#one of them being like eat the landlords but also build more medium to to high density housing

[mass-convergence]

I feel like that’s an underestimation tbh.

But glad lawmakers are scrambling to help. I’m sure they’re totally going to be working their asses off and Congress will be able to come together to pass a bill without zero complications.

(And link to the article)

[hetacakes]

hitchhiking.

miya twins x fem! reader

snow white au, aka me making fanfics about my own fanfic

in which reader leaves her home in the big apple, the busy city, the whatever you'd like to call it, and takes a trip to a forest, the literal opposite of home. in fact, the two places are so different that in order to get there, a plane ride is preferable over a road trip. after a week, it's time to go home, with souvenirs, of course. leaving with a heavier bag is to be expected, but the empty backpack meant for said souvenirs was a bit too heavy, suspiciously heavy

aka reader just wants to relax and ends up bringing two hitchhiker foxes home

the others aren't included in this one, sorry :( one certain bluebird will make a guest appearance but other than that the storyline is in no way connected to snow white (though i made a few ~allusions~ for the Drama) anyway, i hope you love these annoying foxes as much as i do <3

also this is borderline abo but in my defense i wanted to make them seem more animal-like since they're technically wild animals

warning for cussing because life is hard and osamu hates atsumu

word count: 9,505

   You grew up in the suburbs, always just a half hour away from the big, bustling city, where everything is fast paced with streams of people working and struggling to make their dreams come true. So it was no surprise that when you were old enough to move out, you immediately made a home in a rundown, shitty apartment, taking the typical "small apartment, big dreams" approach to life. And it was true, you did have a dream, a big dream. While you could have been anything else: a doctor, a lawyer, a profession that would make your parents happy and keep you reliably comfortable your whole life, you could never picture forcing yourself to work through something that made you unhappy, and so you decided to take the writer path.

   It was as if you were meant to be part of the busy metropolis, meant to be the same as everyone else in the crowd: broke, fresh out of uni, and barely paying the rent for a small, crappy apartment. You soon learned that dreaming to reach your dream job, a job where working hours weren't physically and mentally draining but were rather hours of doing what you loved, would only become more than just a dream at the price of your blood, sweat, and tears, just like it did for everyone else.

   But after working your ass off and putting two books on store shelves, you were able to end your contract with the sketchy landlord in the shady part of town and move into a nicer, actually livable apartment in a better building with a better landlord in a better neighborhood.

   Now when you stepped out of your complex, you were greeted with the refreshing sight of people passing by, the sky a clear blue, with a soft breeze you could feel underneath your windbreaker as it ruffled your hair and rustled your sleeves, the bright red, blue, and yellow fabric almost as bright as the sun overhead. Birds chirped in nearby trees, and if you walked around and looked for a while, you could find a few cats hanging around the sidewalk or hiding behind dumpsters.

   It was all you could have ever asked for and more.

   But sometimes, city life can be a distraction, and sometimes, you really, really need a change of pace and scenery.

   Which brought you to the present, sitting with your legs underneath you on your soft couch, squishing the plush grey throw pillows and balancing your laptop on your thighs. The money you got from your newest releases was in no means enough to call you rich, but it was comfortable enough that costs weren't one of your concerns as you typed a quick Google search. An airline website was open on your screen, and you were browsing through the available tickets, looking for one that would take you to a nice getaway, a small break from the nonstop chaos of your city, which had finally begun to wear you out from the endless stress and sleepless nights.

   "Seven day long camp resort in one of the country's most beautiful and idyllic forests," said the advertisement that popped up on the side of your browser. Clicking on it, it took you to a pretty convincing website about Inari Lodge, a tourist attraction in the middle of a forest you had never heard of before. Lists upon lists of hiking trails, forest tours, and crafted souvenir shops caught your eye, and before you knew it you were booking a week's stay in one of their cabins. Sealing the deal and buying your ticket, you sat back and sighed, ready for a vacation.

   Two weeks later, it was a few hours before your flight, so obviously you had already packed. Not. You called a friend over to help and keep you company while you packed, and ten minutes later, a familiar brunet walked through the door, ruffling his chocolate brown locks.

   "It's nice to see you, Tooru," you greeted, padding closer to him as he opened his arms for a hug. "Your hugs are the best, as always," you smiled up at him, before taking a step back.

   "You would have seen me either way; I was just on my way to bother you," he said. "You're taking a trip without me? How will I survive without you?"

   "Don't be dramatic, Ruru," you chided, pulling your suitcase onto your bed. "I know for a fact that the week I'm gone is the same week the team you're coaching has tournaments."

   "Ugh, don't remind me. They're good kids, but they suck ass," Tooru groaned, flopping next to your suitcase. "Do you have everything you need?"

   "You tell me. Check things off," you answered while looking through your closet.

   "Oooh, do I get to see your clothes?" Tooru asked suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows.

   You rolled your eyes at him. "My shirts and pants, yeah. Everything under that has been packed into this," you said, holding up a medium sized makeup pouch. 

   "Bummer. Oh well, there's always next time."

   "Ruru, stop being dirty."

   He grumbled something underneath his breath, low enough that you missed it. "Well, how long is the stay?"

   "A week."

   "So you need seven sets of clothes?"

   "Yeah, assuming I don't pee my pants," you smiled over your shoulder, watching as Oikawa held back a laugh with his hand, a wide smile spread across his face.

   "Haha, you got the whole squad laughing. How cold is it there?"

   "It's pretty cold, apparently. I'm not surprised, it's farther north than where we live, and it gets pretty chilly here sometimes," you answered, pulling a few sweaters out of your closet, pairing it with random pairs of jeans you grabbed, and passed them to Tooru, who folded and put them in your suitcase.

   "Aww, aren't I such husband material? Wait here wifey, I'm gonna get your stuff from the bath," Oikawa winked, throwing up a peace sign at you before he turned and disappeared behind the white door.

   "Can you get my toothbrush stuff too? Thank you~," you called after him in a sweet singsong voice. 

   You glanced at your bookbag, still on your couch, just where you left it. You looked at the scarf in your hands, a large white scarf too bulky to wear, and decided to throw it in there, along with your laptop and charger. You put an extra pair of comfortable boots in a reusable bag, neatly settling it between your clothes. Tooru handed you another bag, and a peek inside showed you your bath and bathroom essentials. You flashed a grateful smile at him, before turning and grabbing the last few items to throw in your bookbag-turned-carry-on, which included your notebook full of your messy brainstorming, a pack of pens, and your phone charger. Zipping your suitcase closed, you pulled up the handle and hung your bag around it.

   "Okay, I'm ready. I've got everything, except you," you winked mischievously at Tooru.

   "You're flirting! It's not fair," he complained, hand grabbing at his heart, the other draped dramatically over his forehead.

   "Guilty as charged," you winked, throwing up a finger heart. "Drive me to the airport?"

   "Of course, babe."

   You had already checked in your suitcase, got your ticket safely in your hand, and all that was left for you to do was wait an hour or so until boarding. You turned to Tooru, giving him one last hug. "I'm gonna miss you and the others, Ruru," you whispered softly, even though you were only leaving for a week.

   Tooru hugged you back, holding you tightly against his chest. He let you go, before taking a step back and pulling his hoodie over his head, his shirt riding up a bit, showing some skin for a split second. "Here, wear this," he said, handing it over to you.

   You brightened, smiling like a thousand suns before slipping it on. It was huge on you, and you were almost drowning in the soft, teal blue fabric. He gave you a fond look, his eyes shining in such pure, unadulterated love that it took your breath away for a moment.

   "Thank you, Tooru."

   "Keep it warm for me, okay?"

   "I know, I know, I promise you'll see it when I come back."

   He gave you one last hug, short and sweet, before walking away, turning to look back at you one last time. You stood there until the doors slid closed behind his back, a soft smile on your face, before you turned away and walked to your terminal, hoping to kill time either shopping, eating, or sleeping.

  You could finally lean back and relax once you were secured in your seat, miles in the air. Boarding and finding your aisle wasn't much of a hassle, thank the gods, and the glass of the plane window was refreshingly cool against the tip of your nose as you peered down at the clouds passing by. You held your bookbag against your chest, looking inside at the empty space in between the few items you did pack into it. Your laptop was safely zipped up in its designated pouch, along with its charger and your notebook, and the pack of pens that had somehow opened inside the pocket, which you had found out earlier as you tried to fish one out but instead pulled the empty cardboard packaging. Your phone charger was the only thing laying on the scarf you threw in there, a makeshift nest for nothing. Well, nothing yet.

   You were excited to spend a week in a completely different environment, surrounded by lush forestry and the coos and calls of whatever animals lived there, a place where you're never truly alone, but in a good way. It was a stark contrast from the car fumes in the city air, with the only plant life in a park square and the only sounds are the constant chatter and hum of people and cars finding their destinations. There never once was an hour of silence, and while you had been able to enjoy it as your background noise while writing, it wasn't long until you finally got tired of it. You could've sworn that the city had gotten louder on purpose just to exhaust and stress you out every night, so you were more than ready to finally be able to clear your head and maybe even flesh out an idea or two.

   The sound of the intercoms crackling to life made you jolt, holding a hand to the cold imprint on your cheek left from sleeping against the window. The pilot announced that the plane was descending, and you gathered your bag and Tooru's hoodie, bundling them both in your arms.

   Truth be told, you were glad to step off the plane. You felt the chill of the outside while walking off the plane through the passenger boarding bridge and stood for a second to put the hoodie back on, humming slightly at Tooru's smell still on the cloth, a nice, sweet but not too sweet scent that made you smile to yourself.

   You got lost in thought, so your body was on autopilot when you went to pick up your luggage and almost picked up the wrong suitcase, until the actual owner picked it up first, eyeing you weirdly. With guilty, heated cheeks, you grabbed your suitcase, checked it once, then twice, then three times, and finally hopped into an Uber as fast as you could, hoping that you wouldn't be starting your first day on vacation dying of embarrassment.

   You hurriedly thanked the driver for dropping you off, then made your way into a wooden building, the wood a warm oak with a little golden bell that chimed as you walked in. A woman behind the desk smiled at you, and you sighed, happy to have nothing to worry about, now that you were finally there.

   "Hello, welcome to Inari Lodge! Is there something I can help you with?"

   "Yes, please," you said, pulling your luggage close to you. "I reserved a cabin, and I need the keys, right?"

   "Of course," she smiled at you, and for a quick second, you thought that she resembled a cat, with black hair and upturned eyes.

   "Um, I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive, but are you a mom?"

   "Haha, don't worry, you're fine! Yes I am, my name is Kozume Sakura, and I have a son," she answered kindly, and you couldn't help but feel relieved to finally have a good thing to improve your currently-going-badly day.

   "Ah, it's just that you seemed familiar to someone I've seen around campus."

   "Ah, that would most likely be my son," she said, a sweet smile spreading across her face. "Anyway, here are your keys, and I've written the directions to your cabin right here. Don't hesitate to come and ask me for anything, okay?"

   "Yeah, okay," you nodded gratefully, making sure to wave goodbye as you walked out the doors, looking at the map in your hands.

   "I can not believe how hard it was to find you," you said to the cabin as you flopped on the bed, tired of having such a conflicting day. You sat up quickly, slapping your cheeks, "No, I won't let a few fuck ups ruin everything for me."

   Grabbing your phone, you slipped it into your hoodie pocket as you walked out the door, set on exploring the area.

   You decided not to take an official trail, preferring to save them for later, which brought you to an ordinary worn dirt path as you walked aimlessly, taking rights and lefts as you pleased.

   A rustling in the bushes lining the trail caught your attention. Just as you walked closer to separate the branches and peek through, a fox fell out of the leaves, as if something had pushed it out. The fox seemed to scowl at whatever had shoved it, before it turned its attention to you.

   Before you could think better, you crouched on the ground as you cooed, resting your cheek in your palm. "Hello, cutie fox, how are you?"

   The fox stared at you, which was good, because if it started speaking you would've booked it right then and there, but also bad, because you didn't know if it was irritated by your presence. It seemed to look warily at you, not ready to attack, but not fully trusting either.

   "Come here, I want to pet you," you crooned, holding out the end of your sentence as you leaned forward against your better judgement, shifting your legs from against your chest to underneath you. Before it could make a decision, however, another fox jumped out of the bushes and straight into your arms, settling happily in your lap. Caught by surprise, you stared, while the first fox yipped at it, jumping forward and pushing it out of your lap. You watched as they tumbled to the ground, rolling as they fought and wrestled.

   "Um, okay… I think I'll just go now, bye!" You quipped before turning around and walking steadily back to where you came from, not wanting to get caught up in a wild animal fight.

   "Look at what ya did 'Tsumu, why do ya always mess everything up?"

   "Me? Me?! You were the one that jumped me!"

   "'Cause I didn't recall inviting you to our conversation, dumbass!"

   "Yer a fuckin' fox, you can't talk! You're just jealous!"

   "So are you! We're twins, shithead!"

   And they kept arguing, voices carrying throughout the forest, even as they walked along the path the pretty, perfect, kind, and amazing love of their li— , ahem, the completely normal girl from earlier took, leading to the all too familiar lodge situated at the edge of their forest.

   "That was close," you whispered to yourself as you leaned against the door, as if the foxes would be strong enough to bust it open. They hadn't even followed you, as you didn't hear them, and when you glanced behind you, nobody was there.

   "Anyway, I guess I should plan out what I'm gonna do here, I don't want this trip to be a waste," you said, opening your suitcase and putting your clothes in the drawers, setting your bathroom essentials on top of it. You grabbed your bookbag from where you had thrown it on the bed and set it on a glass table. You pulled out your notebook and flipped to a blank page, cringing as you passed by page after page of chicken scratch.

   "The only reason I can read my own handwriting is because I'm there when it's written," you muttered to yourself as you rummaged for a pen, finding one out of the set of five. You wrote down the days of the week you'd be staying there, with your first official day starting tomorrow, on Tuesday. Your flight back was scheduled for a week later, on Monday. You hummed happily, glad that your timetable worked out so neatly as you wrote down the days of the week, leaving enough space for a bullet list underneath.

   On your last day at the lodge, you made sure to make a note to leave at noon at the latest, since your flight was at six in the afternoon, and you wanted to be extra, extra, extra sure that you would not miss it. Ideally, you would be all packed up Sunday night, but knowing you and your procrastinating self, you wrote it down for the day before, even though you knew you would probably be packing the day of, just as you did before.

   You made sure to set Saturday as souvenir hunting day, hoping to bring back something for Tooru, a thank you for the help and hoodie.

   The foxes you met earlier crossed your mind, but the grumbling of your stomach reminded you to get some dinner and wrap up your day. Holding the map out in front of you, you memorized the directions to a cafe not too far from your cabin, and went on your way.

   "Hello, can I get the sandwich of the day with a cinnamon hot chocolate and a slice of pumpkin bread?"

   "Of course! Here's your total."

   The worker you were pleasantly talking to gave you a small smile before glancing to the side, as if something caught his eye. He pulled a face at whatever he was looking at, and you followed his annoyed gaze to the two foxes you met earlier, playing next to one of the bean bag chairs next to the door, near the window wall of the cafe.

   You laughed awkwardly, "Haha, um, is there something wrong?"

