#she's not persistent enough in spending time around any child to be their terrible mom

[faemoria-arch]

toothiana’s disinterest in having her own children is nothing to do with her being like  ,  bad with kids or anything like that  .  she’s quite good with kids  ,  if only a little odd in her priorities for keeping them safe          hence folks of  any  age that find themselves staying in her home often  ,  in turn  ,  finding themselves training in weapons  &&  stuff like that  .  then again it’s not a very healthy outlook to train every child like a soldier either  .  .  .  her disinterest in having her own children            biologically she  𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽  ,  she doesn’t have the anatomy for it  ,  but magic   &&  adoption are methods that could be explored if she cared to             is due to the understanding that she would project her own fears  &&  anxieties onto them  ,  as well as the fact that she feels like an inherent danger to the people she keeps close to her  ,  as survivors guilt is prone to cause  .  it’s why she tends to spend more time around muses in general that can kind of handle themselves  &&  makes a point of giving that same impression in hopes of not allowing anybody she loves to humor the idea that she would ever even  want  them to risk themselves on her behalf  . that said  ,  when toothiana’s relationship with children gets  ‘ too ’  close  ,  it often leads to some of the most interesting interactions i can recall having on my blogs  .  in the case of @howlblack​  it was unintentional through magic with absolutely no romantic  (  or even sexual  )  cause behind it  &&  she had to come to terms with a lot before even being willing to emotionally connect with him  &&  for a long time the poor boy was only taken care of on the most base level of being provided shelter  &&  such  .  toothiana felt as though she was becoming too close to  @erromes​  &&  that their conflicting morality would cause nahia more suffering that she was already destined to go through  &&  for that reason attempted to steel herself against allowing them to be close  .  in times she has been too harsh against his adoptive brother when around @ofdeathandfear​​ without taking into proper consideration that he is someone valrún greatly looked up to  &&  was undoubtedly a positive influence in his life  ,  because she was simply too hyper-focused on anything she considered a risk or threat  .

so maybe it’s best to say that toothiana is ‘ quite good with kids ’  in moderation  .  the temporary visits  ,  the homestays  ,  everything like that she is great  &&  comforting  &&  engaging with children  &&  not treating them like they are incapable of understanding things when presented the right way         something that is especially important when it comes to returning memories for their benefit after all .  it’s when she is made to raise a child  &&  play a regular  ,  constant fundamental element to their growth that she could definitely use a lot more practice in  .

ah to clarify though  ,  ‘ could use more practice in ’ doesn’t mean with the intent of having a child in every/any ship on this blog  .  there’s a few folks she could maybe be comfortable with in that respect one day  (  @materxnatura​  &&  @ledovna​ come to mind immediately  )  but just generally an element of her personality that she could learn to improve for the sake of better supporting the children she influences somewhat regularly  .

[insomniaccreates]

Frostbite Ch. 1

Read it on AO3 here 

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k

Important Tags: Vigilante Fuyumi, Fuyumi Todoroki centric, References to past child abuse, Enji is not trying to be better in this fic, Endeavor’s terrible parenting, LOV plays a prominent role, Timeline Transcendent but mostly during the Paranormal Liberation War Arc, Hawks plays a prominent role, Natsuo plays a prominent role

Summary: Fuyumi wants nothing more than her family's safety. Its all she's ever wanted since she was a child, for her mom and brothers to be able to live freely and happily. There was a time, when she was very young, about 12 or 13 where she thought that somehow the whole family could find a way to live in peace. That they could all be a normal, happy family again, but after Touya's death she realized the truth. That could never happen. And she knew who was to blame. Ever since then she's been working and scheming to right the wrongs that have been done to her loved ones, and even helping others along the way. However, when walking the fine line of what is and isn't legal lands her in deep trouble she is faced with painful reminders of the past and must challenge her own morality. 

Chapter 1: Capture

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a raspy voice taunted as a man with long, unkempt, pale blue hair and the driest skin Fuyumi had ever seen on a living person walked into the room.

“You must be Shigaraki,” she greeted in reply, a mockery of her usual polite tone painting her voice as she sneered at the notorious villain.

The man just humphed before looking down at the captive woman, “And what’s your name?”

Fuyumi leveled a cool, steady gaze at her captor, “I go by Frostbite,” her tone was level and calm, but left no room for debate, a tone very similar to the one she often used on her students.

“I don’t care about code names, I want to know your real name,” Shigiraki pouted. If the man didn’t have the ability to disintegrate her with a single touch it would have been amusing how much like her students he was.

So instead of laughing she instead raised an eyebrow and shot him an unimpressed glare, “Too bad, I’ll tell you my real name if and when it becomes relevant,” she knew it was risky taunting him while in arms reach, but she knew showing weakness was worse. Power-hungry maniacs tended to have more respect for those who refused to back down in her experience.

“I think it is relevant, I need to know who was trying to overthrow a faction of my army!” Shigaraki persisted, beginning to anxiously claw at his neck.

Fuyumi frowned, “Well, you’ve got the wrong person, anyhow, if that’s what you want,” she protested, “I wasn’t trying to overthrow anything. At least not anything to do with you or those Liberation nuts. I was just looking for something,” she explained calmly, if a little indignantly. Honestly, if they seriously grabbed her for a fucking misunderstanding she was going to scream.

“Really? Then why come so far out of your usual territory? Why go blatantly rampaging around asking about us and the drugs Overhaul developed? You weren’t really subtle, girl,” he hissed, shoving his prematurely wrinkled face in hers.

She resisted the urge to freeze him where he stood in frustration before responding in a calm, placating tone, “I am looking for the quirk-erasure drugs that Overhaul supposedly developed but that has nothing to do with you other than you being a lead to getting them. This is something I’ve been working on for years, long before the League of Villains was formed,” she explained.

“Oh? But those drugs are pretty new. The permanent version has only been around for a matter of months,” he grabbed her throat keeping one finger raised, threat clear even as his voice tapered off.

“I know, those are a new addition to my plan, but it doesn’t change that my target has nothing to do with you. I’m not even after a villain at all, I’m after a pro hero. So there’s no reason to get upset, right now we’re on the same side,” she clarified quickly, anxiety spiking from the rough, clammy hand wrapped around her throat.

Shigaraki paused, lifting his hand from her throat before smirking at her, “We’re on the same side? The Queen of Vigilantes is going villain? Now that’s interesting,” he chuckled and Fuyumi could feel her stomach churn violently, “You aren’t just saying that to save your head, are you?” His taunting tone only caused her stomach to sour further, but she resisted the urge to flinch. Any sign of fear would only be used against her and make her response seem less genuine.

