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knockyasocksoff2022 · 1 year ago

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👻 The Haunted House - HS/Uni AU 🎃

Based on a cute prompt I saw somewhere. Sakunosuke (22) and Osamu (17) are brothers here. Chuuya is Fukumori's adopted son. Gifts are still present in this au. Saku and Osamu's parents were government spies with abilities of their own and they were killed overseas. Ango is (20).

This took way too long for me to write and I went off my original idea by miles but hey here we are, and this is kind of rushed because I just had this idea and wnated to write somthing. Also I know it's technically to early to be Halloween posting, but do you think I care? NO!

Yay for my first ever Odango fic and also my first halloween fic.

Ships: Odango & Soukoku & Fukumori & Shin Soukoku & Kosano, Ranpoe

Under the cut due to length (1,666 words)

Sakunosuke's Perspective

It was no accident that when my parents chose to move us here it was so close to the good universities. (Looking back on it now it's almost as if they knew that they would . . .)

But when they died of mysterious circumstances (they worked for the government and nobody would tell us exactly what happened), I decided I would stay home to care for Osamu, who was six at the time.

But then when their will was read it was explicitly stated that both of us had to stay in school through uni or else we wouldn't get any inheritance. It didn't make any sense, if I had to leave for uni in seven years, who was going to care for Osamu?

Luckily when I got into uni it was close enough that I can drive home most weekends with no trouble. And our neighbours, an older couple, Yukichi and Rintarou Mori-san, watch over Osamu while I'm gone for the week. They have a daughter named Elise, a kid named Kyusaku, and a son named Chuuya who's in Osamu's grade. Plus Chuuya is Osamu's boyfriend.

I have a boyfriend as well, Sakaguchi Ango. He follows me into the house.

We're a little early because we only have one afternoon class on Fridays so Osamu and Chuuya haven't been let out of school yet.

We get to work, filling my school bag with snacks and water and the ouija board, all in preparation for tonight's adventures.

You see, there's this old house that used to belong to some old mafia boss who passed away from illness a few years ago. The property has fallen into decay ever since, and since it's Halloween Osamu begged us to come with him and have a big camp out inside. Because that's like the smartest thing ever.

It's fine, it's not like we have anything else to do. Akiko and Koyou are having a girls only sleepover and Ranpo and Edgar are do a true crime/ghost adventures marrathon (no thank you). If I had to guess Nathaniel is handing out flyers about resisting the devil to innocent kids who had the unfortuante idea to try and trick or treat at his house, and Howard is asleep.

Besides, it's not dangerous, and Ango and I will be able to say we made out in a haunted house.

We hear the keys rattle, and childishly Ango and I duck behind the sofa.

When we hear footsteps entering the kitchen we jump out. "Trick or Treat!!!"

"AHHH! What the ever loving Jesus?"

"Huh?" I'm just as confused as the kid who just jumped a metre in the air. They're pale with perfectly divided lavender and white hair down to his hips, and they're hiding behind a tall boy who's even more of a bean pole than Osamu.

"Calm yourself, Sigma." He has an unmistakable Russian accent. He turns to Osamu, "This is your brother?"

"Fuck you, Saku." Osamu flips me off with a smile in lieu of an answer. I ruffle his hair and he hugs me. I tug at the bandages over his eye playfully.

"What happened there?"

He doesn't answer.

"He ran into a pole." Chuuya explains.

Ango raises an eyebrow behind his owl like glasses. "Okay, I doubt that, but anyways . . ."

"Cool, Osamu never mentioned having siblings!" Another boy steps forward with his hand outstretched, his handshake is firm and he shakes harder and faster than is necessary. His white plait shakes with the motion and his small top hat threatens to slip off his head but doesn't.

"I'm Nikolai! Can you guess where I just moved from?" The boy for some reason reminds me of a circus troupe member. He pronounces his name with a heavy accent but the rest of the words are almost accent free.

"Umm . . ."

Nikolai looks at the other Russian boy, as if telling him something silently.

"Five more seconds." The boy says in a bored monotone. It takes me a second and I realise he must be translating. Nikolai must have practised the first line to say it in Japanese, how cute.

Hmm, if he's asked me to guess, maybe he isn't russian. Ah, why am I taking this so seriously? Whatever!

" . . . Russia." I guess.

"Nope. Wrong. You lose." the boy translates again in monotone. I suppress a laugh, not wanting to seem rude.

"He moved here from Ukraine on Monday. But he speaks Russian so Fyo's helping him learn Japanese." Osamu explains

"You speak very well already Nikolai-kun."

Nikolai beams, "Thank you for the compliment, but Fedya is the one to thank for all his work, he's been teaching me so well. Fedya's such a good teacher."

"Yeah, count on Mackerel here, to invite the weird Russian kids to our camp out." Chuuya scoffs and pulls Osamu closer. My brother doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he gestures to the tallest of the russians.

"This is Fyodor, the one I've told you about. He moved here from Russia last year."

"Oh, yeah, you've mentioned him."

"How have you been liking Japan?" Ango asks

"It's a bit hot but on the whole a quaint place." he says it like he's reading from a travel blog written by the people who write instruction manuals.

This time neither I nor Ango can stifle our laughter. It is objectively true, Japan is alot smaller than Russia.

Chuuya points to the kid with the two toned hair, "This is Sigma, nobody really knows where they came from, they kind of just appeared when we were grade 7. This is the first time we've brought them over. They're five by the way, so no swearing tonight."

"Shut up!" Sigma shoves Osamu who's still firmly anchored to Chuuya, and doesn't move.

Chuuya's shoulders shake with laughter and he pats Osamu's shoulders to congratulate him on the tease.

"Alright, we've got snacks, water and that stupid book Kunikida bought for Osamu's birthday last year, about catching ghosts."

"Koonikida? The idealist? Hmm, and I thought he was allergic to fun. It's good, maybe Osamu is rubbing off on him." Nikolai giggles maniacally.

"So is everyone coming then?" Fyodor sounds less than pleased.

"Nope, Kunikida says he has to study, he joined some group with some of the American transfer students, Meg and Louisa, at least that means we're seeing less of him." Chuuya emphasises the word study to show exactly what he thinks of the slightly older boy, "It's fine with me. Think about it surrounded by girls and yet, at this point he should just find himself a boyfriend. It's those "ideals" of his, I'm telling you. He shared a few with us once . . ." he shivers theatrically, "My ears are scared now. John said this whole thing was lame, but he's really just being a coward. Atsushi and Ryu finally got the courage to ask each other out, they're having a sleepover. And Kenji invited Kyouka to go trick or treating in his village. They left this morning."

Everyone nods.

"So, you got supplies?" he asks me

"Yup!"

We all look out the window to the street where the sun's light is beginning to get softer and night is bleeding its way across the sky, smudging the blue with black until the whole canvas is covered.

"Well, it's starting to get dark. We should leave now." Ango hands me the bag and we set off.

The walk is far but it passes quickly with the chatter of the group. Chuuya and my brother stayed in the back. I notice Osamu hasn't said much of anything but that isn't too unusual for him.

When we get to the decrepit old building it looks like the inspiration for all the haunted houses I've ever seen. The yard is full of broken or rusted lawn ornaments and ivy covers the crumbling wood siding of the house.

When we walk to the front door I look back and do a quick head count. Everyone's here. And Osamu is wearing Chuuya's jacket. He shivers even though the night is warm.

"Awww, are you cold Osamu?" I tease my brother who clings to his boyfriend.

Chuuya shoves me back gently and rolls his eyes, "Oi, lay off, he's sick."

Oh. That must be why he's been so quiet. And now that I think about it he does look paler than normal.

"Aww, did you catch the sniffles?"

"Shut up, I'll cough on you Saku, don't think I won't."

We all laugh at the quiet violence in his voice. I'll admit he even scares me sometimes but he's clearly in no condition to do anything.

"Did any of you pack medicine, or am I expected to do everything round here?" Ango asks the question I'd just been thinking.

"We're not dumb, yeah I have some stuff in my bag. My dad is a doctor, remember?"

"Yeah, Saku. I'll be fine, let's gooooo already." he draws out the go with exaggerated boredom.

"Yay, LET'S GOOO! Yippie!" Nikolai jumps up and down until Fyodor forces him to stay put with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Osamu shoves me and I shove back, then we step inside.

"Bet you can't make it all night, eh, Sigma?" I hear Chuuya say to the kid who honestly looks a little terrified.

"O-of c-ourse I can." Then under his breath, "Why do I go along with these idiots?"

This is going to be the most interesting Halloween we've had so far, that's for sure.

(A/N: Yes, I did remember now that Ango is his surname and I may change it but couldn't think of a cute nickname Oda would have for him and I didn't feel like typing Sakaguchi out a bunch of times.)

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #soukoku #odango #fukumori #shin soukoku #skk #sskk #bsd au #highschool au #uni au #collage au #haunted house #halloween #fyolai

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delimeful · 5 years ago

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the shapes in the silence (8)

warnings: deceit (morally ambiguous), lying, arguing, negative thinking(lots)

Chapter 8

Apparently, ‘longest nap of his life’ meant three hours, because that was all he got before Patton came knocking gently on his door, snapping him out of a hazy nightmare in a cold sweat.

“Hey, kiddo!” He greeted, eyes suspiciously bright. Ugh, morning people. “We’re having a house meeting!”

“A what?” Virgil responded automatically. He, of course, knew what a house meeting was, but- “You’ve never invited me to one of these before.”

Patton had the grace to look sheepish. “Well, we don’t have them very often, and you didn’t… really want to talk to us last time we had one!”

Oh yeah. He’d been absolutely certain it had only been an excuse for them to all complain about him suddenly ‘moving in’, so to speak. It’d taken actually eavesdropping before he realized it was actually an argument over who kept stealing Logan’s jam. He was fairly sure Roman had only passed up on accusing the new ‘unfriendly neighborhood Dark Side’ because he was the actual culprit.

“...Sure, okay.”

He followed Patton downstairs, and found the others sitting already in their customary spots on the couch. Out of habit, he stepped towards the spot he normally sat as ‘Puff’, before remembering himself at a slight look of surprise from (still normal-sized) Roman. He propped himself up against the wall closest to Logan’s chair, not in the mood to loom menacingly by anyone who might be perturbed by it.

As expected, Logan ignored him completely. “Good. Now that we are all here, I believe we should address the situation regarding Roman’s recent shrinking episode.”

“Did you figure something out, Microsoft Nerd?” Roman asked, leaning forwards slightly. Virgil wondered how the nicknames had such little bite when they were directed at anyone but him.

Logan glanced at Virgil, but upon seeing no question about the situation in his expression, simply continued. “Currently, my hypothesis is that this size reduction happens to us due to the fact that we are incorporeal manifestations of a personality. For example, things like feeling overwhelmed or vulnerable might cause us to involuntarily shapeshift as a mechanism to protect Thomas or ourselves.”

He flipped a few pages in his notebook. “I believe that is why access to our normal functions is limited whilst in the reduced form, as well, which is highly inconvenient.”

That would really stress Virgil out if he hadn’t already mastered the art of driving himself into the exact mental state needed to trigger his transformation either way.

“As such,” Logan continued, “we need more information in order to find a solution. I believe Roman can help me test this hypothesis by focusing on aforementioned overwhelming thoughts to see if he can activate this reaction at will.”

“What? Why me?” Roman protested immediately. “Why don’t you do it, Specs?”

Logan gave him a condescending look. “Because I have no feelings, obviously. You are the only one we know of showing this symptom, anyhow. Our control group, so to speak.”

Roman groaned, and for a moment, his gaze flicked to where Virgil was standing, wishing he was in bed as they talked about stuff he already knew. He straightened up a bit, narrowing his eyes back at Roman. What?

The creative side pulled his eyes away without giving him any sort of answer, but Logan hadn’t missed the byplay either. He stared between the two of them for a moment. Patton blinked at all of them mutually, lost in the silent stare off. Slowly, Logan leaned back.

“If you’d prefer to do this at a later time-” He started, but Roman cut him off.

“No, it’s fine.” He stared at Virgil like he was trying to convey something meaningful with the words. Virgil stared back, catching exactly none of it.

A moment and a flash later, Roman was sitting on the couch, doll-sized. Patton made the ‘oh no, cute!’ face again, and Virgil couldn’t help but stare. He was so… small. He couldn’t believe Roman had let him pick him up at all, so much could have gone wrong-

“Oh, it worked!” Roman said, surprised. Logan hummed consideringly, already deep in thoughts he didn’t bother to share with the rest of them.

“Can you turn back?” Virgil asked, voice sardonic. Roman scowled imperiously at him, but very noticeably did not get any bigger.

“That part… appears to be more complicated.”

“Maybe try thinking about the opposite of what got you that size!” Patton offered, Logan nodding in agreement.

Roman didn’t seem as easily convinced, but he did close his eyes and make an expression of thinking very hard for a few moments. Virgil took the opportunity to go make himself a bagel. It went perfectly up until the toasted bagel popped up loudly, and Roman groaned, presumably at his concentration being broken.

“Anxiety.”

“What?” He responded through a mouthful of crunchy bread. “I’m hungry, I don’t have to watch you focus. You always figure it out eventually.”

It was definitely meant to be delivered dismissively, but a second later there was a loud clatter from the lounge. Virgil poked his head around the corner. Roman was full-sized again, and had knocked a cup off the table in the process. He squinted at the startled creative side for a second. This was the second time in a row that had happened after he’d spoken.

Was Roman fucking with him?

… No, Princey was too clueless for that. It was probably just coincidence.

Logan had taken it all in stride, turning to Patton and asking him to replicate Roman’s feat. Virgil took the opportunity to steal some of Logan’s Crofters and smear it over the other half of his bagel. Petty crimes.

Once he re-emerged, Patton was still the same size, midway through an apology for not being able to manage it.

“It’s quite alright, I have plenty of new information to look through. Oh, and Anxiety?” Logan called out, making him freeze where he was three steps up the stairs already. Could he seriously smell jam like a hunting dog?

“Have you experienced anything like this before?” Logan asked, and everyone’s gaze turned to him.

Great, it wasn’t about the jam. It was so much worse. There was no getting out of it this time.

“No.” He answered bluntly, and ignored the way the lie tasted sour in his mouth. “I haven’t.”

He looked away before he could see the mistrust form in their eyes, and retreated to his room. He hated lying to them, partially because it felt awful, wondering how and when they’d find out his untruths, but also because the more Virgil lied, the better of a grasp he got on the situation.

As such, it was almost unsurprising when he opened his door and found Deceit, standing in the middle of his room and eyeing his messy floor with distaste. He still felt his heart jump, though, looking over his shoulder as though the others would have trailed after him to witness the impromptu meeting. He slammed his door shut after him, already scowling darkly.

“What are you doing in my room.” He asked, flatly. Deceit gave him a deeply patronizing look.

“Oh, because I can totally just stand around in the plain sight waiting for you to get back from your little get-together. That definitely wouldn’t get me harassed by those naive idiots.”

Virgil gritted his teeth at the insult, voice coming out sharp. “I’m the one being harassed. I told you to leave me alone. Get. Out.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Like you weren’t practically calling my name with all the lying you’ve been doing. Obviously, you know that even just hiding the truth counts as a lie. You’re clearly doing much better than a liar like me.”

“Shut up.” Virgil snarled, the shadows in his room curling around his feet. He clenched his fists, ignoring the feel of nails biting into his palms. “You’re just sour that Thomas still hasn’t noticed you, even after I split off and proved that Dark Sides can appear to him.”

“Oh, you’re so right. It’s not like I want to keep helping him without needing all that attention or anything.” Deceit smiled smugly, as Virgil worked his jaw. “You can’t play the villain forever, Thomas won’t still hate you and get hurt because of it. I’m much worse off, helping keep him safe by keeping him in the dark.”

“I don’t care if he hates me.” Virgil returned, ignoring the way Deceit’s lips thinned knowingly. “Thomas needs his friends, needs people, and if he goes down the road you want him to take, he’ll be alone and hated his whole life, and he won’t even know why.”

“Virgil, you’re the farthest thing from a hypocrite I’ve ever met.” Deceit offered, saccharine-sweet. “After all, you certainly wouldn’t know anything about being alone and hated, now would you?”

“Yeah, it’s my job.” He spat, furious. “I’m supposed to keep Thomas from feeling the way I feel preemptively, genius.”

He took a deep breath, trying to prevent his voice from slipping. “I knew what I was getting into when I revealed myself. Maybe you should focus more on your own role instead of nosing into my business.”

Deceit’s eyes narrowed slightly with irritation. “Yes, I’m definitely the one slinking about where I don’t belong. You’d never take advantage of someone’s trust under false pretenses, after all.”

Virgil bit into his tongue hard enough to make it bleed. Deceit smirked, as though he’d never been irritated at all. After a moment, the look smoothed over into something more contemplative.

“You are so obsessed with Thomas upholding society’s standards, so afraid of him becoming a bad person. But you don’t have anything to worry about. After all, you’re a reflection of him, and you’re so very selfless, aren’t you?”

Virgil recoiled as though struck, but there was no victory in the other side’s expression.

“You made the right choice. The others will accept you when you’re exposed. You won’t regret it.”

With that final condemnation, he sunk away, and Virgil was left alone with the silence ringing in his ears. He hated fighting with Deceit, hated that the man wasn’t above tearing at sensitive spots to get his own point across, hated the raw, cut-open feeling that came with it.

Most of all, he hated that Deceit was right.

He was just using the others, lying to them to assuage his own pathetic loneliness. He’d made his choice, he’d known he’d be surrounded by people who didn’t want him there. He’d known, he’d known, and it still never got easier.

The transformation was at the edge of his senses, only a grasp from shifting him, and for a moment he entertained the thought of letting it happen. Running back to them, curling up in the presence of Thomas’ best attributes until Deceit’s words were barely even whispers in the back of his mind…

Something clicked in the subconscious, and he let the errant dream go, sinking onto his bed. Thomas was making another video, and though it didn’t seem like he was going to be summoned this time, he still had work to do. He pulled up a screen of the scene through Thomas’s eyes, attention catching on every possible minor flaw, predicting the audience’s every possible reaction, determined to make the editing process hell so that only the best of Thomas was shown.

That was his job, after all.

#sanders sides #g/t #giant/tiny #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #ts deceit #tiny dragon virgil #tsits #writing #my writing #the shapes in the silence #posting this early since ill be gone all weekend #taglist soon to follow!#deceit is both fun and hard to write...

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rommahh · 4 years ago

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I Carry Your Heart

Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 4k

{Ahhhh ok so this is my first work like ever. There will definitely be a second part because ive got more to say and it needs a second part. I hope whoever sees and reads this imagine enjoys it. I appreciate comments, likes, reblogs, ideas on what could go into the story, and any form of help and redirection as to how i should write things. Much love, R.}.

Part two

All Y/N wanted tonight was to hang out with her boyfriend, eat a mass amount of junk food, and watch a marvel movie or two. That was all she wanted and that was all she asked of her boyfriend. Instead of any of that happening, she found herself sitting on the nasty kitchen island of her boyfriend's frat at a party that she was trying to avoid going to.

This party was supposedly ‘the party of the year.’ The last rager before finals and then christmas break. Y/N had spent the whole week studying and finishing up end of semester projects hence the want for a chill night. When Harry came to her saying his frat was throwing a party tonight and that he just HAD to be here, Y/N didn't feel like she had a choice but to let him go. She came because she thought this would be the only time she would be able to have some time with Harry after a long week of barely seeing each other. With two vastly different majors, the couple wasnt able to find a lot of time in the middle of school work to make time for just the two of them. Obviously her hopes of quality time with her man were futile because here she was sitting by herself in the kitchen of the frat while Harry drank and got high with his friends in other parts of the house.

Of course she was disappointed. She felt a knot in her throat and a weight on her chest just sitting there in that kitchen. Her white claw was warm now- not that it was any cold when she opened it. She was starting to form a small headache from the too loud music and the ache in her heart was growing.

She stood from the countertop on the search for her boyfriend, hoping he wasn't too far gone from sober. Wiping the back of her jeans from anything that was left on the island, she began walking around the house. She doesn't remember the last time the two of them spent time together by themselves. Of course they occasionally ate dinner together in the dining hall but they were normally surrounded by friends. Y/N wanted to be alone with her boyfriend to talk and bask in his presence.

After pushing through groups of partying humans, she found Harry and at least ten other people sitting around playing some sort of drinking game.

“Y/N! Where have you been?” Luca, one of Harry's frat brothers yelled out to her from the circle. Luca was cool, he was one of the only tolerable boys in this frat aside from Harry. Hearing his girlfriend's name, Harry turned around from where he sat on the ground and reached out for his girlfriend to sit beside him. Much to Y/N’s dismay, Harry was wasted. His eyes were half mass and his words bumped and slurred together. “We are playing truth or dare, wanna play?” Luca asked.

“I don't wanna play but Ill sit and watch.” Sitting next to her boyfriend, she grabbed one of his hands holding it in her lap. She was annoyed at him but it did her no good to show it when he was this drunk.

This game of truth or dare was childish. Dares of licking people's shoes and taking multiple shots had been done and truths about money and relationships were being spilled among the group. It had finally become Harry’s turn to do something, making Y/N tense.

“Ok Harry, I dare you to…” One drunk frat boy started looking around the room trying to come up with something clever. His eyes landed on a pretty girl in the room, Yara, a stuck up girl who for sure got her way no matter what. “I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in the room- obviously not your girlfriend because that defeats the purpose.” The frat boy smirked knowing what his intentions were. Everyone in the group giggles and gasped shocked by the dare but ready to see what was going to go down. Y/N’s brows furrowed as she became angry with the stupid dare.

The ache in her chest seemed to tip over the edge when she felt her boyfriend in the room move to stand up. She grabbed at the bottom of his shirt as a way of stopping him. Harry halted his movements to look down at his girlfriend. He giggled a little.

“You’re not actually going to do this right?” She asked Harry with wide eyes of shock. Harry laughed at her like she made a joke, making her heart hurt even more.”Harry I do not want you to do this just take the shot and lose the dare.” Her tone held warning.

“Don't be silly of course I'm going to. It's just a dare, nothing serious. Don't be so clingy.” He stood walking over to Yara and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. Yara gripped Harry’s shirt and kissed him harder. The kiss went on for a few more seconds, the room absolutely silent out of shock. Harry stepped back from Yara slightly sobering up from his actions. Yara smirked at Y/N, hand gliding down the front of Harry's shirt.

Y/N stood from the seat she was in and scoffed. Scoffed because she should've known Harry would do something like this. Scoffed because it hurt to see her boyfriend do something so careless without any regard for his girl's feelings. She pulled herself together, feeling her throat tighten once again. She was quick to leave the room and down the hall of the frat.

Harry's clumsy steps could be heard from behind her as he mumbled her name. Or at least he tried to. He was still so out of it, his words not making much sense. Y/N was crying now, the strength that she had slowly dissolving as she walked further away from her boyfriend.

“Y/N wait. P-please wait. I cant-” Harry stumbled over his legs behind her falling into the grass of the front yard. The girl couldn't help but turn around looking at her stupid boyfriend. She was choking on sobs now. She wasn't crying over a measly little kiss but over an extreme amount of burnout from school and exhaustion from simply existing. She was crying because her boyfriend ignored her boundaries, crushing and erasing the boundaries she had set in their relationship. Harry tried reaching for her once she had stopped walking. His hand clasped around her wrist, he laid his head down on her shoulder. He hated seeing her cry even if he was too drunk to see why.

“Baby don't leave, Im-Im Sorry.” He hiccuped and burped due to the alcohol. Y/N felt her rage build. Shoving Harry off of her, she crossed her arms across her chest as a way to shield herself from Harry physically. He was hurt by her distance and the wall she put up around her.

“You're an idiot Harry. An idiot!” her sobs grew louder, some stray party goers watching in amusement- some even snapchatting it for shits and giggles. “I didnt want you to kiss her and you did. What provoked you to think that was ok? All I wanted was for us to hang out tonight and just be us and you did this!” She was yelling now. Her hurt is beyond her now. Anger and rage simmered throughout her body making her head dizzy and her fingers curl within themselves. She didnt like being angry. It wasn't an emotion she liked acting on, it felt impersonal.

“Baby I don't under-” Before Harry could finish his sentence he was barfing at his feet. Y/N stepped back disgusted with her boyfriend. She couldn't even feel remorseful because of how angry she was. Luca, the frat brother from earlier, caught up with Harry and his girl only to find Harry doubled over heaving. Luca wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders.

“I'm sorry Luca but I can't do this tonight. Can you please make sure he gets some water and goes to bed. I-I can't do it tonight, I wish I could but I can't.” Y/N didn't want to leave her boyfriend in this state but she didn't deserve this. She wasn't going to care for her drunk boyfriend when all she wanted to do was care for herself. Selfishly, she enjoyed seeing him this way because of the anger he caused her.

Luca shook his head in understandment. “Of course, I'm really sorry for tonight. He's going to seriously regret this in the morning, especially since it will be circulating all over snapchat in the morning.” Luca waved to Y/N then proceeded to pull Harry into the house. Harry called out for Y/N not wanting to be away from her but Luca pulled him harder.

Harry woke up the next morning feeling like the bottom of a dumpster. He wasn't shocked by that. He knew he got trashed last night, he had planned to. He, just like Y/N, spent all week studying and completing projects while also fulfilling certain responsibilities for his frat. He wanted one night to be a normal teen. So he drank and drank and drank and maybe even smoked some weed. As he tried to recall last night's events he came up with nothing. He didn't understand why Y/N wasn't here with him like she normally would after a party on the weekend. They were normally always together during the weekend. A bad feeling loomed over him. He could tell something wasn't right but decided to put his feelings to the side.

He saw a bottle of water beside his bed making him think she was probably here and left early. Chugging the water he started to go through his socials to see if anyone had posted about the party. He had multiple tagged pics and videos in his notifications from snapchat. Way more than he normally would.

The first video he saw was a video of him and Y/N standing in the front yard of the frat house. Turning the volume all the way up he could hear Y/N yelling, it shocked him. She doesn't normally raise her voice, especially not at him. The angle changed showing her face which was red with anger, eyes filled with unshed tears. He could hear her yelling about him kissing someone else. He felt his heart stop. He had kissed someone else? On the next snap was a picture of him keeled over vomiting on his shoes with the caption saying, ‘are yall seeing this shit?’ Harry was embarrassed but he was more concerned than anything.

His head was hurting but it didn't stop him from rolling out of bed, washing up, and putting on a fresh set of clothes. He checked his phone hoping Y/N had messaged him but nothing was there. He walked into the kitchen only to see luca sitting at the counter eating cereal.

“Hey Harry….” Luca said warily. Luca pushed the cereal around his bowl feeling the tension begin to rise in the room. He felt horrible about his friends.

“Luca...what's up?” Harry was confused by Lucas' wariness.

“So do you remember anything about last night?” Luca asked, setting his cereal down in the sink behind him. Harry started playing with the frayed edges of a bracelet Y/N made for him. It had little beads with her name on it. They made them together at an event on campus.

“I don't, I only saw the videos of Y/N screaming at me. I think I fucked up but I- I don't know what happened.” Harry's cheek flushed with even more embarrassment. Luca awkwardly chuckled scratching the back of his neck.

“You got dared to kiss the hottest girl in the room and um actually did it in front of Y/N...even though she didn't want you to. Which led you guys outside and yeah you know the rest...Im sorry dude, I wish I had stopped you.”

