#reblogging myself at the most inconvenient hours as usual

[kiryoutann]

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Emergency meeting, they said.

The aristocrats filled the familiar large hall, where the meeting was about to begin. Some had curious expressions, but not a few had irritated faces after being forced to abandon whatever business they were doing before the knights sent letters to come to the main palace immediately.

“Is His Highness in his right mind now?” One sitting near Duke Maxim joked.

Another nodded in agreement. "Let's hope so. I left my woman for this.” He said, the smell of cigars and alcohol following his breath.

The sound of the large door opening. All eyes were drawn to Prince Childe, who entered with an expression that stood out in stark contrast to yesterday's. Brilliant blue eyes scanned the royals as if they were looking for someone. Either he found them or he was waiting for something, Childe walked towards his seat.

"Good afternoon everyone!"

The nobles' jaws hung open. Just now, had he really just greeted them? Rather than an emergency conference, he was now acting as if this was nothing more than a tea party that noble ladies usually host.

“"Please accept my apologies for the inconvenient times. But I think today is the right day for something dramatic." He continued, adding to the confusion in the room.

In his chair, Childe sat up straight. Unlike the previous days when he had served as his spokesperson, Dmitri stood silently next to him. The prince curled his lips into a smile which he gave everyone. He rested his elbows on the table before linking his fingers with one another.

"I have answers for two things that are still in question: the King's death investigation and the attack on the Princess."

The smile grew wider when his ears caught the mutterings of the nobles. His hands tightened from the excitement. He let them say whatever they wanted, as compensation for their inability to do so in the next few hours.

“That's why I brought that person here myself.”

More shocking than Childe smiling was the woman who had just entered the room. There are no whispers between the sounds of your approaching footsteps, perhaps because the people trailing you are no less interesting. In his seat, Duke Maxim swallowed hard. Why the hell is that confidant here?

Several pairs of eyes looked at you as if you were a ghost—an undead they didn't think would survive. You replied with a smile on your face.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Compared to Childe's, your greeting sounded calmer. But, why now did Maxim feel the urge to get up from his chair and make excuses to leave the meeting? The uneasiness in his stomach was inexplicable. What is he afraid of? It's impossible for you to know everything, right? There’s no way.

“It's nice to see familiar faces. If the situation was different, perhaps I would have invited all of you to a tea party.”

You're always good at small talk. Being too adept at wrapping yourself up makes it seem like you're nothing more than a stupid woman who happens to be lucky to have a princely husband from a great kingdom. You've always liked that way though, leading your prey into a trap with a smile before actually catching them.

A glance you give to Childe. “Your Highness, may I?” You sound as if you're requesting approval.

On the features of his handsome face, a smile was carved perfectly; one that makes some stir in uneasiness. Unlike you, most of the time every time Childe smiles is a sign that something bad is about to happen.

“Go ahead, Love. Tell me what I don't know." He says.

You nodded, "Thank you, Your Highness."

“In these few days, I have spent all my time unconscious after an assassination attempt was made on the royal family.” You began. “It appears to have been well planned. Someone deliberately set off something on the other side of the building to attack the members of the royal family as they were rushing towards the safe room.”

That smile you put on said one thing but friendliness. "In order to reveal the truth of this crime, let me name people who will aid me." You raise your free hand.

The index finger was pointed in an impolite manner, as if you had forgotten that they were titled nobles. However, no one dared open their mouths to protest—not when Childe sat in his chair with a proud smile as he rested his chin on his hand as if he were watching opera. Maxim anxiously watched you point out one by one the people who happened to be part of his group. No... something like this couldn't be a coincidence. Has someone betrayed him?

“The gentlemen I have chosen, please stand before me.” The order was given by you.

Cold sweat started pouring from their temples. No matter how hard they tried to hide it, fear was too obvious on their faces. Of the many people you appointed, no one dared to come forward.

“Your Highness! This is slander! I did nothing!"

The shout of one of them echoed throughout the room. Childe ignored him, but was clearly amused. These people reminded him of a frightened mouse in a trap. You try hard to hold back a smile that breaks into a chuckle.

“Lord Lebedev, nobody is accusing you of anything. Did I not say that I would select people who would assist me in revealing the truth?"

If he was pale earlier, your words just now have drained the blood from his face. Too defensive without provocation. It was enough to get opinions and assumptions circulating in the room. Without you having to catch them, they will walk right into your trap. You won't have to say much and they will confess in the end.

"I'll repeat it once more. Please stand before me.”

Doubts. They are filled of doubts as they take steps to approach you. After they are all lined up in a row, you count them all out with your eyes. Ten people, only the mastermind remained sitting in fear in his chair. The best bait deserves the biggest surprise.

"There are a lot of you." You make a remark as you join your hands in front. “I was wondering, with this many people, can you make sure that no one is a traitor?”

Instantly, air seemed to be blocked from entering his lungs. Maxim felt a chill on his back, as if winter had suddenly come and touched him. In contrast to what he was feeling, his sweat was dripping like a man in flames. Unconsciously he locked his jaw. Is that true? That someone has betrayed? He glanced at each of his accomplices, trying to figure out who might have done that.

The pressure in the atmosphere of the room increases.

"For me to know exactly who was in this, I know it can't be called a coincidence." you smile. "One of you has turned traitor and told me everything."

Those nobles before you can no longer hide their fear. They started glancing at each other, staring for a long time as if communicating telepathically. It turns out they don't trust each other so much that one word from you can make them look ready to pick and bestow one of them as a sacrifice.

You bring your hands together. “"How about we play a guessing game to ease the tension? Whoever can guess the traitor is will have their sentence reduced.” Your voice is enthusiastic, blind to their anxiety.

In his seat, Childe widened a smile. You're crazy, very crazy. It was something that made his chest fill with warmth and his heart beat with enthusiasm. He clenched his fists to exercise control. He's going to let you have the fun this time—at least while they're still alive, before they're left alone in the room with him.

From despair, one of them pushed another. "Him! It must be him!”

"Are you crazy?!" The other one replied.

“Lieutenant Kozlov did say that he was thinking of turning himself in to His Highness in case the plan failed! It must be him!”

Your brows furrow, feigning curiosity. "He said that when..?"

“After that meeting! After we discussed the plan!”

Silence fell as soon as the echo of the answer disappeared. At the same time, the nobleman realized what he had just said. Another one has fallen into your trap, and you're still holding yourself back from celebrating.

“Ah, a confession.” You said softly.

“N-no, Your Highness! It is not my intention-!"

"You have the tenacity to find the 'traitor'. But, I'm afraid you won't be granted amnesty because, to be entirely honest, there were no traitors from the start.” You watch their eyes widen as their jaws droop, threatening to fall. "I have to say, though, that you all make for an excellent bunch considering you all have the same objectives and viewpoints. Perhaps that is what made you equally foolish, and why you chose to seek the 'traitor' rather than be one to protect the royal family. For a moment, I thought you really wanted no leniency at all.”

“Your Highness! Please!”

"It must have taken someone slightly wiser than all of you to come up with such a plan." You walk up to the older man. "This might be your last chance to be forgiven. Tell me, who is that person?"

The man rubbed his sweaty hands. He blinked a few times, took a few breaths. But despite his best attempts, the tension in his shoulders and the shaking in his lips persisted. Knowing that the scenario had changed to whether they still had tomorrow, the other nobles behind him sneakily peered at each other.

"It's.. it's.." His Adam's apple bobbed and swallowed hard. “It's..”

The sound of something falling to the floor. You turned to find another noble in front of you kneeling shouting a name.

“It's Duke Maxim! Your Highness! Duke Maxim planned all of that!”

"It’s a lie! A slander!”

A new voice made the whole room turn to the handsome man who now stood up from his seat. The star in this story has broken his silence. Behind the lashes, his eyes were wide open. How could he say it was slander when he was sweating like that?

“Duke,” You turned your body towards him. “Do you have anything to say?”

Maxim clenched his fists tightly, trying to calm himself down. He knew his brain wouldn't work under anger. “That is baseless slander, Your Highness.” He repeated, this time in a quieter voice.

“Is that so?” You swept your eyes across the anxious nobles before you. "If that's the case, then why do they say you're the mastermind?"

Maxim clenched his jaw. “I.. I don't know either. As a duke… isn't it logical to have someone frame me like this?” His voice trails off at the end, trying to pass himself off as an ill-fated man. "Someone wants to ruin me, Your Highness!"

"Perhaps you mean Liyue?"

When you said that, the arguments for self-defense came to an end.

"That day, you spent the most time with the King. Before we drink tea together, you have already given him wine. Was it from Zhilchik?" You maintain eye contact with Maxim until you realize he is glaring at you with intense resentment. "After a split second of drinking the tea, the late king coughed up blood. All my life I have been trained to remember the events I saw, but surely you would have doubts about that."

You turned to the confidant of the late king, Vlad. “Sir Vlad, please explain as best you can.”

Vlad—with a polite nod at you—walked over to stand beside you. He glanced at Maxim who was still standing by his chair. Whereas the black-haired man was in constant fear spreading within him. As if it wasn't enough with just you, Vlad is here to add to his destruction.

"Although my memory isn't as sharp as Her Highness', I do recall an irritating voice that kept urging the maids to throw the tea away—as if that were more urgent than the King dying on the floor."

A chill ran down Maxim's back. His breaths began to be short, labored as if someone had cut off his breathing. The clenched fists were getting sweaty.

“That's because I—!”

“But, Sir Vlad, Duke Maxim might have been trying to prevent anyone else from getting poisoned.”

Maxim could not believe his ears. Why did you suddenly come to his aid? He's staring at you trying to scan your face for something in it. Nothing. Just a confused expression. Or maybe you've always been this naive? Always this stupid? Whatever it was, this was a golden opportunity for him and he couldn't waste it.

"That's right! I ordered the maid to throw away the tea immediately for fear of poisoning you, Your Highness! You are an important key to Snezhnaya's glory!” He shouted out loud to make sure Childe heard this too.

Your lips curved into a smile before opening to say, "But Duke, didn't you say you asked someone to check the composition of the tea?"

In that second, his heart seemed to have stopped beating. Checkmate. He foolishly stepped into your trap. The 'clean' nobles around him started whispering, muttering about the day he said that researchers found Silence poison in the tea. But, with his new statement now, there are only two plausible possibilities: either he lied or he took the sample before the King drank it.

Everything is a dead end for him. Lying to the royal family is a capital offense, killing the royal family is an act of betrayal. Maxim unfortunately combines the two.

“Ah, how dare you lie to me.”

Childe's voice made Maxim immediately turn to look at him with undisguised fear. Blue eyes like the deepest ocean trenches, threatening to take him in and never to the surface. The Prince was still resting his chin on his hand, but the look he gave him was enough to tell that it wasn't difficult for him to stand up and come over to help him find his end.

“Y-Your Highness! This—this is all a trap! Someone is setting me up! I have served the royal family for a long time! Why would I do all that?!”

Maxim seems nothing more than a drunken babbler. His mouth must be running faster than his brain. He looked pathetic—different from the him you sawin your vision. His accomplices were no better than him either.

“Only you know the reason, Duke. Care to tell us, where did the courage you have come from that you dared to kill nearly two royalty?” You continue. "But then again, all your denial will be useless because the knights have searched your residence."

The door was pushed open revealing several knights entering with a vial on a purple cushion. If Maxim's eyes had previously widened, now his surprise makes you believe his eyeballs will pop out of his lids. Those heavy footsteps filled the conference room before they stopped right in front of you and knelt down respectfully. You shifted giving everyone a chance to see what they found.

A smile of victory you gave to Maxim. "'Silence', right?" you ask.

Maxim let out a laugh—one you're sure didn't come out of his sane side. "This is crazy!" He threw his hands in the air. “This is really crazy! Someone is setting me up! Princess (Y/N) might be setting me up, Your Highness! This was all planned by Liyue!”

This man really wants hell. He wanted hell and all the torments in it by saying that. You don't mind hearing it, after all it's out of desperation and nothing about it is true. But, it was always different with Childe; the gaze in his blue eyes was sharp, perhaps sharper than the knights' swords put together.

"What did you say?" Childe's voice came out dangerously.

“She must have planned this all to set me up!” Maxim repeated louder trying to convince everyone.

You don't take his word for it. “You also said that the late king coughed up blood after drinking the tea. To be fair, how about we put that to a test?” Maxim paled from your words.

“F-forgive the interruption, Your Highness! But, what do you mean by that?” One of the noblemen inquired.

From Childe's signal to the knights, the door opened again—this time with the arrival of someone being dragged inside. Like a scarecrow, he had a cloth covering his face. He knelt on the cold marble floor in shabby clothes stained with dried blood. The nobles shuddered at his presence.

“W-who is this?!”

Dmitri was the one to reply, “This is the assassin that shot Her Highness that day.” He said before continuing which left the room full of shock, “This man is scheduled to be executed today.”

Childe glanced at the maid who had arrived with hot tea. "Do it." He gave orders.

The maid nodded rushing over to the knight carrying the poison. He placed the teacup in the middle of the table, giving them all a chance to watch as a drop of liquid from the small vial made its way into the tea. Maxim’s eyes followed where the tea tray was taken—to the kneeling man.

“No.. no! NO!”

"Gentlemen, let us prove the Duke's words." Your voice comes out cold.

A knight removed the sack covering the man's face, then drank tea through his lips. He walked backwards after making sure he took one gulp. The pressure in the room grew heavier as Maxim froze in cold sweat.

One two..

Two minutes passed.

Two minutes passed without anything happening to the man. He was still on his knees, motionless as if he had accepted his fate. The nobles furrowed their brows, whispering in disbelief of the 'proof' you stated would be carried out.

The sound of coughing echoed throughout the room.

The man fell to the side coughing. Gasps filled the air as red liquid stained the marble floor. Vlad closed his eyes tightly—it felt like déjà vu. You stared straight ahead without looking at the man's condition, already knowing what awaited him after taking a sip of the tea laced with deadly poison.

“Oh my God!”

“It’s true! He's really coughing!”

The sound of his cough gradually weakened. You take a deep breath, clenching your trembling fists. Hold it in, (Y/N), it will all be over soon.

When the room was silent, the footsteps of a knight rushed to the man's body. He put two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse and answered everyone's question with a shake. The man was gone—he had received his death sentence by drinking the same poison that was in his arrows that day.

As you breathe in, your eyelids tightly close. Your head fills with an upwelling of mixed emotions. “Now you see,” you spoke up as Maxim's eyes bore down on you with rage and hatred. "It took him a while to start coughing. The poison ‘Silence’ isn’t one that kills instantly—that makes it the perfect one if you want to kill without raising suspicion.”

It was beyond you how he had plans to kill someone just to blame it on someone else—making a war after. If you didn't get the vision at that time, what will happen to you and Shiva now? Are you going to live in slander for killing someone?

You begged all Gods to grant that damn Duke a horrible death.

You took the little vial to show him. “Not only did you stop there but, you also intended to harm His Highness with this small dose of Silence Poison.” Purple color resplendent in it. “You did that in the hope that you could be the one to save him with the antidote you stocked up after burning all of it.”

One of the knights held up another vial of green liquid. Ekaterina shows documents regarding the fire incident in the village of Klirinsk. For a land fire to occur in this cold country..isn't that strange?

“It is what gives you the impression that you will get away with this, but you won't. Perhaps God helped you hide that wine bottle throughout the past few weeks; however, Duke, it is now over. You are all alone. You must now reap what you sowed. Don't expect God's presence after all the sins you have committed. Accept everything; your efforts were worthwhile while they lasted, but now you have shown that you are nothing more than a pretty face.”

The words left your lips. After taking a deep breath, you turned your heels to leave the room. But, you remember something.

“Ah,” You stopped in your tracks. “Don't you know? Your wife came to me the day before the incident. She said something bad would happen if His Highness didn't make a new agreement with you.”

Maxim's eyes widened as if they were about to pop out of their lids. His teeth were gritted together. The surge of emotion caused the veins in his temples to bulge. The room was filled with cursing from him as the knights held his hands behind his back.

His day has been ruined—all because of you. A Duke is dragged out against his will, his hands shackled in shackles. Maxim still has a lot to say. As the guards led him through the dark and smelly prison halls, he kept biting his cheek trying to convince himself that this was all a dream. It was only when he was thrown into one of the cells that he realized that this was real.

His mind had one thing playing over the long hours in that stone-walled room.

Will he get a forgiveness?

The question was repeated over and over in his head as Maxim sat in the cold end of the prison cell. His nose wrinkled couldn’t stand the stench of a dead rat not far from him. The moonlight came in through the small window bounded by strong iron. There was no way for him to escape from here. The only good thing he could be thankful for was that his body was still in one piece. He had expected Childe to meet him personally, finish him off or even tear him to pieces but, no. Could it be that he was just acting back then?

Maxim wasn't even put in an underground cell. This means that he will be granted forgiveness, right?

As if coming to answer his question, one of the prison guards approached his cell to open the padlock. Maxim stood up from his seat, dusting off his expensive clothes from the dust of the prison's stone floor. His face didn't fit to be in this place much longer.

"His Highness ordered me to take you to him."

A surprised expression painted on his face. "His Highness said that?" Maxim asked, answered with a short nod.

So it's true, Childe is forgiving him.

On his way into the room, Maxim tried to hold back a smile. It's too early to celebrate, he thought. Even though Childe would grant him mercy, he knew he still had work to do to regain his trust; after all, he was the same person who killed his father and was about to kill him. Maybe people are wrong about Childe—he's not heartless, he has a big heart to forgive people like him—

Maxim's thoughts stopped when he arrived at the vast dark room. In the middle, Childe was walking around with a sword in hand.

“Ah, you’re here.”