“I never said I was going villain, but I’m also not just saying that to keep my head. I’m really after a pro-hero and right now we are on the same side. We have similar goals. You want to destroy hero society, right? Well, I don’t entirely disagree with that. It at least needs massive reform,” she took a deep breath, trying to calm her emotions before explaining, “Heroes are untouchable. Get a high enough ranking and you can get away with unspeakable cruelty no matter how well known that cruelty is… other heroes, the police, and the public will all rally behind the hero while his victims are silenced into submission… I just want to hold them responsible for their actions, starting with the biggest bastard of them all,” her voice trembled slightly in her anger so she took a steadying breath before continuing, “I guess you could say I align with Stain, even if I don’t agree with all of his judgment calls. Most of your members are followers of Stain, right?” She asked, meeting his crimson eyes.

He smirked, “I still don’t understand why Stain was such a big deal, but yes, most of my more trusted members at least were Stain fanboys… Are you looking to join us or something?” He asked, sizing her up.

“I’m looking for my freedom,” she shot back, struggling in the heavy chains strapping her down to the chair she was sat in for emphasis, before swallowing her pride and hesitantly adding, “and possibly some assistance. I really need those drugs, and judging by how defensive over them you are and the fact you guys attacked Overhaul immediately after his arrest, my lead on you was right. I just need one dose, you can keep the rest,” she tried to read the crimson glare giving her a calculating look but couldn’t decipher his thought process.

After a few moments that felt like hours, he finally spoke, “I’ll think about it. I’ll be back to talk it out further…” started to walk towards the door, before turning back to the captured vigilante, “I’ll make sure none of the Liberation freaks bother you so try to spend this alone time thinking about how you’d be willing to pay for that bullet,” his tone was taunting and menacing but he was honestly the least of Fuyumi’s worries.

She had no qualms spending her father’s vast fortune on his own downfall, she planned on destroying him anyway so money wasn’t really an issue. No, she was much more concerned with being stuck here for who knows how long. Not only was it going to be problematic if she didn’t show up at home before morning or, god-forbid, miss work, her costume included contacts to make her grey eyes appear blue (a pale, frosty shade much lighter than her family’s usual turquoise) and make her usual glasses unnecessary, so if she fell asleep or if it took to long for her to get out of here she was risking permanent injury without them laying another hand on her. She’d just have to try and stay awake, she supposed not much she could do about it with her hands encased in a metal cage. Still, being left alone in a dark room for an undisclosed amount of time was something that made her skin crawl, too many unpleasant childhood memories reflected this scenario just a little too closely. At least it didn’t automatically set off panic attacks anymore. Clearly therapy had been doing something. If only she could get Natsu and Shoto to go too.

Speaking of Natsuo, she was now very glad she had denied his request to tag along on her hunt for the quirk erasure drug. Ever since he’d found out about her life as a vigilante last year he had been trying to get more and more involved. She tried to keep him away from it, but now he’s known amongst the underground as Blizzard, her impulsive, short tempered sidekick. Not that she lets him join her on her patrols or missions often. His impulsive, hot-headed nature paired with his stubbornness made her extremely nervous for his well being. He had a tendency to run into unnecessary fights and where she was careful to disguise herself with a wig, contacts, and contour, Natsuo only opted for a ski mask, despite Fuyumi repeatedly explaining why that was a bad idea. She doubted he understood how high the stakes were, that they weren’t just risking death, but if their real identities were to be discovered or if they were to be arrested that they could lose their jobs, Natsuo could be kicked out of school and they’d both be thrown in jail, leaving Shoto to deal with their father alone again. They weren’t like most other vigilantes. They both had a lot to lose. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he got himself hurt or destroyed his life due to something she let him do. Something she introduced him to. She just prayed that she got out before he realized she was missing. She knew he’d probably try to look for her, he may even try to drag Shoto into it if he was worried enough, and that was the last thing that needed to happen.

Hopefully, though, she’d be able to put all of this behind her. Hopefully, once she was done with Endeavor their family could settle back down, no longer having to live in constant tension and fear. Hopefully, she’d soon be able to retire from being a vigilante and just enjoy being a teacher and spend time with her loved ones. She just had to get those drugs and get back home. That’s all. She could do that.

[yakumtsaki]

Alright you guys, sorry for the delay, I’ve had to restart this post 20 fucking times because my changes weren’t being saved in the draft and then I kept getting the ‘upload failed’ error. In case you don’t remember wtf is going on you might wanna re-read the last update (I certainly had to) which is apparently from JUNE 2018. Jfc I suck so hard. Now this was gonna be really long but tumblr wouldn’t post it so I’m breaking it up in 3 parts, part 2 to be posted tomorrow. For those that don’t feel like reading back, general recap of the last couple updates:

Jojo cheated on Wyatt with Max Flexor and my solution to that marital crisis was to adopt our first dog ever, a puppy hilariously named Maxx.

The puppy grew up to be an asshole and is constantly beating up the cats, who have turned into giant pussies (no pun intended) and are losing every fight to him despite the fact they’re named after Mortal Kombat characters. They’re a fucking disgrace to Alegra’s/Victor’s/Ronroneo’s memory and I haven’t settled on a cat heir yet because they both suck.

Jojo is perma miserable, I don’t even remember how much money away from his 100k LTW, and still not a werewolf despite my pathologically persistent attempts to make him friends with the wolf.

Fucking useless Wyatt didn’t get promoted while Komei was alive providing us with his 100 townie friends, we spent 20 updates befriending every rando that crossed our lot to secure his promotion, and then finally on the day he was supposed to become Captain Hero, Wyatt got, of course, fired and is now on track to take longer to complete his literal career based LTW than Komei took to get 6 pets on the top of their careers.

Absolutely everyone hates noogie addict Shajar, she got a Kylo Ren makeover, and we still don’t know what her sexual orientation is thanks to her ridiculous fitness/fatness turn ons and cleanliness turn off.

Golden child/10 nice points freakshow Cyneswith grew up, rolled romance with the most disturbing turn-ons/offs possible (grey hair/mechanical & charisma turn off) and the 20 simultaneous lovers LTW.

Wulf grew up into a kid, got an Amadeus makeover, is officially a Wyatt clone and the only member of this family I don’t completely hate yet.

Now I’d like to begin the first Union post in more than a year by requesting you do me a solid and lower your expectations for this thing as far down as humanly possible. Like really try to recreate the Jules Verne classic “Journey to the Center of the Earth” with your expectations here, because my brain is so fucking fried that there’s a 20% chance I randomly start citing sources at some point during this post. This grad school crap has seriously been the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever. And speaking of bad trade deals, let’s get this update rolling with the man, the myth, the legend, the husband who managed to make Komei look like a dreamboat in comparison..