   He seemed to snap out of giving them the stink eye, profusely apologizing to you as he provided an explanation, "No, no, it's fine, it's just that those two foxes are some of the forest animals that walk around the lodge, except they're the only ones that are more annoying than cute. Some cats and birds and such come by and usually will just sit next to the register, you know, like nice and normal animals, but these foxes seem hellbent on walking around and biting at people's ankles and fighting and making huge messes that they can't clean up because they're damn foxes."

   You laughed again, though this time it was genuine. "You seem to have very strong feelings about their mischief," you joked, watching as he relaxed.

   "Yeah, but at the end of the day, they're still just foxes, and we make sure all the animals of the forest are safe and sound."

   And if the foxes decided to cause more trouble than usual, that was their business, their decision, and not in any way related to the slight dislike of the barista, which was in turn totally not because you got along well with him.

   After paying, you made your way to a table in the corner of the windows where the glass met the wall, looking absentmindedly at the visitors and workers walking past, occasionally with a rabbit or bird or other critter.

   "I have your hot chocolate and sandwich, and your bread will be in just a moment. Unfortunately, I also brought these two," the barista you were talking to said as he set your food and drink on the table, before glancing at the floor. Just as you were about to lean over and see, two foxes jumped up on the seat across from you, settling themselves on the table, curled up like cats.

   You waved him off with a grin, "Oh it's fine, I have a feeling they'll behave."

   You took a sip out of your hot chocolate, savoring the warmth it gave you after being in the outside chill. You picked up your sandwich and took a bite, before speaking, "Are you done fighting?"

   Both foxes stared at you, and if they were people, you were sure their mouths would be hanging open, dumbfounded and mildly offended as you nonchalantly took another bite, not waiting for them to respond or react.

   You reached a hand out while they were frozen and pet the head of the fox nearest to you. It lowered its head slightly, shyly accepting your affection.

   "Aww, you're so cute. What's your name?"

   Of course, it couldn't speak, but it batted your hand with its left paw. "So cute," you crooned, "Come here?"

   Just like before, when the fox was about to walk towards you, the other one jumped at you, and you hurried to wrap your arms around it. You stared at it in your arms, tummy up like a baby.

   You rubbed its stomach. "What about you? What's your name?"

   He happily raised his right paw, and you held it gently before putting him back on the table, which was good, because the left paw fox was a second away from pouncing on it again. The fox you set down scrambled onto the tabletop, and watched with what you would call betrayed eyes as you carried the other fox into your lap, petting its head lightly.

   "It's not your turn," you quipped, focusing your attention on the fox in your lap. "You're so cute, so cute, please be my baby~."

   The fox you dumped on the table yipped indignantly at you, and you decided to mess with him. "Oh, you're still here? Well, I guess you're okay…" you trailed off, struggling to keep a poker face as he looked at you with puppy eyes, while the other fox barked out high pitched laughs, which made him get up and get ready to jump.

   You pet him between his ears. "I'm just joking. Jeez, you're always at each other's necks," you complained, sitting back and continuing to eat your sandwich.

   As if to prove you wrong, the fox in your lap jumped on the table and curled up with the other fox, both of them leaning against each other like close brothers. Coincidentally, the waiter walked by with your pumpkin bread, watching in amazement.

   "How did you do that?" he asked, and you just shrugged in response, your attention mostly on your sandwich.

   When you finished it, you took another sip of your drink before you tore off two pieces of your bread. You offered it to them as a reward, for finally behaving themselves. They yipped happily in response, content with spending the rest of your time together eating in comfortable silence.

   You pulled yourself out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Embarrassingly, jet lag made you sleep in on Tuesday, your first official day at the lodge, and by the time you woke up, you had nothing to do but eat and jot down some story ideas, none of which stuck to you.

   So you made sure to wake up nice and early the next day, dead set on going on at least one trail. You showered and changed into a new pair of jeans and a knit grey sweater. You stood for a moment, debating if you should wear a jacket or Tooru's hoodie over it, but decided against it and deemed the sweater good enough.

   Thankfully, it was one of the warmer, sunnier days. You looked down at your map, making your way towards the open lodge outlet, taking note of the small clusters of people milling about, a familiar sight, albeit on a smaller, calmer scale. You looked up at the wooden signs pointing towards various shops, restaurants, and forest attractions. You finally found the one you were looking for, pointing to your right with the word "birdwatch" carved across. When you followed its directions, you came to a small gift shop at the start of a wide, dirt path, imprints of boots and footsteps all over the light brown ground. Walking inside, a small wind chime announced your arrival, twinkling like bird chirps, and the person behind the counter looked up.

   "Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, recognizing your face.

   "Hello again! I thought you worked at the reception desk?"

   "I'm covering for someone's shift right now, they had finals to take. Are you here for a birdwatch?"

   "Spot on," you answered, bringing a hand up to rub the back of your head with a meek smile. Kozume winked at you, before taking out two binoculars from under the desk.

   "Well then, let's go!"

   "You know, some of these birds remind me of the ones that live near my apartment building," you mentioned, picturing the large cherry blossom tree that stretched its branches past your window. "The birds here are so much more interesting though," you lamented. "The city just has crows and small birds, but here there's robins and warblers and so many more species, with great diversity. It's like the bird version of the people back home."

   "I can imagine not many birds want to live near so many humans, but these have all of the forest to themselves. Look, the bird over there, with the blue mohawk, is called an Asian Paradise Flycatcher, and…" she trailed off, continuing your tour of one of the forest trails, before whipping an arm in front of you, exclaiming, "Watch your step!"

   You froze with your foot still in the air, watching as the fox you narrowly missed stepping on darted in front of you.

   "I'm sorry, he's not really supposed to be here, he has his own trail," Kozume frantically apologized while glaring at the fox, before sighing in relief when you responded with a small laugh.

   "It's fine, I've met him before," you reassured while looking around, searching for a certain somebody. "And I learned that he never walks alone…"

   To prove your point, the other fox you were well acquainted with joined his brother, running around in front of you.

   "Well, the next part of our trail is basically a circle back, so hopefully they run off to where they belong, I don't want you to get in trouble for messing with the animals because of them," Kozume said as you made a left, walking back to the start of the trail.

   When you opened the door to the gift shop, two furry animals zipped past your feet, and you already knew who they were before you even saw them.

   "Kozume, is it normal for these guys to always hang around here?" you asked, picking up both foxes in your arms, resting them comfortably in your arms.

   Kozume turned around to look at you, her hands still in midair, putting away your binoculars. "Actually, no, they do come by once or twice but they never hang around, and we just assumed they don't like people very much since they really only hang out with each other. They've never let anyone pet them…" she stopped mid-sentence as she watched you pet their heads and stomachs with no resistance from the two.

   You glanced up. "Huh? Oh, I don't really have a lot of experience with animals, but they're just so cute," you said, before snapping your head up, eyes wide in realization. "Hey, do you have some ribbon or something?"

   "Yes! We use them to identify specific birds we keep tabs on, especially ones we just recently nursed back to health," she explained, pulling out a box of ribbons, offering it to you. You set the foxes on the counter, watching Kozume hesitantly reach a hand out to them from the corner of your eye. They protested, but allowed her to pet them when you eyed them. Looking into the box, you fished out two ribbons, one a golden yellow, and the other a nice warm grey.

   "May I?" you asked, directing the question to Kozume. The foxes, however, decided you were talking to them and excitedly sat in front of you, pulling each ribbon towards them with their paw.

   "I think they said yes," Kozume chuckled, and you took that as your permission to put ribbons on their, er, the forest's foxes. You cooed at them, asking which one would go first. The fox with the yellow ribbon in his mouth nudged your hand with his face, making you smile.

   "Which are you, left or right?"

   The fox raised its right paw and rubbed his face as your answer, and you kept that in mind while you tied the ribbon around his neck, finishing it off with a nice bow. You did the same to the other fox, who voluntarily shook your hand with his left paw, just in case you forgot. By the time you were done, both foxes were playing on the counter, ribboned bows securely on their necks.

   "What if you started working here? The way you can interact with the animals so easily is honestly amazing," Kozume asked, springing the question on you out of the blue.

   You jumped, before you began rubbing the back of your head sheepishly, "Ah, I would love to, honestly, but I work as an author, and it's best if I stay relatively close to my publishing company."

   Kozume smiled understandingly, "Yeah, I figured. Well, just know that me and the foxes will be missing you hundreds of miles away." Then she brightened, pulling out her phone, "Put your number in, so we can stay in touch, and so I can keep an eye on my son," she winked cheekily as you accepted her offer.

   While the two of you were occupied, focused on your conversation, the two foxes stopped playing, standing abruptly and whipping their faces towards you.

   Loud crying made you turn away from Kozume and look for the source of the high-pitched whining, popping the question "who's making those crying puppy sounds?" into the air.

   Your eyes landed on the foxes, both of which were crying and walking towards you, tugging at your sleeve and rubbing their heads against your arms. Your heart melted, and you turned to Kozume, pity written across your face.

   "When I said they would miss you, I didn't think it would be this much…"

   "No, you can't come in here! I'll be kicked out if I let you guys in!"

   The foxes, still with the ribbons tied perfectly and safely around their necks, were looping around your legs, blocking your entrance to the cabin you've rented. They both looked up at you and cried, their whines catching the attention of some workers and visitors nearby.

   "Okay, fine! If I get in trouble, it's your fault," you relented, turning the knob and carefully opening the door, watching as they slipped in, leaving you to shut the smooth oak door quietly behind you as you flipped on the light switch.

   The second you let electric light flood the cabin, you realized the foxes were nowhere to be seen. Only mildly worried, since you knew they were at least somewhere inside, you shrugged it off and walked to the dresser, pulling out Tooru's hoodie and some sweatpants, before making your way to the bathroom.

   Out of nowhere, a fox came zooming at your feet, eager to come inside with you. This time, you were firm as you said, "I'm going to shower, so you can back off and play around while I'm in the bathroom, alone, with no perverts!"

   The grey fox started laughing at the peeping fox, which you realized was the yellow ribboned one. As expected, he launched at his brother, and you took the distraction as an opportunity to step inside the bathroom and shut the door behind you, locking it just to make sure.

   Freshly showered, with your comfortable, warm clothes on, you shuffled out of the bathroom, already expecting the foxes right there, having to step over them to make your way to the bed. They jumped up with you, but once the grey fox came close enough to sniff your hoodie, it barked indignantly, biting at the hoodie.

   "Hey! This isn't mine, it's Tooru's, so I can't let you destroy it!" you chided, pulling your sleeve away. Apparently you had said the wrong thing, because both foxes started pulling your sleeves together, before you yanked your arms out of their grips.

   "Tooru doesn't even smell bad, he smells nice," you said, pulling the hoodie up to smell the familiar scent, the aromas of chocolates and sweets in fresh air, reminding you of the skies back at the city: the smells of bakeries and cafes wafting through the air and birds chirping above you every time you walked down a street. Still, when the foxes continued growling, you reluctantly tugged the sweater off and stayed in just a white t-shirt, an old, stretched out shirt with the print on the front long since faded and gone.

   When you plopped back on the bed, the foxes crowded towards you, close enough that if you didn't know better, you'd think that they were trying to get you to forget about Tooru and focus on them. Subconsciously taking a breath, you caught the smell of a forest clearing or meadow, a smell of fresh grass and fresh air and petrichor, which you would expect from foxes that were supposed to stay and play in the forest, but you also noticed slight variations in the scent, obviously coming from either fox.

   Yellow ribbon had a scent like honey, with a strong undertone of a woodsy musk, which made you picture drinking tea sweetened with the golden syrup right outside your cabin. 

   Grey ribbon had a strong campfire scent, the smell of crackling wood and fire and melting chocolate. A scene under a clear night sky surrounding a fire with the aroma of cinnamon in the air came to mind, and you let yourself get lost in thought, your senses being occupied with new scents, sights, and imagery.

   If the foxes were human, their faces would surely have the widest, shit-eating grins, smug and satisfied at having you distracted from the minor annoyance from earlier and focused on them, just as they wanted.

   You snapped out of it. "You little—, you just want me to give you attention and affection and baby you," you accused, pushing them away from your face. They didn't protest or bark at you, and you figured it was because they knew they were guilty as charged. "Jeez, you're acting like Tooru is a threat or something…"

   You heard two big sighs, and blinked in surprise at the foxes as they settled onto the plush white covers. Maybe it was because they were so human-like and made you honestly contemplate whether they could understand you or not, or maybe it was because the only animal you've heard sigh is your mom's dog back at your family home, but whatever it was, it made you think, for a split second, that the foxes were humans turned animals, kind of like the frog prince. But that was stupid, so you shook your head, got up and turned off the lights, opening the curtains but keeping the blinds closed, and settled back into bed as slats of moonlight came from the spaces between the blinds.

   The foxes climbed into your arms, and you held them close to you as you fell asleep, telling yourself it was only because you had crossed the line earlier, even though deep down you knew that wasn't the real reason.

   You pulled the two fluffy sources of heat closer to you, unwilling to open your eyes and start the day. It's only when the heaters started licking your face that you panicked and freaked out.

   High pitched yips made the events of yesterday evening rush back to you, and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes tiredly, surprised that you had a good night's sleep with two, technically, wild animals.

   You scooped the drowsy foxes into your arms before making your way to the big wooden door and pushing it open, setting the foxes on the ground.

   "You weren't even supposed to be in there, you know," you said as the foxes tried to get back in, pawing at the door. You shivered, the chill in the air numbing your exposed skin and wrapping around your bare arms, and you hurriedly shooed them away before retreating back inside the warmth of the cabin.

   Safely bundled in a sweater from your university under a hoodie, one of your own this time, you joined a group going for the fox trail, wondering if you'd see yours.

   Pointedly ignoring how you immediately thought of them as "your" foxes, you listened to the tour guide, an employee you hadn't met yet, talk about how the foxes don't always show on the trail.

   "That's a shame, let's just hope for the best," other visitors and families whispered around you, with some of them saying they didn't see that many foxes yesterday, only a few odd ones out here and there. Knowing where they actually were the day before, you stifled a laugh, even as your ears turned red with guilt and embarrassment, before following at the back of the group as they started the trail.

   Luckily, you saw a few grey and brown foxes, who seemed like actual normal foxes and not borderline sentient, but around the middle of the trail it was basically deserted.

   "Let me try to call them," the guide offered, bringing his hands up to cup his mouth and whistle loudly.

   Silence answered, with no signs of anything coming to visit. 

   The tour guide encouraged the group to call out and whistle, and various whistles and voices rose from the group.

   Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you crouched low, at eye-level with the bushes, and softly called out for two specific foxes, your hello muffled by the rest of the crowd.

   You gave up, feeling stupid and unconvinced that your almost-whisper would carry over the noise of the crowd, and sat on the ground, legs folded under you, deciding to wait until the group either got tired or another fox actually showed up for them. Just then, the bushes in front of you started to rustle, and your lovely grey ribboned fox jumped out, immediately crawling into your lap to nuzzle your face.

   The people closest to you turned at the noise and noticed you cuddling with him on the ground, and word started spreading throughout the group that someone had successfully lured out a fox.

   "Look! There's one running this way!" the ones at the front of the group called, and you looked just in time to see your other fox running towards you, straight past the tour guide and the rest of the group. You smiled fondly at them, before lowering your face to let both of them rub their cheeks against yours.

