#perhaps it's because it feels geared towards kids at many moments

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield for Netflix

[itneverendshere]

school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron blurb (+18)

warnings: future smut. paring: smart!reader x himbo!rafe; ps: this is just for fun cause someone asked me to post it (it was just a draft😬)

you’ve never been one for academic sports spirit.

what’s the point? okay, your school has incredible athletes, that’s good, but why the fuck would you kiss and praise the ground they walk on? you’re a fantastic student and no one gives a shit. why do they get all the glory while brainiacs get zilch?

the double standards piss you off. somehow academics always take the backseat to sports. maybe that explained your dislike towards jocks like rafe cameron.

up until sophomore year, you’d only heard about him, saw him occasionally around school. it was understandable why people talked about him so often. he looked like he’d just been ripped off a page of an abercrombie and fitch catalog, and apparently – you’d never attended a game to check – he was the best player on the team, playing forward. but, unlike many, you didn’t form an opinion about him until you met him.

the verdict? total pain in your fucking ass.

ever since you two were paired in a class project together, an annual class at that, he suddenly took an interest in you, like you were some sort of exotic animal he’d never encountered in his life, only because you wouldn’t flirt with him.

outrageous, never done before.

for the first four months, it was just him laying on the cheesy pickup lines and you rolling your eyes so hard you thought they'd pop out of your head. eventually, rafe dialed it down and you were able to be civil, perhaps friends. if you could call it that.

wich is why, as his friend, you’re starting to lose your fucking patience. the season was not going well for his team. at all. there’s little to no chance they’re going to be able to win the championship.

not that you care, but apparently the whole school does. everyone seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.

“i swear to god if they lose to standford next week–“

“pope, will you kindly shut the fuck up? it’s just soccer.”

“just soccer?”

you let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over at pope who looks at you like you’ve just shot someone, “can we study? peacefully?”

"it’s not just soccer! it's about school spirit, camaraderie, y’know?"

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "camaraderie? please. more like a bunch of testosterone-fueled egos chasing after a ball," you retort, disdain evident in your tone.

“you don't know what you're talking about. and i'm being dead serious, cameron’s been on edge lately. never seen him like this."

you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "yeah, well, losing does that to people. don't why you're complaining soooo much" you sigh, "i’m the one who has to put up with all the brooding and pouting.”

pope’s quiet. too quiet. you can picture the gears turning in his brain as he blankly stares at you. nothing good ever comes out of that.

“what?” you press, wondering if you have to break the school spirit out of him.

“you should fuck him. after or before, don't care. but you should."

you recoil, nearly tumbling out of your chair at pope's suggestion.

your eyes widen in disbelief, your mind struggling to process what he just said. for a moment, the room spins around you, and you feel like you’ve been thrust into some surreal alternate universe.

“what?! pope?" you finally manage to sputter, acting like you're about to go into cardiac arrest, "the fuck's wrong with you?"

“don’t look at me like that,” he merely shrugs, “that man is depressed. he needs to get laid if he’s going to win something.“

you hardly think a guy like rafe is not getting laid every other day, but that’s irrelevant. your jaw drops, stunned by his audacity. "are you kidding me? you don’t even like him!”

“but i like winning!” he whines, all but pushing his books aside to place in his elbows on the table, “and he’s so obsessed with you it hurts watching. he’s like one of those little crusty white dogs always running after you.”

you shake your head in disbelief, "he does it to be funny, okay? he’s not actually interested.. t's just a joke”

your best friend only laughs, a raucous, almost maniacal sound that echoes through the room. he clutches his stomach, "just joking?" pope gasps out, his laughter still bubbling to the surface. "oh man. you're hilarious, honestly, wow."

you stare at him, lips set in a straight line, feeling like you missed the entire joke. "what's so funny?"

pope wipes away a fake tear, trying to compose himself. "he almost ripped a new one to jj after he pulled that stunt last semester.”

your eyebrows knit together in skepticism. “and? i still don’t follow.”

rafe and jj couldn’t stand each other. both are incredible athletes and everyone always gushes about how great they are together on the field. outside, however? not so much. they don't mix. ever.

“and?! why do you think jj randomly talked about you in the locker room?”

“because he’s a horny creep and got a kink for fist fights with undressed men?”

you love jj. really, you do. but sometimes he’d win a lot more if he just kept his mouth shut or thought before speaking. you've lost count of how many times that boy has been suspended.

pope leans in, his tone low and conspiratorial, “cameron practically threatened to rearrange jj's face if he ever mentioned you again.”

you narrow your eyes, “nop. you’re making that up.”

pope shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. "nah, i'm dead serious.”

your mind races, trying to piece it all together. while your brain always clicks instantly in class, feelings...emotions are a little more complicated to grasp sometimes.

"wait, so you're saying he actually cares about me?"

he nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "yep.”

“seriously?”

pope chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "head over heels. you’re our school’s only hope.”

your brain's on overdrive trying to process pope's bombshell revelation. rafe cameron, the big-shot jock, actually giving a fuck about you? it's like some twisted plot line from a teen drama. you didn’t see this one coming. but then again, you hardly pay attention to anything outside academics.

“so what? ’m supposed to fuck the mediocrity out of him?”

he grins, clapping you on the shoulder, “there’s that school spirit!”

you slap his hand away, “oh fuck off. ‘m being serious.”

he’s still grinning like he just cracked the code to life. "come on, hear me out. it's like a strategic move, y’ know? boost his morale, boost the team's performance. win-win."

you roll your eyes, not buying into his scheme. "yeah, because my sex habilities are definitely the key to winning soccer games."

he shrugs, undeterred. "it's not like you'd be doing it for him. it's all about the greater good."

you scoff, rearranging your notes for the millionth time, "this isn't some feel-good sports movie."

it’s not like you never thought about rafe. sure, he's a yapping idiot around you most of the time, but every time you need help or an extra hand, he’s always the first one to offer. that has to count for something, right?

“the ball’s in your court.”

yeah it is.

truth to be told, you’ve been sick and tired of rafe acting like a loser over soccer. what was the point in whining about it if he wasn’t going to try and do better? god, you'd never seen him like this before and it's been irking you to beyond. even more now that pope mentioned it again.

at this point, you just want to march up to him, shake him and make it come to his senses. you can’t even remember that last time he tried to hit on you. that’s how bad it is! the memory is buried under the weight of his brooding.

so maybe….maybe pope's onto something, y'know? maybe there's more to it than just you and rafe. and yeah, okay, you're not exactly thrilled about the idea of hopping into bed with him, but only because you’d hate the attention that comes along with his name.

but...a part of you is weirdly intrigued. not because you're dying to be his next conquest, but because you're just done with watching him drown in his own misery. maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs. a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of his funk.

you wouldn’t be doing out of selfish reasons! school spirit and all. you’d be doing everyone a favor. and you wouldn't need to blame it on yourself if things went downhill.

you had pope for that.

which is why you’re standing in front of rafe's room in his frat.

a jock and a frat boy? charming. you’ve certainly hit the jackass lottery. but you’ve been here before. he always saved the day when the library was packed or when your roommate was too busy fucking her boyfriend in your dorm room. this was weirdly your safe place to work.

taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the door, trying to ignore the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. it's not about you! get a grip.

the door swings open, and there's the fucker, all brooding and rugged, like he just walked off the set of a sports movie. you roll your eyes at the cliché, but there's something weird about the way he looks at you. or maybe the tight wife-beater is doing a number on you.

you still notice the bags underneath his swollen eyes.

there's a flicker of surprise in him, like he wasn't expecting to see you, out of everyone in this school, standing there and you can't blame him; after all, you're not exactly a regular visitor to the frat house, only when your academic needs force you to.

“hey?”

“you look like shit, cameron.”

rafe's eyebrows raise in surprise at your blunt remark, “uh, what?”

you roll your eyes resisting the urge to scoff. "can i come in or are you going to stand there looking like an idiot all day?”

rafe chuckles, stepping aside to let you into his room, “come on in.”

you step inside, taking in the cluttered room with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. it was never this bad before, you know rafe’s a clean freak and this? this is not him. but it is exactly how you imagined a frat boy's room would look like—dirty.

there’s laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer cans littering the desk, and a distinct musky smell lingering in the air. you shake your head in disbelief, shooting rafe a disapproving look.

"what are you? a divorced forty-five-year-old man?”

rafe laughs at your comment, though there's a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, i know. sorry about that."

he’s doing worse than what you realized and it tugs a little at your heartstrings.

you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by his apology. "sorry doesn't cut it, cameron. you should be ashamed of yourself.”

"okay, fair point. i'll clean up, promise."

“not just your stupid room. i mean your whole attitude. you've been moping around like a loser!”

rafe's expression shifts, defensiveness crossing his features. "hey, ‘m not—"

"don't even try to deny it," you interrupt, not backing down. "everyone’s noticed. you’re pissing me off.”

you don’t know why you’re suddenly so tempted to give him the scolding of a lifetime, but there’s just something about seeing someone with so much potential and drive wasting it all away without a fight. it’s not like him.

and by the kicked-puppy look on his face, you can tell he's not used to being called out so openly. but you're dead set on breaking through to him, no matter how awkward it gets.

“see! you’re just staring at me like—like, a fucking idiot!”, you fire off, frustration lacing your tone. the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. “will you speak for gods sake? for more than five seconds? i spent months trying to get you to shut up and now you do?”

rafe's stunned expression makes you second guess your approach for a moment, but you push the feeling aside, knowing you can't afford to let sympathy cloud your purpose here.

“why are you mad at me?”

you can't believe he's still clueless after all this time.

"why am i mad at you?" you repeat incredulously, feeling the irritation rising your my chest. "seriously, rafe? have you even looked in the mirror lately?"

he blinks at you, his confusion evident, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"you've been moping around like the world's about to end.”

rafe's brows furrow even further, and for a moment, you wonder if he's playing dumb or if he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. "i don't—uh, i don't understand," he finally stammers out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

that’s it.

you’re gonna pull the feelings card and hope it doesn’t backfire.

“do you like me?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

rafe snorts as he lifts his finger to scratch his face, “course i do. pretty obvious.”

for a second you get a glimpse of the real rafe and it soothes you inside.

“and you want to fuck me?”

you’ve never seen him look so gobsmacked in his life, you’d laugh in his face if it wasn’t such a serious matter.

“what?” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. you can’t believe the rafe cameron is blushing. over you.

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "do you want to fuck me? do i need to spell it out for you?”

he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and you can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at finally catching him off guard, “’m sorry? is this—are you…is this for punk’d?”

"punk'd? seriously, rafe?" you snap, incredulous that he would think this is some sort of prank, “it’s 2024.”

rafe's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, and he stammers again "no, i mean— i just...didn't expect you to— uhh”

“yes or no.”

rafe blinks at you before breathing out, “yes.”

“okay. so win your next match and you will.”

he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, exhaling through his nose, trying to keep his agitation to a minimum. “what?”

“i’m sick and tired of this version of you. i need you to win, and if this” you gesture to the both of you with your hand, “is your motivation, then we’re doing it.”

"y’serious?" he takes a step closer, his demeanor suddenly more serious, “me and you?”

you nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilt your head up to look at his features, “dead serious. and it’s not just you and me. it’s for the team, and for the school spirit or whatever nonsense pope keeps going on about."

rafe lets out a small chuckle, a hint of his usual cocky confident demeanor returning. "is that so? can't say no to that kind of motivation."

“i figured.”

he reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing the strands of your hair, eyes fixed on your lips. "are there any rules?”

you swallow hard, feeling your heart race at his touch. “no, just win.”

rafe's lips curl into a playful smirk— the money-making smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, not necessarily in that order — as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"never would've guessed you'd be the one to offer yourself as my motivation, though," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "i'm surprised."

you try to maintain your composure, but his proximity is making it increasingly difficult to think straight. "just doing what needs to be done," you manage to stammer out, trying to sound perfectly unaffected by his words.

rafe chuckles softly, his hand still lingering in your hair as he leans back slightly to look at you. "my pretty prize, huh?" he says, his tone teasing as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you feel a flush spread across your features at his boldness. you blame him entirely for this side of you. without thinking, you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek, tips pressings against his skin lightly.

“just win the fucking match, cameron."

rafe's nasty smirk widens into a heart-stopping, soul-gripping grin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

"consider it done."

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Poor Boy

Alright so, apparently the rule for me is going to be that I have to watch every Only Friends episode multiple times. Because the first watch through is just vibes and pure, unadulterated emotional reactions to whatever is being laid in front of me; and the second watch through I have to keep pausing the show every thirty seconds to make another observation.

I don’t know what it is about Episode 4s but they are always where everything starts kicking in to high gear for me. Now, not sure how many more academic papers I am going to be able to write for the bit for this show, but there are so many things about body language, about hands, about relationship dynamics, about drug use, etc that are swarming in my head at this point. 

In constantly talking some other tumblr users ears off about this show, @lurkingshan tasked me with writing a post about Only Friend’s seventh main character.

The POOR BOY shirt. 

Why? Because god are there already some juicy literal and metaphorical character dynamics at play with this shirt, (at least in my perception) and I have been commanded to discuss them, and if you have not realized it by now I love discussing my silly little gay shows. 

What is initially and primarily intriguing to me is the fact that the Poor Boy shirt ends up making rounds in the show. Sand gives the shirt to Ray → Ray keeps the shirt rather than returning it to Sand → Ray gives the shirt to Mew. 

To each of these characters, the shirt means something different, not only from a place of sentimentality, but from a literal, textual meaning. 

Sand

Sadly, we have not yet seen Sand wear the Poor Boy t-shirt, but he is the original owner. From my view, Sand’s relationship to the t-shirt is fairly simple. It is a literal translation of Sand’s own economic status. Sand is poor, and the Poor Boy t-shirt speaks directly towards his everyday reality. 

Sand’s decision to put Ray in this shirt feels petty. Sand is very aware that Ray is rich. (I mean, his first words to Ray when they wake up the next morning are “you’re up, rich boy?”) Now, obviously we cannot peer in to Sand’s mind about the fashion choices he is making, but the entertainment value of seeing this rich boy in a poor boy shirt was there. In this capacity, the Poor Boy shirt serves as a physical manifestation of the wealth disparity between Sand and Ray. Sand owning that shirt is a literal statement, Ray wearing that shirt is hilariously ironic. 

Or is it? 

Ray

We know (or at least can suspect) that Ray has some sort of alcohol dependence from the very first moment we meet him, based on his ascribed role as The Drunk. On the off chance the initial reaction was not “oh this kid is an alcoholic” the narrative continues to build that aspect of Ray’s character when his second trip to the bar also results in him getting plastered, and when he drinks from a flask in the middle of the day, and when he is constantly seen on screen with a whiskey glass in his hand. 

Now, I will not say that everyone who is an alcoholic drinks as a trauma response, but I will say that there are many people who use substances to cope with life stressors. So, when I see Ray with alcohol constantly, that is an indication to me that there is maybe something more beneath the surface of his party boy aura. 

We learn in Episode 2 that Ray’s mother died and he was present for her death (#trauma). [In case you didn’t notice, Ray’s mother died with an empty glass in her hand and empty liquor bottle at her side.]

Sand jokingly calls Ray out on his motivation for paying Sand to hang out with him: “Now I know. You’re a lonely spoiled rich brat. Your friends left you because they have lovers. That’s why you need a new friend. Your life is dramatic. Poor you.” 

Sand says it teasingly, with a smile on his face. But Ray? Ray turns his back to Sand, takes a long pull from his glass, and heads over to the record player.

Perhaps you know where I am going with this already, but I want to just take a second to review the order of events by which I am going to make my final conclusions about this shirt in relation to Ray. 

Episode 1

Ray is introduced piss drunk and hanging on to the edge of the toilet for dear life, he is quick to anger, he gets drunk at the bar again, he tries to drive home, Sand drives him back to his apartment, he wakes up in the Poor Boy shirt, he gets kicked out of Sand’s apartment for being a #rudeboy, Ray calls Mew, Mew wonders how he got to Sand’s place when Boston said he would take care of Ray. In short, Ray gets extremely drunk, is abandoned by all of his friends, taken home by Sand and as a result is adorned with the Poor Boy t-shirt. 

Episode 2 

Our first Ray sighting in Episode 2 he is sitting outside drinking a nip, alone. No one inside the hostel even questions where he is. Mew is the one that goes outside to check on him, calls out his drinking habits, and tells Ray “I can’t be your emergency staff all the time”. Ray sees Sand selling something on campus and follows him around. He breaks Sand’s plum wine bottles and then offers him 10,000 bhat to just hang out, drink, and listen to music. Sand learns about Ray’s dead mother. Ray goes wakeboarding with the rest of the college pals, Ray tries to help Cheum, makes her ankle hurt worse, and literally the only person that talks to him besides to tell him to stop (Chuem) and to question his ability to help (Top) (aka the only person who engages in casual conversation with Ray) is Mew. Ray has his second hang out with Sand, Sand calls out the fact that Ray’s friends have abandoned him because they all have lovers, he says he will be friends with Ray, and Ray and Sand fuck. 

Episode 3

Episode 3, Ray clings to Sand the morning after, offers to drive him to school, volunteers to handle the music for the pool party (much to the surprise of all of his friends). Ray then spends most of the rest of his screen time either flirting with Sand or simping over Mew. Top belittles Ray, Boston calls out Ray’s crush on Mew and calls Ray’s life dramatic, Ray is left alone at the party and runs in to Sand, offers to take Sand home, starts making out with Sand, and then interrupts the guaranteed dicking down that he just convinced Sand to make an exception for when he pulls himself fully and instantly out of that make out session to answer Mew’s call, pissing off Sand. 

Episode 4

Episode 4 opens with (yet another) show stopping performance by Khaotung (seriously this dude is a powerhouse) where we learn that Ray was at one point actively suicidal and made an attempt. We learn in a very short period of time there that Ray does not have a lover, a sibling, or family that he feels like he can rely on. Mew is his emergency contact because he is the only person who is consistently taking care of Ray. On the phone with Mew, Ray says “If I’m gone, I won’t be anyone’s burden anymore, right?” When Ray breaks down sobbing as Mew holds him, Ray says “No one loves me. I’m all alone. Everyone hates me. My mom never loved me. Her life was ruined because of me. She died because of me. She never hugged me like this, you know? I’m bad luck, Mew. No one loves me!” and it is at this point that we can look back at all these other interactions Ray has had over the three prior episodes and see that two years after his suicide attempt, he is still being called a burden by friends and strangers, he is still alone.

[As an aside: I want to make it extremely clear that there is a lot of juicy complexity to Ray’s dynamic with his friend group. I am not saying that his friends are inherently bad people for the distance they place between themselves and Ray. First, they are college students, second Ray has a lot of mental health and addiction things going on that they are not equipped to handle, and having to constantly manage a friend with an addiction, especially one that can make them escalate situations really quickly (see Ray ready to fight Sand in the bathroom within like, thirty seconds of talking) is challenging. But I am also not going to absolve them entirely of the kind of statements they make about Ray, when they don’t return his ‘i love yous’ when he’s drunk and when they call him a burden, because these are things that were such a strong part of his belief system that they are part of the driving thoughts he verbalizes when he tries to kill himself.]

While it took us fully four episodes to get there, we find that the Poor Boy t-shirt that Ray wakes up wearing in Episode 1, while inaccurate for his literal financial reality, is incredibly, aggressively precise and accurate to Ray’s emotional reality. 

Mew

Cutting back to present day in Episode 4, Mew has been picked up by Ray and brought over to his house to spend the night. Ray’s first action in the scene is to turn to the coat rack he has in his room, pull a white shirt from it, and hand it to Mew to change in to for pajamas. Ray asks Mew why Top didn’t pick him up and Mew states that he did in fact call, but Top was busy fucking Boston helping his dad at the hotel. Ray makes a comment about being a substitute and feeling forgotten when Mew is with Top, Mew tells Ray that he is his most beloved friend, and then he looks at the shirt, turns it around to show Ray and asks:

“Is this yours?”

Now, I assume Ray is aware of what shirt he gave Mew to wear, but there is something disconnected in what I am reading from Ray’s reaction to seeing Mew hold up the shirt. 