..Wyatt fucking Union, née Monif. It’s been a long time, but I’m not gonna lie to you Wyatt, not nearly long enough. Looking good man, just one small question, where the fuck are your eyebrows?

-You àccidéntally deléted thém, imbécilé, et I cannôt exprèss my irritatiόn prόperly becausé I hàve non eyebrôws!

Did your selective French accent get thicker this past year or is it just me?

-It géts thickér whén je suis distrésséd, givé moi mon eyebrôws bàcc!!!

No can do, brother. Actually can do, but I think the Mona Lisa look is working for you, and more importantly I still hate you, so I’m just gonna hardcore ignore you for the rest of this post if that’s ok. Talk to me when you finally get promoted, aka never the way this shit is going.

-Non! NON! MON EYEBROWS!

It’s been lovely catching up.

Jojό I mean Jojo, goddammit Wyatt, is spending most of his time building robots in the mausoleum (sweet hipster band name alert)..

..giving financial advice in Shajar’s room (inb4 what’s the difference between the mausoleum and Shajar’s room)..

..building evil snowmen alone in the middle of the night, like all mentally healthy middle aged men with 3 kids are wont to do..

..and getting the piss harassed out of him by the cat ghosts in the bathroom (sweet hipster band name alert #2). How is this like the fourth time this happens in the exact same spot, will you just stop autonomously cleaning the bathroom after midnight? It’s obviously where the cats hang out, give it the fuck up already.

-I’m actively TRYING TO DIE you absolute moron, what does a guy have to do to get killed around here?

Yea can’t say that I blame you but not happening, you can commit suicide by Ghost Alegra after the kids fuck off to college, ok? I promise.

-Oh like you promised me being heir was a route worth pursuing??

Um obviously you too need to go back and re-read your own life story, because I spent the entirety of our “““cherished””” time together telling you heirship is a shitty gig at generation 2. And then to top it off you went and married Wyatt to ensure maximum shittiness, so there you go, fucking enjoy. God I am so sick of both of you losers and we’re only 5 pics in. Let’s check in with your spawn, I’m sure they can’t possibly be more annoying than their parents-

-oh right, I forgot, this is the generation with 10/10/9 active points where the party never stops. Cyneswith are you somehow twerking to classical music?

-How else am I gonna attract all those hot senior citizens per my grey hair turn on and 20 lovers LTW?

Ok great yea I see how this is gonna go, you’re trying to entice people into voting you for heir based on how torturous playing this fucked up LTW is gonna be for me, well forget it, my readers are intellectuals and completely above such petty entertainment. (istg mofos, don’t even think about it, i already did Komei’s 5 pets career shit, i will burn this place to the ground if you saddle me with Cyneswith banging the elderly for 30 years)

-No need to worry your stupid little head, I will beat Cyneswith for HEIR just like I beat her HAIR up daily! HAHA!

Shajar no offense but you’re a fucking war crime of a sim, nearly everyone who’s ever met you hates you including your parents, and the fact that you’re the alternative here is really not helping my situation in any way. Also how the fuck are you gonna be heir when the only thing you seem to be attracted to is giving noogies, you’re like one week away from college and I still don’t even know if you’re str8 or gay or bi or w/e the fuck you are. You have Jojo’s personality combined with..

..yes exactly, DANIEL’S SOCIAL ABILITIES. I mean I was joking with the whole ‘Shajar’s the spawn of Satan’ thing, but this combo of traits was clearly drawn up in Hell’s boardroom.

ANYWAY. It’s a snowy Sunday morning, and anyone who has been a teen knows what that means:

Time to go clubbing! Man I remember being like 15, waking up on a freezing Sunday morning and my mom making me a cup of hot chocolate before I drove off to the club. Those were the days.

-Uh, Shaj, when did you learn how to drive?

-Don’t be stupid, Cyneswith, people don’t need to ‘learn’ how to drive.

-They absolutely do, actually.

-Well what can I tell you, the dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.

-Here we are, safe and sound! Celebratory noogie!

-YOU RAN OVER 9 PEOPLE

-How many times to I have to explain this to you, Apartment Life townies are not people.

Can’t argue with that logic. Let’s just go in and find out what Shajar’s sexual orientation is once and for all so I can spend the rest of this update aggressively promoting Wulf’s candidacy.

Now I consider ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ one of the dumbest sayings there is, but even I have to concede that this particular picture truly is worth a thousand words. Quick poll, what is more horrifying, Shajar’s literal Joker face or Cyneswith, whom I’ve never seen read a book ever, autonomously pulling one out in the middle of the dance floor, in what I can only assume is an attempt to attract old perverts with the schoolgirl routine?

And I know what some of you are thinking, you’re like ‘bro, you’re just reaching to make a bad joke bro, Cyneswith is just a sweet nice introvert and not like other girls, she doesn’t feel comfortable in the club’, well to that let me reply with another picture that is worth a thousand words:

Yea that’s right, on the first minute of our first time out WE RUN INTO THAT ONE ELDER TOWNIE THAT HAS WRINKLE MAKE UP ON. GODDAMMIT CYNESWITH

Do you guys remember how Jojo was obsessed with Stephen Tinker as a teen? Are you seeing the connection here?? Those kids have literally inherited the worst possible traits from both their parents turned up to 11, it’s fucking unreal.  

Right after I get over Wrinkle’s presence I turn around and what do I see, those 2, who have never had a non-noogie physical interaction, autonomously doing the family kiss thing. I didn’t even catch it on time because I was loling irl, we came out here so these assholes can find age-appropriate partners, and instead they’re kissing each other. Seems about right with this family, and clearly Striped Scarf’s dumb ass ships it.

-They look so much alike, it’s meant to be!

Yes, and they even share the same last name! Talk about written in the stars.

Thankfully Abhijeet is here to save us from incest by perving on Cyneswith. GTFO ABHIJEET. Anyone like ‘bro townies just autonomously come to greet your sims on community lots regardless of age, stop calling them perverts’, see you in about 5 pics down.  

I try to have Shajar chat up Striped Scarf and suffice it to say Shaj ~stole her heart~ and presumably put it on this stick to wave around.

NO. CYNESWITH NO. I’m seriously having déjà vu of all the times I was like ‘NO. JOJO NO’, jfc.

Shajar is unsurprisingly exhibiting no interest in socializing with anyone around her, instead she’s trying every activity this terribly lit place has to offer, and she looks demented while doing it:

I’m feeling a primal urge to photoshop Darth Vader’s melted helmet on the bowling ball here, someone please remind me to do it for the heir vote photoshoot.