“Who- who did I kiss?” Harrys stomach lurched when he heard Yara’s name come out of Lucas' name. Y/N didn't like Yara and it was understandable. Yara has been pining after Harry since their first year of college. Harry couldn't breathe. He felt disgusted with himself. He could only imagine how Y/N was feeling.

Y/N woke up the same morning, eyes puffy and crusty from tears and head hurting. She probably cried herself into dehydration. She was lucky enough to have no roommate because she wouldn't have wanted someone else to see her breakdown. She still couldn't believe last night went down the way it went down. She couldn't tell if she was just being overdramatic or if her emotions were in the right place. She didn't want to be mad at Harry. He was everything to her, she had an odd connection to him. Meeting him during their freshman welcome week they quickly became best friends with a growing romantic connection in the mix. They started dating before Christmas break. They had grown close so fast that he even came home with her to meet her family for the first few days of break. Even though they were in their junior year of college, Y/N could see them beyond college. She's imagined them getting married, travelling, sharing a home. She saw the whole future with him. She had her doubts though. He was immature just like every other boy in college. He was dumb with his actions and tended to only do things if they benefited him. He had a lot of growing to do as a person, so did she but she wanted to grow with him.

She heard a knock on her door hesitating to answer it because one, it could be Harry, and two, she looked like a wreck. Answering anyways, she was met with a very sorry looking Harry holding a small coffee and bagel from their cafe.

“Hi baby…” He sheepishly said holding out the items. She silently let him through the door not once looking him in the eye. He stepped into her room, setting her treats on her desk. He could see that her bed was messy meaning she recently woke up. Y/N never went about her day without making her bed. He turned back to her and finally their eyes met. He took in all of her facial features, from her puffy eyes, to her downturned lips that looked chapped, to her flushed cheeks that longed to be held for warmth. He hated to see her like this, the last time he saw her so upset was when her parents moved out of her childhood home. It took alot to make Y/N this upset. She was normally really headstrong and vigilant. She knew how to ease her way out of problematic situations and could talk her way through anything.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Y/N holding her hand up in front of his face. “Don't talk. I'm really hurt Harry, so if your plan was to come over here and apologize over bagels- think again.” She snapped, backing up to put space between the two of them. She sat down on her bed while Harry pulled the desk chair out and sat down. He much preferred to be on the bed with her holding her tight but he didn't want to overstep boundaries.

“Love, I don't know where to begin. I'm really sorry for what happened last night. I was really drunk and obviously wasn't in the right headspace.” Harry reached out and touched the tips of her fingers with his. She wanted to move but it felt good to be touched by Harry.

“I told you that a measly little apology won't do Harry. I didn't want you to kiss Yara and you did anyway. You know how Yara feels about you and you just let it happen!” She pulled her hand away remembering the prior night's events. Harry felt himself getting angry too. He felt like he needed to defend himself- even though it would be a very bad idea.

“I think you're being over dramatic.” Wrong move Harry. “It wasn't like I was making out with her!”

“You're joking right?” She scoffed and scooted further up her bed to create more distance. “Harry it's the simple fact that you did something that made me uncomfortable that shouldn't have even happened. I see myself getting married to you and it makes me worry that right now in our relationship you can't respect my boundaries!” She yelled. Harry’s eyes widened as he laughed sarcastically.

“Married? What the fuck are you on about? I'm a junior in college. In what world would it make sense for me to be prepping a relationship for marriage? Once again I think you're being over dramatic.” Her eyes watered hearing Harry's statement.

“I- I guess I'm the only one in this relationship thinking about the future? I thought we were on the same page. I'm not planning our marriage now, obviously. I'm thinking about how elements of our relationship now could play out in the future when we do want to get married. You cheated on me last night. I went to a party you begged ME to go to only to be there for you. I wanted to be here cuddling with you, pigging out on fast food but I was at a party with you and got cheated on!” Her volume rises once again, making Harry shove his chair from underneath him when he stands up.

“You're doing too much right now. I'm not planning a future right now because I don't want this future! I want to be myself without thinking about how to appease my girlfriend. I invited you to the party so you could lighten the fuck up. I love you, I do, but I'm not thinking of marriage and futures. I'm thinking about my life right now and having fun.” Harry snapped right back at her. Her chin wobbled. Obviously her and Harry were on different pages. It hurt so much to hear him say that he didn't want a future with her. Harry didn't mean it though.

“Ok, well I guess that's my fault for assuming we were thinking along the same lines. Um, I don't want to hold you back from being yourself so with that being said, you are a free man Harry.” She pushed herself up from her bed walking to the door ready to escort Harry out.

“Huh? Love, what?” Harry was confused on how they got to this point. Just a few days ago they were in love, meeting in the library to share a lunch and exchanging sweet words determined by their love.

“Listen I have a day full of exams tomorrow so if you could just leave that would be best. You don't really want this so I'm letting you go, Harry.” She had tears rolling down her face, falling from her eyes down to her chin where they fell to the ground in droplets. Harry’s eyes welled up watching his love cry before him.

“I don't-”

“Harry, leave, please.” She opened the door making room for him to go through. He walked through the door turning to look at her. She turned her face away from him whispering a small goodbye before shutting the door. Harry was left in the silent hallway, so silent he could hear his thoughts and the tears hitting the tile floor beneath him. He thinks he stood there for at least thirty more minutes before accepting what had happened and walking away.

Leaving Y/N in her room sobbing like she had never done before. Her tears coated her face and she thought her head could explode right then and there. She didn't want to accept what had happened but she had priorities. She composed herself enough to start studying for her exams.

The week rolled by quickly, Monday meeting Friday in a flash. Exams were done and Christmas break was on the horizon. Students were piling off of campus in a hurry ready to get home to their loved ones. People were outside by cars loading up their winter necessaries and saying their goodbyes to their close friends.

Harry cried everyday this week. He wasn't normally a crier. He hated crying, he hated the feeling of crying and the headache that came from it. He cried because he realized how wrong he was. He missed Y/N. He missed finals week dinner together where they tried to get off campus at least once and be alone for a moment. He missed watching her relax while eating food that wasn't from their school's cafeteria. He would pay for their meal just so she could have one less thing to worry about. They would normally get frozen yogurt right after too, Y/N getting as many toppings as she wanted because Harry would be the one paying. He missed her tight after exam hugs. She would squeeze his shoulders tight, smiling into his neck, telling him how proud she was of him. She would bring him tea in the morning when they met for breakfast. Sometimes they would spend the night in one or the others room so they could have time together to destress and just talk.

Y/N wasn't doing any better. She normally went into exam week feeling confident. She studied too hard not to. But this week she felt like shit. Her heart hurt and she kept thinking about the fight. She feels like she overreacted but hearing Harry talk about their lack of a future hurt nonetheless. She really assumed that they did have a future that included marriage and a life together. She didn't understand where his sudden lack of commitment came from. She regretted dumping him but at the same time she wished he did more to get them back together but he was silent. He hasn't contacted her at all and avoided all of their spots on campus all together.

She stood by her car prepping for her six hours car ride back home. Packing away her clothes and some essentials in the trunk of her car, she heard light footsteps behind her. Closing her trunk she turned to see Harry standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi.” He said. She looked at him, putting her own hands in her pockets. It was cold outside, the nippy air hinting at a possibility of snow.

“Hi Harry.” They shared a moment of silence together. Just staring at each other. It felt good to be near each other again. They felt like they could breathe again.

“I had to see you before you left. I know the break is only a month but I didn't want to leave without seeing you.” He replied quietly. She made him feel so shy. Her beauty always made him awestruck. Even in a hoodie with their college's logo and some large sweatpants and some fuzzy crocs, she was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“I don't know what to say harry.”

“It's ok. I don't deserve anything from you after what I said. I just wanted to apologize and wish you a good break before you left. I also wanted to give you this.” He pulled a small box and envelope out of the front pocket of his backpack. “I know we agreed on no presents but I think thats a dumb rule and I love you too much to not get you something.” She smiled at his words, taking the gift from his hands.

“Thank you Harry, it means a lot to me. So what are your plans for a break?” She asked him, the tension that was in the air slowly dissipating.

“I couldn't get a flight home until next wednesday so i'll stay here on campus until then.” He shrugged.

“Oh ok. Well tell Anne I said hi. I have to go Harry but I'll see you after the break, ok?” She didn't want to leave him but she didn't want to drive through the dark.

“Ok, love. Drive safe. I lov- I mean have a good break.” Her chest tightened at his hesitation. She wants to hear him say the words but she knows he won't.

“Have a good break Harry.” She whispered. Before getting in her car she stood on her toes placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Rubbing her thumb across his cheek and turning away and into her car.

She drove away knowing that her heart was left in that parking lot in the hands of someone she loves way too much.

Harry stood in the parking lot watching his heart drive away for winter wanting nothing more than to be with her.

Part two

#harry styles x reader #frat!harry #i carry your heart #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #college!harry #part 2 coming soon #harry styles smut #fratrry #boyfriend!harry

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beautifulweird0 · 4 years ago

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Forgiving Your Parents

I know too many people who’ve experienced some form of trauma from their parents. This isn’t a blog about bashing your folks- this is hopefully a post that will help salvage some strained parent and child relationships. Cause I been there, done that-and understanding your parent is only feasible if your parent is interested in understanding you.

My disclaimer is this: The child isn’t responsible for mending the relationship...solely. I’mma tell you like this, if your parent doesn’t want anything to do with you...skip em’.

Because that’s backwards as hell and that takes away from loving yourself. Anyway you chop it, if you find yourself forcing yourself on a “parent”, the relationship isn’t going to go anywhere-AND THAT’S NOT YOUR FAULT OR CONCERN. YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL! YOU ARE EXTREMELY WORTHY. I’m so sorry your people ain’t solid; it’s a reflection of them-not you.

It’s my belief that something is wrong with a person if they want no parts of having a relationship with their child. Literally so messed up from their own unhealed traumas that they can’t find it within themselves to love someone they created…

Ain’t no fixing on that unless you take they ass to a therapist.

Moving on.

I’ve always had such a strong feeling in my gut when I come across new people. It’s like they look at me and think I got it all. Truly looking at me and seeing a woman who doesn’t have insecurities or childhood traumas spotted along her path cause I’m kind and always make it a point to smile like Granny told me.

I’m usually a private person. But its always been that ‘pull’ on me-telling me… “It’s another little girl that is going through the same stuff you went through. Say that shit anyway. And with your chest.” .

Think about it...

Can’t a soul embarrass you about some stuff you open about. That takes all the fun out of their miserable lives if folks know wassup already.

So as a 22 year old woman that been through some mess with her people, let me share pieces of me. Cause the last thing you want on your conscience is one of your parents passing and ya’ll not being on the best of terms.

I was listening to Mad Bitches the other day and Mikhala Jene said something along the lines of, “Nobody living is perfect”.

That hit me a little different. Like damn...nobody walks this earth perfect so...why do we expect perfection (again, subconsciously).

THIS.

This is why I say if your parent is trying, then work with them. If they sit down with you and tell you how life was for them coming up. The good parts, the ugly parts, and everything in-between. Trying their best to be authentic and build a bond, then meet em’ halfway (if they haven’t been on some stuff that’s just unforgivable).

And shit, our people ain’t have everything at their fingertips as we do. The apps that spread information quicker than you could sneeze, weren't available. They couldn’t go on a ‘self-care’ page to calm themselves down if triggered or go on YouTube and watch motivational videos. Not making excuses, just using a little perspective that helps me! Yet and still, let your parent(s) know if they did something to wrong you; you gotta’ have respect for yourself as a human. Period.

I didn’t find out who my biological father was until I was about 16 years old. Up until that point I believed another man was my father (which he is still and will always be!).

Sooo...I already had abandonment issues from my parents and my dad lived in a way at that time, that all parties involved thought it was best my grandparents took us in. That’s all I know is Granny’s (& Grandpa’s) house since I was a baby.

It helped that when my mom told me who my biological dad was, she was in a much better state of mind and stable-but man...I didn’t know what to feel. My sister was more upset than me (cause we have the same dad hypothetically).

So many questions ran through my head that I couldn’t even cry or be mad. I was shocked. Everyone played their role so well…

There was a long road ahead of me. Not only did I have to forgive my mom and dad for lying to me for so long, but there was a father in the same city I had yet to know.

My first point is patience. If you aren’t going to be patient with an end goal for you and your parent, you’re wasting your time. Being prepared for them to fumble sometimes is mandatory if y’all going to get to a better place. You mess up on certain projects or what have you’s a few times before you get it right...right?

Give your parent the same energy if you were in their shoes. Cause baby...ain’t nothing worse than admitting your wrongs and still getting beat down. I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at my mom in that moment where she was vulnerable and upset cause she knew she played a part in hurting me. What was it gone do but make me feel bad and her feel worse?

Blowing up wasn’t going to change what happened now 22 years ago.

Yeah, there’s hella’ books on parenting but I’mma tell y’all like my Granny told me, “There’s no such thing as a book on how to be a parent.”.

Having a child of my own- I’ve been witness to this. Folks can be shown and folks can be told on how to do certain things but with each child being different in this world, you have to be intune with them specifically- no book on that.

I was through hell and back with my mother and now we’re in an extremely better place because we both made the effort (more-so on her part 🌚).

But it was my responsibility to go into it with pure intentions and my guard down a bit after she made the effort; disappointment is what I expected sometimes cause I went into it knowing it was going to be a process.

Don’t get it confused, my mom always knew how I was-that wasn’t the issue. The new end goal was getting to know each other again so I could understand her better so I could forgive her. That’s no sucka’ shit. Its real. Everybody in this life is going to disappoint you, one way or another. Better to know what you’re dealing with so you can assess the situation in order to better assess the person. Free game.

Another step to keep in mind is, boundaries. I just feel like it will make the whole exchange smoother-not easier- but smoother. The point of forgiving your parents and (if you chose) trying to build a relationship, is to have them know you for who you are NOW. Not when you were 5, not when you was 12...have them meet you at your level. They dropped the ball, not you. Sure...nobody asked to be here but that becomes invalid when you start having babies of your own. It’s a different ball game when you bring a life into this world. Your joys become the joy of your children but way too often we forget that our pain becomes theirs as well.

My father always tried too-the dad that I always knew as my dad. On weekends me and my sister would go to his house before he moved to Michigan. Man I was a daddies girl-still am. My grandparents had the house on lock, couldn't watch programs with cussing in it or too much violence. Life of having Southern Baptist grandparents I guess.

The weekends at pops house was always interesting. I could watch all the music videos I wanted and watch the movies that didn't have too much goin on in them.

My dad would do different stuff with us like go to the library; he always knew I loved reading. Sometimes my dad would take us to the park or a friends house who had kids (how I met my husband), water parks, or even cooking dinner with me and my sister; plenty of quality time where I could talk to him about anything.

However, at the time, pops lived a certain lifestyle and no matter how hard he tried to shield it from us younger kids, I still seen things and experienced things a child shouldn't have. Again, comes with the lifestyle I guess.

My dad drunk...ALOT. And it was interesting to see the 'upsides' of alchoholism and the very big downsides. I'd never forget, I was maybe 8? Another weekend at my dads, just me and my sister (I have multiple brothers on that side too plus another sister), and I woke up one morning on the couch. My dad was goin through some things- all he had was a couch that he let me and my little sister sleep on. My 1st thought when I woke up was where was my dad sleeping? My sister was sleep, and it was still fairly early in the morning. I go back to the empty bedroom to find him sleep on the floor. No pillow. No cover. Just a beer in hand, laid out. That broke my heart.

Just remember feeling sad all over. I took the beer, threw it away then grabbed the pillow I had and laid it under his head. While doing so, my dad woke up, halfway and kissed my hand.

He told me straight up he loves me and he apologized. Didn't go into detail but he didn't have to. My dad never had his pops in his life, nor his mama until he was grown and was taking care of her though her illness.

I knew even at 8 years old that, that gotta hurt. I'm not gone sit here and act like I always understood the motives of my father but I tried because he always tried to understand me and til' this day, he is one of the top 3 people that KNOWS me like the back of his hand.

I had to forgive my parents because they’ve come a long way. Holding all that anger and resentment wasn’t gone help me in the long run. And in a way I can say I've helped to heal them by loving them through their screw ups. We always talk about a parents love but what about a child's love?

I don’t want to pass down my pain to my son, he don’t need that- the world will give its fair share. But everyday I pray that the world won’t hurt him bad. I want my son to be nothing less than strong mentally, emotionally, but most of all spiritually. He won’t have that unless I’m solid. So I ask myself… ‘hm, what’s still hurting me?’.

We all got a story to tell.

Love. Peace. Manifest.

#black #love #hate #generationalcurses #generations #hurt #healing #blackfamilies #blog #monetsway #alcoholism #mother #father

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anatrik · 4 years ago

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Folklore feels like summers spent in your hometown, wandering barefoot with your best friend all day, coming home to sweet tea set on the porch. You slouch in a deck chair, watching the sun set, your grandmother's soft voice rising and falling beside you.

She tells stories, histories of the people you see everyday, Old Man James and his Betty. James and Betty, Betty and James who'd been together so long everyone thought of them as two halves of a single unit, a living breathing forevermore. But Grammy remembers...there was once another girl. A girl, with startling green eyes and a heart of fire and desire. A girl, shamefully wronged, disregarded, brushed under the carpet with all the lint, lost socks and cardigans, things we wish to forget. The girl everyone remembers and no one mentions.

Rebekah.

And you listen in wide eyed silence, trying to reconcile the image of the bluff honest old man with that of a dark haired philanderer, trying to picture Mrs. Betty- who still looks at her husband like she sees the 17 year old boy she fell in love with- huddled under the bleachers as Mrs. Inez (that old bat?!) confirms that the rumours are true, trying to imagine what the woman would've looked like, this Rebekah, who'd been able to steal a man's eyes from 'Betty the Beauty' and coming up with a blank because some things simply defy imagination.

"How?", you whisper in a strangled voice

"How can she bear to even look at him?"

Grammy smooths a hand over your tousled head and smiles at how young you are, how black and white the world you live in, how innocent.

Because invisible strings tie us to our fates. Because Betty knew the other girl and the shitty hand life had dealt her. Because James had been 17 and hadn't known a single thing. Or maybe, it was something as simple as a sorry at the right time by the right person for the right reasons.

And the other girl? You want to ask. But it feels wrong somehow, after all these years, her memory still tainted, her grave still fresh, her presence always felt.

Grammy hears the question anyway-she always does. Her voice grows softer, her words come out hoarse and laced with bitterness. And she tells you, about a runaway who had left home by moonlight with a twenty dollar bill and the clothes on her back, how she slept her way through bus stops and shady motel rooms, greedy fingered old men who had breathed in her desperation like it was the finest of perfumes. About a lost girl who didn't know better and the men who should have. How finally one summer, she had stumbled into a sleepy little town, 1989 miles away from where she had started, a ghost town she'd thought, marvelling at the silence. And then...him. They had talked politics and got drunk under the streetlights, spent weekends together and he'd made her feel special, kissed all her aches better, really truly saw her. For the first time she felt like she could maybe put down roots, here where the grass was green and the skies purple pink and blue, here where she had been happy for the first time. And then, when the wind turned and the evenings grew longer, he'd finally touched her and it had felt like a goodbye. When she woke up twisted in the empty bedsheets, she was alone. All of August slipped away into a memory .

The school year was a knife to the chest, her love had relegated her to the shadows, abandoned her to the whispers and side eyes. They called her a bad girl, a mad woman, a whore, nothing she hadn't heard before but nothing ever really prepares you to hear it again.

"What happened to her?" you ask in a hushed voice.

She left. The day of James and Betty's wedding, the whole town and it's cousins were at the church, no one missed the freak. She went back to the city she'd run from, back to that house of horrors, the demons had long since died but their ghosts remained in the walls. But she knew what it was to live with ghosts. She wasn't one to fear things that couldn't touch her.

She worked her way through med school, threw herself into her work, reckless, passionate, determined and burned like a star in a sky full of streetlights.

Then came the great war of men, what your history textbooks called the second world war.

"You were there too?" you whisper in awe.

Yes. I was posted with the 104th infantry. It's where I met your grandfather.

She speaks of the guns and the smoke, the trenches of blood and broken men, the white curls darken and the wrinkles fall away, you see your soft Grammy, but also the steely young nurse she had once been.

She speaks of a young soldier, Bill, and a love set to a soundtrack of artillery fire, uncertainty and prayers. A love neither easy nor inevitable, that they had fought for tooth and nail because it was all either of them had.

She tells me of their early days, back when Bill was just one among a thousand struggling young men,the times she almost ran because it was the only thing she knew. How after a particularly vicious fight he had come after her to find her stood on the cliffside, angry, unsure, screaming at him to give her one fucking reason. How he had slowly unpicked the messy knots in her head where love and lies were so entwined she couldn't tell one from the other. How she'd warned him of the storms that lived within her and he'd weathered through them all. How she had finally found it in herself to believe again.

And then the homecoming, the city life wasn't for them and Grammy had missed the sea. So they'd packed their bags, said goodbye to St.Louis by moonlight. Then the house on the beach, parties straight out of Gatsby, card games with Dali. The quiet moments in Grandpa Bill's arms. Their new neighbours, James and Betty who had moved back home to raise their family. How James would sometimes look at her like he was seeing someone else or maybe a reflection of the man he could've been. How whenever that happened Betty's lips would tighten imperceptibly. How he always snapped out of it. Every single time. He always went back to his Betty. Bill would tell a joke to smooth over the tense silence, the moment would pass. Everything would come back to normal. Then she had your mother, your uncle, your other uncle, their dog, Benjamin, Grandpa Bill's heart-attack, the stories start running together and before you know it gentle arms are carrying you to your bed, a soft I love you goes unanswered, summer ends, it's time to go back home.

When you come back next, the porch is empty, no sweating jug of sweet tea on the table. The house is crowded and smells of roses- Grammy hated roses- and expensive perfumes. There's too much black everywhere- Grammy hated black- you search for a familiar face in the sea of weeping strangers and find none. You huddle close to where Grammy lies. She looks so peaceful. Just like you remember from the last day of summer. People come up every few minutes, mumbling words of comfort to your mother as your uncles stand by stoically. No one says a word to Grammy, which is pretty rude you think considering she's the reason they're all here. They hover uncertainly, then attempt to drift away inconspicuously. Mrs. Betty and Old man James are among the last, you look up curiously trying to see beyond the ill fitting suit and the balding grey head, but whoever James had been at 17, was long gone. He stands for a long time, his head bowed, tears slowly dripping down the tip of his nose. He doesn't say a word to your mother. He doesn't say a word to anyone. But from where you sit you can see his lips moving, the same word again and again, like a prayer, Betty, Betty, Betty. You wonder why he'd be talking to his wife right now. But then you see Betty's mouth tighten.

Becky, Becky, Becky...

Grammy.

Rebekah.

Thank you. For folklore. For these stories. For everything. @taylorswift

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 4 years ago

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Same Snake, Different Skin--Wilford Warfstache x Reader x Darkiplier

Summary: To many, a broken mirror is an ill omen. It supposedly symbolizes bad luck. Seven years of torment, or so they say. Little do they know, that a broken mirror could also be someone's saving grace. Those broken shards of glass could be the only thing keeping a soul from eternal damnation.

Warnings; language, death, the usual stuff we see in Markiplier videos

Word Count; 5.4k (yep, it’s a doozie)

Notes; PLEASE READ! Ok, so, I mentioned the other day that I was gonna post a WKM/AHWM series on AO3, and I am. This post includes the first 3 chapters. Click here to read it on AO3 (link will also be at the bottom)

"Will, please try to enjoy yourself tonight." You glanced at your husband from the corner of your eye. He stood by your side, posture perfect as always, nearly expressionless. As if he felt your gaze, he placed a hand on the small of your back.

"Ah, that's something I'll only be able to accomplish if you're around, my dear." Even after several years of marriage, he could still make you go weak in the knees. The door to the mansion finally opened. The man, whom you assumed was the butler, greeted you both warmly and motioned you both inside. "After you." The three of you stepped into the foyer.

"Welcome to Markiplier Manor." You felt William stiffen. In an attempt to comfort him, you wrapped an arm around his waist. He melted into your touch, pulling you closer. "Your invitations, please." William pulled two envelopes out of his coat pocket. One was addressed to you; (Y/F/N), the district attorney. The other was addressed to Colonel William Barnum. The butler smiled brightly as he took the invitations. He wished you luck at the poker table. "The other guests are right this way. I will bring your drinks forthwith," he said with a wink.

"I'm going to have a look around. I can see Damien through there. Go have fun," William murmured in your ear. You knew how much it hurt him to be in this place, after all this time, but you also knew how much more it hurt his heart to have not seen his friends in years. You grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze before flashing him a sad smile.

"Alright, but don't get in too much trouble without me." William chuckled.

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear."

You were thrilled to have another poker night. It was a common occurrence when you were all in college, but they sort of fizzled out once you got into your adult lives. Damien smiled and waved you over when you caught his eye. He wrapped you in an embrace, squeezing a laugh out of you. "Well, long time no see, old friend! How's the new office?" You shrugged.

"It'll take some getting used to, but I'm looking forward to the start of a new chapter in my life." You glanced around. "Where's Celine?" You had been friends with the mayor and his sister for as long as you could remember. The three of you practically grew up together. Everyone always joked that you were their long lost sibling. Damien was even the one who introduced you to William, and Celine was your maid of honor when you got married. She returned the favor when she got married to Mark. However, it wasn't long after their wedding that she cut contact with you. You were hurt, to say the least, but you still cared for her and wished her well.

Damien sucked in a breath. He rubbed the back of his neck. "She's, uh, not coming tonight." Your brows knitted together, but Damien spoke again before you could voice your confusion. "Mark and Celine got divorced about a year and a half ago," he said quietly. You were taken aback. They seemed like such a cute couple. Damien glanced over your shoulder for a second. He smiled when his gaze returned to you. "We'll have plenty of time to catch up when I see you at the table-- as long as you don't rob me blind again." He clapped your shoulder and disappeared down a hall.

Being left to your own devices, you aimlessly wandered through the manor. It had been ages since you were last here, but not much had changed. You were brought back to your senses when Mark gave his grand entrance and champagne flutes were passed around. Taking a sip of the bubbly drink, you knew this would be a very interesting night.

It was a well-known fact that you weren't the best at holding your alcohol. Two or three drinks were enough to take you out, but you were having so much fun that it was nearly impossible to stop yourself from having more. It didn't help that the butler kept refilling your glass every time you turned around. You woke the next morning with your head throbbing, and you desperately wanted to throw the alarm clock out of the window. A sudden moment of panic settled in. A vague memory of William trying to fight someone resurfaced. Glancing around, there was no evidence of his presence ever being in your room. You got ready as quickly as your energy-drained body allowed. Damien turned away from his spot near the banister when he heard your door open. "Have you seen William this morning?"

"I figured you would be worried. He's downstairs, passed out on the couch last night." You nodded, shoulders relaxing. A teasing smile flashed across Damien's face as he nudged you with his elbow. "How is our little monster this morning? Haven't seen you go that wild since our days in university." You pinched the bridge of your nose. It was too early in the morning for this.

"Well, I'm glad somebody remembers." Damien's laugh filled the air. You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment. "Did you do a keg stand last night?" His face reddened, and he stumbled over his words. It was your turn to laugh. "Look at you, Mr. Mayor! After I find William, I expect a full list of all the embarrassing things you did last night." Damien snorted, shaking his head.

"Yes, I suppose we'll have to catch you up. I'll see you at breakfast."