To me it seems a bit like Ray is...not surprised, but perhaps uncertain? He knows that shirt is Sand’s but he has spent all this time at the party trying to convince Mew that he isn’t interested in Sand, that there is no attraction between them, because Ray is still hung up on Mew and some part of him is hoping there is a chance. Ray lets Mew tease him “Poor boy, seriously? How dare you wear this?”

Ray remains quiet, until Mew once again presses Ray about getting together with Sand.

 “Why don’t you hit on Sand? I think he’s lovely” (preface- I do not know Thai, but I do know that ‘narak’ typically means cute. Mew definitely says ‘narak’ when he refers to Sand, but it is translated as lovely so the caption may not be completely accurate). “I want you to have a boyfriend. Dating a musician is freaking cool.”

Now, there are a couple things I see at play in this moment. First, I am pretty certain that Mew is still very much aware of Ray’s crush on him. I think the casual comments Mew makes about Top being the first person to make his heart tremble and how heavily he is pushing Ray to ask Sand out or even to just try to figure out if Ray does genuinely have interest in Sand are ways for Mew to kindly, gently remind Ray that he does not reciprocate any romantic feelings. 

Secondly, Mew is and will be commenting on traits that apply to either himself or adjacently to Ray. When Mew says dating a musician is freaking cool, we know he is referring to Sand who is actually a musician. But for Ray, who is desperately in love with Mew, is it too far of a stretch for Ray to believe that Mew’s sentiment may also apply to people with really strong tastes and interests in music?

Third, Boston has stirred up some resolve in Ray from the party, trying to convince him that he needs to tell Mew that he is interested, to even have a fighting chance at maybe getting Mew to date him. So he lies: 

“No. I don’t want to be in a relationship just yet. Besides, Sand isn’t my type.” 

Something I absolutely love about Only Friends so far is that no one is telling the truth 100% of the time, but also no one is lying 100% of the time and we don’t yet know enough about most of the characters here to be completely certain which parts they are being truthful about. Nick is lying to Boston, or at least keeping secrets from him (he did not tell Boston he bugged the car), but he will fully, easily, and readily admit to Sand that he bugged the car and recorded Boston and Top having sex. He will fully, easily, and readily admit that he is nasty and also that he isn’t trying to blackmail Top. Top will omit the information that he slept with Boston, but he will admit to drug use and pull a baggie of coke out of his pocket to show Mew. Some of my mutuals are still in debates around how much Top is lying, including whether or not he is telling the truth about the fire he was in as a child, etc. 

In this case for this scene with Mew, we know Ray is lying about not wanting to be in a relationship. He does want to be in a relationship…with Mew. But is he lying about Sand not being his type? It would certainly track, considering Ray was the one that initiated the sexual relationship between them and continued to pursue it. Yet at the same time, Ray is stopping in the middle of a make out session, disregarding Sand’s feelings entirely, and taking Mew’s call. And Sand’s lack of wealth is something Ray has exploited or tried to exploit on multiple occasions. (Which is in part why it is very important to recognize the second Sand realizes he may actually be enjoying Ray’s company, that he rejects all offers of money from Ray).

As Mew continues to talk, he continues to state advice that could apply to himself: “Don’t set your standards too high.” Ray is a drunken mess of a college boy, and if Mew is telling him not to set his standards too high, wouldn’t it also be possible that Mew could see Ray as a lower standard and still decide to date him? 

“Just date someone who loves you and takes care of you.” Mew is the only person that really seems to take care of Ray at this point. Boston abandoned him, Cheum doesn’t really interact with him all that much, Top hates him, etc. When Ray attempted suicide Mew said he loved him, when Ray attempted suicide Mew said he would always be there for him. Mew has supported Ray for so long, Mew has taken care of Ray for so long. And now Mew is casually naming the qualities of his good friendship to Ray as a recommendation of how to find someone to date. 

So to me, it makes total sense that Ray would try to kiss Mew and admit his feelings. 

But why is the Poor Boy shirt relevant to Mew? 

Because there is someone else we have seen take care of Ray multiple times already…

Sand. 

The OPB (original poor boy). 

Sand says he can differentiate between love and lust, but the ease at which he relents to Ray’s puppy dog eyes, the speed by which is is made upset at being abandoned by Ray, the safeguards he has in place that he is constantly undermining, we know that if Sand is not already in love with Ray he will be getting there fast.

In my opinion, the Poor Boy shirt acts not as any form of physical or emotional commentary for Mew’s state specifically, but serves instead as Ray subconsciously projecting Sand on to Mew. Despite how quickly and strongly Ray has been drawn towards Sand in recent episodes, despite the good vibes, and good sex they’ve had going on, despite their mutual attraction to one another and some matching interests, Ray has given this reminder of the first care Sand provided (despite throwing him out after Ray gave him an attitude) to Mew. And it’s not like Ray hasn’t had the opportunity to give Sand back his t-shirt. Ray and Sand have hung out there at least twice and fucked each other in Ray’s bedroom. But Ray hung on to the shirt, why? 

Sand’s shirt on Mew’s body is misplaced, either as a subconscious acknowledgement of his growing interest in Sand or as a way for Ray to physically place reminders of the care and attention Sand has been giving him on to Mew, who Ray is still crushing on, even as Mew has slowly started to pry himself away from the responsibility of taking care of Ray.

And as we approach the end of Episode 4, we see Ray start to realign his expectations, settling in to the reality that Mew has not, does not, and never will like him romantically. We are introduced for the first time, to a physical, tangible object that Ray owns that is connected to Mew and to Ray’s relationship with Mew as a result. Ray sits in the tub, the same tub he tried to die in two years ago, the same tub Mew held him in two years ago and told him he loved him and promised to always be there for him.

Ray thinks about what this pendant symbolizes, the words Mew told him when he gifted it to Ray: “You are the brightness, you are a ray of sunshine. You should be hot and lively.” Ray says at the beginning that his friends hate him, that he is all alone. So I don’t think it is a far stretch of the imagination by any means to say that Mew may be one of the first if not the first person in years to make Ray feel like he was loved, valued, supported, and understood. 

And it is not surprising as a result of that that Ray would fall in love with Mew, especially if Ray’s addiction has been ongoing for years and he has been a difficult person to maintain friendship with. 

Ray has crossed boundaries and suffered immediate consequences as a result, but those consequences included finally hearing directly from Mew that his feelings have not changed over the last two years. Ray is drunk 99.9% of the time, that doesn’t mean he’s blacked out by any means, but it does mean that frequently his judgment is going to be inhibited. It is highly likely, in my eyes, that Ray needed the direct admission rather than Mew’s gentle rejections over the last two years. 

With Mew finally voicing his regard of Ray as only a friend, Ray is now able to re-evaluate the advice Mew gave to Ray at the beginning of the episode, and consider who else (besides Mew himself) Mew’s statements might apply to. The answer, of course, was staring him in the face the entire time. With the Poor Boy shirt removed from Mew’s back, Ray is forced to understand the shirt more as a physical tie to Sand, like the keychain is a physical tie to Mew. 

(hehe this angle makes it look like it says Poo Boy or Poop Boy) 

Ray looks at the shirt and thinks back to the record shop not-a-date with Sand, the honesty Sand had with him, the ease at which Sand shared information about himself, his interests, the gentleness with which Sand treated Ray, even just placing the headphone on him. Ray thinks of the song they listened to together, titled เรา which translates to “we” and he makes his choice. 

Looking forward: I am curious if this shirt will continue to make its rounds, with Top having recently fucked Boston, there is also a total possibility that Mew is being branded as the Next Poor Boy whose life will fall apart as truths are revealed and consequences enacted. 

Thank you to @lurkingshan for edits and observations!

[fussyspace]

Explorers of Rinth, John L. Simons Jr

Word count: ~208,000

Cover: It's an interesting cover, and the kid on the front (Isuelte, I think) suggests it's not aimed at adults. In hindsight, she does look perhaps a bit too young for YA, which is what this book was marked as, but I'll get into how this is relevant to the content later. There's a nice big tree in the background, which wouldn't mean much on its own, but the little wibbly light artefacts around it suggest something vaguely digital or spacey. All in all, a pretty neat cover.

Blurb: Relatively short, but it covers the two main threads of this story and keeps an air of mystery about whatever the strange secret is that binds the two groups together. I'd definitely take a nosey at the sample if I was seeing it for the first tine,

Vote: I voted yes to continue at the 30% mark (my personal vote, not necessarily team vote) and carried on to read the full book.

Content: Explorers of Rinth is a surprisingly long read for something marketed as YA, but when you see just how extensive its setting is, that becomes more understandable. Rinth's setting is wild and wacky, and it was probably the part I enjoyed the most.

However, it is also a book of contradictions. While it says it's YA, the general advice is that characters in books for teenagers should be a year or two older than the intended audience so that it's aspirational. There are many PoV characters in this book, but the main group are between 11 and 16 and they certainly act towards the lower end of that scale. The writing also feels more geared towards younger readers, but every now and then you get an f-bomb or a kid smashing someone's face in with a hammer that might not fly with a younger audience. Because the characters were young teenagers, they immediately irritated me. Thankfully, this improved about as soon as they stopped playing netball and got thrust into danger.

Our netball-loving teens, after all, live on a space station in a hollowed-out asteroid. They've made their own little group called The Explorers and like to snoop around bits of the station that they shouldn't, including the mysterious black staircase that leads to a labyrinthine network of tunnels. But what begins as a neat place to hold secret girly gatherings becomes a vital escape route when their slightly dystopian world comes crashing down on them. The Greys, soldiers under the command of the mysterious Grey Lady, come to shut the kids' school down and a riot erupts, which is what prompts the kids' escape.

There had been some interesting bits of information dropped about collaborators – people who sided with the Grey Lady and got special privileges because of it – and the exact circumstances were explained later, but at this point I thought they were about to embark on a colonisation mission because of things mentioned in Indira's chapters. So at this point I was confused – the events that prompted the riot seemed very childish and dumb, and I didn't get why the Greys didn't just explain the situation. Even the more senior Greys seemed abysmally trained. My confusion was explained away some time after the 55% mark, but that was still an odd moment for me, and that was a long time spent confused.

It's not just the girls we follow, however. At first we have Aristotle (who bags the first chapter, in fact), a man who wakes up with amnesia on top of a pile of corpses and gets taken in by a tribe. We have Indira, a doctor who gets woken from cryosleep only to discover most of her fellow travellers won't survive being woken – the ship's AI has made them oversleep by several decades. These are the core three at the beginning, although they are joined by many more later. I quite liked how Aristotle and Indira's chapters tended to answer each other's questions despite being separate for a while, and I enjoyed the adults' chapters more than the kids' chapters for the most part.

Slight spoilers follow from here, but it's only for one paragraph if you want to skip over it.

It turns out that the asteroid is a set of superimposed realities, a multiverse, with many of our characters existing in different ones. Throughout the course of the book, the girls visit many of these, coming face to face with minotaurs, gun-toting cowboy robots, six-legged bears and much, much more. By 55%, I was very confused, as I had the conflicting goals of 'go on a suicide mission to fight some aliens' and 'act as an ark for the remnants of humanity' rattling around in my head for the girls' original reality. Despite the multiverse having been introduced by this point, the two ideas were similar enough that I thought they must be the same timeline until it was explicitly mentioned after. Thankfully, all those weird bits of multiverse floating around made my confusion worth it.

The writing was a little harder to get on with, but more as an accumulation of little annoyances. It likes to repeat words and has some punctuation issues. Dialogue lacks natural contractions. Despite naming its chapters after their respective PoV characters, it seems to slip into omniscient or at least drift away from the PoV sometimes, which made it difficult to connect with them emotionally. (While they weren't the PoV at the time, I found the fact that the girl who smashed someone's face in with a hammer had no emotional or physical response unlikely, to say the least.) It also seemed allergic to using the past perfect tense where it should have been. Given it had an annoying habit of having characters show up somewhere, saying something had happened to them, then skipping back in time to show how, this made things confusing.

Towards the end, PoV characters starting rolling in in their droves, and not all of them seemed to advance the plot that much. I also got confused by what seemed to be a continuity error where a character was in prison in one chapter, then mysteriously free in the next. I might have forgotten him being freed because there was so much going on, but I don't think so. I definitely lost track of what was going on a little bit because of all the time and PoV jumps.

Still, I was looking forwards to seeing these many storylines tie neatly to a close, so you can imagine how disappointed I was when it set itself up for an obvious sequel and resolved almost nothing.

Overall, Explorers of Rinth is a solid slab of a book full to the brim of imagination and interesting characters, even if it can't work out what its audience is. It just doesn't quite manage to pull off its multiverse setting in a way that isn't confusing, and its proliferation of plotlines never get resolved in a satisfying way. I'm at risk of sounding like a stuck record with my reviews so far, but I see so much potential for this to have been made into several shorter books. There would have been more space to explore the amazing setting and to resolve some of the many plotlines towards the end of each book. As it is, the lacklustre ending after 200,000 words would put me off reading a sequel.

[idiotwhotalkstoomuch]

Okay so I never ended up finishing this fic because life and Im just stumped. This fic is Shinjuro reacting to Senjuro’s disappearance from his school during the demon attack and I wish I got to finish it but I can’t keep working on smth I ultimately am not progressing. Maybe in the future but as of now, this is as far as this fic is going. Feel free to critique it though keep in mind I never fully explored how Shinjuro reacted to the grief he was suddenly shoved with.

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Shinjuro gave a look of annoyance at the crow he didn’t recognize that was flying towards him as he put on his sandals to get ready to leave for Senjuro’s school. 

It’s long past since Senjuro should’ve gone home and alcohol helped him forget many things, but it didn’t let him forget about how horrible he’s been as a father to his boys wasn’t one of them.(Ruka would definitely scold his ear off for how he’s been acting with their sons since her death) He’s well aware he’s lacking as a father and despite feeling the haziness and dulling of his senses from the several bottles he had drank moments ago, he’s not going to let his youngest son walk home this late at night when demons will be crawling around ready to attack at this point. 

He scowled as the crow started cawing loudly, clearly trying to get his attention as he adjusted his sword to be easy to pull out if any demons were to attack. He was probably too drunk to go out and pick up his son but he was definitely not drunk enough to have to tolerate a kasuragi crow at the moment. Seeing he was ignoring it, the insufferable creature decided to resort to attacking him with its claws, yelling for his attention and getting fed up, he snapped and finally decided to hear the crow out. The crow wasn’t Kyojuro’s but knowing his persistent son he probably decided to use a different crow to send his daily message to him because his own crow was occupied or he knows Shinjuro ignores every single message from his crow. If it was the latter, Kyojuro was clever but not clever enough.

Hopefully his son would be less likely to send these ridiculous messages when he finds out Shinjuro’s going out this late at night just to see where Senjuro decided to wander off to today. Then again, hearing his little brother didn’t go straight home from school might make him fuss that he needs to keep a closer eye on Senjuro when the kid is just being rebellious or lost track of time on a book from his friends or something else mundane like that. He had a couple of friends at school so he might just be staying at a friend’s home and didn’t bother to get permission from his old man given he would probably be too drunk to care.

“I advise you to sit down for this” the crow squawked. Shinjuro scoffed, he’s a grown adult and former pillar not a child still clutching onto their mother’s hand. He doesn't need to sit down for a message from his son or anyone from the Demon slayer corps. 

“A demon attack occurred at the school your youngest son, Senjuro studies in-”

The disdain and indignation Shinjuro felt immediately drained out of him as he stared blankly in shock at the crow. The haziness in his mind had vanished and his senses switched into high gear. His head throbbed at the sudden switch. 

“Only one survivor was found, a young boy who was slacking off from his duties to clean the classroom in the bathroom. The bodies of the children and teacher are all being collected by the kakushi to be buried properly by their families-”

His stomach dropped at the thought members of the kakushi might be making their way to the Rengoku estate with his twelve year old son in tow to be buried. It was nauseating to think of and Shinjuro wondered if he was going to be sick. He swallowed that nauseating fear as he refused to let any weakness he felt at the thought of his frail and helpless twelve year old son dead at the hands of a demon show in front of a messenger crow of all things when he isn’t even sure who sent this message. Perhaps that girl Kyojuro took under his wing at one point? Or was it another demon slayer who was friends with his son? Kyojuro was popular with his colleagues from what he could gather from the few letters or messages he sent that Shinjuro bothered to pay attention to.

“All bodies were accounted for except for Senjuro’s who could not be found among the bodies by any kakushi; however a blood trail leading to near the entrance of the school was found. The demon slayer who defeated the demon that attacked the poor children and teachers think your son tried to run and get help as one of the children asked moments before dying if they were friends with Senjuro.”

Shinjuro’s stomach churns at the thought of how many victims there were in the attack and just how young they all were. Senjuro never brought any of his peers over to their house but they had to be around his age so somewhere between the ages of 11-13. Wretched demons, they’d kill even children just to fulfill their nasty cravings for human flesh.

A part of him feels proud that his son recognized he couldn’t fight the demon especially unarmed so ran out to get help but the fact that the help that arrived wasn’t from him squashes that feeling like an ant because what’s the point in doing the smart thing if the smart thing lead to his son being missing and possibly even dead.

Senjuro knows the path from their estate to his school, he’s memorized it by heart by now. He knows where to go if there’s a demon attack, Shinjuro is retired sure and out of practice but he would’ve gone down there or contacted demon slayers to go to the school and easily kill the demon. He might not have believed his son at first when he comes rushing in shouting there’s demons or be entirely lucid but Senjuro’s never done things like cry wolf for attention. The blood trail likely being from Senjuro would mean he was injured so it would’ve made his pleas for help more credible.

“I have currently dispatched several demon slayers to try and locate your son and any straggler demons in the area. The school is planning to host a funeral for the deceased students and teachers however Senjuro will not be included as we still hold hope he may be alive. I will keep you informed on our findings if you decide not to go to the demon slayer corps and become personally involved in the search. I know your son, Kyojuro, says this often but please do take care of your health, Rengoku.”

The crow, having finished its message, flew off, leaving Shinjuro in front of his estate, nauseated and left to stew on the message he just received. The sound of the crow’s wings flapping grew quieter as the reality of what he just heard really dawned on Shinjuro.

Senjuro, his youngest son, the baby of the family was…

His hand gripped the wall as the thought of Senjuro being reduced to a bloodied corpse and possible scenarios on what might've happened entered his mind. How viciously would the demon have attacked a boy who as far as he knew was just running for their life? Would he have simply dealt a single fatal blow that let Senjuro run far but not far enough to get help? Did he leave Senjuro so viciously savaged he thought the boy was dead, hence why he even managed to run in the first place? Was the demon slayer who stopped the demon wrong about what Senjuro did during the attack? People who were dying never said the most lucid things so the dying child might’ve just been looking for at least someone they can trust to cling onto as they took their last breaths. 

None of these thoughts explained why his son’s body was missing, even if he was viciously mauled beyond recognition, the kakushi should’ve found something they at least suspect to be his missing boy. The only reason they would be unable to find a body was if..

The demon ate him down to his bones.

An involuntary growl surfaced from Shinjuro as he imagined the horrid beast pulling the corpse of his dead son to his mouth before feasting on the child’s body. To many this image would be too grizzly for someone to even fathom but he had worked as a demon slayer. Demons would do anything to sate their hunger, whether it’s kill an old woman or a newborn baby. They even had preferences sometimes for what kind of people they ate, some only specifically eating young women, others only desiring fully grown adults for their meals and a few even feasting on children when it’s impractical because children had less meat and nutrients in their body to properly feed a starving demon.

Was that why the demon attacked a classroom full of them? Sneak attacking one after they all dispersed wouldn’t have fed it enough so it decided to attack all of them like they were some sort of buffet laid out for it and not children who were only there at that time because their duties as students of their school dictated they must do their part to make sure the school was clean.

The thought of so much death made his mind swirl with memories of his late wife’s passing. She had gotten ill and never recovered. No medicine, bedrest or prayer to the gods had helped her and so she slowly passed away with her family surrounding her, Kyojuro, in tears and on the verge of breaking down and Senjuro simply being confused over what was wrong, innocently asking why everyone was crying over his mother going to sleep, not understanding that Ruka’s sleep would be permanent.