-HA. SUCK IT DENISE JACQUET

That’s Denise Jacquet?! I can’t tell who anyone is for shit anymore. The default replacements are a scourge upon premade brands, I’m getting rid of them pronto. Speaking of scourges, where the hell is your sister?

-Who cares?

I wanna say ‘me’ but we both know that’s a lie.

Oh ok, THERE SHE IS.

-So you see Cyneswith, just because something is technically ‘illegal’, doesn’t mean it’s morally wrong-

Yea yea fascinating stuff, now get out of the hot tub or I will fucking neuter you, I don’t know if a eunuch mod already exists for medieval games but I will make one if it doesn’t.

Here, Cyneswith, drink some water, have a nice G-rated convo with your sister about violins and stop pissing me off. 

-First of all this is straight vodka.

Great.

-Secondly Shajar is talking about Mozart’s coprophilia.

-I sure am.

Amazing. Well, I guess it’s at times like these when you need to look inside your heart and truly ask yourself, what did you expect from Jojo’s children.

ABHIJEET ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME DID YOU EVEN HEAR ME TALK ABOUT CASTRATION

-Ha, I went home and put on my most elderly-looking formal wear!

-I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave Ab <3

CYNESWITH SHUT UP. I can’t believe you people are actually making me miss Gunther’s teenage whoring, at least he kept it age appropriate.

-Is some random lady pressing her breasts against my head?

She most certainly is, Shajar, because it is now crystal clear that this bowling alley doubles as the site of annual perv townie convention and we walked right into it-

-and it’s also clear we have serious issues and are enjoying ourselves. Shaj I legit don’t know what to tell you, this is the first time you get along with someone right away and it just had to be the adult with the bad haircut and the flasher’s trench coat???

-You’re damn right it did.

Alright then, I’m officially going to nope out of this situation, safe in the knowledge you’re a noogiesexual and nothing will actually happen with this freak, so I’ll focus on Cyneswith instead who is much more of a loose canon. 

Here Cyn, talk to this guy, who I’m 90% sure is the same guy your father rejected in favor of stalking Stephen Tinker when he was your age.

-Ohhhh, he’s dreamy!

Omg really?? Halleluj-

-oh never mind, you were of course referring to adult ass Brandon Lillard. I do like that our townies have recurring roles each generation, we should make rejecting Blondie a rite of passage in this family. We should also officially gtfo because this is happening:

-Um, now that I’m looking at you in harsher lighting, it’s gonna be a no from me dawg. 

Oh, thank the fucking lord.

-Let’s celebrate the fact we didn’t get hopelessly obsessed with any adults here by doing the traditional Dance of Normality!

-We beat Dad’s genes, we beat Dad’s genes!

-We’re normal!

Yes, and we’re definitely showing it. Can we please leave now so I can make sure I’ve uninstalled Inteenminator and turn off free will? 

-Nop! Venue change!

-Got-out-of-the-car celebratory noogie!

-Made-it-to-the-door celebratory noogie!

Shajar you unironically have a noogie addiction, I’m not kidding in the slightest, you need to see a doctor.

Great, great, not another teen in sight and to top it off Denise followed us here to ensure maximum elder presence. I feel comfortable officially declaring this day a complete waste of time.

God, the vintage pink dress and the pink alcohol combo is some straight up current era Taylor Swift nonsense. That’s it, we’re outta here, back home where no one is lurking, waiting to strike at us-

-SOPHIE NOOOOOOOOOOOO💔💔💔💔💔

-The Lord is my shepherd.

NO HE ISN’T EVERYONE KNOWS YOU CAN’T HERD CATS PLEASE DON’T DIE

-Nop, I’m over it. Goodbye heathens, it’s been nice, hope you don’t find your paradise. 

UGH SOPHIE, my beloved Westboro lunatic, the last gangsta generation 1 cat we had.. I can’t believe you’re gone and all I’m left with is stupid Goro and D’vorah who can’t even beat up the fucking dog. This is truly painful.

Yes, pets, I agree, Kaylynn is completely to blame for Sophie dying of old age. The time has now come to decide on a cat heir-

-and since Goro ran away like a little bitch after Sophie’s death despite the fact he didn’t even like her, he’s automatically disqualified and will be going off to live on Melody and Daniel’s farm once returned to us. Congratulations to D’vorah I guess, on being the least terrible of two terrible options. 

On the topic of terrible heir options, Cyn has non-stop wants to go on dates and have her first kiss and all that crap, and since our Sunday morning clubbing was a bust we invite over the matchmaker.

-Hello there young Union, I see your house has been upgraded since I was last here.

Oh right we haven’t required your services since Daniel was a teen and we lived in a trailer, well we are flush with cash now!

-Hopefully your payment reflects that.

It will!! Just please give us someone good, I can’t deal with single teen Cyn for one more second.

-Oh my, what a beautiful BLANK PIECE OF PAPER.

WHAT!? NO THAT’S 5K IT’S JUST A SNOW GLITCH 

-What do I look like to you, a money thawing service?

Does such a service.. exist??

-It does not, so I have to go home and use a hairdryer on this!

Just come inside and we’ll give you non-frozen money!

-No, no, you’ll get what you paid for..

-Have a magical time!

...

.........

......................

Lakshmi this was so fucking evil that I almost want to age you down and see if you and Shajar hit it off. 

-As if, the whole neighborhood knows what you did to Komei.

Helped him achieve his insane 6-pets-career LTW?

-Turned him into a servant while your sim was lounging around all day!

Oh yea I did do that. But Wyatt was also a townie and he does literally nothing, Jojo is the servant now!

-Only because Wyatt is too fucking stupid to do things! Word has gotten out, no townie will ever marry in this family again unless they’re brain dead, so it’s Wyatts only for you from now on, sister!

Well this has been a complete fucking disaster. It was great seeing you again, Lakshmi, thanks for the dream date with the adult farting machine, 5k well-spent.

Pretty sure it was you bro, and yes, how about we don’t do that again.

Wyatt has brought over Amanda from work! (Aka Victoria’s only friend and subsequent lesbian lover, who is really pretty and is definitely getting married in at some point, preferably after the brown hair genes have been weakened so we can go back to being gingers.)  

-Wow Shajar, your grandmother, God rest her soul, mentioned you were her favorite and now I can see why! Loving the Kylo Ren look!

-Is someone being genuinely nice to me?! What is happening?

-Yes, please stop being nice to her, Amanda, we don’t want her getting used to it.

Jojo istg.