The search for your husband began. You went down the grand staircase and followed various corridors. The mental map you had of the place had grown fuzzy, and you couldn't quite remember what part of the manor you were in. You stumbled into the lounge with a huff. This was nowhere near where you needed to be. You walked around the couch and froze. Mark was laying on the ground. His eyes were open, and his skin was a sickly hue. You couldn't bring yourself to believe the obvious. "Mark?" Your voice was hardly above a whisper. You knelt beside him, grabbing his wrist. No pulse. Mark was dead. As if on cue, lightning struck. A man you had just met the night before-- Abe, the detective-- waltzed into the room, exclaiming about the odd weather. He stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.

"My God, there's been a murder!" Lightning struck once more. Soon after, the butler and chef filed in. Both men shouted about the crime scene. Powerful lightning stuck when the word 'murder' was uttered, causing you to flinch every time. Abe's focus zeroed in on you. The detective grabbed you by the collar, yanking you to your feet. "What the hell happened here?" he snarled. You opened and closed your mouth. Words couldn't be found to explain the situation. Your mind was still wrapping around the fact that your friend was laying on the floor dead. "In case you haven't been paying attention, there's been a bit of a killing, and you're my prime suspect. So, you better get to explaining the what, when, where, and why you happen to be here, upon this man's death!"

"I don't know what happened! I just found him like this." Your voice cracked, and you felt the familiar sting of tears filling your eyes. Abe narrowed his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the butler interrupted. He brought up the fact that the body was ice cold. Mark had been long gone by the time any of you had stumbled upon his body. The detective grumbled under his breath before finally releasing you.

"Alright, you're off the hook... for now." Abe suggested that the two of you should team up, working together to solve the murder. You reluctantly agreed. Two minds were better than one, and you wanted to get to the bottom of this. You helped Abe string caution tape around the area, making a point to avoid looking at the body. You then sat on the couch and held your head in your hands. You regretted ever begging William to leave home and have a weekend out. Your head snapped up at the sound of someone approaching. Damien looked around the small group gathered in the lounge, confusion etched into his features. The butler hesitantly explained what had occurred.

"A murder? Who?" Everyone held their breath for a moment, avoiding the mayor's gaze. He looked over at you and realized how disheveled you were. "Who is it, (Y/N)?" All eyes were on you, now. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, not wanting to give in to the gravity of the situation.

"Damien, it's..." you sighed, finally looking him in the eye, "it's Mark." He took a step back, shocked by your answer.

"Mark... killed? Who would do such a thing?"

"That's what me and my partner are trying to figure out." Abe motioned between you and himself. He glanced between everyone in the room. "I believe the killer is right here, amongst us... in this very house. For now, we're all stuck here. While me and my partner investigate, the rest of you need to return to your rooms, hunker down, and pray to God you're not next to be murdered." Lightning flashed outside the windows. Everyone in the room slowly dispersed. Before Damien left, you grabbed his wrist.

"Check on William for me." The mayor patted your hand but couldn't bring himself to look you in the eye.

"Yes, there are... important matters I need to discuss with the Colonel."

~*~*~

You were crouched beside the detective, intently listening as he explained how the body temperature gives an estimated time of death. Abe came to the conclusion that Mark was killed around 1:30 in the morning. You tried to focus as he went into further detail about taking the temperature of a corpse and how it's best to do it rectally, but the muffled shouts coming from a nearby room held your attention. "Why don't I go poke around, look for some clues?" The detective seemed a little surprised at your suggestion. He quickly regained his composure.

"Oh, yeah, good idea, partner. You go see if you can find more about the narrative. I've got a few more tests I need to run on the body."

You crept closer to the room the voices were coming from. You were almost positive the ones inside were Damien and William. To confirm your suspicions, you cracked the door open. You could barely see Damien standing in the middle of the room.

"...I am taking his matter very seriously."

"Don't give me that horse-shit! I know you hated him, but goddamn it! He reached out to you."

"Oh, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to care!"

“Just because I'm not weeping like a child doesn't mean that I don't care." You frowned. It had been a long time since you had heard either of them this upset and angry, especially at each other.

"Come talk to me when you pull your head out of your ass." You hardly had time to pull yourself out of your thoughts when Damien came barreling out of the room. He stopped inches away from colliding with you. His brows knitted together.

"Damien, what hap-"

"Excuse me," he huffed. The mayor brushed past you and disappeared down the hall. Confused, you stepped into the room. William sat in an old, wicker chair towards the back of the room. His face was turned away from you, but you could see he was pinching the bridge of his nose. You made your way towards him. He sighed before raising his voice.

"Damien, I don't-- oh." His voice softened upon realizing it was only you. William looked you up and down, seeing right through the front you were holding. He immediately jumped up from his seat and wrapped you in his arms. You practically melted in his embrace. Tears started to pool in your eyes. You tried to fight them back, sniffling, but they slid down your cheeks anyways. William shifted to hold your face in his hands. He gently wiped the tears away with his thumb. You gave him a watery smile.

"Sorry for getting so emotional all of a sudden." William scoffed, pulling you back into a bear hug.

"Nonsense! There is nothing to apologize for, my dear." He was quiet for a moment. You could pretty much see the gears in his mind turning. "This has been an emotional day... for everyone." Even though he didn't explicitly say it, you knew this was his way of admitting that he was upset about Mark too. You pulled him closer, leaning your forehead against his. His mustache quirked as a smirk formed on his lips. You narrowed your eyes, wondering what mischief the man was up to now. "Do you think that 'detective' can find the killer? Honestly, if he were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice a week." You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled in your chest. William's face brightened at your response. "There's my favorite smile!" He peppered your face with light kisses, causing you to laugh even more.

"Alright, enough!" you exclaimed in between laughs. "To answer your question, no, I don't think he can do it on his own. That's why I'm helping him." William stepped back. Confusion etched into his features.

"You're really helping him?" He rolled his eyes when you nodded. "Come on, (Y/N)! We all know how Mark died!" When you crossed your arms, waiting for him to explain, William launched into a long and dramatic recount of how he believed Mark died. He waved his arms around and gave a probably offensive impression of Mark. William believed that he caused his own demise, drinking too much and stumbling down the staircase. "...and that's what happened. Probably, anyway. If you need to corroborate this story with anyone else, go ahead and investigate the entire house." You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little hurt. You didn't understand why he was suddenly shutting you out, just because you were working with the detective.

"Will..." He stepped back and sat in the wicker chair, turning his face away from you.

"Go on, I'll be here when you're done," he sighed. You were about to say something else, but the butler called your name from the doorway. You hesitated before following him.

The meeting with the butler was largely underwhelming, and the chef wasn't much help either. All you learned from your chat was that Mark had hired Abe to do a background check on his staff. You were making your way out of the kitchen when you spotted Damien pacing outside. Thinking back on his argument with William, you decided to check on him. The sound of the door opening caught Damien's attention. He quickly made his way over, apologizing for the argument you overheard. "I know I'm supposed to be a leader in this scenario, but I can't help but feel lost. I don't have any answers, and I... just want to be alone." You put a hand on his shoulder.

"Damien, no one is expecting you to have all the answers or be the perfect leader, especially not right now. You just lost one of your childhood friends. It's completely normal to feel lost. Don't put too much pressure on yourself. You can't help anyone if you don't take care of yourself first." A smile quirked the corners of his lips.

"Thanks, little monster. Don't know what I'd do without you." He patted your hand, and the smile was gone almost as quick as it came. "I'm going to go walk the grounds, see if I can process all of this. Send the Colonel my way next time you see him. We need to talk."

Mark was gone. No, not in a metaphorical sense where his soul had left for a better place. His body was gone. Poof. Vanished. Nowhere to be found. Yep, this day just couldn't get any worse. You were pacing through the lounge, trying to keep yourself from dissolving into hysteria. You had passed the point of 'freaking out' and didn't know whether you wanted to curl into a ball and cry for hours or launch yourself into the void. It didn't help that the detective started discussing the possibility of the corpse reanimating with the butler and chef. When an arm draped across your shoulders right as lightning flashed, you nearly screamed. "Bully! Quite a storm out there. What are you doing in here, huddled in fear?" William gave your shoulders a squeeze. A goofy smile was plastered on his face.

"We have a zombie problem!" the chef exclaimed.

"Ah, homo necrosis, the most dangerous game," William said with a dramatic flourish. He looked over at you and winked. You pursed your lips. Whenever you were upset, he always cracked jokes to try to make you smile-- even in serious situations, such as this. Needless to say, you weren't really in the mood for it. William cleared his throat at your lack of response. "Well, I'm off to the grounds to see if I can catch a whiff of the old bag of bones." He left the room, laughing at his own joke.

Abe thought it would be best if the two of you stayed close for the remainder of the investigation. After all, you never know who you can trust. The two of you discussed possible motives while picking for clues in Mark's room. The place looked as if it had been ransacked. You stepped carefully, not wanting to mess with anything that could be considered evidence. A table in the corner of the room caught your eye. There were several framed photographs scattered about. They were all pictures of the gang; you, William, Damien, Mark, and Celine. One, in particular, caught your eye. The front glass was shattered, and the picture inside was only of William. "Weird..."

"Did you find a clue?"

"I don't know. Take a look at this picture-" you were interrupted by William waltzing into the room.

"Say, detective, I need to borrow your friend here." Abe raised a brow, glancing between the two of you. Assuming it was spousal issues, he quickly assured you that he could continue the investigation on his own. "Bully! Take a walk with me." William linked his arm with yours, ushering you outside. "A breath of fresh air will do you good. You've been on edge since the body disappeared." You ran a hand through your hair.

"Yeah, it's... been a long day." William stopped walking. He watched you intently, while you glanced around the pool area.

"Is that all?" You bit your lip, not wanting to sound conspiratorial. He sat down at the water's edge, motioning for you to do the same. "You don't have to be afraid to talk to me. You know that."

"I'm just worried. What if Abe's right? What if one of us really is the murderer?" You flinched at the sudden flash of lightning. "I mean, how far into the investigation will they let us go until trying to stop us?" William took both of your hands in his. There was an intensity in his eyes you weren't sure you had ever seen before.

"At our wedding, when I vowed to never leave your side, I meant it. I will not allow any harm to come to you." You pulled one of your hands free and held out your little finger.

"Pinky promise?" William smiled, wrapping his finger around yours. He pulled your hand closer and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

"Pinky promise." Questions about the shattered picture frame pushed their way into your mind, but you did your best to quell them. Out of all of the chaos that had occurred, you were given a moment of peace. You were sure that more dismay would soon peer over the horizon. But this was the eye of the hurricane. For now, it was all quiet, and you wanted nothing more than to enjoy this moment with your husband.

~*~*~

The manor originally belonged to the Barnum family. It was where William grew up. His parents were wealthy, providing everything their son could ever desire. There were many wild parties hosted here when you were all younger. William was proud of his heritage, but he didn't let his family define who he was. Despite the fortune of his parents, he was incredibly humble and a hard worker. That was one of the things you loved about him. However, his world shifted when his parents passed. William had just returned from deployment when the news arrived. Old scandals his parents were involved in resurfaced. Everything he thought he knew about his family was a lie. That was when Mark entered the scene. He was just starting to make a reputation for himself in the acting world and used his newfound wealth to purchase the Barnum Manor. Mark's time in the mansion inflated his ego, or so you assumed. He never let William hear the end of it. The once happy home that you all had great memories in began to feel stuffy. Something about it changed, and it made you uneasy. The heavy atmosphere that seemingly moved into the manor with Mark only amplified, and it made your time here suffocating. It was having effects on everyone.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when William suggested you further investigate the staff. He then ran off to explore the old golf course, resembling a child running to unwrap gifts on Christmas morning. A sad smile crossed your features. The manor was no longer the childhood home he remembered.

"Have you seen the Colonel?" You jumped when Damien appeared behind you. You groaned, placing a hand to your forehead.

"Damn it! He just left. Sorry, Damien, I completely forgot to tell him that you were looking for him." The mayor waved you off.

"No matter, would you accompany me? There is something I'd like to discuss with you." The two of you walked across the patio. Damien voiced his concerns about the innocence of the detective. While anything is possible, you didn't really believe he was a suspect. He shared too much personal information, and you didn't pin him to be the master manipulator type. Damien nodded, halfway agreeing. He froze for a moment. His eyes widened. "Mayhaps our counting skills aren't as good as we assumed them to be." A knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

"You think..." you trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"It's possible, that in the shadows of this manor, unseen to any of us, lay hidden... a murderer." Lightning danced across the sky. Almost simultaneously, a gunshot sounded from inside. You and Damien wasted no time, running into the manor. The darkness that consumed the manor was suffocating you once more, and it had apparently infiltrated the minds of those inside. William and Abe were having a standoff. The two men had their gun sights trained on the other. Both were shouting profanities. Damien tried to diffuse the situation, but the tension only escalated.

"This psycho tried to shoot me!"

"That's a bald-faced lie!" William went on to explain that he was merely doing some target practice when the detective approached. They continued to argue, waving their guns in each other's faces.

"Please, put the guns down before somebody else gets hurt!" you tried to reason. William glanced in your direction, while Abe paid you no mind.

"No, he knew I was onto him, so he tried to wack me off before I could finger him... as the murderer!" You held your breath, unsure of what to do. They were going to rip each other's throats out if someone didn't intervene. Damien was standing beside you, too shocked to do anything. You started to step forward, but he grabbed your wrist.

"Don't, you'll get hurt," the mayor pleaded.

"What would you rather happen, Damien? They kill each other?"

"I won't be called a murderer in my own home!" William snarled at the detective. The front door swung open with enough force to startle everyone.

"Stop!" You blinked, hardly able to believe the sight. It was Celine, of all people. "What are you doing?" Abe put down his weapon. William kept a tight grip on his gun but slightly lowered his defenses.

"Celine?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Hold on, who the hell is 'Celine' and how do you know her?" Abe looked between you and William. Everyone ignored his question.

"Madam, I'm afraid you came at a very inopportune time." The butler wrung his hands, not wanting to be the one to tell her. The chef, however, had no empathy.

"Yeah, Mark's fuckin' dead!" That's when everyone jumped into the conversation. All of you blurted out that he had been murdered and his body was missing. Someone mentioned the zombie theory again, much to your dismay. The group moved to sit around the poker table, where everyone could lay out all the evidence that had been gathered so far. You tried your best to focus, but your mind was too foggy. It was hard to keep track of anything they were saying. You didn't snap out of your stupor until you realized that Celine was pointing at you.

"You've been awfully quiet through all of this..." Everyone sitting around the table jumped on the bandwagon, questioning your innocence as if you had anything to do with the murder. You were confused. She didn't seriously think you were the killer, right? William took your hand in his and glared at the others. It was almost as if he dared them to speak against you again. Celine glanced at your joined hands before closing her eyes, taking a breath. "But I know I can trust you. I sense that you have a far greater part to play in all of this. (Y/N), will you help me find an answer."

"Of course." Abe's jaw dropped.

"Are you serious? No, there's no way I'm going to let you drag my partner off to their very likely death!" he shouted, slamming his hands on the table. The butler and chef both agreed.

"Guys, it's ok. Celine's been like a sister to me for as long as I can remember. If she says it's safe, then I believe her." Celine smiled at you, and William nodded.

"They're right, you know. Celine can be trusted. There's no reason anyone should doubt her." The woman in question suggested that the group could wait outside if they were that uncomfortable. Abe reluctantly agreed. Celine stood from her seat and nodded for you to follow. The two of you were climbing the staircase when Damien approached. He kept calling out to Celine, begging her to stop. He believed she was not in the right headspace to be dealing with the occult, not that she should be dealing with it in the first place... Taking a deep breath, Celine faced her brother.

"There's more to this world than you could ever hope to imagine. I've just had my eyes opened to a small portion of it." She turned on her heel and left without saying another word. Damien's shoulders slumped. He wished you both luck before retreating back down the stairs. When you finally managed to catch up with Celine, she had already finished setting up whatever ritual she had planned. A large tapestry with odd symbols sewn into it was draped across the table. There were also candles and a crystal ball delicately placed in the center. Celine instructed you to sit in the chair across from her. She laid tarot cards in between each of the candles. Once more, your mind felt muddled. You could hardly keep your eyes open. Celine leaned forward, carefully watching your every movement. "Don't fight it. Trust the process, and find the answers." Dark spots flooded your vision, and soon everything faded to black.

You were having flashbacks, but they were... different. You knew they were your memories. You just couldn't help but feel as if you were seeing them through someone else's eyes. Then something strange occurred. You were standing near the garden, the chef and Abe by your side. Everything was hazy. You couldn't clearly see the face of the newcomer approaching. His laugh was warbled, nearly sounding inhuman. It made you feel sick. "Employers come and go! Some die, some don't." The scenery around you lurched. It felt as if you were falling through the floor. You couldn't stay here any longer. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't see. You needed to get out.

You startled in your seat, gasping for air. Celine was obviously annoyed. She leaned forward, her eyes boring holes into your head. "What happened? Why did you stop?" she yelled. You blinked up at her. You were still recovering from whatever dimension she had flung you into. "Well, did you see something or someone?"

"Shovel," you blurted. Celine raised a brow at you. You covered your face with your hands, worried that you were about to vomit. "Grumpy man. Garden." The witch scoffed.

"That doesn't answer anything! You need to go back, now!" She slammed her hands on the table, emphasizing her point. You flinched at the tone in her voice. Abe swung the door open, marching into the room with Damien.

"What the shit is this?" If she wasn't angry before, she was now. Celine yelled for them to leave. She claimed that the two of you weren't done. Damien looked down at your disoriented form. Concern flashed across his features, then his face darkened.

"Celine, I think this is quite enough. Look at (Y/N)! They can barely hold their head up!" Celine slammed her hands on the table once more, raising her voice even louder than before.

"It's enough when I say it's enough!" Damien shot Abe a look. The detective nodded and helped you to your feet. He walked you into the hall, asking you a million questions. You shook your head. The last thing you wanted to do was relive that hellhole. Abe sighed, pulling a small notebook and a pen out of his jacket pocket. You quickly scribbled a drawing of what you saw-- a man with a shovel. The detective furrowed his brows. He called in the chef and butler, quizzing them on what it could possibly mean. You leaned against the wall and listened to their conversation. You were still determined on helping the investigation, and your vertigo was beginning to fade.

Damien and Celine rejoined the group as Abe and the chef began arguing about whether or not George the groundskeeper could be a suspect. Damien had enough and finally snapped. "This is getting us nowhere. The two of you just go outside, and talk to this George, and be done with it!" Abe spluttered for a moment.

"Hold on a second, you're not coming with us?" The mayor twisted his cane in his hands, a nervous habit of his. He glanced between you and his sister.

"I need to stay here to help Celine and (Y/N), whom, may I point out, is clearly in no condition to be going on a manhunt." Celine whirled on her brother, quickly reprimanding him. She claimed that she did need anyone's help and especially not his. Damien's jaw dropped, and he looked to you. You pushed away from your spot on the wall and squared your shoulders.

"Damien, I appreciate your concern. I really do... but I'm an adult. I know my capabilities, and I'm going to help finish this investigation." Damien's jaw slackened. You could tell that he was hurt. He threw his hands in the air.

"Our friend is dead!" Everyone cast their eyes downward. A heavy silence hung in the air. Damien sighed. "I'm sorry. I just... need answers to all of this. I already lost one friend today." His voice was low, almost on the verge of falling apart. "I don't want to lose another."

"Fine, but I have to stay here," Celine conceded. Damien turned his attention to you. The pain in his eyes made you want to stay, but you couldn't.

"I'm sorry. I have to help them." He nodded, slowly turning away from you. He and Celine walked down the hall, back into the small room. Your heart ached, but you knew this was what needed to be done. Abe snapped you out of your daze, saying it was time to go. Before leaving the manor, you turned to the butler. "Have you seen William?" He gave you a reassuring smile.

"He appeared tired and went back to your room. If you'd like, I could let him know you inquired." You nodded, and the butler disappeared around the corner.

~*~*~*~*~

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

Text

Male changeling fae x female reader (sfw) - Part One

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

As I said to my patrons, I'm still sorry I took so much time off in March, but I really needed it for all sorts of reasons I won’t go into on here. I hope this will appease you though! It's 4769 words of fluff with a slight dash of angst thrown in, and with a Part Two on the way. I dropped one or two hints as to where it's going, so it'll be interesting to see who picks up on that...

As usual with me, the reader's gender or body isn't really mentioned much, except in a passing comment, so I hope it's not too offputting to have a specifically female reader again.

This was up on Patreon on early release last week for my Pixies and Goblins, and is now up on here for you.

Content: female reader, (past) death of father, (past) ill mother, changeling, memories, nostalgia, realising that the fairytale stuff is true... Wordcount: 4769

The cabin was in far better condition than you’d been expecting, given that it had been well over a decade since you’d last seen it. Dank and a little musty, it was now tidy in a way that it never would have been when your father had lived there. Of course, all of the things that had made it your father’s home, plus all his tracking and hiking equipment, had long been removed, either by your uncle or by the local park service, but the cabin technically belonged to you according to his will. You’d never made so much as a spare moment to come back up here, fearing that the return would bring back a wash of memories that would be too powerful to withstand.

You almost laughed to yourself as you stood in the doorway of the old wooden hut, the creaky front door knocking gently against the wall in the soft breezes that seemed to slink curiously in like a house cat returning from a day’s hunt. You could hear your boss’ voice in your head again; “If you don’t take some holiday, I’m going to fire you.”

“You wouldn’t!” you’d blurted, completely missing the glittering, playful light in his eyes.

The vet had snorted and shaken his head, taking his gloves off and making his preparations to leave the surgery at the end of his long day. “Of course I wouldn’t fire you, but I am serious about you taking some time off. Didn’t you say your dad used to have a cabin up country?”

“Mm,” you nodded, not really listening, the scents of pine and mossy rocks already flashing with startling clarity across your mind. “It’s more of a bothy in the woods, but yeah.”

“Then go there. You need some time off. You haven’t taken any holiday in over a year.”

Just like that, you’d mused; just ‘go there’.

It had been so long since you’d been unexpectedly packed off back to the city that long, hot summer. What had followed had been endless months of hospital visits and uncertainty, living with your maternal grandmother while your mother fought her illness with dogged determination. As you shoved those memories aside, a wave of fresh ones surged in to replace them. Images skittered falteringly across your memory of a barefoot young boy about your own age, with sun-freckled skin and dusky brown hair. Piercingly blue eyes the colour of a midday summer sky blinked from the recesses of your memory.

“Dunnock,” you murmured aloud in the perfect stillness of the cabin. You'd never forgotten your summer holiday friend. Year after year when you’d gone to stay with your father, Dunnock had been there, with grubby knees and a ready smile.

That little boy’s laughter among the evergreens; bare feet that hadn’t seemed out of place on the carpet of rusty pine needles; a playmate all summer long while your father watched from the porch of the cabin, coffee cradled in his hands, muscular forearms arms resting on the wood and watching you with his steady, patient gaze.

All of that had vanished in a single summer, to be replaced with city life, school, exams, college, study, work, rent… Your mother had survived her illness, but you’d never returned to the cabin before your father’s death some years later.

“Dunnock,” you repeated, looking around at the bare wooden walls and the simple wooden bed in one corner. “I wonder what happened to you?” After a pause you added, “Or who you even were…” You’d been so caught up in the moment, in seeking frogspawn and catching moths, that you’d never spoken about his family or his life outside of your play hours.

Somehow none of it had never seemed strange to the eight year old girl that you had been then. Wiry, ‘boyish’ - whatever that meant - with nondescript hair and an ordinary face, you had felt instantly at home in the trees with that little boy’s rough, grubby hand around yours. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to let him tug you into the forest that bordered the heathland to show you the worms in the muddy dell or the deer fauns staggering on spindly legs in the glens where the bracken glowed translucent in rare shafts of sunlight.

“Dunnock,” you murmured one last time, and it felt like a charm, a chant, an invocation, calling up the sight of his wild greyish brown hair shivering as he laughed, tossing his head back, careless and wild as the bird after which he was named. You seemed to recall that you had actually been the one to name him that, after seeing the tiny little hedgerow birds with the same colouring, darting about near the cabin on the feeder that you had helped your father build the summer before. He had accepted it without question, and you’d never called him anything else.

With a sigh, you dumped your weekend bag down on the smooth floorboards and went back to the car to fetch the bag of groceries you’d picked up from the nearby hamlet of Iska’s Well. Unbidden yet again, you heard Dunnock’s voice, full of laughter, telling you that ‘iska’ was the ‘old world’ word for water in these parts, whatever that meant. Everywhere you turned, the whole place was saturated with memories of him - more so than of even your father.

“That’s stupid,” you’d huffed at Dunnock when he’d told you the origins of the hamlet’s name. “‘Water’s Well’? That’s a stupid name for a town.” Dunnock had only laughed and dragged you off to poke and poggle at frogspawn in the dewpond on the heath that began about a mile from the cabin.

You’d driven over the heath that afternoon to reach Iska’s Well, with blushing heather and stoic, rocky bluffs, and had marvelled at how short the journey had seemed this time. As a child, it had seemed like a journey to the edges of the world, with the sandy tracks and purple heather rushing past in an endless blur while the radio played softly in the background and your father’s curly hair lifted off his forehead in the breeze from the open window.

With everything finally settled, and your sleeping bag unfurled onto the surprisingly healthy looking mattress that definitely should have gone mouldy after all this time, you turned your attention to the heavy cast iron stove in the corner. No dust had gathered on the surfaces, and there was a stack of fresh, dry firewood piled up beside the stove.

Was someone living here? When you’d asked about the cabin in the quaint village shop, the owner had laughed and told you how good it was that someone would be staying there again, and that as the former ranger’s daughter, you were only to ask at the shop if there was anything you needed. “We pull together in this little community, and if there’s a leak in that roof, or if something isn’t working, you just come back here and someone will come up and help you, alright?”

You’d laughed gratefully and nodded, glimpsing a flyer on the wall for the spring equinox festival on a noticeboard as you left. ‘Bonfire, live folk music, hog roast, and dancing - experience the magic beneath the moon…’ seemed surprisingly appealing to you and you made a note of the time. It was only a few days away.

Wondering whether you should start a fire in the burner now so that the cabin would warm up enough, and the last of the lingering damp burn away before bed, you frowned. Was someone squatting here then? Panic flared, white hot and suddenly all-consuming, and you whipped around, as though expecting some wild figure to come stumping up the stairs into the cabin and savage you.

But all you heard was the soft, hushing whisper of the wind in the pine needles outside and the alarm call of a jay in the trees.

As the sound of the bird’s fear refused to die away, your scowl deepened. The harsh, scraping calls filled the trees and you edged out of the door and onto the small, covered porch of the wooden hut, heart hammering in time with the desperate calls.

Nothing moved between the trees and there was not a breath of air between the trunks. It seemed as though the whole forest was holding its breath. Something about the depth of the shadows called invitingly to you and your unease melted away with each step you took into the once-familiar pine forest.

After perhaps fifty paces, you caught a flash of bright blue in the branches above and watched as a jay bobbed desperately, hopping from one branch to another and squawking constantly. “What is it?” you asked, feeling suddenly foolish.

As if in answer, the bird took off with another volley of calls, flitting along the deer track that you’d been following, before dipping low in its flight pattern and vanishing behind a larger pine with another flash of blue feathers.

“What am I doing…?” you muttered, on the point of turning back. Then you heard it.

A low, pained rumbling shivered out between the sussurating foliage.