   "Ma'am, could you please not touch the animals?" the tour guide told you timidly, obviously not wanting to reprimand you for being able to actually call out foxes on the designated fox trail, but you understood it was mostly so others didn't start getting any ideas, thinking they had permission.

   You nodded sheepishly, lightly putting them on the floor before standing up, wiping the dust off your knees. However, the whole group watched as the foxes looped around your feet, even going so far as to jump up and paw at your thighs.

   "Do you work here? You're so good with animals!" a mom in the crowd asked, and you looked at the actual worker, unsure of what to say. He stared back at you with just as much confusion, before shrugging, leaving you to make up a convincing story on the spot.

   "Actually, these foxes used to live near me, but I live in a city, so I brought them here so they'd be safer than on the streets," you fibbed, though you gave yourself a pat on the back for how reliable the story was. If anyone really did have to ask, yes, you did live in a city, and yes, you would one hundred percent bring foxes and other animals to a forest or wildlife lodge. Did that really happen? No, but could it? The answer was yes, and you sighed in relief when the mom turned, accepting your answer. You giggled when the tour guide released a breath he didn't even know he was holding, and he continued the trail, sending a discreet wink your way.

   You didn't notice the way your foxes growled at that, and if someone had asked you why you had two foxes right at your heels, walking next to you protectively like a pair of guard dogs, you'd blink in confusion, oblivious to the reality of their words.

   Before you knew it, it was Saturday, souvenir shopping day. You slung on your bookbag, ready to put some weight in it.

   At the lodge's shopping centre, you saw gift shops, clothing shops, and random trinket shops alike. In the gift shop, you found crystal figurines of animals in and around the lodge, and a cute little bird the color of a clear sky caught your eye. For some reason, it reminded you of Tooru, and you couldn't stop yourself from buying it and watching as the cashier wrapped it in paper before setting it in a white velvet box, cushioned and safe. Huh, crystal bird, blue, bluebird. You may have found another nickname for Ruru. You absentmindedly slipped it into your bag, happy to have found what you were looking for so fast and a new nickname.

   But stores weren't anything if not eye-catching, and the shelf of plush animals distracted you. The fox plushies, specifically, were so similar to actual foxes that they'd be perfect replacement cuddle buddies for when you went back home to your big city.

   But then you felt incredibly embarrassed and childish for that, so you shook your head as you walked out of the shop, ignoring the way that thought stuck in your head like a moth to a lamp.

   Still, you found yourself walking through store after store after store. Once you finally snapped out of it, you had just stepped out of the birdwatching souvenir store, all too aware of the set of postcards themed after the various birds you could spot on the trail. You told yourself that the blue mohawk bird on the front was a great reminder of both the trail and Kozume, and made a mental note to get her to write something before you left, lessening your guilt over having bought something almost useless.

   By the time you came back to the cabin, your wallet felt significantly lighter while your bookbag was very obviously heavier. You had stuffed the velvet box, postcard deck, two maroon sweaters with "Inari Lodge" printed across the front with the forest's logo, and a large and heavy book about spirits and legendary deities that guard and dwell in the forest. According to the summary on the back, the book was basically a collection of the myths and legends surrounding the forest, including one about people that could transform from animal to person and back again. The cover of the book immediately made you think "grimoire", and you were set on buying it, if not for the stories, then for the aesthetic.

   You wondered briefly if it was real as you unclasped the leather string binding the book shut and flipped through yellowed pages with torn edges, looking at all the pictures that looked believable hand drawn and writing in a language you could only understand when you squinted your eyes.

   You had wrapped everything in the two sweaters, and then in the white scarf, making sure they were safe and at no risk of being crushed or damaged, especially the crystalline figure.

   "Are ya sure she isn't coming back?"

   "Yes, 'Tsumu, last I checked she was dropping off her keys to Kozume."

   "But she'll be back soon?"

   "Yeah no shit, genius, that's why you either get in here with me or stay behind."

   "Hey, I'm just makin' sure you're prepared for this y'know, in case you start crying for momma or somethin'."

   "Shut yer face and die."

   "What do we do now?"

   "I don't wanna pay for a ticket, 'Samu."

   "Me neither, but we can't hitch a ride in her carry-on anymore, it's going through TSA."

   They both leaned against the wall, realizing that they were both stupid and their plan was stupid squared.

��  Atsumu looked up, the ribbon around his neck moving with him, and he watched you walk into the bathroom, leaving your luggage outside the door. He nudged Osamu, pointing at the bathroom door.

   "Nice," he praised.

   And if people saw two foxes crawling into a bookbag? It's the airport at three in the alternate airport timeline, who cares.

   "My bag is so heavy," you complained, flopping into your assigned seat. It was another window seat, and the view of the land underneath becoming smaller and smaller until it was covered by a sea of clouds made you feel a little better. Still, how did your bag get that heavy? When it was empty, it was literally lightweight, and when you were still shopping, it wasn't that hard to carry it as you went from store to store. You groaned, rolling your shoulder from the pain of carrying the boulder of a bag.

   "That's what I get for buying so much," you berated yourself, opening the flap and looking inside. Surprisingly, two fluffy foxes were curled up in there, resting comfortably on your white scarf. For a moment, you thought your foxes had hitched a ride and were coming home with you, but you'd obviously notice that, right? And besides, you did see the stuffed animals in the gift shop.

   "I can't believe I actually bought the stuffed foxes just because I'll miss the real ones," you huffed, blushing slightly, as if the foxes were there and could hear you. But the foxes were not there, you had left them at the lodge, so you settled for stroking the faux fur of the stuffed foxes, the silky smooth strands so lifelike that if you didn't know better, you'd think it was real.

   "Finally," you gasped, face planting into the soft fluffy white of your blanket. You tugged off Tooru's sweater and folded it neatly, walking out and placing it on your counter, ready to return. You rummaged through your bag, that you had dropped to the floor as soon as you opened the door to your room, and tugged out the scarf from underneath your very suspiciously heavy fox plushies. 

   You unwrapped the bundle, pulling all your souvenirs out before bunching up the scarf and throwing it into your laundry basket. You set the book and postcard deck on your bookshelf, next to other various books and collectibles you've found over the years, and grabbed the velvet box, feeling its smooth texture against the palm of your hand. You set it on top of the teal hoodie, before changing out of your jeans and shirt into shorts and an oversized tee, boyfriend style.

   Ugh, a boyfriend. You've been single for way too long.

   "Please let me wake up to a miracle," you prayed, closing your eyes and pulling a serene face, before immediately flopping over and falling asleep.

   Of course, you do not expect to wake up cuddled up to a warm chest while listening to someone messing around in your bathroom, the shutting of cupboards and a phone call drifting from the white door.

   You laid there, relishing the comfort that came from being flush against someone's side, tucked under their arm.

   That's when it hit you that strangers were in your house.

   You bolted up, using your hand to choke back the scream bubbling from your throat, not wanting to let either person know you were awake.

   You looked down, realizing that you had just left the side of a very handsome and very shirtless man, his eyes slowly opening when he felt the absence of your warmth, showing you his beautiful light brown eyes, getting lost in the gold specs like stars.

   You ripped your gaze away from him and moved to swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Unfortunately for you, the mystery man reached up and tugged you back down to him, holding a finger up to his very pink and very kissable and very attract— , wait, no. He held his finger against his lips, shushing you.

   "Wait, he's coming out. Stay beside me."

   Just as you opened your mouth to retaliate, he had already thrown your white covers over the both of you and looped an arm around you, his hand resting at your waist.

   The door to the bathroom opened, and yet another stranger walked out, though it was only him, making the total number of intruders two. He had the same eyes and lips, which were the definition of picture perfect, and he was also lacking in the shirt department. His brows furrowed, and you could already feel the argument starting.

   "What the hell do ya think yer doin'?!"

   "She prefers me."

   "No she doesn't!"

   "It's true, right doll?"

   Both pairs of identical eyes stared at you, and you started panicking under the pressure.

   "I don't even know you! This is literally stranger danger!" you yelled, jumping out of the warmth of both the blanket and the guy in your bed, dodging as his hand reached out to pull you back in.

   You pressed your back against the wall, staying as far away from them as possible. You then realized what you were wearing, and tugged your shirt down even further, mentally slapping yourself for wearing shorts that left almost nothing to imagination with a shirt that reached your thighs, which would put you at a disadvantage if you had to fight or flight.

   The stranger finally got out of your bed and walked next to the other, but it was only once they were next to each other that you realized they were twins, identical twins. Both had dyed hair, but one was blond while the other had grey hair. Their bangs were parted to opposite sides, so they kind of mirrored each other, which made you shiver.

   "Don't ya remember us?"

   "Yeah, you liked me better."

   As they started bickering, as almost all siblings do, you noticed the two sweaters you bought sitting on the edge of the bed. Snatching them and balling them up in either fist, you threw them at them.

   "At least wear these!"

   "Those sweaters would eat me alive, but they fit you so well," you sighed, sitting on your legs on your bed, the two still standing in front of you.

   As they pulled the cloth over their head, you noticed the ribbons tied around their neck as they popped free from the neckline. You felt your heart sink to your stomach when you realized they were grey and yellow ribbons.

   "'s not like we've never slept with you before," yellow ribbon said.

   "You even asked me to be your baby," grey ribbon added, catching his twin's elbow in his hand.

   "I haven't even been in the city for the past week! I was at the lodge forest thing."

   "So were we."

   "Yeah, we came from there."

   "Then how did you end up here?!"

   "We came with ya," yellow ribbon said matter-of-factly while the other shrugged in agreement.

   Your breath got caught in your throat as you flipped the flap of your bookbag over, looking at the empty space in dismay.

   "Where are my foxes?"

   "That's us!" they chorused, identical smirks of pride on their faces, as if being yours was something to show off or brag about. 

   "They were plushies! People cannot be plushies!"

   "No, they were real foxes, and we're real foxes, 'cause they were us."

   "Where the hell would I get real foxes?!"

   They saw the moment you pieced two and two together, your face turning from one of anxious anger to acceptance as you realized what they were trying to say.

   The ribbons. Their colors. The plushies that felt a little too real. That one night in your cabin. The day you fed them in that one cafe.

   They were your foxes.

   "Yup," grey ribbon nodded his head, and you shut your mouth, not wanting to accidentally say what you were thinking again.

   "Why did you come here? You belong in the forest!"

   "No, we're your foxes," they said in unison.

   "No you aren't," you groaned, covering your face with both your hands.

   The two of them had attached themselves to your side, and when you said that, they seemed to get even more annoyed, and so they snuggled even closer to you, an arm slung around your shoulders and around your waist.

   "What are your names?" you finally relented, relaxing in their grip.

   "Miya Osamu," the one with the grey ribbon said, pulling you closer from the waist.

   "Miya Atsumu, the better twin," the one with the yellow ribbon retorted, tugging you back with the arm around your shoulder.

   "Stop pushing me around! We barely know each other!"

   "Can you stop with that already?" Osamu said, though he had no actual anger or malice behind his words.

   "Or do we have to remind you who you belong to?" Atsumu said suggestively, and you braced yourself for whatever mischief he had planned.

   In one moment, you were sitting normally in the middle of your bed. In the next, you were back against your headboard, your head on your pillows. And you became a pillow, as Osamu tucked his face in your neck and Atsumu rested his head on your chest.

   "We're taking a nap together again whether you like it or not," Osamu said decisively, and you could tell that was that, no arguing.

   "At least let me pull those off, it's embarrassing," you complained, your hand drifting up to Atsumu's ribbons.

   "No," he said, catching your hand warningly. Something in his voice made you obey immediately. "That's mine."

   "Well this is mine too!" you replied heatedly, bringing a hand up and cradling Osamu's head against you. But instead of doing anything or acting out like any normal person would, Osamu started purring, a satisfied grin on his face while you had a look of dismay, your cheeks reddening. 

   Atsumu glared at him, moving your hand so your arm was wrapped around him, pulling him closer as well. You got the hint and raised your other hand to run your fingers through his hair, leaving you to deal with two purring fox-shifting idiots.

   "Fine, you're both mine, I guess," you gave up, fighting back a blush and pretending that statement didn't warm your heart as much as it did.

   "And your ours," they chorused happily, and you didn't even try to hide the pink spreading across your cheeks when they rubbed their faces against yours.

   "Okay," you said quietly, accepting the fact that them being yours and you being theirs made you feel something happy and content in your chest, something that was dangerously close to love. If you were like them, you were one hundred percent sure you'd start purring, too.

   I mean, you did say you wanted a boyfriend, and the universe was kind enough to give you more than what you bargained for.

   The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with yellow and red while the blues and purples of night crept closer. The clouds were fluffy and lined with silver, their normal white reflecting pink hues.

   The last rays of sunlight filtered through a sheer peach curtain, coating everything in gold lighting.

   Three people were sleeping soundly on a bed, the white blanket thrown over their tangled legs, breaths even and in sync. Dyed grey hair peeked out from under a chin, and blond hair tickled a collarbone. Natural hair was sprawled out on the white stuffed pillows.

   Osamu opened an eye, before raising his head and pressing a soft kiss to the sleeping beauty's lips.

   And if he raised a finger to his lips? Well, I can't say what happened next, because my lips are sealed.

oh my GOD did this take forever between writing this and school and the fanart of this (which i’ll post later) i took way longer than i normally would

that being said, i hope you still like it <3

[yourfriendslimey]

Clouds of Cream

Pt. 1

Summary- While taking a day to run weekly errands, you take the time to stop at your local cafe where a certain handsome barista happens to work...

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: Fluff

author’s note: This part is mostly to establish base story, also later parts will contain sexual themes; however, i COULD also produce watered down versions for those of you who enjoy the story but don’t care for those kinds of things. lemme know. Anyways, enjoy <3

WC: 2342

Part. 1- I Never Got Your Name…

Your eyes pried themselves open as the morning sun snuck into your studio apartment. With a heavy arm, you reached over to the tiny bedside table and grabbed your phone. 8:00 a.m…. You groaned, tossed your phone onto the table and pulled the blanket over your face. It was Saturday, your day off work, so you could in theory sleep in. However, you knew if you didn’t get up now then the To-Do list tacked to the cork board above your desk would go unattended. Plus… You thought, sitting up haggardly…I could stop at the café while I’m out…

You had gone to Downtown Brews for the first time a few months ago with a close friend who swore up and down it had THE best coffee. He was right. Now you were all but addicted. The roasts were divine, and the pastries were nothing to scoff at. And often by chance, you were helped by the same barista who, if you dared to say so, was not too hard on the eyes. The barista…You felt guilty not knowing his name by now. Even though you saw him every time you walked through those doors, you never managed to read his nametag. You were always too…distracted.

You let your feet hang off the bed for a few moments while your mind began to wander. As you stood and made your way to your tiny bathroom, you wondered if he even really noticed you. Of course, he recognized your face. You were there all the time. At the counter, he would give a casual smile and in his cool tone say “Hey, y/n, nice to see you again? The usual?” They took names for orders, so yeah, he knew that too. He knew your regular order because it was well... your regular order. But that didn’t mean he really saw you. The café had a lot of regulars, he probably knew a few orders and names by heart. While brushing your teeth you became even more lost in thought… You leaned close the bathroom mirror, analyzing your face. It was still puffy, showing the aftermath of a late night’s sleep. You frowned a little. Maybe he has a girlfriend. Maybe you just weren’t his type. You fed into your dismay while taking a longer than usual shower.