-Cyneswith dear, tell Amanda all about how much money your grandmother left you so she can stop being nice to Shajar. 

-Soooo much money, Miss Amanda!

-Ah, what a polite child I’ve single-handedly raised.

-Now, Cyneswith, you really need to get back on the dating scene so you have ample time to find the perfect spouse and continue our line, since you’re clearly the only one of my children that is remotely heir material. 

-Dad, Shajar and Wulf are right next to you.

-Oh they are? I’m wearing my special contact lenses that make those disappointments invisible to me, but even better, they need to hear this. Shajar is a noogiesexual and thus incapable of reproduction, and Wulf is not even a Union, I mean have you seen that kid? Wyatt reproduced by himself like the amoeba he is. Now, your grandmother-

-YOU MENTIONED ME 3 TIMES AND HERE I AM

OH FUCK VICTORIA, deleting the default replacements gave you base game hair!!!!

-That’s the part you’re scared by, not my Beetlejuicesque entrance?

There’s literally nothing scarier than your ghost sporting this haircut for all eternity, I’m re-downloading that default immediately. 

-Oh mom, so good to see you! Let me just hug my beloved child, Shijer-

-Shajar, dad.

-SHAJAR, let me hug Shajar, like I do all the time. 

-I’m glad to see you’re not picking favorites among your children like I did, the way I treated David-

-Daniel, mom.

-DANIEL, is the one thing I’ve truly been regretting in the afterlife. That and not skinning Marisa Bendett alive when I had the chance. 

-Well, as you can see by Shajar’s totally normal and not at all shocked reaction to my hug, I am a wonderful, fair, and emotionally available father. 

(Bruh this freaked me out so much when it happened, I mean I KNOW it’s an animation glitch but I was convinced my sims had become sentient for a good while after)

-Is your grandmother’s ghost still on the premises?

-Yup. 

-When will this nightmare end, paying attention to you is the worst. 

-Ok she’s gone.

-FINALLY. Now it’s back to the crypt for you, and don’t you dare go complain to her urn!

-Ah, Stephen, Stephen, my life is crap and I can’t even🎵

And with the knowledge you have composed a theme song for Stephen Tinker, part 1 of the Union comeback update is concluded. Will Shajar’s sexual orientation reveal itself? Will Cyneswith find true love? Will Jojo become a werewolf? Will Wulf continue to be the only dignified member of this family? Will D’vorah have kittens? Will Wyatt do literally anything worth mentioning? Tune in for parts 2 & 3 to find out, unfollow button on the upper right corner for those who need it. 

[sally-mun]

Episode 2: Caught in the Middle

So at this point, the Acorn family is pretty well broken. Sally is on her own in East Acorn trying to lead her fledgling kingdom, Elias is on his own in Feral Forest just trying to live a simple life, and although Max and Alicia are together, they have almost no relationship. It stays this way for quite a while, but one day things take a turn: Somehow, Elias goes missing again -- and Megan becomes completely frantic, as this isn’t something that was planned or discussed in any way. Not knowing what else to do, Megan contacts the Brotherhood (whom she sees as her in-laws moreso than any of the other Acorns and bigger authority figures than anyone in her podunk town) for help. She explains that Elias had gone into town to grab a few groceries, and just simply never returned. The BH move Megan and Alexis into their home for the time being to be on the safe side, then contact Knuckles to help them track down Elias.

By the time Knuckles (and inevitably Finitevus) get involved, Elias has been missing for.... I think a week? While trying to catch up on things, they decide to go retrace his steps in the hopes of being able to find some fresh clues; what they instead find is that Elias and Megan’s house has been absolutely ransacked from top to bottom, making them grateful that the BH had decided to keep her and the baby close by. After a bit more digging, Knuckles discovers that a family in the area had thrown a picnic party near the route Elias would’ve used to walk to town and back. They contact the family and ask to go through any photos or videos that may have been taken to search for clues. Fortunately, they get a huge break when they DO find him in the background of one video, which shows him walking home, abruptly pausing and turning his ears around, then turning off the main path and heading down a side street instead. Knux and Fini head down the same street to investigate, and once outside of town they find his week-old rotting produce off the side of the road. Heading in the direction it’d been dropped, they find evidence of a huge struggle. They conclude that at some point Elias became aware that he was being followed, and that whomever it was clearly meant him harm, so he made the decision NOT to lead the person(s) home to his family.

From there it seems the case goes a bit cold, and the BH is getting increasingly distraught, as Elias is considered one of their own. Arguments ensue over whether they should tell the rest of his family; on the one hand they ARE relatives of his and deserve to know, and they have considerable resources that might be helpful… but on the other, the Brotherhood is extremely secretive about “their” business and quite frankly feel that Elias is THEIR child, not the Acorns’, and they wouldn’t trust Max not to do something shifty if he found out anyway.

Before this debate can come to a resolution on the matter, some breaking news throws things completely off the rails: Eggman/Robotnik has taken over the TV to make an announcement to the two halves of the Acorn Kingdom, and in no uncertain terms he demands that they resume their civil war and essentially wipe each other out. Of course, there’s no reason to think they’d ever willingly do that, so he reveals his leverage: Elias, the one person deeply important to the heads of each country. Not only does he have hostage, buuut his face is bloodied and in pretty terrible shape. Robotnik gleefully explains that he’s been spending a couple of weeks trying to get some useful information out of him that could be used to take down their countries, but somehow, despite everything his family has put him through, Elias refused to sell them out. Now Robotnik was on to plan B, and announced that if East or West Acorn didn’t make a move toward one another within 24 hours, he’d kill Elias to be rid of him entirely and then come for them both himself.

Knuckles immediately rushes off to contact Sally, largely out of concern for her on a personal level but also to find out what she intends to do. Sally, for all of her self-control and composure, is openly distraught and flatly admits that she doesn’t know what to do. Despite not having known Elias until a few years ago, the two of them had bonded deeply in the face of how Max treated them both, and she couldn’t just leave him to die when he’d gone through who knew what to protect her -- but on the other hand, she couldn’t just attack West Acorn out of the blue, either. The citizens certainly didn’t deserve that, and no matter what Max had done to her over the years, she still loved him and didn’t want to see his nation fall. She only hoped he had some similar feeling toward her, and that if not, perhaps Alicia could talk him down a bit.