Your body went still and rigid as you heard it again, and you barely dared breathe. “What the…?”

Sadly, you’d heard plenty of animals in pain at the surgery where you worked, but there was something unusual about this; the apparent size of the creature for one. As you nibbled your lip, torn between hurrying to investigate and turning on the spot and calling the national park service, you heard it again; a whining growl carried the depth of its agony and torment straight to your chest, and you acted instantly, instinctively.

Rounding the corner of the tiny trail where the jay bird had disappeared, you found the source of the noise, and nearly bolted on the spot as adrenaline surged through your body once again. A dark creature as large as a bear lay on its side with a hind leg caught in the glinting metal jaws of a vicious steel trap. Beside it, the jay was hopping on the ground and fluttering its wings, the pale down of its belly flashing in the dimness of the forest.

The creature which lay on its side, however, was not a bear. Your brain helpfully supplied that there were no bears in these parts anyway. It didn’t make processing what you were seeing any easier, however.

Tall and, upon closer inspection, surprisingly slender, with lean, well-defined muscles evident beneath the thick, matted, dusty-black pelt, it was like nothing you’d ever seen. Its eyes were closed, but you got the distinct and primeval impression that it had sensed you. For one, it had fallen silent, save for the wheezing huff of its breath. It was exhausted then, and had clearly been struggling to release its leg from the trap, if the scuffed earth and blood-slickened needles around the vile device were anything to go by.

Its head had elements of both a wolf and a bear. While a long, deadly snout and powerful jaws decorated with savagely long canines marked it as a predator, its ears were like those of a deer, tufted with ash-grey fur. Its pelt was thick and shaggy, the colour of slate or smoke, and matted with moss and tangles and, on its lower leg, thick, black blood. Its hind legs were short, stocky like those of a bear, but the paws were more like those of a wolf, its forelegs had a strangely… human conformation to them, with large, hand-like paws that ended in the thick, deadly claws of a bear.

“Easy,” you whispered, shuffling experimentally closer. “I won’t hurt you…”

The moment it heard your voice, the creature’s eyes flickered open and you sucked in an astonished breath, reeling back. The searing blue of those eyes was a hue that you’d never forget.

“Impossible,” you breathed, wondering if you’d inhaled some hallucinogenic compound from a mushroom or something. This simply couldn’t be…

The creature let out a long, deep, excruciatingly heartfelt whine, ribs heaving, and it lifted that strange, shaggy head to look dolorously at the steel trap before weakness washed over it and it let its head fall back to the leaf litter beneath.

“Can… you understand me?” you asked before you’d really thought about how stupid your question was. The intelligence that you’d glimpsed in those eyes had told you as much already, improbable as this all seemed.

The enormous creature huffed softly and twitched its muzzle downwards.

“You can?”

It repeated the gesture.

“If I let you out of this, you promise you won’t hurt me?”

Once again, it nodded and you closed the distance between you to kneel beside the trap.

“Ok. Here goes. This… This is probably going to hurt. I’ll try my best, but…”

Another little chuff emanated from its barrel chest, which you took to be a reassuring noise of encouragement, and you got to work.

“Who the fuck sets traps round here anyway?” you snarled, cold steel beneath your fingers. “This is a national park. Hunting is forbidden, and it’s not like there are even bears here anyway! Well…” As you released the mechanism and carefully cranked it back, you looked up at the strange creature which it had ensnared, and shrugged, “Right?”

“Mmph.” The noise the creature made was almost like speech as it agreed with you, lifting its hind leg out of the jaws of the trap and letting it flop to the ground with another rumbling whine.

“There,” you said, securing and making the trap safe before sitting back on your heels and staring at the unbelievable being in front of you. After taking some steadying breaths, with your gaze all the while fixed on those intensely blue eyes, you found something intimately familiar about the set of those features, the tilt of its head and the slow blink that didn’t quite sync up. “I know you,” you finally breathed.

The creature continued to stare at you, but after a few more pounding heartbeats, it lowered its dark muzzle slightly and gave the slightest, almost imperceptible nod.

“It… It’s not possible… You can’t be who I think you are though…” you said, your mind refusing to accept the blindingly obvious truth.

Blink.

One ear flicked slightly.

“Can you?”

Blink.

Slow nod.

“No way…” You sat breathing for a little while longer before daring to voice it aloud. “Dunnock?”

The nod this time was so barely-there that you almost missed it.

“I don’t understand…” you hissed, levering yourself to your feet, staggering slightly, and gazing down at the injured creature. “The ‘Dunnock’ that I remember was a little boy…” your words sputtered out and you swallowed thickly. “Can you talk?”

The creature licked his lips with a surprisingly delicate, pink tongue and nodded, blinking slowly. “Yes,” he rasped, voice deep and rough with obvious disuse. “But it… has been a… long time.”

“How are you… this?” you asked, gesturing at his body. Before he could answer, your attention darted back to his leg. “I should probably tend to that,” you added.

He shook his head, retracting his leg away from you. “No, it will heal soon. Now that the iron is gone.”

“Iron?”

“Mm.”

He seemed so subdued, so altered from the happy child you remembered that, had it not been for those astonishing eyes, you would never have believed that he could have become this. “What difference does the iron make?” you asked instead.

Dunnock lifted his head slowly and studied you. “You never knew, did you?” he murmured.

“Knew what?”

With a huff that might have been an amused chuckle, he said simply, “Changeling…”

“Changeling?” you asked, frowning, mind spinning. “Like… Like in the fairy tales?”

“Literally,” he said. “I am fae. They left me here to die when they stole a human child in my place. Iron… Iron is like a poison. But it will heal now.”

Your mind reeled, the barrage of revelations leaving you dizzy and sick. “Wait… Stop… What?” you faltered. “They left you here to die? Your own parents?”

“Mn.”

With a blank, spinning mind, all you could do was croak, “Dunnock… I…” Suddenly it was all too much. You’d come here to get away, to rest, to reconnect with nature, not to discover that fairy tales were true. Looking back on it, you probably should have known that there was something abnormal about a young boy being allowed to roam the forests, barefoot night and day, but it had never really crossed your mind.

“Did my father know about you?” you asked in a hoarse croak.

“Mm. He helped me in the winter. He was a good man.” After a short pause, Dunnock sat up, bracing his weight on his forelegs while his hind legs remained splayed to one side. He looked like a lounging hound - domestic, almost tame - rather than a wildly impossible being from folklore.

A moment or two of silence hung between you before he shifted again, drawing his legs under him and heaving himself to his feet. One huge, clawed hand rested on the rough bark of a nearby conifer to prop himself up as he stood unsteadily, keeping the weight off his injured leg. You inhaled slowly, eyes widening. He must have been easily eight foot tall. He extended his free hand towards you as you swayed, and you stared at it. His touch never connected with you and he curled his fingers self-consciously inwards to hide the talons, and then dropped his hand back to his side.

“Steady,” he said with a gentle smile. “Must be a shock…”

“I don’t understand,” you bleated pathetically. “What happened to you? You used to look… human…”

With a hollow chuckle, he looked away from you. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I could always change into this. Never did it around you. But… as I grew older, the shift to human became… harder. Now I can only shift on the full moon.”

Snorting, you said, “Like the opposite of a werewolf.”

He didn’t reply, but he did turn his blue eyes back to your face. “It’s been so long,” he murmured. “I… I never thought I’d see you again. And then…” his gaze dropped to the trap still glinting innocently at a distance and he growled, the rumble of it echoing in your ribcage. “Just when I thought I’d never get out…” those eyes darted back up to meet yours, “You’re here.”

“Like fate,” you breathed awkwardly. “You want to come back to the cabin and rest?”

Something complicated passed over his face but eventually he nodded. “Alright.”

Just as you set off, you paused and looked back over your shoulder at him. “Was it you who’s been caring for the place?”

“Mn,” he grunted, leaning heavily on the next tree along. Perhaps you shouldn’t have encouraged him to move so soon, but he seemed to be doing alright. Dropping down to all fours, he nodded up the track and said, “Go ahead. I’ll be… right behind you.”

His footfalls were heavy and deliberate; a solid presence on the path while your mind reeled with the revelation that Dunnock, the lively, lanky boy, bright as a buttercup with a face full of freckles, with whom you’d played in these very woods as a child, was now some monstrous-looking beast, and in fact had been that all along…? You shook your head as if clearing stars from your vision, and pressed forward through the shadows until the cabin came back into sight, with your car just visible in the distance.

It all seemed so painfully normal up ahead, but when you turned around to glance behind, there, faltering almost shyly at the edge of the trees, was the strange, half-bear half-wolf creature with Dunnock’s eyes. A quiet, private thrill of panic shot through you and you turned and stared back at him. “Dunnock?” you asked in a voice that sounded steadier than you felt.

He paused with one front paw hovering gently, just on the point of being set down onto the soft carpet of needles. “Mn?” His doe-like ears flicked and his head tilted. He seemed to be making himself as small as possible for you as you stared him down like a stag in a meadow.

You had to make sure that it really was him though, and not some creature pretending, with a pair of stolen eyes and a deep, lullingly gentle voice. “Tell me something…”

With another vaguely canine tilt of his head, he grunted. “Mn?”

“Do you remember what the last thing was that you said to me?”

He froze and then looked away. The answer he gave was almost too soft to hear, but you just barely caught his response. “I’ll always be here. You’re like the moon, and I’ll always feel the pull of you…”

Water blurred your vision, and without much warning, you burst into tears. “It really is you, isn’t it?” you sobbed, striding back over to him and flinging your arms around his neck.

Dunnock went stiff with surprise, but quickly relaxed. A heartbeat later, his heavy arms enclosed your body and he tugged you close to his chest as he sat back on his haunches. “Yeah,” he croaked. “It’s me.” And then he added, “I missed you so much.”

“I thought about you a lot,” you sniffled, tears still rolling down your cheeks and into his thick fur. He smelled like moss and petrichor, and you clung to him as all the stress of your job and the frenetic strain of the city bled out of you in a disorientating rush.

With a huge hand caressing your back with the hesitancy of the inordinately strong, he rumbled something that you didn’t quite catch, and then leaned back a little. “Why did you come back?” he asked.

You snorted and stepped back, swiping at your face with your cuff and turning a little away from him, embarrassed by the outpouring of emotion that seemed to have come from nowhere. “My boss told me I needed a holiday.”

“And so you came here?”

“Yeah. I think I needed to come back, you know? Put old ghosts to rest,” you added as you stared at your father’s cabin. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” As you set off for the cabin again, you asked, “Do the locals know about you then?”

When he didn't immediately speak, you looked back and saw him shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I go into the village once a month or so - when I can turn human - sometimes not even that often. They know of me, and I think they know I live in the woods nearby, but they don’t know that I’m… this.” There was an unpleasant, sour note to his final word that made your gut churn.

“Are you the only one of your kind living here?” you asked as you stepped inside and held the door open for him.

As he passed you, he said, “As far as I know. I think there are some other… non-humans… but I’ve never met them face to face.”

“It’s incredible,” you breathed. “I had no idea that that kind of thing was real, you know?”

With Dunnock now sitting on the floor beside the cold iron stove, you had the chance to look at him properly. The longer you looked, however, the more uncomfortable he grew. His ears swivelled to lie flat against his head, and he looked away.

“Dunock…” you said, stepping closer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look at your wound? I’m not a doctor, but I could at least clean it. I’ve got a medical kit in my car…”

He licked his lips. “Alright,” he admitted. “No iron though…”

“You don’t need stitches anyway,” you commented, stunned when you looked at it again. “You’re already healing up.”

The feel of his fur beneath your fingertips was like nothing you’d experienced as a nurse at the veterinary practice. It was a struggle not to let your hands wander. However, when he saw the way you dealt with the wound, he asked, “You’re a healer of some kind?”

With a shake of your head, you set him straight. “No, I work at a vet clinic. I’m a nurse, so I help prep the animals for surgery and take care of them afterwards, and assist the vets during any procedures…” There was more to it than that, but it would do for now.

When you looked up and met Dunnock’s stunning gaze, you found that a light had kindled in his ice blue eyes. “I always said you had a knack with animals.”

“You did,” you chuckled. “Remember that red squirrel that basically became my pet for the summer?”

He nodded.

“And the deer that was eating out of my hand…?”

“Mn.”

Reflexively, as you tied off the bandage, you petted his leg, and he let out a long, soft moan, head tipping back.

“Alright?” you asked without lifting your hand from his thigh.

“Mn,” he nodded, ears flattening themselves once again.

A thought occurred to you and you asked, “Are you alone a lot up here?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze locked unseeingly on your bag nearby. “Mn,” he finally hummed. “The forest is full of life though.”

You splayed your fingers deliberately through his pelt and took note of the solid muscle beneath. “Yeah, but it’s different… I don’t imagine that the earthworms offer particularly scintillating conversation…”

Dunnock laughed at that; a long, low, delighted chuckle that sent tingles running down your whole body. “No,” he agreed. “But I can’t seem to get the magpies to shut up.”

At the mention of the black and white birds, you recalled the jay and asked, “When I got here, there was a jay that was acting strangely…? It’s how I found you to begin with.”

He huffed another brief laugh and said, “Yeah, they’re all meddling nuisances…” There was no sting to his words and a surge of fondness rushed in to replace the panic that had been swirling through you since you’d first stepped off the veranda and into the forest.

“Will you stay?” you blurted, and he looked up at you. “I mean… I don’t have loads of food, but… I’d love to…” what, catch up? “To hear about what you’ve been doing since I left…” you finished rather lamely.

With a sarcastic little snort, he met your eye and said, “I’d rather hear about your life. Your father told me why you left so soon… Did your mother…?”

“She survived,” you said. “Tough as an old boot, that one. It was rough though. I lived with my grandmother for a long time, and then I went to university…” You stared at him as he sat there, listening to you attentively. “I never came back though. I’m sorry… I’m sorry I just left…”

He shrugged expressively. “Like I said, your father was always kind to me. I missed you though.” He shot you a sidelong look and added, “You’re even more beautiful than I thought you’d be by now…”

You flushed hot at that and laughed, diffusing the situation by beginning to sort the bag of groceries. The house had no electricity any more, not since your uncle had taken the solar panels down. You had half a mind to ask him to come and reinstall them, but you knew you wouldn’t be here long enough for it to be worth the long journey for him.

Over the course of the evening, Dunnock told you about the forest and its ebbing, flowing seasons; how he spent winter curled in a cave, dozing while the rabbits and the other wildlife drifted around him, and how in the spring he had woken to find the air fresher and full of pollen, with birds squabbling and bickering, and buds slowly unfurling from the branches. The way he spoke of the forest as one interconnected being enchanted you to the point that you forgot about the constant, enervating drone of the city, about car horns and pollution, noise and mess. That old familiar ache to return here and never leave surged stronger than ever.

As your eyes drifted closed that night, sitting on the floor, buttressed up against his weight, you sighed. “I want to stay, Dunnock,” you admitted in a whisper, right on the border of waking and sleeping. “I want to stay…”

Part Two

—

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zirkkun · 4 years ago

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I can't sleep so I'm gonna ramble for a minute here about. uh. 2020 i guess lol everyone else is so might as well jump on the bandwagon.

Be aware this is really really fucking long so it's a commitment to read it lmao sorry i just cannot sleep and i guess i had more on my mind about this year than i thought. I also did not proofread this at all. I just started writing and didn't look back lol

This year was... Weird for me. It started out with me feeling my best in January, comfortable and positive as I did my nth playthrough of DBH with friends and finally having enough alts of my boy Alfonse in FEH to have a team of Just him to fight with. (Priorities, right?) February hit, and things were still going good. I met Ray Chase and had him sign a print I did of Roy and Alfonse in some casual outfits for a scrapped au I wrote years ago. (And I gave him one 😊). Hell, like, covid was just coming around when me and my friends went to the con that weekend and a breakout of it hit the city just south of where the con was like a week before, but I was genuinely so excited for it that like I was like "Yeah, if i die, i die. Whatever happens happens." God, at this point, the Alfonse gc I was in was still alive and I still didn't talk to anyone in the group outside of that gc. Lowkey miss it tbh. But oh well. Things move on.

But that con was like... Stressful. I usually have fair amounts of stress at cons, being around so many people, I fear theft, unwanted contact, y'know, the standard; but my friend group was so filled with tension that it was absolutely painful. We'd been split most of the weekend, and if the two groups came together, it was hell, because it just caused unwanted arguments. I felt really bad cause I didn't want them to be upset, yknow? But i also wanted to hang out with my friends all at once. So i swapped between the groups a bit over the weekend. And blew WAY more money than I should have and lowkey it kind of fucked me over for the rest of the year cause I haven't had a job all year outside of, like, a local church job that pays at a rare max of $100 a month ;w;

I'd been struggling in school the previous semester already, about halfway through having just stopped going to classes altogether, yet still somehow managed to pass everything with B's and A's. The next semester rolled around, and I thought at first the distraction and inability to do anything was because of the con, and as it persisted after, I thought it was just post-con depression. But, as it turned out, no, it's just been my biggest relapse of depression since the end of high school, and frankly, it's only gotten worse since. I can't sleep rn because I'm between not wanting to do anything because I have a lack of emotions and motivation and not feeling deserving of sleep lol. I checked out of school on February 28th, however, I was convinced I was merely demotivated by my surroundings -- at this point, I was studying Japanese, and one of my friends at the time was a (although probably unintentionally) complete braggart about how much he was studying and how he was improving... not to mention he was textbook example of "This is an Actual Weeaboo, don't Fucking Do this." (One of many reasons i said friend at the time lol) it was just... So draining being around him, and I had to see him in class every day of the week. I barely scraped together assignments last-minute and never studied under the idea of "What does it matter if I'm not putting in my 100%?" So I checked out, with plans of transferring for the following semester.

Well, then March hit. Y'all know how March went down lmao.

I pretty much locked myself in my room at all times during March, going between Animal Crossing and BOTW (which actually racked up like 200ish hours i think according to the nintendo year in review i had lmao). I started making a bit closer online friends at this point, notably @levitumbling who decided to take me in as his channel designer for YouTube and I've been ever since! But. Of course. My first task? A Sans meme. My payment? One Switch copy of Undertale because he considered it a disgrace that I'd never played the game before.

Now, let me tell you. I was fuckin scared to play this game. I held onto it for weeks between the fear of "My friend bought me this and i should play this" and "I told myself I'd never touch this game with a 20 mile pole because of how much it's been shoved down my throat over the years." So, one day, I don't remember when, early April, I said, fuck it, I'll play it for a little bit, just enough to say "hey i played it for a bit!" and then never go back.

The only thing that stopped me from beating the whole thing in one sitting was it was the crack of dawn when I passed out, extremely tired and extremely frustrated by the fact I couldn't beat Muffet. Yes, I got that far in one sitting I intended to play for 15 minutes tops.

Now. Let me fuckin tell you. About my first playthrough of Undertale. I haven't gone into a game knowing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about it like... I think ever. Usually I know what style of game it is, the genre, the main plot premise. I knew nothing other than the existence of Sans (and, as it turned out, I'd heard some of the soundtrack pieces before, notably Bonetrousle I heard this cover of it in a radio livestream a while back and never really looked it up, but was always excited when the radio looped back around to it being on; and I'd heard Dating Start! because that's Alpharad's go-to sponsorship ost lmao.) But anyway. I was completely in the dark. Do yall mind if i just go through some highlights of my favorite memories? This is supposed to be a summary of the year but I mean, I think this made a big enough impact on me to really like. Discuss it a bit.

I watched the whole opening cutscene, started a new game under my old screenname, "Yoru," since in naming the "Fallen Child," I assumed they were dead. Well, I was a little surprised to just be that child, alive, two seconds later, but whatever, I rolled with it.

I genuinely trusted Flowey right away. Like no shit. He told me run into the "friendliness pellets" and I didn't even fucking question it. And when Toriel came in? And she said to follow her? I straight up was like "Why the hell should I trust you?? That guy just tried to kill me what says you wont?" I followed only because the game made me but i was Wary the whole time. It took me a LONG time to warm up to Toriel.

Now. Let me tell you how stupid I am as well. The game says over and over right, "Don't fight. Spare. Have Mercy when names are Yellow." Well, I took this literally. I didn't understand the Act mechanic most of the time, and when something didn't work I just said, fuck it, and fought them. If their name didn't turn yellow, I just fought them. "They don't want Mercy if their name isn't yellow, right?" After a while, I'd started getting bored of fighting and would just run away, but like, I came to a point where I was like "I have a really low level, I'm really going to regret this later on if I don't grind for a while."

I don't know when I stopped but. I think I was only one or two kills away from a genocide run accidentally my first playthrough, based on how I think I was LV 3 and looking at genocide playthroughs, you're LV 3 or 4 when you fight Toriel. Like. Holy fuck. I can't imagine what I would have thought of this game if that happened lmao.

Speaking of Toriel, still didn't trust her, at all. When we got to Home, and after I did Every Single different phrase she says when you go downstairs before you talk to her reading about snails; I did not Hesitate to ask "cool uh when the fuck can I leave?" When we got to the Ruins exit I was like, ah, here it is. The betrayal from her I was expecting, where she tries to kill me. Well, nothing on the Act menu worked, right? So... I fought and killed her. I didn't really care, actually. I just kept going.

Then meeting Sans and Papyrus happened. I lost my fucking shit at this part, mostly when they were talking, because every time Sans made a pun it would zoom in on him and do a rimshot. The puns were not funny and I was definitely on Pap's side of "oh my GOD shut up." But that fucking zoom in and rimshot was just so fourth wall breaking and unexpected. Fuck, it still gets me. Anyway. Game continues. I again lose my shit at (insane spinning in random directions) "OH MY GOD! IS THAT A HUMAN?" "uh, i think that's a rock." "OH. WAIT! WHAT'S THAT IN FRONT OF THE ROCK?? (IS IT A HUMAN??)" "(yes.)" "OH MY GOD!!!" and still think these two moments in the game are Peak comedy. Oh, and let me tell you, I did not like either of these two at this point. Sans I was like, okay, hes kind of a dumbass in a funny way, but Papyrus is a dumbass in a way that just annoys me. Genuinely the archetype that misses social cues and therefore has miscommunication usually just annoys me to no end. (Mostly for the miscommunication. It's my least favorite trope and makes me unreasonably angry.) But yeah. Wasn't really a fan. But out of everyone so far? Definitely found Sans to be the most tolerable. But that's about all I thought of him lmao.

Getting to Snowdin, with the Papyrus battle, remember how I said I didn't like Papyrus? And yes, this was something I genuinely thought at one point, I genuinely hated Papyrus, imagine that. What a wild world that is. But anyway. You know how his Act menu has the "Flirt" option? I, for no reason, gunned it for the Flirt option, even though I did not want to. Then when he was like "WE'LL GO ON A DATE! LATER!!" i was like yea sure okay lmao. Again, couldn't figure out the Act menu to turn his name yellow, so I fought him, and he was one or two attacks from dying (miraculously) when he ended the battle. I spared him here cause, well, he spared me, it was only fair. Then this guy again is like "ILL BE AT MY HOUSE WHEN YOU WANT TO GO ON THAT DATE!" and i was like haha funny but still turned around to go on the date. Like why? I have no idea. I think I was more like "haha hes probably not gonna be there and its just cause i picked that option and lo and behold there was an actual fucking date. Oh my god. I have never in my life been on a video game date where one party was convinced I was infatuated with them and im here on the other side of the screen like "oh my god make this end i can't stand being around you.???" But still. The date was. Really fucking funny. I wish I could experience it for the first time again like holy shit. There are few playthroughs I did after this where I didn't go on the Pap date, even if I just spedrun through it.

So then you get to Waterfall and Sans is there like "hey wanna go to grillbys" and i was like sure why not so we go there and my choices were fries & ketchup (so i did not get the legendary scene where he chugged a bottle of ketchup, but i sure did my second playthrough, and let me tell you, i was disgusted). But like. This whole experience at grillby's like, the whoopee cushion, him using a comb on his bald ass skull, him just fuckin unapologetically scratching his ass for no reason?? Bro i was like "why the fuck is this guy part of the Tumblr Sexymen™ group ??? He's so ????? Gross???????" and like i still have this question tbh lmao. But like. Okay so he asks you "what do you think of my bro?" And my genuine answer was "uncool" and he was like "hey man sarcasm isnt funny" and can i just mention how like inheritly manipulative sans actually is like fuck he does things like this where he throws your answer the other way a few times and Every time it actually swayed me the other way. Because right here I went. "Oh. Maybe Papyrus is better than I thought." Like holy fuck maybe i should be more aware if something like that can sway my opinion so easily LMAO.

Anyway waterfall i genuinely was very bored of the whole time. I spent like a genuine 20 minutes figuring out the puzzle where you have to talk to a wall and I actually didn't realize you could move the telescope around. What helped me solve it is my friend's advice before I played it. "Inspect everything. Even talk to walls. Trust me." And literally thats how I solved it. But pretty much everything in Waterfall otherwise bored me. I did think it was pretty though, and did enjoy reading the lore, but when it started talking about monster biology my one fear had been realized: oh god, oh fuck. My original species for my own series also has physical Souls and die by turning to dust because they're made entirely of magic. God fuck. My luck, it has to be something popular, so now everyone's gonna think I'm a ripoff. But, at the same time, I do think it helped me understand monster biology (and it helped me come up with the ULR biology) better, because I've put in a lot of thought to existence of a species that exists only by magic and a Soul (which, mine only actually have half a Soul, as a full Soul makes a being immortal, which was also similar to the boss monsters in a way). It definitely made a lot more sense for like, the skeletons n stuff for me, because like my characters are wholly shapeshifters but usually take human form, and while they have "organs" in the places humans would have them, they don't operate. They're just placeholders, because they just live with their Soul. So I've always thought the same with UT monsters, since the skelebros can live without organs, that means so do the rest of the monsters, even if they have animal-like appearances.

Off topic lmao. Back to UT. So, the Undyne fight was kind of the turning point for me. She was pissing me off so much during this whole game and like I was like "if theres another fucking part where I have to run away from her im going to scream." Well, once again, her name wasn't yellow, so I wasn't going to spare her... and, actively, I made the decision to kill her, because I didn't want to deal with her still chasing me later on in the game. It took me a long time to beat her, and when I did, I texted my friend (@cheshiregrinnbuttoneyes ) in excitment like "YES I FINALLY KILLED UNDYNE" and she texted back like "YOU DID WHAT?????" and i was like "i.... Killed Undyne????" she replies, "YOU DONT HAVE TO OMFG WHY" and im like "I DIDN'T HAVE TO?? THERE'S OTHER OPTIONS?????" and shes like "YES OMFG THAT'S LITERALLY THE PREMISE OF THE GAME" and im "WHAT."

So then. I get that call from Papyrus like. "HEY! YOU ME AND UNDYNE SHOULD HANG OUT SOMETIME!"

oh my god the guilt i felt.

alphys on undernet being like "omfg i forgot to watch undyne fight the human. ah ill ask her about it later she never loses <3"

bro. i nearly fuckin cried. i was like. Not to mention I'd gotten the crush question right for Mettaton's quiz in answering Undyne (bc i was like "plz be gay plz be gay") so it fucking cut like a knife what I'd done.

I don't remember when I let myself get passed it. But I do know that the whole story arc between Alphys and Mettaton went way over my head. Like, i know im probs the minority on this, but I adore Alphys, I have since I first met her in game, and like, when Mettaton was like "ALPHYS HAS BEEN LYING TO YOU!" i just went "...nah."