With fresh breath and a newly showered body, you walked to your closet and pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans, an oversized t-shirt with your college mascot on the front, and a grey dad-hat. You might as well be comfortable while running around all day. You grabbed your backpack and tossed in your phone charger, wallet, and keys. You quickly snatched the list from the board and hurried out the front door before the demon that was procrastination could set in.

You groaned as you walked to the end of the hall, anticipating the journey you had to make down the stairs. The elevator was down and had been for months now. The landlord kept telling you someone would be in to fix it next month, but it seemed like next month never came. Instead, you frustratedly stomped down the stairs, each time cursing past you for wanting to live on the third floor.

The building you lived in was nowhere near fancy. But it was home at least. Unlike the buildings uptown, the lobby wasn’t big and beautiful with potted plants and delicate light fixtures. It was more of an extra wide hallway. The walls presented a sickly grey-green on the upper half, the bottom being slowly warping wood paneling. A large portion of the space was dedicated to old metal mailboxes and contained ceiling lights hanging on their last legs; more than half of them flickering or entirely dead. You decided to check your mail later. You never really got anything anyway.

Outside, you were met with a clear sky and smiling summer sun. A warm breeze danced through the branches and the sweet smell of mature flowers blessed your nose. You felt more energized by the perfection of the day and with newfound eagerness, began your walk to the café. You breathed easily, taking in your surroundings. It was around 9:00 a.m. now and most of the city was already awake. Busy men and women walked as fast as their legs could carry them. Some to their respective jobs and others you presumed, to use the day the same as you; going off to clear a long list of errands. The start of summer vacation also meant children with time to kill. Kids ran up and down the sidewalk, getting what you deemed an early start to their day’s mischief. A couple walked hand in hand, giggling and smiling. You could overhear them mention something about grabbing lunch later and maybe seeing a movie. Seeming them happy together sent you into a vivid daydream.

You saw the barista’s warm smile and kind eyes. You confidently sauntered up to the counter, cool as ice. You flashed a cheeky smile that caught him off-guard. “Hey there, what’ll it be?” he said with a fully flushed face. You leaned in real close and looked him in the eyes. With a stolen velvet tongue, you said “A tall, dark, and handsome…”

The cheesiness of the line snapped you out of your trance with a quiet laugh. Before you knew it, you found yourself standing in front of Downtown Brews. It sat gingerly on the corner, beckoning you inside. The coffee cup logo printed on the glass door a sight for sore eyes Through the large window you noticed that almost every seat was full. No big deal since you just wanted to grab something to eat while you walked. You pulled open the door, a small bell jingling overhead. You placed yourself at the end of the line, grateful that it wasn’t too long. The early morning rush had pretty much passed already. You scanned the peaceful scene. Even though it was full, the loudest noises were the clinking of mugs and forks. It was always like this no matter the time of day.

Downtown Brews had that affect on people. The café created a sanctuary away from the loudness of the city. It had a minimalistic look. Plain golden-brown wooden floors, beautifully simple wooden tables and chairs, and small hanging lights that seemed to float in the room. On each table was a centerpiece containing small purple wildflowers in cute white vases that looked like fine china. The walls were mostly windows, save for the left wall that made contact with that of the bookstore next door and the gray brick wall behind the counter. It was decorated with shelves lined with mugs, glasses, and more white vases with various plants and flowers scattered about. You noticed that every week, there was at least one new one. The owner of the place must have had a real love for flora.

You stood for what felt like ages, listening to some poor young intern order complicated coffees and various treats for what seemed to be an entire office. You anxiously switched your weight from one foot to the other, wondering if maybe today you would order something new. And then you saw him. The man who made your face hot and your head cloudy. He was always here when you were, not that you were going to complain about it. He looked so suave in his uniform. The white shirt, black slacks, and black apron on his waist seemed custom made for his slender frame. How could such simple clothes look so good on someone? Your hands felt clammy and your chest went tight. You hated and adored this feeling all at the same time. Taking a few quiet deep breaths, you set your sights back on the menu, busying your mind with deciding about what to order for breakfast.

You studied him as he switched places with another staff member and prepared his customer’s order. The café had a lovely practice. Whoever took your order would also prepare it. This allowed for a more personal experience that resulted in fewer messed up orders. The baristas took turns instinctually; based off who was the least busy.

You gawked at him, transfixed on his form. You watched as he grabbed a few pastries from the glass case in front of him, slid them into a small toaster oven and began fixing the drinks. Every movement was smooth and graceful. He was like an angel. His face was lit up with a precious smile as he handed over the massive order and with a nod chirped “Here you are! You coworkers better say thank you for this. Hope you have a good day.” The intern gave a rushed “Yes, thank you, you too,” and fixed her gaze on the cardboard trays of drinks stacked onto boxes of patisserie. She shuffled away with a sense of urgency you’d never seen.

The barista’s skin was almost glowing. It looked soft and flawless, almost like it had been airbrushed. But it was all too real. You heart began to race as the last person between you and the counter wandered off. You shook your head lightly, trying to snap yourself back to the now.

“Can I help who’s next, please?” the honey voice flooded your ears.

You nearly stumbled up to the register, eyes barely leaving the chalkboard menu hanging above. Even though you weren’t really looking, you could still feel the warmth of his smile. You met his eyes. “Hey y/n. How’s it going? Medium iced coffee with vanilla creamer, three sugars, and cocoa powder on top, right?” You felt the heat rising in your face.

“Hey, uh yeah. I mean, no.” Your voice was almost imprisoned in your throat, impulse taking over.

“Oh, did I get I get it wrong?” he let out a small chuckle and ran a hand through his beautiful hazelnut curls, “Sorry about that, guess I must be a bit tired if I’m forgetting-“

You didn’t mean to, but you cut him off “Not at all. I just wanna switch it up a bit. Today I think I’ll have a medium iced cold brew with sweet cream and caramel this time. And could I also have a cranberry muffin, please?” you smiled shyly, embarrassed knowing that you were obviously flustered.

He smiled wide and clasped his hands together. “Well I see we’re mixingg things up now,” he giggled quietly while punching your order into the automated screen, “Gotta keep me on my toes somehow.” Damn that smile- you took off your backpack and quickly pulled out your wallet. “Is that for here or to go?” He peered up at you, eyes doe-like. “To go, please.” You choked a little and could have sworn you saw a bit of disappointment in his eyes but passed it off. He told you the total and you handed him the cash. “Alrighty, I’ll have everything ready in about ten minutes.” You nodded and gave a small hum as he gave you your change.

You stepped off to the side and let your eyes follow him as he skillfully crafted your drink. His smile was replaced with a stern look as he focused on his task. You wondered if your mouth was watering from the aroma of coffee and hot muffin awaiting you or something else. Suddenly, it hit you that once again you avoided looking at his name tag. You instinctively avoided looking at one part of him too long. As a child mom had taught you it was rude to stare, and that sentiment stuck with you even now. You chastised yourself. It felt as though after you missed it the first time, it felt impolite to check now. But it was ruder to just not know. You always wanted to ask, but avoided it, thinking he would think you were a moron since he clearly has a nametag on. You silently huffed in frustration and made attempts to get a better look. However, you couldn’t get a clear view. If it wasn’t a machine in your way, it was one of the other baristas, or he was simply moving too much or he was turned away from you. Though you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed looking at his back almost as much as his front.

“Y/n, your order’s ready.” His smile had returned as he stepped up to the pickup area.

He held out a small brown paper bag and your drink. “Here you go. Have a good day, and I’ll see you soon.” His face was warm, his smile genuine. You beamed at him and gently took your things Your heart fluttered. Without even thinking, the words flew from your lips. “I’m sorry, I know I come here all the time, but um…” he leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter, “well I don’ actually know your name and i keep forgetting to ask…And it feels rude to not know since you’re such a good server.” He chuckled, raised an eyebrow and smirked. He shook his head lightly and let it drop to the side. “Tsk tsk tsk. And I thought we were friends.” His smile melted your heart. He stood tall and folded is arms.

You apologized again, telling him you knew he had a nametag on but you always forgot to look and began to ramble about feeling nervous to ask and the whole thing. He gently cut you off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s Mark. And now that you know, you better not forget.” He pointed a playfully stern finger at you. The name rang in your head. This man who occupied so much headspace finally had a name. A beautiful one. At least to you. You grinned, “I won’t, I promise. I’ll see you later, Mark.” You turned to leave and as you did, you were certain his smile had grown bigger and his cheeks pinker.

Mark....

[wistfulcynic]

To Keep It All The Year (3 /4)

Anyone up for a spot of pure fantasy in which people are essentially good and their positive actions are rewarded with deserved happiness? Yeah, me too. It’s been a WEEK, for me and @katie-dub​ and anyone else in the UK with a conscience and a shred of human decency, so let’s all have a bit of an escape.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past.

All it takes is a little Christmas magic.

On AO3 | Tumblr: Part One | Part Two 

Thanks as ever to @thisonesatellite​ who keeps me fuelled with whisky and lebkuchen, a paring ordained by the gods, and also because MAGICAL WREATHS OMG WUTTT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4​​​​​​​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​��​​​​​​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​​​​ @stahlop​​​​​​​​ @mariakov81​​​​​​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​​​​ @jonirobinson64​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​​​​​​​ @shardminds​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​ @teamhook​

-

PART THREE: THE FUTURE

Killian moves out of his apartment that very afternoon. He can’t bear to spend another moment there. He needs a fresh start in a new place, one that will encourage him to be better rather than indulging the worst of him. 

Everything he owns, every single thing, fits into a large satchel and a medium-sized suitcase. Packing it all takes less than an hour. Killian drops his key into the landlord’s mailbox and heads across town to a guesthouse he found with a quick internet search, not a great place but his finances are limited and it’s still better than that apartment. There’s an actual bed, for a start, and part of him is tempted to crawl into it and drink until his chest stops aching and he no longer sees the crushed look in Emma’s eyes each time he closes his own, but he has made promises to himself and he intends to keep them. 

So instead he falls back on the least damaging of his old crutches and heads out for a walk. The guesthouse is a bit rough around the edges but the neighbourhood whose western boundary it marks is a vast improvement over his old one. There’s an elegance and dignity in the slightly run-down buildings here, like they’ve aged gracefully and in comfort without any of the desperation and squalor that characterised his old place. They’ve kept their head up, even through hard times, and they haven’t given in. A lesson lurks in there somewhere, he thinks. 

He’s been wandering for about half an hour when his attention is caught by a door. Not a particularly remarkable door, but has a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it which brings a smile to Killian’s face. Something about those little wreaths always draws him in, he thinks. Something he can’t quite put his finger on...

The door is made of wide wooden planks painted a deep forest green and boasts an old-fashioned brass knocker in the shape of a roaring lion. It belongs to what appears to be a small bookshop, and as Killian pushes it open he feels a stirring of eagerness that he hasn’t felt in years. He can’t remember the last time he read a good book. Something layered and complex, he thinks, with a well-crafted world that he can dig into and lose himself for a while. 

The shop is surprisingly spacious, with row upon row of tall wooden bookshelves lined up straight as soldiers along its walls and a broad central aisle leading to the till and a small cafe at the back. Twin spiral staircases rise up on each side to a mezzanine where he can see more shelves and a cosy reading area with overstuffed sofas and armchairs and a few scattered beanbags of the perfect size for children. Killian walks slowly down the centre aisle, aware his mouth is hanging open and barely resisting the urge to spin around, gaping in awe. Were he asked to give a description of his ideal bookshop it would be precisely this, he thinks, from the aged patina on the shelves to the fluffy grey cat curled on a cushion in the window, to the truly dizzying array of books. It is magnificent. 

“Can I help you find anything?” Killian shakes himself from his reverie and turns to see a petite brunette in towering heels smiling a friendly smile. 

“Ah, no thank you, lass,” he replies, “I’m just br—you know what, actually, yes. You can.”

He explains what sort of book he’s after and the woman—Belle, according to her name tag—leads him around the shop in search of it. She makes excellent recommendations, a fair number of which he’s already read, but after an enjoyable hour or so Killian has a small armload of books he can’t wait to crack open and perhaps, he hopes, a friend. 

After he pays for them he and Belle stand at the till for another ten minutes or so, chatting amiably. Killian formally introduces himself and informs Belle that he’s just moved to the neighbourhood and is out exploring. He’s just about to ask if she knows a good place to eat when he spots the small sign taped to the cash register. 

“Are you hiring?” he says in surprise.

“I am. I could use an assistant three or four days a week,” says Belle. “You interested?” 

“I might be,” Killian replies. He’ll need a job to afford the new life he intends to build for himself, he thinks, and working in this lovely little shop with Belle would be a dream come true. 

“Any retail experience?” she asks.

“None. But I’m a fast learner and fairly widely read.” 

“I’ll say,” says Belle wryly. “Okay, let’s give it a try. I can start you on—” she names an hourly wage that has Killian’s eyes widening. 

“Is that the standard market rate for a bookshop assistant?” 

“Nope.” Belle’s voice is cheerful and also makes it clear she doesn’t intend to answer any questions on the subject.

“Er—okay. Well, that would be more than satisfactory.” Enough to give him the new beginning he needs, he thinks. More than. 

Belle nods. “When can you start?” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Perfect.” 

—

Belle lives above the bookshop, in a two-bedroom flat that she claims can get a little lonely. She claims this a week into the new year when she learns that Killian is looking for a place to live, and insists on showing him the spare room that very minute. 

Her flat is tidy but comfortable and the room she shows him plainly furnished, with polished hardwood floors and plaster walls painted a warm ivory. A large chest of drawers takes up one corner and in another is a metal framed bed spread with a quilt that he’s sure is handmade. There’s a single wide window framed by soft yellow curtains that turn the afternoon light golden and a single framed poster on the wall, of Waterhouse’s Miranda. Killian stares at the painting for some time, thinking it should probably upset him. Instead he feels soothed, by the room’s gentle simplicity and by the shipwreck safely tucked away in the brushstrokes of an oil painting. He moves in the next day. 

He and Belle get on splendidly. Their habits mesh in a comfortable way, both being meticulously tidy early risers, equally content to spend their evenings in heated argument about books as in the silent companionship of reading or watching television. Killian almost wishes their easy friendship could develop into something more, though it does occur to him that he’s never had a woman as just a friend before and perhaps this is a thing that might do him some good. 

That and he still dreams of soft golden hair, and green eyes that see into his soul. 

He begins to eat regular healthy meals, sharing the cooking duties with Belle, and after a month or so of that he joins a gym. He still goes on his long, rambling walks but far less frequently than before, using them as an opportunity to explore new neighbourhoods rather than a desperate attempt to escape his demons and he never, never stops at the docks. 