The 'greeting' came out of Childe's lips casually. Under the dim light, he could see a grin plastered on his face. He swung his sword playfully, waving his hand telling Maxim to join in immediately.

"Give it to him." Childe gave the order and the knight pushed a sword at Maxim. “Do you want a shield? Actually, you know what, just give him one.”

With a puzzled expression, Maxim accepted the sword and shield. He took a step closer to Childe after making sure he gave him permission. After getting close enough, he then asked: “Y-Your Highness, I don't understand the meaning of this.” He said, unsure of his words.

Childe paused. "What's not clear? You’re going to fight me. Is that understood?” He spun his sword once more.

Wait, what?

Just now he said that he was going to fight him? Maxim swallowed hard. His sword and shield now felt not good enough. No one had ever won against Childe—Tartaglia—no matter how much battle experience they had. Maxim was no exception.

Being so generous, Childe allowed him time to process everything, using it to fix his chest harness. A waiter brought him a glass of whiskey which he downed. He rolled up his sleeves. Maxim was still standing like a fool; not ready yet and will never be ready.

"Hey, what's with the cold feet, huh? Aren't you the same man who killed my father and nearly harmed my wife?"

Tired of waiting any longer, Childe let out an annoyed sigh. “Come on! Raise,”—he swung his sword requiring Maxim to do the same while taking a step back in evasion—“your sword!”

A grin climbed up his face. "That's more like it!" Childe kept taking steps forward, deliberately missing the aim of his sword—finding pleasure in Maxim's frightened expression. His eyes widened, sweat dripping from his temples. He wondered what shade of red his blood was.

“Your Highnesses! Please, please! Please stop!”

Maxim's plea came in before it left his ears—like the cries of cattle being slaughtered. His sword made a sound as it cut through the air, barely hitting Maxim's eye by a few inches. Childe continued to take steps forward. Finding no solution, Maxim started swinging the attacks that he dodged. Childe found an opening and cut in.

Red drips on the floor.

Maxim's chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. His jaw locked as he tried to hold back the pain of the open wound on his cheek. Those treacherously sparkling blue eyes stared at him like a predator. He would not stop until Maxim begged not for his life, but for his death.

"That's all you got? Come on, aren't you devoted to the royal family? Let this be atonement for your sins before I send you to your death!”

Maxim used his own sword to deflect Childe's blow. He must survive.

Childe took a step forward. "You should be grateful, that I'm still kind enough to let you breathe a little longer." He drew his sword to launch a new attack.

The sound of swords hitting the floor echoed through the room. Maxim fell to his knees, bleeding from a fresh shallow wound in his neck. His back was rising and falling with breaths he couldn't catch anymore. Fear overcame his ability to fight even though he had been doing it for his whole life. He clenched his fists tightly.

“Your—Your Highness..” He tried. “Your Highness, forgive me!”

Childe pushed back his sweaty hair. He watched the man in front of him tremble. Not long after, something flowed between Maxim’s legs and spread around him. "Ha." Childe let out a mocking scoff. “Did you just wet yourself?” He swung his sword around without a care. "So, she's right. You're nothing but a pretty face. I don't want to hear her say that again, though. So let's end this quickly."

The sword clinked after he threw it aside. Childe grabbed Maxim by the collar roughly. The stir in that gaze belonged neither to Childe nor to Ajax; it belongs to Tartaglia.

“Get up, man. The fight’s not over yet.”

Maxim had cursed himself. How had he forgotten that there were worse punishments than death? He watched as Childe clenched his hand into a fist before landing it on his aquiline nose. The Duke staggered backwards, trying to steady his legs only to receive a new blow to his jaw. The pain was radiating, giving him a headache. Another punch to his injured cheek opened the wound even wider.

There is only one punishment that is more horrible than the death sentence—when Tartaglia takes the time to become the executioner himself.

Perhaps he was disgusted by the blood splattered on his clothes. Childe unbuttoned his shirt and gave it to the maid standing guard at the side of the room. From his double vision, Maxim saw him twisting something around his fingers—his wedding ring.

Was that what made him so angry? That he touched you and nearly killed you?

Childe gives the ring to Dmitri. “Damn, I was so excited that I forgot to take it off. Make sure it's not broken. She'll kill me if it does." He said that with a warm smile—one he didn't expect from him.

Another hit. Maxim fell to the cold floor, adding to his agony. He wanted to die now.

“Ple.. phleashe..”

His lips were too swollen to speak. He might have bitten his tongue from his efforts to endure the pain. His hands felt numb. It hid him from the moonlight and served as a constant reminder that he was his worst nightmare.

Childe continued his suffering until dawn when he returned to you.

Like a skilled thief, he tiptoed slowly trying to make as little noise as possible. Your back is facing him while you sleep wrapped in a comfortable blanket. Childe wanted to sneak up to hug you, let himself lie down covered in the blood of the man who had just breathed his last from all the blows. He regarded it as a momentary example of evidence that those who dared to harmed people he loved would always suffer the consequences of their actions. Nonetheless, he is aware that you hate blood. He refrained from kissing you and immediately rushed to wash himself.

After making sure he was clean, Childe crawled on the bed wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You move in your sleep, opening your eyes slowly and smiling at him.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked, no guilt in his voice.

You chuckle. "I know you did it on purpose." You say and he joins in your laughter, cupping your face to plant a peck on the lips.

Childe pulled away to give another one to your forehead. You put your hands on his only to frown while furrowing your brows then. He gulped when you started scanning his fingers looking for something.

"Where's your ring?"

The lack of lighting doesn't blind you to the grimaces and nervous giggles that come out of him. “I told Dmitri to clean it for me. H-He’ll finish the day after tomorrow. Don't worry, Love—”

“Did you break it?”

A dramatic gasp from him. “No way! I would never do that on purpose! You know that! You know me, right?" Childe pursed his lips looking at you like a puppy who's just been scolded.

You didn't buy it, though.

"If I find out you were lying to me, you are welcome to sleep in your room again tomorrow."

“No! Ah, why are you being so mean to me?” Childe hastily buried his face into your collarbone. “F-fine! I accidentally broke it. There, I said it! Shouldn't you be giving me a prize for my honesty?" He looked up with hopeful eyes.

You squint. "I'll.. think about it." Your smile widens when you hear him whining again, hugging you tighter begging for forgiveness.

AbbyBianx, ness

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Check out more of my post: WRITING COMMISSION

[glassheartjukebox]

love letters

feat. ushijima

word count: 1.3k

“listen listen to my heart

that i only wanted you to know” - love letter

a/n: no content warnings, just pure fluff ! also a reminder that reblogs really help ! thank you guys sm for reading :D

the letters started about three months ago. you hesitate to call them “love” letters. “love” letters would indicate some sort of romantic prose, frilly stationary, and sweet declarations of love. the letters you receive are decidedly more... blunt.

the notes ranged from dry compliments such as “the school uniform suits you.” to borderline offensive remarks such as “did you do something different with your face? you look less tired today.” nonetheless, they had become part of your everyday routine. a blue sticky note with messy, slightly smudged ink and a blunt message.

after a month of notes, you decided to show them to your friends. as strange as the letters were, you never discarded them. they held a special place in your heart, often making you smile from the sheer absurdity. your friends immediately hounded you for not telling them about your “secret admirer” earlier. “that’s it, we need to catch him in the act,” your best friend declared, slamming her milk carton down on the lunch table. you rolled your eyes. “i don’t see the point,” you sighed, “he’ll tell me who he is when he’s ready.” this triggered a barrage of complaints about how boring that plan was.

to be fair, you had two reasons for allowing your admirer to stay anonymous. first and foremost, the chance of him being a creep was high. you had no desire to get your hopes up, thinking that he may be your dream man. secondly, you enjoyed receiving the little notes everyday. they’d become a part of your routine, something to look forward to. so, the notes continued to come uninterrupted for three more months.

the end of the semester was approaching, and break was right on the horizon. it dawned on you that this meant the end of your daily notes, which made you a little bit sad. the one you received this morning read, “i have very important business to attend to. it might be a little bit before you hear from me again. please wait for me.” that was the most he had ever written on a single post-it note. you rolled your eyes, secretly yearning for a way to wish him well on his endeavors.

after receiving the last note, you spent two days mourning the loss. there was nothing to break up the monotony now. you found yourself thumbing through the old notes he had gifted you. the most conventionally complimentary one by far had been “i like the shape of your lips, they suit your face very well”. it was the bare minimum, but it still had you blushing.

when friday, the third day without notes, arrived you were provided with a reprieve from your routine by the school. everyone was escorted out of class to attend a pep rally for volleyball interhigh qualifiers tournament. after all, volleyball was a big deal at shiratorizawa. both the men’s and women’s team stood tall on the school auditorium stage. the captain of the women’s team gave her speech first, but you found yourself zoning out and examining the men around you. your secret admirer was likely one of the fidgeting boys near you, looking hungrily at the women’s team as if they were pieces of meat. gross.

a deep voice broke you out of your reverie. the boy’s team captain had begun his speech. ushijima “ushiwaka” wakatoshi. the entire school knew who he was. the volleyball ace that repeatedly led the team to nationals. he had even been ranked in the top three aces in japan. ushijima stood well over six foot, with broad shoulders and a permanently stoic face. truth be told, he intimidated everyone. you’d had a few interactions with him, most of which happened at the beginning of the semester. a teacher asked you to tutor him for one english test. you met for three tutoring sessions, and during each he was quiet, polite, and apologetic for taking up your time. you found him much less imposing after seeing him hunched down in a desk too small for him, focusing on past tense verb translation.

after the rally had concluded, you were forced to return to class. shiratorizawa would begin their games at the interhigh tournament roughly two hours after school let out. you decided that maybe you would attend one or two of their matches if you could convince your friends to tag along. you honestly needed to get your mind off of the notes and your secret admirer.

you and a few of your friends were walking out of the school gates, preparing to visit some shops to bide the time before the game began when it hit you. you left your history textbook sitting in your desk. your history textbook that was full of notes crucial to the test you had on monday. you froze in your tracks and your friends turned, a little confused. “i have to go back, forgot my textbook,” you squeaked before taking off back towards the school building. you were screwed if the teacher had already left for the day and locked up the classroom.

grabbing the door handle, you were relieved to find it unlocked. what you were not relieved to find was a large figure bent over your desk and rummaging through your things.

“what are you doing?” you asked quietly, still in shock. consequently, the large figured managed the bump your desk in surprise, knocking it over and spilling the contents everywhere. you rushed to help clean it up on impulse. you were only able to recognize the figure in the dark classroom once you were up close. “ushijima?” you said incredulously. this entire situation was giving you a headache. he just nodded at you. you continue to haphazardly shove the contents of your desk back in when your hand landed on a small, blue sticky note. ushijima’s hand flew out to catch it but it was too late.

“my dearest y/n, the apple of my eye, the holder of my heart, fire of my loins, the most wonderful person i have ever laid my eyes on. you looked positively beautiful today, scrumptious even. how could anyone resist your charms? i find myself falling madly, deeply in love with you everyday. sincerely, with much love, your secret admirer.” the blocky handwriting juxtaposed the flowery diction of the note. furthermore, someone had drawn little red hearts around the perimeter of the letter. this was… very different than usual.

ushijima was also very different than usual. he was quickly losing his usual composure. his face was bright red and sweat gleaned on his brow. you looked up at him awestruck and confused.

“i’m sorry for the inconvenience,” his voice cracked, “but tendou had me write this love letter after he found out i had been sending a girl notes. he drew the hearts as well. i did not realize he was joking until after i had slipped it in your desk. i came back to retrieve it before you could see it. i’m sorry again.”

you were at a loss for words. “it was you sending the notes the whole time?” you stated the obvious. ushijima simply nodded.

“but why?” you asked, still struggling to process all of this. “i found you very attractive when you tutored me. i wanted to express my affection without drawing extra attention to you or pressuring you to return my feelings. sorry again.” he stood, preparing the walk out the room. your body moved on its own as you stood as well, grabbing his wrist.

“i didn’t know it was you,” you whispered, “but i’m really glad it was.” you leaned up to kiss his cheek, causing him to flush an even deeper shade of red.

ushijima stared back at you, a rare smile adorning his features. “now go, you’re going to be late for your own tournament,” you teased, still quite bashful over the entire situation.

“before i do,” he paused and dug through his bag, “would you want to come to the match wearing this tonight?” he held out his spare volleyball jacket, adorned with his name and number.

needless to say, you accepted. in that moment, you knew you’d be attending volleyball games than you expected.

©glassheartjukebox all written content belongs to this user. do not repost, modify, or copy content

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

I posted 1,327 times in 2022

That's 1,073 more posts than 2021!

238 posts created (18%)

1,089 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@quietly-by-myself

@whumpsday

@hold-him-down

@ashintheairlikesnow

I tagged 1,065 of my posts in 2022

Only 20% of my posts had no tags

#van van speaks - 120 posts

#quietly-by-myself - 70 posts

#asks - 63 posts

#847481: jesse - 56 posts

#ashintheairlikesnow - 52 posts

#whumpsday - 51 posts

#my boy kensi - 47 posts

#deluxewhump - 46 posts

#reblog - 42 posts

#hold-him-down - 35 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#it was supposed to get here last week my boyfriends birthday is in four days and its still on the other side of the country

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Caretaker: why didn't you tell me what happened to you before?

Whumpee:

51 notes - Posted July 25, 2022

#4

Reap the Harvest - Part 1

Oh boy a new series! I thought of it like three days ago and it took over my brain.

Thanks to @quietly-by-myself for helping me with research! (i didn't ignore your advice i swear i just needed this scene out of my brain) Also I know next to nothing about medical things so for the majority of this... just suspend your disbelief.

CWs: hospital setting, noncon surgery, amputation, gore, awake during surgery, treating people like property

Masterlist

-----------------------------------

Colin bounced his leg, hands shaking ever so slightly in his lap. He moved them to his sides and clutched the edges of the chair, shivering in the thin hospital gown. The waiting room was always needlessly and annoyingly cold. It usually didn’t bother him, but he was particularly nervous about this procedure.

It was his first time having an arm harvested.

Colin had donated skin, fingers, toes, blood, and bone marrow, but never an entire limb. Well, it was just going to be from the elbow down but still. He was nervous. No, he thought, nervous was too casual of a word. It was stupid but well... He was scared. He was scared like he was the first time getting his blood donated. When donating blood, they would take nearly half of its volume in your body, since it was not exactly needed for his peoples' survival. Still, the next few hours would be spent cold and delirious until their bodies could replenish it. The mere thought had terrified him as a kid, and now it felt totally normal, although a little inconvenient. He would eventually feel the same way about this.

But he couldn't help the fear he felt. Regenerating from having entire limbs taken wasn't as fast as replenishing blood, it could take days -- up to a week! -- and Colin didn’t want to spend that long helpless and in pain.

To his utter embarrassment, he felt tears pricking at his eyes, but he forced them down, glancing at the camera in the corner of the room. He would not show that he was scared, even though he undeniably was. He had enough pride to at least keep it to himself.

When Colin first heard that he was assigned to donate a limb that month he'd done his best to look brave, maybe even confident. He was eighteen years old, and he'd been assigned to have a limb harvested. He was a real adult now, and real adults didn't care about their assignments. They just went through the motions and did their duty.

His parents could tell he was scared, though. Rayleigh and Daniel had sat him down countless times over the month, trying to comfort him and convince him that it really wasn't as bad as he thought. They said that it would hurt, yes, but he would heal and be given time before another big one came his way. It wasn’t the end of the world. He'd regenerate quickly and be okay.

Bridger told him that it would hurt like hell and he’d never be the same again. Their dad had slapped him upside the head and told him to stop being a jerk. But he didn’t deny it.

That scared Colin even more.

It wasn’t so much the thought of the surgery itself as it was the promise of oncoming pain. Anesthesia and painkillers would dull his body's healing properties, so he'd have to go into surgery fully aware and alert. It hurt when his skin was peeled away and fingers were taken, but it was bearable. But his arm? The bones they’d have to break and cut through? That made his stomach cramp up.

And then there was the weirdness of knowing that a large part of him would just be… gone. For days, until a new one grew back. He’d be vulnerable and incomplete and the thought made him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. 

He had hardly slept at all last night, which was only going to make it worse, but the anticipation of the unknown and large procedure, coupled with not being allowed to eat for hours, made him too sick to sleep. Rayleigh had crawled into bed with him and rubbed his back, reassuring his fears, until he managed to doze off in the early hours of the morning. Bridger woke up at some point in the night and made fun of Colin for needing that, but for once he'd just ignored him. Maybe it was childish, but his mother's presence always helped him feel calm.

After just a couple restless hours, Rayleigh woke him. She and Daniel walked Colin down to the clinic just a few hallways away from the family dorms, leaving with a few words of encouragement and promises to be right there in the recovery room to take him home when the procedure was over. Colin nodded wordlessly, giving a weak smile to his parents before the door was shut.

He'd changed into a gown and had a quick physical by a nurse (the psych eval had been done a few days prior) before having the barcode on the back of his neck scanned and being left in the waiting room... Where he was still waiting at least an hour later, trying to stop his heart from jumping up his throat.

At this point he was hoping that Dr. Malsom would show up and they could just get the whole thing over with.

As if he could read his thoughts, Nurse Blakely appeared at the door. “Colin Sharpe?” he asked, like Colin wasn’t the only person in the room.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his gown and stood up, clearing his throat. “Yes, sir,” he said. His voice trembled.

The nurse motioned for Colin to follow him out the door. His legs felt like jello, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the fear or lack of food. Probably both.

He’d walked this hallway countless times over the past five years, but today it seemed impossibly long and imposing, like it did the first time he’d ever walked it. Then he was only thirteen, nervous but proud to finally be able to do his duty. Parents are encouraged to walk back their children the first couple of times, and he held tightly to Daniel’s arm, trying to put on a brave face but also seconds away from bolting in the other direction.