Also, I didnt like mettaton at this point, cause I thought he was being really obnoxious, and then the turn around to betray Alphys really kinda pissed me off.

But like.

Oh my god.

Remember how I said I swapped my opinion on Pap earlier bc of Sans's comment? Yeah that was a pretty fast turnaround, but it still took me a few times.

But the second i saw mettaton ex

I was like

"HIM. HE. HE'S THE ONE I LOVE."

Like, full turnaround from Undyne, I actively refused to kill him. All times I thought he was an asshole? Forgotten. Me thinking he's a selfish prick? Gone. Nada. Nothing. Pure adoration. Suddenly every flaw he had was pushed aside purely from how hot I thought he was. Also, fuckin, im really glad i played this when no one in my house was awake, because I still didn't understand the Act mechanic here, and every time you attack mettaton he has this like moan he does and im like oh my god. stop. omfg.

At the end, too, when there was the calls and everything, when he had his big turnaround, I was just so happy for him I genuinely cried. Also, I had to do his battle probably the most out of everyone's in the game (not including genocide), so when it came around to his battle during the (glitchless) speedruns i did, i was more invested in how fast I could rack up points, cause you need 10k rating points to pass, and I actually did get that before he lost his legs, but apparently he needed to lose those too before you passed lol. Unfortunate.

Anyway after Alphys talked to you and everything, i genuinely went to see if Mettaton was still there, but he wasn't :( so i just went to New Home. I was very ill prepared for the fight against Asgore and the only reason I struggled with it so much was because my only healing items were like. Something that healed like 10 or 12 hp and the snowman piece. I was LV 9 when i finished the game, so like, my HP was pretty high, but i didnt have the G to buy items, so i was pretty much fucked. Yes. I had to eat the snowman to win.

Oh speaking of terrifying shit though. Photoshop flowey? My god. I haven't been afraid of a video game boss so much since I was a little kid. It was like 3 am and i was not prepared for him to just delete my save file and then kill me on repeat, glitching and breaking everything as he pleased. Bruh i was genuinely scared. Like, not even just, "oh yikes :(" or something. Like, crying scared. Lmao im an emotional bitch by nature.

I of course had to restart from the beginning again to get the True Pacifist ending. I was very careful to never touch the Fight button literally ever. And, it actually took me a while to reset, because I hate erasing my original save files, yknow? But, well, as it turned out? While technically New Game+ by naming, resetting doesn't erase everything you did. It wasn't a new file. I was a little confused at first to be honest. Toriel saying things were familiar, remembering things I said, Papyrus and Undyne both recognizing me, like. It was unnerving.

When I got to the end, i had to look up how to get Alphys's date (since my friend told me the way to unlock TP was to go on all the dates, but Alphys's was definitely designed in mind of you turning around from New Home and going back to talk to people rather than a new reset. So after unlocking it, getting through Alphys's date (i still remember being like, verbally, "omg alphys you look so nice??" When she came out with the dress on and then had a thought to myself like... since when do i care about what people look like? since when do i compliment people? At that point, while I didn't consider myself to be a rude person, I definitely wasn't exactly all that concerned about others for anything. Sure, I cared about others' lives, but I tended to be a bit more judgemental internally, and just. Didn't really give a fuck about what people did in the most negative sense possible, unless it involved me. Yet, it rolled off my tongue like it was something id say normally to anyone. I really wonder if this is the true turning point for me this year.)

Getting to the end, with everyone cheering me on. Hoo boy. This was the start of many tears to come. Papyrus's "DO WHAT I WOULD DO! BELIEVE IN YOU!!" sticks with me the most. I wasn't surprised by Flowey's actions, but what fucking threw me for a loop was like. When Flowey was revealed as Asriel, I was genuinely jaw-drop shocked. I was like. Holy fuck. I thought he was dead. What the hell. To this day, though, i still think Hopes and Dreams hits me the hardest out of all the boss battle themes. It doesn't super bother me, bc like, difference in opinion is whatever, but like. Whenever I see Megalovania at the top of someone's ost list for Undertale I'm just... Why? Maybe it's because I'd overheard it meme'd to much before I played the game, but like, i dunno, it's not a bad song, but it's not the most emotional provoking piece for me, so it's pretty far down my list. Hopes and Dreams will still remain my #1.

I really did feel determined during this battle. I really felt a lot of emotion. I felt excited. I felt frightened. I felt ambitious. Asriel's battle is probably still the hardest for me, and yes, I'm counting genocide this time. I can't grasp his magic patterns at all, and I more so played it as a "okay, how much damage can i take? Whats his next move?" As i healed every other turn. It took me a very long time to beat him (though no 11 hours like Sans, this was more like, 2 or 3 max) and when I got to the part with the Lost Souls, most of the characters just said their "we hate you" piece and i was like "nope you're controlled" right.

But then there's Sans's "just give up. i did."

I genuinely had to stop. I set down my controller and just sat for a minute. I'd mentioned before how much I've been struggling with depression for years now, and it's at the worst it's been since high school. Maybe you'd think when I saw that, I was like "sure, maybe I should give up." But... It's really the "i did." that hit me like a rock to the stomach. While I do know a couple other people with depression, the most discussion we have with it is "haha i wanna die" kinda jokes yknow? Nothing really serious. And, well, I've always been the type to lean to fictional characters for support more than real people, since I've just been so disconnected from a lot of friends growing up and was too scared to talk about anything with my family.

So seeing someone else say "just give up. i did." hit me so fucking hard that I just started crying. I had already been in a real sappy mood cause the whole scene was so emotional as it was, even if merely the cliche of friendship will save all, y'know what? Its a good ass fuckin trope and makes me emotional lmao.

So, naturally, I was more hyperaware of Sans's implied depression from here onward. The conversations with everyone post-battle left me crying. God, so did the hug with Asriel. I was just fucking bawling.

Oh god. I didn't even mention. "Despite everything, it's still you." Another line that just hit me and I had to pause.

So admist my crying mess, I was telling my friend I'd beat Undertale again. He asks me "so... you gonna play the genocide route?" And I already had from the beginning. I always want to play every available route in a game. I see no point in paying for something and then not playing it all. I'd consider myself a completionist who doesn't ever actually finish anything lmao.

I definitely put my emotions aside for genocide. The absolute hardest kill for me was Papyrus, though. And i was absolutely fucking heartbroken when he said he still believed me as his last words. But I forced it aside. I didn't want to reset. I wanted to beat it to have it under my belt that I had. I was pretty sure the Sans battle would be here, since I hadn't heard Megalovania in the game yet, and I was aware of how hard the battle was, despite never seeing it.

Undyne's battle I'm more emotional about in retrospect than I was at the time. At the time, I didn't care, didn't like the theme much, and the dings gave me a headache. Undyne isn't exactly my favorite character (though definitely not my least favorite, that role is given to Frisk with Toriel not close behind ahdhsb im sorry), so I really wasn't concerned about it. Not to mention, I don't know why, but all of the battles I struggled with EXCEPT Undyne's I ended up liking the character more as a result. Maybe it was the dinging lmao.

Bro you shoulda seen how prepared I was for Mettaton NEO's battle to be hard as fuck. I was like sitting upright, took deep breaths before hitting fight, then when he died in one shot i just kind of "wh...what." Still very disappointed lol but I guess that's kind of the point of the genocide route.

Then came the Sans fight. As I said, I spent 11 hours on this. I genuinely didn't pay attention to what he said after a while, but I do remember the first time I read it, I was fucking terrified. Usually, sarcasm, hatred, and sass is very hard to convey through pure text, especially when it's said in the same tone as his usual talking. But the absolute harshness, the coldness, and the lack of any fucks given Sans had at that point was so plainly transparent through everything he said that it fucking scared me. Toby Fox's writing here was fantastic. I can only dream of being able to write like that. Frankly, I love his writing in general. Actually, fuck it, I love all of the artistic takes of this game. This is gonna sound weird but... The "childishness" of it just is so good. Like, there's no rules. Every socially accepted rule of art, writing, character design, speech patterns, and even basic grammar are thrown aside. He didn't just think outside of the box, there literally was no box. I call it childish only because like, children also create with no rules. They have no rules to restrict their creativity. And seeing that embraced in Undertale in every form possible just blows me away.

Anyway. The battle. It. Was hard. Thats a given. I spent about two weeks playing it on and off, and it's probably the most healthily I've treated myself in recent memory, because when it became too much for me to handle, I set it down and took a break. I would retain what I memorized and use it for the next time I picked it up. Frankly, it came to a point where every time I opened up Undertale to play, it was more just cause I wanted to see him lmao. The guy hated my existence at this point and it's not like i disacknowledged that. But it just felt like every time i opened the game... Idk. I don't know what I felt. I can tell you for sure this isn't the time when Sans started slipping into my favorite character spot over Mettaton, that didn't come until the development of Act to Flirt's first demo, which was a month or so later lmao.

I was very excited when I beat Sans.

But then, after it was over, I felt very empty.

I didn't feel good about beating genocide. I still don't. I want to play the boss battles again, cause they were really fun, despite how hard they were, but I can't bring myself to.

When I got to Chara, and everything went to black, I just wiped my save and started fresh. I think this was the first time I used the name "Willo" for anything. I just picked a random name to use, and Willo was the first thing that came to mind.

I beat neutral again many times, trying to unlock as many secrets as I could. I accidentally spent like, way too long trying to get Sans's room, because I couldn't figure out how to do it... which is when I started speedrunning the game, because I was just so used to going through it all. I timed myself once, and I got somewhere around 1:20:00 ish, which puts me at the very bottom of the NG+ Glitchless runs by like 30 minutes, but hey, it's still not too bad all things considered.

I'd started working on Act to Flirt sometime in between the speedruns. I was playing Papyrus's date again, and I had this thought of. What if Undertale... but all boss fights are instead like Papyrus's date?? I pitched the idea to my friend who was like "thats definitely been done before lol" and immediately I almost shut down the idea. But then I still had that glimmer of hope that, maybe, since I haven't made it yet, people would like my game because it was by me. Besides, quarantine was getting to me. I needed some way to spend my time. So on May 6th to May 7th, I spent the whole 24 hour period making the first proof of concept for the game, which was UI setup and Flowey's tutorial date. I hadn't made any of the art yet, so it was a black background with Flowey's undertale sprite. I originally was going to make everything more visual novel like in the sense that, so like on Papyrus's date, you could make choices like "unwrap the present" "dont unwrap the present" or "you look great" "you look terrible" and getting the ending would involve pretty much just saying the right things at the right times. But this alone was... Yknow, already done before, and part of what makes Undertale so great is that it's, despite its many outside influences, very unique in its gameplay. So I decided to make the dates more like puzzle-solving RPG's, and frankly, since doing that, I dont know if I want to go back to making other visual novels lmao.

After making the first demo and releasing it, I hit a creative funk. I wanted to make the next demo right away, but I forced myself to stop (since i was working 16+ hour days to finish it in exactly a week. I didn't eat much and i slept very little during this time too. Dont do this lmao). I didn't know if the game would be received, and frankly, I'd had many failed projects in the past due to lack of support. I lost a lot of support in the past due to the dropped projects I kept starting and quitting because I had such a small audience, and that made me lose a lot of interest and motivation to work on them. So I posted the first demo and waited. I was very shocked to have a YouTuber with over a million subs play it that weekend. Dantekris I think was her channel name. She speaks Russian, and I never understood a word she said, but I've still watched her let's plays because I enjoy seeing her reactions. I hate that YouTube keeps deleting my responses on her videos, probably because they're long and in English so it's marked as spam on a comments section full of purely Russian comments yknow. But it makes me feel like such an ass ;w;

Mairusu is the next large YouTuber who played it and my god I love seeing when he uploads a new update for my game because I genuinely have no idea what to expect from him. I don't know what it is but he's just so absolutely funny to me. He also seems to be the most common breaker of my game though. Stop making your own bugs!! I try to testplay to find the bugs he gets and it's like.... what did you do.... how did you skip that whole date im so confused thats not supposed to happen..... He accidentally skipped all of Muffet's date because of this too and hers is supposed to be the hardest in the game right now so I'm very upset by it;; i dont know how it happened, it never happens for me.

But like. I was definitely struggling a bit with the direction I wanted to take AtF. I wanted there to be a core message, like with Undertale and many other of my favorite things. When there's a core theme to write about, it makes things a lot easier to compose than if you have a plot with no meaning to it. It ties it all together for a common purpose. But, as I started diving more into the fandom around this time, finding not only it being still alive but still enormous and filled with passion.

Passion. Hm. That's familiar. That's the trait I gave the player character, rather than determination. While it was intended for giggles "haha dating game u have passion wink wonk," it started becoming more than that. It started becoming a manifestation of what I really felt upon finally soaking myself into the deep end of this pool I'd once been too afraid to step into. Passion. Everyone here is so driven by their passion for this game, the characters, its story. Everyone is so inspired and creative. That's it. That's what I wanted Act to Flirt to be.

A game made for those who have already dived deep into Undertale. A game made for those who have the same level if passion I've wittnessed. A game that someone might stumble upon, merely wanting any Undertale content they can find, and a dating sim leaves them grasping at straws, only to find it's a game instead deeply rooted in how much they care about this world and its people. You have a Soul of Passion, because your passion for Undertale brought you to this game. That's what the core message is. Every ending is supposed to depict different kinds of empathy, and True Passion shows you truly cared the most you could for all of these characters. Sans is so blocked from it because, well, how can he really believe it? "if we're really friends, you won't come back," right? But here you are. Again and again.

And Heartbreak. Whose heart is really the one breaking here? Taking the Hopes and Dreams of every single character you've grown to care for and crushing it beneath your feet... who is the one suffering in the end?

I just... I'm very excited. I've written that game with the player as the main character. Not Willo. Not Frisk. Not anybody else. You, the player, are the main character. I've honestly done a lot of looking around in the DDLC code to make this game as 4th wall breaking as I can (without like. Disrupting it as a game experience like ddlc is, with monika deleting things and stuff). Just enough to leave the player unsettled and confused. Like. "Me? Are you talking to me?" Yes. You. Directly to you.

I started sketching out designs and ideas for ULR around July. I genuinely loved Underlust after finding out about it, even though it was posed to me as an insult about the contents of Act to Flirt. I was both like "uh... Act to Flirt is nothing like this. Maybe in reversed roles at best but..." and also "okay but this? This shit is good. Thank you." But finding out it was discontinued and wanting more, well, that's when I decided to make ULR. I presented the idea to my friends, who were like "please stop making aus," and then continued onward. I told myself I wasn't going to work on it though until after I finished Act to Flirt... Then after the next demo came out... Then it turned out I was working on it too much and it resulted in me rushing my release of the 3rd demo of AtF because I'd been so distracted I was going to miss my release deadline of the end of August, before school. I... Still kinda regret that a lot. It's still very buggy. Though I hope I got them all for the next demo...

But speaking of school .... ha... Remember when i said i was going to transfer to another school? Well, I did, and for the first few weeks it was fine! Then I started skipping assignments I didn't want to do. Then I started panicking about my low grades. Then I started getting behind on assignments. Then I stopped going to classes. Then I lost all motivation to work on anything at all. I just locked myself in my room and did next to nothing with the occasional drawing here and there, for weeks. It came to the point where I was like "I just have to get through this semester, then I'll drop out." But if I ever wanted to go back to school, having all F's on my last report card would not bode well for my acceptance. Which lead to more stress. I didn't want to fail, but I also didn't have any motivation to work. I would do one assignment here or there, feel good about myself, then realize I was still months behind on work and suddenly oh god oh fuck finals are next week. And my solution? I just. Fuckin dropped out. Oh my god. It was such a relief to just get that weight off my shoulders that I'd been carrying for months on end, preventing me to do anything I wanted to work on.

Well. Then my car tires died. So that's a thing. But good news! Between commissions and gifts, I have enough money to get them replaced! I don't think I've ever like... Been so excited about that before.

And, well. Now I'm here, pretty much. God, I just went through my entire year summary, and it feels like it was both forever long but also not long at all. I don't get it. 2021 still feels like a far off future, despite the fact I'm now 5 hours into it. Yes, I spent 4 hours writing this. Whoops. Oh well. I couldn't sleep anyway, so it's not that big of a deal.

All in all though... Despite being locked inside, away from my friends, unable to talk to anyone about the things i was enjoying, and living in fear of getting sick at all ever with anything, 2020 definitely fuckin changed me for the better. It was a hellhole of a year and I'd never do it again or wish it upon my worst enemy, but I came out a better person... I think. I hope.

It seems cliche to bring back but fuck it. Undertale? My friend insists its core message was that anyone can be a good person if they just try, which I mean, it definitely probably was intended that way. But that never was the message I felt while playing it.

What lesson I took from it was "things aren't always as they seem."

Flowey betrays you immediately, but then you find out he's just the remnants of a boy who died years ago and is still grieving over the loss of his best friend, whomst, despite how much he cares for them, recognizes they weren't good to him and he'd been manipulated and used by them.

Toriel is a kind and caring woman, a still grieving mother over the loss of her children, who seems to have kindness to no end, but is actually filled with such hatred and depression that she regularly gets drunk, swears, and still, without resilience, hates her ex husband.

Sans is a playful character who is full of puns, a gross atmosphere, and decided to break physics just because he can. He's the embodiment of a comic relief character. But at the same time, he's suffering, struggling, in constant pain and worry. He's lazy, but quick on his feet. He's harmless but will kill without hesitation if need be. He's both caring and the least caring of them all.

Papyrus is like... a self-centered asshole in a way, when you first meet him. He prides himself and everything he does. Yet still, he's actually quite open and accepting and loves everyone. He loves talking with and being with other people, even if maybe sometimes he has a different interpretation of social interaction from the "norm."

Undyne comes off as cruel and deadly, such even being emphasized in many points. But, deep down, she's extremely caring for those who are close to her, and her only cruelty is dealt to those who have wronged her in some way.

Alphys is a sweet and nervous wreck who comes off as helpful and lacking a filter due to her tendency to ramble. She seems to be merely anxious due to likely social anxiety... But you eventually find out that she's a liar who merely wants to create a world to be a better place, and by doing so, she pretends all the bads do not exist.

Mettaton comes off as an absolute self-centered asshole. Like. There's no way around that. He seemingly has no regard for other people with only full intentions of helping himself. But, deep down, he actually cares a lot for other people, especially his family and friends, and just tends to get caught up in things while he's in the moment.

Muffet seems to be greedy with how much money she begs people to give her for the spiders, but, as it turns out, she's flat broke and drops no G when you beat or kill her. She merely needs the money to help the spiders.

Asgore, too, is built up to be this ruthless killer throughout the whole game, and when you finally meet him, he's an incredibly sweet guy who's only filled with regret, and because of his past decisions, has decided to put aside his hopes for the sake of his people.

I...

Didn't see any of these characters for who they really were right away. Why would I? Few of these archetypes are explored much in a lot of fiction lately, or at least what I've been consuming; and is more focused around how someone can change their flaws into something positive... Not how to accept someone for who they are, despite the wrongs they may have committed or the lives they lead. Everyone's different. Everyone's grown up differently. Everyone has a reason for what they do.

And it took me playing this game to realize such a simple concept that I probably should have learned years ago.

That's why I really think 2020 changed me for the better. I made a realization that I should have had many years ago, and it's made me a lot more confident in expressing myself, accepting people for what they do, and seeing the brighter side to everything. I say that, sitting here filled with nothing and void of all emotion whatsoever... But it's a conscious thought i have. My emotions are so weird... They're either on full blast or I feel nothing at all. But yet I have... Thoughts of what i should feel? It's weird. Idk. This is why I'm getting therapy LMAO

But yea. 2020? Fuck you. But also thank you. But mostly fuck you and good riddance lmao

#zircon rambles #a lot #lol #its very long im sorry #i spent way too long writing this too #also please don't reblog this

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serenasoutherlyns · 4 years ago

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Full of Surprises ch. 1-3

casey/alex, past alex/olivia. semi-au & fuzzy timeline, set post season 9. cross-posted from ao3 so the first three chapters are coming at ya all at once. TW for series-typical violence, SA, and discussions of mental illness. less graphic than the show. Fluff, romance, angst! First three chapters are totally SFW.

And yet, as she scanned the place, she caught someone she recognized. Sitting at the bar, bent over a notebook, was Casey Novak; her deep red hair tied back in a casual ponytail, an empty highball glass in front of her, chewing on the end of a click pen.

1 .

This wasn’t where Alex would usually find herself. Or at least, it didn’t used to be. Maybe it was now.

Emily had spent her evenings sat at a booth in the back of the local pub, watching and sketching. The books she’d filled, she kept them safely tucked in a box in the back of her closet, initialed “EC.” Alex couldn’t find it in her to draw much anymore.

Anne was alone more than not, spent long evenings reading philosophy, went running early mornings, yoga classes, taught herself guitar, filled hours on hours with ideas and exhaustion. Alex didn’t spend much time poring over The Republic these days, her guitar was long covered in dust.

In law school, her friends had a favorite table in the window of a little cafe, they would go from morning coffee to afternoon study to sharing bottles of red wine, coming and going as they pleased, debating with hopeful glimmers in their bright eyes. Late into the night, arm wrapped around Sylvia’s waist, listening to her classmates carry on, she’d watch the candles burn down. Sylvia had called her Lexi, whispered in her ear on night walks in the cold Cambridge air to their little apartment, gentle hands soothing her most anxious times. Alex hadn’t felt like that in years.

College weekends were spent at punk shows in basements, though she knows now nobody would believe it, young Alex Cabot (the nickname had been coined in those years, sharper edged than the elaborate Alexandra) knew how to have some fun, at least back then. She’d dyed her hair black and worn studs on her collar, had a reputation for being a player, and it seemed like the back of her right hand was constantly stained with marker residue. Sticky floors and lipgloss on her neck, so many firsts all at once.

Her evenings during her years in the DA’s office were usually full of work, except the odd night when she’d meet the detectives for a drink at their haunt or head out with the other ADAs to some upscale cocktail bar. Two different crowds with two different mentalities, the detectives were dedicated to a fault, while the prosecutors were insufferably full of themselves. The detectives would tire her out by 11:30, but she’d find an excuse to leave the ADA excursions before 9. Far more special were the many evenings spent in Olivia’s apartment drinking two beers each and filling the quiet air with soft laughter and conversation.

But a little library themed speakeasy? Not her typical place. Well. No time like the present to change one’s habits. She’d been recommended it by an old law school friend a couple weeks ago, bumped into him on a whim in a coffee shop, was surprised she wasn’t dead, had been there last night, said it was right up her alley. Its illicit vibe wasn’t exactly to ADA Cabot’s tastes, no. But it scratched something in Alex, that hadn’t been satisfied since those basement nights and cozy cafe afternoons. From the place’s shelves she’d pulled a book of Pre-Raphaelite poetry and sat in a comfy chair with a scotch and a San Pelligrino, pleased, at least, to be out of the apartment for the evening.

She didn’t need the money, but she’d been copyediting textbooks freelance, filling up her time with grammar and word choice. She’d been reading a lot of fiction. She adopted two extremely fluffy cats. It was a pleasant, if mundane, life. It turned out, Alex had realized, that there were plenty of eager and capable young attorneys who could do her former job as well as she ever had. She felt, finally, like she deserved a bit of a rest. Needed one, really. Someone would do the prosecuting. The thought of stepping back in the courtroom, looking at the bench, examining witnesses, made her feel sick to her stomach, though she had once loved that life. It wasn’t her anymore— maybe it never really had been. She decided this was her kind of place after all. This iteration of Alexandra Cabot would drink bubbly water in secluded speakeasies while reading poetry.

Alex didn’t expect to see anybody she knew, not somewhere you needed a password to get into, where the music was indie folk and old jazz from a vintage record player, the drinks had names like the “Lady Brett” and the “Daisy Buchanan,” and most of the patrons were dressed in flannel with their noses buried in old books. And yet, as she scanned the place, she caught someone she recognized. Sitting at the bar, bent over a notebook, was Casey Novak; her deep red hair tied back in a casual ponytail, a half-empty highball glass in front of her, chewing on the end of a click pen.

This was surprising. Alex, though she hadn’t ever known Casey well, before her first brief return to life as Alex Cabot, only as one of the white collar ADAs (they ran in a bit of a pack, didn’t shy away from imitating the lifestyles of those they prosecuted). After knowing her as a prosecutor, Alex would expect to see Casey in a sports bar watching a game, or in some chrome-gilded bar with high ceilings drinking designer cocktails and cheering on a verbal showdown between her colleagues. Or in the center of a showdown like that. Not alone, writing in a moleskine, wearing a red flannel over a simple black dress. Casey was striking, Alex realized, before she realized she’d been looking a little longer than was considered normal. She hoped she didn’t seem like a creep watching from afar. She considered getting up, saying hello, but felt that Casey may not even remember her, may not want to be disturbed as she wrote, may not even recognize her anymore. She’d changed her appearance when she’d gone back to being Alex Cabot, cut her hair in a short bob, dyed it dark brown, wore thick rimmed glasses and simple clothing, too painful to be the formal blonde she used to be. Barely the same woman who’s once-murderer Casey had put behind bars those years ago.

Alex didn’t have to consider talking to Casey, however, because almost as soon as she returned to her book, she heard the sound of rubber soled sneakers against the old hardwood floors and a voice beside her.

“Hey stranger,” she said.

“Hi Casey,” Alex said as she slid her bookmark into place and looked up at the familiar face with a smile. “Care to join me?”

2 .

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Casey said as she sat down. “I’m allowed to, uh, talk to you right? Though I guess if I wasn’t you wouldn’t acknowledge me, which would be fine, by the way.” There was the Casey Alex remembered, her words getting ahead of her.

“It’s fine, I’m me again,” Alex said calmly, “It’s really good to see you, though I wouldn’t have imagined you to be the writing type, or the underground-library-bar type” Alex gestured to the leather notebook in Casey’s left hand.

“I’m full of surprises, Alexandra Cabot.” Casey said in a tone that suggested she was sarcastic, yet convinced Alex she was telling the truth. Alex sipped her water.

“What were you working on?” She asked, not wanting to pry, but very eager to catch up, to know why she was alone in a place like this.

“Oh, nothing, nothing interesting. Just some little bits and pieces.” Casey replied.

“Not argument notes on a Saturday night, I hope?” Alex asked, though she knew that she would’ve done the same thing back when she was in the DA’s office. Casey looked pale, uncomfortable for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Alex said, trying to soothe any pain she may have caused, though she couldn’t fathom why. “I don’t mean to bring up work when you’re trying to relax.” At this, Casey just looked confused.

“Alex, have you not heard?” Casey said, searching for signs of recognition in the woman’s eyes, but finding only further confusion continuing, her voice low, “I was censured a few months ago. I can’t practice law for at least three years.” Alex’s eyes opened wide and she set her glass down on the table between them. “I’m surprised the rumor hasn’t reached your circles yet, though I admit I’m glad I get to be the one to tell someone for a change.” Alex noticed Casey cross her arms together over her chest, closing herself up, making herself seem smaller.

It was quiet for a while, the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald on the speakers, quiet conversations, and pages turning filling it. “I’m sorry, no, I hadn’t heard. That’s too bad. Do you want to talk about it?” Casey grinned at the suggestion, oddly intimate for the two women who, while they hardly knew each other, had shared some of the most intense moments either of them had experienced in a courtroom.

“I think I’ve gone over it enough in my head, but uh, thank you.” Casey said, her voice wobbling on the thanks, “You know, you’re the first person so far to actually ask me that?”

“I’m sorry.” Was Alex’s reply. Surely Casey had people who were interested in her feelings?