Alcohol had been his only escape from the hellscape that was a life without Ruka. He tried to be the dad she would’ve wanted for her boys but it never worked, he would always see her in them by simply looking into their eyes and how they resembled her in every way that mattered. He had resigned himself to the fact he would never be with them emotionally with how much of a wreck his own emotions were but he determined he could at least keep them alive in the cruel world they lived in.

So much for that…

Without much thought, he found himself back in his room with his bottles of alcohol laying at the side, waiting for him to grab one and empty in a few gulps. The temptation to down an entire bottle was strong and he had decided one bottle wouldn’t hurt…

The bottle was getting to his lips but then as quickly as he moved to down it, was placed back with the rest of them. Shinjuro wasn’t sure why he was expecting Senjuro to have a sort of sixth sense for when he was drinking but it was how their dynamic worked. He would get the urge to drink late at night and Senjuro would suddenly open the door to ask if he wanted to eat dinner or if he could help get a book from their library that he couldn’t reach yet with his small stature. It was almost comforting when Senjuro would bother him all the time, his mere presence reminding Shinjuro why he shouldn’t just end it to join the love of his life. 

A wave of sickness hit him remembering what that wretched demon could’ve done to his boy.

Senjuro isn’t dead, he’s simply missing. Shinjuro repeatedly reminded himself. Ignoring the voice in his head telling him that the demon had devoured his son completely, uncaring over the fact this would leave the dead child with no body for his family to bury. No corpse to give a proper burial to for his family to mourn the twelve year old boy who had so much ahead of him. The crow said the corps was looking for him, perhaps he wasn’t able to get help from the corps because he collapsed from his injuries and stayed in the nearby village to recover and get better. It would explain the blood trail and why they couldn’t find him. He was laying in another’s house, wrapped up in bandages to stop his wounds from bleeding, patiently waiting for when he could be well enough to return home or writing a letter so someone from the village could walk to the Rengoku estate and tell him where his whereabouts were and why he was staying somewhere else rather than their home.

Feeling sure of his theory, the former pillar left his bedroom and took a walk in the garden area. 

His son is fine. He’s just resting due to some severe but not fatal wounds with a doctor from the nearby village tending to his injuries so he can recover from the blood loss he experienced.

When he got home, perhaps Shinjuro would take over chores for a bit, stretch his legs out so Senjuro could recover from his injuries before he resumed his usual duties in the estate. Then again he doesn’t even know how to cook, he would need to hire servants for that given it was always Ruka or one of his boys who cooked their meals. 

Maybe Kyojuro would even join in to help take care of his brother or take the duties of homemaker while Shinjuro nursed Senjuro. He wasn’t as knowledgeable as an actual doctor but basic medical knowledge is essential to even survive against enough demons to become a pillar. There’s no point in being able to slay a hundred demons if you’re left a mangled and devastated wreck, becoming a body only waiting for death’s cold embrace to free you from your injuries and pain.

At the thought of his days as a pillar, he was reminded that he would need to send a message back to the demon slayer corps. 

Who would he address it to? Before he could recognize many of the crows of the demon slayer corps but only Kyojuro wrote to him anymore so he had no clue who the owner of the crow was. 

(NEVER GOT AROUND TO WRITING THE TRANSITION FROM DENIAL TO MY SON IS GONE)

He wasn’t bothered by the loud clacking his sandals made as he rushed around the house, trying to find his long retired crow. 

It had been almost a decade since he stopped using the bird and it was probably terribly out of shape but there wasn’t any time to wait for Kyojuro to come home. Pillar missions were never consistent in how long they took, ranging from a single day to an entire month. Senjuro could be reduced to a bloody mess during that time. He was young, defenseless and injured, a demon’s ideal snack. Every second he wasted finding that bird, another second Senjuro bled out from his injuries. 

The crow appeared to be rather old now at this point and hadn’t worked in years, simply spending its days in the Rengoku estate, occasionally leaving for its own business and its eyes widened in surprise to see Shinjuro had visited it rather than Kyojuro or Senjuro, who were the ones that cared for it when Shinjuro stopped caring about it.

“I need you to send a message to Kyojuro, immediately. Tell him he needs to get home at once, Senjuro is missing.”

He snarled when he saw the crow was wasting time standing there in shock, snapping it out of its shock and it saluted before leaving to accomplish its first mission from Shinjuro since he retired. 

Briefly resting his hand on his sword scabbard, he fastened the lock to the estate doors. It was time to find his son.

Notes:

The one who sent the crow was Ubuyashiki

The child who asked about Senjuro was a girl who had a mutual crush with Senjuro. Her name was Yuuka (She was created by @angstandhappiness Sorry for giving credit late, my bad)

I was thinking of including him breaking down and crying immediately but Shinjuro is the type of person to sit in denial till its essentially confirmed

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[fleur-de-violette]

And I’ll look into your eyes to find out if I’m real

A3O Summary: Bruce wants a lot of things. A bath. Seeing his family. Not having been missing for a whole year.

He wants Dick to wake up and realize he’s not a hallucination.

Whumptober 2020 day 6 – Stop, please. Note: Have you seen that the whumptober 2021 prompts are out? They’re super cool and I didn’t finish the 2020 so it’s safe to say I won’t do them. Still, I’m excited for it.

Back to the fic, warning for hallucination, lots of crying and pretty much general angst. Enjoy!

-

Bruce wants a bath.

He wants a lot of things. One of them is a bath. He never considered himself too dependent on the luxuries that came with his civilian identity, but right now, he really wants to be in clean, warm water with a nice scent, maybe a few candles, and some relaxing music.

It isn’t as much about the bath itself, because he had the time to clean himself, warm up and relax his aching muscles in the shower, it’s the idea of it. He wants to be in a moment where he could allow himself to lose time without feeling guilty about the next crisis. These moments are too rare, if not nonexistent, in his life. And now isn’t one of these moments.

Bruce wants a lot of things.

He wants Alfred not to look so tired. He wants to see Tim smile, really smile. He wants to take the next flight to Hong Kong just so he can hug Cassandra. He wants to solve a case with Steph, watch that smart spark in her eyes and find out how much she grew up. He wants to go to Crime Alley and check on Jason. He wants to shake Gordon’s hand and to kiss Barbara’s hair. He wants to feel Selina’s body against his. He wants to understand Damian. He wants to see Dick’s eyes.

He hasn’t seen Dick’s eyes since he came back from time. Batman’s white lenses had left his son’s face sometime between the moment he passed out next to Damian and the moment a neurosurgeon removed a bullet from the inside of his skull. Dick had yet to wake up.

And Bruce hadn’t seen Dick’s eyes in a year.

It’s something that hasn’t happened since that fateful night at Haly’s Circus. Even when they weren’t talking, he always took the time to check on his ward. His son.

He never wanted things to go this way. He has all the money anyone could wish for and more, a position of power, both in one of the biggest companies on earth and in the most famous superhero team in the universe. He’d been trained by the best of the best.

And yet.

And yet he can’t stop his family from ripping to shreds.

The Joker is still loose. He’s got a dozen missed calls on his phone, mostly from Clark. He doesn’t care. Right now, he doesn’t care. He’s tired.

Dick must be tired too. Bruce tries to tell himself that this is the reason he hadn’t woken up yet. He’d been assured by several doctors that the surgery went well. Dick should wake up anytime now, and the confusion and pain will decrease within the next few weeks, leaving only a scar on the back of his head, until that, too, will be hidden behind the thick black hair Bruce hadn’t ruffled affectionately in ages.

Bruce’s hands hover over his son’s unconscious body, as if afraid of touching him. Of breaking him more than he already did. Not for the first time, he wonders what would have happened if he had ensured that the young boy from the circus found a good foster family and left him there. If he hadn’t, with all the vanity of a twenty-four-year-old millionaire, thought he was the only one who could take care of him.

He sighs. He lowers his head once again toward Dick’s face and sees two cloudy blue eyes looking back at him.

He blinks. Tries to control the avalanche of emotions falling upon him. “Hey,” he says, choking on his own voice.

He’s not really expecting an answer, so he’s surprised when Dick opens his dry lips and lets out a small, “Hey. Long time, no see.”

A tear Bruce knows Dick doesn’t even notice forms itself in his son’s eye. Bruce wipes it away gently. “Are you in any pain?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” Dick lies. Bruce doesn’t call him out on it.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Dick goes to shake his head but aborts the movement with a pained jerk. “No,” he says instead.

“Do you want me to tell you?”

Dick lets out a small laugh. “How would you know? You’re a figment of my imagination.”

Bruce suddenly feels very cold. He takes in both the knowledge that Dick doesn’t think he’s real and the implication that hallucinating him is something he’s familiar with.

His hand presses a little more on his son’s face. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m real.”

Dick closes his eyes and another tear escapes one of them. “Don’t. Please.”

“Talk to me. What can I do to convince you?” Bruce feels a pressure building behind his own eyes.

“Please, stop,” Dick repeats. “I can’t. I can’t believe you.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Okay, we’ll take all the time you need. You don’t have to believe me now, but you need to calm down.”

Dick is close to hyperventilating now, and Bruce wonders if he should just leave the room and let Alfred take care of him. But that seems too much like running away for his liking, and he’s been away long enough.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Dick continues, not caring, or perhaps not registering what Bruce said. “I can’t, you’re not. I can’t hope, because what if I wake up and you’re gone? Again?”

Bruce feels his heart shattering into pieces, but he can’t let himself break down. “Breathe, Robin,” he says, immediately wincing when the name passes his lips.

Calling him by a title he hadn’t worn in years probably won’t help Dick’s grip with reality, but he can’t help it. Right now, he can only see a distressed child in front of him. A child who always responded well to this name.

And it seems that some things can’t be erased by time, because Dick gasps and takes a few more deep breaths, calming down. Bruce thinks the worst of it is over. He thinks maybe Dick will fall back asleep, and wake up again in a few hours, less confused this time.

He’s wrong.

Because not a minute later, Dick opens his eyes again, and says, “The real you would be much angrier than that.”

Bruce feels the mass in his throat, the one that appeared at the beginning of the conversation, start to grow again. “What? No, why would I be angry?”

“Let you down,” Dick answers in a way that makes Bruce wish he had never asked. “Disrespected your will. Let Gotham become a mess. Destroyed Batman’s name.”

“You didn’t,” Bruce murmurs. “You didn’t.” When Dick doesn’t seem to calm down, he adds, “You’re a better Batman than I’ll ever be.”

Because this is true. He doesn’t need Alfred of Gordon to tell him what he always knew. Dick is the essence of what Batman should be. He’s the Batman Gotham needs, even if she doesn’t deserve him. And for that reason, Dick shouldn’t have been Batman. He’s perfect, and he’s destroying himself.

Batman had never been a title to pass on, let alone to Dick. Sure, he trusted his son and first sidekick to take the mantle if he was unable to, but he never had wanted him to be Batman. No one but him was supposed to be Batman. Cassandra was the closest to the title, but she wasn’t ready, and he couldn’t let that burden fall on her.

Still, he hadn’t wanted it to fall on Dick, either.

“Why are you saying that?” Dick asks. Bruce can practically see the gears turning in his head. Good. He knows firsthand that Dick is a damn good detective. He will figure this out. “This is not something I believe or fear or want to hear. Why are you saying that?”

“I’m real,” Bruce repeats, and Dick lets out a sob.

“You’re not,” he protests, but Bruce can see his resolve weakening. “You’re not. Tim said, but you…”

He stops. Blinks. A few more tears fall out of his eyes, and Bruce knows his own aren’t dry either. “You’re real. You’re… please, be real.”

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from breaking down. “I’m real,” he chokes. “I promise.”

Dick’s eyes go wide. “What about Damian?” he asks. “Aren’t you angry?”

Bruce sighs. What about Damian? This is a whole different question. The kid is sleeping in his room right now, having finally listened to Alfred, leaving his Batman’s side. He had barely said a word to Bruce.

Bruce has been gone for a year, not by choice, sure, but gone nonetheless, and now he doesn’t know where he fits, between his son in blood and his son in everything else.

Batman and Robin, a bond that can’t be broken. A bond that still exists, he hopes, between himself and Dick.

“I will talk with him,” he says because his relationship with Damian, his complicated feelings about the mere existence of Damian and his anxiety about having to work with him as a Robin, aren’t Dick’s responsibility. They never should have been. “I’m not angry with you.”

Dick blinks again. “My head hurts,” he finally admits.

Bruce’s hand hovers over the morphine drip. “Do you want more painkillers?”

“If I sleep,” Dick asks, “Will you still be there when I wake up?”

Bruce bends down, leaves a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dick says. “But thank you, for being here.”

Still, he closes his eyes and his body relaxes a little. Probably as much as it is possible while recovering from brain surgery.

Bruce stays there a long time, his hand still on Dick’s face. He’s broken a lot of promises. But he’s sure of one thing.

He will be here when Dick wakes up again.

He will still be real.

Ending Note: Hope you enjoyed the fic! Many thanks to @ohmytoddhewitt for beta reading!

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Cal Kestis x Reader (Continued 4) The Proposal

OG Request: can i request that you write some cal kestis since you haven't written him in so long? how about one where the whole mantis crew helps him propose to the reader? it can even be like a part 4 to the "training" series lol

Author’s Note:  I am SO sorry at how long this took me to post.  I got hit with writer’s block so bad, and this week, I ended up getting sick. It’s been tough to find time and energy to write, but again, I am sorry at how long it was.  I do hope you enjoy it!!!

   "I've never seen you like this," Greez commented, lifting a brow skeptically.  He planted his hands on his hips as he watched Cal make a cup of caf.  It was a task the young jedi had done many times without fail since he was the definition of balance, but somehow, he had managed to spill his cup on the counter.

   Cal lifted his brows only slightly as he tried to act casual.  “What do you mean?”

   “What’s got you so worked up?” Greez asked.  “You seem off...Not quite sure what it is…”

   Years of training had given Cal Kestis the ability to hide.  He’d hidden from the Empire for so long on Bracca.  He had concealed his identity without issue until that fateful day when he rescued his coworker and friend- an event that began quite the adventure.  Still, even so, he hadn’t been able to conceal his nervousness from the Mantis pilot.  His gaze flickered to Cere, who was quietly sipping her own cup of caf from the dining booth.

   Her amusement at the interaction was palpable.  Cal could see the slightest smile on her lips which she hid behind her mug as she took another sip, eyes trained to the table in front of her.

   What would she say if she knew the truth?  Would she be so amused?  As worried as Cal was that his mentor would disapprove of his choice, he was running out of time.  This wasn’t something he could conceal. 

   “The truth is…” he paused, running a hand through his orange hair.

   “What?”  Greez prompted.  “What is it?”

   “I’m…”

   Cere lowered her cup, the soft clink of the material against the table catching Cal’s attention.  “You’re going to propose to _________.”

   Cal gazed at her, lips parting in surprise.

   “Very perceptive of you, Greez,” she continued, eyes flicking to the pilot.  “To have caught that something was going on with our Cal.  However-” she met Cal’s gaze coolly “-the nervous excitement was coming off him in waves.”

   Cal exhaled, shoulders lowering as he braced himself for some sort of sagely warning about the path he was choosing, but Cere merely smiled.

   Greez's jaw dropped straight to the floor. "You...you what?"  He chuckled quietly at first before bursting into joyful laughter as he approached Cal.  “Congratulations, kid!”

   He smiled appreciatively at the support, but shook his head.  “She hasn’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

   Greez shifted his stance, resting a hand on his hip.  "What, you think she'll say 'no'?"

   “Yes, I mean...no...We’ve talked about it, but I just don't know how to do it.”

   Cere surprised him further by rising from the booth.  “Need some help?”

   He tilted his head.  “You’d do that?  But I thought…”

   “The order is gone, Cal,” she replied.  “As members of this crew, we’ve already done some things the Council would have disapproved of.  I think after all these years of sorrow, a little joy is something we need.”

   Cal nodded.  “Thank you.”

   “So wait,” Greez shook his head.  “You want our advice?  On how to propose?  A former monk and a lonely pilot...what could go wrong?”

- - - -

   “Hey there, uh, kid.”

   You smiled, dabbing at a few beads of sweat that glistened on your forehead.  “Hey, Greez.  How’s it going?”  You gave your arms a little stretch, holding back the groan that threatened to spill from your lips at the dull ache.  Cal had assigned you to an arduous training session all afternoon.  It was unexpected, but you were up to the challenge.  Upon returning to the Mantis, you found no sign of your boyfriend, or Cere for that matter.  

   There was only Greez, who averted his gaze nervously.  You got the distinct feeling that he was hiding something.  Something big.

   “Everything alright?” you asked, testing the waters.

   “Alright?  Uh, yeah.  Yeah.  Everything’s alright.  Why wouldn’t it be?  Is everything alright with you?”

   You fought a smile as he fumbled his way through the somewhat defensive response.  “Yeah, I’m done with training for the day.  I’m just looking for Cal, actually.  Have you seen him?”

   “Yes, I mean, no...I may have seen him…  He went somewhere.”

   “He did?  Did he say where?”

   Greez fell silent then, and you raised your brows incredulously at him.  The stubborn pilot wasn’t going to talk.  Your suspicion grew, especially when his nerves seemed to spike even more.  With a shrug, you headed back toward your bunk.  Cere wasn’t anywhere to be found either.

   What if there was a new development with the jedi order?  Even though the holocron containing the location of force-sensitives across the galaxy had been taken care of, the Mantis crew had not lost hope that someday the jedi would return.  Perhaps something had come up.  Still, you weren’t sure why that would mean that both he and Cere would need to discuss it elsewhere.  It wasn’t like Greez couldn’t be trusted.  Or you.

   As you changed out of your training clothes, your hand brushed over the hilt of your lightsaber.  You gripped the handle and removed it from your belt before doing so with the second saber you had constructed some time ago.  The weight in your hands no longer felt foreign and unsettling.  The sabers had become part of you.  They were not just weapons; they were tools.   They were tools to defend those you loved and to usher in peace when the time was right.

   You set them down and continued changing into your gear.

   For years, you’d heard stories of the jedi old.  You’d never imagined becoming one.  You’d never imagined to have a mentor as young and handsome as Cal.  And you certainly never imagined falling in love the way you did.

   The thought was bittersweet.  You mourned for Cal and all that he had lost, but you were so glad to have found him.  He was glad to have found you too.  You could feel it every single day.

   A knock on the door to your quarters pulled you from thought.  “Yes?”

   “Hey,” Greez said, poking his head in.  “He’s waiting for you.”

   “He’s...waiting for me?”  You watched as he disappeared from the doorway before shaking your head.  “This day just gets weirder.”

- - - -

   Greez had followed you off the ship and stayed close behind as you picked up on Cal’s trail.  He insisted that he was not supposed to give you any hints- only that you were supposed to reach out with your feelings and find Cal on your own.

   “Is this some sort of training exercise?” you wondered aloud.  “Because I already finished training for the day.”

   “Sorry, kid,” Greez shrugged.  “It’s not for me to say.”

   “But of course.”  You smirked.  “It’s never that simple.”  You let your eyes slide shut as you reached out with your other senses.  You took a deep breath, inhaling the lovely scents of the forest- leafy greens and even something sweet, like blossoms.  There was a damp feel to the soil beneath your shoes.  More clearly than the other things you felt, you sensed the familiar presence of Cal.  He was nearby.

   As soon as you began walking in that direction, Greez uttered a “woah.”

   You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder.  “What?”

   “You jedi never cease to fascinate me,” he said.  “You know where he is without even a hint.”

   “It’s automatic at this point.”

   “So, you...you two really love each other, huh?” he ventured.

   You smiled and uttered a quiet, “yeah.”   

   The two of you walked through the forest.  A familiar tingle in your feelings let you know that someone was just ahead.  It was Cere.  You’d recognize that presence anywhere after traveling with her for so long.  She sat in the center of a small clearing, legs crossed and eyes shut.

   “This is a training exercise, isn’t it?” you whispered under your breath at the sight.

   Cere’s eyes opened, and her lips turned up in a smirk.  “Cal’s waiting for you.”

   “So I hear.”  You wanted to shake your head in amusement, but if it was indeed a surprise training session, Cere was acting as a mentor, so you instead gave her a nod of respect.  “Is there anything...Is there...What is my task?”