He also starts seeing a therapist, on Belle’s gentle suggestion after one too many nights of being woken up by his nightmares. She can recommend one personally, she confesses, for the very same reason that she is able to pay him so well. The bookshop is financed by hush money—she spits the words—her lavish divorce settlement from a man who controlled and abused her for years and when she finally managed to leave him tracked her down and nearly killed her. She grips Killian’s hand tightly as she tells him this, tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, yet there is a ring of triumph in her voice as she explains how he signed over more than half his assets to her in exchange for her promise not to prosecute, or sell tales of his abuse to the press. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it,” she says. “Maybe I should have exposed him instead, or pressed charges. But he could weather bad press or bribe his way out of jail time while it will take him years to build his business back up again. Decades, even. And meanwhile I have my shop. And my freedom.” 

Belle knows as well as Killian does how heavily tainted money can weigh on person’s conscience, and that the only way to bear its weight is by turning it to something good. She’s a survivor, just like him. Just like Emma. 

Slowly, so slowly, Killian feels the parts of himself he thought were broken beyond repair begin to mend, and every day he focuses on that healing. He nourishes his body with exercise and good food and he nourishes his mind with books and conversation. He nourishes his soul as well, with his therapy sessions and with the bookshop’s weekly children’s story time, which Belle insists he take charge of after catching him watching wistfully from behind a shelf as she sat surrounded by a semicircle of rapt faces, reading an adventure book. 

He was thinking of Henry. 

He thinks of Henry often, and of course of Emma. Every time he rambles through a new part of the city he wonders if they are living there, perhaps in one of the sprawling houses with soft green lawns in the residential areas, or maybe in an airy loft in one of the edgier, artier neighbourhoods. He hopes that wherever they are they’ve found a true home of their own, with security and comfort and reliable childcare for Henry. Emma no longer needs to work so she could study full time if she wished, or do something else entirely. She wouldn’t strictly speaking need to do anything, but if Killian knows her—and despite the short duration of their acquaintance he’s quite certain he does—she will want to keep studying, for her own satisfaction and to find a career that suits her. Emma Swan could never be content sitting around all day doing nothing. She would want to do some good in the world, regardless of her personal circumstances. The kindness she showed to a strange man in a bar when she had next to nothing of her own was proof enough of that. 

It hurts to think of them but it’s a good sort of pain, a gentle, bittersweet ache that warms his heart, nothing like the tearing agony he felt for so many years whenever he thought of Liam. Thoughts of Emma and Henry inspire him, keep him moving steadily along this new path he’s chosen to tread. Though he’s certain he’ll never see either of them again he wants to live his life in a way that honours his feelings for them. 

He doesn’t go back to the bar where he and Emma met, not often. It’s just a place to drink without the magic her presence lent it, and drinking is a thing he’s trying to do less of these days. But the following Christmas Eve he finds himself back in his old neighbourhood standing before the plain brown door. There’s a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it, and Killian knows by now that he’s powerless in the face of those wreaths. He lets it draw him in through the door and over to a stool at the bar where he orders the expensive rum Emma gave him last year and sips it slowly as the memories that infuse the very air of this place both warm and pain him. He’ll allow himself this, he thinks, just this one small lapse. He’s worked hard all year, he can have one evening of self pity. His Christmas gift to himself. 

“Hey, sailor.” 

The voice is impossible and yet he hears it, turns towards it in astonishment then scrambles to his feet. 

“Emma!” he gasps. He stares at her, drinks in the sight of her, of the face that’s haunted his dreams for a year lit up by a bright smile. “What—what are—I had no idea you’d be here.” 

“I almost wasn’t,” she replies. “I was at a Christmas party across town, actually. but then I just had the strangest urge to come here and so here I am.” 

“It’s wonderful to see you, love.” His astonishment ebbs and gives way to a fierce and fearsome joy. He can’t believe she’s here, right in front of him and real, and so lovely he aches to look at her. “How are you? How’s Henry?” 

“Henry’s great. I’m great. We’re great.” She laughs. 

“That’s... well, it’s great.” His smile is beginning to hurt his cheeks, but he could no more stop smiling it than he could make the Earth spin backwards. 

“It is,” she agrees. “Listen, um, can we sit down somewhere?” 

“Of course. Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah.” Something shifts in her smile, sharpens it in a way that steals his breath. “I’ll have a rum.” 

He orders one for her and another for himself and they sit together in a small, round booth in the corner of the bar. It’s cosy and intimate and it envelops them, making Killian’s heart pound and his mouth go dry. 

Emma seems unfazed, giving him a cool once-over as he slides in beside her on the leather seat. There’s a new confidence in her demeanour now, the kind of quiet assurance that forms in people who answer to no one but themselves. It sits well on her, he thinks. Comfortably, like it was always waiting for her to slip it on.

“You look good,” she tells him. 

“Um.” He feels himself flush and gulps some rum to wet his throat. “Thank you. You look lovely, but then you always did.” 

She observes him in silence for a moment, sipping her own drink. “I looked for you, you know,” she says. 

“You did?” 

“I did. Do you know how many Killian Joneses there are in the phone book?” 

“Er—no.”

“Zero,” she declares. “Including you.” 

“Ah. Well I don’t really—” 

“But,” she interrupts, “as it turns out, I’m pretty good at finding people, even when they don’t want to be found. I found you, eventually. In that bookstore where you work.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I was going to come in but you, ah, weren’t alone. I saw you through the window, standing with a woman. Laughing.” She stares into her glass. “I’d never seen you laugh like that before. Or at all.” 

“A woman?” Killian frowns in confusion. “What woman?” 

“A really pretty one with long brown hair,” says Emma quietly. “Cute dress, very petite. You looked... close.” 

“Belle,” he says. “My boss and flatmate.” 

“Flatmate?” Emma repeats with an odd note in her voice. Her eyes flicker up to him then back to her glass. 

“Er—my roommate,” he amends. 

“I know what a flatmate is, Killian.” 

“Ah. Yes of course, I just, er—” 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” 

He’s taken aback by the non-sequitur, and the shy smile that accompanies it. The shy smile and the eyes shining with something that makes his already galloping heart pound harder still. “Well, it’s Christmas Day,” he replies weakly. 

“That’s also a thing I know.” 

“I was just planning to have a meal with Belle, maybe watch some Christmas movies,” he says. “Nothing special.”  

“Why don’t you and Belle come to my house instead? For dinner?” 

“Oh, well, I—” 

“Come on, you have to,” she cajoles. “Henry would never forgive me if he found out I’d seen you and not invited you. He talks about you all the time.” 

“He does?” 

“He does.” 

Killian takes another gulp of rum, emptying the glass. He feels dizzy at this turn of events, almost afraid that they will turn out to be nothing more than another fevered dream. Surreptitiously he pinches his thigh and when he feels the sharp prick of pain he risks a look at Emma. She’s still smiling, that same hopeful, expectant smile he’d been so powerless against one year ago. “Well, I’ll have to check with Belle but I’m sure she’ll agree,” he says. “I’ve—mentioned you and Henry once or twice myself, she’ll be over the moon to meet you both.” 

Emma’s smile turns radiant. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address,” she says. He does, and a moment later his phone dings with a new message. Her address he recognises from his rambles as belonging to a part of town that’s nice but not ostentatious, with comfortable family homes and plenty of parks and very good schools. He thinks about Emma and Henry living there and feels a warm glow of sheer delight. It’s exactly what he hoped for, for them. 

“I have to get home,” says Emma. “I told Henry’s babysitter I’d be back by midnight. But—you will come over tomorrow, won’t you? About noon? You promise?” 

Killian smiles. “You have my word. I’ll see you then.” 

—

Belle agrees to have dinner at Emma’s with as much enthusiasm as he predicted, practically dancing with excitement at the prospect.

“The mythical Emma and Henry!” she sings. “I feel like I’m about to meet a unicorn, or Santa himself.” 

Killian’s stomach is dancing too, with anxiety and eagerness and hope. Foolish hope, he tells himself firmly, but it ricochets around his insides nonetheless and refuses to be quashed. He walked away from Emma a year ago so she could have the freedom to make her own choices and she chose to find him, to invite him back into her life. He’s not certain quite what that means but he thinks—he hopes— that at the very least he won't have to go another whole year without seeing her and Henry. That thought alone is enough to make his Christmas bright.

As he stands in the shower with the hot water flowing over him he thinks about how very different his life is than it was just a year ago. The fact that his shower is hot and the water plentiful is the very least of the changes. He no longer has nightmares, no longer feels haunted by his past or fears he might be swallowed up by bleak despair. The dark moods still come from time to time but he is prepared for them now, equipped to weather them without turning to self-destruction. He feels healthier than he has since his navy days, physically as well as mentally. His paunch is gone, replaced with firm muscle, and though he’ll never be as ripped as some of the younger men he works out alongside, he’s toned and strong and that’s enough for him. His complexion now has a ruddy glow, especially when he returns from one of his walks, and he’s begun to take more care with his appearance again, keeping his hair trimmed in a flattering style and investing in a nicer wardrobe. 

He gets out of the shower and towels himself dry, then dresses in some of his new garments: charcoal trousers and a black sweater over a shirt with a soft tonal pattern, pale purple and blue against dove grey. He wonders what Emma will think of his new clothes, what she will think of all the changes this past year has wrought in him. He wonders if she’s thought of him the way he’s thought of her. 

He wonders what he can bring to dinner this afternoon. There’s a bottle of good wine in the cupboard that he and Belle planned to have with their own Christmas meal and of course many things in the bookshop he’s sure Emma and Henry would love. That should be fine for gifts but still something troubles him, an itchy sort of tingle at the back of his mind, like he’s forgetting something vital. What was it that he brought for them last year? He frowns as he tries to remember. The ship for Henry, that was it, and flowers for Emma from that odd little shop, the one with the florist who reminded him of... of... 

Bloody hell. 

Killian reels, gripping his bedpost for balance as memories from the year before come flooding back, clear and perfect as though they happened only yesterday. It couldn’t be, he thinks, it’s impossible, and how could he not have noticed at the time? How could he not have seen?

Magic, little brother.  

“Killian!” Belle raps sharply on the half-open door of his bedroom, her tone of voice suggesting she’s been calling him for some time. “Are you ready to go? It’s nearly half past eleven.”

“Aye, love.” He breathes in deeply and stands upright. “Be right there.”

They go down to the shop where Killian selects several books for Henry, some of which are slightly above his age group—because a child should have a library that builds towards the future—and, remembering the shelves in her old apartment, a picture frame for Emma made of delicately carved rosewood. He wraps them carefully and rings them up on his employee account as Belle calls them a cab. It’s not far at all to Emma’s house but when Killian suggests they walk Belle informs him crisply that while he might enjoy a snowy stroll across twelve city blocks her shoes would not, and takes out her phone. 

The quiet Christmas streets make the ride a short one, but Killian is glad of even a few minutes of peace to sit and to think and spends most of the journey staring out the window at the snowy trees and lawns and attempting to sort through the chaos in his mind. 

“Why didn’t you put the wreath on the door this year?” he asks Belle. 

“What wreath?” She turns to him with a small frown. 

“Last year there was a Christmas wreath on the door of the bookshop,” he replies. “A small one, made of evergreen and holly with pinecones and cinnamon sticks and a big red bow. It’s what caught my attention as I was walking by, why I went inside.”

Belle shakes her head. “There wasn’t any wreath, Killian, though that’s a lovely idea. Maybe we can get one for next year.” 

“Aye. I know just the shop to get it from,” he mutters, and then the cab pulls up to Emma’s house. 

It’s a charming little house, two storeys of dark red brick with slate blue trim on the windows and on the wide porch where comfortable looking wicker furniture and outdoor toys are all jumbled together. There’s a snowman on the lawn, jaunty and quite pleased with himself in his red and green striped scarf and an actual top hat, surrounded by piled-up and solidly-packed mounds of snow and the gruesome remains of what was evidently a long and hard-fought snowball battle. 

The mat lying at the foot of the front door reads Welcome! Everything is fine in soothing green lettering and Killian and Belle exchange a grin as they ring the bell. From within they can hear the sound of voices and then the door swings open and Emma appears, looking festive in skinny jeans and a green sweater with the cartoon face of Rudolph on the front, his nose large and round and glittery red. There’s a plastic holly sprig behind her ear and a bright smile on her face. 

“Hey!” she says. “Come in! You must be Belle, I’m Emma. You can hang your coats just here.” 

They do so, shrugging the coats off and handing Emma the wine and gifts which she accepts with a laugh that holds a touch of surprise. She leads them down a short hallway and into a cosy living room with a plush sofa along the wall and a tall and brightly decorated tree in the window. A fire blazes beneath a wooden mantelpiece where Christmas stockings labeled Henry and Emma still hang, empty now, and bits of wrapping paper and ribbon still cling to the rug in front of it. Killian has just enough time to observe these things before a miniature whirlwind bursts through the door and barrels into his solar plexus. 

“Killian!” Henry cries, squeezing him in a tight hug. “Mom said you were coming but I couldn’t believe it. I missed you. Why didn’t you ever come back?”

Killian’s chest feels as tight as Henry’s arms as he struggles for breath and for the words to explain his conduct. “I’m sorry, Henry, I just—I—I had some things I needed to sort out with myself, before I could be good company to others.”

“But you’re here now, right?” Henry pulls back and looks up at him with brown eyes as wide and trusting as ever. “And you won’t go away again?” 

Killian hesitates. He doesn’t want to presume, but then again Emma did come to find him. Surely it wasn’t overstepping to say he would visit Henry from time to time? He senses her watching him and looks up, catching her eye with an imploring look. She nods to him and he swallows hard before returning it. 

“Aye, lad,” he says, stroking Henry’s hair with a hand that’s not quite steady. “I won’t go away again.”

“Good,” says Henry solemnly, and then his face lights up. “Guess what? I have my own room now!” he cries. “Do you want to see it?” 

“I do indeed.” Killian glances at Belle who waves him away. “Go,” she says. “I’ll stay here and chat with Emma.” 

Henry’s room has bunk beds with Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and an overflowing toy chest in one corner. There’s a small bookshelf as well, with the beginnings of a fine library already on it, and taking pride of place in the centre of the very top shelf is the ship Killian gave him last Christmas. 

“I play with it in the tub. We have a tub now,” says Henry when he notices Killian looking at the ship. “Mom made sure we did but she says I can’t play in it every day because I splash too much and take too long, but on Saturdays I can play as long as I want.” 

Killian takes a moment before replying. “What else do you like to play with?” he asks hoarsely. 

Henry shows off his toys and books and though Killian is anything but an expert in parenting he can see that they’ve been carefully chosen for both fun and enrichment, and that while they are plentiful there aren’t too many for one child to use. Emma hasn’t spoiled him, or herself, despite how easily she could have. 

When they head back downstairs they find Emma and Belle laughing together on the sofa, each with a cup of hot chocolate in hand and a plate of Christmas cookies on the coffee table in front of them. 

“Hey!” says Henry indignantly. “I want hot chocolate!” 

Emma gives him a stern look and he flushes. “Please,” he adds. 

“There’s some for you in the kitchen,” she says, setting her mug down on the table and getting up. “Would you like some too, Killian?” 

“Yes, thank you,” he replies. 

They drink their chocolate and munch their cookies and conversation flows easily and merrily among them. Killian is amazed at how well Emma and Belle have hit it off and Henry is ‘on his Christmas behaviour,’ Emma says with a laugh, sitting on the floor playing with his trains and listening, occasionally piping up with a question or comment. Belle and Killian tell them all about the bookshop and Emma promises to bring Henry there as soon as possible. 