“The circumstances were,” Casey trailed off as she looked for the right wording, “I was at fault, for sure. But I was just trying to do the right thing, and I made a mistake.”

“Nothing shocking, I hope?” Asked Alex, still trying to ascertain the nature of the censure, wondering about what the woman sitting across from her could’ve done.

“I violated due process, technically.” Casey replied, attempting to gauge Alex’s reaction, but seeing that it continued to be contemplative rather than condemning, continued, “I shouldn’t’ve, but I think all of us have done worse in our time. But I was not in Donnelly’s good graces, so…” instead of ending her sentence, Casey sipped the last of her drink and looked up at Alex nervously, hoping the woman wouldn’t judge her too harshly.

“Oh man, Casey. That’s really tough. I’m sorry.” Casey searched for any sign of disapprobation in Alex’s tone, but finding only genuine concern, relaxed.

“So I’ve been doing other stuff for a little while. Using my undergrad,” she said, truly sarcastic this time. “What about you Cabot? What’s keeping you from your old haunt? And what’s with the brunette look?”

Alex wanted to answer, but wasn’t going to let Casey get away completely with deflecting. “You didn’t answer my question, Novak. What’s in the notebook?”

Casey laughed. “You really are relentless.” Alex just raised an eyebrow smugly while sipping her drink, as if to say, go on. “It’s a poetry journal. I’ve kept one since college.”

This admission broke the unflappable Alex Cabot’s reserve and she couldn’t keep herself from a few giggles. “I apologize,” she said, “for laughing at you. Just, the idea of Casey Novak the poet would not have occurred to me.”

“Like I said,” Casey started, “I’m full of surprises. And nobody has laughed at me in a long time,” she continued, beginning to laugh herself. “Believe it or not, I have an English degree.”

“Ok, ok, stop. I’m not sure I can take many more shocks tonight,” teased Alex.

“And you, didn’t answer my question. What’s with the brunette? You look beautiful,” Casey said before realizing what she was saying, shutting herself up before she said anything embarrassing.

“I needed a change,” Alex said, “Something to distance myself from my old selves. I never dyed my hair before, or switched up my look at all really. Just, a change.”

“I get that.” Casey said, and Alex felt like she really did get it, somehow more than anybody else had to this point. She’d seen a few old colleagues and friends, and they all had looked at her with this mixture of fear and pity that made her wish she was invisible. But Casey seemed to say something deeper in just three words.

They talked together late into the night, about books and drinks (Casey had been a bartender in college, her knowledge on pairings was unparalleled) and everything but law. It was close to 2:00 am when Casey started to yawn.

“I’m really glad I ran into you, Alex,” she said as they left the bar, her voice scratchy from talking quietly, a subtle accent that Alex couldn’t quite place showing through under the influence of sleepiness and her light buzz. It was adorable, Alex found herself thinking.

“Me too, Casey,” Alex replied, and before she could turn to start walking towards her apartment, only a block or so away, she was met with a hug. It was brief, but Alex took in the scent of Casey’s coconut shampoo, sweet and pleasing.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be much of a hugger either,” Alex said as she pulled away, brushing her hands on Casey’s elbows.

“I guess you have a lot to figure out,” she said, playfully, as Alex handed her into a cab.

As Alex walked up the stairs to her apartment (she could afford a bigger place, but this one, this one felt right), Alex replayed the evening and regretted not asking for Casey’s phone number before she left. When she pulled her keys out of her pocket to unlock the door, she found a piece of paper, with a number and a note:

text me, so I can learn some of your surprises.

3 .

Alex was awake.

The same old dreams kept her restless. It had been a bad night, she’d slept less than 3 hours before she woke, startled, as the sun just began to rise, 5 am on a Saturday in September.

Foggily, she attempted to reconstruct the details of her pieced together dreams, her therapist, Julia, had convinced her to keep a journal. She said the nightmares of being shot, of nobody recognizing her, those made perfect sense, classic PTSD symptoms. With what happened to her it would’ve been stranger to not suffer it. But these hadn’t been those dreams.

Clare Cartwright, age 15 stood in line at the coffee shop. Her face was pink with tears but nobody saw anything out of the ordinary except for Alex, watching her from a table. Clare’s cheeks were wet and covered in running mascara but the barista didn’t bat an eye as she ordered an iced chai and sat down alone with her laptop. Tears turned to sobs turned to screams, thrashing, but she just kept typing, sipping her tea, nobody did a damn thing. Alex tried to rise from her seat, go to the girl, hold her and scratch her back while she cried, but the heavy weight of her own body kept her seated, powerless to do anything. She tried to yell across the room, tell her that it was going to be ok, she was going to put whoever hurt her behind bars, protect her from them forever. But when she opened her mouth all breath was sucked out of her lungs, she collapsed. Clare’s cries echoed ceaselessly.

Trevor Hamilton, a 20 something pro, had been turning tricks all night but one guy had taken it a little too far. He was sure his neck, hips would be covered in nasty bruises the next day. Oh well. Nobody believed a pro who cried rape. He stuffed his cash in his briefs and made his way towards the van he slept in with three other guys but before he could get there, he fell, body bloody. Nobody heard a sound but Trevor must have been shot. His blood was cold as it poured out of him onto the sidewalk but he stood up. He wasn’t dead. In the morgue, Melinda Warner ruled the cause of death a fatal gunshot wound to his back, probably a stray bullet, but he’d had sex the night he died, maybe an angry John. Alex told everyone that he wasn’t dead. Trevor whispered in her ear, asked her how could she let them say he was dead, how could she let them get away with saying such a thing like that, how could she let them call what had happened to him sex. Alex repeated herself over and over but all she got in return from the detectives were sympathetic looks of confusion as they sent her home for the day. She must’ve been too tired, Alex heard Olivia tell Elliot, maybe her mind was acting up again, sleep deprivation can kickstart psychosis. Someone would check in on her that night, make sure she wasn’t relapsing. Alex knew she wasn’t hallucinating, because Trevor had spoken to her in the clearest voice she’d heard in months. Alex wept for Trevor the whole way home and then some but nobody seemed to notice.

Annabelle Lamm wore a fuzzy pink nightgown when her grandmother brought her into the precinct one snowy night. Olivia called Alex to come to the precinct, they needed a warrant for the apartment, they found fluids in the girl’s hair of all places, grandma handed them an envelope full of pictures of Annie that nobody in the family admitted to taking. It was a no brainer warrant, Alex didn’t even mind waking up a judge for it if it meant getting whoever had been hurting this little girl as soon as possible. When Alex arrived to the building, Olivia wasn’t there and all the lights were off. Alex clicked on a lamp, wondered if Liv had found another ADA and rushed off without telling her anything. But the room was unfamiliar, empty, concrete. In the center of the room standing perfectly still was a 5 year old girl in a pink fuzzy nightgown. Alex ran to her but couldn’t get any closer. The little girl had a hollow expression and didn’t move an inch. Alex kept running and running but her feet stayed in the same spot, powerless.

Yeah. Powerless. As she awoke she felt like she was still running, head still spinning, still heard screams.

She wrote it all down in her journal. Julia had said that it was unusual for people whose jobs involved consistently levels of high stress and disturbance to have the severity of symptoms she had; that there was usually a tolerance that was built up to being horrified. Alex had either never had that tolerance or it had been washed away during the years she’d spent in WITSEC because her very brief return to the practice of law had nearly broken her.

“Sleep deprivation can kickstart psychosis,” Olivia had told her once when they first worked together, ostensibly referring to a case of statutory rape where the perp didn’t recall a single piece of the event; but Alex knew the comment was pointed at her, not the perp. Olivia could tell that Alex’s patience was growing thin, her mind unfocused; she must’ve deduced that Alex wasn’t sleeping much. But Alex already knew the warning signs.

Alexandra Cabot, age 16, sat shaking in a hospital room. It was almost finals week, she’d pulled a few all nighters, it was nothing serious, she’d told her school counselor a week prior when her friends had noticed her speech patterns growing muddled. She stayed up another 24 hours and the last thing she remembered was her roommates grabbing her wrists and pulling her inside off the balcony. After that, the school had installed locks on all the windows. Alexandra was freezing in her hospital gown, brain numbed out from the IV antipsychotics she was attached to. A few days in the hospital to take care of her injuries (she was informed that she had thrown herself against the wall while school officials took her to the ER), then a summer of residential treatment, hopefully she would be able to return to boarding school in the fall. Her father looked at her with a shattered expression, her mother treated her with cold indifference, her friends didn’t talk to her. Major depression with psychotic features.

Alex knew the consequences of not sleeping enough. She considered taking her cup of mint tea and heading back to bed, cuddling up to her cats, reading a book maybe, just trying to screw her head on right. Her body fought her though, nervous energy ran through her veins, so she elected to have a walk instead. Besides, it had been years since she’d had any serious episode. Anxiety, sure, and the occasional month or so of depression, a few close calls, but regular therapy and medication kept her more or less in the clear since college. Her family, her therapists, had suggested she go into a different kind of law, something stimulating but less distressing like, intellectual property, but she had refused, felt called to prosecuting. But her experience was what made her a great prosecutor, and it was why she had been so adamant about the proper handling of cases involving those suffering from mental illness, especially victims, but perps as well. She knew how it felt, more than she admitted to almost anybody, but she also knew there were paths through it.

The same old nightmares, but Alex was a different person. The old Alex would’ve thrown herself even harder into work than usual, won her cases even more viciously, assuaged her feelings of powerlessness by asserting control. This Alex knew that complete control was unattainable.

The September air was cold this early in the morning, but bracing. The contrast between her thermos full of hot tea pleased her, she pretended she was a dragon as she breathed steam. She smiled to herself at the thought and at the bright orange sun rising through the treetops in the park by her apartment. This had been the right choice, sunrises were her favorite magic. Content covered her like a well fitting dress, shaking off the nerves slowly. The most dedicated joggers and newsstand operators were the only other people out this early, the quietest time in the city. Alex’s phone buzzed.

Casey: Nice coat, Cabot.

Alex looked up from her phone, confused. What? Maybe it was delivered late. She’d seen Casey two days ago for coffee— they’d developed a friendship. Texts, coffee, nothing too deep; but then it had only been a couple weeks since they’d run into each other at the library bar. Alex liked Casey. She was funny and a good listener, and she always had something to say. She didn’t walk on eggshells around Alex either, making Casey unique among her friends. She’d tried to meet up with Liv right when she’d gotten back to the city the second time, but the way she looked at her cut way too deep, like she was a hero, like she was a victim. Both of those she may well be, but she needed to be treated as a friend. Casey did that for her, down to playfully teasing her over her eccentric habits. Another text:

Casey: Turn around, Clueless.

Not many people had ever called Alexandra Cabot clueless. Alex turned around, and Casey waved at her excitedly from the jogging path and without waiting for Alex’s reaction began to run up to where she was sitting. Alex was surprised to see her, happily so. She knew Casey was athletic, but didn’t take her to be the 5:30 running type. She wore tight leggings and a running jacket, and the biggest smile Alex had seen from her. She looked beautiful in the soft early light, Alex thought, then immediately blushed at that thought.

She’d never been one to shy away from her sexuality, especially when she realized the destructive role repression had played in her life before she came out. Alex had been out since college, but she tried very hard not to crush on straight women. She knew she couldn’t control who she was attracted to, but it always made her feel a bit dejected, so. Nip that in the bud.

Alex didn’t have much time to consider the ethics of her thoughts, because Casey was right in front of her, grabbing her hands.

“It’s so good to see you! A second surprise encounter, must be fate, Cabot,” Casey said in a quiet voice, a wink in her words.

“Something like that,” Alex replied, “What are you doing out so early?”

“I could ask the same of you; I’m just finishing up my run. You are wearing a fancy coat and looking deep in thought, in fact, you are being far more suspicious than I am, look at how many people are out here jogging, I mean,”

“Oh my god,” Alex cut her off with an eye roll, “Ok, stop cross-examining me.”

Casey gave Alex a genuine laugh, “Old habits die hard.” She paused for a second. “You look pale, did you sleep?”

“Thanks, Casey.” Alex gave her a playful glare. “If three nightmares in three hours counts, then yes, I slept.”

“Oh you poor thing. I’d hug you but,” She gestured to her sweaty figure. “You wanna get breakfast? I’ll pop back to my apartment, shower, and meet you at yours in say, half an hour?”

Alex started slightly at the familiarity, but responded, “Yeah, sure, sounds fun. Uh, here I’ll text you my address.”

Did Casey blush? Alex couldn’t be sure due to her post-run glow and the chill in the air. “Sorry if that’s too familiar, I know we usually plan these things out, and I guess I just assumed you didn’t have plans, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, you know, runner’s high and all,” but Alex cut her off again with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Are you retracting the offer, Novak?” Alex couldn’t resist the urge to tease the woman in front of her. “Because if I recall correctly, I said yes.”

Casey grew more flustered, replied with a quick, “Nope, still happening, see you in half an hour,” and took off running, leaving Alex behind as she laughed in disbelief.

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tempestaurora · 5 years ago

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Your tags under the Peggy post. I’m shaking!!! Please punch marvel in the face and let us have that movie!!! That’s the most perfect fix it idea ever!!!!

can i actually just run through my avengers movie idea for a sec? because it’s been one of my repeated day dreams since april 2019.

alright: so it’s set maybe six months, maybe a year after avengers: endgame. unfortunately, tony and nat are dead. this cannot change, unless we get some kind of magic going, and i’m not knowledgeable about marvel magic enough to get a fix. so.

we start on an avengers: age of ultron-like fight scene, where the remaining avengers - literally whoever is left, plus spider-man, maybe bucky if he’s feeling it - are kicking some butt. maybe aim or modok or something, its irrelevant. they clean up, head home, and perhaps swing by the new compound. it’s smaller than the last one, still in the same kind of location. there’s clearly work still being done to fix it up.

steve is perhaps out on the grass, reading a book. maybe he’s in a wheelchair, because he’s old now. they say hello, head inside, maybe someone stays out to talk to him. now, a new character/avenger could totally bring it up - in my head, i like to imagine jessica drew or riri williams, or one of the young avengers maybe. alternatively, perhaps there’s just boxes all over the foyer.

“what the hell is this?” sam might ask, after tripping over one. he had not been looking where he was going.

“oh! my delivery!” perhaps bruce replies, as he is the last remaining Science Guy (not including rhodey, who is Weapon Science Guy) in the avengers. “after shield-gate and the decryption of those files, a lot of old shield stuff got declassified.”

“and it’s here?”

“well shield’s still kind of... gone, i guess. where’s a safer place for it than here? ooh, the report on who killed jfk!”

bucky, across the room: “want a spoiler?”

the plot goes on; perhaps there are more aim or modok or something bases to be taken down. or a criminal gang. idk. they’re a side plot, who will perhaps become important in the final act, but for now, bruce starts reading through his files, until:

“barnes! you might be interested in this. it’s the original ssr paperwork about dr. erskine’s serum.”

“the one steve’s got?”

“the very same.” they flip through a few pages, and bruce slows. “this doesn’t make sense.”

“hm?”

“the serum. it’s self-sustaining. self-vitalising.”

“in english?”

“steve’s cells are reproductive. when they die, more take their place. it’s how he combats illness; his cells flip over so fast that the sick ones don’t have a chance to catch on. but...”

“but what?”

“if this is accurate--which, it is. i’ve looked at his bloodwork myself! if this is right, it means that steve’s ageing should be slower than a regular human’s. perhaps by three times, even.”

“and what does that mean?” bucky is frowning now.

bruce looks from him, and then moves to the window, where steve is out on the grass, reading a book. “it means that he shouldn’t look like that.”

“banner?”

bruce turns around. “he lived one life in the other timeline, right? lived his life with peggy carter and then came right home.”

“yeah? yes.”

“then... that’s not steve. it can’t be.”

there’s dramatic music, bruce and bucky’s worried faces. steve takes a sip of a fruity drink from a straw.

they bring in some kind of scientist they know; maybe cho, idk, and they go over his bloodwork in secret. slowly, more people are let in on the secret, like sam, who bucky tells because he’s on the team, he guesses, but he’s only got like one friend. perhaps there’s still that other danger going on, but they really need to get to the bottom of this -

if that’s not steve, who the hell is it? and if that’s someone else, then where the hell is steve rogers?

scott lang and hope van dyne get called in to help build another quantum machine - they don’t have one anymore after steve returned the stones. a time machine is a bit too dangerous, even for them. old steve is around quite often - he likes the quiet, he has a room in the compound, no friends his own (new) age.

but something slips. he’s watching. he may look old, but his hearing’s still good. his vision’s still spectacular. he’s not steve rogers. he’s something else. they cannot comprehend his knowledge.

for much of the plot, we aren’t sure if they’re right, that he’s not steve. he’s acting like steve. he has steve’s memories, his voice, his mannerisms. maybe some people are sceptical - like peter, perhaps, on a weekend visit to train, psyched about the quantum realm idea, but really guys? because old steve has called me queens since the funeral. he can even recite those dumb psas he made. maybe peter talks too much, too loud, and the fake steve rogers knows the jig is up. they’re going to access the quantum realm and find the original steve - this is his final chance.

“you know,” old steve says, heaving himself to his feet, “your friends are right. i’m not steve rogers.” he starts growing bigger, and possibility gelatinous. i imagine it like the young avengers’ mother - some inter-dimensional being, who becomes sinewy, creeping tendrils of flesh and matter; massive in size with a harpy kind of roar. everyone rushes out to see this gigantic mound of flesh--

“what the hell is that, parker??!!”

“uhhh that’s not-steve. he’s acting very not steve today.”

the fight begins, and it becomes clear that whatever this is took steve’s place. stole him, kept him hidden somewhere, and now they’ve gotta get him back. they separate into teams; fighting the monster and racing to the quantum realm. at first, no one has their suits - perhaps they tag team it, or get new suits, or maybe peter has edith on him, and he calls down another iron spider, and she informs him that there’s a falcon x/captain america suit or something; a nanobot suit for sam. something very cool for the suit up, you know?

meanwhile, bucky and bruce are at the quantum machine; perhaps parts of the monster have detached themselves and fight them, too. perhaps the monster calls down its brethren and glowing green lights appear, monsters crawling out from other worlds. bucky gets suited up, and bruce sends him back--

there’s a battle--and bucky flying through time--and fighting--and bucky getting smaller and smaller--and chaos--and bucky landing in the night on a street in 1949.

he gets it pretty fast. it understands why steve might want to stay here. it’s the kind of life they dreamed for themselves after the war. a quiet suburban street; the city off in the distance. the lights are on in plenty of houses, bright yellow. he knows almost automatically which one to look at.

he peers through the front window, and there they are: peggy carter and steve rogers. he looks exactly as he did the last time bucky saw him young. they’re smiling. they’re dancing. perhaps not well - bucky was always the better dancer of the two. he’s about to raise his fist and knock on the window, but then peggy and steve stop, look around, and two small children, one blonde, one brunette, come rushing in. they laugh, picking them up and spinning them around, part of the dance. bucky stares.

there’s a massive fight in the compound, maybe doctor strange is there? idk. maybe he could feel the walls of the dimension cracking open to let these monsters through. thor is there, he deserves to be. captain marvel perhaps, too. but the more they knock down, the more grow back.

perhaps bucky walks through the neighbourhood, visits his family. he knows that no matter how long he spends in this place, it will only be a minute in the real world. so he goes home. he gets on a bus, then a train, hops the turnstile and finds his old house. he’s come home from war. his family cries. he cries. he holds his mother. his father calls his sisters and they rush through the night to greet him. he can’t leave in the night, he can’t. so he sleeps there until morning. returns to steve’s house and watches from a distance as they do the school run.

peggy kisses him goodbye and leaves for work. steve watches her go. but he is still perceptive as ever; he sees bucky, heads over. they hug. they talk. bucky breaks the news to him: this isn’t real. this is made up. a simulation, specifically to keep you here. something else has taken over your life.

steve doesn’t believe it - maybe they fight, i’m not sure. maybe bucky gets angry and even spits out the words “are they even searching for me yet? have you even told them what i’m going through right now? it’s 1949 - i remember this year as the year my handler got pretty trigger happy with waterboarding.”

we go between the fight at the compound and the 40s a few times, as bucky spends the day stewing and steve spends the day looking thoughtful and sending meaningful looks out the window to where bucky had been standing, but no longer was. as it grows dark again, early evening, the children return home from school, peggy comes back from work, steve starts cooking dinner.

he looks out the window and sees bucky out on the front path, watching the yellow-lit kitchen. he goes outside, asks if he wants to come in.

“no,” bucky replies. “if i go in, i’ll never leave.”

“is that such a bad thing?” steve asks.

“it is when it’s not real.”

“buck--”

“i wanted a life back then. i wanted this. some nice house in some nice neighbourhood. fall in love, settle down - the whole nine yards. but i got captured, steve. i got tortured, and brainwashed, and now i live in the twenty-first century, and i fight bad guys with ridiculous powers, and i have a computer that i can carry around in my pocket, and--things are good there! even the skinny, angry version of you could’ve lived better there. might’ve even got a cure or two for your sicknesses.”

“bucky--”

“this, though. this isn’t real, steve. i want it to be, so badly. you deserve this. deserve the peace and quiet. deserve the life, and the happiness and the--the girl. but right now, in the time you left, there’s a monster tearing up your friends. our friends. and they need help.”

“they’ve got captain america.”

“they don’t need captain america. they need steve rogers.”

steve can’t help but look back through the window, to where peggy and his kids are talking, serving up dinner. he sighs. “i can’t leave this behind, buck. i can’t.”

bucky sighs, perhaps this argument goes on longer, but he resigns himself to it. “i thought you might say that. i’ll be out here for another hour, and then i’m going back.”

bucky waits outside on the front path for an hour. steve eats his dinner and laughs with his family. when the time comes, bucky gets up, and looks back at the front door, hopeful. but--steve doesn’t show. he heads back.

the fight continues on, bucky breaks the news to bruce, and there are some bad injuries, maybe. i’d say that someone might die, but the real emotional climax of this film is steve-centred, so we probably don’t need a death. fighting goes on for an avengers-appropriate amount of time, and the tide turns against the avengers. then... just as all hope seems lost:

a second captain america shield slices through a monster, pinning down sam. its that holographic one (photon?) from the comics; just something tony had worked up before he died. the camera pans over to steve in his captain america get up; the same one he left in; catching the shield.

more fighting, then steve: “are you using my shield?”

sam: “the other, fake you gave it to me.”

steve shrugs. “it looks good on you. keep it.”

also during/near the end of the fight, bucky and steve reunite, and hug, because i’m a sucker for hugs.

bucky: “i thought you weren’t coming back”

steve: “i wasn’t. but--i couldn’t leave you behind again. not after you showed up like that.”

“but how’d you get back?”

“i still had my pim particles and suits stored in the attic. i think the monster stole my shield when he stuck me there, but he left everything else behind.”

“... i’m glad you’re back.”

“i’m glad to be back. really.”

they win the fight. i dont care how. maybe aim or modok or something shows up or maybe good old fashioned teamwork gets the job done. but they’re happy, and they’re together, and inter-dimensional travel has now been introduced. *cough* spiderverse *cough*

steve still gives up captain america - he’d spent four years in the past as a stay-at-home dad and husband, only using the old suit for press stuff, so he doesn’t really want it back. he liked settling down. that’s what he wants. perhaps he moves to brooklyn or harlem or wherever, to whatever apartment bucky and sam set up for themselves. he cooks and paints (a little girl with blonde hair and a small boy with eyes like peggy carter’s) and punches his fist halfheartedly in the air, droning “go team” whenever they head out on their missions.

he really did mean it when he said sam looked good with the shield.

there would probably be a b plot of another character Doing Things, like thor and captain marvel and whatever their adventure is. but i don’t know what it is yet. there’s a happy ending. then, the first credits scene is some inter-dimensional shenanigans and a villain being introduced. i personally imagine that kang is going to be the next big villain, but he’s time travel, not dimensional travel, so i don’t know.

then, your optional after credits scene: bucky and steve standing by the kitchen counter, talking and whatnot. i don’t know what about. maybe bucky’s getting ready for a mission, maybe steve’s just in a white tshirt and sweats and he’s just having a nice day, making himself some coffee, reading a good book. they talk, and steve nods bucky over.

“what?” bucky asks.

“thank you,” steve replies.

“... ‘til the end of the line, remember? i’ve got your back, rogers.”

“and i’ve got yours. you know that?”

“course i do.”

they smile. they’re happy. they’re at home. the screen goes black as soon as steve leans in and kisses bucky.

(or: your platonic ending: the screen goes black as soon as steve and bucky bump fists in a friendly non-gay way)

then: STEVE ROGERS WILL RETURN IN THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER

it’s a reoccurring role. he’s largely in the background, cheering them on, and occasionally waiting up in bed when bucky gets home from a late-night mission. he trains sam with the shield on weekends.

the end

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #avengers #avengers endgame #no read more cut we die like men #this took me almost an hour to write up #despite only taking ten minutes to imagine #anyway: kevin feige hire me #bethany talks #Anonymous

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kpoptrashibnida · 5 years ago

Text

Enough Pt. 12

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry for the weird formatting of this post. I am currently at work and have tons of down time. The work computers are not letting me log into Tumblr, so I have to post from my tablet, which is why this looks weird. I will however edit it once I get home, I just wanted to post this ASAP before I am bombarded by things to do at home or forget to post. Too many days have gone by and I have been anxious to update. Anyway, here is a new chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it. Things are starting to change my dears.... change is coming. As always, feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!

The next few days after the call you got from Namjoon were a blur. You wanted to tell Jaehyun about it right away, but as soon as he came to your apartment after being gone for the weekend, he ravaged you all night. After that, you were so immersed with work and meeting deadlines that it slipped your mind and the right time to tell Jaehyun never came.

It was Thursday and Jaehyun invited you to dinner, claiming that you both needed a date night. He was going to get ready in his own apartment and he said he would pick you up at seven. He instructed you to dress in your fanciest outfit because the place he was taking you to was a trendy new restaurant and they had a strict dress code.

You were excited to say the least, because Jaehyun was always so thoughtful with his date ideas.

You found a gorgeous red silk dress that hugged your curves perfectly; the neckline making your neck look long and elegant, the delicate thin straps attracted attention to your collarbones and the slit drew attention to your thigh. You felt incredibly sexy and you knew Jaehyun would enjoy it too. It had been sitting in your closet for the longest time and you were glad to finally have a reason to wear it. You made your hair in waves that cascaded down your back and your makeup was neutral but elegant. You wore your diamond studs and a dainty diamond necklace to go with it. After pairing your gold strappy heels, you grabbed a black shawl and your clutch, anxiously waiting for Jaehyun to arrive. You just hoped that you could concentrate on your date and not on the fact that now you had about a week to answer Namjoon. As punctual as ever, Jaehyun knocked on your door, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. Opening the door, your breath was taken away by the sight of a gorgeous Jaehyun in front of you.

“Wow, you look amazing.” Jaehyun complimented, eyes scanning your body in that gorgeous red dress. To say that his pulse quickened would be an understatement, he just wished he could keep his hands to himself until dinner was over.

“You too.” You say breathlessly, Jaehyun looked amazing in his charcoal grey suit, the top three buttons of his black shirt were undone, giving you a glance of his chest.

“I got you these.” He murmurs, giving you a bouquet of red roses.

You hadn’t noticed that he was holding them, you were focused on his gorgeous face, his hair styled in a way that showed off his beautiful bone structure.

