into the earth. She cried for her family, for her friends, for all the faces she had seen every day for fourteen years that had all turned to ash that day. It was the first time, in fact, that she’d really had the chance to. At some point, someone had tucked a blanket around her and had wrapped their arms across her body. It could be nobody but Angelo – the Gardens were by that point deserted aside from the two of them – but it took a long time for the numbness to fade and for her to recognise his presence. She didn’t know how long he had sat there with her, holding her tight, only that it was dark by the time either of them spoke.

“You must be exhausted…” Angelo said softly. “You’ve been working so hard for this, for so long…”

“Yeah…” Aimee murmured, her voice hoarse.

“You can rest now, though. You don’t have to push yourself anymore.”

“I don’t think I wanna… Hey, Angelo… Is it selfish if we just ditch it all now? Just fuck off back home and forget the Empire, and the war, and the plague, and everythin’ that we somehow got ourselves caught right in the middle of?”

“Hmm… If people want to call us that, I say let them. The only stakes we had in this situation were the fact that the duchy destroyed our country, and that’s been resolved now. We’re too young to really know the impact of the plague, and as far as the Empire goes…” he smirked. “We’re just mercenaries, after all. We never had any reasons to fight for them beyond money.”

“But, we weren’t paid in cash. We said we’d help the Kaiser if he could ensure DeRosa would pay.”

“I don’t think the specifics matter… We got what we wanted, and we’re not really responsible for anything else that happened now that DeRosa is gone. I think you’ve done everything you needed to do to help right the wrongs in the world, sugarcake. A terrible man murdered the people you care about, and you avenged them.”

“Hmm, good… Because I’m tired, and I ain’t good at this heroic stuff… If it’s alright then I just wanna go back to the way things were before. Livin’ in simple peace with my family. That’s you, by the way.”

 It was dark, but she could still tell that he had gone red. For the first time in a while, she felt like laughing.

“Well, I mean… peace, with my fans, might not be so easy but everything else… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  

“Can’t believe that happened six years ago…” she muttered to herself as she set to work on her prototype. It was based off the concept she used for Guncleaver, only not taking on the image of one of Florem’s guardian deities as her own weapon did. She hadn’t fired the thing in years, but it was still her most prized possession, and she wasn’t about to replicate it for anyone. “Right in this spot, actually. Were you there then?” she turned to look at the large, tabby cat that had prowled over to sniff at what she was doing. It didn’t seem to react to her words, but rather got distracted by a blossom that had fallen nearby and tore after that instead.

At this point, this part of Florem was practically theirs, every time they returned. The Flower Festival brought them back every year, sometimes right up until the new year, and they would spend every evening there without fail, talking about nothing and watching the clouds move across the sky. It was a special place for them, filled with memories. It was there, two years ago, that Aimee had opened the box of one of Angelo’s cakes, on her twenty-first birthday, to find the words, inscribed in icing, ‘will you marry me?’

That time, it had been him crying in their spot, but those were tears of joy. Looking back, that was the first time he’d ever let someone see him do it.

***

“Oh, there you are!”

Aimee jumped at the sound of her husband’s voice, having become so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t sensed his presence. She hadn’t even realised the sun was beginning to set.

Angelo began to make his way to where she was sat to join her, balancing the plate of pastries they had made on his forearm so that he could carry two steaming mugs in his hands. One of his large, fluffy blankets was draped over his shoulder. “I expected that I’d find you here.”

“Feelin’ better?”

He nodded, and placed the food and drink on the ground, before pulling the blanket over the both of them, careful not to let it brush against anything Aimee was working on.

“I am now, yes. Do I look better?”

“Perfect.” She grinned and tapped him softly on the nose. In truth, he was still stunning even when he looked like death. She was sure that even he knew that.

“Fancy taking a snack break?” He asked, taking a pastry and offering it to her. They looked a little more well done than they would have done if Angelo had made them entirely on his own, but given that a couple of them were already missing, it was obvious that they were still edible.

“You bet. I’m actually real hungry.”

“I imagine you must be, you’ve been out here for hours. Do you ever forget to eat when you’re working?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied, through a mouthful of the little fruit-filled tart. “I don’t even realise until after that I’m starvin’, and that I’m achin’ all over. Used to be like that when we were fightin’ as well.”

“Mm. I know what you mean. It’s especially insufferable when you’re in my business and you can’t actually eat the food right in front of you, even after you realise you’ve not had anything all day. But I suppose in a fight, it’s adrenalin, right?”

“Yeah, I reckon so. When me and the Venuses fought that red bastard, he actually broke a few of my ribs, but it took me forever to actually realise he had done. Then when we got back to the nearest town, the pain came on all at once.”

Angelo winced.

“I’m glad we’re out of the mercenary business. Even if you’re still working with the military, at least you aren’t out there getting hurt anymore.” He slipped his arm around her. “What’re you making right now, anyway?”

“Oh, this? The Crystalguard wanted somethin’ effective for keepin’ monsters at bay, and there ain’t any firearm more effective than Guncleaver for that, so it’s sorta based on that.”

“Aah, I see. The halberd is shaped like a lion, right?”

“The symbol of the Crystalguard is a white lion.” She shrugged. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s excellent. You’re really good at adding a little flair to the things you make. Have I ever told you that?”