   “That is something you will have to find out yourself.  I wish you luck.”  And with that, Cere rose from her seated position and gave you a nod before stepping aside.  Greez stole a look and shrugged, immediately going to join her.  

   All the while a strange anticipation was growing in you.  Part of it was curiosity on you part for this next step in your training, and part of it you chalked up to be Cal’s emotions mingling with yours.  Even though you had no idea what was going on and why, something about the situation made you feel exhilarated.  Like something amazing was about to happen.

   You continued on your way, shooting your teammates one last curious look before vanishing farther into the forest.  The tingling feeling changed.  It was soon the distinct feeling that you got whenever Cal was nearby.   You knew it before you saw him that he sensed your approach, but when you finally stepped into the clearing where he was waiting, you weren’t expecting the sudden drop of his heart.  It was so sudden that you halted for a moment, thrown off by the swift shift in emotion.  Nervousness.  What did he have to be nervous about?  You were the one being tested!

   “Cal?” you ventured.

   “___________,” he breathed out.  It was like he struggled to breathe for a moment.   You’d never seen him this way before.

   “Is everything alright?” you asked, voice ticked up with concern.

   “Ah, yeah,”  He nodded, glancing down for a moment.  “____________, I need to ask you something.”

   As soon as he said that, your own heart dropped.  It was nervousness at what you suspected was coming next, but it was a good nervousness.  You immediately shifted, hands going over your heart as Cal walked over to you.  There was a small part of you screaming to not give into the hope, just in case it wasn’t what you thought.  Before the seeds of doubt could take root, Cal got down on one knee in front of you.

   Bright afternoon sunlight poured in through the treetops, dancing along his skin with each gust of wind that shook the branches above.  His eyes were fixed on you, glinting with a light you’d seen in him many times when he looked at you.  It was love.  Adoration.

   “_____________,” he said, gently twining his fingers with those of your left hand.  “I love you.  As a jedi, I never thought I’d be able to go down this path….but here I am, and I’m so glad that I can.  You’re the only one I’d want to go with.”

   “Cal….”  you murmured.

   “Will you marry me?”

   Even though you’d realized the words were coming, they still hit hard.  Your vision blurred with tears as the emotions welled up within you.  “Yes, I will.  I love you, Cal.”  And you pulled your hand from his only to wrap both your arms around his neck and plant a loving kiss to his lips.

   Cal kissed you back passionately, leaving you with one last peck before he pulled away to take your hand again.  His eyes darted up to meet yours before they focused on your finger as he slipped a ring on.  Your tears hadn’t stopped.

   “Cal, I’m so happy.”  Then, a chuckle escaped your lips as you wiped your eyes.  “I was wondering what all this was about.  I thought it was a training exercise.”

   “That was the idea,” he said with the shake of his head.  “We thought it’d be more of a surprise that way.”

   “‘We’?”

   “Cere and Greez helped me out.  I knew I wanted to put this ring on your finger, but I wasn’t quite sure how.”

   “Thank you,” you called over your shoulder, and you were amused when Cere and Greez emerged from the brush.  “Really, this was a lovely surprise.”

   “I’m glad you thought so,” Greez said, clasping his hands together.  He glanced between the two of you curiously.  “So, when’s the wedding?”

[darthkruge]

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Help

Summary: The five times the Senator!Reader needs Anakin’s help but refuses to ask for it and the one time they do

Warnings: Language, reader is afraid of vulnerability, reader is going through it, angst, violence, fluff (it ends on a positive note, I promise)

Words: 4k

A/N: This idea has kinda been bouncing around my head for a hot minute and I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. And somehow it became the longest fic I’ve ever written! Is this self-indulgent? Who’s to say?!

(not my gif)

I.

Okay, so a right, then a left, then another left, then-

You groaned. You’d been going over the cryptic instructions Padme gave you back at the temple but they were, unfortunately, not helping. It was your first time alone in Coruscant and you were completely lost in the painfully literal sense. You had just been given your first actual mission with the Council as a senator, something you’d worked your entire career for. As an added bonus, you were on the same planet as your boyfriend, Anakin Skywalker. 

You’d gotten close over the last year and were elated when he asked you on a date the last time you were in the same place. This was the first time you were together in the two weeks it had been since then. 

Anyway, you were currently wandering around the bustling Coruscant streets, looking for the market. Well, you were looking for the market. Now, you realized you would probably never find it and were just trying to make your way back. 

You debated calling Anakin. You could. He would be able to guide you home easily, you rationalized. But it’s Coruscant! How difficult could it be? If people came here for missions all the time and didn’t get hopelessly lost, so could you! And Anakin was probably busy anyway, you didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, the relationship was so new! You didn’t want to annoy him. After weighing the odds, you pushed down the urge to reach out and decided to just find your own way.

This logic was ridiculous, you realized far too late. Fuck. There was no way around it, you were going to be late. Or at the very least, cut it exceptionally close. You started running, heart racing. It would be so stupid to be late to your first actual Council meeting because you got lost. You wanted them to take you seriously and think of you as a professional. Tardiness as a first impression went against all of that!

After sprinting and taking several aimless turns, by some stroke of magic you found your way to the Temple. You checked the time and realized you had two minutes to make it to up several flights of stairs.

Fuck it. You decided, taking off in a run. You took the stairs two at a time, stumbling occasionally before unceremoniously bursting through the doors to the meeting.

You gulped in air quickly, chest heaving while you desperately tried to calm your heart. You inelegantly brushed a hand through your hair and gave an awkward smile. 

“Hi, uh, everyone! Hi! I’m,” You took a quick break to breathe in some more oxygen as your gaze shifted to Anakin. He looked amused and concerned as he took you in. He gave you a discreet and supportive smile and head nod. You gave your own in return. He believes in me. “I’m Senator Y/N L/N” 

II.

Honestly, you didn’t know how your speeder had broken. You’d been flying them for years and, despite being a senator, you were pretty damn good at it. It was something that gave you solace as a kid, those little moments of freedom. Even then, though, you were a decently cautious person and didn’t break many of them.

Thus, you ended up in your current predicament. Staring at the fried wires under the hood of your speeder, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong. You knew Anakin was freakishly talented at fixing basically everything. He could probably look at the speeder for 10 minutes, know what’s wrong with it, and get it back to you in perfect shape.

You think this is why you don’t want to tell him. What if he thought you were stupid? Shouldn’t you be able to figure this out yourself? You fought with your instincts, feeling the conflict build inside you.

You knew he wouldn’t judge you. You knew he’d be glad you came to him for help. Even so, you felt physically incapable of moving to call or find him. 

Frustrated, you turned back to your work. You decided to pull this one gear, thinking it might do something. Well, you were right about that. A stream of oil sprayed out of the speeder, coating you in its thick, black paint. You stood there frozen for a second, trying to mentally comprehend that you had just been sprayed with oil because you were too afraid to talk to the man you were in a literal relationship with!!

You groaned, wiping your hands on your pants before grabbing a towel to wipe some of the grease off your face. You walked back into your apartment quickly, praying to the Maker that no one would see you like this. Honestly, they’d probably smell you first and run the other way.

You finally got back without problems and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom. Pulling off your clothes and turning on the hot shower, you sighed as you finally felt the oil washed off your skin. You spent about twenty minutes in there, scrubbing furiously to ensure you didn’t smell like a fucking garage. 

Finally, you went out and saw Anakin sitting on your bed, messing with a piece of wiring. 

“Hey, Y/N! Did you know your speeder was broken? It looks like you blew a cable, easy fix, don’t worry. I’ll have it ready for you by tonight.”

He looked up and saw your exhausted state and the clump of dirty, grease ridden clothes you were holding. 

His brow furrowed, trying to piece it together. “Maker, what happened to you?”

“I had a fight with the speeder. And lost”

Anakin bit back a laugh before his confusion compounded. “Wait, you know I can fix this, right? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. I mean, I did something and broke an entire speeder and somehow didn’t even know what I broke! It’s humiliating!”

“Cables are hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t know what to do, love.”

“Really?” You asked, unconvinced. 

“Really. Come on, let’s go throw those clothes in the wash and I’ll get back to fixing this.”

“Oh, no, Ani you don’t have to-”

Anakin cut you off with a kiss, distracting you enough to quickly take the clothes from your hands.

“I’ll have it ready within the hour, my love.”

III.

Who the fuck decided to put the plates that high up?!

You jumped again and again, arm outstretched as far as possible. Once again, you didn’t even get close. Sighing, you looked around the apartment and noticed a ladder. It looked a bit unsteady but you would be fine, right? You were a whole ass senator, you were sure you could handle an old ladder. 

Pulling it over to you, you climbed up and reached out. Much closer this time, but you still couldn’t reach them. You went on your tiptoes, eyebrows furrowed and lip bit in concentration. You angled your body just a little further, a little further-

The ladder was suddenly ripped out from under you and you desperately shot your arms out, hands clawing to try and stop your imminent fall onto the hard kitchen tiles. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, you squeezed your eyes closed. 

“Y/N!!” You heard as your fall suddenly stopped. You opened your eyes and noticed you were barely floating above the floor. Anakin ran toward you and noticed the ladder strewn on the floor beside you. 

“What the hell were you doing?” He said, offering you his hand and pulling you up.

“I was just-” You gesture lamely to the plates, realizing how ridiculous you must look.

“Y/N, no one can reach those! Next time, just call me, I’ll get them for you!”

“But-” You sigh, hating this. “I wanted to be able to do this, I don’t want to rely on you and your Jedi powers all the time”

Anakin’s gaze softened. He knew you had trouble relying on others. Even so, he couldn’t even start to think of what would have happened if he’d arrived home even 10 seconds later.

“I know, baby, I know. But, please, try. You’d have to rely on me a lot more if you break your legs falling off a ladder.” 

“I know” You reply softly, giving him a shy smile. “I’m working on it, I promise”

IV.

You’d been up all night working on a new presentation for the Council. You’d spent hours going over it, the facts, the plans, the details. Everything was set. Well, everything except one little piece. To make your point stronger, you needed the statistics from the latest Jedi missions. 

The only people with access to those were Anakin and Obi-Wan. You knew, logically, that if you asked Anakin he’d give them to you without hesitation. He supported you always and knew that you only used your power as a senator to improve lives. 

Even so, there was that part of your brain that told you he wouldn’t give them to you. He would think you’re just trying to use him for his connections as a Jedi. Or perhaps he simply wouldn’t care enough to search through the reports to find the information.

All of this was, of course, completely inaccurate. But you’d never had someone who actually wanted to help you. It's always been “okay I’ll do this for you but only if you do this for me, too.” No one ever looked out for you and you’d grown accustomed to it. It’d become almost comforting, in a way. At least you knew what to expect. 

This was how you ended up seeing your beautiful boyfriend across the halls of the Jedi temple and walking another way. Your heart tugged painfully and your brain screamed at you. Why don’t you allow yourself to trust him? Why would you assume the worst? Why can’t you fight these thoughts? 

You took one more look back at him. You didn’t want to be closed off by any stretch of the imagination. You wished you could turn off the thoughts and the doubt. You knew Ani didn’t deserve it. You sighed. There he was, training by himself in the courtyard. You looked away and took a moment to compose yourself before your legs carried you away and toward your good friend.

“Hey, Obi-Wan, could you help me with something for the next Council meeting?”

V.

You were running. You were running and as fast as you moved, you never got closer to him. You were never safe. A masked figure was chasing you and you just couldn’t get away. Your legs burned with the effort, your lungs straining to grasp oxygen. You were exhausted to your core, your sheer panic the only thing keeping you awake. 

You looked back and saw the man gaining on you. Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You knew what he was capable of and had no doubt he would kill you if he caught you. You didn’t want to die, not like this. You didn’t want him to beat you. You were so, so scared. You screamed as he caught up to you, your body no longer moving. You pleaded with your legs to work, reasoned with the heavens, did anything you could, and yet you wouldn’t budge. 

The stranger’s claw of a hand twisted around your neck, squeezing. You fought. It was pointless. You began to black out, feeling the life slip out of your body. Dark spots appeared in the corners of your vision and you tried once again to kick your way out of his grasp-

You bolted awake, eyes shooting open. Your chest was heaving and tear stains marked your cheeks. You placed your hands on the bed sheets, bunching them up and trying to feel the texture to remind yourself that you were safe. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself but nothing was working. 

You got up, pacing quietly. Out of all the nights to have a nightmare, it had to be today. The one night you and Anakin weren’t together. Since you had to hide the relationship, you couldn’t technically share an apartment. This didn’t stop you from spending basically every night together, though. His chambers became yours after the first month or so of dating, neither of you wanting to spend time apart. 

But, unfortunately, the Council seemed more cautious as of late and you didn’t want to risk it. Thus, you decided to spend tonight apart. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now.  You grabbed one of his Jedi robes, pulling the black fabric around your body. You were immediately calmed by his scent and wrapped it closer around you. You started to make your way down the hall. You knew it was risky but after that nightmare, you just needed him. 

You made it to his apartment, went to knock on the door, and abruptly stopped. What are you doing? You can’t just go to him! He’s exhausted, he’s been working all week! He finally got home from a mission and you want to wake him up in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare? It wasn’t even real! Maker, get a hold of yourself, Y/N! 

Your hand hovered over the door. You wanted him, you did. But those lingering thoughts, those lingering emotions remained. A childhood of neglect, of constant feelings of unimportance left scars you couldn’t avoid. You hated that your parent’s inability to show you affection or care manifested in your inability to be vulnerable. Despite this, you somehow understood. You’d spent years letting them in and only getting invalidated in return. Like all patterns, this one wouldn’t go away just because you wanted it to. 

Now, every time you tried to let Anakin in, it’s like an alarm was tripped in your brain. Every part of you that wanted to allow him to know you was combated with the overwhelming fear that, if you did, if you went to him for comfort or help, he would think of you as a burden. He’d leave, just like the rest of them did. So you pushed the urge for comfort aside, dropped your hand, and made the lonely walk back to your room. 

You got back to your room, mentally beating yourself up. You wished your brain worked differently. You wished you would allow yourself to be loved. You wished you could trust, fully and completely. You sighed. Knowing you wouldn’t be getting any sleep, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on your cough, the room solely illuminated by the moonlight. You kept Anakin’s robes around you, wishing it was his arms. You sat like that until morning, sipping the drink on and off until it grew cold. You were zoned out, staring out the window at the Coruscant traffic. Your thoughts either drifted to him or your past trauma. Maker, you wished you could change it. 

I.

Fuck. You’d been driving around on your speeder, zipping in and out of alleys, for the last twenty minutes. There was a bounty hunter after you. A damn good bounty hunter, at that. Being a high profile senator, it made sense you’d run into the occasional person trying to kidnap you. Or kill you. 

Damn, this bitch is good. You kept trying to lose them but you couldn’t shake them. You didn’t even  know who they were but it didn’t matter, you supposed. At the end of the day, regardless of who was in that speeder, they wanted you dead. And if you didn’t figure out how to get out of this mess, you would be. 

They’d been shooting at you for a while now but you’d been able to avoid the blasts. Whether it was skill, luck, or a combination of both, you weren’t sure. Even so, you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shoot back at them, as you stupidly forgot your blaster. Who could blame you, though? All you wanted to do was go for a ride to clear your head, you didn’t expect to be fucking shot at!

You continued like this for a while. All you had to do was get back to the Temple. You were probably about 10 minutes away if you continued at this pace, 7 if you really pushed it. You looked ahead and saw the walls of it come into view and suddenly safety didn’t feel so far away. Despite the circumstances, a smile graced your face. You could do this. 

Or maybe not. As you tried to swerve between more buildings, they hit you. You felt your speeder plummet 10 feet instantly and screamed. Your engine sputtered and your heart dropped. Mind racing, you tried to drive but came to the chilling realization that there was no way you’d make it back. Your engine was done for, it wouldn’t make it 3 minutes, yet alone all the way back. 

Your mind went to him. Anakin. Fuck, you loved him. You let out a humorless laugh. Since you started dating, you almost never asked him for help. You couldn’t let him in. Something in your brain stopped you every single time. And yet, now, all of that felt stupid. It felt juvenile. When you looked at your speeder, slowly but surely stalling and the bounty hunter approaching, you felt this overwhelming sense of clarity.

You were going to die. This person, they would get to your speeder and shoot you. You didn’t have a single weapon. It was inevitable. Your mind, however, wouldn’t relent. It was stuck on him. In this moment, you pressed the comm button in your speeder, hoping beyond hope that it would still work. 

“Y/N?” Anakin’s staticky voice cut through the speeder and went straight to your heart. 

“Hey, Ani” You said, your voice broken up with unshed tears.

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m- Anakin, I’m in trouble. A bounty hunter is after me, my speeder is hit and going to stop working probably within the next 20 seconds. I don’t have any weapons to defend myself. I, I, uh, I need your help”

“I’m coming to get you, stay where you are.” His voice was firm, his need to protect you overruling everything else in his body. 

“I’m just a few-”

“I’ve got you, love. I can sense you in the Force. I know where you are”

Of course he could. You took a few deep breaths and you speeder sputtered out, stopping in a deserted alleyway. You looked around and saw the bounty hunter, now obviously male, stepping out and making his way towards you. 

“He’s here, Anakin” Your voice was tight, anxious. You were quiet, paralyzed by fear. 

“Please, Y/N, fuck! Hold on, I’m almost there”

“Ani, Anakin I’m scared! Ani! Ani!” You were hysterical now, screaming and sobbing his name as the man punched the top of your speeder, fracturing the glass. He pulled you out of it by the hair and threw you harshly onto the concrete. 

You yelped in pain as he kicked you directly in the ribs. He backhanded you across the face, the power from his hit making blood pool in your mouth. Harshly you spit it onto the ground, looking up at him with pure hate. 

He placed the blaster to your head, right on your forehead. You let your eyes flutter closed. Your knees were scraped, legs bruised. You were sure at least one of your ribs was broken. You could feel blood running from your temple. Your arm was radiating pain from landing on it. Despite all this, the only thing you thought of was Anakin. Funny, you thought, how the brain chooses what to focus on in its last moments. All you hoped was that he didn’t feel responsible for your death. All you hoped was that he knew you loved him. 

“You’re finished, Senator”

“I don’t think so” Anakin’s smooth voice, tight with anger, cut through the air. His lightsaber unsheathed, he swung it directly into the man. You gasped, everything happening so quickly. As soon as the blaster was gone from your forehead, you scrambled back. 

Anakin walked up to you but, from the shock, you pulled back even further. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s Anakin, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you”

You whimpered, looking at him and placing a hand on his jacket before harshly jumping into his arms. He gripped you to him, both of you sighing in relief. 

“You came for me” 

He looked at you like you were insane. “Of course I did! You needed me, you called! I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N. I am always going to show up”

“Thank you” You said, voice muffled against his chest. His hands raked through your hair while you just breathed him in. His scent comforted you, his strong chest and large arms grounding you after a day so intense and horrifying that nothing felt real. 

You were still trembling, the aftershocks quite apparent. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, he’s dead, he’s gone. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again, I promise.” Anakin whispered these affirmations into your hair, holding you until the shaking ceased. 

“Thank you for calling me, Y/N. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t that hard, to be honest, I- wait? What do you mean, you know it couldn’t have been easy for me?!”

Anakin looked at your sheepishly. “You honestly think I haven’t noticed your problems with asking for help? We’ve been together for almost a year and, contrary to popular belief, I can be quite perceptive. I didn’t want to call you out on it, I assumed you’d be embarrassed. But I’m glad that when it actually came down to life or death, you called me.”

“I’ve always known I could call you, Anakin. Please, I don’t want you to ever think my inability to be vulnerable is rooted to anything you do. You’re, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re kind and compassionate and caring and you’re always looking out for me. Look, I know I haven’t been too open about my past and I still struggle with that. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve never had someone who actually wanted to be there for me. This thing where you care and want me to come to you when I’m hurting or simply just want affection or company or help with the little things, it’s foreign to me.”

Ani’s heart broke at your words. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you back then, Y/N. I hate that this” He said, gesturing between you both “is unique to you. But, seriously, anytime you need anything I’m someone you can come to. I honestly want you to come to me. Regardless of if you think it’s something small or this life-altering favor, ask me. I doubt I’d turn you away and, on the off chance I do, I’m not gonna hold that against you.”