He almost laughed thinking about how he hadn't really changed.

Blakely opened the doors to one of the many operating rooms at Rockmire Hills, holding it open for Colin before he followed, locking the door. Dr. Malsom stood next to the operating table, conversing lightly with Nurse Kelley. They looked over at Colin and waved him inside, gesturing for him to sit on the operating table. A cart of instruments stood off to his left, but he pointedly avoided looking at it as he lay down.

“How are we feeling, Mr. Sharpe?” Dr. Malsom asked easily.

Colin took a deep breath before answering. “I’m fine,” he lied. His voice was still weak. Probably weaker.

Dr. Malsom and the nurses pulled on masks and caps. “You're okay,” he assured, the nurses strapping Colin down.

See the full post

56 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#3

sorry i'm late i was doing normal things (I was torturing the captive in my basement with a hot knife to hear his pretty screaming)

103 notes - Posted November 17, 2022

#2

Love how this whole community centers around our shared love of torture but every time someone says they're gonna hurt their characters everyones like "HEY THATS NOT OKAY"

241 notes - Posted February 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Writing is so stupid because you're like it's just putting down words I know words this will be so simple and then it's the most difficult thing you've ever done

22,462 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[chrysalispen]

xxv. the summer in their veins

second verse same as the first, i’ll reblog when this is up on AO3!

chapter below the cut as always <3

EDIT: chapter is now up on AO3 HERE

=======

The vague sense of disquiet and its physical effect -- levin and static sending fiery prickles along her arms -- did not fade. It persisted as she splashed into the waters and across the bank, as she approached the gate, as it swung shut at her back, and did not fade even when Keveh’to joined her on a silent and hurried return to the cabin. Her heart pounded and her throat felt tight with an anxiety which had neither a name nor a focus. 

This forest has eyes. 

“Right,” Keveh’to said without preamble as the front door shut behind them, “now would you like to tell me what in hells that was all about? You said you met her at the ruins?”

“Yes.”

“And you just gave half Ewain’s supply to her without a word to him?” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder at you, Aurelia. I really do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that for someone who often seems so worldly, you are remarkably quick to take the people here at their word. She was hiding something, and not doing that great a job of it.”

Aurelia threw up her hands. “She’s naught but a child, and we have more than enough of the things I gave to her to spare. That disaster last summer didn’t just hurt Gridania.”

“Did she get a look at -- you know.”

“No, my third eye was covered. You might at least trust in my discretion.”

Keveh’to exhaled. She unslung her packs and draped them over the hooks by the door. 

“Now,” she said, “you can tell me what’s got you so excited it couldn’t wait until the other two got back-- what are they doing down the Millers’, anyroad?”

“I’m getting to it, trust me. I’ll make some tea while you wash your face- are you quite certain you’re all right? You don’t need the Hearer or Trevantioux to take a look at it?”

“Hells forbid,” the Garlean snorted. “Trevantioux would have me drink some awful concoction for his own amusement. No, it’ll be fine; scalp cuts nearly always look worse than they are in truth. It stopped bleeding a while ago.”

“Well, I’d wash it anyway.”

“I’m well ahead of you.” It wouldn’t do to have the other two men alarmed and asking inconvenient questions. Aurelia made her way to the small standing washbasin near the bath partition. The hempen covering was probably ruined. Maybe, she thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to wash bloodstains out of clothing; perhaps she would try one of Ewain’s smelly lye soaps and see if that didn’t take some of the stains out.

She filed it away for later consideration. Washing her laundry could wait until after she found out what had her companion so excited.

By the time she had cleaned her face and returned to the sitting area the tea was ready. Keveh’to handed her one of the earthenware mugs, filled near to the brim with chamomile. “We’ve not much time to talk,” he said. “They’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

She sat. “Go on. I’m listening.”

At length, he said, “You know Whiterock, right? That little spot where the children play?”

“The one in that birch copse near the walls? Of course.” Aurelia smiled into her tea. “Little Bran Miller was in a fine spate of ill temper when his mother told him he had to help me with gathering her moko grass; he told me in no uncertain terms he’d much rather be playing with his brothers. Their games get quite intense, so I’m told.”

“Aye, well, ‘tis just as well the lad wasn’t there to see what the rest of them did today. There was a corse half-buried under deadfall -- an Ixal scout, by all appearances. Blood and rot everywhere. One of the other children all but tripped over it.”

She inhaled sharply. 

“Yes, I think it was good Bran didn’t see that. Did one of the village watch get careless?”

“They didn’t know it was there. He had been dead long enough for the forest to start getting at him.” Keveh’to set his mug on the low-slung table between them, then strode towards the door to rummage for something inside the pockets of his gambeson. “But something’s off about the entire thing- here, let me show you.”

As he frowned and muttered and searched his belongings Aurelia let her mind wander for a few moments. She was tired and sore and only half-registering his words, and her thoughts still lay with the young Miqo’te girl somewhere in the forest by herself. Hearing that a body had been found nearby did little to ease her worries; the disaster had left people bereft and desperate, and it was known that there were bandits in the wood.

I hope Vahne made it back all right to wherever it is she lives. I’d not forgive myself if-

“Ah,” the Miqo’te said triumphantly, tugging a hemp-wrapped bundle loose from the pile of armor. “Here we are. We collected this from the site where the boy found the body.”

She set aside her tea cup and stood, then made her way to the door as he removed the hastily wrapped item, then winced at the sight. It was an arrow of somewhat simplistic make, the iron head and ash shaft stained a coppery brown. Old blood. 

“Ewain will not take well to finding something like this under his roof.”

“What the old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Keveh’to’s eyes gleamed almost amber. “Look at it. Can you tell me what doesn’t match here? You can touch it, it’s long dry by now.”

“I’m not certain what good my opinion will do. I’m hardly an inspector.”

“Well, what of it? You’re used to looking at these sorts of things when you’re trying to figure out why someone’s injured, aren’t you?”

Aurelia squinted at him, then held her hand out to take the implement from him. Gingerly she lifted the arrow by the shaft and examined it with a critical eye. At first glance nothing looked strange; the head was solid, albeit caked in dried blood, and the shaft and its fletching pristine. Were it not for the stains, she mused, one would have thought it to be--

Her lips pursed.

“One would expect to see the target’s blood in the fletching had it struck its mark, or some other sign of use had it not. This arrow isn’t a crossbow bolt, mind, but still. It looks…”

“Go on,” Keveh’to encouraged when she trailed off mid sentence, though by his tone it was clear he already had an answer in mind. Aurelia tilted the arrow over and over in her fingers, the knitted furrow in her brow deepening by the second.

“...This rather looks as though it is not what killed your dead man.”

He looked pleased. “Aye. ‘Twould seem we agree.”

Aurelia studied him in turn, her gaze appraising. 

“You do realize,” she said, “that this would be considered official evidence? You shouldn’t even have this on your person, much less show it to me; last I checked, I’m supposed to be serving out a prison sentence.”

“That lot out there doesn’t give a damn because they think one dead Ixal only benefits them. You may be a prisoner,” Keveh’to replied, “but you’re the closest thing I have to a partner at the minute - and frankly I’m bored out of my bloody mind on wall duty. This gives us both something to do-”

“Implying I’ve not been run ragged on Ewain’s morning rounds.”

“Hang the rounds. Let Trevantioux do them.” Aurelia made a face. Ewain’s assistant had proven to somehow be even more insular than the old man, and the Elezen had made little secret of his distaste for Gridania’s choice of assignment in sending Willowsbend a foreign adventurer as a conjurer novitiate. “I’ll make up some reason for you to come along with me.”

“He’ll complain that I’m shirking my duties, no doubt.”

“He can complain all he likes and so can the Hearer. This is important.”

“Well, put that away before the two of them get back.” She handed him the arrow. “You said Whiterock, right?”

“Aye. It’s not far from the wall. Nearest the Quarrymill road.”

Aurelia nodded thoughtfully. “Meet me there at midday.”

~*~

The next morning was sweltering -- hot and humid and still. Other than the reedy noises of tree frogs and the odd bird call, little seemed to stir with the sunrise, and Aurelia was only an hour into the morning rounds before she’d sweat through her smallclothes and into her robes. 

A glance at the sour-faced Trevantioux showed that the Elezen man fared little better in the oppressive heat, though he was stoic as ever where it came to any indication of his feelings - at least in her presence. Many of the Elezen who dwelt in the Shroud seemed little inclined to bear the presence of outsiders in the first place, but he seemed to harbor a particular rancor. 

Any hopes Aurelia might have harbored that Ewain’s assistant might warm to her had been quickly laid to rest. The wedding originally set for the close of the winter months had been delayed until the summer, and rather than train her on his own and allow Trevantioux the freedom to court his bride and tend to his own affairs, the Hearer had insisted that his assistant stick to his usual routine - and, adding insult to injury by all appearances, he was compelled to allow Aurelia to attend him and observe him on his morning rounds. 

Internally she ground her teeth every time the man spoke to her - at least most of old Ewain’s saltiness seemed to owe to age and weariness - and reminded herself that this was an internship, one that was not like to last indefinitely, and that once Trevantioux and his betrothed were wed he would be reassigned by the guild. 

It was small enough recompense, all things considered.

Her final stop this morning before joining Keveh’to was the Millers’ cottage: one of the few places in town where Aurelia nearly always enjoyed some degree of respite from the veteran conjurer’s constant criticism. Trevantioux didn’t particularly get along with its sunny-natured and wry-tongued mistress, and was all too glad to leave Aurelia to tend to her while he saw to other house calls.

Aurelia for her part found instant appeal in Frieda’s quick wit and irreverent humor, and the sparrow-framed Midlander weaver had - despite her initial wariness of the outsider - likewise warmed to Ewain’s novice quickly. In the ensuing months she had gone from polite civility to voicing her frequent appreciation for E-Sumi-Yan’s wisdom. Frieda liked Ewain well enough for all that she found Trevantioux incurably stuffy, but she seemed well pleased the guild in Gridania had finally seen fit to send a woman to Willowsbend.  

“Goodness, Aurelia, do you fare well?” she asked the novice conjurer now, frowning. “You look about to melt into a puddle right before my bed.”

Breaking from her brief reverie as she removed the herbs from her satchel and dabbed the sweat from her brow with the corner of one hem, Aurelia offered the older woman a rueful smile. “I might well be, at that. One could break a sweat simply stepping outdoors today.”

“Summer’s come upon us fast this year.” She shifted somewhat awkwardly in the bedclothes. “If you let me get up I can fetch you some water from the kitchen. Rauffe’s still working on the well, but I’ll not see a guest in my home go without-”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Aurelia denied, the stern note of her response brooking no argument. “Never you mind a bit of sweat; I’ve a waterskin and plenty of shards to refill it. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh really now, Aurelia-”

“No.”

Frieda let out a thwarted groan. “I can’t simply be ordered to lie abed for the next two moons! There’s so much work to be done-”

“Well, you most certainly can, when needs must,” Aurelia replied briskly. “There’s hardly any need for all this fuss and bother, surely? It’s only until the baby arrives. Once you’ve recovered from the birth you can go traipsing about the forest all day if you like.”

A gusty and exasperated sigh tossed a puff of sweaty red curls from the Hyur’s brow. “I shall have you know I’ve done this plenty of times before,” Frieda complained. “And I’m perfectly healthy-”

“Healthy enough to complain, most certainly.”

“You know full well what I mean, Mistress Laskaris. I don’t see why I should have to be confined to bed for so long over some puffy ankles.”

“I told you already. ‘Tis naught but a precaution given your history-” 

“A ridiculous precaution.”

“You're free to think whatever you like,” Aurelia countered, with the somewhat exaggerated patience L'haiya had so often used when talking to her childhood self in a fit of stubbornness, “but you are not just my friend. You are also my patient and as I have the care of you and yours, I bear responsibility for your well-being. As such, I would see you remain healthy and deliver a living child.”

“Aye, I know. But still-”

“I’m aware there’s plenty of work to be done. I’ve seen enough of your routine to know. But you’re hardly alone. Bran knows how to collect and dry the grasses for the spindle, you’ve two other sons of a goodly age to be helping about the house, and there’s Rauffe besides-”

“Rauffe? Rauffe won’t even mend his own smallclothes, never mind help with the spinning,” Frieda snorted. “If he gets a rip he’s like to just cut a hole in the arse end of his breeches and let in a stiff breeze - or out, depending on how much cabbage he had the night previous.”

Despite herself Aurelia let out an extremely unladylike cackle. 

Frieda offered a triumphant grin and relaxed at last, lacing her callused fingers over the curve of her swelling belly. “And what of Conjurer Trevantioux? I thought he was to be checking on me this morning, but I mark he’s dumped you on my doorstep again. It’s getting to be something of a habit, that.”

“He is as anxious to be shut of me as I am of him.” Aurelia reached for her waterskin. “Here’s hoping the bride's father doesn’t take ill again and delay their wedding a third time.”

“Is old Darien really doing all that poorly, I wonder,” Frieda mused aloud, “or is Noline just stalling?”

“I hardly know her well enough to have an opinion. But both Trevantioux and Ewain have been frequent guests at her home since my own arrival and the old man’s little other reason to visit as often as he does, so I can only guess is that there’s some truth in it.”

“Well, I had to ask. She’s his only child, after all,” Frieda continued. Aurelia shrugged as she uncorked the skin. She wasn’t really one to spread idle village chatter, feeling it somewhat beneath her and out of the scope of her duties besides. “Between you and me I suspect he’s having rather a difficult time letting go.”

“Mm.” She raised the waterskin to her lips for a draught. 

“And what of you and that handsome Sergeant Epocan?”

Taken by surprise at the probing question, Aurelia sputtered mid-sip, coughing. By some miracle water didn’t go everywhere, though it was a near thing. “What- Heaven forbid! The Sergeant and I aren’t like that at all!”

“That’s not the word ‘round town.” The Midlander woman’s smile was quite shrewd. “They say you’re on a first name basis with him. Keeper folk don’t let just anyone talk to them in such a familiar way, you know.”

Aurelia uttered a short, sharp laugh and set the skin aside, then tipped the rest of the ground medicinal blend from her mortar into the small glass bottle on the bed’s side table. 

“You really ought to tell the old women in the marketplace to mind their own business and stop asking such personal questions,” she said in a voice far more dismissive than she felt as she reached for a stopper. “I don’t suppose that’s asking for very much, is it?”

“Oh, sod those old crones! I’m asking for my own self, love."

"So the impertinence is your own? My, that certainly makes a difference, I suppose."

"Imper- well, it’s not as though I’ve aught else to do these days other than laze abed and keep my hands busy with stitching."

"Excuses."

"Aye, some fancy pants big-city chirurgeon gave me mad orders to rest and won’t let me break them. Mayhap you’re passing familiar with her.” 

Aurelia rolled her eyes, smiling all the while. “Right, I see how it is. Blame the outsider for your gossipmongering.”

“Only until I’m able to be up and about again,” Frieda retorted with a tart smile, one that lingered before fading somewhat. “...But what is he to you then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m… not really at liberty to discuss that.” Her face felt warm from more than just the day’s heat. “I’m sorry. If I could tell you I would.”

“Oh, very well.”

If only you could know the truth. “One of these days, perhaps.”

“No, no. Keep your secrets, if it please you, Miss Conjurer. By all means.” Frieda’s bright hazel eyes danced with mischief and amusement in equal measure. “But you know I’ll pry them out of you yet. Best be on your guard.”

~*~

Aurelia had taken the opportunity to bathe and find a change of clothing, thinking it would give Keveh’to ample time to finish his own obligations for the morning. He wasn’t at their meeting spot when she arrived, however. The clearing and the outcropping of bared stone was deserted, a barest breeze shifting listlessly through heat-curled leaves; even the birds seemed to have decided the day was too hot for their calls. 

A first glance showed nothing that seemed to be particularly out of the ordinary; there were no indications that anyone else had returned to the scene since the body was discovered, although she would have been very much surprised had that been the case. 

She lingered at the base of the rocks and examined the favored playground of the village children. The white outcroppings were partially covered in moss and lichen, but the rock was sturdy granite and she could see where the children had carved themselves footholds into the rocks for climbing. Signs of recent scuff marks from their shoes could be seen in the moss and dirt scrapes, and piles of leaves had been hastily raked together to act as a soft landing should one of them fall. 

A place like this would have appealed greatly to her younger self- to say naught of her best friend. Aurelia’s slight smile turned faintly rueful. It would have been far safer than climbing the low-hanging zelkova trees that were native to Gyr Abania, certainly. (Although, she thought with an internal snicker, L’haiya would still have scolded her for getting dirt in her pinafore and leaves in her hair. She was not near fool enough to think that would have changed.)

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted what looked like an old basket someone had fashioned into a crude child-sized helm, lying a fulm or two away - something one of the children had dropped during their last game, no doubt. Slowly she picked it up, turning it this way and that-

“Aurelia!”

The call startled her, even though the voice was one she knew. 

The basket fell from her hands to the ground as Keveh’to, trotting towards her, blinked in a sort of mild surprise. “Can’t believe I finally took you unawares,” he began, then frowned, “Is aught amiss? Did you find something?”

“Just one of their toys, I think.” She picked up the basket by its well-patched handle and passed it to him. “Lying in that pile over there. The children might want it back.”

“I’ll return it once we’re done having a look about. Follow me - and watch your step.” Keveh’to pointed to a depression not far from the base of the rocks, one she hadn’t noticed until then. “That’s where we found him.”

“Any sign the body was moved?”

“None, but it was very late in the day before I had the chance to properly look. There’s always a chance, I suppose.”

Something about his tone stopped her in her tracks. “You didn’t tell the Wood Wailers you were bringing me out here.”