More plot that I won’t go into happens around here, but the most relevant portion is that the two halves covertly agree to “attack” each other in a choreographed way to buy some time; Robotnik has both countries surrounded and covered in aerial surveillance, so Knuckles and Finitevus spend a lot of time moving people around via warp rings, or in a few instances via Knuckles digging a tunnel. The cooperative nature of the agreement is, on one hand, something very hopeful for Sally, but to her disappointment, her only communication is with the Council; at no point does Max agree to see her or make any direct negotiations with her. Alicia passively attempts to write this off with the fact that, even though Max is the acting king, he still doesn’t have the authority to ‘rule’ the country the way he once did because he’s only the high chair on the council at this point. Sally appreciates that her mom is trying to make her feel better, but it’s obviously bullshit. Parents don’t need an excuse to see their kids, and if he wanted to see her, he’d do so -- just as Alicia was doing in that very moment. Despite her efforts, Sally has a lot of trouble dealing with Max rejecting her yet again and decides to sneak off with the royal guard to work in the field, intending to numb herself from the pain by throwing herself into her work. Unfortunately, the distraction is persistent enough to interfere with her judgment, and Sally ends up injured in one of the staged attacks. Although it’s mitigated by her military armor, much of her body ends up burned in a planned explosion, as she took more time than she’d realized searching the building to ensure it had been fully evacuated.

Another batch of plot later, Elias is successfully recovered from Robotropolis, generally okay but with severe injuries to his eyes. He explains that Robotnik had been trying to torture some useful information out of him for days, and when it seemed absolutely nothing would make him budge, he lashed out at him with the nearest item at hand -- in this case, a wrench. It had struck Elias directly across the middle of his face (hence why it was so swollen and bloodied at the time of Robotnik’s broadcast). Doctors did what they could, but his eyes had been all but destroyed. Elias was blind at the time he’d been rescued, and it seemed he would be remaining that way.

Alicia came to visit both Elias and Sally during their respective hospital stays, but Max never did for either of them.

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[angelkurenai]

Finding a reason - Jensen Ackles x Reader

Title: Finding a reason

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x daughter!Reader

Warnings: Suicide attempt, Angst (Happy Ending)

Word Count: 2,912

Prompt: Praise each and every god that you have requests open! I love your writing! Can I please have a Jensen!daughter (Danneel!stepdaughter) where the reader is 21 and has sent a video as her suicide note to people and Jensen has to do everything he can to help her survive? Hopefully an okay ending but it’s up to you. Maybe it could be like flashbacks since she started feeling bad and how he should’ve known or something? Tell me if you don’t feel comfortable writing this though! Love you!!!

A/N: Requests open every Monday and I’d love to see more for Dean!

Jensen's eyes seemed to be set on the same place for hours no, so much so that the image would be forever imprinted in his head and he thought he'd see the image even when he closed his eyes. And that was one of his worst nightmares because not only was this an image he wished he'd never have to face, because it honestly put the fear of gods in him, but also because he feared that he could have fallen asleep. He felt like it was days since he had any sleep, his wife had made sure to point it out in a low whisper many times but he didn't listen, so it would make sense if he had just passed out – granted, he had not eaten anything either – and his mind was merely replaying that cruel image in his head. He didn't know if this was a nightmare or his life anymore, he only wished that it would be over soon.

He felt a hand on his shoulder but he didn't tear his eyes away from the person in front of him, for fear that something worse would happen and he wouldn't be able to do a thing, as he heard Danneel's worried voice “You're gonna fall down, please just-” a small shaky sob left her lips “Take a break, at least one hour to eat something and get off that uncomfortable chair.”

“You know I can't.” his voice was hoarse, his throat hurting and his eyes burning as he blinked; the unshed tears as well as the countless ones he'd shed making him want to rub his eyes but he was so scared to even blink for fear that th heart monitor would show a straight line before he realized it.

The heart monitor. That was the sound that – other than your sobbing and crying – would haunt him along with the image that stood before him, for years to come in fact.

“She wouldn't want you to-” Danneel started in a gentle voice but he didn't let her finish.

“Well, then I'll wait until she can tell me herself!” Jensen barked, his voice echoing through the nearly silent room. A small gasp left her lips and Jensen sighed heavily, dragging a hand – that felt numb from being in the same position for hours – down his face, muttering to himself 'Damn it' in a raspy voice.

“I'm sorry, D, I'm just-” he started but she shushed him softly.

“No, don't. Don't apologize, we're both-” he paused for a moment, taking in a shaky breath as she leaned over him and took hold of his hand “We've both been through too much over the past days. I'm so scared and worried about (Y/n) too. She's my stepdaughter but I never saw her apart from JJ and now Zep and Arrow too. They're all my kids and I love them equally, but you- you've spent a good half of her life if not more with her. She's your baby girl, you raised her on your own for many years, and loved her more than your life. So I don't blame you if you snap at me or anyone, I just want you to have faith because she'll need you to be strong when she comes around, alright?”

“I'm scared, D. Damn it, I'm so scared I'm gonna lose her.” he choked out, fresh tears welling up in his eyes as he took in your unconscious form on the hospital bed before him. There was something about watching his little girl, his first daughter, laying with all sorts of machines around you, your skin pale, eyes closed without any sign of life and bandages wrapped around your wrists, reminding him of a sight that made him sick to the stomach, your body in your bathtub with your blood pooled around you, that was disturbing for a father to say the least.

“No, no don't say that! Never, you hear me?” she said as firmly as she could, because she knew she had to be the strongest of the two of them; especially when it concerned your well-being “She's going to be alright. She'll wake up and you are going to talk it out and everything will be alright. She's an Ackles after all, she's a fighter.”

“I'm just-” he choked on his words, his eyes glancing at her for a mere second before they were back on you “She's my baby girl, Danneel. I raised with all the love I had, gave her all the care in the world because she was always my world. No matter her age, whether she's 1 or 21 she's always my daughter and I'm- fuck, it hurts so bad to know that she could do something like this to herself. I thought I- I had done everything I could, that I had made her happy. That she was pleased with her life and not-” he placed a hand over his mouth, his eyes instinctively shutting as tears welled up in them “Ready to end it.”

“There are many reasons that can lead a person to suicide, J, you- you never know what it could have been.” she tried to comfort him.

“But why would she want something like that, D? Why would she try to do it? Had I not done enough to make her happy? Was I- I not enough around her? I- I mean I should have seen it, I'm her father, I should be able to tell that she wasn't alright! I should have been able to stop it! I should have- Son of a bitch.” he let the tears flow because he didn't have the strength to hold them back “I wasn't around her enough to notice. I wasn't around to begin with! I got busy with work a-and everything else that I didn't spend enough time with my little girl and she- she just spiral down and I didn't know it until a- a video told me so. A video that she used as her suicide note told me how bad my baby actually was.” he gathered your hand again in his, kissing it lovingly as he looked at you through his blurry vision.