“You won’t leave? Even if I show you all of me? Even if I rely on you?”

“I won’t leave you, beautiful. So long as you allow me to show you all of me, too. And you let me rely on you, too.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “Of course! Of course, Ani! I’m here for you, I got you, too, always.”

“I know you do” His flesh hand went up, cupping your cheek. 

“I know you do, too.” You sighed into his touch. You were exhausted beyond belief, your body and mind pretty much shutting down from the stress of it all. Even so, you relaxed further into his body. Yeah, this was new. Yes, it was scary. But you were going to try. Even though it terrified you, you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be loved by him.

--

tagging julia bc she asked when i was textpost-complaining about having to edit this <3

@anakinswhore 

[imherongraystairstrash]

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but  they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.” 

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more. 

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh. 

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.” 

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.” 

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once. 

“What is in the attic?” 

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.” 

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him. 

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption. 

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.” 

 “That’s…” 

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments. 

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress. 

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.” 

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones. 

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday. 

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it. 

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?” 

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.” 

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?” 

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it. 

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other. 

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt. 

 But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

… 

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.” 

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room. 

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room. 

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling. 

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.  

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre. 

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly. 

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.” 

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see. 

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames. 

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s. 

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn’t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead. 

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again. 

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

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[shepard-ram]

Hello I'm light anon and i bring you the first chapter of an au i started awhile ago with the help of Ender anon (hi love you/p) , the supernatural au named Abnormalities and its very long

Abnormalities

Chapter One - Phasmophobia 2.5k words

:readmore:

“Prove it then.” 

Of course, Sap and Dream’s arguments always lead to some sort of challenge. Ever since you met them in middle school, it’s been like that. Sap would say something, Dream would fire back because Sap was clearly wrong in his eyes, and it would spiral from there. Today’s topic of debate: The existence of the paranormal. Specifically, ghosts.

What sparked it? A cheesy horror film you picked out for the monthly movie night. Your stereotypical ghost film with lazy jump scares with bad effects and acting.you only bought it so you four could laugh at it. You Guys laud sprawled on the couch while Sap took up the floor. All was well, Until Sap proclaimed that real ghosts wouldn’t be that shitty. Dream, heavily disagreed that ghosts even existed. George didn’t take a side but you backed Sap up. The world is to weird not to have ghosts in it.

”Oh absolutely.” Sap nodded, agreeing with your assessment.

Dream rolled his eyes “Sure, sure, just how are you going to prove me wrong? There isn’t a ‘haunted building’ anywhere in town.”

 At that moment George decided to speak up “What about the old willbeck farm?, the one a couple miles out of town. I always heard it was haunted by a kid or something.”

“That stupid place?  Those were just stories are parents told us to keep us from trespassing.”

You shrugged. “It’s a start.”

Next thing you know, you and sap blew your paychecks on ghost hunting equipment. You ordered the basics, an EMF meter, a good camera, a thermometer, you even bought a ‘Spirit box’ and some smudge sticks, all too spite Dream who complained that you were being scammed. 

You both ended up begging George to use his car to load up your equipment as he was the only one to have a large enough car for your equipment. He relented after a day of relentless begging. 

The Willbeck farm was a 40 minute drive from your home, which left a lot of room for discussion.

“You three are idiots.” 

You leaned forward to poke your head over the passenger seat. “You didn’t have to come, you know. You could have stayed back and do boring things like dressing up patches or something.”

He turned his head with narrowed eyes. “And make sure you guys didn’t fake your ‘proof?’ Not a chance.”

You laugh. “You’ll be the first one we feed to the ghosts.”

You bickered back and forth until George announced that they had finally made it. Not even seconds after he pulled into the clearing in front of the property, you and Sap practically kept out of the car and rushed to the trunk to get your gear. After distributing equipment amounts your group you took your first look at the house

The Farmhouse was much larger than you remembered reading about. It was a huge two story red building with a faded white trim. The word around it looked like it had been rotting for years and it definitely smelt like rot. AMany of the windows were broken in, and the glass was a gross brown color. The roof had some holes in it and the gutters had been ripped from the roof and laid scattered around the outside. A large barn was off to the side and had the same kind of wear to it. The entire property was surrounded by a torn up wire fencing, which had a lot of crows perched, eyeing you intensely. The Erie feeling the house gave off was intensified by the soft sound of the wind and the loud crow caws. 

If houses had a criteria to be haunted, this one checked off all the boxes

Sap let out a low whistle before lightly nudging your arm “Dude, this place makes your home look tiny!”

You scoffed at that. Sure your rented home was small, but was cheap enough to pay for while you worked your way through community college. A one bedroom, one bath, a combined kitchen/living space, all on top of a double garage was all you needed. 

It was a slow walk to the porch, all of you hesitant to actually set foot in the run down building. The steps creaked under you, and the wooden boards sunk slightly. You were at the head of the group, so you were the first one inside, taking a couple steps in the large foyer. It was full of outdated furniture, something you’d see out of the early 90’s. A large staircase sat to the left, hugging the wall as it pushed into the upstairs.  There was a door to your right, leading into what you believe was the kitchen.

You held the camera up and you got a good shot of the room, if there were no ghosts you’d at least have some cool photos.

The four of you spread out into  the room observing every corner of it. Sapnap was the one armed with the EMF reader. He waved the hand held device trying to get something, anything to read. He did manage to get one, honing onto a stuffed cow that was nestled into the couch.

It was dusty, like everything else in the room. Otherwise it was in semi good condition. It was... cute. Too cute to just be sitting in this old farmhouse for the rest of time. Dream had other opinions.

“That means nothing. It’s just a cow.” 

To be fair, it was the first time either of you had used this kind of equipment. You decided to put it in your bag, hoping to study it later. It could be a fluke, but you guys couldn’t bow down now!  The hunt has only just begun.

Every room on the first floor was subject to an EMF and Temperature checks. Dream and George fucked around while you and Sap scanned for anything that could be more than a fluke, the only thing that could be found was in the kitchen. A small carved statue of a crow.

It gave off the same readings as the cow plush, so perhaps it wasn’t a fluke. You found it sitting on the open windowsill, it was so life-like you almost mistake it for a living crow. Something was telling you that it was probably the oldest thing in the house. You gently placed it in your bag with the cow, another piece to your growing collection.

You took a moment to glance out the window. There were way too many crows sitting on the wire fence to be normal. It was the beginning of summer, so crows even migrate?

With the first floor cleared, you lead the charge upstairs. The floor boards only got louder with every step. You quietly asked whatever prime deity was watching that neither of your group would fall through the floor. The whole house felt unstable.

The top of the stairs lead you to a Hallway. It was small and only had two doors and at the end of it stood a large magnificent bookshelf.

You took the first door on the left accompanied by George while Sap and Dream opted to poke around in the hallway, formally splitting the group for the first time.

The room wasn’t very Large, nor could you tell what it was supposed to be used for as pretty much everything was covered with sheets of some kind. There were a couple of uncovered boxes laying on top of things, so it wasn’t completely boring. A couple of minutes of scavenging later, George called for your attention.

“Look at this” George presented you a beautiful lute from one of the few uncovered boxes. It was crafted out of a dark wood and had what you thought was engravings of fish along the sides. How old was this thing? Was it even usable?

“Let me see!” You asked, setting down the camera before making a grabby motion towards the lute, which was met with a questioning look from the Brit. “I want to see if it’s in tune.” 

He decided that it was a good enough answer before handing over the old thing. You strummed the strings, and it sounded surprisingly good, despite the cloud of dust that came off it. You paused for a brief moment before playing a quick melody, just a song you played back in middle school for a recital. You hummed along until yelps from outside and many thumps. 

You quickly set the Lute down and follow George out the door, fearing that something had gotten your two friends. However, instead of a gory mess, you saw Dream standing holding a book, while a whole pile of them at his feet, a few inches away from the bookshelf. 

“The shelves just collapsed on themselves.” He quietly said. The look on his face was puzzled, like he was still trying to figure out what had happened. 

“Or maybe,” Sap started. “The ghost doesn’t like you touching his stuff.”

“I’m keeping it then, the ghost doesn’t need it.” 

“What’s the title of it?” You asked as you fake over to view the damage. Dream opened the book and flipped through it. 

“It’s old, There isn’t a title nor is it in English, old English I think.”

What was such an old book doing in a relatively modern house? You shake the thought away and motioned for Dream to give it to you. “I’ll hold onto it, I want to see if I can get it translated.” Another treasure for your growing collection.

You turned back to check on George, he wasn’t next to you, instead he was messing with the final door, seeming to unjam the lock and push into the room. You decided to grab the lute and take it as a keepsake.

Picking it up again made your head feel... loud. You couldn’t tell which thoughts were yours and which were intruding. A pair of eyes were watching you somehow but the room was empty. Panic rose in your chest, your heart was beating so so loud. A cold hand touched your shoulders, yet you couldn’t tell if it meant you harm or not.

“Hey... are you okay?”

And it stopped. Everything was clear again. You turned your head to look back seeing Sap poke his head through the door. “You’ve been standing here for a while.”

You nod, “Yeah yeah... we should- we should stop splitting up.”

You’d only find out later that the Lute has the same effects that the other two objects did.

The house search was a bit of a bust. The only ‘Supernatural’ experience you had was the EMF meter going off and the strange experience with the lute which you opted not to tell your friends about, writing off as the Erie nature of the house getting to you.

Finding nothing else interesting, you took one last look at the entrance room before stepping out. You feel a weird sense of longing, something pulling at you not to go. You tried to shake off the feeling and you walked back to the car, just to put all your goodies away in the trunk. 

All that was left on your to-do list was to check the outside area and the barn. Being the person that you are, you went straight to the barn. They boys could handle the rest of the property alone. alone  The building had no doors you waltzed right though the entryway. Despite never actually being in a barn, it looked right to you.

It was devoid of any livestock, but there was Hay everywhere. Light shined through the holes in the ceiling, making the room clear enough. The soft blue liquid that was spread across the hay-

Wait. What?

Doing a second take revealed that the whole barn has some weird blue goo smeared everywhere. It looked too Fresh to be painted, it looked wet. There didn’t seem to be a set trail, just pools of it. You found most of it by a ladder that led up to a new section of the barn.

The blue substance was dripping from the loft of the barn. 

It had to be.

And you were right! Sort of. Finally dragging yourself up the old latter not really minding the blue that now stained your clothes, you found the source.

He was standing- floating?- there, as if waiting for someone. The man was tall, taller than you or any of their friends, absolutely towering over you. His entire pallet was muted, his skin was fucking Grey. His attire was strange too. Something out of a renaissance fair. What was the strangest was that he was translucent and bleeding? Out of a cut on his chest. That blue substance oozing out of his stomach onto the floor boards.

He smiled.

“You found me, little songbird.”

The temperature drop had you shivering, but that also could have been from the absolute terror of seeing a real ghost.

That loud feeling returned in full force, directing your attention onto him.. You had to go. But it was like you were frozen place. He moved to cup your face, cooing as he looked you over.

“It’s not polite to touch things that aren’t yours, yet you handle them with so much care... I don’t mind.”

He wasn’t acting out of malice, thank prime, but It didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. He was too close.

“.... pretty songbird. My pretty songbird.”

A beat past before you could hear your friends calling for you. Your head cleared for a moment so you took it and ran. Practically flying down the ladder and hurting yourself in the fall. Ignoring the pain you booked it to the car right past Dream and Sap, who were standing by the entrance to the barn.

“We- We have to go. Now. Please we need to... to...” you couldn’t really tell what you were saying, everything was moving too fast. Great Prime, that was a real ghost. You- You were talking to a ghost. A Ghost called you a Song bird. 

A Ghost.

That ended your hunt right there and then. You weren’t in a fit state to keep going. Especially not when you’re covered in... whatever this blue stuff is. You’d come to find later that you had a blue hand print on your face, right where the man had cradled your face.

You’re so out of it, you don’t realize when your friends are guiding you up the stairs to your home. One of them says something about leaving the loot in your garage, but you don’t really care. This is a future problem. You give a small thank you and a swift goodbye before passing out the second you feel your pillow under you.

So deep in sleep you don’t realize that your tiny home has a few new residents wandering about. 

Or the fact that one of them watched over you as you slept

-----------

I AM SIMPLY ASHAMED OF HOW LONG IVE BEEN PUTTING THIS OFF IT WAS A CRINE TO NOT LET Y'ALL SEE THIS EARLIER. LIGHT YOU'VE DONE A FANTASTIC JOB AAUAUGGG

[hockey-fics]

2 from the kissing prompt list and 5 from the smutty prompt list with Crosby or Tito please!

This is 2 from the kissing prompt list with Crosby. I’ll add 5 with Tito to my list!

Prompt: Kiss in the middle of a fight

A/N: never used someone else’s gif before but huge thank you to the person who made that one, I know how much effort goes into making gifs 

Warnings: argument (obviously), language, and an age gap. 

Four years. 

Four years since your first date. 

When he took you for dinner at a restaurant that was way out of your budget and your comfort zone. Because you were barely 20, a college student living in a rundown apartment with bars on the window and three locks on the front door. And he was almost 30, making more money than you could even wrap your head around, living in an apartment on the side of town you only fantasized about living in. 

But as soon as you were with him that night all your worries subsided. And when you saw the drink menu, hesitating at the prices, Sidney made a casual comment to order whatever you wanted. And when you excused yourself to the bathroom towards the end of the night Sidney paid for the bill while you were gone, not even giving you the chance to have to worry about splitting it. He drove you home that night and parked his car, walking you to your door and waiting till you were securely in your apartment before leaving. 

You never would have admitted it then but you fell in love with him that night. 

But it wasn’t always easy. Because he was almost a full ten years older than you. You were at different points in your life. For the most part it wasn’t an issue, you were mature for your age and he was accepting of the fact that occasionally you did just want to go out and party with your friends. But there were comments, from your family, from his family, from your friends, hell, even the media seemed to have an opinion on your relationship. You saw the tweets, the Instagram comments. You tried your best to pretend you didn’t, but even though he tried to avoid it as much as he could he was in the spotlight and it was inevitable. 

You moved in together three years after you got together, you settled in with him easily. And in the beginning you thought maybe the flood of happiness you felt waking up every morning in a bed that the two of you shared would fade, but it didn’t. You figured at some point cooking dinner together in your kitchen would become routine, but every time he wrapped his arms around your waist while you were preparing dinner or he would step between your legs while you sat on the counter placing his large hands on your thighs, you were just as overcome with joy as the very first time. 

Your whole life you never believed in soulmates. People just found someone they clicked with and made it work. But when you met Sid all those thoughts changed. Because you never met anyone who made you feel the way he did, not a single friend or ex could compete with the overwhelming happiness and comfort that Sid brought you. 

When your family was having a reunion there wasn’t any hesitation in your mind over Sidney coming. Sure, you weren’t married, he wasn’t technically a part of the family. But it really only felt like a formality at this point, that piece of paper. 

So you and Sid packed a suitcase for the three nights you were going to be away, giddy with excitement at getting to introduce Sid to your entire family. He had met your close family on so many occasions, but it was the distant relatives, cousins you yourself had only met a few times, that could get to meet him now. 

Of course Sid splurged, getting a suite in one of the nicest hotels in the area. You told him it wasn’t necessary, that the two of you would be busy, wouldn’t be there that often anyway. But he insisted. 

The second night you two got ready for an afternoon barbecue with your entire family. Your aunt and uncle had rented space at a local country club, a large outdoor gazebo, lawn space for the younger kids to play on. It was all gearing up to be a great afternoon. 

“What if I can’t remember someone’s name? Should we have a codeword or something?” Sid asks, voice hushed and panicked as you walk along beside him, hand in hand towards where your parents had told you to meet everyone. 

Coming to a stop you tug him to face you. “Stop worrying. This is supposed to be fun. Everyone is going to love you.”

And perhaps you shouldn’t have been so confident, an egregious error in assuming you knew your distant family well enough to make that statement. Because by the time dinner is over and a few drinks have been poured the conversations seemed to be taking a turn you weren’t expecting. 

“So, Sid,” your uncle Max says, drawing the attention of you and Sid along with the rest of the group that was sitting around one of the large outdoor tables. “How old are you again?”

Sid clears his throat and you reach over, grasping for his hand beneath the table. “Thirty-three,” he tells him with a nervous formality of being interrogated by the police. 

“And Y/N, darling, correct me if I’m wrong but you’re twenty-two?” You Aunt chimes in. 

“Twenty-three,” you correct, with a force smile. “Almost twenty-four,” you add quickly, immediately regretting it, cringing internally at the childish way it had come across, trying to prove yourself to be older. 

“Sid, you’ve never had any kids? No ex-wives?” Max asks, prodding questions he had no right to be asking when he had barely even asked about the mundane facts of Sid’s life. 

“No,” Sid replies, a defensive edge to his tone. 

“Hm,” Max hums, picking up his drink and taking a rather large swig. “Didn’t want any…or?”

“I…uh,” Sid stammers, rarely at a loss for words but now unable to form a simple sentence. 

“We’re thinking about it,” you suddenly chime in. You feel Sid’s eyes on you, wide and confused. It wasn’t like you two hadn’t talked about it before. In fact, you had talked about it on a number of occasions. Early on in the relationship it came up as a general question ‘do you want kids?’. As things got more serious is became more clear that when you two were picturing having kids it was together. Discussing how you wanted to raise your kids, how many you wanted. And you had been thinking about it, just hadn’t brought it up to Sid that you were starting to think maybe you were getting close to being ready. 

“Oh, hunny, you’re so young and he-,” you aunt begins, trailing off as she glances over at Sid. 

You can feel your emotions building, rage coursing through your veins. “Like I said, we’re thinking about it. I know it’s a big decision.” With that you shut down the conversation, pushing your chair back and watching Sid follow suit, walking with you away from the table. Neither of you say anything till you get back to the car you were renting for the weekend, needing to get away from it all for a few minutes. Hot, angry tears filling your eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

You stare up at Sid, blinking away your tears as you try to put together what he was talking about. “You’re sorry? Sorry for what? That’s my asshole family, I’m the one who needs to be apologizing to you.”

“But this wouldn’t be happening with another guy,” Sid says, holding both your hands in his. “You shouldn’t need to be standing up for me like that. They’re also your family and I can’t put you in the position of needing to be at odds with them for a relationship.”

“What are you saying?” You ask, shaking your head as you pull your hands back from his, using one to wipe away a few tears before crossing them over your chest. 

“I don’t know,” Sid admits, looking around as he takes a deep breath. “Maybe we…you and I-.”

“No,” you interject, shaking your head. “If you think my family’s opinions are going to change how I feel about you, about us, then you’re a fucking idiot, Sidney. I love you…so much. I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you make me happier than anyone has ever made me, I’m the best version of myself when I’m with you and I’m never going to let that go because someone thinks you’re a few years too old for me or whatever other bullshit people will criticize us about. And I really thought you felt as sure about this as I do, so-.”

Suddenly Sid is stepping closer, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and tender and filled with a thousand words he hadn’t spoken out loud. Your arms fall from across your chest to around his shoulders, letting him pull you closer. “Marry me,” he whispers against your lips. 

You’re silent for a second, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “What?” 

“Marry me,” he repeats. “I have the ring already, I’ve been thinking about asking you for months but it never felt like the perfect moment and this sure as hell isn’t the perfect moment either but I can’t wait any longer. Because I do feel as sure about this as you do and you need to know that now.”

You have tears in your eyes again as you stare up at Sid, only able to nod in response for a minute. “Of course I want to marry you,” you finally whisper, your arms wrapped tight around him. 

[tamagochiie]

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader

synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.

Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…

tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing 

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to the first chapter of this series! i’m very excited to start this, and i hope everyone who reads it enjoys it as well! i got the idea from a manga i was binge reading a while back, so the themes and a few of the plot points are different, but as it progresses, i’ve made it my own. 

anyway, happy christmas! see you next week! 

master list

life as she’s known it >> 

You notice the subtle clench of Kenma's jaw beneath the warm glow of the hallway's light. His hooded gaze strained by hours upon hours of gaming meets your wavering grin. The gears in his head are turning very slowly, and since silence has fallen upon the atmosphere of your shared apartment, you can actually hear the little squeaks as your poor boyfriend tries to fathom the sight before him.