“Of course I bloody didn’t,” Keveh’to scoffed. “They’d have never allowed it - and nor would the Twin Adder have done if I’d told them. But this lot won’t do anything no matter how suspicious it all is, and I know you’re as bored out of your mind as I am, else you’d never have agreed to come with me.”

“Mind you, I’m not saying I disapprove, but you are wagering what little trust the locals have in you to investigate a matter you were told to leave to the Wailers. ‘Tis rather risky, you must admit.” Aurelia quirked a brow at him. “And with the likes of me, no less.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He paused to thread the basket into his belt.” You’ve all the demeanor of a harpy when it takes you and you’re stubborn as a goobbue, but as a partner? You’re not half bad, Garlean.”

Recalling her earlier conversation with Frieda, she could only laugh.

“At any rate,” she said, “let’s get this done before we’re missed.”

They left the rocks behind and ventured a few fulms beyond, into the tree line, before the Miqo’te came to an abrupt stop. His tail thumped a slow rhythm against her calf as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“This is the place." He paused. "I think."

"You think?"

“The way they acted I doubt Aubaints or Daye looked further afield than this for that arrow. They found it so quickly, but there was little enough time to look over the scene before night fell. If there’s others out here, I’m sure we’ll- here now, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That bit of soil over there. Something’s kicked up the leaves.” He pointed, and Aurelia followed the line of sight. The mark in the forest soil was half-covered by remnants of fallen detritus from the overhanging trees, but it was visible enough to have caught a hunter’s keen eye. “Wonder if maybe that’s where he found it?”

“This far away from the body? I doubt it, but let’s have a look.” 

Aurelia approached and knelt to examine the area, her knee sinking into moist soil and old leaves. Light from the sun only faintly dappled the forest floor even in the early hours of the afternoon- this far into the Shroud, most of the wood was shielded by the upper canopy- and she had to adjust her position so that she did not cast so much of a shadow she could not examine what little evidence might still remained. It was passing odd she hadn’t found the shape of an arrowhead by now; the indentation in the soil was quite a bit less shallow than she had-

Her index fingertip struck something rounded and smooth.

“Found something,” she called.

Carefully she slid her finger deeper into the soil, curled it around the object until she could get purchase, and drew it out of the shallow hole in the ground until it rolled into her dirt-caked palm, the sheen of it winking in the dim sunlight. It was a small, slender piece of steel- one that her companion thought looked somewhat familiar, but it was strangely cylindrical and marked with soot on its flattened base. 

“There’s your arrow, Sergeant,” she said. 

Keveh’to frowned. How odd, he thought. It almost looked like the sort of thing he’d seen the Maelstrom’s volunteer privateers use in their flintlocks, but- 

“Twelve, that can’t possibly be a musket ball, could it?”

“So you have seen a gun before.” 

“Once or twice fighting the Empire. Some of the folk in the Foreign Levy were pirates sailing with letters of marque from the thalassocracy and a few of them kept sidearms.” He scratched at an idly flickering ear. “What I don't understand is the why of it. There’s no need for such weapons around here - might be one could use them for hunting, but if you ask me it’s not near as practical for that purpose as a good bow and arrow. I know I wouldn’t bother with it unless I were desperate. And I’ve never seen musket balls that looked like that.”

“Well, for one thing, this isn’t a musket ball.” She rolled it to and fro between her fingers. “It’s not even Eorzean.”

“But it couldn’t have come from anything else, surely?”

“Eorzean firearms discharge using aetheric means of combustion. The weapon that fired this used black powder. Look, you can see the scorch marks.” Aurelia poked the side of the casing. Steel glimmered dully beneath the patina of dirt that covered it. “This came from a gunblade.”

“...Imperial arms in this part of the Twelveswood? But we're malms from the nearest castrum. Are you absolutely certain?"

She gave him a very tired glance over one shoulder. 

“You asked me for my opinion as a chirurgeon earlier and I’m giving it now. I daresay I’ve dug out enough musket balls and gunblade bullets in operating theatres to know the difference.” Keveh’to blinked at her, clearly taken aback. With a soft grunt she clambered to her feet, dropping the spent casing in his hand before he could protest and dusting dirt from the backs of her legs.

“Here, hold this. I’m going to look about for something.”

“What are-”

“There won’t have been just the one-- no. There, look.” It was difficult to see but there was a small ring of discoloration in the bark of a nearby elm sapling, one that became more visible as Aurelia drew closer. She scraped her finger against the border of bark and bared trunk where a round had impacted and embedded itself. “Another one. Whoever it was, they fired at their target multiple times.”

He stared down at the dirt-caked metal in his hand, brow deeply furrowed. 

“...So as it stands we have a dead birdman with a bloody great hole in his chest, an arrow that was supposed to have been what killed him except there’s blood on it and naught in the fletching-”

“And at least two shots from a weapon that shouldn’t be here. And no other arrows save the one the lieutenant told you he found.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d have got a look at the body before the Wailers disposed of it. That would have been very telling.”

“Is that your professional opinion, then? So what’s the arrow doing here?”

“Either it was meant to be found, or the arrow is a red herring and has naught to do with anything at all, or we’ve a witness lurking about the woods.”

“I think we had better take this back to the Wailers immediately.”

“Agreed,” she said. “They will wish to impose a curfew until the matter is laid to rest.” 

Keveh’to opened a small pouch on his belt and dropped the casing inside. “They won’t take that notion kindly coming from us. But if the killer is willing to risk discovery so close to the village, they’ll likely not trifle to harm its people.”

Aurelia’s lips had tightened into a flat, grim line. 

“Also,” she said, “it would not be taken amiss to check with the night watch and ask if they heard any strange noises. Gunblades are not quiet things. It’s quite likely someone heard something. If we can figure out when-”

“Sergeant Epocan! Miss Aurelia!” 

“Sergeant Epocan!”

A boy and a girl - both bedraggled and half-soaked - came crashing through the brush with all the grace of a bull griffin, Aurelia thought with an internal grimace. She recognized their faces on sight, as she did most folk these days. One was Cecilie Aubaints, the Wood Wailer lieutenant’s daughter. The other was Bran Miller’s older brother Hugh. 

“Sergeant Epocan,” Cecilie shouted, “there’s a Keeper girl outside the village-”

“Silence, you silly girl,” barked a familiar voice, “lest the entire forest know your business!”

The pair blinked at the children, then at the sight of a very exasperated Elezen man bringing up the rear in his conjurer’s whites. Trevantioux Roulemet was a Wildwood man of six and thirty summers and had been Ewain’s assistant for the past five of them. Despite his relative youth he bore a perpetually sullen countenance, and what Aurelia’s father would have called ‘a certain inflexibility of thought’ where it came to any sort of change to his personal routine. 

No doubt he was displeased that he had been pulled away from said routine to fetch Aurelia from wherever it was she had gone, and her assumption was confirmed when he drew close enough for her to see the storm in his grey eyes.

“The Hearer found my note, I see,” she said blandly. “How does Noline fare?”

“Well enough, for all I’ve been dragged away from my visit to deal with this foolishness. What are you doing out here? The Wailers said this place was strictly off limits even for us.”

“Never mind all that,” Hugh said a trifle impatiently. “There’s a girl who came looking for you while me and Bran and Cecilie were playing in the creek, and-”

“Hugh,” Cecilie hissed, and the boy flushed.

“Well, they were going to find out eventually!”

“All right, all right,” Aurelia said, “let’s not all get ruffled feathers over it. Where is she, Hugh? Is she at the Hearer’s house?”

“No, Miss Aurelia. I told Keeper Ewain she could go to my house with Bran and stay with Mama while we looked for you. She said she’d only talk to you and no one else, and Mama knows how to handle crying girls better than anyone I know.”

Crying. Anxiety lanced through her chest like a gut punch. She didn’t know Vahne well enough to say for sure, but she knew enough of Keepers from talking to Keveh’to to know if the self-assured young huntress had been rattled enough to cry in front of strangers, then something very grave must have happened to cause it.

“I’m going back,” she said. “Hugh, you come with me and the Sergeant. Trevantioux, take Cecilie home. We’ll go to the Millers’ first and meet you back at the cottage.”

“We were swimming,” Cecilie protested, but faltered under the older Elezen’s withering glare.

“In the creek,” he said acidly, “where you knew you weren’t supposed to be by yourselves?”

“We were just-” 

“Come now, along with you. You can make your excuses to your father.”

She watched Trevantioux march the protesting girl back towards the village, looking rather like a disgruntled hound shepherding a wet kitten. Under different circumstances the thought might have amused her, but she knew she must have looked as worried as she felt when she caught Keveh’to’s quizzical expression.

“I thought you just met that girl yesterday.” “So I did.”

“What do you think brought her here?”

“No idea,” she said. “Hopefully something minor.”

[typinggently]

I want to bow down before your writing good lord. Also if I sorta reblogged your prompt list and asked for some, would you mind? I’ve never done that and I sorta want. It’s okay if not. Anyway, Frankenbilly with 10 or 18, your choice ❤️

Love, thank you so much for your sweet words 😭💝💝💝 I adore your blog so this means a lot ahh :’’’’) 

& I’m SO sorry about this delay, for some reason this took ages to write. Also - of course!!! Feel free to use any prompts you want! They’re so much fun and I’d love to see what you come up with!! 💝

(also...I took the liberty to just fill both prompts...I love these fools...)

-

18. coming from ass play only 

Alright, not to be, you know, une romantique™️, but I say it’s an accident.

Which is to say - I’m more than sure that Billy is perfectly aware that he can come like this when he’s getting himself off. But I also think that it’s never happened with anyone else. So that’s not something to be expected, at all.

Frank, meanwhile, is generally clueless. He’s pretty good at what he does and he knows he’s doing alright, but he hasn’t fooled around with enough men to know that this could happen.

Now, the problem for Billy - and that’s the problem about 67% of the time - is that Frank is special. I’m also more than sure that Billy didn’t dream of going bareback before, but the moment the possibility of getting with Frank presented itself, he decided that actually, he needs to feel him, and he will NOT be denied.

But this time, they don’t even get to that part.

At this point, they’ve probably been tangled up for at least an hour, lazily making out with Franks arms wrapped around his waist and Billy’s palm on his chest, shoved underneath the hoodie to enjoy his heartbeat, the heat of his body. (And that’s another thing Billy wasn’t a fan of for most of his life… if you want to fuck, just fuck. Overcooking pasta won’t do the meal any good. But then Frank put his warm paws on him and kissed his neck and Billy decided that actually? This for two hours, please.) And finally, when the languid tenderness has turned into a cinnamon-sweet heat, Billy makes a soft, inquiring sound, scratching through Frank’s buzzed short hair the way he likes. Frank shivers with half-swallowed growl, slips his tongue into Billy’s mouth, and that’s as good as a yes.

Which is how they end up in bed (well, after another 5-7 minutes). Billy’s hands in Frank’s hair, on his back, his shoulders, with Frank’s shirt blissfully off and forgotten about. Frank’s mouth on his neck, his hand on his waist.

And Frank has nice hands. Nice everything, honestly, which is why Billy can’t bring himself to let go of him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, in his hair, on his back. It’s such a languid-sweet heat, simmering through them, leaving them oddly sensitive and a tad light-headed.

And at first, they have the clear agenda of just opening him up, but in the end, they both get a little lost. Billy makes his soft little sounds, lashes heavy and fluttering and kisses words against Frank’s jaw, his mouth. All “Don’t stop, just a little more-“ He doesn’t notice how close he’s getting until he’s already shivering, twitching, gasping. Half-delirious with pleasure.

Frank murmuring something, encouragements and love-drunk nonsense, the words hardly more than a half kiss of his soft-warm lips brushed against Billy’s cheek, his open mouth. And he moves a little, changes the angle of his hand slightly, back muscles rolling, flexing, warm under Billy’s greedy hands. At the following spark of heat, Billy gasps softly, lets his head fall back, shivers and just like that, he comes, with a surprised little moan, fingernails digging into Frank’s back.

Billy supposed it’s another of those things that are special for Frank.

-

(Also - watch me cheat, since it’s a combination of multiple factors here. But I was feeling very soft)

-💝-

10. having to be very quiet for fear of being overheard. – Frank/Billy

Listen. These two aren’t very smart.

Sure, they’re intelligent, there’s tactical thinking, manipulation, strategic planning, etc. But they are SO stupid. Especially when they’re working together. Which they obviously end up doing.

On top of that: They’re absolutely incapable of shutting up when they’re together. Absolutely impossible. They get each other way too hot to be quiet.

And part of that, I think, is due to the army days, at least for Frank. He’s a passionate guy, and he’s had to adjust to living in close quarters with others. Which is to say, he’s been keeping himself in check for years. He’s had it. When he feels like moaning, he moans. Fuck you.

Billy’s a bit different, I feel. He’s used to putting on a bit of a show, he didn’t necessarily mean every noise he made with other partners. But, you know, it sounds nice, it gets the job done. Once he started fooling around with Frank, though, he came to the (rather shocking) conclusion that actually? People make a whole lot of noise when they feel good? What I’m saying is that he has NO control over his voice with Frank. Every soft-sweet sound is 100% real and that’s a little shocking tbh. The first time that happens, he has a little moment of “Wait? What? Who was that?” (A whole other concept worth exploring tbh)

But that’s just the preface. Because what if they have to be quiet?

See, as mentioned before, they aren’t very smart. They’re very into each other, they’re very passionate, they’re bound to hook up at inconvenient places more often than not. Especially since Billy has a thing for Frank looking hot and furious and violent, and Frank has a thing for Billy, period.

So when they do jobs together, they usually know that they’re going to fuck after, so they do some planning beforehand to make sure they don’t end up repeating that one time they ended up making out on the subway because they were dumb and horny. (And like. They have covers. They don’t just sit around with their guns out. So basically, the pigeons taking that line and the two or three other passengers just watched, partly baffled, as these two completely random guys started making out. Like. They managed to cross the entire cart to get at one another. That was NOT one of their proudest moments, as professionals)

Now.

High End Hotel. They’re in, they do their thing, they’re out. Time to leave.

However. You know how you get into those places, right? You dress nicely.

And?? Frank looking hot and furious and violent in a suit? Billy is entirely powerless.

(well, let’s say it like this: Billy could probably at least exceed some self-control and not unleash all his romantic interest on Frank instead of blaming it all on him…but that would require some good will. Which is lacking.)

So what if they’re in a hotel? Hotels have many empty rooms, no one would know.

And?? Billy looking hot and sweet and mischievous with his glinting dark eyes and his sharp smile? Frank is entirely powerless.

(nothing to add. He actually is.)

To not draw this out: They end up in an empty hotel room. Not all that stupid, considering there are people looking for anyone leaving the hotel and just…not leaving could actually be a solid plan.

Not that they’re planning anything. They’re too busy messing up the foamy-white sheets, all greedy hands and sharp teeth. And they really do have to be quiet, considering people might be looking for them (enemies, or, you know, hotel staff). Which brings us back to the main point, which is they are, generally speaking, very, very bad at being quiet.

This time, they manage rather well, at least at first. Frank is mostly too busy being startled that Billy decided to bring lube to a job, and in general preoccupied because, well. Billy decided to bring lube.

Now, fingers are one thing. But the thing is, once they’re actually having penetrative sex, sloppy kisses aren’t really sufficient to keep quiet.

Since this is all Billy’s idea, I say he bottoms (also since I’m p sure he’s way quicker when it comes to the whole prepping thing). And he’s just- he’s just so pretty.

Frank’s messing up the sheets with his sticky hand, his sleek-greasy shoes. But he’s not paying attention, he’s too wrapped up in the way Billy’s back arches, his mouth falls open in a silent-sweet exhale as Frank finally bottoms out. Tense, shivering with pleasure. It’s a sight.

No one would blame Frank for the softest little sigh at that sight, at the tight-slick heat. And at that little sound, Billy’s eyes flutter open, and he moans softly.

And that’s that.

They forget all about their mission and their location, the fact that they should hide… etc etc. Just, gone. Billy’s got his hands on Frank’s broad shoulders, his eyelashes heavy, eyes dark and focussed on Frank. Frank, who drops his head a little so he can kiss Billy, mouth at his jaw, his throat, soft and warm.

It’s almost sweet, but there’s such strength behind Frank’s thrusts, Billy’s nails are digging into his shoulders, his voice breaking on his moans. The sheets end up crumpled, smeared in shoe polish, sweat, Billy’s hair product. And there’s the noise. Soft moans, half-swallowed gasps, Frank’s little grunts and growls. Not as loud as they could be, but there’s no way people passing by won’t know what’s happening, especially not when Frank changes his angle just slightly and Billy makes the most sinful sound. It’s molten heat down Frank’s spine and he has to hear it again and again, until Billy starts pulling at his hair, head thrown back, quivering like a bowstring. 

-

This ended up as an example of when they didn’t manage to be quiet. But alas. I couldn’t help myself.

-

the prompts💝

[izzy-b-hands]

Boys In Dresses

Written for my DL server Bingo Card prompt: Roaring 20s. 

Truth be told, struggled on this one, then I remembered flapper dresses and drag existed, and now here we are!

Set in a Poly!Queen AU (hence the shared flat they have in this and my other Poly!Queen fics), sometime around in 1974 because...because lol, I have no good reason except wanting to toss this in that year. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

It was only the four of them, but Freddie had insisted on a theme, dressing up, and to do it up as much as they could afford. 

And they did still have a few bits of vintage left over from the clothing stall. That it fit any of them was pure luck. 

But perhaps the best luck, was that there were four flapper-styled dresses. 

“This is too short on me,” Brian said. “Not made for a tall anyone, this dress.” 

“You look lovely,” Freddie protested. “It’s just us in here anyway, show off!” 