“You did it all for her, Jensen, it's not your fault. You've been through some really hard moments together when you couldn't give her what she wanted as a kid and now you're just trying to not repeat those mistakes.” she wiped away her own tears “You're trying to make as much money as you can for her and her future because you love her more than I've seen any father love their child.”

“At what cost though?” his voice cracked “This? It isn't worth it, none of it is worth it.”

Her lips parted, ready to speak but her phone buzzing caught her attention and upon reading the message she got, she let out a heavy sigh “It's Gen. JJ keeps asking where (Y/n) is and she won't calm down.” the little girl had a soft spot for you and adored you more than anyone on the world and you loved her to pieces, making Danneel worry how she'd react if she was to find out that you were in the hospital “I need to go talk with her at least on the phone. Do you uh do you want me to send Jared in here?”

“No, no I will be fine. I need to be alone for some time, just with her.” he breathed out, accepting her small hug and soft kiss before she was out of the room, leaving him silence to stare at your body.

It felt like his heart was hammering in his chest so hard that he could hear the sound in his own ears. Every beat was hurting him even more because it meant that just another second passed with you laying in that cold hospital bed. He held your hand in his, his eyes trailing own to the bandages before his eyes shut tightly.

He wouldn't dare admit it to his wife but deep down he blamed himself for this for more than one reasons. He had seen it coming. Maybe he had not seen it to an extend to actually expect it and be there to prevent it from happening but he had seen the signs that he was just too busy to put together and realize, fully comprehend, that you'd try doing something like this to yourself.

Staring at your body in front of him, he remembered all the times he tried to take you on a con but you refused, saying you weren't feeling it. If you loved something the most about his work was going on cons with him, uncle Jared and your bestie Misha as you called them all, and having the time of your life getting enough footage to blackmail them for the rest of their lives. That should have rang a bell but he was too busy to notice. He remembered all the times he tried to take you out for a walk by the beach and some ice cream the way you loved ever since you were a little girl but again ou refused and again he was too busy to notice. He had tried insisting numerous time but it rarely worked out and when it didn't he didn't have the chance to persist because things kept coming up.

He should have see it coming when Danneel once told him it had been days since you went out or saw your friends, who had called to ask if you were alright. He should have seen it when you wouldn't give him those beautiful smiles when he tried to make a terrible joke, you used to love those ones. He should have see it when you no longer had movie nights together because you were too tired even if it had not been an exhausting day for you. He should have seen it in your eyes when they lost that sparkle he loved. He should have seen it when you wouldn't scold him for his childish behavior during dinner, sometimes you'd act more like his mom than daughter. He should have seen it when you didn't play with your sibling as much as you did in the past, especially JJ. She was your J-bird before she was his, and the bond you had with the little girl was always one that warmed his heart. He should have seen it when said little girl had told him that she caught you crying in the bathroom and not responding to her calls, because you simply never let yourself lose control like that in front of her, seeing as the little girl saw you as her hero.

He should have seen it, maybe he did, but none of it registered because he... he didn't know anymore just why. All he knew was that he blamed himself, for whatever reason, and he could only repeat one thing in his mind. One small wish: For you to wake up. He needed it desperately, he didn't know if he'd survive if anything happened to you, he couldn't live with it, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing he could have done something to prevent it but didn't. He just wanted you back and he'd do everything in his power to help you survive, to help you-

“Dad?” a soft, delicate and barely audible voice caught his attention.

His head snapped up, he had not even realized when his eyes casted down, and his heart leapt to his throat as he choked on thin air “(Y/n)?”

Your lips parted but no words came out and you looked around you to make out where you were, as tears welled up in your eyes “Oh god.”

“Sweetheart” he choked out, his voice gruff as for a second he was frozen in his place; maybe because he couldn't believe if this was real or just a dream, his own mind trying to find a way to comfort him or at least protect him from a terrible breakdown, as in a self defence, that would inevitably come if something happened to you.

“I'm so sorry, dad.” you sobbed, your eyes shutting as the tears rolled down your cheeks and as if his body went acted on instinct, Jensen jumped in his place and instantly gathered you in his arms and hugged you like there was no tomorrow.

“No, baby, no. It's ok, it's all ok.” a sob leaving his lips prevented him for speaking for a moment as he let you bury your face in his chest and he rested his head on top of yours “You don't have to apologize for a damn thing. I don't blame you, sweet pea. I never could, you're the only innocent one in all of this.”

“Did I...” a small whimper left your lips as you looked up with big, red and watery eyes reminding him of the way you'd look at him when you fell off your bike the first time and hurt yourself or when a storm scared you and you crawled in his bed for comfort “Did I scare you, dad?”

And the words broke his heart even worse, but he forced himself to be strong and hold back a sob “Oh no, no, baby. No.” he cradled your face in his hands, looking you straight in the eyes “No, please don't think about me. Not right now. I'm here and I'm ready to help you. We'll get through this together, (Y/n). I need you to believe me.”

“I never-” your body had started shaking from all the sobs “I never wanted to make you sad, daddy. I never wanted to disappoint you, I'm sorry if I did. I'm sorry if I was a failure, a burden to you and you had to-”

“What?” the gasp that left his lips was sharp and it cut deep into his heart “Is that what you really think of yourself? That you're a burden to me? Sweetheart, you're my daughter. My first daughter. You'll forever be my little girl who would steal my french fries and I could never be mad at no matter how old you got. You'll forever be the little girl I first held in my arms all those years ago and felt the whole world stop spinning when you looked into my eyes. You'll forever be that little girl that I love more than my life and if I lost you, gosh, (Y/n) it would be worse than losing my own life.”

“But I still made you worry, I made you sad a-and-” you didn't get to finished your sentence as more tears streamed down your cheeks and he only held your head close to him and rubbed your back soothingly to comfort you.

He couldn't hold back his own tears, especially when he heard you sob and whimper as you trembled in his hands but he hoped his voice could come out as steady as possible “I was, yes, especially to find out you could do something like this without telling me that- that things were so bad, sweetie. If it wasn't for that video I would have never been able to arrive back home early to find you in time and if I hadn't then- son of a bitch, I don't even wanna think about it.”

“I didn't... you had so many things to worry abut lately, I didn't want to add one more to them.” you fisted the fabric of his shirt, eyes casted down.

“No matter my problems, no matter my work, you always are my number one priority, (Y/n). Always. And it hurt me that you wouldn't talk to me about it, about everything troubling you and go through this all on your own. We would always tell each other everything and now you just shut me out, sweetheart, and I'll admit it hurt.” the words left his lips before he could stop it, but when he saw you close your eyes tightly he just gave you a squeeze and spoke up again “But it was just a mistake, honey. We're human, we all make mistakes, you did and I have made plenty myself which you don't know how sorry I truly am, and we learn from them and in the end we become stronger. All that matters now is that I'm relieved, little one, and I'm happy to hold you in my hands again. Happy you're awake and happy you fought your way back to life, because it means you want to stay alive.”