You have quite a knack for bringing peculiar things home without permission; the little frog you adopted on the side of the road during your commute home one stormy night, the mud pie your nephew made for you that stunk the entire apartment for weeks because you didn't have the heart to throw it away—at least not immediately; and the dinner you brought home from the self-proclaimed "legitimate" kebab restaurant that resides in the sketchier side of the city.

All quirky things that Kenma had accepted and grown used to.

But this? This was so far from the bar you had set for his expectations, he can't help but wonder if you're pulling a prank, or maybe even actually committing a crime. But the glint of guilt and sorrow painting so deep into your face tells him otherwise.

Oh, how the poor gamer wishes it was a prank.

You swallow your fear, forcing it all the way down to the pit of your stomach. You've practiced all you've needed to say in the ride home, but all you can manage is stuttering, "I-I can..I can explain," in rather hushed tone.

There goes all my practice, you think to yourself.

Kenma raises a brow, still peering at you with the driest expression. The child in your arms begins to weigh heavier than the pressure placed upon your chest.

Ah, he just might break up with me after this...

"This is—uh, this one behind me is Eiji—Ejij say hi." The young boy behind you bows shyly, his greeting softer than a whisper it feels like you imagined it. "And this little one—sleeping soundly—this one's Yuki..."

Kenma blinks away at your words, face unamused. You regret not even trying to bring home some cake. Maybe if you did, he wouldn't be so...upset? Is he upset or is it just his face again? You can never really tell.

You huff, quietly jumping to the harsh conclusion this'll be the moment he ends things with you. But you won't go down without at least a little fight.

"Look," You sigh, shifting your hold beneath Yuki's tiny bum so he doesn't slip away, "They needed a place to stay, and no one was willing to take them!" Your lips fall dry and the more you speak, the more your words come out strained. "In a room full of people who—who called themselves your family for so many years fall silent the moment they needed help! No one spoke up to help them! It was so bad, Kenma! I-If you were there you—"

You bite your tongue, catching yourself before you're swept away by the current of your rage.

A deep, shaky sigh escapes him. His eyes finally tearing away from you as he cranes his head back, seemingly accepting his temporary defeat. "Let them sleep in the spare room and we'll talk after," is the only thing Kenma says to you before turning around walking away.

The constricting feeling in your chest eases and you sigh in relief. You mentally high five yourself for your momentary win before twisting your gaze over your shoulder to look at the young boy towering over you, motioning him to follow you.

You never noticed how wide the apartment actually is. Maybe its because of the emptying feeling you were left with back in the hallway, but it all seems so eerily wide. Like, what are two people doing with such a big space?

He'll definitely break up with me after this.

There's still a lingering prickly feeling in your heart; a mixed emotion of a win and a loss. You try your best to prepare yourself for whatever the outcome may be, but deep inside you're already prepared for a break up.

The young boy trails behind you all the way into the bedroom, leaving a considerable amount of space between the two of you.

You switch the lights on, revealing a room big enough for more than just two kids. A desk on the side, a king size bed at the center, and a window with a good view of the city. It was usually the room Hinata crashed whenever he came back from traveling with his team, but he hadn't been here in months. Traces of him were left in the form of dust.

"Will this be good enough for now?" You ask Eiji as you shrug Yuki's backpack to the floor before making your way over to the bed.

His head is lowered, eyes still failing to meet yours. He's been like this since you pulled them from under the gossiping gaze of your family.

Family, you think. The word seems so meaningless now.

"When someone speaks to you, you ought to look at them," You say it with a genuine smile, hoping that the little warmth you have left in your heart radiates off you and onto him.

God knows he needs it more than you.

"Y-yes, you're right. Thank you." He stammers, "I'm-I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude—"

"Hey," You say, gently cutting him off as you hold your smile. He's still as soft and shy as the day you first met him. You can't help but smile at the thought that he never changed. "I'm not mad or anything...Its just a teaching moment. Remember it."

You watch as Eiji slowly shifts his gaze away from the floor, slowly raising his head to meet your eyes."There you go. You've got pretty eyes, you shouldn't hide them."

He hums a quiet thank you before turning around and shifting his attention to his backpack. You take care of the little one still hanging onto you, pressing a kiss onto his little forehead and rubbing his back before settling him down onto the bed.

You're careful not to stir him as you slip his shoes off. You tuck him in, brushing his hair away from his face to reveal his long lashes and puffy eyes.

Ah, there goes the heaviness in your chest again; a recurring feeling for the day. You wonder when it'll end and your heart sinks even deeper when you remember Kenma waiting for you.

Hesitantly, you excuse yourself and make your way to the door. You let Eiji know where the bathroom is and tell him not to be scared to ask you for anything, "Please don't scared," is the last thing you mutter before leaving the boys to rest.

You tiptoe across the living room, down the hall and towards your shared bedroom. The wooden floorboards creak beneath your feet whispering, "You've done it now", "You've crossed the line", and "He's definitely going to yell at you".

You clench the knob of your bedroom door. The thumping of your heart deafens your ears and your throat grows too dry for you to swallow your fear.

You shut your eyes and pray to the deities, hoping for a good outcome—hoping for any outcome than the one you're expecting.

It takes a moment—five minutes to be exact—but you muster a sliver of courage to push the door open. For some odd reason, you imagined Kenma would be sitting at the edge of the bed, silently brewing in his anger. But instead, he's on the floor, knees up to his chest as he fiddles with his Switch.

And you can't tell if you're annoyed or relieved.

You shut the door behind you before joining him on the floor. You keep your head down, picking off your nail polish while you wait.

Kenma pauses his game, setting it down to the side before completely leaning against the bed, lulling his head back to take a breath. You shut your eyes and you take a deep breath when you feel him shifting in his place to face you.

Here it is. He's going to yell at me, you think.

"What are you plotting?" He asks, not a single trace of irritation found in his voice but rather sheer curiosity dripping from his words. You keep your head down and eyes shut. "You ought to look at someone when they're speaking to you," Your name rolls off his tongue playfully, covered in nothing more than love and sincerity.

You peak an eye at him, lifting your head. "You're not gonna to yell at me?"

"When have I ever yelled at you?" His face contorts in judgement and a little concern, wondering if his girlfriend's broken or just completely stupid. "Why would I yell at you now?"

"I brought home two stray kids..."

"Yes, you did," He says matter-of-factly, "and we need to talk about that. So, can we please talk about that?"

You nod slowly, bringing your knees up to your chest before turning your whole body to face him.

Kenma sinks his elbow onto the end of the bed, cupping his chin for support before he speaks, “Who are those kids and why did you bring them home?"

Kenma looks at you directly, his face emotionless, but a bit softer compared to when you were first standing in the hallway. He blinks at you, waiting patiently till you're ready to speak.

"They were my cousin's kids," You say in a strained whisper. "The—The one that died in the accident." Kenma hums in response, signaling you to keep going. "We weren't close—as you know or else you would've heard a lot more about him—but we felt close enough...given what our family's like..."

Growing up with the kind of family you had and having met everyone from your extended family was kind of like living in a block of ice that never melted; solid in their beliefs, slippery with their anger, and had no room for any other emotion.

You made this very clear to Kenma when you first started dating, especially when he had asked to meet your family. He wasn't one to socialize or even initiate it, but he would do it if it meant doing it for you. But you turned the idea down fast, warned him that there'd be no reason to have to go through all that stress just for you; and though he was just as stubborn as you, Kenma gave in and never brought it up again when he saw how upset you had gotten.

But in chest full of ice cubes, there was your cousin, Akihiro-san. Like you, he was different. He wasn't cold, but he was so genuine and real, you couldn't help but doubt his kindness.

A kindness you failed return when he needed it most. So, when you saw your moment of opportunity, you snatched it, regrettably leaving your boyfriend as an afterthought to your decision.

"I owe it to him, Kenma..." You plead in whisper. "I owe to him because he was the only one who was ever nice to me..."

"These are kids," He counters, dipping his head to meet your glossy eyes. He takes your cheek into the palm of his hand, his thumb tracing circles over your skin. "This would be different if it were a puppy or a plant—but these are living and breathing kids and we know nothing about raising kids. My love, we're only in our twenties..."

"But—"

"You should've called first." He cuts you off, his tone still soft , but firm. You’re at least grateful he’s called you your pet name. "You should've called me and asked."

"You would've said no..."

"How do you know? You never called me." There isn't resentment in Kenma's words. Its still  playful and light, but you can feel his hurt and you feel dumb because you know exactly why. "I would've liked to have been included in this decision...especially since this is my home and you are my girlfriend, and you promised that we would make decisions together."

You frown, tears brimming to the surface as you realized what you've done and how you've probably made him feel.You denied him of his choice, and you were silly to believe that it was okay to go over his head and behind his back.

As you whisper a string of apologies, Kenma presses his forehead onto yours, smiling at you. He was angry at first, but not so much anymore.

"Are you going to break up with me?" You sniffle, voice breaking at the thought. "I'd understand if you wanted to break up with me...But I just—I really wanted to help them. I'm so sorry I didn't ask you first, I couldn't just leave them—"

"Shhh," His breath fans against your skin, "I'm not breaking up with you, stupid. Given, this is probably the biggest wild card you've thrown at me by far, but its not enough for me to break up with you."

You hide your face into dip of his neck, sobbing into the material of his sweater, letting go of the strength you had from holding back and stain it with your tears. You had always been reckless, but it never turned him off. He never raised his voice, he always heard you out, and even when you slipped up, he always forgave you in a heartbeat.

It makes you question if you’re deserving of such a love as this. 

“I was very angry and very offended,” Kenma begins, “I didn’t like what you did. It made me feel like you couldn’t trust me, and it made me feel like you saw me as some kind of terrible person that would turn away kids that need a home...”

You shake your heard, muttering a “no” to his assumption. 

Kenma runs his fingers through your hair and down to your back, soothing you until you've caught your breaths. He'll soft press his lips against the crown of your head, discreetly swiping the little sweat off his lips to keep you from being offended.

"S-So, what do we do about the kids?" Your question muffled but Kenma can hear you just fine.

He sighs, and as he's about to pull you away from his chest, you tighten your hold around his waist. "Please look at me," Your shoulders fall and you pout when you come face to face with him. He chuckles at how ridiculously childish you look, "Do you really want to do this?"

Your eyes widen, "Y-yes. I want to do this, but if you don't want—"

"Better us than anyone else, right?" You blink at him, processing. "I don't know shit about kids, but if you really want to do this, I'll support you. But you can't expect me to be good at this."

Kenma falls onto your shoulder and rests all his weight onto you, letting out a sigh. Panic envelopes his heart, his stomach flipping and churning as he stresses over all the things that's yet to come.

“We’ve been dating for four years, and I’ve just only gotten the hang of you now...” He admits in a heavy sigh.

I'm still a kid, he thinks, groaning. He's plays games all day, forgets to shower, and doesn't know how to cook either. He works from home, rarely goes out unless he needs to or if you want to. Out of the both of you, you're--surprisingly-- more put together than he is.

Can he really do this?

"Please don't expect much from me," He begs, "I don't do well with kids, and you even took in a grown one. What if it doesn't like me or if it forget to feed it?"

You chew on your lip, holding back a laugh and quietly smile to yourself. Vulnerability paints well on your boyfriend, and you wish for even more moments like this.

“I promise it’ll only be until we kind find some other arrangement for them...Something better." You’re not entirely confident in your words, but you understand the idea of having them stay with you isn’t the most sound solution. 

"I suppose if we mess up, we'll mess it up together." He says in defeat, sprawling his legs open before wrapping it around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. He cradles your body tightly just as Yuki had done. "You don't understand how unbelievably lucky you are that I love you."

[everlarkficexchange]

The Hope that gave me hope

Written by: @ameliaodair​

Prompt 156 - Toastbaby’s perspective from the womb throughout pregnancy. Bonus points from post-birth moments. [submitted by @lovely-to the-bone/ @peetamewllark​ ]

Thank you @lovely-tothe-bone for this amazing prompt!

Word Count: 5137

Rated: K-T

Unbeta’d, edited by me

SPOILER ALERT: Anyone reading my stories, “Changing the Game” or “Another Way Out” this story DOES contain spoilers for events yet to come.

Okay, so I tweaked this prompt just a little… Instead of post MJ, this story will coincide with my Hunger Games rewrite (Changing the Game, Another Way Out, and TBA) Toastbaby’s perspective from inside the womb as Katniss goes through the arena and her time in 13.  I hope you guys like it and if you are interested in some of the things “Little One” hears/experiences, then you should check out my stories.  You can find them on A03 and FFN.

***I tried to stay true to the facts of a fetus growing (what they are doing and when) in utero, but some things may have been adjusted***

Also, as I was writing this story, a memory resurfaced from when my kids were little, and I would take them to Temple on Friday nights for Tot Shabbat.  Before I give you my story, here is a little background on Leilah, the Angel of Conception.

You know that little indentation above your lips, and (under your nose? Okay, well, keep that in mind) So, the story goes that the Angel Leilah chooses which souls inhabit which seeds and accompanies them in the womb, teaching them all the knowledge of the Torah (Hebrew Bible, ((I think)).  So, while the “baby” is in the womb, it has all the knowledge and answers in the world and when you are born, your lungs fill with air, which results in crying and Leilah tells the baby to “Ssshhh” and presses her finger to their lips, which is what causes that little indentation and thus, wiping their memory…and they have to learn everything all over again.  (At least that’s how I think it goes) Anyway, I really wanted to incorporate that story into this one, so here goes.

The Hope that gave me hope

“Listen closely child, your next journey will not be an easy one.  The world has taken a turn for the worst; war and famine has devastated much of what remains, ruled by a callous tyrant.  However, you will be conceived to a pair of great importance.  Together, they will change the world for the better, but not before enduring many hardships.  There will be pain, heartache, and deep suffering, but the end result will be well worth the struggle.”

Little One, squirmed in place as the Creator described her next assignment.

“A-are you certain they are the right ones for me?” Little One asked the Creator uncertainly, although she knew the answer.

“I am certain, Child,” his voice boomed, “Do you doubt me?  Have I ever led you astray?”

“No Sir,” Little One faltered.

“Have faith, Child,” the Creator continued, his voice much softer.  “Now go on.  Off you go.”

“But … I am frightened Sir,” Little One stumbled, shrinking back with her fear.

“What is there to be frightened of, my Child?”

“I do not enjoy the solitude, perhaps you could accompany me on my journey?”

The Creator laughed at Little One, his voice rattling the ground, “You will not be alone Child, Leilah will be with you the entire way.  She will not leave your side in the womb, not for a single moment.  She will spend her time teaching you all the knowledge of the world—”

“So that I may share it with my … what are they called again— parents?”

The Creator shook the earth again with his laughter, “Yes, they are called parents.  And no, you may not share it with them.  Leilah will be waiting for you on the outside just before your entrance into the world and the moment your lungs fill with air, your consciousness of her given knowledge will be erased.  You must rely on your parents for wisdom and guidance.”

“But Sir— what is the point?” Little One asked, her face contorting into a confused expression.

“No more questions, Little One, it is time for you to descend.  Time is of the essence; Leilah has chosen the perfect … ah … specimen for you to inhabit, but like I said, time is of the essence.”

“I have one more question Sir, if I may.”

“Yes Child?”

“What will be the names of my … parents?” Little One asked.

The Creator chuckled at her question, “Katniss and Peeta,” he said, patting her on the head just before he sent her on her way.

Gestation Period: Weeks 1-4

‘It’s dark.  But I’m warm.  I’m comfortable.  I think I like it in here.’  Little One thought to herself as she burrowed herself deep inside her mother’s womb, her cells multiplying at the perfect rate.

Gestation Period: Week 6-8

Although her ears are not developed just yet and she cannot hear a thing, Little One can sense that her mother is distraught and plagued with sadness.  ‘Why are you sad, Mother?’  Little One pondered.

“It is okay Little One, your mother is just frightened.  She and your father just became aware of your existence and face many challenges ahead,” Leilah’s voice bounced against the walls of Little One’s new home.

‘Oh,’ Little One thought to herself. ‘Do … do they not want me; will I make it to my day of birth?’ Little One communicated, fearful of Leilah’s answer.  Little One knew that sometimes certain essences were not compatible with certain pairings and their journeys came to an end before it even had the chance to begin. Little One hoped this was not the case for herself.

“No dear, it is not that.  They are frightened because the world they live in is a harsh and cruel world.  They never desired to have children of their own— they did not wish their circumstances onto another.  But Little One, they already love you dearly, so do not fret.  Everything will work out as it was meant to.”  Leilah soothed Little One and began her teachings of the world.

Gestation Period: Week 12-16

‘What was that?’ Little One interrupted Leilah during a particularly boring story.

“Do not be frightened Little One, you are just sensing the vibration of excitement surrounding your mother.“

‘What are they excited about— is their excitement geared toward me?  And … and why do I sense discomfort in Mother?’ Little One was enigmatically in tune with her mother’s feelings and emotions, even from this early in her life.

“That is not for you to worry yourself over.  Soon, within the next few weeks your ears will become more developed, and you will be able to hear so much more.”

‘But … how do I hear you if I cannot hear?’ Little One asked, plagued with confusion.

Little One continued to ask question after question, so curious she was.  And the kind, patient Angel that Leilah was did her best to answer them all— to the best of her ability.

‘Why do I bounce up and down?’ Little One asked several days later.

“Those are called hiccups,” Leilah informed her.

‘Well, I do not like them,’ Little One retorted with a scowl.  Though she did not know it, it very much resembled her mother’s signature expression.

Leilah chuckled, “No, not many people do.”  Leilah smirked and continued her teachings of the world with Little One as she tried to mask her concern over the voices she heard.

“Oh, Katniss darling; we have missed you so much!” Someone on the outside crooned.  Leilah feared the worst from the shrill voices shrieking on the outside.  Those voices only meant one thing; Katniss, and most likely Peeta had returned to the Capitol, which meant they were headed back into the Games.  It was just as the Creator predicted and she worried for Little One’s life.

“Oh Katniss, Peeta, we’re so-so, sorry!” The voices on the outside hiccupped as they sobbed.

“It’s a … you’re a … a bird, it’s a—” a loud voice boomed, which caused Little One to bounce from side to side.

“A mockingjay,” Leilah heard Katniss confirm to the loud voice.

‘What is a mockingjay?’ Little one piped up from her slumber.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks

“Hey there little nut—”

‘EEK!’ Little One internally gasped.  ‘What was that, OH! I am frightened!’ Little One called out in fear.

“Do not be alarmed Little One, it’s just your ears that are working.  It is your father’s voice that you hear.  Listen … he is speaking to you.” Leilah spoke softly, encouraging Little One to listen.

Little One sat as still as she could and listened intently as the deep melodic voice of her father reverberated off the walls of her perfect home.

“I’m going to call you Little Nut since we don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl, I hope that’s okay.  This is your father; my name is Peeta.”

‘Peeta,’ Little One tried the name in her head and smiled, deciding that she liked the way it sounded. ‘Yes, it is okay for you to call me “Little Nut”,’ Little One longed to tell her father.  She extended her arm up and waved her hand, wishing her father could see her new trick.

“Listen Nut, I’m not sure how we’re going to make it out of the arena, but I am going to do everything in my power to get you and your mom out of there.  I … I don’t know if I’ll ever get to meet you, but I just want you to know that … somehow, I WILL keep the two of you safe.  And … I just want you to know how much I love you and that you are so loved.  But don’t you worry, you will have so many people to love you and take care of you and … I just don’t want you to ever doubt my love for you.  You will have your mommy, and yes, she is scared right now, but she will be the best mommy you could ever ask for; ever hope for.  She is the strongest, bravest person I know, and she will teach you so much.  When you get bigger, she’ll teach you how to use a bow and arrow, and … and if you ever do something that upsets her, just bring her some cheese buns.  Your Grandpa Bing can teach you how to make them, or your Uncle Rye.  Cheese buns are her favorite; she won’t be able to stay mad at you for long if you bring her cheese buns.  Oh!  In case you were wondering, Bing is my dad, and Rye is my brother.”