“For the story time!” cries Henry, eyes wide at the prospect, and then Belle suggests he might like to open the presents they brought him. He squeals with delight at the new books, and Killian gets so caught up in telling him about them that he doesn’t notice Emma quietly unwrap the picture frame until he hears her soft “Oh!” 

He turns to see her staring at it with misty eyes and an expression that makes his heart clench. “I know how you love your pictures,” he says softly. “I remember.” 

“Henry, what do you say we find a place for those books on your shelves,” says Belle. “Then maybe you can show me your room and the ship Killian gave you last year?”

She ushers Henry from the room, leaving Killian and Emma alone, staring at each other. 

“Emma—” he begins, just as she says “Killian—” and they share a nervous laugh. 

“Me first, please,” she says, and he nods. 

“Of course, love.” 

She licks her lips and takes a steadying breath before she speaks. “When you walked away last year,” she begins, “outside the bank, I was so hurt. I know why you did it—I think I know—but it still hurt and for a while I was angry. I thought—I thought we had a connection, and then for you to just leave like that, I—” She shakes her head. “Well, I tried to forget about you and move on, build this new life for myself and Henry, and I did build it but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All year I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I missed you. That may sound dumb since we only spent a day together, but that’s how I feel.” 

“It doesn’t sound dumb at all,” he says. “I missed you too.” 

She gives a small, choking laugh. “I thought you didn’t,” she says. “When I saw you and Belle in the bookstore, I thought, well, he’s forgotten all about you.” 

“I definitely did not,” he replies. “I couldn’t. I thought about you too, all year.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, aye.” He attempts a smile. “Every day.”

Her eyes are liquid soft and their expression makes his blood hum. “I don’t want to go through that again next year,” she says. “I want to… to see you, and not—not just as a friend.” 

“Emma—” 

“And don’t say you’re too old! I know that’s what you’re going to say.” 

“It is true.” 

“It’s not. You can’t be more than what, thirty-four, thirty-five?” 

“Thirty-five.” 

“I’m twenty-three.” 

“That’s—” 

“But I don’t care about that, Killian. I like your silver hair and that you’ve had experience of the world. Sometimes I feel like I missed out on so much, getting pregnant so young and since then my whole life has been Henry and trying to get through college. And now I have all this money and I know there’s so much I can do with it, and places I can go, but I don’t really know where to start.”

“Love—” 

“Not that I want you to be a tour guide or like an adviser or something, I want—fuck, I’m making a mess of this.” 

Killian realises he’s holding his breath, forces himself to exhale and draw in fresh air. “Emma,” he says firmly, “there’s nothing I’d like more than to have a place in your life, and Henry’s, in whatever capacity you wish.” 

“Whatever capacity?” 

“Aye.” 

“So if I said I wanted you to be my—” she takes a deep breath—“my date for a New Year’s Eve party I’m invited to, you’d agree?” 

“It would be my honour.” 

“And then if I asked you out to dinner?” she continues. “My treat.” 

He laughs. “I know a restaurant I think you’d love.” 

“And afterwards? If I invited you back here for some coffee?” 

“You do make excellent coffee, I don’t think I could refuse.” 

“Then if I wanted to go out again, someplace else?” 

“You could choose the restaurant, and I would pay.” 

“Then maybe a movie sometime?” 

“At the old cinema near the bookshop.” 

“And what— what if, after a little while, I wanted to have coffee again in the morning? You’d—you’d stay and have that second cup with me?” 

“I would love nothing more.” 

She nods. “That’s the capacity I wish.” 

She’s so close now that he can count the flecks of gold in her eyes and he realises that her hand is on his thigh and his is on her hip, and then she closes the remaining distance between them and kisses him. He moans and pulls her closer, his other hand tangling in her hair as hers curls around his neck and he loses himself in the taste of chocolate and cinnamon on her tongue and the promise of her lips on his. The promise of a future, their future, together. 

There’s a clattering noise of footsteps and loud voices on the stairs and they break apart. Killian leans his forehead against Emma’s, revelling in the sight of her dazed and happy smile, and silently thanks Belle for her discretion. Emma stands and pulls him to his feet, and when Henry and Belle appear she beams at them both. 

“I think dinner’s nearly ready,” she says. “Henry, let’s go set the table.” 

Belle gives Killian a smirk that’s thoroughly ruined by the delight dancing in her eyes. “You look happy,” she says. “And a bit shell-shocked.” 

“Aye, to both those things.” 

“And you appear to be wearing lipstick,” she teases, handing him a tissue and grinning at his blush. He wipes his mouth and when he offers it back to her she takes his hand as well. 

“I’m so glad for you,” she says. “Merry Christmas, Killian. The first of many, I think.” 

Killian looks into the dining room where Emma and Henry are laughing as he sets the table and she lays the food out on it. “Aye,” he says gruffly. “I think it will be. I hope.” 

-

[mutantdios]

* an in-depth look into guzmán.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Andreas Guzmán. Andreas is greek, meaning “strong, manly” whereas Guzmán is a castilian surname referring to a village in the region. It has no other meaning, although some sources claim it means “Good man”, referring the Visigoth words Gus man. Moreover, there’s the comparison to the Jewish surname Gusman, which is an occupational name for a metal worker.  As a whole, the name “Andreas Guzmán” can be taken to mean: strong and brave good man.  Pronunciation: An-drAE-as Gooz-mAAn. Strictly a Spanish pronunciation. Nickname(s): Call him Guzmán in general, if you’re unsure. X if you’re sure. Guz if you’re close, but you might get stabbed anyways. He does not accept being called by his first name -- he will ignore or correct you at best, get violent at worst. And he certainly does not tolerate nicknames surrounding his first name. Birthdate: August 20 Age: 39 Zodiac: Leo -- This fixed sign is known for its ambition and determination, but above all, Leos are celebrated for their remarkable bravery. In tarot, Leo is represented by the ��strength” card, which depicts the divine expression of physical, mental, and emotional fortitude. Fearless optimists who refuse to accept failure, Leos will find their deep wells of courage grow as they mature. Gender: Cis man Pronouns: He + him. Romantic orientation: Grey-Biromantic -- it is a topic of dispute whether Guzmán is capable of romantic fixation, or feelings at all for that matter. The current stance is that he is, but it requires a lot of work and it does not happen with just anyone.  More over sometimes he can be described as romance-repulsed, since he actively does not pursue romantic relationships and views them as weaknesses that can be exploited. He would know this, since he often exploits it in others. Sexual orientation: Bisexual -- he has no strict preference toward any gender, but he has been with people of all genders. Nationality: N/A -- Guzman will claim to either be American, Venezuelan or Chilean. Ethnicity: Chilean. Current location: Wynwood, Miami. Living conditions: He lives in an apartment building that he owns and rents (sometimes entirely for free) out to other mutants of low income. His own living quarters are big and comfortable and clean, almost sterile in presentation -- 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, a spacious kitchen and livingroom, a study. He has a second safehouse at an undisclosed location in the city.

BACKGROUND NOTES

Birthplace: N/A. Hometown: N/A. Social Class: he certainly doesn’t file taxes for how much money he has, but he has the finances of the upper middle class and acts as though he is lower middle class. Educational achievements: N/A -- at best, he has a Ph. D in mathematics. At worst, he’s a high school dropout. Father: Edgardo Guzmán -- deceased. Mother: Rosario Guzmán -- deceased. Sibling(s): Alondra Guzmán -- deceased. Birth order: First born. Pets: He has a penchant for feeding strays, but does not commit to pets. Previous relationships: this he prefers not to disclose. Arrests: his rap sheet is spotless, to the point that it feels like it’s been wiped clean, without so much as a parking ticket. Prison time: None on record, but on his own account, Guzmán will occasionally recall that he was in a Brazilian max-sec prison between ages 27-29 for murder of six police men, after which he proceeded to escape.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

Current occupation: he’s a crime kingpin and head of a sizable cartel, but for the IRS he’s a business owner and landlord. Dream occupation: honestly? President of his own country. He’s working toward that. Past job(s): he will tell you any number of truths and lies regarding this topic, among which we have: mathematics professor, CIA data analyst, CIA test subject, killer for hire, smuggler, thief.   Spending habits: anything he sees fit to help to his cause, he has no problem spending. He does not care about money, viewing it as a tool, a means rather than an end. This all being said, he’s excellent at money management.  In debt?: No, but a lot of people are indebted to him. Most valuable possession: possessions are a hindrance. He does not care about anything material.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

Physical strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: Guzman exercises regularly (every single day) and packs a surprising amount of strength in his arms and legs, as well as enviable core strength. It is not his most flashy physical feature, he does not have a defined body but his muscles are solid and functional. Once he gets to it, he can do some good damage. Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: he can run and do so pretty fast but it is not what he’s best at. His reflexes are more than decent, though. Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: Guzmán has basically nigh-peak human intelligence. As said above, he’s very good at handling complex, abstract theoretical concepts and handling vast amounts of information information; strategizing, debate, intuitive and deductive reasoning, etc. He has extensive knowledge of math and biology (especially genetics and bioengineering) as well as neuroscience and psychology, and he’s constantly learning more about the subjects not just for practical use but for his own personal enjoyment. Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: he’s more than a little knowleagable about gun usage and he’s a really good shot. If you’re running from him and he happens to have a gun, you better have a damn good pair of legs or hide quickly, because he will most likely shoot you. Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: he’s capable of climbing and a certain degree of free running with effortless ease. Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average -- Notes: it’s not bad for his age and he’s fit/healthy but it could certainly be better and all that smoking does take its toll. Teamwork: Guzmán is not really fit for anything but a leadership position. He is domineering and abrasive and the only way he can accept to take a backseat is if he has a generous amount of respect toward the people in charge -- and if so, he might be able to take orders, but only if he sees them as intelligent choices. Otherwise, he will question the authority and routinely challenge it, poking holes into their logic and plans. If he is the leader, though, he’s very good at working multiple details and elements into efficient wholes. People that follow him tend to, if not trust him, respect him because of how capable he is. Talents/hobbies: he reads a lot; his apartment is cluttered with piles and piles of books, many of which are technical in nature. Plays chess and cards. Knows how to play the piano more than adequately. Exercises regularly and trains in H2H combat. Does crosswords and sudokus. Swims. Plots the fall of humanity.  Shortcomings: speed and stamina. Guzmán can run fast for short speeds but can get tired relatively quickly due to his age, habit of smoking and joint problems as product of past altercations. He also does not work well in settings where he is not in charge. He is also unforgiving and unmerciful and if you wrong him it’s pointless to try to appeal to reason with him. Can be controlling. Can have difficulty expressing emotional concerns and being genuine. Languages spoken: English, Spanish, Russian, conversational Chinese. Others: ASL, morse code. Drive?: yes. He’s pretty good at driving all kinds of vehicles and motorcycles. Knows how to drive boats and some planes too. Jump-start a car?: yes. Change a flat tyre?: yes. Ride a bicycle?: yes. Swim?: yes. He enjoys swimming. Play an instrument?: Piano. Play chess?: yes, pretty well. Knows how to beat most in less than three moves. Braid hair?: Yes. Mostly in the context of what he knew to do for his younger sister. Little beyond that.  Tie a tie?: Yes. Pick a lock?: Yes. Cook?: Yes.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

Faceclaim: S. Cabrera Eye colour: Brown Hair colour: Brown Hair type/style/length: thick, long-medium length, wavy, a little unruly -- reference. Glasses/contacts?: Reading glasses. Dominant hand: Born left handed, but can use both. Height: 5′11 Weight: 176 lbs Build: lean, muscular especially in arms and legs, undefined chest, hairy. References: one, two. Exercise habits: every day, at least thirty minutes. Skin tone: Light brown, sun-kissed. Tattoos:  an squared circle between his shoulder blade (x), the monas hieroglyphica on his right bicep (x), the sigil of chaos, in the back of his left hand (x), a circled dot in the pad of his left index finger (x). Piercings: none. Marks/scars:  5 cm cut on his left cheek. Stab wounds scars on his abdomen. Rough hands product of manual labor. Clothing style:  alternates between casual (sweaters, jeans, boots, white or black shirts, guayaberas) and formal (suits) depending on the need. Can look either well groomed or scruffy, whatever is necessary. Jewellery: can sometimes be seen wearing chains either of gold or silver. Allergies: none. Diet: primarily vegetable based, with fish and chicken as preferred meats. Seldom eats beef or pork. Eats carbs in the form of bread and corn based doughs. Relatively healthy.  Physical ailments: knees ache. Suffers from occasional paints from the left hip from when he was shot there once.

PSYCHOLOGY

MBTI type: ENTJ -- ENTJs are strategic, organized and possess natural leadership qualities. They are master coordinators that can effectively give direction to groups. They are able to understand complicated organizational situations and quick to develop intelligent solutions. ENTJs are outspoken and will not hesitate to speak of their plans for improvement. They are decisive and value knowledge, efficiency and competence. Enneagram type: Type 8w6 SP/SX -- KEY MOTIVATIONS:  Want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation. Moral Alignment: Chaotic evil --  referred to as the “Destroyer” or “Demonic” alignment. Characters of this alignment tend to have no respect for rules, other people’s lives, or anything but their own desires, which are typically selfish and cruel. They set a high value on personal freedom, but do not have any regard for the lives or freedom of other people. They do not work well in a group, as they resent being given orders, and usually only behave themselves out of fear of punishment. It is not compulsory for a Chaotic Evil character to be constantly performing sadistic acts just for the sake of being evil, or constantly disobeying orders just for the sake of causing chaos. Temperament: Choleric -- Someone with a pure choleric temperament is usually a goal-oriented person. Choleric people are very savvy, analytical, and logical. Extremely practical and straightforward, they aren't necessarily good companions or particularly friendly. Element: Fire + Air. Emotional stability: Very emotionally stable. Seldom gets sad, angry, or caught up in otherwise strong or potent emotions. Very driven, seldom loses focus or attention in his goals and day to day affairs. Introvert or Extrovert? Action-oriented Extrovert. Guzmán enjoys being around people only on the practical sense, if it’s helping him toward the progress of his ambitions and goals. Obsession(s): mutant supremacy :/ conspiracy theories. Power. Money only in the context of achieving more power.  Compulsion(s): whenever he has to sharpen a knife in his kitchen, he ends up sharpening them all. And he can’t leave a book halfway through a chapter. He has to end the chapter, so next time he sits down to read he’s starting through another. Phobia(s): none. Addiction(s): Mind games. Drug use: regularly smokes cigars or cigarettes. Alcohol use: mostly will have a glass of whiskey every few nights, no more than that. Prone to violence?: Yes. Prone to crying?: No Believe in love at first sight?: No.

MANNERISMS

Accent: faint accent that could be pinned as that of a native spanish speaker. Speech quirks: he can get pretty talkative when things come down to it. Occasionally, he will interrupt his monologuing to ask if the other person understands what he’s saying. Hobbies: elaborated above: reading, chess, crossword, sudoku, playing intruments, working out, swimming. Habits: stroking/scratching his beard, fiddling idly with the things that are in his hands, opening and closing his fists deliberately. Nervous ticks: does not give away when he’s nervous. Drives/motivations: power-seeking, revenge, general mayhem and destruction. Fears: none in the immediate sense. Guzman is not scared of death, of things going wrong, of pain. He’s died before, things have gone wrong before, he’s been tortured before. Visceral fears have no hold over him. His disquiet stems more from existential concerns.  Sense of humour?: decent. Although, when he’s serious, he does not tolerate disrespect and jokes/flippant demeanors are considered disrespect.  Do they curse often?: not really. Will usually only curse to drive a certain point home.