“Feel like I’m showing off an awful lot,” Brian blushed, and tried to push the beaded hem to cover more of him. 

“No more than the rest of us,” Freddie said. “And besides, we’ve literally seen each other naked. I think being in a short dress is barely anything after that!” 

“You aren’t wrong,” Brian said, but still his hands tugged a bit at the dress.

Freddie had been fighting with his hose, but yanked it off and reached out for Brian’s hand instead. “You can change, if you’d like. This is all for fun, but I want you comfortable.” 

“I think I’ll be alright,” Brian said, walking over to grab and squeeze Freddie’s hand. “Need to get used to it, is all.” 

“If at any point you want to change, you do so, okay?” Freddie asked gently. “And you don’t have to do any part of this you don’t want to.” 

“I’m okay, really,” Brian said. “Ready for you to do up my make up next.” 

“Sit!” Freddie motioned to the chair near his. “My hose can wait.” 

“There’s a run in them already, isn’t there?” 

Freddie sighed. “I swear, they hear you thinking that you fear a run in them, and one...appears. Like magic.” 

Brian giggled, holding himself still as Freddie set to his eyeliner. “You could go without them. Like you said, it’s only us.” 

“That’s a good point,” Freddie remarked. “You think I’d be okay without it?” 

“Beautiful, with or without it,” Brian replied, blinking as Freddie finished up. “Now, remind me not to rub my eyes five minutes from now, when I forget I’m wearing make up.” 

Freddie laughed, and shook his head. “Shall we check on the other two?” 

In the other bedroom, Roger was fussing with his own hose, and John appeared slightly stuck in getting his dress down and on completely. 

“Manly shoulders,” Freddie tsked, carefully pulling John’s dress down. “But you look gorgeous.” 

John waved away the compliment. “Don’t need to lie to make me feel pretty.” 

“Not lying, and you are pretty, if you want to be,” Freddie said. “Though most days you’re the most masculine one in the room, if I’m honest.” 

Roger scoffed, and yanked the hose off of his legs. “No one should have to wear that, I’ve decided. What a useless invention.” 

“A run?” Freddie asked. 

“What else?” Roger rolled his eyes. “Barely had even touched it, and there one was!” 

“Give up on it,” Freddie advised. “That’s why Brian had me do, and his advice was good. Also, your legs are lovely.” 

“Shut it,” Roger said, sticking out his tongue. “Don’t look at them, you’ll be blinded!” 

“Is there a point to this party?” John asked as he swished the skirt of his dress, seemingly chuffed at the sound of the beads as the moved with the fabric. 

“Is there a point to any party, really?” Freddie asked right back as he led them into the living room. 

“Birthdays,” Brian replied.

“Anniversaries,” John added. 

“Funerals are sort of a party,” Roger remarked. “Maybe not a happy one, but if you wanted, you could have streamers at one.” 

“Is that a note to take down for your funeral someday, Rog?” Brian asked. 

“Not for you,” Roger scoffed. “I’ll outlive you.” 

“You don’t know that,” Brian said. “And I’ll put money on it that I outlive you instead.” 

“In these heels?” Roger asked as he nearly tumbled off of them, grabbing Brian to stay upright. “Maybe.” 

“You could take them off,” John noted. He hadn’t even attempted any of the heels in the closet, and was happily barefoot. Though he had managed to get his hose on without a single snag or run. 

“I’m trying to dedicate myself to the spirit of things here,” Roger said. “Would ladies in the 20s have kicked their shoes off at the slightest inconvenience? I bet not!” 

“You can’t let go of me, can you?” Brian chuckled, wincing at Roger’s firm grasp on his arm. 

“That’s neither here nor there,” Roger said sharply, taking a tentative step forward. 

He screeched as Brian dipped down and scooped him up, managing the last few feet to the couch with him in a bridal carry. 

“You don’t look heavy,” Brian huffed as he dropped down by Roger. “Looks are deceiving.” 

“Just because your bony ass can’t fill out your dress...” 

“It’s not meant to be filled out, I don’t think,” Brian protested. “Freddie, back me up on this.” 

“It doesn’t matter either way,” Freddie said softly. “We have food, drink, and the evening to ourselves. What are we going to celebrate for tonight?” 

“Thought the party didn’t have to have a point?” John smiled as he dropped himself onto Roger’s lap. 

“It doesn’t need a point, but it does need a thing to celebrate,” Freddie replied. “They’re different.” 

“Are they?” John continued, then laughed as Roger swatted at him. “Alright then. We could celebrate...well...” 

“...I had a wonderful sandwich last week,” Roger said. 

“That’s not enough,” Brian scoffed. “Though I did find this bookshop a month ago that is worthy of celebration, and remind me to take you there soon, Rog, you’d love it too.” 

John looked thoughtful. “We’re not dead.” 

“Is that your suggestion for what we ought to celebrate?” Freddie asked gently. 

John nodded. 

“That is certainly something,” Freddie said. “In addition to the sandwich, and the bookshop, and I thought we could maybe throw in our albums-” 

“Oh, that’s a good one” Roger grinned. “We should have thought of that.” 

“Some might even say it could have been the first thing we listed, in regards to something to celebrate,” Freddie continued. 

“I think mine ranks somewhat higher,” John noted. “Have to be alive to make an album, usually.” 

“Usually?” Brian asked, somewhat concerned. 

John only smiled in reply. 

“To life then,” Freddie declared. “And our music, and also that one bookshop which I do hope you’ll take me to as well, Brian-” 

Brian nodded. “We’ll make it a group trip.” 

“And Roger’s sandwich,” Freddie finished. “Was it really that good?” 

Roger smiled. “It was. Expensive as all get out, at that stupid little shop down the street. But damned if they don’t deserve the money for it.” 

“Fair enough,” Freddie said. “Shall we open up the drinks and make it a proper toast.” 

John blushed. “Take the second bottle.” 

“Why?” Freddie asked as he made his way to the champagne bottles at the table, only to smirk. “You bitch! That’s how you got into those hose so easily!” 

“I only had a bit,” John giggled. “It was pure coincidence it helped me get these things on. And I didn’t help any with the dress, I’m sure you’ll remember...” 

“I wonder,” Freddie murmured. “Shall we do an experiment, after our toast?” 

---

Three bottles of champagne later, multiple pairs of hose, and four hours later, the experiment had proven a failure. John was apparently the only one who magically benefitted from being slightly tipsy while pulling on hose, as the rest of them lay on the floor, laughing at the ruined hose around them. 

“Still science though,” Brian giggled, and held up a piece of paper. “I wrote it all down! We could publish it...in a paper...” 

“Wait,” Roger mumbled. “What’s our control group though?” 

Brian groaned. “Fuck.” 

“Does it really matter,” Freddie mused. “As long as we all had fun? I know I have.” 

“But science-” Brian started, then paused. “Well. I did have fun. But I don’t think I can sit up right now.” 

“No rush,” John said, a leg lifted up and laying on the edge of the couch as he lolled his head lackadaisically from side to side. “I’m fine down here, frankly. Comfortable. Just like dresses. Why don’t we wear them more often?” 

“That,” Freddie said. “Is a whole discussion. But I don’t feel up for it, so I’ll settle to say that we should wear them more often. There would be no harm in drag on stage, for that matter...” 

“I like it,” Roger said, and reached for the papers Brian had in his hand. “Bring those over, we can write it out...plan to do it, what sort of dresses, all that, c’mon!” 

They wouldn’t remember all what they had planned (and not all of their notes would make sense) by the next morning, but Freddie would deem the party a success. 

And one plan for sure would stay in place: parties each month consisting of just the four of them, where they could dress in drag, let loose, and get absolutely nothing done together, in the best way possible. 

[anarcoqueer1994]

Trans Platonic Tarty Story part 6.

So this is most like my last part! Thank you everyone for reading and reblogging. Probably going to start a new Trans TJ story soon with less focus on the coming out parts.

This is a heavy Marty chapter with some Muffy moments. I hope you like it!

Also remember that you are valid whether you pass, don't pass, or don't want to. How you live your gender or lack there of is up to you. <3

Marty felt so stupid running off from his friends like that. He just doesn't know what else to do right now. He knows TJ isn't mad at him for not coming out. He knows that TJ is right about it being his choice to make about when or if he wants people to know he is trans. He understands this all objectively. But knowing something  doesn't necessarily change how you feel, and right now Marty feels like a coward. 

He ran off from the lunch table leaving his very confused friends to piece together what just happened. When he finally stopped running, he finds himself under the bleachers around the football field. He collapses onto the patchy grass under the metal seats above him. Usually running helps him feel better, at least for a bit, but not today. 

He had been doing so well, the past few months. He finally got out of that emotionally exhausting and abusive household where he couldn't be himself. He had formed a really great friendship with TJ. And most excitingly of all, he was finally dating the girl that has been invading his dreams every night for the past year and a half.  He should be the happiest he has ever been, but right now, in this moment, every negative thought that has ever crossed his mind about himself, is racing through his brain.

He feels so angry. He wants to blame someone else. Maybe it was his parents for fucking him up and causing all this internalized guilt for just being himself? Maybe he was mad at the few kids at school for being so hateful towards TJ for coming out, that made him terrified to do the same. Maybe he was mad at TJ for coming up with this stupid shirt idea in the first place? 

No. None of these were it. He was mad at himself for not being brave and he was mad that he lived in a world where you had to be brave to be open about being trans. He couldn't just be open with an expectation of no one having a problem because there was always going to be people who wouldn't be kind. It's really not fair. When you are born and the hospital assigns your gender, nobody questions it. But if you go against that assignment, it's a whole damn thing.

As he is mauling this over, only making himself more and more upset, he sees someone sit down beside him out of the corner of his eye. "Buffy, you didn't need to follow me."

"I mean, I kind of did. I don't know for sure but I am pretty sure it's part of the whole girlfriend job." She smiles, trying to lighten the mood. The boy sitting beside her, doesn't look. He anxiously messes with his shoe lace, while remaining silent.

"Marty, Kira is a mean, horrible person. Those things she said to TJ and Cyrus were inexcusable. But you didn't do anything wrong." She rests her hand on his knee.

"Well that doesn't change the fact that I stood there and did nothing, Buffy. You literally got in school suspension for standing up to Kira and I was a coward." He says, eyes not leaving the patch of ground below him.

"Marty…that's not true. You are not a cowa… "

"I don't need you to lie to me." He interrupts, coming off way angrier than attended.

She looks a little stunned at how harshly he talked to her but tries to brush it off. She knows he isn't really mad at her. She takes a deep breath. "I'm not lying to you, you aren't a coward. Its okay to protect yourself against toxic people like Kira. TJ and Cyrus know you care and they definitely don't blame you for not saying anything. It's your choice to come out on your terms."

He clutches a clump of grass and dirt. "Everyone keeps saying that to me, that it's my choice. Like it is that simple! But it's not. I feel like my head wants to do a 1000 different things at once. I don't want it to be some secret but it scares me to think of anyone besides our friends finding out. This would be so much better if I was born cis. If I didn't have to hide behind tight binders and loose shirts to be myself. " An angry tear forms in the corner of his eye. He quickly pushes his palm against it, pressing so hard he sees specs of color. "Jesus Christ."

Buffy opens her mouth to speak but is at a loss for words. She quickly closes it again. She doesn't know how to help him. He clears his throat. "I'm going to go."

"What about your afternoon classes?"

"What about them?" He says coldly before turning and walking away. Buffy, against every instinct she has to meddle, let's him walk away.

***********

Marty really doesn't know what his plan was, walking off from school like that. He knows his aunt won't be very happy about it when she finds out, but he didn't really care. He needed to be away from that school. He does regret how he treated Buffy though. She didn't deserve for him to treat her so coldly.

He walks for a while, careful to avoid main streets so he doesn't get caught. He doesn't know who he can talk to. The two people he usually turned to, he couldn't. He had blown off Buffy and TJ had his own shit to deal with right now. He thought about running, maybe take some things off his mind but that was too risky in the middle of the school day. So he decides to just go home...but not to his aunt's house.

He was headed to his parents house. He knew they both were at work right now so he would be alone. But also since they were at work, the house was locked. Luckily his old bedroom window was at the back of the house. So when he got there, all he had to do to get in was climb the tree and crawl in through the window.

When he stepped foot into his old room, it seemed unrecognizable. His parents quickly erased all remnants of ever having a child. The blue walls had been painted a deep burgundy. There were 2 black leather recliners in the corners of the rooms with a large smart TV screen against the opposite walls. There were some other miscellaneous things placed in the room, DVDs, some shelves with tons of books, etc. His parents had basically erased the child they were ashamed of with a room full of stuff that will always be more important to them.

With books, and movies, and TV shows, they could choose what they wanted to see. It was in their control. But with Marty, they couldn't control him and force him to be something he was not forever. He was always just going to be an inconvenient thorn in their side.

 He suddenly regrets coming here. He doesn't quite understand what he wanted to accomplish. Maybe he was hoping that his bedroom wouldn't of been changed. That they maybe kept it the way he left it because they missed and hoped he came back. He wanted some proof that his parents loved him. But all they did was ignore the fact that they ever had a child. 

He feels so angry, and hurt and even worse than he felt at school. He doesn't even know how it happened, but he finds himself walk the room, when he stops at a small framed picture on the side table next to one of the chairs. It is a picture of his mom and dad, but it looks familiar. He takes the backing off the frame and pulls the picture out. His heart drops into his stomach when he realizes that the picture had been folded to cut him off. It had been their family picture from the year before where his mom had forced him to where something "more feminine." 

He hated the picture because he didn't look or feel like himself in it. But it hurts more to know that now, his parents were just hiding him and existence.  He puts the picture back the way he found it. In his head he knew he should just leave but apparently his body did not want to listen.

Without thinking, he picked the picture back up and chucked it across the room where it hit the TV, busting it before the picture fell to the ground, glass from the frame shattering. Once he got started, he couldn't stop, he let his anger take hold of him. He knocked over books and movies, and broke the nearby lamp in the process. He trashed the room.

Then he was left standing in the middle of the chaos he created. The floor littered with the objects his own parents valued over him. He took it all in. He hoped this would make him feel better but it didn't. It just served as a reminder that the people that created him, saw this trash that surrounded him as worth more than him. That he was less than trash. 

Well he wasn't about to let them ignore him any more. They could hate him but couldn't just stamp him out. With what he had done, they couldn't just push him to the back burner. He grabs a sharpie that has ended up on the floor and in big black letters across the wall he wrote "DO YOU SEE ME NOW?" and with that, he climbed out the window and headed far away from that house.

**************

It was a few more hours until he finally headed back to his aunt's house. While he was out his phone died. He walks in to find her waiting at the kitchen table. She looks concerned.

"Marty?" She whispers. 

He turns to her with blood shot eyes. He had been crying on and off since he left his old home. His voice cracks. "What?"

"I've gotten some interesting phone calls today." Her face looks apprehensive. Her voice is soft and caring. He can tell that she isn't mad at him as much as she was concerned. "Why did you leave school? Why did you go your parent's house? Your mom called."

He looks away. He takes a sharp, pained, breath. He tries to choke something out, but his words get stuck in his throat. He felt terrible for putting his aunt in this situation. He wishes this didn't affect her but it does.

If she is upset about that fact, she doesn't show it. She can see how hurt her nephew is and that is the only thing she cares about. She gets up without a word and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He sniffled lightly again her shoulder. She doesn't say a thing, just gives him her unconditional love.

After standing there for a while, he quietly whispered, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry for causing any problems for you with my parents…"

"Baby, it's okay. I got it handle, okay?" Unknown to him, when his mom threatened to press charges on the phone, his aunt reminded her she could take her to court for child abandonment and child support.

"Okay. And um...thank you." He says timidly. 

"For what?" She smiles

"For caring about me…" He says as he steps to walk away. He doesn't really want to talk more now. "Hey...um...can we talk later? I kind of wanna lay down." He asks.

"Yea, of course." She says as he walks up to his room and shuts his door. He collapses on his bed and tries to clear his mind. It is not working out that well.

After more of an hour of silence, he hears a knock on his door. It pulls him out of his head. He yells to whoever is outside the door. "Yeah?" 

"Marty, it's me."

He scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. "Buffy? What are you doing here?"

"Your aunt let me in. Can I open your door?" Her voice sounds like she is trying to be positive but it is tinged with worry.

He clears his throat, "Yeah, come in."

"Hey." Buffy says as she pushes the door open enough for her to come in before closing it behind her. She steps closer to the edge of his bed. "Can I sit?"

"Um sure, look Buffy, I'm sorry." He starts as she sits on his bed, half facing him. "I'm sorry that I just left earlier. I shouldn't have just ran away. I was kind of a jerk to you too."

"Yeah you were." She jokes. "But that's not why I'm here." Her voice gets more destressed. "Marty, you really had me worried. You ran off and weren't answering your calls."

"I'm...sorry." He exhales into an annoyed sigh but it wasn't aimed at Buffy. It was aimed at himself. "My phone died."

Buffy reaches forward and grabs Marty hand. "It's okay, I just care about you a lot."

Marty tries to joke. He puts on a half smile and says "Watch it, Driscoll, you getting soft on me?" 

She chuckles back. Keeping her voice low, she implored, "So, what did you do?"

He quickly looks away while rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Something stupid…" He confesses.

"You wouldn't be the first person to do something stupid today. I got myself in school suspension...with Kira" She says in disgust.

"I broke into my parents house?" He continues to not look at her.

'Marty...why? What if you would of got caught?" Her eyebrows are raised in a mixture of confusion and surprise.

He finally meets her eye. "Yeah, I didn't think that far. But they weren't home so they didn't see me."

"Oh good so they don't know you were there?" 

He lets out a dry laugh. "Oh no, they definitely know I was there."