‘Cheese buns, gee, I hope I will remember that.’ Little One knew she wouldn’t, but she continued to sit in silence, soaking up her father’s every word and finding solace in his soothing voice.

“Then there is your Aunt Prim.  That’s your mom’s sister.  Oh, she’s going to fall in love with you the moment she sees you.  Well, actually, she is probably already in love with you.  She is probably really mad at me though.  Well, me and your mom.  You see, I did something.  When we went on stage for our interviews with Caesar, I um … I told the world about you.  I hadn’t planned on doing it; it kind of just … came out.  So, everyone back at home is probably a little shocked right now, and they probably aren’t sure if I was telling the truth.  But your Aunt Prim, and your Grandma Lilly, they are healers, and I am almost certain that after my shocking announcement they’re putting the pieces together and they know you’re real.”

‘What is Father talking about?  I am so confused.  What is ‘interview’ and ‘Caesar’ and ‘arena’?  I just like the sound of Father’s voice, so I don’t really care right now. Please Father, please talk some more,’ Little One wanted to tell him.

“Oh, Little Nut, I don’t want to leave you, I really don’t.  I want to watch you grow, I want to meet you and know you.  It hurts so much thinking I will never get the chance to be your dad.  I want nothing more in this screwed up world than to hold you, hug you and kiss you— to rock you.  And … and when you get older, I would teach you how to paint—”

‘Yes, I think I would like that, too.’ Little One agreed with Peeta.

“But … things aren’t looking so good for me, so … I don’t even know if you can hear me, but, oh, I … I just love you so much, okay?”

Little One heard sniffles and she recalled her lesson with Leilah on emotions and crying.

‘Please Father, do not be sad.  We will see each other soon, I promise,’ Little One so badly wanted to comfort her father.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks and 4 Days

‘Why do I find comfort in this?’ Little One asked Leilah as she placed her thumb into her mouth and began sucking.

“It has to do—” Leilah was interrupted by Peeta’s voice once again as he spoke to his daughter.

“Hello again Little Nut, it’s me, your dad.”

‘T-that’s my father!’ Little One began bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I just … I just wanted to tell you I love you just in case this is the end.  You stay in there and you stay strong for your mama.  I hope … I hope I will get the chance to meet you, but if not, just know how much I love you Little Nut, okay?”

Little One felt something pressing against her, causing her to shift to the other side of the cozy womb.  Then, she heard her father’s voice once more, but this time it was further away, “I’ll see you at midnight.  Everything will go as planned, just like we talked about, okay?”

“Okay,” although her mother’s firm voice resonated strength, from deep inside her body, Little One could feel the trembling in her voice, which was undoubtedly filled with fear.  ‘Mother does not believe his words?’ Little One intuited.

‘Father’s voice is gone, and I so want him to speak to me again; I really like his voice.’ Little One whined.

Leilah knew what was happening on the outside and she didn’t want Little One to worry.

“Pay attention to me, Little One, do not concern yourself with the outside noises.  It is time for our next lesson.” Leilah said, hoping to distract Little One from the fight going on outside.

Outside, Katniss and Johanna were running, stringing Beetee’s wire from the lightning tree to the beach, and then Johanna blindsided Katniss, knocking her out with a giant log— all to cut her tracker out.

‘I do not feel so good, I wish to take a nap,’ Little One said as a result of Katniss losing so much blood.  Leilah sang Little One a song that offered comfort and nestled the growing baby in her heart while she pleaded with the Creator to watch over them all.

For a long time, there was silence and Little One wondered what was happening.  Sometimes she could hear voices from far away and she longed to know who they were.  Who they were to her, to her mother— her father?  Are they the family her father spoke so fondly of?

And then finally, one day out of the blue she finally heard her mother’s croaky voice echo off the walls of her warm home as Little One waved a hand in front of her face.  Though she could not see it anymore because her eyelids had become fused shut, she still knew that she was doing it.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks

“Peeta!  Where’s Peeta?  And … what about the baby?” Little One startled from a deep slumber to hear her mother shrieking, her voice tremulous with panic.

“My apologies Miss Everdeen, the fetus was unable to withstand the blast when the arena exploded.  You had a miscarriage,” an icy voice commanded the room, which resulted in Little One bobbing up and down as her mother started shaking.  Little One could hear her mother’s heart accelerating and her breathing quickening.

‘Wait, what?  No, no … do not believe them, Mother, I am still here!’ Little One tried to reach her mother— to no avail, who was crying so hard.

“No, no, no.  No, you’re wrong.  I— I would feel it if she— if the baby were gone.  Just like with Peeta, I would feel it, and I still feel her—” her mother tried to reason with the people surrounding her.

“I’m sorry Miss Everdeen—” The icy voice said, though she did not sound apologetic at all.

There was a loud bang, and then stillness.

‘I do not understand, why are they denying my existence?  I am still here, right?’ Little One reached out to Leilah for confirmation.  She was not ready for her journey to be at its end.

“Yes darling, you are still very much alive.  They are confused, that’s all.” Leilah assured Little One, though, she knew the truth.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks and 2 Days

“Katniss, if you have any intentions on keeping your baby alive, you need to stay calm and do exactly as I say,” a soft voice, not the icy one spoke to Little One’s mother.

“W-what?”

“If you can keep a secret, so can I, but I need you to stay calm,” and then Little One heard the nice voice saying words like pressure and elevation, but all she cared about was that her mother knew she was still alive and safely inside her.  Little One was counting on her to keep them okay.

‘I do not understand, why would that voice lie to my mother?  Why would she tell her I am no longer, when I AM?’ Little One pleaded to Leilah, overcome with confusion.

“People lie my dear.  Sometimes it is to shield others from pain, but oftentimes it is for vindictive reasons— for their own selfish gain.  But do not worry yourself over this matter, we have much to cover before our time is up.”

Gestation Period: 23-26 Weeks

The next few weeks, or perhaps it’s months, it’s difficult for Little One to tell time from inside her mother, but somehow— she can feel her father’s presence, yet she does not hear his voice.

‘Where did Father go?’

“He is away for now, but do not fret Little One, he will return very soon.” Leilah assured her and began to distract her with more of life’s lessons.  For days and days, weeks even, Leilah filled their time with the teachings of the world.  Leilah knew what was going on in the ‘outside’ and she did her best to keep Little One’s mind occupied.

“That THING isn’t Peeta,” Little One heard her mother shout over and over.  And then she heard many words she did not recognize, words Leilah had never explained to her.  Hijacking, enemy, snow, weapon.

“Don’t you worry Little Nut; we’ll bring Daddy home soon.  He’s finally awake, and him and your Grandma Effie are coming home soon; well, if you can actually call this place home,” Little One was reassured by her mother’s promise— her heart accelerated at the mention of her father’s return and she stretched her leg out in excitement.

“Unh!” Katniss exclaimed, “was that you, Little Nut?” Katniss asked Little One when she felt the fluttering in her abdomen.

Little One repeated this action in response to her mother’s racing heart.

“That’s right, baby.  We’ll get daddy back really soon, I promise.  That- that thing they brought back from the Capitol is NOT daddy— I don’t care what they say.  Peeta— your dad would never hurt me, no matter what.  We’re going to rescue him— him and Effie, and they’re going to do it soon, or … or I won’t be their stupid mockingjay.”

After that conversation, Katniss spoke to Little One often, filling her in and sharing many details about the world outside.  Little One would always try to stretch an arm or a leg to tell her mother she was listening.  That she believed in her.  That she trusted her.

Gestation Period: 26 Weeks and 5 Days

“K-Katniss?” Little One’s head twitched to the side when she heard the familiar voice.

‘Is … is that—’ Little One stuttered in excitement, yet she didn’t want to get her hopes up.  It had been SO long since she last heard her father’s voice.  Granted, this voice was croaky and sounded almost nothing like him, but something deep inside her knew it was him.

“Yes, Little One, it is your father.  He has finally returned.” Leilah answered her.

Little One thought that having her father back within arm’s reach would have given her mother some relief from all the tears she succumbed to each night, but instead, she cried even more.

‘Why is Mother still so sad?’ Little One asked Leilah during another particularly boring lesson.

Leilah didn’t want to burden the child with all the pain going on outside, so she just said, “Your father is just going through some adjustments.  Do not worry, they will find their way back to each other, it will just take some time.”

Gestation Period: 27 Weeks

‘W-what was that?’ Little One asked when she heard a new sound echoing off the walls of her perfect home.

“That is your mother.  She is singing to you.” Leilah informed Little One.

‘I … I like it … it’s beautiful,’ Little One crooned, swaying to the sound of her mother’s voice.

Little One tried to stretch her leg out to reassure her mother she was here for her, but it seemed her perfect home had shrunk.  Anxiety consumed her as she wondered what would happen when she no longer fit.

“Do you remember our discussion entailing your day of birth?” Leilah hummed to Little One.  “When this home no longer suits your needs, you will be welcomed into the world.  That is when your true life shall begin.  It will be cold, bright and scary, but your parents will love, nurture, and soothe you.  They will be your new home— they will provide you with all that you need to sustain your life.  Though, it is not safe for you to enter that world until you have used up every single big of space in this home.  Do you understand?”

‘Y-yes,’ Little One apprehensively answered Leilah, recalling a lesson from some time before.  She wasn’t sure if she was going to like this ‘New Home.’  The one that she was currently in was perfect and she loved it in here.  Why did that have to change?  Why did she have to keep growing?  What if she just … stopped.  Could she choose to stay in this perfect, warm, and cozy home forever?

“Stop thinking so hard, and you know the answer to that.” Leilah interrupted Little One’s thoughts.  “Everything grows, just as everything dies.  It is the circle of life.  One day, it will be you who grows a person inside of your body and then you will understand.”

Little One giggled and thought, ‘That’s so silly!’

Gestation Period: 29 Weeks

‘Leilah,’ Little One began; it was the first time she had ever addressed Angel Leilah by her name, and it made her squirm uncomfortably.

“Yes, dear?”

‘What is the point?  Why do you teach me all the knowledge of the world before I am born, only to distinguish it from my mind at birth?  It just … it seems … pointless.’

“Yes, I can see how you would see it that way, but I promise you, my child, there is a reason.  There is a reason for everything.  Do you remember our lesson about the tangible things in the world, like ‘paper’ and ‘pencils’, and things like ‘writing’?”

‘Yes, I think so.’

“If you write your feelings down on a piece of paper and then erase it, so that it is no longer visible to the naked eye, does that mean it is gone forever?  My child, the knowledge will always be within you, and as certain things in your life come to pass, you will get a glimmer of a feeling … as if a moment is familiar.  That is how you will know the path you are on is the right path for you at that time.  Just because I erase the memories of all your knowledge, that does not mean it is gone forever.”

‘Okay,’ Little One listened intently and agreed.

Gestation Period: 32 Weeks

As her time in the womb was growing shorter and shorter, Little One grew more nervous and anxious with each day that passed.  She could still hear voices on the outside, but the rumbling and gurgling coming from inside her mother drowned most everything out.  The space in her home was getting tighter and tighter— she could barely move at this point.  The walls around her home kept squeezing her for a moment, but they would relax almost immediately.

‘I’m not sure that I like that,’ Little One frowned.

“It is just your mother’s body practicing for your birth.  It is natural.  Now, we must focus, it is almost time.”

The squeezing got worse.  Instead of squeezing her for a few seconds here and there, it lasted for minutes and minutes.  Not only did the squeezing last longer, but it became harder and tighter.

Gestation Period: 35 Weeks and 6 days

“My dear child, it is time.” Leilah announced one night.

‘But … NO!’ Little One cried.  ‘I … I still have room, it- it can’t be time yet, I’m not ready!’

“No one is ever ready for change, but I fear our time is up.  It is indeed early, quite early actually, but it will all work out as it was meant to, just as I told you many months ago.”

Little One was frightened, because her entry into the world was not happening in the exact way Leilah had described.  Instead of being squeezed down by the walls of her home, where she would be pushed down, down, and eventually squeeze through a narrow canal to enter the world, a slit of light was breaking through the walls of her home.

‘What is happening, I am scared!’

“I will meet you on the other side, sweet girl, and all will be well.” Leilah assured Little One.

The slit grew bigger and bigger and creatures that looked too foreign to be human— they had bland, grey suits on, and masks over their faces, pulled Little One out.  They stuck something up each of her nostrils and then inside of her mouth, which made Little One gasp for air.

Little One opened her eyes and for the first time, she saw Leilah.  She was beautiful and glowing— radiating a brilliant light.

“Shhh,” Leilah comforted her, pressing her finger to Little One’s lips to calm her— and then she was gone.

Little One’s lungs filled with air and she cried.  She cried and she wailed.  She shrieked and she shrilled.  She wanted to tell these strange creatures, ‘Put me back!’

She was so scared, there were so many people, none that she recognized … until him.  She didn’t recognize him, but his voice; it was her father.  Peeta.  He walked over to where she was lying and looked down at her.  The moment she met his sparkling blue eyes— she knew she was home.

Little One gasped and paused her shrill crying to stare at the  man looking down at her.

“Hello Hope, I’m your daddy,” the beautiful, familiar-feeling, blue-eyed man spoke to Little One with tears in his eyes.  “Dylan Hope Mellark— that’s your name, beautiful girl.  Dylan was your grandpa’s name— your mommy’s daddy, but we both agreed it could work whether you were a boy or a girl.  But I think we’re just going to call you Hope.  Because that’s what you are to all of us.  Welcome to the world, Hope.”

Everything was scary for Hope.  Everything was bright, cold, and unfamiliar.  There were giant creatures poking, prodding, and tossing her around.  She was afraid they would drop her.

’Where did the man go?  The “Daddy,” I want to see him again.' Hope thought to herself as she cried and cried.  Nothing was familiar and she didn’t like it.  She wanted to go back inside her perfect home where it was dark and warm— and snug.  And … and there was someone in there with her, but who was it?  She couldn’t remember.  But she did know that she didn’t like all the lights, the giant creatures and all the strange noises.

“Katniss, Katniss sweetie, wake up.  They’re bringing her back.” Hope was feeling a little better now, someone had swaddled her in warm blankets, and she almost felt like she was back inside her perfect home.  She wiggled, turning her head in the direction of the familiar voice— the one she recognized from earlier.  It was the man.  The daddy.  Someone picked her up and she felt as if she was flying in the air.  She was frightened for a moment until she realized they were giving her to the daddy.

When the daddy held her in his arms, Hope did not question if he would drop her— unlike the others, he held her gently and she felt safe.  When she opened her eyes, everything was fuzzy.  Even still, she could make out the blue of his eyes and wondered if her eyes looked like his.  She hoped so.

“Do you want to hold her?” The daddy asked.

“I-is she okay?” A softer— timid voice asked and Hope immediately recognized it as the voice— although clearer, without the whooshing and gurgling sounds from her previous home— but it was, without a doubt, the same voice she heard from deep inside her perfect home.

“She’s perfect,” the daddy beamed, his eyes sparkling with tears.  The daddy gently passed Hope to the woman, and Hope prepared herself to feel that feeling again— that flying-in-the air— afraid-to-fall, feeling, but it did not happen.  The daddy slowly and gently placed Hope in the woman’s arms and scooted into the bed next to her.  Hope squirmed and gasped, filling her lungs with air as she prepared to cry— not wanting the daddy to let her go, but then she froze when a familiar scent wafted up her nostrils.

‘Hey, I know that smell!’ Hope thought, excited from the familiarity and opened her eyes again to meet the blurry face of the owner of her perfect home.  But— like with the daddy— the moment the mommy cradled her in her arms, Hope knew she was safe in her new home.

“Hello, my beautiful girl, I’m your mama.  It’s nice to finally meet you,” the woman— “Mama” said to Hope, her chin quivering and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” the mama turned her head to the daddy.  The daddy leaned over and stroked Hope’s cheek with his finger.  Hope liked the way his finger felt, and she relaxed a little more.

“Yes she is— just like her mother,” the daddy gleamed with pride, staring in awe at Hope.

“I can’t believe we made this beautiful girl,” the mommy said to the daddy with more tears in her eyes.

The daddy snuggled closer to the mommy, wrapping his arm around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, but not before kissing the mommy’s cheek.  “I love you Katniss.”

Hope let out a little wail and squirmed from side to side.

“Hey, hey,” the daddy said in a soft voice, “Of course, I love you too, my sweet girl.  The Hope that gave me hope.”

The mommy lifted Hope up, so that her head rested against the mommy’s chest.  Hope could feel a soft pounding against her cheek— and it was familiar.  So familiar.

Swaddled in her warm blankets, nestled safely in her mother’s arms and her father just inches away, Hope got a glimmer of a feeling— that she was exactly where she was meant to be.  In that instant she knew, that burrowed cozily between the mama and the daddy— she was home.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Three

Hiiii, all you cool cats and kittens 😂😂😂😂. Okay but seriously, imma just word vomit all the things I need to cover in this author’s note — that I can remember.

I’ve been writing this chapter for like a week, I’m super nervous about it, I’m really sorry if this angst is upsetting you, I am gonna do my best to make it all right in the end, the angst is gonna continue though for a bit longer, yes this fic is only 10 chapters, yes I still want your comments even if you’re upset, my eye is still having trouble so I can’t look at a computer screen for too long because it physically hurts so I’m editing on my phone and there is a high chance I’ll re-edit these chapters after my eye isn’t all Heltor Skeltor anymore.

Okay I think that’s everything, I very much am gratefully for all the feedback I’ve received and I hope you all continue to read this fic.

Peeta stayed for hours after that. He smiled and laughed and, for a while, made me forget all about my unbearable loneliness, how empty this home feels, how uncomfortable I am with the prospect of my mother moving on with her life, how much I really miss my sister right now.

How I miss my sister more than anything.

He still makes me feel safe, I realized, as we sat on the couch and ate our third helping of the chocolate cake he’d baked for me. He knows how much I love chocolate from all the meals we shared on the train.

“Actually, from the time you decided to just eat the chocolate fountain by itself,” he had corrected. Off my quizzical look, he added, “At Snow mansion? We were there for a party?”

“Our engagement party?” I amended, teasing him a little.

My attempt at levity works as I watch his mouth contort into smirk in response. “Sorry, I guess I forgot what party it was.”

“They did drag us to a lot of them,” I agreed, not foreseeing the jab he was about to throw.

“And you pigged out at every one of them.”

I pretended to be offended for a moment but his proud laughter made me lose the facade far sooner than I should have. The joyful glint to his gaze, the way his body language was relaxed and open, the way he seemed to remember small details of our shared past now, I just couldn’t hold even a false grudge against him. I just couldn’t help giggling alongside him.

But he had to leave around dinner time, having an appointment to get the construction for the new rebuilt bakery approved and in motion.

As soon as he departs, and I’m left once again inside a void, hallow house that only emphasizes the greatest loss of my life—the one I’ll probably never go a single day without feeling the ache of—I decide I need to leave too. I decide as soon as I glance around the empty place that it’d be in my best interest to get out as well, to prolong the inevitable despair the deserted home brings come nightfall.

My first thought is to drop off the liquor I picked up for Haymitch a few days ago at the train station. He was passed out drunk and I was already there and it seemed at the time like a good bargaining chip when he was feeling particularly caustic towards me. Which lately had been often.

Now it just poses a good excuse to go talk to the sour man, to perhaps pick his brain about Bailey Robyn. To perhaps see what he knows that I don’t about the mysterious girl who blew into both our lives.

And only evidently disturbed one of them.

He has clearly has gotten to know her better than I have, and he’s quite transparently taken quite a liking to her. If I want to know this girl, or even begin to understand what Peeta sees in her, it only makes sense to get Haymitch to share some details in exchange for his favorite liquor.

After all, our entire relationship has always been a series of bargains, one way or another.

Throughout mine and Peeta’s entire time together—which amounted to the whole afternoon—he had never once mentioned Bailey. He hadn’t said she was waiting for him or what she thought about the cake or if she even knew he would be at my house today.

And for some reason that led me to assume she was busy in town somewhere. That she was working on the salon she mentioned wanting to start up, that she was out doing things herself, that she wasn’t even concerned with Peeta celebrating my birthday today.

That she wasn’t sitting on Haymitch’s counter, talking to him about that very subject.