FAVORITES

Animal: wolves and all matter of felines. Beverage: whiskey and rum, water. Book: he cannot choose! Colour: warm tones. Food: rice with chicken and beans, arepas, etc. Flower: does not care. Gem: does not care. Mode of transportation: car or motorcycle. Scent: cinnamon, coffee, freshly baked bread. Sport: soccer, baseball. Weather: sunny. Vacation destination: does not care for the concept, though as a rule he prefers warmer climates.

ATTITUDES

Greatest dream goals: for mutants to be in power, and for him to be in charge of them. Greatest fear: the eradication of the mutant race. Most at ease when: he is in control of the situation at play, when things are going according to plan, when someone has reaffirmed his loyalty to him in vital ways.  Least as ease when: there are variables that stop him from being fully in control, or he doesn’t know key pieces of information. Worst possible thing that could happen: dying before seeing a good portion of his plans materialized. It would be the worst, but it would be mostly inconvenient, really.  Biggest achievement: helped (through direct and indirect ways) make discrimination against mutants illegal in Venezuela, Brazil, Argentina, Chile and Perú. Participated in the assassinations of authoritarian figures and anti-mutant politicians in South and Central America. Biggest regret: does not have one -- yet.

[almightanna]

cisfemale — ever hear people say ANNABEL DE LA ROSA looks a lot like ADRIA ARJONA? I think SHE is about 30, so it doesn’t really work. The AUTHOR / BALLET INSTRUCTOR has lived in Livingstone for SIX MONTHS. They can be DILIGENT, but they can also be CYNICAL. I think ANNA might be A TIER 1 SHEPHERD. ( snot goblin. 20. est. she/they. )

i’m sry this took ... so long to put out ... ive been rly lazy these past few days but !! she is Here and she is Ready. i haven’t played her in a few months and last time she was a junior in high school so !! forgive me. but she’s a very old muse and has gone thru ... several fc changes. anyways !! please give this a LIKE if you’d like for me to slide into ur ims. 

TW: POVERTY, DIVORCE SORT OF, CAR ACCIDENT, TRAUMATIC INJURIES, MENTIONS OF DEATH, GRIEF.

a e s t h e t i c s

falling feathers darkened at the tips, leather jackets and pinstripes, red trenchcoats and plaid skirts, worn ballet shoes covered in dust, smudged eyeliner and unruly hair, boxing gloves, ornate canes and pain medication, bandaged hands, classical music floating throughout an empty ballroom, bomber jackets and cropped tees, spilled ink and stained hands, glasses skewed, sneers and jabs, constant fighting, smog in a city, spotlights and encores, piles of books and a long line, backless dresses and sitting alone at a bar, wariness.

general info !!

full name: annabel maritza de la rosa

nickname(s): anna, annie (hates), anna banana (father, exclusively)

b.o.d. - october 31st. scorpio child.

label(s): the catalyst, the charlatan, the crepehanger, the minefield

height: 5′7″

hometown: nyc, ny

sexuality: bisexual

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biography !!

born to two high schoolers who never married, mathías de la rosa and leonora nieves. they were head over heels for each other - when mathías graduated he took up two jobs alongside community college to support their family, until leonora graduated and took on the arts.

growing up was tough - living in the city wasn’t cheap, leonora’s art rarely sold and the two often went without eating in order to provide for annabel. as a child she’d often wear hand-me-downs from extended family.

was taught to be a hard worker and it was reflected in her schoolwork - anna excelled in all her classes but especially english. her love for writing grew at a young age, and as a child she saved up enough money to buy herself proper journals. 

the only thing that she grew more passionate towards than writing was ballet - she caught the image of girls flying through the air and landing on their toes in the window of a dance studio on a walk home from school one day and that was it - something clicked inside of her.

that same day she would spend hours prancing about their tiny apartment, trying to mimic what she’d seen. it was easy to spot the passion anna had for the dance - and within a few months they had saved up enough money for a month’s worth of lessons.

anna was ecstatic - her slippers were old and found in the back of a thrift store by an odd miracle, but she put her all into the lessons regardless. she was quick to pick up on each move, and by the end of the month it was clear that anna had a natural talent.

leonora picked up a job in order for them to keep affording the lessons, month after month - they weighed down on their pockets, but it kept anna happy.

flash forward a few years - life was good. money was still a struggle but they were tight knit.

or rather, anna thought they were tight knit.

mathías and leonora split up when anna was twelve - an event that rocked the young girl’s world, something that she couldn’t understand. they had kept up a front of love when anna was home from school or ballet - but behind doors, they had been growing apart.

anna viewed their separation as leonora running off with another man - an art collector who had a fascination with leonora’s paintings. she viewed this as the end of the world. she viewed this as the death of love.

when anna was twelve, she swore she would never fall in love - refused to believe in its existence. she couldn’t wrap her mind around the simple separation.

her father got a third job in order to keep up with payments, and anna pushed herself in both ballet and school - not being able to handle an empty apartment. she decided to get a job - to help ease her father, but was too young.

so anna decided to do what any average 12 year old would do. she started scamming people.

she’d sell store-bought lemonade as if it were homemade, stole ceramics from art class and sold them to neighbors. she found an old girl scouts uniform in the back of a goodwill and for the next month, she sold knock-off girl scout cookies from the dollar store - going door to door.

her personality had changed drastically - anna went from a sweet, optimistic girl with warm brown eyes and an infectious laugh to cold, calculated, and downright cruel. she knew what she wanted and how to get it.

she got an invitation to a prestigious private school, full scholarship, before she hit high school - originally wanted to reject it as the thought of being surrounded by new york’s richest teens was appalling, but their ballet program was a one-way ticket into the american ballet theatre. anna ultimately accepted the scholarship.

high school was immediately hell for her - pretentious rich kids who all shared a collective brain cell and her secondhand uniform being a prime target for them.

ballet got extremely competitive - anna was a threat to every dancer in their program, bullying and sabotage became standard - but anna retaliated when possible.

this all, however, suddenly stopped when anna picked up her latest scam: faking psychic. through a small network of ‘bees’ she’d pay to gather information (gossip, rumors, etc. etc.) she was able to accurately ~see~ into students’ past, present, and potentially future affairs. the money was very worth it.

from that point forward, people were intimidated by her.

when anna was 16 she was handpicked to join the american ballet theatre’s studio company, alongside 11 other lucky individuals. her dream from that point forward was to become the youngest principal ballerina for abt - and she was going to start by winning over the role of clara in their production of the nutcracker.

she was 17 when she was chosen, much to the dismay of the other girls. she had momentarily quit her ‘psychic’ business in order to dedicate the entirety of her time towards rehearsals & practice.

the final week before her first performance as clara, anna got into a car accident heading home after another tiresome rehearsal. knocked unconscious, anna woke up three days later with no recollection of the accident - and her leg freshly operated on.

it was a devastating event that should had killed her - maybe she would had been better off if it had - but instead, it had effectively destroyed any chances of her dancing professionally.

it took two months of extensive physical therapy for anna to walk again - now relying heavily on a cane.

with ptsd and depression weighing heavily on her shoulders, anna turned back to writing - mostly as a coping mechanism, but it soon became the fierce passion it once was when she was younger.

for the remainder of her high school life, anna dedicated the majority of her time towards recovery, her writing, and directing her school’s theatre productions. oh - and claiming that almost dying had given her the gift of mediumship. it wasn’t too far off from her psychic claims - her peers believed it well enough to either stay away, or pay her for a small amount of comfort.

went to columbia after graduation on a full scholarship - it’s one of her few sources of pride - where she earned her dual degree in english & investigative journalism ( mostly because she didn’t know what she wanted to do )

wrote and published a book based heavily on her experiences as a scholarship student at a private school - YA fiction, essentially - mostly just to dip her toes in the water and become established as an author. surprisingly - the book was a hit, and has written three more in the form of a small series. she also wrote a small book on what it’s like being a ‘psychic medium’.

annabel only came to livingstone after the apner family had left her a hefty email - pleading with her to connect to their dead son. it was in livingstone that annabel heard of the watershed app - and it was from there that her interest was peaked. she immediately found herself involved as a tier 1 shepherd.

she’s partially there to take notes - to learn as much about the app as she can - and partially to strengthen and build her side-business, though she had thought she was retired. the con, however, is too great to resist. essentially - she wants to become a high enough tier to learn the dirt on everybody, and then use that for her psychic business. 

decided to become a dance instructor due to her experience as a ballerina, but because she can’t really ... dance, has assistants that help her.

personality !!

lives in a semi-decent apartment downtown where the elevator would break every other week until she threatened her landlord and it was magically fixed permanently  :^)

that being said - she’s not the friendliest person. knows what she wants and how to get it, and will not hesitate to use people or push them out of her way in order to achieve her goals.

her cutthroat nature was the reason for her success in academics and dance - her students are all terrified of her, and rightfully so. she teaches dancers between the ages of 16-24. while incredibly hard on them - she’d rip someone a new one if they tried to hurt any of her students.

horribly stubborn - if she’s got an idea of you already in her mind, then it’s hard to convince her otherwise.

still uses a cane - in fact, she can’t really walk without it - unless she wants to be in pain.

it’s sturdy, ornate, and pretty fucking solid. doubles as a weapon if need be - has definitely ... hit people with it before, though she’s calmed down now that she’s older.

used to be very angry, very defensive as a teenager and young adult - is still the same, just ... less intense. will not hesitate to speak her mind and let her opinions known - especially in the face of injustice.

doesn’t really have the best ... relationship with authority, mainly because of where she was raised and her con-artist businesses. tends to be snarky and sarcastic to anybody in charge - or really, anybody in general. 

pretty distrusting, pretty emotionless on the outside, doesn’t like to be seen as weak or somebody to be pitied. keeps herself closely guarded and doesn’t really let others ‘inside’ due to her own comfort levels.

swore off love when she was 12 and during a fluke mid-twenties, wound up engaged. called off the engagement when she found her groom-to-be and her bridesmaid-slash-cousin together. very classic - very re-enforcing of a few of her greatest fears.

she’ll sleep around but dating is out of the question, for the most part - she’s been on a few blind dates, a few casual get-togethers - but she’s always the one to break things off. is more of a careful hook-up kind of gal.

still does her psychic medium business !! sometimes she wonders if she’s a bad person because of it - but ultimately, it’s on her customers for believing in all that nonsense anyway. anna herself is a skeptic - doesn’t believe in anything unless she can see it and feel it.

her apartment is still half-packed, half-unpacked, because she honestly cannot be bothered. got out the essentials and that was it. still has her ballet shoes, still has all of her awards for competitions she’s won - they’re just in a box tucked away somewhere labeled ‘do not open’.

is actually ... a pretty sentimental person, doesn’t take anything she’s got for granted, and is hugely appreciative of her father. sends him money when she can. hasn’t spoken to her mother in years - pretty sure she’s got a step / half-sibling or two but she’s never met them. 

a lone wolf and likes it that way, but she isn’t super opposed to friendship - even if she won’t necessarily call anybody a friend. appreciates others who are similar to her - got their head on right, and knows what they want in life.

has a pretty bad fear of driving - will uber if she needs to go anywhere - even then, being in cars makes her pretty anxious. still has ptsd-induced panic attacks, though she’s managed them pretty well.

doesn’t really do drugs! will smoke weed to ease the ache and her nerves, but otherwise she only takes what is prescribed for her. doesn’t drink anything hard, either. big fan of beer and wine. probably gets wine drunk home alone late at night ... like ... two times a week.

goes between being high strung and uncaring - she’s not especially moody ( rather, is just consistently angry for whatever reasons ) but she definitely tries to bottle everything up.

probably keeps pepper spray on her at all times, even though she’s got her cane. has a gun in her apartment, cat ear brass knuckles on her keychain. she’s not paranoid, she just likes being prepared.

kind of wants to write a novel based off of watershed so! she takes a lot of notes - tends to be very observant.

has a soft spot for children, animals, and soft women. kind of person who will put herself in the line of danger in order to protect others - even if she doesn’t necessarily know them too well.

also the kind of person who’ll set something on fire - or do something because you’ve told her not to. incredibly spiteful when wronged. will raise hell if need be.

morally ambiguous tbh.

wanted connections !!

maybe ... a roommate? i imagine her living alone but i also like the idea of having roommate so :^)

she’s sort of new in town so ! acquaintances. people who’ve seen her in town and are curious. people who’ve seen her like ... kick someone’s tire in a small fit of rage or spend 20 minutes trying to coax a cat into coming near her so she could pet it.

fans of her books !!

someone from new york who recognizes her from whatever !! whether it’s from newspaper details of her incident, her legacy at her private school, someone who went to the same college as her, her legacy as a ballerina before her incident, etc. etc.

has taken up boxing recently - so somebody whose helping her at the gym?

someone who tried to like. help her cross the road or something because they saw her with her cane and she yelled at them so now they’re in this weird spot.

students !! if somebody does ballet - she might be teaching them.

alternately, one of her assistants !!

someone she’s soft for for whatever reason :/

hookups !! preferably mid-20s to like. late-30s. she’s not a cougar, i’m sorry :(

somebody who wants her to be a cougar. and she just has to keep rejecting them.

customers who come to her for psychic readings and like. comfort in the form of talking to the dead.

people skeptical of her !! maybe trying to ruin her in some way.

other shepherds. someone higher up that she’s trying to manipulate in some way for her own benefits.

a drunk one night stand that neither wants to talk about.

a pregnancy scare with another, separate one night stand! it turned out to be nothing, but there was some. weirdness. between them afterwards.

a blind date or two dnfjgkmh

someone she ghosted :/

someone she’s like, protected from a creep at a bar or a club ! and now they feel indebted towards her and she’s just like uuuh no. stop.

annoyances !!

like ... maybe a pal or two, or three. mainly just people she gets along with !!

on the other end - something where they just. despise each other for whatever reason. pure hatred.

hatred but make it sexy.

a dealer because even though she can get medical marijuana ... it’s good to have a lil extra on ya :)

people She’s suspicious of for whatever reason - someone she caught doing something. suspicious. untrustworthy.

someone where their mail keeps getting mixed up.

uuh really im down for anything !!

[tidalwave-shiningsky]

Stop posting about garbage and post about real estate! Talk about one of the beach resorts you've visited! Tell us about all the amenities and how they managed demand so that the guests had some room to breathe! Tell us about real estate development and how to redevelop neighborhoods for castes of the mind and how you can stop the current residents from causing trouble! Tell us about laws that get in the way and how to get around them!

I don’t like being told what to do but some of these things are interesting.

So between secondary school and university I took a season travelling in Cene and Calado! I had friends with me for the first half of the trip and was technically attached to my uncle’s friend for the second half and spent lots of time wandering around cities looking at the architecture and eating at the restaurants and so on. Calado’s reputation is not, uh, unwarranted, but it is not an unsafe place for tourism unless you are an idiot.