"What...did...you...do?" Emphasizing each word with a pause.

He places his other hand over Buffy's so that her hand is sandwiched between his. "It just happened, Buff." His voice sounded weak and defeated. "I went into my room to see if it changed. And it definitely did. They got rid of anything I didn't take with me. They made it a home theater. They purposely  blotched out any reminder that I ever occupied space in their lives. They even cut me out a stupid family picture." His breath sounded more labored now like he was trying to keep himself together and force himself not to cry.

"Marty, I'm so, so sorry…" She says, kicking off her shoes, so she could scoot closer onto the bed. She removes her hand from his, just for it to reappear on his shoulder a few moments, arm pulling him tight.

"I just wanted to believe that my parents really did love and we would someday get past this. But I don't think we ever will…and when I saw all that stuff, I was so angry. So I wrecked the room. I don't even know why. But part of me hoped that at least I could get some reaction off of them. Something so I could pretend that they care. But they don't."

"Well they didn't deserve to have a son as funny, and athletic, and...sweet…" She smiles into the word  "...as you. I mean that, okay? Your parents made their choice, and now they will never get to see all the great things you are going to do."

He can't help but smile at her words. He really is lucky to have the people who chose to stay in his life. "Hey, guess what?" His mood is notably lighter. 

"What?"

"One good thing came out of today. I realize I have a lot bigger problems than some terrible kids at school. At the end of the day, they are just other kids. It's nowhere near as bad as full grown adults hating you for just existing, especially when they are your parents. So…" he trails off.

"So what?" She urges for him to finish.

"So I'm going to come out tomorrow. I know some kids are going to be assholes  but Like you said…They made their choice. And I am making mine."

"Marty, are you sure?" She asks, to verify if that is what he really wants.

"Yeah. I'm tired of so much of my life being dictated by fear. I don't have to worry about people finding out if they already know. Even if it is terrible, I know my girlfriend and my friends have my back." His voice changes to a more silly competitive tone, "Plus TJ is already beating me on this coming out thing, so I really gotta step up my game." He cracks a goofy grin.

Buffy laughs before resting her head on his shoulder. "You are really full of surprises, Marty…"

"What can I say? I am." He holds onto her too.

***********

The next morning, Buffy meets Marty at his house so they can walk to school together. As they get closer to the school, Buffy asks "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." He admits.

"What's your plan?"

"I think I'm just going to wing it?"

"Which means?" She asks as they climb the steps leading into the school. 

"Not sure." He answers before opening the door to the crowded, busy hallway. They spot their friends in the hallway. TJ is still glued to Cyrus' side more than usual but he looks like he looks happier today. When Jonah, Andi, Cyrus, and TJ notice Buffy and Marty, they immediately smile over to them.

He can't help but feel great in that moment. He had friends who really cared about him even after he accidentally outed himself to them yesterday. Buffy has his hand in hers as they walk closer. A few feet from them though, he stops, drops Buffy's hand and turns to face the hallway, packed with students. He clears his throat loudly before speaking over everyone in there. "Hey excuse me?"

Andi walks close to Buffy and whispers "What is he doing?"

"I think he's winging it?" She says back equally as quiet. Her attention turns back to Marty as he continues.

"I just want everyone in here to know that I'm trans. I'm trans guy. And no I don't want any weird questions. Google it."

Moments later, a few chuckles leave the now quiet hallway. But when Buffy moves forward and stands next to him, the laughs go quiet. Most likely because they saw what she did to Kira. 

"So no one has a problem,right?" He finishes, looking around, trying to hide his overwhelming sense of anxiety. But before long, the hallway chatter starts back up seemingly not fazed by the revelation. He feels better at the lack of reaction. 

The rest of his friends step closer. TJ goes and stands in front of him. "That was sudden."

"Well a lot of things came into perspective last night." Marty smiles.

"So...l I guess we are doing this coming out thing together?" TJ's voice is full of relief but will never admit to it if you ask him. He is just happy to be going  through this with his best friend.

"I guess so, man." He lets out an airy laugh through his nose.

"And you have all of us, too." Buffy says, taking her boyfriend's hand, with Cyrus nodding and doing the same to TJ. Andi and Jonah also smile in agreement.Marty realizes that in this moment,  it can really only get better from here.

Tag List: @abg-blah @kippens-a-goodman @purplefacey @thefaeriemagic3 @tyrus-is-everything

[wizardwritings]

You Again

YOU AGAIN PT. 1

Overview: After graduating from law school in New York, you were offered a job at one of the best firms in London. Once there, you bumped into Draco Malfoy, your former best friend and former boyfriend. But almost eight years have passed, and you’re in for the surprise of a lifetime. (Muggle/Modern AU)

Word Count: About 2,200.

Warning(s): Some swearing.

Note: This is loosely inspired by the movie You Again and Taylor Swift’s “Speak Now.” The fic will be around 10 parts in total. Stay tuned! :)

Tag List: If you want to be tagged in this series, either comment or reblog saying you want to be added to the list. Those who ask me through my ask box will be ignored.

To say you were shocked to be back in London was an understatement.

After graduating from Columbia Law School, you expected to stay where your network was strong and self-built. Still, with cutthroat graduates all looking to partner with the best firms in New York, you knew your only options were to stand out or to get out.

You just never thought the option you’d choose would be the latter.

It wasn’t that you weren’t able to get a position at Skadden. In all honesty, if that’s what you wanted, you wouldn’t have let anything stop you. But it wasn’t. Not necessarily, at least.

What you did want was the best opportunity possible. And if it took a move back to London to secure a high-paying job in one of the world’s top ranking firms, then so be it.

Clifford Chance, here I come.

And so, there you were. Back where it all started: wandering the streets of London. The summer day was dry and warm, the sun hidden behind a layer of clouds. As soon as you settled into a hotel, the first thing you did wasn’t alert your family, but rather get something to drink.

Or more particularly, a coffee. A coffee from your favorite café, Busy Bean, to be exact.

As you sat in a booth, sipping on your latte, you heard a familiar name being called out.

“Caffè Americano for Draco!” a barista called.

Your eyes shut. It couldn’t be...

“Thank you, Linda.”

Your gaze followed the back of his head. With his blond hair almost bordering on white, there was no doubt in your mind this was Draco Malfoy. He definitely wasn’t the first person you wanted to see the day you returned to London, but there he was, in all his glory.

Not that you should’ve been surprised, though. Busy Bean used to be your go to spot with Draco--as best friends and as significant others. Still, you didn’t expect him to come regularly after your not so mutual break up. At the time, you were young and selfish and scared to admit that you were falling in love.

So you did what you knew best. You ran.

But now you were back, realizing just how much the world enjoys its cruel irony.

When Draco turned around, his eyes immediately met yours, catching you staring. You coughed once, taking a drink from your cup and averting your gaze.

“Y/N?” His voice was a mixture of shock and amusement.

You focused your attention back on him, taking in his appearance. A small smile made its way across your face, noticing how he had filled out since you last saw him. He looked taller and more self-assured, and though you weren’t on the best terms, it still made you happy to know he was doing well.

What remained unchanged, however, was the slight tiredness in his eyes and the ever-present smirk on his face.

“Draco,” you greeted, motioning him over.  

When he took a seat in front of you, the same butterflies in your stomach from your first date with him returned. The only difference was that you were two adults that would most likely never date again. You had to keep your composure.

“How have you been?”

You both chuckled when you realized you asked the same question at the same time.

“You first,” said Draco, cupping his fingers around the circumference of his drink. “New York must’ve been hard to adjust to, correct?”

“Took a while,” you agreed, giving him a slight shrug. “But I grew to love it after seven years. In all honesty, I feel more like an outsider here than New York now.”

He gave you a look of surprise, leaning forward on his forearms. “Like it better than London, do you reckon?”

You took another sip from your latte before shaking your head. “They’re almost incomparable, really.”

Draco raised an eyebrow in question.

“London is...my childhood,” you said with a sigh. “It’s where I grew up--what I’m used to. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“And New York?”

“New York is like a breath of fresh air on a hot day.” You pursed your lips. “Though, admittedly, there’s not a lot of fresh air to be found in the city. But, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

When he didn’t reply, you drummed your fingers on the table, feeling the urge to explain.

“Here, everyone knows me because of my parents. ‘Oh, you’re Y/F/N’s daughter? The CEO of UBM? You must be so proud!’” you said in a mocking tone. “In New York, the only way people know me is for my accomplishments. I can make a name for myself there.”

“You do look happier,” Draco said quietly. His eyes gave you a once over. “You have almost a glow to you you’ve never had here.”

Now it was your turn to stay silent, the only indication you heard him was a slight blush on your face.

“But now you’re back.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

You sighed. “Mind over heart.”

A forlorn smile played on Draco’s face. “I see your motto hasn’t changed.”

You winced slightly. That motto was a major catalyst in your thought process of breaking up with him. And both of you knew it.

“It hasn’t.” Looking past his shoulder, you continued, “A better opportunity was presented here than in New York. I couldn’t let my pride get the best of me.”

But now, saying it out loud, you weren’t sure if you were confident in your choice.

“But enough about me,” you rushed out. “How have you been?”

Draco made eye contact with you, not wanting to drop the subject quite yet. Eventually, he sighed, breaking his gaze.

“I’ve been alright.”

“How descriptive.”

This earned small chuckle from him as he half-heartedly rolled his eyes.

You two soon fell into an easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing and all that fell between. It was almost as if nothing had changed--except for the fact the you were both painfully aware of how much more attractive the other had gotten.

You felt like you could talk to him for hours and, when you checked your phone, you noticed that you had.

“Oh, shit,” you murmured, almost jumping out of your seat. “It’s getting late, Draco. I better go unpack my things in the hotel.”

“Hotel?” He stood along with you, cold coffee in hand. “Not going to your parents house?”

“Not yet.” Tossing your empty latte in a trash bin, you wiped your palms on your skirt. “They actually don’t know I’m here yet.”

You brushed off his look of confusion with an innocent smile.

“I wanted some time to reflect,” you paused, looking at him sternly, “and you won’t be the one to ruin that, okay?”

A single laugh escaped Draco’s mouth as you nudged him with your shoulder. “Okay.”

You walked out of the café with him, keeping an eye out for a taxi. As selfish as it was, you wanted to stay in his presence for hours on end, just like the old times.

“So,” you drawled, walking toward the street. “It was nice talking to you again.”

“Almost like nothing’s changed,” he said with a nod.

You spotted a black cab cruising by and stuck your arm out. The taxi came to a stop a few feet away from you.

“Guess it’s time for me to go.” You shrugged, not quite wanting to leave. Still, you walked toward the car.

“Wait!”

You turned around.

Draco’s cheeks were tinged a light shade of pink. “I don’t think I have you number.”

“I had to change it when I moved to New York and again now that I moved back,” you supplied, exchanging phones with him. Before giving it back, you took a quick picture of yourself, smiling with your face pressed against an unaware Draco.

Once he noticed, his mouth turned up into a grin, a slight, yet stark, contrast from his usual smirk. After taking a contact picture of himself, his face pursed into an exaggerated smoulder, Draco handed you your phone back.

“Ma’am, are you ready?” the taxi driver called, getting impatient. So used to the aggressive New York cabbies, you were shocked the driver hadn’t already left you in the dust.

Draco waved the taxi driver off, apologizing for the inconvenience.

You glared at him. “And how am I supposed to get to my hotel now?”

He met your gaze with raised eyebrows. “I’ll drive you, of course.”

“You don’t have to--”

Draco cut you off with a stern look. “What kind of best friend would I be to leave you in the London streets?”

Best friend. It took all your willpower not to smile at his words. Best friend. Even after all you two have been through--or rather, the shit that seemed to accompany you and, by the transitive property, him--he still considered you his best friend.

You never knew how much you wanted to hear him say those words until they actually came out of his mouth.

“I never thought I’d miss you this much,” you replied absentmindedly. Your eyes widened, realizing what you had just said. Law school graduate or not, Draco Malfoy always got you to bring your guards down. Just like the old times. “I miss it-- Not you you. I just meant I miss talking to you. Not that I--”

Draco cut you off, enveloping you in a hug.

“I missed you, too, Y/N,” he murmured, face pressed against your hair. “I missed you so damn much.”

Your face flamed and you were glad it wasn’t in his view. “I’m here now,” you said softly, aware of how he ran his hand up and down you shirt-clad back.

The two of you pulled away, sharing a small smile as Draco offered you his arm. You made your way to his car, a slick, black Corvette that just screamed Malfoy.

“Of course,” you snorted, smiling despite yourself as you took a seat. Running your hand across the leather, you couldn’t help but whistle. “This is one fucking hot ride, Malfoy.”

Starting the engine, he put on his shades with a smirk. “I know.”

After a car ride filled with off-key renditions of Elton John’s hit singles, Draco pulled up in front of the hotel you were staying at.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you?”

You gave him a flat look. “It’s a five-star hotel, Draco. Not Bates Motel. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said, putting his arms up in mock surrender. Still, he remained parked, making no move to drive away.

When you made it into the hotel and up to your room, your phone buzzed with a text from a Draco with three green hearts next to his name. You smirked.

Are you safe in your room?

Yes, Dad, you texted back, peering out your window only to catch a glimpse of a wall. Now drive home. And be safe.

Okay, Mum.

You shook your head, smiling as you placed your phone on the television stand. Pulling out your journal, you jotted down a few highlights from your first day back in London.

Once you finished, you reckoned Draco had made it back home by now.

Drove home safely?

It had been a tradition since the both of you started driving. After one of you dropped the other off, you would make sure the other’s drive home was safe. Old habits die hard.

In perfect condition, of course.

Satisfied, you tossed your phone onto the bed, deciding to order room service. If there was one thing you needed this very moment, it was food.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur, filled with the overindulgence of junk and overrated sitcoms. By the time you were ready for bed, you found your phone somewhere in the sheets. Placing your head on a pillow, you noticed you received a text from Draco not too long ago.

Have a goodnight, Y/N.

You too, Malfoy. :)

You turned your phone to silent, placing it on the nightstand. You tried to sleep, but once you saw your phone screen light up with a notification, you just about jumped out of bed to grab it like a primary schooler with a crush.

I’ll see you Friday. ;) x

You stomach filled with giddiness at that little sentence. There were some friends you just loved to text. Draco was one of them. Still, as you thought on it, you didn’t recall making any plans for the week.

What’s Friday?

Why…your welcome back dinner, of course. I just planned it. I’ve invited a few of your secondary school friends. Harry, Ron, and them.

Uncertainty ran through you. Your friends never got along with Draco’s in school. You tried to convince him that this wasn’t necessary--you’d catch up with them on your own time--but he was insistent. You rolled your eyes at his obstinance, thinking that, if he wanted to, he could’ve made a great lawyer.

The dinner is planned and you’re going to love it. Don’t even try to get out of it, Y/L/N. I know where you live.

Huffing slightly, you tried to come up with an excuse. But with your work not starting until the end of summer, you knew you had nothing else to do. You yawned, your eyes feeling tired from staring at your phone screen for so long.

Fine, then. :P I’ll see you Friday, Malfoy. Goodnight. xx

Sweet dreams, darling.

And as you placed your phone on the nightstand, you couldn’t help but fall asleep with a smile on your face.

What do you think “the surprise of a lifetime” is? Answer here or in the comments!

If you’re familiar with the movie, You Again it shouldn’t be much of a surprise. It’s not a plot twist, really. It’s just when the real drama starts. ;) So brace yourselves.

P.S If anyone is willing to make me a graphic for a “You Again” Masterlist, please contact me. I’d be so so grateful!

MASTERLIST

SEND REACTIONS / PREDICTIONS HERE

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Crush - Chapter 4. The Break

Pairing: Eric/OC *Abbey* Fandom: Divergent Rating: M

A memory from Eric’s past plays tricks on him. And it’s all about the girl, Abbey Ainsworth.

A/N: I’m SO enjoying editing this, it’s fantastic. It feels like a relationship backwards and something completely different. Love it. Thanks for reading and reblogging and wanting to be tagged!

Tags:  @iammarylastar @badassbaker @pathybo @mimigemrose@frecklefaceb @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @lauraaan182 @kenzieam @tigpooh67

Eric lets her pull him inside, his hand loose in hers, but Abbey keeps her grip tight.

Eric peers around him for the briefest of moments, taking in his surroundings out of habit. It's clean and tidy, mainly dark stained wood, and a lot smaller than it looks from the outside. The kitchen and living space is crammed together but that's all he can make out from the lack of light.

Abbey leads him through a small doorway to a square hallway, only there to connect the bathroom and bedroom and only big enough for two people to stand in at the same time. Eric has to keep himself from sneering at the stupid Amity design and lack of imagination.

Gleefully, he latches back onto Abbey in front of him, her robe floating behind her. It seemed his luck was in. She's offered him her company for the night - he had no plans to abuse it however, if anything he was enjoying spending time with her.

Abbey turns back and smiles at him. "It's probably far from Dauntless, isn't it?" She let's go of his hand, leaving him in the doorway and crosses the room to sit on her bed.

"You're not wrong."

Eric mulls over her room, a typical woman's room, apart from the fact it was dressed typically Abbey. A dark, wooden framed bed with white sheets and far too many pillows that one person would ever possibly need, sat positioned out into the room from the farthest wall. There were floating net curtains by the only window with a dreamcatcher to one side, a dresser with a mirror on top with personal vanity lotions and other things he didn't particularly care for sitting opposite the end of the bed. What grabs him the most are the roughly stuck pictures around her mirror, and he casually strolls over to them.