“It just doesn’t make me feel great, you know?” Her clear and high voice rings out from the window right as I’m gearing up to barge my way inside the pig sty. “I want to go with him, in case he has an episode or something, and he tells me no. Like flat out, full stop, no.”

I slip in through the unlocked front door, quiet as a mouse, eavesdropping like I know I shouldn’t. Like I know is a complete violation of privacy, both for Bailey and for Haymitch. And maybe even Peeta, since he’s the one they’re conferring about.

“He’s stubborn,” Haymitch agrees, sounding more sober than I’ve heard him in months. Sounding more sober than I’ve seen since we were in Thirteen. “Try mentoring him in the games.”

Bailey scoffs at that. “No. You couldn’t pay me enough.”

They share a laugh and I feel my hands tighten around the bottle, as an extremely uncomfortable sensation settles into the pit of my stomach.

They sound like old friends. They sound happy and pleased to be hanging out and conversing. And if I’m being honest, it gives me one more reason to instinctively dislike Bailey, despite the fact that I’m trying hard not to.

Because in the short time she’s been in Twelve, she’s slid into my place in both Peeta and Haymitch’s lives with complete and utter ease. Even beyond taking my place, she’s outrankedme in both men’s lives and entirely knocked me out of the saddle.

That’s what disturbs me above all else. Because—even though I’d never admit it about Haymitch—they were mine. They were my family. They were all I had. They were my haven from the darkness surrounding my entire life. The three of us were a team once.

And now it feels like she didn’t join the group, she kicked me out of it entirely. Haymitch has never had me sit on the counter of his kitchen—not that I really wanted to, the place is absolutely filthy—and talk about my problems. He’s always mocked my feelings and troubles, when they didn’t pertain to the war or rebellion.

I don’t get what is so special about this girl that the two most important people in my life are willing to just let her in. Are just willing to let her take me out without a second thought.

“I mean, is it odd that I wanted to be included?” She inquires genuinely and to my surprise, once again, my old mentor gives her a pretty thoughtful answer. For Haymitch Abernathy, at least.

“They’re both a little weird. War messes with people. Especially kids,” he murmurs and then grunts uncomfortably. “Don’t get worked up over nothing. Just let whatever happened go and try to be happy.”

For some reason, even without hearing my name mention specifically, I’m fully convinced that they’re conversing about me as well as Peeta. About our afternoon together, void from Bailey’s presence. Without hearing my own name, I still know in my bones I walked in on a talk about me.

Bailey wanted to come today and Peeta told her no? Peeta told her an unequivocal no? Because he wanted to spend time with just me?

That satisfies me beyond measure. That makes me even happier than the carefully handcrafted birthday cake did.

Suddenly, for the first time since she’s arrived in Twelve, I don’t feel like Peeta put me on the back burner to make her more comfortable. I don’t feel like I’m being slided so she can be accommodated to her liking. And that’s a better present to me than anything else I could have asked for.

“But I’m his girlfriend,” she states quietly, before sighing deeply and setting down a glass that she must have been drinking from. Risk-taker, she is. “And I just feel like every day all he thinks about is Katniss. He’s either worried about her or afraid of her.”

Now that catches me completely off-guard. Peeta’s afraid of me? Is he telling Bailey something I don’t know? What did I do that he’s so afraid of?

Please, I internally beg to no one. Please tell me he doesn’t still think of me as a mutt. Please tell me he doesn’t feel the same way about as he did in Thirteen.

No, I venomously refute. That wouldn’t make sense. If he still thought of me that way—the way Snow tried to brainwash him into—he would surely not be baking me a cake and spending an afternoon alone with me.

At least, I don’t think so.

But I’m always wrong nowadays and I long ago learned to stop trusting my instincts because they don’t any good for me in the end anyway and I just end up more jumbled and confused and stressed than I started out.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down just as Haymitch mutters, “That description isn’t a far cry from the kid I met two years ago on the tribute train.”

Evidently, I breathed out too loudly almost immediately, Haymitch barks out, “Is that you, girl?”

Realizing I’m caught, I rip off the bandaid and step out of the corner of the entryway, where I was hiding. “Sorry, I just got here,” I quickly explain. And then, despite my atrocious acting ability, I throw out for good measure, “I didn’t hear anything you guys said, I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

Neither of them believe me. In fact, they both appear pretty disgusted with me now. But when I pass Haymitch the bottle of liquor, his features shift and I feel him lightly pat me on the head as he passes me to grab a bottle opener.

“Haymitch,” Bailey murmurs unceremoniously, as she hops off the counter with a grace I have no dream of ever possessing. “I’m going to head on home.”

Her eyes meet mine for a split second before flirting away, and all I see there is irritation.

I hope she doesn’t try again to make nice in a day or so. Quite frankly, there’s a reason I never made many friends. Social interactions aren’t my thing and they just wear me out unnecessarily. Especially girls, who only want to gossip about other people or share clothes or irrelevant life tips. I’d much rather be left alone in solitude than have to yo-yo with Bailey’s mood swings.

Haymitch has always empathized with this trait of mine. More than empathized. He embodied it to the fullest, in a way I never even have. That’s what makes it so startling to me that he’s found such a friend with Peeta’s new girlfriend. It’s downright shocking how pleasant he is towards her.

When he returns now, she’s already gone and he’s right back to his surly self.

“No one clears a room like you do, sweetheart.”

But I’m not interested in swiping back and forth with one another. “Why are you hanging out with Bailey Robyn?”

Haymitch rolls his eyes as he takes a seat at his still unwashed kitchen table.

I mean, if Bailey wanted to help clean in here, that’s where I would have suggested to start.

“The better question, Katniss, is why are youhanging out with Peeta alone? How do you think that makes his girlfriend feel?”

“He’s my friend,” I argue, infuriated by the implication that I have to go through a random stranger to be around Peeta now. Infuriated that it’s Haymitch making the implication nonetheless.

“But he isn’t!” The old man snaps back. “Peeta isn’t your friend, Katniss. You look at him like he hung the moon and you do it right in front of his new girl.”

“No, I don’t,” I retort sharply, because I definitely don’tand I repel the accusation.

“Anyone with eyes can see your stupid little crush,” he exclaims and it stings. The words sting for some reason and I feel the ache in my chest come back once again, because apparently I’m stepping over a line I didn’t even know was there and I’m once again the root of every problem and it’s all becoming too much.

Evidently, Haymitch just doesn’t care if he hurts me today. “Just back off of the boy. Let him be happy for once.”

I uncharacteristically spit an unkind name at Haymitch as I slam his door in my furious wake.

Through his still open kitchen window though, I hear him chuckle. “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before, sweetheart.”

Read More On AO3 Where The Italics Actually Work

[simpsiren]

Summer’s promise

xiaojun x reader

description. Your final moment with xiaojun at the beachside before the two of you go your separate ways. Or perhaps not.

genre. FLUFF, a bit emotional but bear with me im emotional rn <\3

word count. 2.9k~

warnings. nonee

a/n. i actually had a plot to this but realise that its not that good so ill limit it to this! its a very short and direct plot so cjdndn either way i hope you’ll enjoyyy

It’s three in the morning. Xiaojun had his fingers interlocked with yours as your hands met unintentionally at the back. You lean back while Xiaojun had his body forward. You rest your head on his shoulder, snuggling up in the crook of his neck while you find a comfortable spot. Eventually you did, breathing in to take in his scent.

The cold breeze touches your skin. Sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks you and Xiaojun are sitting on. You allow your legs to dangle freely on the edge. The night sky really setting the tone and atmosphere right just for the two of you.

“I don’t want to leave.” You mutter, lips brushing against his skin ever so lightly.

“You have to, love. Get back to your life in the city.” Xiaojun breathes out. Once again he calls you by the nickname love. A nickname you have grown to get too comfortable with in the short span of three months during your stay here.

“You know I’ll miss you.” You look up at him, your action causing to tilt his head down. Your eyes meet. His gaze staring into yours. It just feel so right, so perfect. To have you with him on a chilly night. For once, time has frozen for the two of you. You take in the moment quickly before it fades away.

“I said we’ll meet some day, didn’t i?” Xiaojun brings his free hand up to tuck a few strands behind your ear, you feel his chest moving up and down calmly as he tilts his head, taking a moment to admire every inch of your face.

You scoff, the side of your lip lifting up into a small smirk. “Uhuh. But you said to let fate do that for us.” You blurt out.

“Yes I did. And if fate doesn’t want us to happen, I’ll fuck it and find my own way to you. I just thought it’ll be a beautiful way to meet each other again.”

“Sending postcards of the cities we’re in? I’ll be in another country, Dejun. Still can’t get used to the idea but I somewhat see the beauty in that.”

Xiaojun chuckles softly. Oh the chuckle. No matter how many times you’ve heard it, it really still makes you feel some type of way.

His hand slowly creeps down to your waist, pulling you in closer to him. You lift a hand, you didn’t know where to put it. You just want to touch him. Absentmindedly, it arrives at his hair, threading your fingers through his soft and fluffy locks. Maybe that’s why your hand went there. To feel it for one last time before you leave.

“I want to stay here. With you. With your run-down, aesthetically pleasing tiny bookstore. I want to have you reading me poems. Or any book, huddled up in one corner while you read till I fall asleep in your arms.”

You let out a gloomy sigh, making Xiaojun put on a frown. You frown back, leaning in to give a quick peck on his nose to make him smile. And it worked. As it always did. And as it always should.

“What’s the time duration of letting fate bring us together again?”

Xiaojun purses his lips into a thin line, the gears in his head turning immensely as he tries coming up with an answer. “That’s for fate to decide too.”

You furrow your eyes, skeptical at his answer. “This summer... Has been the best one yet for me.”

“I’m thankful I agreed to Lucas inviting me here. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.” You let out. The two of you stare into the blankness ahead of you, admiring the sight of the moonlight reflecting on the sea, giving it a beautiful glow.

“Promise you won’t forget me? Whatever we did during this summer. Don’t forget a single detail.” You start off.

Xiaojun raises both his eyebrows, allowing you to continue.

“No matter how long it takes for us to see each other. No matter where our life takes us. Whatever that’s going to happen in the future. Promise me you won’t forget what we had here.”

Xiaojun leans in and places a loving kiss on the crown of your head. He stays there, prolonging the kiss.

“I promise. It’s not an empty one, don’t worry. Like I said, if fate won’t allow it, I’ll still find my way to you regardless.” Xiaojun reassures you, his lips still touching your hair. He finally pulls away, wrapping an arm around your shoulders while yours creep to wrap around his torso.

And that’s the last time you saw Xiaojun. You stayed there till five, knowing you have to go back and pack your things before leaving.

You thought about what he said. Fate. He keeps mentioning it. But to be honest, you didn’t believe in it. Anything can happen during the time the two of you are apart. How long will it take for fate to bring you two together? Will he even remember you by then?

He promised but again, anything can happen. You were unsure and uncertainty clouded your thoughts throughout. You were scared, but you had to trust him. You had to believe. Xiaojun will come back to you.

Four years. You’ve been waiting for four years. The only thing that reminds you of him is the ring bought you. Cheap, but holds a deep meaning you can barely hold onto anymore. Your fingers fiddled with the ring for a moment.

“_____!” Lucas calls out. You quickly put your hands down and clasp them behind your back. “Yeah?”

“My friend’s having a wedding this weekend. Was thinking of inviting you.” You pucker your lips, looking up to think before tilting your head back to Lucas, nodding your head.

“Sure, why not?” You reply with a light shrug.

“Don’t forget to bring a date.”

Your eyes narrows as you cock up a brow. “We need a date to a wedding?” You huff out, scoffing lightly after.

Lucas hums and nods his head eagerly. “Duh! Plus, the wedding will be at some grand place since he’s rich. Lucky him.” Lucas says boringly with a glare.

“Yeah. Pretty sure he got that money from illegal racing.” You let out a ‘tsk’, shaking your head and acting disappointed.

“Uh no it’s legal, dumb.” Lucas retorts. “Anyways just ask someone from your work place. Oh maybe that YangYang? You’re close with him, aren’t you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah.” You blurt out. Lucas smiles and walks towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder and patting it once. “I’ll text you the details.”

“You better keep your promise.” Yangyang bores you. The two of you are sitting down at a corner, watching the other people that were invited being social. Something the two of you have in common despite not relly liking each other that much.

You groan, placing your glass of alcohol on the table. “Yes, Yangyang. I’ll get you your damn cupcakes.” You growl. Yangyang chuckles, letting out a sigh after.

“Thanks.” He whispers. You let out a ‘tsk’ while throwing him a glare.

The two of you didn’t talk much. You had nothing to talk about either. It has just been comfortable silence between you two for the past two hours. You would heard bits and pieces of stranger’s conversation. That’s how bored you were.

You suddenly see Lucas running up to you, looking completely frantic. You shot up from your seat and catch Lucas in your arms. He stands up straight and catches his breathing. “He’s here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Who? The groom?” You ask, tiptoeing to see across the crown if the groom has arrived. Lucas gapes his mouth open with furrowed eyes. “No, idiot!”

“I don’t know how, but he’s here. Your little beach boy.”

You give an even more skeptical look, making Lucas groan and grab your arms. “He’s fucking here after four years and you’re giving me that face?!”

“Yeah because I highly doubt you saw him. He’s literally countries away. I think you’re being delusional.”

Lucas shakes your body vigorously, making you scream and asking him to get off of you. He finally does, looking extremely frustrated with you. “Bitch I’m not kidding. He’s by the dessert area with some guys.”

You snort, laughing slightly after as the alcohol starts to seep into your weak system. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll believe it sure.”

“Is she already fucking drunk?” Lucas turns to YangYang, who was staring at a fixated spot in the venue till he was called. “She drank a bit yeah.” Lucas places a palm on his forehead.

“Chill, I didn’t drink. I’ll take care of her.” YangYang deadpans. Lucas lets out a disappointing sigh. “Well whatever. See you around man.” Lucas waves a lazy hand at YangYang. He didn’t even bother to wave back, turning his attention to you who had your body slouched forward while leaning against the table with your chin resting on the palm of your hand.

During the wedding, you weren’t paying attention to anything. The event, your surroundings. Nothing. Instead, you are constantly stealing a glass every time a waiter or waitress walks by. The moment they take your empty glass away, you take another one. Surprisingly, you got drunk . Very drunk. And very quickly as well.

You didn’t even know why you suddenly want to get drunk. You know yourself well enough to know that you would be dizzy by two drinks. You’re now on your fifth.

You stand up, wanting to go to the toilet. Losing your balance, you trip, causing YangYang to immediately hold you by your torso. You grab onto his arm, gulping before shaking your head. “I can go myself.”

“Where are you going?” Yangyang asks softly. “I need to pee.” You whine, pushing YangYang off you and slowly head there, clearly staggering and having YangYang help you along the way.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t take too long.” YangYang shouts out while you go into the toilet, hands placed on the wall constantly throughout your trip in and out.

It didn’t take you long luckily. You thought you had to vomit but it turns out you didn’t.

“Oi. Xiao Dejun.” YangYang turns his head to you, his body leaning against the wall and folding his arms. He stands up straight, tilting his head and wondering if you’re referring to him.

You run up to him, wrapping your arms around your waist. You giggle for a moment before changing your expression to an angry one. YangYang wasn’t sure of how to react, he’s never seen you drunk before.

“Fuck you. It’s been four years. Where are you?” You whine, constantly punching on his chest with a balled fist. YangYang blinks his eyes in confusion while multiple eyes glance at you as they pass by thr toilet. YangYang clears his throat, lightly tapping your back as a signal to get off him. Obviously it’s not working.

“Dejun~ You little shit...” You mumble to yourself. You eventually allow your body to fall against YangYang’s, having him to catch you and hold you steadily while you dug your face into his chest.

“Get off her.” You suddenly hear a voice. You couldn’t make out where you’ve heard it from. It’s like the voice from a distant and clouded memory. You try squeezing your brain for information, constantly asking yourself where you’ve heard it before, but you blacked out almost immediately after hearing YangYang reply with a, “Who are you to tell me that?”

You wake up with your head banging, the world spinning as you have a bad headache. Wincing, you put your hands on your head, massaging to try reducing the pain. On top of you being a lightweight, you have terrible hangovers as well.

Fuck. You thought to yourself. It took awhile to get back to your senses, noticing how you’re in an unfamiliar place. Looking around, you’re on a bed. Large, comfortable and soft. The room looks plain, and you didn’t know where you are.

Did you have a one night stand last night?

As soon as the thought came to your mind, you look under the covers. You heave a sigh of relief, seeing that you still had your dress on.

You try getting out of bed, instantly plopping back down as your head starts to spin again. You whine, turning your body to the side as you dig your head into the pillow. You were so desperate in trying to do anything to stop it.

“Here’s some hangover soup.” You heard it again. The voice. The only thing you remembered from last night.

You hear the door open. Your eyes trail from the sheets, slowly but surely looking up to meet the gaze of him.

You squint your eyes. Your vision’s extremely blurry. Rubbing your eyes to get a clearer view, you are finally able to see the face in front of you. The sight makes you widen your eyes in shock. You move your body back quickly, your head hitting the headboard of the bed and making you wince in pain.

You hear him chuckle.

There’s no way.

“Dejun?” You mumble, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in confusion.

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “Still a klutz after all these years.” You hear him say as he makes his way to you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Wait. I’m not hallucinating? Fuck is it my hangover?” You scratch your head, still refusing to believe the sight in front of you is real.

After four years, he suddenly shows up with you in his bed. Xiaojun is here.

He lets out a quiet sigh. “I was at the wedding last night.” He explains, reaching out to put the soup on the side table before turning to you and crossing hus legs.

“How did you...”

“Some friend invited me.”

You kept silent, wanting to take a good look at his face. He still has it. His handsomeness. Sharp features that could kill like a knife. Hair perfectly wet, still jet black like how it was before. He didn’t change in terms of appearance. Or maybe perhaps to looks a thousand times better now that you’ve seen him after so long.

“How did you find me...?” You stutter. “Four years. It took your four fucking years.” You croak, suddenly letting your emotions fill your mind. You gulp and take in deep breaths, wanting to stop yourself from crying. Too late.

A single drop of tear rolls down your cheek. Your eyes welling up and about to overflow in seconds. Xiaojun wastes no time to pull you into his embrace, arms wrapping around you and holding you close.

This feeling. The comfort, the way he touches you. The feeling you get from this. It all comes back to you. It’s true that you remembered everything from last summer. But to have them resurface just from his single touch after being shoved deep in the back of the head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took so long, love.” The nickname. Another thing that makes you cry even more. You hug him tightly, hands gripping onto his black sweater as it slowly gets wet from your tears.

“How did you find me?” You ask again, looking up at him, indulging yourself in his eyes that look down on you filled with love and care.

Xiaojun frowns. “You sent me postcards from different cities. Every time I went there, you’d be gone and to another one. You don’t know how frustrating it was...”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Absentmindedly bringing your hand up from his waist and to his neck, drawing circles on it. “I traveled a lot. To get you off my mind. But I realise I always had to send you something. Something to hope that you’ll still remember be.”

“You said to let fate decide.”

Xiaojun lets out a low chuckle, one that makes a shiver being sent down your spine as you feel his chest moving from it.

“I waited for a year. But I couldn’t handle not seeing you. You didn’t start sending postcards till the second year. So I instantly started looking for you.”

His hand swiftly goes down to yours, his fingers trailing down your skin. Again, his touch, is everything to you. You suddenly feel alive. Even your headache went away miraculously.

“My ring...” Xiaojun mumbles under his breath, his thumb caressing it slowly. You hum. “I took it off for awhile actually. I didn’t think I’d see you again cause’ I thought... After our summer, we’d be nothing but ancient history.”

Xiaojun frowns deeply, making you pout. “Meanie. I told you I don’t keep empty promises.”

You lean in close to his face, so close that your noses were touching. “I’m sorry, I was scared. About the fact that three months wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

Xiaojun presses his forehead against yours gently, his action making you gulp while holding your hands and interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You mean a lot to me. The three months was short, yes. But the things we did there, you know I can never forget it.”

Xiaojun leans in more, this time to the point where his lips brushed yours while he speak.

You close your eyes for a moment. “I missed you.” You whisper, soft but sincere.

“I missed you more, love.”