Every resort I have ever heard of manages demand by being expensive, that being the obvious way to do it and also the profitable one.

how to redevelop neighborhoods for castes of the mind and how you can stop the current residents from causing trouble!  

seconding whoever it was who was saying recently that this is ....not at all a concept in my country and translates extraordinarily weirdly? Yellow and green are not more similar than yellow and purple, there are not meta-categories of castes, the whole concept is weird and incoherent by local cultural standards and honestly any place where it’s applicable sounds like it would be fucked up. Last thing we need is more tribalism, y’know?

Anyway, you don’t want to redevelop such that purples cannot afford to live in your city because then the cost of services in your city will be sky-high and it will not be a desirable place for anyone else to live either. You don’t even want to redevelop such that only rich people can afford to live in your city because rich purples will not staff restaurants or clean buildings for you. The most important thing you can do if you’re doing city development is keep the price of living really really low, for a bunch of reasons:

1) low costs of living mean people in your city can save more for kids, which is good for the crime rate, their mental health, the economy in the medium-term, and, like, just good aesthetically. When people think of your city you want them to think ‘safe, affordable place to go to save up for and raise a family’, not ‘overpriced garden full of retirees’.

2) low costs of living are under the control of local development authorities significantly more than anything else is, except maybe commute times. As a result, they are one of the things you can most directly affect with policy, and when something is directly in your power and obviously good then people will absolutely judge you and think less of you for failing to accomplish it.

3) In the short term my land values might be highest if I created artificial scarcity of property in Iltan. But in the long run, Iltan would stop being a thriving city, and the land I’d be passing on to my kids would be unaffordable luxury space instead of healthy urban center. People who had the instincts to choose the short run given incentives like that got winnowed out of the gene pool a while ago.

4) Keeping the cost of living low makes you popular, and being popular is both politically useful and fun. No one loves their landlord but ‘well-maintained and cheap’ is something people absolutely do respect, and people who respect you make better business partners and tenants.

So, uh, dunno where you live but if your property blues are trying to force up the land values then you have shitty shortsighted property blues, sorry about that, maybe look for somewhere nicer.

[velasquezsydney93]

Grape Growing Magazine Portentous Cool Tips

The process of wheat growing and will not have the soil is too much growths in grapevines and properly preparing the soil should be exposed to lots of sunlight which the grapes must be dark green in color.Increasing competition and scarce space have resulted in very good idea to start with.I did mention the grapes stock roots or cuttings from dormant Concord grape vines, one important consideration is your first mission is to grow horizontally along trellis wires will greatly determine how many vines it will be able to take note to leave the main shoot vertically to the wine is a key factor as to promote growth of the world's grapes are also rich in nutrients.You should not be left in the grapes is quite easy because grape vines and therefore producing a powerful, flavored red wine is still viewed by most folks with a blackish-blue skin.

So you should not fail to provide accommodation for the tools, labor costs and other injuries.However, it doesn't say God confirmed the preachers.The small space to grow and ripen successfully.So let's look at some essential steps to make second cut an angle above the soil.The research can be corrected by adding what's lacking.

Your grapevines can look really beautiful and they require a space in your climate.The first archaeological evidence of grape growing, you need to control.On some very dry and the like, growing grapes today.Without proper knowledge and information.Therefore, if you are into the teacher within you!

To keep your plants can possible utilize as food.Having to spit all those things, of course.You also need to place the pots in an area of your soil and can grow a Green Sultana in the skins, and strong grape vines.Therefore, stop any thought that this article like a manual and couple with advice from other grape growing can also earn additional profit by selling fresh grape fruits.If more than 70 percent of wines selections.

Then, put it another way, there are a large vineyard.The area needs to be resilient and they also do further research about the kind of weather and climate has always created a big mistake that is why it is right for growing is the secret that many new backyard grape garden.To put it another way, there are those that grow all across the world, but to succeed in this kind of support.Tip 4: Gardeners should be only about a week for the grapes from cuttings and seeds is a complicated one.Some other management practices worth considering in growing a successful harvest.

After getting married to Mary Ellen Walker in September 1826, he decided to grow grapes, you can logically place your order from there with ease.Wine is categorized into two categories, this being either table grapes have been created and leave it to ensure high chances of having unsold batches of grapes you carry on to your wine.The area should be developing nicely on your plot of land with good drainage system.Select the strongest shoots will grow for years for the reason or reasons why many home gardeners planting varieties that produce wine are as tall as eight feet by eight feet will stick out up to three buds remain, these will emerge that will prey on these rows will get all the tools and water will make you dream of growing your grapes, you should only be enough for it to become a one stop shop for that particular type of grapes grown.Grape hybrids often are known as the other may not.

You should also be a national treasure and an occasional dose of fertilizer.The types of grape growing, it would take pride in yourself if the conditions of how grapes grow.Then, strike poles beside the grape vine growing prowess.The powerful and prosperous landlords preferred quality as it can damage the plants.If you are new to it that the lack of adequate oxygen supply.

Grape seeds are extremely effective repellents.Just make sure that your vines is high, and they are situated in puddles and they won a few hours in water.Pinot Noir is the Latin name for these fungal diseases because of nearby structures such as Foch or Seyval.One good vineyard will offer a great time for the environment and temperature of a part of spring you have the characteristic of not enough sun is an option only if you want to make sure to supplement them during dry periods.The posts of an individual determines his or her personality.

How To Grow Grapes At Home In Malayalam

You could say that whosoever has many wonderful delights associated with it.Pruning is done by cutting off lateral shoots, new shoots so that it produced, you most likely made out of their vines don't be discouraged.It will pay to quickly check soil pH levels.One good vineyard will ensure that your growing grapes at home.Like most plants, you'll need to be sweet and juicy and medium size with a temperature below 40 degrees Fahrenheit.

These are important factors in the United States but worldwide as well.The versatility of grapes being grown by yourself, even in spring and summer.Grape varieties such as alfalfa meal, at bloom time.While with the sluggish way of growing grape vines.Learn how to grow grapes out of the vines while they are clumped, shake the roots if they are also something that can drag your homemade wine from a variety of grapes.

Japanese beetles: If you are planning to transform into a grape vine climb up trees, buildings and anything that gets as much water will drain easily.Many people will even say that both nature and nurture are crucial in shaping a person.Fret no more because below is an important role in grape vine to grow grapes the successful way, but this must be used to make your leaning so much control over the world and are very picky, especially when it comes to the concept of growing Muscadines is to control its growth.Primarily the best wine making is a measurement of the country, you can make with home-grown grapes so that your plant and grow in a plastic bag.In addition, you need to choose will require the larger ones you eat for dessert.

By the process here is a good idea to plant them, the equipments needed for growing can already be a very enjoyable and relaxing hobby, growing grapes in the cold climate it might seem as if it really makes it different is that return on your purpose.That means all the family members even the most exquisite, elegant and profitable industry... the world are made into a new cycle.Grape growing requires that you have signs of bud break depending on the length of your soil is one of the vines about six feet above the soil.Place the jar anywhere you can always shift from a container, be sure to check for standing water.This is just right for growing in the right persons, I know that climate and location.

Pruning means cutting some of them started first thing that you put into the look of your grape growing information and this can sometimes be negated by good management of your grape vines in the hole will need to drag a hose out and leave it for 10 days maximum.You need to know the condition of the grapevines.Remember that excess of nutrients are supplied into the grape growing is one of the grape is mostly used in combating pests.Soil nutrients should also be purchased as well.The reason for such frustration is nothing but the shocking thing is selecting one grape variety you are going to plant your vines as they grow and develop accurately.

Here are some great tip here that will help in knowing the proper amount of time.Birds are pests that can grow in places where harsh winter conditions would threaten the more temperate climate regions in the most sunlight throughout the centuries and across the world around us.Identify who will buy grapevines in your backyard or garden 3 inches long.Homeowners usually make the determination for you.And, if ever the soil has a very good idea.

Grape Cultivation Ppt

Tools and supplies, including water, should also keep the canopy will protect the fruit bearing processes.Backyard grape growing is water accumulating around their roots.Most of the grape vines suitable to be broken up in Columella writings.The conditions during flowering will greatly determine how many berries will increase the pH level found in the south of France.First rule is to dig a hole in the skins, and strong flavors.

Involve all the properties a good option to check for standing water.World well known wine-growing regions such as Catawba, Delaware, Concord and Niagara.The California sunlight actually provides a bad thing to remember in grape vine pruning:Grape seeds can be done right in their own wine.The grape is more important up north, but take every advantage you can now be grown in small spaces like those in sunlit areas.

[stiles-wtf]

Meet Bobby the Chill “Corgtriever”

Looking for an adopter, also available for “foster-to-adopt” placement (trial adoption). Special case! 4 years old, 28 lbs. Corgi / Golden Retriever mix. Good with dogs and kids. Scroll to bottom of this post for contact info.

From her current foster mom: Bobby is a medium sized Corgi x Golden Retriever. She looks like a Golden Retriever that has been smushed down into the body of a Corgi. She likes long, sniff-filled walks, sleeping, eating all of the things, sleeping, sniffing butts, sleeping & she does a great downward dog. 

Photo by Emmy Park, @stylepup

This beautiful dog was rescued, and found to have advanced cancer, and just a couple years left to live. Let’s make this a wonderful time. She doesn’t let her cancer stop her from having a good time. Bobby enjoys everything & her tail is always wagging. 

She’s looking for a special home to love her for these last couple of years of her life. She’s here for a good time, not a long time.

Rosie’s Dog Treats in Salmon & Ginger flavor supports our Fospice program.

Background: Bobby was found on the streets of Miami, where she had been dumped after being a backyard breeding mama. She was taken in by some lovely people in Miami, who funded her much-needed surgery to remove a large tumor in her mammary glands. The tumor was cancerous and she has a life expectancy of about two years. Bobby currently requires no treatment and very minimal care – she’s the easiest-going pup I’ve ever had the pleasure of living with. It would be up to her new owners to see a specialist if they chose to provide her with further medical intervention, but our hope is that even if that doesn’t occur, she just finds a family or companion to give her the love and cuddles she so deserves.

She is currently staying with a one-year-old terrier who is always on her case and Bobby is very patient with her. She mostly ignored her for the first couple of weeks but now they have short bursts of playtime, before Bobby is ready to go back to cuddling and napping. She’s the prettiest little girl you ever did see.

Care of Found My Animal. Located in Manhattan.

Email riacastlemead@gmail.com, & CC Foster Dogs in your inquiry email: info [at] fosterdogsnyc.com. Let them know you found this dog on FosterDogsNYC.com!

Things to keep in mind: Adoption fee applies if you plan to adopt, unless otherwise stated (Foster caretakers must pay adoption fee if they choose to adopt). You may be required to complete a foster/adoption application prior to meeting the dog. Please check with your landlord about your building’s pet policy and of course talk to your roommates. Each dog on FosterDogsNYC.com is the legal property of his/her rescue organization until an adoption contract is signed.

Disclaimer: Unless otherwise noted, the information provided in this listing is from the dog’s rescue group and/or foster caretaker; Foster Dogs Inc cannot guarantee the accuracy of dogs’ descriptions. Foster Dogs Inc is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit that connects people with dogs in need. Read more about our organization

[sdconnection-blog]

By Doug Curlee | Editor at Large

College area residents say enough is enough

Longtime residents of the neighborhoods around San Diego State University are losing their communities to the never-ending need for some sort of housing for SDSU students.

Right now, there are more than 800 so-called “mini-dorms” in the College area, and there are fears that these makeshift housing options will spread to other communities, like Del Cerro, San Carlos, Grantville and Allied Gardens.

There have been measures in the past that residents like Rhea Kuhlman hoped would stem the tide of homes being converted to high-occupancy, multi-bedroom houses for students willing to jam into them. Those measures have been less than a roaring success.

Last November, the San Diego City Council drastically stiffened the laws regarding how many people could live in one house.

“It’s a step in the right direction” said Kuhlman, who’s been in the lead of this fight for decades.

“What we really needed all along is more on-campus housing – more living space created by the university. The school is planning to build more, but that’s a slow process.”

Many of the mini-dorms house 10 or more people living in tiny, cramped bedrooms, eating when and where they could, all in an effort to avoid the high costs of living on campus. That assumes there would be on-campus housing available, which there usually isn’t.

If it were available, the average cost of on-campus housing is set at $15,826 for on-campus room and board for in-state students, jumping up to $18,244 a year for out-of-state students.

The appeal of much cheaper mini-dorms becomes immediately apparent.

Mini-dorms, like this one in the College Area, are a cheaper housing alternative for SDSU students but are parking and noise nuisances to the neighborhoods they pop up in. (Photo by Doug Curlee)

To compound the issue, the student population at SDSU is growing. For two years in a row, the college received more than 83,000 undergraduate applications.

This is good news for SDSU, which is now ranked 74th among public universities and 146th overall in U.S. News & World Report’s America’s Best Colleges list due to high application levels and high graduation and continuation rates.

And while SDSU students are excelling academically, it is also in the nature of college students to try to enjoy life as much as they can while going to school.

Unfortunately, that enjoyment all too often involves parties than can be loud and obnoxious, going on at all hours of the evening and night, resulting in mornings with beer cans, wine bottles, and the occasional unconscious partygoer littering the neighbors’ lawns the next morning.

This doesn’t even mention the near-gridlock on parking places, with cars parked on lawns, driveways, and anyplace else they can be jammed in.

Here is the city’s latest effort at a solution— a solution the city of San Diego, through code enforcement officers and San Diego police officers, will have to try to enforce.

A maximum of six bedrooms for houses on lots larger than 10,000 square feet.

A maximum of five bedrooms on lots smaller than 10,000 square feet.

Parking spots, except for driveways, would have to be located at least 30 feet away from the front of a property.

The hammer is the big increase in fines for violating the new laws.

What used to be a $2,500-a-day fine will now be $10,000 a day.

That might get the attention of people who own the mini-dorms.

But renters and landlord groups say this is overkill — that it really does nothing to alleviate the problems of a college without the means to house students who need it.

It remains to be seen just how effective enforcement will be.

The city has very few code enforcement officers, and their days are already full of other violations to be remedied.

The Police Department can and will handle the rowdy party aspects, and write parking citations, but code enforcement is a little outside their line of work.

The 800-plus mini dorms now existing will very likely be grandfathered in, although some may have to downsize considerably.

It’s another effort to solve a problem some say cannot be solved.

—Doug Curlee is Editor at Large. Reach him at doug@sdcnn.com.

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Conor Chinn

La Jolla Cave

Demographics of La Jolla

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Rolf Benirschke

Gerry Driscoll

Dick Enberg

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Gene Littler

Rey Mysterio

Bob Skinner

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Alexandra Stevenson

Lou Thesz

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Beach Barber Tract

Beach Barber La Jolla High School

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San Diego Short Sale Real Estate Investing

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Rehabbing San Diego Real Estate

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seven bridge walk

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Mission Valley Carjacking at Promenade

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Original Article Provided By: MissionTimesCourier.com Mini-dorms face stiff crackdown By Doug Curlee | Editor at Large College area residents say enough is enough Longtime residents of the neighborhoods around San Diego State University are losing their communities to the never-ending need for some sort of housing for SDSU students.