A picture of her parents, Abbey with some straw hat on her head holding up the biggest, sickeningly sweet bunch of flowers she could possibly have found. More pictures of flowers… He eventually lands on one of interest and he recognizes the picture well. Eric flicks it, admiring the young girl and baby-faced boy. "Seriously, you have got to get over me…"

"Ha-ha, very funny." He peers over his shoulder, smirking at her before turning back and unsticking it from the edge of the mirror. Abbey crumples her face up, detesting the way he was destroying her room and untouched organization – and also for the fact that he really didn't care either. "I like the picture. We came second in our presentation. It was a proud moment for us and my parents."

Eric huffs, rolling his eyes, his thoughts roaming onto all the ways he was always placed second. Second to Four, second to Abbey's fiancée, second in biology… He tags it back messily and turns to face her. She looks tired, so he's not going to keep her any longer. "So, who's taking the floor?"

Abbey shrugs. "No one. Kind of thought we'd share? We're both adults and it's not like we haven't before." She plays with the bed sheets, suddenly peering up at him. "Don't tell me, Dauntless has led you to be too used to sleeping alone?"

Eric steps in front of her and continues to watch him from her seated position. "From time to time I'm not always alone…"

"Good, so it shan't be any bother, then." She stands, her head reaching to just below his neck. She was getting all moody with him and his eyes dance playfully over her. "Stop looking at me like that!" He pouts. "Or that!" She laughs and eventually, she falls quiet, gazing up at him.

Was she expecting something? … Now, this was awkward.

"You going to sleep in your full Dauntless uniform, or?" Abbey doesn't wait and lets the light robe fall off her shoulders. She nimbly chucks it to one side, still standing before him – he notes the way that just under the silky material of her mint-green vest and matching shorts, that she is definitely not wearing a bra, so that meant - no underwear either.

One of her hands reaches out to him and he sighs, flicking his eyes back and forth between her face and how her hands work against his jacket, loosening the poppers, then yanking on the zip underneath. "I can undress myself." He lets the words rumble from his throat rather than spitting them nastily. He didn't really want her to stop.

Keeping his eyes down on her. She doesn't look up and ignores him, motioning for him to take it off, watching him furtively, the air so thick it could burst. Abbey's small hands find the bottom of his vest and she pulls it up a fraction revealing the pale flesh underneath, then meets his eye.

A silent exchange happens. Eric couldn't really place what it was, and his heart felt suddenly like a ton of lead.

He takes off his vest fluidly and throws it to one side, presenting her with finely defined muscles that held themselves taut from years of work. Abbey finds it hard not to look down to the V of his waist, counting the ab's he had kept hidden from her till now. "Roids are really bad for you, you know…" Eric covers an airy chuckle, and she breaks away to the light, flicking it off, leaving just an orangey glow from the lamp beside the bed.

Abbey flips back the sheets and slides herself in, waiting for Eric to finish undressing. Their escapades had gotten way too personal and deep, leaving her a little strangely breathless. Eric pretends that he can't hear it and makes his way over, hesitating for a fraction of a second before getting in himself while Abbey turns off the lamp.

He feels too highly strung that he may not sleep, a tension in his shoulders and a small tingling down his arms… Until Abbey does what she does best – talks. "So, there is no one waiting for you at home?"

"Never has been." Eric shuffles till he's comfortable on his back, looking up at the ceiling. But he's fully aware that she's facing him.

"So, you just find someone who's favorable that night and take them back to yours?"

Yeah, it was pretty much like that – "They're gone after an hour, it's nothing special." And it only made him feel shitty afterward… until the next manly urge took a hold of him. "Wouldn't be jealous now, would you, Abbey?"

She snorts into her pillow laughing, any other person he'd probably shove off the bed and tell them how vile they are, but with her, it's attractive. "You are so smooth. Where do you get this shit?" – she was mocking his simplistic flirting methods, which was just drawing a word out longer than usual…

"Years of practice." He turns his head fractionally towards her. "You should get some sleep."

The blackened room makes their silhouettes just visible, and Eric can see Abbey's bright eyes shining up at him more than anything else. She shifts till she's touching him, then grabs his arm, throwing it up and placing herself at his side, lying her head on his chest and arm wrapped around her.

Her warmth seeps over him and for a minute he's ridged but gives in when he can feel her breathing against his chest.

Eric would never let any old woman sleep near him. He'd be toe punting them out the door the minute he got his fix. But the fleeting thought occurs that perhaps after all this time, that this was why. He just hadn't gotten over Abbey, and by the looks of her, she hadn't either.

"I've missed you," she tells him. "…I had no idea." Her aching voice vibrates against his chest. "Everything's messed up."

Eric pulls her closer, running a hand over her back in comfort, still managing to feel her spine even through the material. It may have been a selfish act before, maybe even whimsical to get Abbey back, but it was so much deeper than he had realized. The journey was harsher, the reality raw.

Eric opens his mouth to say something and she digs her fingers into his body. "It's okay, I know you don't like that kind of stuff." She sniffs and now he's unsure as to whether she's crying or not. The ape-like instinct to grip her head back and search for evidence surely wouldn't go down well.

"Just hold me… like this… just for a while," she pleads.

God, why did he have to be such a cottoned dick? But the simple fact was he actually couldn't openly trust his emotions being aired. He could air hers, memories - but his feelings, no. He was spineless. Emotions and feelings had represented weakness to him for far too long that he mentally ignored them, he'd never realized how powerful they could be.

When Abbey's breathing becomes softer, slower, he allows his own itching eyes to close. Tomorrow he will do Abbey a favor. One that would stop her pain.

He was going to find her fiancée, and make him break up with her…

Eric wakes on his side, Abbey's back pushed up against his chest and his arms thrown over her. It's warm and clammy and he has a hard time coming to terms with leaving. But he has multiple jobs to do and he has no idea what the time is now. All he can make out is the bright light shining in through the window and he knows he's already late.

Eric pushes himself away, rolling onto his back and slipping himself carefully out of the bed. He studies her precariously when he redresses, trying not to wake her. Hopefully, he'll find her pain in the ass inconvenience quickly and get the job done before she's any wiser. Then there is the problem with the factionless that needs his attention.

His phone call yesterday was to Max. He'd asked for more men as he had no doubt that in the next few days there would be disruption with the factionless. But with the extra support, he knew they could intervene before anything made its way to Amity.

Eric's first mistake is throwing her front door open and stepping outside without checking who is around. In fact, he didn't really care. They hadn't done anything worthy of gossiping, but still, the other faces that appear wide-eyed in passing make him realize he better do this quick before word gets around. There was still one small problem though, he still didn't even know who he was looking for and he had a strange sense that perhaps he was - for some reason, in hiding. Did he possibly know about their connection? Eric guessed he must, their picture was stuck by the mirror after all.

The best place for him to go and find out was none other than her little friends at the flower shop who would be so willing to give him everything he needs if he so asked. A small wry smile forms on his face as he sets off… today will be interesting, he can feel it in his bones.

Eric went back and showered so quickly he was sure he left soap still in on his skin. But he felt better, tired, but there was excitement lingering in his veins. The same feeling he gets when he knows he's about to do something really bad.

Was it normal to feel that way – in the sense that he enjoyed tension, eerie vibes? He actually didn't give a fuck... Eric strived to get what he wanted and would flatten anyone who got in his way.

Every muscle in his face tenses when the door chimes as he enters. The stench of pollen thick in the air, damp, sweet and sickly. It takes everything not to hold fingers to his nose to block the smell. He scans the room briefly, a bored expression sitting on his face as he puts his hands casually behind his back. It annoys him that no one comes out to check who has entered straight away – until he sees his dear friend Sandra pop her head up from out back. She looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights, eyes wide and jittering with unsure looks as if she may be about to be arrested or even attacked.

"Hello, Sandra."

"Abbey's not here."

Eric smiles. No, that's right, she's probably still asleep in the sheets that now smell like him. "I'm actually not looking for Abbey. I was wondering if perhaps you may be able to help me with a little something?"

Sandra looks confused as if she can't possibly fathom what he was talking about and what exactly she could help him with. "Yes, of course…"

"I need to pass a message to Abbey's fiancée, but I've seemingly forgotten his name…"

Sandra's face flushes just a little. "He's one of Mark's men."

Shit… He must've been standing with Johanna when he arrived on the first day and he didn't even realize. That must mean he definitely knows who he is and he has for sure been trying to avoid him. "I need a name, Sandra," Eric snaps, growing impatient.

"Matt, Matt Wallace."

That was all he needed, he could find everything else on his electronic pad. "Thanks," he says abruptly, marching through the door and slamming it shut to the bell chiming behind him.

Finding Matt's details were easy enough. Finding the right words to use, however, was a whole other subject. He had no idea what he was going to say. He was just going to think of something on the spot as per usual.

Eric knew where to find him, he was a bitch of a bitch so it wouldn't be hard. He'd be around Johanna somewhere.

When approaching Johanna's office, he begins to wish he'd left Abbey's shack much more secretly. He's only just made it inside the barn doors when voices shout and reverberate from above him. Stepping on the first step, Mark looks down at him, and for a split second, he swears he sees joy sweep his features.

"Talk of the devil…" Mark says to the yelling voices and there's a load of footsteps echoing above him.

A man pushes passed Mark, looking absolutely frantic, and he knows he's found the Matt he was looking for.

"Matt, I presume?" Eric says rather calmly, watching as Matt's face contorts in anger. Then to his excitement, the young lad barrels himself down the steps towards him, arms outstretched.

Eric allows him to grip his jacket. Maybe he deserved it. He wasn't sure how Amity fellow dealt with emotions like anguish. It was strange to see an Amity so angry, highly entertaining.

Grabbing his jacket would be the only thing he would allow him to do. He knocks Matt's feet out and slams him backward with one arm, pinning him to the ground against the hay and dirt. "Easy, boy."

"Why were you at Abbey's this morning!?" Matt hisses, trying to push against his locked arm to no avail.

"We're friends, Matt. Have been a long time…" Matt then tries to push him harder and Eric slams him into the floor again, knocking some of the tension out of him. "Easy. If it's a fight you're looking for, you won't win. I can assure you that."

"Let him go, Eric!" Johanna screeches from above. The commotion has bought some Dauntless from one of their watches, guns pointed to the blushing guy on the floor.

"Ease down," Eric commands to the guns, motioning with his free hand to lower them while still holding the front of Matt's jacket, keeping him pinned easily to the floor. Eric's gray eyes have glazed over slightly, a little darker than they were before and he peers down to the sweating, grimacing face of Abbey's fiancee. "I think it's about time me and you had a little chat…" Eric picks him up with the same amount of effort he used when he pinned him – nothing, and pats his jacket down from the hay. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, nothing has happened between me and Abbey." He makes sure to tell the room who are all cautiously listening. "We've known each other since Erudite, that's all."

"Everyone out. Eric, Matt, in my office. Sort this out now and then concentrate on the real situation at hand here!" Johanna raises her voice and everyone leaves, bar the Dauntless who Eric signals eventually.

Matt throws a hand to his forehead and rubs roughly till red marks paint on his skin. His dark hair is clinging to his head with sweat and he agitatedly paces once or twice before storming back over to the steps and up.

Eric follows him a little less hasty and Johanna gives him a long look when he gets to the top, pleading with him almost - what for, he wasn't sure.

"Sort this out between the two of you. After today I don't want to hear any more about it. We don't need this kind of negativity on the verge of attack," Johanna lets out loosely, so he guesses that everyone at Amity now knows the shitty situation she's been trying to hide from them.

"I'm all for that," Eric says, smiling, peering between the two, and Matt appears as if he just can't stand to be anywhere near him, opting to stand a good distance away from him.

Johanna leaves with one last look over her shoulder and the barn falls quiet. Eric inhales a large lungful of air. "Let's not beat this round the bush. She doesn't love you." Well – someone had to start somewhere.

Matt laughs, still pacing. "Right. She tell you that?"

"She doesn't have to. I know her extremely well."

"I know that. I didn't know to what extent. I was just letting you guys have your little reunion. But finding out you walked out of her place this morning, that crosses the line!"

"Nothing happened. I give you my word." Eric walks casually and takes a seat in Johanna's chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. "However, I want you to call the wedding off. She's not happy with you."

"Oh right, but she is with you. Does she even know you're here?"

"Not exactly. But I know for a fact she won't marry you. One doubt and Abbey is extremely stubborn. So…" He fixes a steady look on the stressed man in front of him. "I'm going to give you a free get-out-now with a reasonable excuse… Cut your losses and never think about her again."

"Shouldn't this really be Abbey's decision?" Matt crosses his arms, but he's reluctantly absorbing his words.

"She'd never tell you, she's too Amity, so I'm doing it for her. She won't call off the wedding as she doesn't want bad feelings. However, if you call it off, you get to be the asshole for the day, but then everyone gets what they want."

"Everyone gets what they want … and what you want is Abbey."

Eric stands, rounding the table and perching his ass on the edge. "I won't deny it, nor will I acknowledge it. Call off the wedding today. Find Abbey and tell her this morning, and I'll see to it you get a promotion," he shrugs. "You can work alongside the Dauntless watches if that's what you want." When Matt doesn't reply, he shifts to stand. "Look at this way, it's not really an option."

There's a long pause, the young man's heart breaking into tiny pieces in front of him. He almost felt guilty - almost. "Okay. Just - just don't hurt her."

Eric chirps up instantly, gleefully moving towards the stairs on his exit. "I wouldn't dream of it, buddy."

Matt watches as he disappears, sighing to himself extremely audibly. But secretly, deep down – he kind of knew this was going to happen… but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Eric's pristine in his uniform standing tall and particularly intimidating. He's crowded by other Dauntless as he instructs the watches and movements around Amity. "Every two hours, switch back. Take that path that runs alongside the fences, skim the woods. Nothing is to be left unturned. You got that?"

"Yes, sir." They chime between them, and he watches the one in front flick a look over to one side. "Incoming…"

Eric turns to the wrath that is an angry Abbey.

"Here she is!" He steps away from the Dauntless, but they begin to disperse around him anyway. She looks as though she's been crying, or just shouting as she's red in the face – he wasn't really good at this shit.

"You!" is all she says before throwing a right hook into his arm, propelling away from him in agony from crumpling her knuckles on his solid arm muscle. Abbey hisses loudly, throwing her hand around and biting her lip in agony.

"Woah, Ab's! Let me see."

"Stay away from me!" She's still whimpering under her breath. "You are the biggest asshole I've ever known!"

"Oh come on, that's a bit harsh." Eric tries to conceal his amusement, a smile cracking on his lips and it only riles her further.

"You told Matt to call off the wedding! What… you didn't think I was capable? Why do you have to throw yourself into my business?" When he steps forward, she slaps his arm, then again. But it's petty.

"Gossip got around. The same gossip that you were trying to avoid. He confronted me and it slipped out," he shrugs nonchalantly. A little white lie wouldn't hurt. He couldn't exactly tell her that this is what he was planning, but either way, it panned out pretty well for him. "It's better like this, is it not? This is what you ultimately wanted. Even if you couldn't bring yourself to say it."

"Don't test me, Eric. I'm so close to kicking you in the balls, it's unreal…" She paces just like Matt did and Eric begins to wonder if that was a passive Amity thing. 

Abbey's fiery spirit compels him, and after a second he steps forwards, motioning to his head to the people standing around them. "You want to talk about this somewhere else? I mean, we can do it here if you want? I don't really care."

"You've made me look like a bitch! Him an asshole – depending on who believes what in the rumors. No! No, I do not want to talk to you. I don't even want to look at your stupid face!" Abbey begins walking away but he follows her. She walks to the entrance of a stable and filters her way through in the dimmer lighting. "Stop following me!"

"I'll stop following you when you tell me that you don't want me."

Eric folds his arms, and Abbey freezes, her shoulders curled inwards on his words. She doesn't turn, just seems to be taking a moment.

Eric begins closing the distance slowly. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll stop." A horse nickers to the side of him as he passes and he runs a hand over the muzzle softly. "Say it Ab's." He's now within a few steps from her.

She suddenly shivers as she feels his approach and turns to face him, keeping her eyes downcast. Eric reaches her, tilting her chin up, locking his eyes on hers and watching as her lips part again. His other hand grips onto her shoulder, sliding onto the soft skin of her neck.

"Well?" he asks, faltering slightly as her fingers grip onto the top pockets of his jacket, pulling him forward. He doesn't resist.

"I can't." She brings herself up on her tip-toes, him leaning down to her, their faces fractions from each other as they both hesitate. Eric can't help the shuddering breath that escapes.

And she kisses him.

Very, very gently, almost non-existent at first. He tilts his head back, wondering if he imagined it or not. But the warming sensation is left pulsing as its own evidence.

She pulls him a little more severely - and when their lips collide, a thousand things seem to pass between them that were left unspoken.

The fumbling young boy and clumsy girl were gone.

At one point their teeth clash, and Abbey lets a small moan escape from her throat as Eric's tongue moves faultlessly against hers. He bites at her lip and lets his hands drop to underneath her ass as she jumps and wraps her legs around him easily.

This felt right. Everything felt right.

Two hands sit on either side of his face as she tilts it back and holds him there, practically leaving him wheezing as she covers his mouth again. "You… are such… a chicken shit," she whispers between frantic, long and loud kisses. She rolls her hips on him and his erection is practically fit to burst.

Eric would take her here in front of the horses but he doubts she would appreciate that - and the fact they could be spotted at any moment. He was still up for it, though.

He lets his fingers curl underneath her inner thighs, beneath her dress, pulling the skin apart where he can already feel the heat pouring from, and she groans. Teasingly, one fingertip runs along her underwear, testing the flimsy material and she grinds against him. "Eric..." Her head rolls back a little before she brushes a finger on his lips. "Not now…" she breathlessly says, her lips swollen and red.

"We're not finished here…" He bites at her again and quite simply wants to fuck her brains out, right here, right now.