“Thank you.” You smiled, taking the flowers from him and placing them in a vase with water.

“We should get going, they’re pretty strict with their reservation times.” Jaehyun said, grabbing your clutch and shawl.

“Okay, lets go.” You agree, walking out of your apartment and locking it.

Jaehyun held your hand and squeezed it, giving you a small smile. Once inside the elevator, he stood there and kept his gaze focused on the door. He seemed to be a little nervous and you were not sure as to why. You placed your hand on his cheek, turning his head towards you and placed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You okay? You seem a bit distracted.” You comment, noticing he is not his usual talkative self.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He smiled, not really convincing you.

Before you could say anything else, the elevator door opened and Jaehyun took you by the hand once again and led you to his car.

The drive to the restaurant was short but you could tell something was off. Jaehyun was making small talk, but his eyes were very shifty and his hands were clammy. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well and still felt obligated to bring you out on a date. You instantly felt bad, you didn’t want him to go out of his way to take you on a date if he wasn’t feeling well.

The car came to a stop and Jaehyun got out and walked to your side to open your door like the true gentleman he is. The valet took the car and you were impressed at the level of sophistication this restaurant had. You felt giddy about coming to such a fancy place but nervous at the same time because of Jaehyun’s attitude. He held your hand as you walked into the restaurant and up to the hostess podium. The hostess, dressed smartly in an all-black ensemble, took you to your table that was in a more private part of the busy restaurant. The whole place oozed sophistication and you were happy Jaehyun took the time to bring you here. It was fancier and more expensive than the usual places you went with him, but you were not complaining at the change in scenery.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re being very quiet.” You ask, noting how Jaehyun has not been doing a lot of eye contact with you.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I am just a little tired.” He said but you were not convinced. He had his eyes trained on the bread basket as he nibbled on it. You tried not to get frustrated because you did not want to ruin your date at such a nice place. You decided to give him his space until he decided when he wanted to speak to you.

You felt your phone vibrate in your clutch and furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as to who could be messaging you at this time. You had a few text messages from an unknown number which further confused you. Opening them up, you had a good idea as to who they belonged to.

Unknown: Hey, I know it must have been a shock to see me again

Unknown: I’m sorry if I took you by surprise, but I knew if you had known beforehand, you would not have wanted to work with me.

Unknown: I hope you know that I’m doing this for the mutual benefit of your company and mine.

You tried not to roll your eyes as you read Chanyeol’s messages, he is as imposing as ever.

Me: How did you get my number Chanyeol?

Unknown: Wendy gave it to me when I asked

‘Of course, poor trusting Wendy would fall into his nice-guy trap. He probably told her some crap about needing to speak to me about work stuff. The bastard knows my office hours.’ You thought annoyed as you put your phone away in your clutch.

When you looked up, you noticed Jaehyun looking at you and you instantly felt bad. Even though he was being quiet, it was rude and ill-mannered to be on your phone in the presence of company.

“Sorry,” You smiled sheepishly, “It was a work thing.” You explained, internally cringing at the mild lie. Technically, it was a work message since Chanyeol is a client even if the message wasn’t work related.

“It’s okay.” He said with a small smile. He reached across the table to hold on to your hand, intertwining your fingers together and giving your hand a slight squeeze. “I’m sorry if I seem a little out of it. I am just a little tired, I hope I’m not being a downer.” He said gently, your heart squeezing for him since you were on your phone earlier.

“Of course not babe.” You grabbed both of his hands, giving his knuckles a soft kiss. “Thank you for bringing me to such a beautiful place.” You said with a smile, wishing you could sit on his lap and kiss him until you were both out of breath.

“You are a beautiful and special woman. You deserve this and more. I hope you know that I love you so much and I’d do anything to make you happy.” He said softly, his eyes shimmering in the dim lighting of the room. He looked so sincere that you instantly felt guilty for not telling him about Namjoon’s call.

“Thank you. I love you too.” You say, noticing how he kept touching the pocket of his jacket. Thinking nothing of it, you took a deep breath. You needed to tell him now.

“Jaehyun, there’s something I need to tell you.” You notice how he seemed to hold his breath, not expecting those words to come out of your mouth.

“What is it?” He asked, the nerves he felt earlier coming back full-force. He absentmindedly touched the pocket of his jacket again, but this time you didn’t notice.

‘It’s now or never.’ you gave yourself a small pep talk and took a deep breath.

“Babe, I got a call from Namjoon. He told me that after all the last crucial details for the opening are done, he no longer needs me to stay in New York. He says he has some projects lined up for me in Seoul and wants me to consider going back early. He gave me until next week to give him an answer.” You said it all in one breath, anxiously looking at Jaehyun’s face for his reaction.

He stared at you with wide eyes, surprise clear on his face. He was not expecting that at all and it made his heart sink. He was already dreading the end of the year and now suddenly it was getting cut even shorter? That's not fair.

“Oh.” He said dejectedly, not wanting to show his disappointment. “Have you given him an answer?” He asked, a little afraid as to what your answer might be.

“I have not. I can’t decide. I don’t want to be away from you and I wanted to see the project through until the very end. But the projects that Namjoon has are very good opportunities. It’s so hard.” You say, your throat closing up and you could feel the tears gather in your waterline. It was not fair that you had to choose between the man you love and a career you also love.

“Well, I want you to do what’s best for you. I love you and I support whatever decision you make.” He said, a small smile on his face. You knew he was trying to be supportive, and you appreciate that, but you could not bear the thought of being away from him.

“I know, I need a bit more time before I decide. I know we never discussed what would happen once my year contract was up and now I’m afraid for what will happen.” You confess, finally letting him know how you felt about the inevitable.

“Hey, hey, don’t be afraid. We will make it work. We had not discussed it before but we will find a way, don’t worry.” He gave you a reassuring smile. You were grateful that you had him in your life.

After dinner Jaehyun drove you home and he no longer was quiet and reserved like in the beginning. He was making conversation and even encouraging you to not stress out about giving Namjoon an answer. He was being very supportive and calm, which is exactly what you needed at the moment.

“Are you going to stay the night?” You ask once Jaehyun turns the corner into your street.

“Not tonight babe, sorry. I have some things I need to do when I get to my apartment. I’ll probably come over tomorrow though.” He said. You gave him a small smile and hoped he could not see the disappointment behind it. You really wished he could stay the night, you had an overwhelming urge to have him near you right now.

“Okay.” You said softly, gathering your things.

Jaehyun opened your door and walked you up to your doorstep, always insisting on being a gentleman.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” Jaehyun said, hugging you and giving you a soft kiss on the lips.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, bringing your body as close as possible to Jaehyun’s, wanting to feel all of him.

He placed his hands on your hips, lightly groping your flesh. You moaned into the kiss, the need for him becoming stronger as the kiss deepened.

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” You ask between kisses, hoping he would agree to spend the night.

“I can’t babe.” He groaned out, pulling away. “I’ll come by tomorrow.” He placed a chaste kiss on your nose, completely detaching himself from you.

“Okay, good night.” You whisper, turning away from him and heading into your apartment.

You tried to ignore the dull ache in your chest, feeling rejected for some reason. You knew Jaehyun didn’t mean anything by not staying the night, but for some reason the fact he didn’t stay felt like rejection. You shook your head out of it, feeling silly for even humoring that negative feeling. You started to get ready for bed, a wave of exhaustion coming over you all of a sudden.

After your shower you saw your phone blinking. You walked to it, figuring it was most likely Jaehyun. You were surprised to see three missed calls from Chanyeol.

After a few seconds of debating whether or not you should call him back, you hit the callback button.

‘It must be work related. Why else would he call?’ You say to yourself. It was a bit late for it to be a work call, but you want to give Chanyeol the benefit of the doubt.

“Hey, you called back.” Chanyeol answered after the third ring, his voice sounding a bit wobbly.

“Yes I figured it was something important. What do you need?” You were trying not to be curt with him, but you couldn’t push away the feeling of disappointment at the fact that Jaehyun didn’t stay. Everything was irritating you right now.

“I do have something important to say-” He hiccuped, making you furrow your brows. Is he drunk? “I-I want to say… that I am so happy to see you again. And I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I really missed you.” He says, another hiccup coming out at the end.

“Chanyeol, are you drunk?” You asked incredulously. Of course he would be drunk, some things don’t change.

“Nnno. I am tipsy. Not drunk.” He drawled and you huffed in annoyance, this whole situation completely bizarre.

“Clearly.” You answer sarcastically. “Chanyeol, you better have a good reason to be calling me right now. It’s late.” You deadpan, already annoyed at the turn of events.

“I do ha-have a good reason-on.” He hiccuped, making you roll your eyes. “I wanted to say that I still have feelings for you and I used the gala as an excuse to see you again since you did a great job of shutting me out of your life.” He huffed, still slurred but more coherent.

You were silent for a few seconds, in shock at his declaration of still having feelings for you.

“Chanyeol, this is highly unprofessional. You shouldn’t have called me. I’m hanging up.” You said hastily, the rapid beating of your heart making it hard to breathe.

“Wait! I’m sorry, don’t hang up. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know it must have been a shock seeing me. The truth is that I miss you, a lot. And you changed your number and I couldn't contact you. When the opportunity to work with you came up, I took it. I had to.” He explained, the loud ringing in your ears making it hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

After a few seconds of processing his words, you took a deep breath to level your breathing.

“Chanyeol, you’re drunk. Go to sleep” You said, deciding to hang up on him before he said anything else.

You plugged in your phone and put it on do not disturb, hoping no one else would contact you for the rest of the night. You closed your eyes and willed the erratic beating of your heart to go away.

__________________

Two days passed since that uncomfortable phone call with Chaneyol took place. He didn’t try to contact you, so you assumed he did not remember it at all since he was clearly inebriated. It was better this way, but you were still annoyed because you remembered it clearly. It kept playing in your head over and over and it affected your temper, to say the least. The stress of the final details for the opening gala was catching up to you, as well as the fact that you had about four days left to tell Namjoon what your decision was. Were you to stay in New York longer or cut your time short and go back to Korea to work on some exciting projects. On top of that, you had not been spending as much time with Jaehyun in the past couple of days. Ever since you told him about what Namjoon told you, he had been a little distant. He didn’t stay over at your place like he had said he would, claiming he was tired and had other matters to handle at home.

All of those stressful situations were making it hard to concentrate and it made you snappy, which you hated because no one deserved to be on the receiving end.

“Hey noona…” Mark said cautiously, slowly entering your office.

“Yes, Mark?” You asked, eyes still glued to the computer screen.

“Hey so I’m not sure if you saw the email yet, but Mr. Kim said that the final draft you sent him of the final details for the opening gala was incorrect.” Mark said, wincing at the end knowing that it was going to annoy you.

“Oh.” You sighed, refreshing your email and seeing the unread message that was sent almost an hour ago.

‘Fucking great. Had I seen this before, I could have gotten a head start.’ You inwardly groan, knowing it was going to take a while to get this rectified. You were mad at yourself for not being more thorough when double checking your work.

“Thanks Mark. I’ll make sure to finish this tonight. Go home. Have a good night.” You give him a small smile, returning your focus to the annoying task before you.

You had been editing the document when you heard a small rasp on your office door, looking over and seeing Jaehyun. Your mood instantly improved as you gave him a small smile.

“Hey, what are you doing here still? It’s late.” He said, walking in and closing your door behind him.

“I need to finish editing this document before sending it out to Mr. Kim tonight.” You explained, getting up from your chair and stretching your back.

“Oh man, that’s not good.” He said as his eyes looked at you intently. “You look very tired and stressed. Are you okay?” He asked, sounding genuinely worried as he sat on the corner of your desk.

“Yeah, I am stressed.” You agreed, needing to put some things out in the open.

“What's stressing you out? The deadlines?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“Yes, that. And you.” You conveniently decided to leave out the conversation you had with Chanyeol, not in the mood to deal with that.

“Me? Why?” He was surprised that you said he was part of your stress.

“Because ever since I told you about my phone call with Namjoon, I feel like you’ve been avoiding me. You never came to my place like you said you would. Are you upset with me?” You asked, feeling extremely emotional for some reason. You were trying not to let the tears roll down your cheeks, feeling very pathetic at that moment.

“I’m sorry you feel that way babe. I know I've been busy but I promise it has nothing to do with you. I didn’t mean to make you feel this way.” He came up to you and hugged you, making you slack against his body with relief. He held you close and caressed your back softly. You pulled away slowly in order to capture your lips in an urgent kiss.

You let your hands trail across his shoulders, bringing him closer to you as your tongue entwined with his. His hands were on your hips, kneading them softly as he rubbed you against his middle, allowing you to feel his bulge. You moaned softly, wanting to feel him closer to you. A sudden desperation took over you, making you palm Jaehyun over his slacks. He moaned into your mouth, hastily unzipping his trousers, freeing his hard member from its confine. He hiked your skirt up and moved your panties to the side, feeling your wetness pooling at your entrance. He groaned at the feeling and aligned himself, pushing all the way into you. You moaned at the feeling of being stretched out all at once, not minding the feeling of fullness. Jaehyun grabbed your leg from behind your knee, hiking it up his hip and thrusting faster into you. You moaned at the feeling of him reaching deeper in you, the pressure in your lower belly growing gradually. You tried keeping up with his thrusts, but he was moving at a speed you could not keep up with. His face was buried in your neck, his hot breath tickling you as you tried to move your hips in a way that would rub your clit against his pelvis. He grunted as he picked up the pace, your tight walls pulsing around him.

The position you were in was starting to get very uncomfortable and you tried to adjust; it was to no avail, Jaehyun was still pistoning into you like he had a purpose.

“Jae…” You tried, voice breathless, “Please, slow down.” You pant, scratching at his shoulders in order to get his attention.

He didn’t answer you and he kept up his pace, making you wince at the burn in your thigh and hips. He grunted at the feeling of you trying to move, your tightness finally pushing him over the edge. He released into you with a low moan, his hips finally slowing down. You stood frozen as he sagged against you, hot breath feeling sticky on your neck. He pulled out of you and reached for a tissue to wipe the mess between your thighs, throwing the soiled paper in the trash bin. He silently pulled himself back together, trying to look presentable before he left your office. You silently fixed your skirt as you watched Jaehyun straighten his shirt. You were still trying to make sense of what just happened, your heart thrumming in your chest uncomfortably.

“Are you coming over to my place?” You asked, trying to sound normal despite the tightness in your chest.

“Not tonight. Maybe another time babe. Want me to take you home?” He asks, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

‘Want me to take you home? Since when does he ask?’ You think, perplexed at his question.

“No, It’s fine.” You reply curtly, suddenly in a bad mood.

“You sure?” He questions, not understanding your sudden mood change.

“Yes, it’s fine. Have a good night.” You give him a tight smile. He keeps looking at you for a few more seconds as you gather your purse from your office. He silently follows you into the elevator and waits for your taxi to pick you up. The silence wasn’t extremely uncomfortable but it wasn't as comfortable as it used to be.

“Good night. Text me as soon as you get home.” Jaehyun says, giving you a small peck on the lips. You bid him goodbye and told the cab driver your address, not looking over at Jaehyun as he closed the door for you.

You were glad your cab driver was not one of those people that tried to have uncomfortable conversations. You were trying very hard to keep your tears at bay, not really feeling like crying in the back of a cab. You sniffled a bit and looked out the window, viewing the city passing you by. You were not sure why there was a sudden shift in your relationship with Jaehyun, but it scared you to not know where you stood and what was going on with him.

The cab stopped in front of your apartment building and you were about to text Jaehyun when you noticed a tall figure standing by the entrance of the building.

“Chanyeol?” You asked incredulously, not sure how to react to the fact that Chanyeol was at your residence.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re here alone.” He says, giving you a lazy smile.

“How do you know where I live?” You question, walking up to the steps of your building.

“I have ways of finding out.” He says mischievously.

“That’s really creepy, you know that?” You say, oddly happy to see him. You shake the feeling away as soon as it arrived, confused as to why you even felt that way.

“I guess so. Can I talk to you for a bit?” He questioned, actually looking a little sheepish.

“Yeah, I guess let’s go inside though, it’s cold out here.” You say, suppressing the shiver that ran through you at that second.

You led the way into your apartment, feeling very shy and nervous all of a sudden. You felt like you were doing something wrong. You felt guilty because it felt like you were cheating on Jaehyun. It was a stupid thought because you weren’t cheating on him and you were not doing anything wrong. And to be honest, you were still a little irritated about Jaehyun’s attitude change, so you didn’t really care if it would bother him if Chanyeol was here. You know it was childish, but you could not help it.

“Want some tea?” You asked, heading over to the kitchen to put water in the kettle.

“Sure, that would be great.” He said, sitting awkwardly on your couch. He looked comically small on your couch. For being such a tall guy, that is. He looked around your apartment, impressed at your place.

“Nice place you have here.” He commented, thoroughly impressed at how you had your life together.

“Thanks.” You placed the tea in front of him and sat across from him on the other couch. “So, what is it that you wanted to talk about?” You ask, sipping your tea.

“I just wanted to thank you. For everything.” He says, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Everything? Like, your promos? It’s part of my job, no need to thank me.” You shrug, not sure why he is thanking you.

“No, not that. I want to thank you for pushing me to be better.” He explains, wiping his hands on his pants.

“I don’t think I follow.” You say genuinely confused.

“You want to know the reason I've been able to become successful as Loey?” He inquires, confusing you further.

“Sure.” You shrug, not really understanding.

“You made me realize that if I was ever going to amount to anything, I had to work hard for it. If I was ever going to be good enough to be with you, I had to make something of myself. With that in mind, I worked hard until I reached my goals and surpassed them. Because I wanted to be someone who you could be proud to have by your side.” He explains, making you gulp loudly. You swear he can hear your heart beating in your chest, the air in your lungs running low.

“Chanyeol, I-” You began but were interrupted by him.

“You don’t have to feel pressured or anything. I know that you are in a relationship right now. But I just want you to know how I feel.” He says, giving you a warm smile, something that you never received from him before and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your stomach do somersaults.

“I see. Well, I am glad that I was able to help you, even though I was never aware that my nagging was actually making sense to you.” You both chuckle at that. That whole time you thought you were talking to deaf ears.

“But like you said, I am in a relationship right now. So.” You said with finality, hoping that the little bit of uncertainty you felt right now did not show. Your relationship has been great, so that’s the story you’re sticking to.

“I get it. But I just want you to know that if he somehow messes up, I’m here. I’m waiting for you.” He said that last part with a whisper.

You looked away, not being able to handle his eye contact anymore. He cleared his throat, making you look at him again.

“Well, it’s getting late so I better go.” He stands up from your couch and heads towards your door.

“Okay, be careful.” You say, holding the door open for him.

He looks at you for a few seconds and goes in for an awkward side hug, surprising you due to the sudden action. Before you could react, he was already out your door and heading to the elevators. You closed the door and placed a hand on your chest, willing your heart to stop beating erratically.

‘What just happened?’ You think to yourself, shaking the feeling away and heading to your bathroom to get ready for bed.

The air around you felt hot and stuffy, your skin slick with sweat and the sheets sticking uncomfortably to your back.

Large hands held your waist in a death grip, slim hips keeping your legs apart as he thrusts into you. The fullness of him deep inside you makes you moan loudly, fingers scratching a trail down his back.

His hot breath tickles your neck and you arch your back into him when his rough fingers make contact with your clit.

‘Just like that baby.’ He encourages into your ear, hips grinding into yours, moaning at the feeling of your tightness enveloping him.

Your legs started to shake, a clear sign that your release was soon approaching.

‘Yes baby, cum for me. Open your eyes, I want to see your face when you cum.’ he grunts, hips picking up pace.

You open your eyes and are met with piercing brown orbs; the intense eye contact and the way he keeps hitting that spot inside you are all it takes for you to reach your end.

‘Chanyeol…’ You moan as white hot pleasure takes over your body.

‘That’s it baby. You take me so well.’ He grunts as he fills you with his cum, hips slowing down.

“You’re so good to me baby.” He whispers in your ear, pulling his dick out of you.

You wake up with a jump, heart hammering wildly and skin drenched in sweat. You look at the clock and see that it is 3 am. You silently curse as you sit up to drink some water, feeling completely parched. You see your phone blinking on your night stand and pick it up to see what the notifications were.

You see that you had two missed calls and five messages from Jaehyun.

Babe: hey, did you make it home okay?

Babe: Babe why aren’t you answering me? Are you okay?

Babe: You’re making me worried, please answer me

Babe: Mark has you on snapchat and says he can see your location and it says you’re home. How come I didn’t know you were on snap?

Babe: You must be sleeping. Please message me in the morning so I know you’re okay. I love you

You sighed deeply and put your phone down, feeling bad that you forgot to message Jaehyun yesterday. The memory of your dream coming back full force, making you gasp.

‘I can’t believe I had a wet dream about Chanyeol. What the fuck is wrong with me?’

Once you have completely cooled off, you get back in bed and close your eyes. You had work in the morning and you did not want to dwell on why you dreamt what you did. It meant nothing. You were sure of it.

It had to be nothing.

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theashofwkm · 4 years ago

Text

Ill-Timed Illness

Summary: Where you bump into your dead lover and brother on the street after they go missing at a party the flu stopped you from attending.

Prompt: “could you write something were the Reader was Willams sibling and Damien’s lover and they run into Dark and Wilford on the street or something? Maybe they were supposed to attend the poker night but got sick so couldn’t? Hope this is specific enough sorry.... Thank you :) and again sorry” by anon

Warnings: mentions of drinking? Blood mention. Big feeling of dread that is correct.

Note: It’s no problem, this is actually a really good idea!!! Sorry it takes me 800 million years to do any one request. Can y’all tell that I had no idea what to call this? Because I didn’t. Also small warning that my writing reads a little off here? It’s not bad, but a little funky. I don’t know. But hey, day 3 of continuous posting due to staying up late!!

———

You had been sick. You woke with a fever and a pending head and a nauseous stomach. So you sent your brother with your well wishes to Damien.

He hadn’t come home. You chalked it up to him drinking too much and being too hungover to come home.

The next day passed. Still no William. Your illness was almost over. Just a small fever, infrequent bouts of nausea you were able to suppress. You thought he got too caught up in seeing Damien again, as the two had not seen each other for quite a while. Things with them had been tense -- it’s understandable that they’d get caught up in reconnecting, isn’t it? But without a note or a call, a heads-up that he was staying over?

The third day after the party, you began to worry. You sent a small letter to the Manor, inquiring if he was alright. The servant returned, saying that no one had answered the door.

Dread began to curdle your stomach.

The next day, you no longer feel ill (besides the dread making a home out of your belly) and head over there yourself. It appeared to be abandoned. George isn’t tending the grounds and the windows are dark.

Knocking yields no results. You grab the spare key from under the mat. The air inside is still, as if it hadn’t been stirred for a while.

You noticed the cracked mirror first. Odd. Maybe that’s where everyone was, you thought. But then you see Damien’s cane and a big, red stain on the floor and you know better.

Something is wrong.

You go through the house, searching for Damien, or Mark, or William, or the Butler. It is empty. No one is home. (Someone has to be home because this is where they were and no one has seen them elsewhere -- Will and Damien haven’t come to you, and that is wrong. Damien always stops by with soup and cuddles when you aren’t feeling well and you haven’t even received a get-well note.)

You leave with an uneasy stomach. It turns and twists and you think you might be sick again.

Damien isn’t at work (you didn’t expect him to be). His secretary sweetly informs you that he hasn’t been in since early Friday - hours before the party had begun. And, strangely, he’s not the only one who hasn’t turned up. The new District Attorney, Damien’s old college friend, is missing too. They had been at Poker, too, you think.

Your dread grows, gnawing at your churning stomach.

You go to his house -- maybe Will had simply forgotten to pass on the news of your ill-being? But it’s odd that he hasn’t contacted you in a few days. He’s always in touch with you, too sweet in the frequency of which he sends flowers. You know he’s not at home, but where else could he be?

The butler answers the door. Damien isn’t home, he hasn’t been home all weekend. You try Celine’s house, her shop. Both are empty.

You cannot find anyone. You are out of places to look. Misty-eyed, you idle in front of Celine’s closed shop. They have all seemingly disappeared - Mark and William and Damien and Celine.

Clueless on what to do, you let Damien’s secretary go home for the week. You tell her that Damien is ill and won’t be coming to the office. You hide everyone’s disappearance. Returning home, you request to be left alone, but to be alerted immediately if anything is heard about the three men who have seemingly disappeared.

No news comes.

Months pass, a new Mayor takes Damien’s place. The five of them - Damien, Celine, William, Mark and the Y/N, the DA, are presumed dead. A funeral is held. You don’t go. It feels fake and empty, to hold a funeral for missing men.

You mourn. You always wonder what happened in that Manor that night.

* * * * *

Your life, regrettably, emptily, continues. You never really move on — how could you? Your lover and brother and friend had simply vanished one night. You don’t forgive yourself, harbor a hatred for the simple cold you had.

You would know what had happened, if you hadn’t been ill.

It is years later, and you are window shopping. The shadow of the mystery of that day haunts you, but you are used to it by now. It is the companion you are close with.

You are lost in your head - in that night, of course - when you bump into somebody on the street. You apologize profusely, bowing your head in apology. You are staring at shiny dress shoes, a male.

Your breath leaves you when you meet his face. His hair is messy, his eyes cold and his skin gray, but you know that face. You’d know it anywhere.

“Damien?”

His eyes tighten at your words, something flashing in them before they return to black slabs of ice.

“What are you— are you okay, what happened to you, where have you been, are—?” Your tongue fires off questions, tripping over them in its haste. This is your chance for answers. You are, unknowingly, gripping his suit sleeves.

He shakes you off. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice deeper and layered, not at all like the one you remember. Not at all like the voice that whispered in your ear late at night. “Who are you?”

“What?” The word is cracked, high-pitched and disbelieving. “I- I-I’m Y/N, your girlfriend, what are you—?”

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize you,” the man states coolly. You are sure that this is Damien - the likeness is uncanny, but his hair is messy and his suit is gray and his cane is gone so maybe it isn’t. “You must have me confused for someone else.”

“Yes, I- I suppose I must,” You agree quietly, both believing and distrusting your own words all at once. He is so much like Damien, identical, but his mannerism is so different. It is your Damien, but it also cannot be.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper your apology, flashing an uneasy, sad smile as you take a step back. It feels wrong— this has to be Damien. You think maybe it’s your imagination playing tricks on you.

He steps away, leaving you with your feet stuck to the floor. You had been so sure that he was Damien. He’s unusual, even without fact that he’s Damien’s duplicate.

A man dressed brightly, giddy and laughing, approaches him. The gray one — Damien, appears annoyed, but not surprised. They must know each other, you think offhandedly, your eyes still caught on the man so similar to your old lover.

The colorful one accuses not-Damien of leaving him behind and the voice sends ice through your veins, causing you to turn to the two men.

William?

Your breath is frozen, you are, watching two men who you swear you know walk away. Your feet scramble against the cobbled path as you race to catch up with them. You need to see his face. If it’s not him, not William, then you’ll continue on. You’ll forget that you ever saw them, if you see his face and it’s not him.

“Will?” You call out hesitantly, only steps behind them. He turns around, a little confused as to who’s calling for him, but accepting that it is him that is being called upon.

And you recognize his face. His hair is different, well-groomed and colored pink on top, as is his curly mustache, but it’s him. It’s him.

“William,” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes as you try not to cry. “It’s you.”

“Sorry?” His voice lilts, accented in a way it wasn’t before, much more prominent, but still so similar. “Do I know you?”