“I don’t think so…” She blushed and pulled the blanket over her face. “But it means a lot to hear someone like you say that.”

“Well, I mean it. I do think you’re amazing, Aimee. You need to give yourself more credit.”

She always got flustered when he would start hurling compliments at her, but that didn’t change the fact that it was one of the sweetest things he would do for her. Her self-confidence hadn’t hit a low point in years now, not since she’d left the Empire, but he’d still make sure that she always knew he was proud of her. She wondered if he knew just how much those tiny gestures meant.

“Thanks, darlin’. I think I’m gonna crush it when I present this baby to the guys in Gathelatio who requested it.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, sugarcake. I’ll be rooting for you.” He turned and pressed his lips to the top of her head. She smiled.

“I do miss havin’ a big desk to work on when I come back out here though. Sittin’ all hunched over like this ain’t doin’ much good for my neck. I hope that ain’t affected my work too much.”

“I know how you feel.” Angelo sighed. “My kitchen in Gathelatio is heaven compared to this dingy little thing. It’s cute, but it’s just so small now…”

“I guess yer used to that massive space you’ve got back home?”

Their new home had always been a bakery – one owned by a big family that had been around for generations. With so many people running it, it had been built on a much bigger scale than the made-for-two pancake house Angelo and Aimee owned in Florem, so Angelo had far more space to work. He’d even been able to take on more staff and still had room to spare.

“Yes, I suppose…” He was quiet for a moment, and then sat up straight. “I actually think that’s what’s been bothering me…”

“Really? I thought… Not the city this time?”

Angelo had always hated the city of Florem, and for good reason. He’d grown up living in fear of living on the streets and dying, like hundreds of orphaned boys did every year. It was where his biological family had died, and where his first adoptive mother had been murdered. He’d seen, first hand, the slow transition into the hell it had become when DeRosa’s influence had begun to spread. He would never admit it to anyone – not to Aimee, not even to himself – but it was obvious that it made him uncomfortable to go back there. It scared him. Aimee had assumed it was those awful memories that had been causing him so much unrest that afternoon.

“I don’t think so. I don’t usually feel so weird once I’ve been away from the city for a few hours, but this has just stuck with me all throughout today. It can’t be just that.”

“Oh, darlin’…”

“I do love this place… I really do. I have so many fond memories of us here. And I know that for you, it’s so much more. It’s just the house…” He grimaced.”We’ve always made do with its size, but it’s really starting to get to me.”

“…I think I understand what’cha mean actually.”

“You do?” Relief spread across his face.

“Well, yeah. The place is tiny. Y’ve gotta leave the building if ya want space. There’s only one seat, and one bed, and one bathroom. We don’t have a dinin’ table.”

“Right. And it’s not even just the lack of space if you want to be alone… It may sound absurd, but… I kept finding myself noticing how we could never have a third person there with us.”

Aimee felt a tightness in her chest. “I noticed that too, yeah.”

He sighed deeply, and gazed up at the sky. “…We could never start a family in a place like this, could we, Aimee?”

“…No. I don’t think we could…” she paused to think. “Y’know, maybe that’s why you feel this way?”

“I… What do you mean?”

Aimee grinned at him. “I reckon this place is tryin’ to tell ya somethin’. You’ve realised there’s no way our place here would be big enough if we wanted kids, and it’s seriously bothering you. Think about it.”

Angelo’s eyes widened as the realisation hit him, but his face softened quickly afterwards.

“Yes, I… I think you’re right.”

“Y’know, I’ve always thought it was weird that a guy like you was so keen on havin’ a family. You ain’t gonna have much alone time if we do this. You sure yer okay with it?”

“I’ll manage with what I get. But you know, I don’t get much alone time nowadays anyway. Not with my customers, and my staff, and the fact that we live together. And I realised I don’t mind that. It’s a lot less overwhelming when you care about the people you’re with.”

“That’s real cute of ya to say. If yer that confident, why put it off any longer?”

“So you’re saying you feel the same? I mean, we’ve talked about this a lot over the years, so I know we both want the same thing, but does now feel like the right time for you as well?”

“Heck yeah, it does. I think we’re gonna be awesome parents… And I do miss havin’ a big family.” She tried to keep her voice consistent, but could not stop it from breaking slightly as she spoke. “I was the oldest o’ three siblings, and I loved it. I’d kinda like to have that kinda feelin’ again.”

Angelo gave her a sympathetic smile and then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Then let’s do it. After all, I’ve always said that we’re a match made in heaven. I have full confidence in us both.”

Aimee slipped her own arms around Angelo’s neck and buried her head into his shoulder, and for a second considered saying nothing more. Part of her wanted to leave this moment as it was – another perfect memory in a perfect place. They may have outgrown the house, but the Gardens themselves would always be special to them. As far as they were concerned, there was no place more precious.

But then, she knew she had the chance to make it better.

“Hey, Angelo,” she began, pulling away slightly so she could look at him in the eyes. “It’s kinda funny how impeccable yer timing has been tonight.”

“Hm? How so?”

“Well… If startin’ a family’s what ya want then I’ve actually got some good news for ya. Because there’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya.”