He makes sure he leaves marks on her neck. At first running his tongue across the clammy, salty skin before pulling it into his mouth and sucking.

She presses into him and lets him stay there for a little while - till she realizes what he's doing. "Eric, stop! I've got to go to work…"

He laughs against her neck and eventually brings himself to look at her, licking his lips under her gaze. "You're so fucked…" He paints a coy smile on his face, absolutely delighted with himself.

Abbey thumps his back, leaning forward against his lips as she speaks, flicking her eyes between each of his. "I was fucked the moment I met you…"

And she was right…

[silentfcknhill]

hey I've seen you reblog stuff about drugs and stuff and I just wanted to ask what narcatics were you into? random and blunt question but just curous. I'm having a hard time lately... drinking but I'm trying to quit with with it now and just started weed. I just feel like it's neve gonna be better, you know? shit I so okay for so long and then it all goes to fucking hell again. I'm sorry for unloading like this....

It’s okay, I hope you don’t mind if I ramble a long-ass answer. I was mainly addicted to drugs that were not traditionally considered addictive physically, just psychologically. My main drugs of choice were weed, acid, mushrooms and occasionally molly. I never had a huge problem with alcohol, as in I didn’t drink often but when I did I went way overboard and would often mix drugs that would make me very ill. Weed was okay for me at first before I went overboard and was spending hundreds a month, and I am not completely anti-weed like some people in NA, but I think there are people who can and can’t handle it mentally. I can’t. If you have mental health issues, especially anxiety (though I’ve seen some people it can help their anxiety), paranoia, dissociation, derealization or hallucinations/problems with reality to begin with, it is like playing with fire. I’m not saying you should panic, everyone has different reactions, but I could never smoke again after the bad acid trips and ego deaths I’ve had. Too many flashbacks. And I got serotonin syndrome a lot. I quit using 17 months ago and I’m still dealing with effects like visual fractals, a new worldview and mood problems. 

For about a year I was suicidal and having panic attacks every day, and I had to work double shifts while crying and vomiting (quiting was not an option because we are too poor and I did not want to be homeless again, especially in that condition). It takes a while for your brain to recover and learn to produce it’s own serotonin after smoking weed every day for two years, so there is a major depression that occurs when you get clean. I lost my appetite for a couple months, and also couldn’t sleep on my own. Drugs were basically my go-to for every minor inconvenience, so learning to be a person again and deal with problems directly was difficult. I became extremely paranoid while detoxing. I also lost all interest in everything, I experienced no joy and only dread, terror and depression. My obsessions such as movies and music were no longer enough to enjoy, I needed to experience them on absurd amounts of psychedelics and meditate on them and see them from weird perspectives to appreciate them. I have started gaining back my appreciation for the little things in life again by now. 

The hardest part for me was coming to terms with the fact that I will never be the same as I was before ever again, and now I just have to adjust. It sucks that I was a teenager while this was happening, and my brain was still developing, so now it became a part of my youth and shaped my personality a lot. But I try to think of it positively, because now I have a new chance to become a better person, I have a fresh start and not many people can have a second chance after fucking up and having no common sense. I am lucky to have not gotten into any legal trouble, though a lot of relationships were destroyed, I really deserved it. I am not trying to self-pity, but it is a fact that I have suffered beyond words and been to hell (I’m not religious but to me hell is a psychological state of torment and existential darkness and lack of reality), but I have also grown as a person and become exponentially more self-aware, empathetic, introspective and accepting of my defects. 

I know exactly what you mean when you say you feel it will never get better. When you’re in darkness it effects your whole perception and sense of reality and colors every area of life. We lose our memory of anything good ever. Kind of like a Dementor from harry Potter has sucked out our soul, which Dementors incidentally were written by JK Rowling as an analogy of her depression (Sorry for random reference, I am a fan of Harry Potter). But we are both still young, well I am and I assume you are as well as I don’t know many elderly people on Tumblr, and time changes things. Time doesn’t heal, but it does give you the opportunity to heal and grow. Nothing will ever magically heal, we will always be addicts, but you will have good days, and some very good days and memories, and those are worth riding through the bad to get to. It is very difficult to keep perspective, but I spent a couple years of my life on drugs. I have 70 years left ahead of me, best case scenario. This is not the end at all. 

I have seen people successfully drink and smoke and not become upset or addicted, but I have Asperger’s and BPD and I was foolish to ignore the sensitivities and chances I was taking and I put my trust into the wrong influences and people. I have developed my own coping mechanisms throughout my life, because addiction was obviously not the first and only trauma I’ve been through, I’ve been having issues since being a toddler basically including emotional violent abuse from the time I was born, sexual assault, personal deaths, bullying, self-harm and mental illness, having parents who are mentally ill and unstable and dealing with their suicide threats as a child, divorce, homelessness, murderers in the family, robbery, knife attacks, being a therapist to my mother, trying to stay objective as she described to me her post-partum depression involving demons telling her to throw me off a balcony and molest me, multiple suicide attempts of my own including a horrendous overdose, multiple hospitalizations, medications, dating a man in his 40’s as a young teen, being cheated on twice, coming to grips with my LGBT identity, and much more. I grew up in a fantasy world, always acting and playing pretend even to this day, I live my life through the eyes of my favorite characters, even while alone. AT this point it is very easy for me to detach from my emotions and reality and observe my own suffering as though I was a character in a movie or something. This is also why I have a decent tolerance to pain. I just view it as an experience, a memory. Time is really an illusion, so when I am hurt, I just remember that in a few hours it will be like nothing ever happened. 

Also, the one most important message I took from NA is probably the simplest, and most people don’t give it a second thought because it’s just a cliche to them, but when you really meditate on it and practice it, you realize how incredibly true and helpful it is: “One day at a time.” And that motto is a principle, not have to take it literally. I know for a lot of people, myself included, it can be more like one minute at a time, but you really gotta try to keep priorities in sight and self-care when need be. Sometimes there is nothing you can do to help yourself but go to sleep all day. It is fine to do that. I have trained myself to fall asleep relatively quickly using deep, controlled stomach breathing and and stims and mental focus patterns such as waterfalls, space travel, etc, movement that stays constant and is relaxing. Music helps too, but only without lyrics. There are a lot of sound pieces on youtube and stuff made for relaxing, like the sound of rain, or nature like the ocean or amazon. Whatever suits you. It is handy to have an off button like a computer sometimes. You just shut down and reboot. 

I’m not saying it is healthy to be avoidant, and I definitely have shut down and become very robotic as of late, but it is highly preferable to the alternative for me until when/if I learn better skills. You will hopefully feel better when you wake up, whether it was physical anxiety or mental or both. Plus, scientifically, sleep and dreaming is when our brains process information and memories, so we may come to familiarize ourselves with unknown fears or stresses while we sleep and wake up more able to deal with them rationally without the fight or flight. One day at a time ties in to a concept we call “the triangle of self-obsession”, and it relates to how living in the past causes resentments, focusing on negatives in the present causes anger, and fear stems from living in the future. One day at a time, take shit as it comes and don’t cross bridges before you get to them. of course, planning still is good but we must be flexible and not place our whole mental state on something that hasn’t happened yet. Anger roots back to fear, fear roots back to lack of control, and once we accept that we really cannot control everything and be omnipresent and all-knowing puppetmasters, we become more humble. 

I myself have come to terms with the fact that I am very narcissistic. I never thought I was, due to low self-esteem, but it only recently occurred to me that being narcissism is usually just a symptom of low self-esteem anyways, and it is just expressed differently. Some people build massive egos and brag. For me, my narcissism forms through being self-centered and selfishly focused on my own problems. Some people focus daily on distinguishing whether they are living and acting on their own will or their higher power’s will, and adjusting their behavior accordingly, because living on our own will is what got us in this position in the first place. I don’t really have a higher power in the traditional sense at this point, but it is still good to be mindful that I am not the center of everything, and that even though I claim to be open-minded, I am still just as judgmental and hypocritical as anyone else, I just express and experience it in different ways. Anyways, long tangent, no one cares, I will shut up now. I am kind of a basketcase, but if you need to talk, you can message or dm me anytime.

[mikazukikannagisjourney]

Pink Full Moon in Libra, April 7 (or 8, depending on where you are) 2020 - Plus Updates on Post-Jupiter Pluto Conjunction - Timeless

Hi all, how was the 4/4/2020 Gateway doing for you? I hope it was OK. This will be just a wordvomit update on the energies and possible aftermaths of the energetic gateways that opened up in the same time as the Jupiter-Pluto conjunction in Aquarius on April 4 (or 5), a few days ago.

If you got to join the global peace meditation on that same gateway, I pray that the energies were gentle, healing and eye-opening. But if you got tired, dizzy, really emotional, and felt like your life just couldn’t fall apart even more, well, I feel you fam, I feel you. Same here. I was participating in some group meditations a few days before that and when the portal opened I just felt really weak and tired and my old back pain issue popped up again, it’s inflamed. Talk about the body telling you things. **sigh** It’s like Dark Night of the Soul for the nth time, again. And I was like “Really? SMH” T_T It’s like opening another can of worms, it just takes so much of the happiness away (read: dementors). It also pushed me to just hide even more and ruminate and do everything I can to process the emotions away. I did all of the tools that I knew and despite still feeling icky, I am believing that things can still get better. But truth be told, if you have been doing the inner work, crummy things like these have been cyclical and have been going through our lives each time we unearth some parts and release them. The energetic portals and gateways just unclog the collective in general, and as way-showers (we can also be called frontliners, energetically) we get to face the low vibrational stuff first hand. Not all of them are ours, but are really just the collective gunk that gets released even though it feels like they are entering through our bodies and making us face the dark parts of ourselves, again (because they’re in layers and thus we have to remove them in layers too. It sucks but that’s how it works, it can’t be helped).

And fighting all the demons will take time. - Dishwalla, Angels and Devils

Yeah you might wanna listen to the track above, just to get some sort of insight if you feel called. I just love the acoustic version so it’s what I linked lol.

But kidding aside, yeah, fighting all the demons really take time, and even though it does suck big time, I’m already at a point that I had to remind myself to use the low vibes to help me heal what needs to be healed, because at this point I can’t do much with the lockdown still going on (I am about to go really, really crazy staying stagnant AF). It’s also frustrating when the entire household is just glued to the news, like THIS ISN’T A TYPHOON WHERE YOU NEED HOURLY UPDATES T_T It’s just frustrating, and everything just went downhill for me when the gateway opened. All of the anger and frustration that had almost eaten me alive for a good chunk of my life all came rushing forward. I haven’t crumbled into a crying heap yet, maybe after I post this lol but despite meditating for heccin long hours, doing more physical activities than the usual (despite the sweltering heat) and still getting no absolution of the frustration, I was really about to give in to lashing out, just to free me from the pain. I had no idea how to transmute these complex emotions (aka they’re all crumpled into one big heap of NOPE) in the fastest and most efficient way possible but I also didn’t want to vent out and trigger anger within the household (me commenting on every death toll count as fear mongering was already too much lol) so I just ended up venting my anger on leveling up in Tetris 99 because GAH I NEED TO GET SOME SORT OF CLARITY ON THINGS. It felt nice, but now each time I close my eyes I only see all of the tetraminos trying to fit snugly into the slots. Still better than getting angry and stuff.

And later will be the Pink Full Moon in Libra, so I guess it’s going to be another strong full moon since it’s the first one after the gateway opened. Since Libra is a sign that wants balance, and makes sure that everything gets balanced by hook or by crook, this is also a great time to reflect on what needs to get balanced in our lives. Because despite being all lovey-dovey and smooth and silky, Libra is still a cardinal sign that can really unleash the beast if there is a strong imbalance of some sort. It’s just a bit more flexible than Capricorn, more level-headed than Cancer, and a lot more forward-thinking than Aries. If you need to know, I have all of these in my natal chart and it’s not exactly a fun party when all the cardinal energies have not yet figured out how to have fun with everyone else.

OK after this line is a personal rant ,you can end the reading here. =)

For me, personally, I really need to balance listening on what others tell me to do, and what information I channel for myself. I guess trying hard to try to fit in by tuning in to the collective like most of the card readers elsewhere dulled my senses and I just felt my oversoul just said HECC IT and cut me out of the general collective altogether. Now I find it hard to tune in to the larger chunk of the collective since the Lion’s Gate of 2019 so I just don’t post anything collective-based in my cartomancy side blog. Now it’s mostly my own personal energetic stuff. The flipside of this is that aside from feeling the general fears and whatnot of the collective unconscious (hence my rant on feelings lol) I still find it a lot more manageable to do readings for other people or events, even thoughI have to unblock a ton just to hear the Divine realms say HI to me. T_T

And that is why standing out instead of fitting in is a strong lesson in balance for me. It sucks but it’s not like I can keep escaping my life path.

Personal ranting ends here lol

I am still feeling a bit woozy even though it’s been a few days after the energetic portal so I won’t be posting an infused photo in this post, but I’ll make a special one once my energies get stabilized again. I hope you all don’t mind.

Oh, and one last thing before I end this post. The huge energetic shifts that happened since the wildfires started in the new year, and other tectonic activities within the ring of fire region are only the beginnings of things that are about to come, so if you’re wishing that things will get back to normal, I am here to tell you that nope, not gonna happen. If anything, this is a time to update all systems and revise time-consuming protocols because honestly, calamities like these will become more common and thus streamlining methods will become more than inevitable. Self-sufficiency up to certain levels will also be even more important, as would be the de-centralization of various services and whatnot in order to bring back the power to the larger members of the populace.

But do not fear, just because the changes are annoying and inconvenient does not mean that things will eventually get suckier. Just imagine the time around the early 20th century when electricity wasn’t even a thing and then all of a sudden transmission lines were being installed in each household. Sure, there’s a risk of fire and getting electrocuted, but look at what time we’re living in now. Can’t even read this post without relying on electrical lines. You can think of it that way.

And so this ends my Full Moon message, for everyone who feels called to this. It’s also somewhat timeless so if you read this in the future and it still resonates, it just means that you were able to receive what you needed to know right now.

Thank you for walking this weird journey with me, see you on the next update, and may you grow into the person you seek.

Mikazuki

PS. If you found the information in this post to be very helpful, insightful, and of great value to you and your own personal journey, please feel free to reblog, share and heart/like, or if you feel super-generous, energetic exchanges are welcomed! Please click here and use this email address: may_chan_otaku@yahoo.com

Thank you so much and be blessed!

PSS. If you’re interested to get a personal card and energetic reading, for inquires please send an email or an anonymous ask in this page. Thank you! =)

[okaycallmefred-blog]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. REPOST, DON’T REBLOG.

– BASICS.

•  NAME: Serena •   PRONOUNS: She/her •   SEXUALITY: Asexual •   TAKEN OR SINGLE: Single

– THREE FACTS.

1:  My hair is, from root to tip, in all likelihood 2 and a half feet long. I myself am 5′ even, and my hair hangs down a little past my hips, halfway down my height. Also it’s super thick and black and shiny and soft and healthy, but mainly, it’s super super long. I’d never cut it - I've wanted hair this long since I knew how long hair could get.

2:  My fingernails are typically about a centimetre long. They’re thinner than most people’s, and they look quite nice, I must say, dainty like. They’re very tough and hard, so they don’t break and I can keep them long without doing anything to them like putting on clear paint. I actually play the guitar on them, fretting and all. They’re sharp, too.

3:  I’m ambidextrous, technically. I do all sports with both hands, and I play all my instruments with both hands - I typically will switch hands while I’m playing guitar, not impeded by playing it upside down - and when I get another violin I’m going to get a left handed and right handed rest so I can play it both handed. I use my phone equally with both hands and share everything between hands because I feel like it’s unequal if I use one more than the other. I say ‘technically’ because the definition of ambidextrous means that you use both entirely equally without any real shortfalls, and I can’t write or draw left handed nearly as well as I can with my right because I was forced to choose a hand in primary school. I chose my right hand because the right handed scissors are better than the left handed, sooooo. 

– EXPERIENCE. •   HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): Oh, I dunno. A while. At least 7 years. •   PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: tumblr, skype, kik, instagram (THAT was certainly a while ago) •   BEST EXPERIENCE: I did quite enjoy in my kik/instagram days having this sort of ‘family’ chat we had where we posted photos on instagram and did very inconvenient roleplay threads in the comments and on kik we had a groupchat and we’d roleplay and talk for hours every day. It was quite wonderful, even though we were young and not the best at it. I also loved about four years ago when I played in the Classic Who fandom on tumblr, and we were constantly shitposting and super involved in fandom jokes and it was a really wild time with a lot of strong memes and funny shit and I would photoshop the dumbest photos and things. Those two times are probably tied for ‘best experience’ even though they’re not specific experiences.

– MUSE PREFERENCES. •   FEMALE OR MALE: I don’t particularly prefer men or women muses. •   FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Fluff and angst. I don’t like anything sexual. •   PLOTS OR MEMES:  I like both, but you may have noticed I never reblog memes, mainly because I don’t think anyone would send them to me. I like to send them to others, though. •   LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Both. I’m better at longer replies, and if we start short I always eventually get longer, but yeah, both. •   BEST TIME TO WRITE: There’s no ‘best time’ for me, it’s always about the same. •   ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): Not so much. Right now my only muse is Romana, and me and her are similar in some ways; we’re both very intellectually oriented, fact focused, and not religious or fool-suffering. We both look kinda similar but that’s not the point really. Romana’s much more emotional than me - despite not being very emotional a muse/character - and she’s entirely more naive and trusting. I have... some trust issues. She’s also a bit more sassy, while I tend to be sort of biting and sarcastic. I’m usually not cruel, though. I’m also much more laid back than she is.

TAGGED BY: @therani-queenofscience​ TAGGING: @youcantrewritehistory​ @askperibrown​ @theidealiist​ @verydoctory​