“Yes,” you say, desperate again, taking a step forward and ignoring the glare of ice from Damien. That has to be Damien, if this is William. “You’re my brother.”

William eyes Damien, posture suddenly nervous. “Brother?” He questions, turning his eyes back to you and softening the features on his face.

He takes a hesitant step forwards that is quickly stopped by Damien. “No, Wilford,” he says, shooting his glare towards you. “You would remember a sibling if you had one, wouldn’t you?”

“I—” William swings just gaze between you and and Damien, looking conflicted at the mismatching stories. “But they seem familiar,” he says, turning to Damien like a child searching for validation.

“You’ve met a lot of people,” the other man replies, your (ex) lover replies. “They’re probably just another crazed fan of yours, wanting to get on the show.”

One of you must be lying and he trusts Damien more. “Right, right.” He nods like the other man’s words make sense. “Trusty Dark, looking out for me.” He pinches Damien’s cheek -- not-Damien? He’s adamant, but there’s personal heat in his glare, rage you don’t feel over a stranger’s misunderstanding.

This is them, but they’re gone, walking away in the skin of men you know, but without the hearts you loved, that loved you. You break right there on the street and neither man turns around to check on you.

That is what makes the reality you’ve been denying sink in. Damien and William -- they are gone. Changed if not dead and they have no want for you anymore. They don’t care about you anymore.

And how could they?

You missed the night that took them away. You weren’t there when you were needed. They went missing and you will never know what happened. Poker went wrong, they changed, your brother didn’t know your name and your lover tried to make you think you were crazy. Maybe you were.

This is what you get, though, for getting sick at the wrong time. No answers and a multitude of questions that will eat you into your grave.

------

Masterlist

I realize that I accidentally made the housing situation a bit strange. So let’s just say that Celine has a cheap apartment and the reader (not the DA) has their own place that Will has been crashing at since the fallout with Mark and Celine. That fixed? Good.

TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae @notfr0mh3r3 @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy (tags are open, just ask)

#my writing #angst #wkm #who killed markiplier #wkm fic #theashwrites #theashangst #wkm william #wkm damien #wkm wilford #wkm dark #reader insert #honestly im kinda iffy on this one #but the one coming tomorrow is much better i promise

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years ago

Note

any recs for old!Johnlock? (Preferably not retired) Thanks!

Hi Nonny!

Ohhh, hmm. You know, I have absolutely READ older-couple Johnlock fics, but the only ones I’m remembering are when they’re retired or “not together but have got together when they old and dying” LOL.

I did a list last year for Retirementlock fics, and I do have new stuff but not a lot, so is it okay if I do “Retirement and Older Johnlock” fics for you? I hope so!! I tag them retirement if it’s retirement, so you can skip those ones

Feel free, my friends, to add your own!!

RETIREMENT and OLDER JOHNLOCK (Jan 2020)

Our Bodies Bend Light by lovetincture (G, 1,211 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Beekeeping, Retirement) – They got married. Of course they got married. Snapshots in a relationship. There’s a jar of bees in the bookstore and a cottage in Sussex. Sherlock’s not the marrying kind, and John’s tried this once before, but they’re Sherlock and John. Of course.

Fine Print by mistyzeo (E, 4,224 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Holmes || Est. Rel, Retirementlock, Glasses, Oral, Hand Jobs, Bees) – Holmes needs glasses, but he’s too much of a stubborn arse to go get his eyes checked. Watson is used to bullying him for his own good. The glasses have unexpected but not unwelcome consequences for everyone.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Second Waltz by Atiki (T, 6,685 w. 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Missed Chances, Retirement, Sussex, Bees, MCD, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Cancer) – “The night I died, you wished I could wait for you.”

Abatement by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 6,816 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Retirementlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Self Esteem, Grumpy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, PWP, Fluff and Smut, Bottomlock) – “What’s wrong with you? You love the cottage,” John glances over to the passenger seat, then quickly turns his eyes back to the road. Driving was still not his forte, but considering Sherlock still couldn’t properly bend and lift his new knee enough to press and release the clutch, he had to make do. Not that Sherlock hadn’t tried to argue his way into the driver’s seat. “I love the cottage for a week or two, John. Don’t be deliberately obstuse,” Sherlock grumbles, sinking further in his seat. Well, as best he can with a four-week-old knee replacement. “And that’s all we’re going for, love,” John says out loud. But what he’s thinking is, shit. He knows.

A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – … And one time it didn’t matter.

In The End by whitchry9 (K+, 9,677 w. || Memento Fusion || Amnesia, Growing Old, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Heavy Angst) – When a brain injury leaves Sherlock unable to make new memories, John wonders how Sherlock will cope, and what it will mean for The Work and their life. Because after all, how can you live if you can’t feel time passing?

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you’re living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w., 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid, Angst, Reunion, Falling in Love, Open Ending) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John’s…

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching, Mycroft is Dying) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he’s given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost…magical.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. “You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie’s class and you won’t have to share a room with a stranger?” “Exactly.” Sherlock beamed at him. “Don’t worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us.”

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock’s five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles (T, 107,998 w., 215 Ch. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,100 w. across 45 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

Sketchy by serpentynka (E, 184,053 w., 83 Ch. || Post-TRF, Post-Mary, John Whump, Slow Burn Love Story, Case Fic, Art, Porn With Feelings, Switchlock, Travelling, Career Change, Family Secrets, Illness / Health) – What (and who) will be left when nobody cares about your Work? A slow-burn fic with cases, places, mistaken identities, unfair choices, essential changes, violent feels, blatant lies, fearless portraiture, family secrets, high-risk bespoke gifts, durable friendships, bedtime stories, foreign travel and tongues, sickness (and health), and the significance of things which are slow to unfurl – but cannot be ignored. Oh, and…porn. Part 1: Sherlock takes on an obvious case (barely a 4) and meets someone who will force him to re-examine what it means to see. Part 1 of Sketchy

MARKED FOR LATER

The Last of the Honey Bees by what_alchemy (T, 2,000 w., 1 Ch. || Apocalypse, Retirement) – “When we’re all space dust… when all of this is gone? My molecules will find yours.”

A One-Track Life by JennLynn77 (E, 13,526 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4/TFP, Parentlock, Est. Rel., Medical Procedures, Anal, Cuddling/Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Surgery, Physical Therapy, Retirement, Sherlock Whump, Caring John, Bottomlock, Endearments, Drug Addiction, Triggers) – A medical situation threatens to derail the plans Sherlock had for his life with John and Rosie.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all. (Ch. 7 is the Retirement Fic)

FictoberLock 2018 by FinAmour & unicornpoe (M, 60,875 w., 31 Ch. || Halloween, Protective John, Smitten Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Injured Sherlock, Various Prompts) – 31 different prompts, 31 Johnlock fics: one every day for the month of October! Each chapter is a stand-alone story. Some are written by unicornpoe, some by FinAmour, and some are written by us both! They range in length from ~500 words to ~3500 words, and there’s something in here for everyone. (Ch. 23 is the Retirement Chapter)

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #retirement #older johnlock #retirementlock #Anonymous #fic rec sunday #my fic recs

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maximelebled · 4 years ago

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2019 & 2020

Hello everyone! So yeah, this yearly blog post is about three... four months late... it covers two years now.

I did have a lot of things written last year, last time, but the more things have changed, the more I’ve realized that a lot of things I talked about on here... were because I lacked enough of a social life to want to open up on here.

In a less awkwardly-phrased way, what I’m saying is, I was coping.

Not an easy thing to admit to in public by any means, but I reckon it’s the truth. Over the past two years, I’ve made more of an effort to build better & healthier friendships, dial back my social media usage a bit (number 1 coping strategy), not tie all my friendships to games I play, especially Dota (number 2 coping strategy), so that I could be more emotionally healthy overall.

Pictured: me looking a whole lot like @dril on the outside, although not so much on the inside. (Photo by my lovely partner.)

To some degree, I believe it’s important to be able to talk about yourself a bit more openly in a way that is generally not encouraged nor made easy on other social networks (looking at you, Twitter). I know that 2010-me would be scared to approach 2020-me; and it’s my hope that what I am writing here would not help him with that, but also help him become less of an insecure dweeb faster. 😉

Not that recent accomplishments have stopped me from being any less professionally anxious. Sometimes the impostor syndrome just morphs into... something else.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is, the first reason it took me until this year to finish last year’s post is because, with my shift in perspective, and these realizations about myself, I do want to keep a lot more things private... or rather, it’s that I don’t feel the need to share them anymore? And that made figuring out what to write a fair bit harder.

The other reason I didn’t write sooner is because, in 2018, I wrote my "year in review” post right before I became able to talk about my then-latest cool thing (my work on Valve’s 2018 True Sight documentary). So I then knew I’d have to bring it up in the 2019 post. But then, I was asked to work on the 2019 True Sight documentary, and I know it was going to air in late January 2020, so I was like, “okay, well, whatever, it, I’ll just write this yearly recap after that, so I don’t miss the coach this time”. So I just ended up delaying it again until I was like... “okay, whatever, I’ll just do both 2019 and 2020 in a single post.”

I think I can say I’ve had the privilege of a pretty good 2019, all things considered. And also of a decent 2020, given the circumstances. Overall, 2019 was a year of professional fulfillment; here’s a photo taken of me while I was managing the augmented reality system at The International 2019! (The $35 million dollar Dota 2 tournament that was held, this that year, in Shanghai.)

If I’d shown this to myself 10 years ago it would’ve blown my mind, so I guess things aren’t all that bad...!

I’ve brought up two health topics in these posts before: weight & sleep.

As for the first, the situation is still stable. If it is improving, it is doing so at a snail’s pace. But quite frankly, I haven’t put in enough effort into it overall. Even though I know my diet is way better than it was five or six years ago, I’ve only just really caught up with the “how it should have been the entire time” stage. It is a milestone... but not necessarily an impressive one. Learning to cook better things for myself has been very rewarding and fulfilling, though. It’s definitely what I’d recommend if you need to find a place to start.

As for sleep, throughout 2019, I continued living 25-hour days for the most part. There were a few weeks during which I slowed down the process, but it continued on going. Then, in late December of 2019, motivated by the knowledge that sleep is such a foundational pillar of your health, I figured I really needed to take things seriously, and I managed to go on a three month streak of mostly-stable sleep! (See the data above.)

Part of what helped was willingly stopping to use my desktop computer once it got too late in the day, avoiding Dota at the end of the day as much as possible, and anything exciting for that matter... and, as much as that sounds like the worst possible stereotype, trying to “listen to my body” and recognizing when I was letting stress and anxiety build up inside me, and taking a break or trying to relax.

Also, a pill of melatonin before going to bed; but even though it’s allegedly not a problem to take melatonin, I figured I should try to rely on it as little as possible.

Unfortunately, that “good sleep” streak was abruptly stopped by a flu-like illness... it might have been Covid-19. The symptoms somewhat matched up, but I was lucky: they were very mild. I fully recovered in just over a week. I coughed a bit, but not that much. If it really was that disease, then I got very lucky.

(Pictured: another photo by my lovely SO, somewhere in Auvergne.)

My sleep continued to drift back to its 25-hour rhythm, and I only started resuming these efforts towards the fall... mostly because living during the night felt like a better option with the summer heat (no AC here). I thought about doing that the other way (getting up at 3am instead of going to bed at 7am), and while it’d make more sense temperature-wise, that would have kept me awake when there were practically no people online, and I was trying to have a better social life then, even if had to be purely online due to the coronavirus, so... yeah.

I’ve been working from home since 2012! I also lived alone for a number of years since then. For the most part, it hasn’t been a great thing for my mental health. Having had a taste of what being in an office was like thanks to a couple weeks in the Valve offices, I had the goal of beginning to apply at a few places here and there in March/April. Then the pandemic hit, so those plans are dead in the water. I wanted 2020 to be the year in which I’d finally stop being fully remote, but those plans are now dead in the water.

Now, at the end of the year, I don’t really know if I want to apply at any places. There’s a small handful of studios whose work really resonates with me, creatively speaking, and whose working conditions seem to be alright, at least from what I hear... but, and I swear I’m saying this in the least braggy way possible... there’s very little that beats having been able to work on what I want, when I want, and how much I want.

This kind of freelance status can be pretty terrifying sometimes, but I’ve managed (with some luck, of course) to reach a safe balance, a point at which I’ve effectively got this luxury of being able to only really work on what I want, and never truly overwork myself (at least by the standards of most of the gaming industry). It’s a big privilege and I feel like it’d take a lot to give it up.

Besides the things I mentioned before, one thing I did that drastically improved my mental health was being introduced to a new lovely group of friends by my partner! I started playing Dungeons & Dragons with them, every weekend or so! And in the spirit of a rising tide lifting all boats, I managed to also give back to our lovely DM, by being a sort of “AM” (audio manager)... It’s been great having something to look forward to every week.

Something to look forward to... I’ve heard about the concept of “temporal anchors”. I had heard about how the reason our adult years suddenly pass by in a blur is because we now have more “time” that’s already in our brains, but now I’m more convinced that it’s because we’re going from a very school routine such as the one schools impose upon us, to, well... practically nothing.

I thought most of my years since 2011 have been a blur, but none have whooshed by like 2020 has, and I reckon part of that is because I’ve (obviously) gone out far far less, and most importantly there wasn’t The Big Summer Event That The International Is, the biggest yearly “temporal anchor” at my disposal. The anticipation and release of those energies made summer feel a fair bit longer... and this year, summer was very much a blur for me. In and out like the wind.

I guess besides that, I haven’t really had that much trouble with being locked down. I had years of training for that, after all. Doesn’t feel like I can complain. 😛

(Pictured: trip to Chicago in January of 2019... right when the polar vortex hit!)

Work was good in 2019, and sparser in 2020. Working with Valve again after the 2018 True Sight was a very exciting opportunity. At the time, in February of 2019, I was out with my partner on little holiday trips around my region, and, after night fell, on the way back, we decided to stop in a wide open field, on a tiny countryside path, away from the cities, to try and do some star-gazing, without light pollution getting in the way.

And it’s there and then that I received their message, while looking at the stars with my SO! The timing and location turned that into a very vivid memory...

I then got to spend a couple weeks in their offices in late April / early May. I was able to bring my partner along with me to Washington State, and we did some sightseeing on the weekends.

(Pictured: part of a weekend trip in Washington. This was a dried up lakebed.)

After that, I worked on the Void Spirit trailer in the lead to The International. In August, those couple weeks in Shanghai were intense. Having peeked behind the curtain and seen everything that goes into production really does give me a much deeper appreciation for all the work that goes unseen.

Then after that, in late 2019, there was my work on the yearly True Sight documentary, for the second time. In 2018, I’d been tasked with making just two animated sequences, and I was very nervous since that was my first time working directly with Valve; my work then was fairly “sober”, for lack of a better term.

(Pictured: view from my hotel room in Shanghai.)

For the 2019 edition, I had double the amount of sequences on my plate, and they were very trusting of me, which was very reassuring. I got to be more technically ambitious, I let my style shine through (you know... if it’s got all these gratuitous light beams, etc.), and it was real fun to work on.

At the premiere in Berlin, I was sitting in the middle of the room (in fact, you could spot me in the pre-show broadcast behind SirActionSlacks; unfortunately I had forgotten to bring textures for my shirt). Being in that spot when my shots started playing, and hearing people laughing and cheering at them... that’s an unforgettable memory. The last time I had experienced something like that was having my first Dota short film played at KeyArena in 2015, the laughter of the crowd echoing all around me... I was shaking in my seat. Just remembering it gets my heart pumping, man. It’s a really unique feeling.

So I’m pretty happy with how that work came out. I came out of it having learned quite a few new tricks too, born out of necessity from my technical ambitions. Stuff I intend to put to use again. I’m really glad that the team I worked with at Valve was so kind and great to work with. After the premiere, I received a few more compliments from them... and I did reply, “careful! You might give me enough confidence to apply!”, to which one of them replied, “you totally should, man.” But I still haven’t because I’m a massive idiot, haha. Well, I still haven’t because I don’t think I’m well-rounded enough yet. And also because, like I alluded to before, I think I’m in a pretty good situation as it is.

It’s not the first encouragements I had received from them, too; there had been a couple people from the Dota team who, at the end of my two week stay in the offices, while I was on my way out, told me I should try applying. But again, I didn’t apply because I’m a massive idiot.

(Pictured: view from the Valve offices.)

To be 200% frank, even though there’s been quite a few people who’ve followed my work throughout the years, comments on Reddit and YouTube, etc. who’ve all said things along the lines of “why aren’t you working for them ?”, well... it’s not something I ever really pursued. I know it’s a lot of people’s dream job, but I never saw it that way. I feel like, if it ever happened to me... sure, that could be cool! But I don’t know if it’s something I really want, or even that I should want?

And if you add “being unsure” to what I consider to be a lack of experience in certain things, well... I really don’t think I’d be a good candidate (yet?), and having seen how busy these people are on the inside, the last thing I want to do is waste their time with a bad application. That would be the most basic form of courtesy I can show to them.

Besides, Covid-19 makes applying to just about any job very hard, if not outright impossible right now. And for a while longer, I suspect.

(Pictured: the Tuilière & Sanadoire rocks.)

I’m still unhappy about the amount of “actual animation” I get to do overall since I like to work on just about every step of the process in my videos, but well. It’s getting better. One thing I am happy with though, is “solving problems”. And new challenges. Seeking the answers to them, and making myself be able to see those problems, alongside entire projects, from a more “holistic” way, that is to say, not missing the forest for the trees.

It’s hard to explain, and even just the use of the term “holistic” sounds like some kind of pompous cop-out... but looking back on how I handled projects 5 years ago vs. now, I see the differences in how I think about problems a lot. And to some extent I do have my time on Valve contracts to thank a LOT in helping me progress there.

Anyway, I’m currently working on a project that I’m very interested & creativefuly fulfilled by. But it has nothing to do with animation nor Dota, for a change! There are definitely at least two other Dota short films I want to make, though. We’ll see how that goes.

Happy new year & take care y’all.

#year in review

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delightfully-difficult-pirate · 5 years ago

Text

Freaky Friday the 14th (CSRR) (2/3)

AN: I intended to post the finale of this fic today, but I haven’t had the time to finish editing it all. So instead of not posting, I’m posting what I have as part 2 and next week I’ll get the rest of it posted as part 3. Sorry! Another thanks to @mariakov81 for her wonderful art that served as inspiration and has tested my writing abilities. And of course to @csrolereversal for organizing this event.

Rating: PG-13

Part 1 (art)

AO3: Ch1 Ch2

~*~

*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*

Emma hated Killian’s alarm clock. It was an actual, physical alarm clock, and an ancient one at that. Well, ancient may be too strong of a word, but it was old. So old that she couldn’t plug her phone into it so that it played something other than the annoying buzzer as the alarm.

Buried beneath the covers, Emma reached out one arm and clumsily slapped the alarm clock until the sound ceased. She slowly lifted her arm and squinted at the clock.

7:15am.

So absorbed as she was trying to figure out why Killian had set the alarm for so early on a weekend, it took her a couple of moments until she realized that the arm holding the blankets up was not her own.

Except it was.

It was the arm that moved when she instinctively jerked it back in shock.

Freaked out, Emma tried to unbury herself from the bedcovers, but only tangled herself further. She continued to fight against them until she tumbled off the bed and onto the floor. Finally, she fought free, but when she tried to stand, she found it difficult. Her body felt disjoined and heavy and her head was pounding. Confused, she looked down at herself.

Emma was greeted with the sight of a bare, hairy chest that she was intimately acquainted with. Killian’s chest. She pulled on the waistband of the grey lounge pants. Definitely Killian’s penis.

“What the fuck?”

Killian’s sleep rough voice came from her… his… mouth.

How was this possible?

This had to be some freaky, weird dream.

People couldn’t just… switch bodies.

So what happened?

~*~

Killian woke slowly, confused. He could have sworn that he’d remembered to set his alarm the night before, but the light filtering through the closed blinds told him it was later than he normally woke up. His confusion deepened as he realized that he was in Emma’s apartment. He’d gone home last night, after the disastrous dinner. How had he ended up at Emma’s apartment, in Emma’s bed?

And why was everything blurry?

Killian roughly rubbed a hand across his face to help wake himself up and was shocked to not feel his signature scruff against his palm. Had he decided to shave last night, for some odd reason? He’d had a few more drinks after getting home and had defiantly been drunk by the time he’d gone to bed, but surely it hadn’t been enough for him to not remember shaving? And apparently make his way to his girlfriend’s apartment? It had been a long time since he’d been blackout drunk, but that would also explain why he still couldn’t see properly.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured in a voice not his own.

That woke Killian up and he shot straight up. He quickly scrambled out of bed and promptly fell flat onto the floor, his limbs not obeying. He heaved himself back up and stumbled his way toward the bathroom.

He was… Emma.

And he looked exhausted.

The underside of his… her… eyes were puffy, as if he’d… she’d… been crying.

The realization that Emma must have cried sometime after returning home from dinner was like a knife in his heart. That was his fault. Him and his stupid, ill-timed proposition.

Killian dropped his head forward.

“What have I done?”

Before he could spiral too far down that depressing line of thought, he heard Emma’s phone start to ring. He clumsily left the bathroom and spotted Emma’s cellphone on the bedside table, which showed a picture of himself relaxing on Emma’s bed and his name on the screen.

If he was in Emma’s body… she must be in his!

Killian scrambled across the bed and swiped across the screen to answer the call.

“Emma? Are you alright?” He inquired frantically.

The line was silent for a moment before he heard his own voice answer in reply.

“Killian, are you… me?”

He answered in the affirmative before repeating his question about how she was.

“I’m confused as fuck. What is going on?” She asked.

“I don’t know, Emma. But we are going to figure it out,” he told her, “I promise you, we will get this sorted.”

Emma’s voice quaked when she asked, “How?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he answered honestly. “Stay put. I’m going to head over there and we can figure this out, together.”

He could hear Emma breathing heavily on the other end of the call. Eventually, she replied, “Okay. That sounds good. I’ll get the coffee started. I feel like we’re going to need lot of it.”

~*~

Four hours later, Emma and Killian were in his living room doing research on how they could have swapped bodies. Killian was on the floor, surrounded by piles of books on mythology and legends. Most were from his own shelves, history nerd that he was, but some he had grabbed from the library on his way over.

It was weird, seeing herself from the outside, especially looking so academic. He was wearing her glasses, unwilling to risk any damage to her eyes by trying to put contact lenses in he’d said. They kept slipping down his nose due to a broken nose pad, which reminded her that she needed to get a new pair.

While Killian was in his element with the books, she was using her rusty internet sleuthing skills and was hunting down information online using keywords and search terms Killian suggested. Something that was frustratingly difficult with only one hand. Did they not make laptops or keyboards that were easier for one-handed individuals to use?

When another term brought her to a page about yet another mythological trickster, she asked, “Does every mythology have some sort of trickster god?”

Killian looked up from the book he was skimming, face thoughtful. “I believe so. Some even have multiple, in a way, with many entities representing different mischievous attributes. Pan would probably be the trickster of Greek mythology, but there is also Eris, the Goddess of discord. And Dionysis could be considered a bit of a trickster, being the deity of madness.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile at Killian’s thorough answer. Even though mythology wasn’t his area of study, he was a historian and always tried to give the most complete answer possible.

After answering, Killian looked contemplative. “Do you think we have been cursed by some sort of trickster?” He asked slowly.

Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you?”

Killian scratched behind his ear, clearly embarrassed, but all Emma could concentrate on was how surreal it was to see her own body display Killian’s tick.

“We are obviously looking at some type of supernatural cause, as impossible as that seems, so it’s as good as an answer as any,” he eventually admitted.

Just as Emma was about to answer, her phone buzzed. It was her calendar app reminding her that she and Killian were supposed to meet Mary-Margaret and David for dinner and drinks that evening. She showed the notification to Killian, who blinked owlishly at it.

“We have to reschedule,” he simply stated.

Emma was shaking her head before he even finished. “Both of us can’t cancel.

They’ll know something is up and we’ll never hear the end of it until we tell them.”

“We could claim one of us isn’t feeling well,” he suggested hopefully.

“And Mary-Margaret will be over with soup within the hour,” she countered. After a moment, she continued, “Research is more you’re area, so I’ll go and make-up something to explain your absence.”

“Such as?”

She shrugged, her eyes on the website in front of her. “Maybe that we fought last night and you… well, me, technically… are not currently in the mood to see me, or rather you. The best lies are those with some basis in the truth, after all.”

The room was silent in the wake of her suggestion. Emma looked up from her computer to find Killian staring at her.

“Is that how this day would have gone, if we weren’t in this… unusual situation?” He asked, his voice soft.

Uncomfortable being under her own gaze, Emma shifted on the couch. “Possibly,” she admitted. “I probably would have called Mary-Margaret at some point. Asked for her advice on the situation.”

Killian continued to study her.

“And you?” She eventually asked. “I already know that you came home and drank half the bottle of rum David gave you for Christmas, so would you have just spent the day nursing the hangover?”

The hangover that she was still coping with, even after a substantial amount of water and numerous cups of coffee.

“Ah… yes. Sorry about that,” he apologized. “I was planning to invite you to Granny’s for breakfast, actually.”

“Really?”

Killian nodded solemnly. “I guess it would have been a fool’s hope that you would have been willing to meet after last night.”

Emma’s heart clenched painfully.

“Killian, I…” she started but her phone rang just as she did.

She was about to answer it before she remembered that she currently wasn’t herself and neither of them were in the habit of answering the other’s phones. She passed it to Killian, who grabbed it as if it were a snake about to bite him.

“Just… act like me?” She suggested hopefully.

Killian rolled his eyes before answering the call and putting it on speaker phone.

“Emma!” Mary-Margaret’s excited voice filled the room. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m fine, M. You?”

“I’m having a lovely day. Are you and Killian still meeting David and me tonight?”

“That was the plan.” Killian did a rather good job imitating her more succinct pattern of speech, Emma noted. Much better than she was at his.

“Excellent. Would 5:30pm work for the two of you?”

Killian looked at her for guidance. Emma signaled for him to answer, hoping he could come up with some reasonable explanation for his… her… absence.

“Actually, I’m feeling a bit tired today. I was thinking…” He started before being interrupted by their friend.

“Are you sick? Do you need me to bring you anything? I have some chicken noodle soup I made on Saturday.” Mary-Margaret was true to form, immediately offering all the comforts she could provide to a sick friend.

Killian looked startled and he struggled to interrupt Mary-Margaret. “No, I’m not sick,” he insisted. “I just didn’t sleep well, that is all.”

“Are you sure? It will only take thirty minutes or so for me to warm up some of the soup and bring it over,” Mary-Margaret insisted.

Killian stumbled over his words as he replied, “No, I really am fine, truly. 5:30pm works great. We’ll meet you at Granny’s.”

“Ok, great! See you both then!” After that, the call disconnected but Killian continued to stare at the phone.

“That didn’t go like I had hoped,” he eventually said.

Emma tried to remember if Killian had ever had the full force of Mary-Margaret’s protective nature turned on him before. She didn’t think so.

“Don’t worry about it. If we can’t find a solution to our… problem before dinner, we can just get them drunk enough that they won’t notice if anything is different about us.”

Killian looked dubious at her suggestion, but he couldn’t offer any other alternative plan. Now with a time limit, they both dove back into their research.

~*~

See you next week!

#Captain Swan AU #Captain Swan role reversal #CSRR #FFt14 #Lee writes

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