“I- I want to, dad, I really want to. But I just don't know how, I can't find a reason to.”

He took hold of your hand, giving it a squeeze before he kissed your forehead “Then we'll find a reason together, sweetie. I will be with you there throughout the entire process, Danneel will, JJ, Zep, Arrow, Jared and everyone else will. But I promise you, I will be there the most, and I won't let you for a second lose hope.”

“And wh-what if things... problems come up?”

“We'll deal with them together. Ain't that what we always did? Together.” tucked a few strands of hair out behind your ear “I will help you survive, (Y/n), even if it proves hard we'll face every problem together. You will always have me. Always.”

[mckinnonkate]

all the love we had and lost

post s11, mulder and scully go on a babymoon! i tweeted about this once and had to get it out of my system so you get to deal with it

there’s probably plot if you squint but why would you do that

tagging @today-in-fic

He floats the idea to her during week fourteen.

They reserve Sundays for lounging around together at home. Though the sun creeping over the horizon might technically signify the start of the day, they often stay in bed together well into the morning, tangled up like the young lovers they used to be. Their lives have slowed from a frantic chase to an almost dreamlike crawl, but they have a new respect for the solace found in spending an entire day simply existing with the person you love – especially with the impending arrival of a new person looming in the not too distant future.

This Sunday, she’s sitting propped up by pillows with her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the headboard. He’s lying face down next to her, head perched on his arm flush against her hip, and his hand roaming across her bare stomach. It hasn’t quite popped – not yet – but almost overnight, her once taut and flat abdomen has developed the slightest curve, jutting out to let the world in on the miracle that grows inside. He can’t stop touching it; part of him continues to marvel at the incredible feat her body is accomplishing, a different part can’t quite believe this is happening and uses the touch of her skin as a litmus test for his lucidity, and another part entirely falls even more in love with her and their baby as they reach and surpass each milestone. Frankly, he couldn’t keep his hands off her even if he tried, but luckily for him, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“We should go somewhere,” he says, his voice slipping from his mouth like honey. She makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, he’s not sure, but either way, he knows she’s already against the idea.

“Don’t wanna move,” she mumbles through lips as soft as the sheets engulfing them. “Too comfy.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his body like an earthquake in the stillness of their bedroom.

“Not right now,” he amends, “before the baby comes. Let’s go somewhere.” He lifts his eyes to her face and watches as hers slide open. She regards him with a furrowed brow, one of the expressions he knows means she’s curious and not angry or upset. He can work with that.

“I want to take you somewhere, anywhere, while it’s just us,” he tries again, stroking his thumb back and forth over their baby like a metronome. She huffs out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair.

“That’s very sweet, and I would love nothing more than to be whisked away by you, but you know how risky this is,” she reminds him, still softly petting him in the intoxicating way that makes him forget his train of thought. He suddenly wants nothing more than to just let the soothing feel of her nails against his scalp lull him back to sleep. If she whips this skill out on the kid, bedtime should be a breeze.

“I doubt my doctor would approve of travel, let alone allow it,” she continues, oblivious of the detour his brain just took.  

“She said everything looks really good though,” he counters, “and that we got through the worst of it.”

Which is true, technically. Despite near hospitalization when a week or two of particularly bad morning sickness ripped through her, an appointment a few days prior had shown that things were progressing exactly as they should. An image of their perfectly healthy baby hangs on the fridge and a recording of its perfectly healthy heartbeat resides on both of their phones, yet she’s hesitant to throw herself into this when it could all come to a screeching halt at any moment. Going through that heartbreak once was bad enough – she’s not sure she’d survive it again.

“I know we’re not completely out of the woods,” he says, and now it’s his turn to pull her away from her own thoughts, “but you deserve it. We deserve it.” She sighs, thinking about sun on her skin and wind in her hair and life coursing through her veins.

“We’ll talk to Dr. Klein next time we’re in and in the meantime, I’ll think about it, okay?”

He grins, a tender smile with all of the boyish charm he had when she met him 25 years ago.

“Good,” he says, propping himself up on an elbow. “I just want you to relax as much as possible before we’re scavenging for sleep like a pair of starving raccoons.” He leans down, then, addressing her belly. “Not that you won’t be every bit worth it, little one, but we’re really old.”

She laughs halfheartedly in response, covering the hand on her stomach with her own.

~

On a Tuesday during week sixteen, their baby is still perfectly healthy with a perfectly healthy heartbeat. Her doctor runs through the exam according to procedure, asking questions and taking measurements, and Scully updates her on feelings and symptoms when she’s prompted, but her eyes remain glued to the image of the baby on the screen. The evidence is staring her in the face, evidence that she can breathe and let go of some of her worry, but she still holds her breath and expects something to go terribly wrong. She’s seen too much, been through too much, to take anything remotely good at face value, and it kills her.

She hopes the baby can’t feel that.

“More than anything, Dana,” she hears her doctor say and immediately shifts her attention. “I want you to relax as much as possible. You and baby are healthy, everything is on track, and I want to keep it that way. The less stress you’re under the better.”

“Speaking of relaxing,” Mulder interjects from his place next to her, “in your medical opinion, do you think we’d be able to go on a little vacation of sorts?”

She pauses for a moment, forming a response, and hands Scully a paper towel to wipe the gel from her abdomen.

“In other cases like yours, I would typically advise against it. However, and I don’t want to jinx anything here, this pregnancy is going remarkably well. I think I can sign off on a small trip barring any abnormalities on your next scan.”

Mulder reaches over and clasps her hand, shooting her one of the smiles that makes her heart melt. She tries to return it, but the word abnormalities echoes persistently in her head.

~

By the time they reach the Tuesday of week eighteen, in addition to seeing and hearing that her baby is healthy, she also has the tangible proof of little limbs pushing against the confines of her womb. Once again, they’re told that everything is fine and once again, she waits for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m very happy with what I’m seeing here. If you’re still thinking about planning a trip, I think you’re in a good position to do so. My only conditions,” she adds, as Mulder helps Scully off the exam table, “are that you avoid international travel and stay on the east coast.”

In case something goes wrong, Scully supplies in her head, wincing slightly at the baby’s sudden onslaught of frantic movement in her belly as soon as she thinks it. Still, she can’t help but yearn for a respite out of the city, regardless of how brief it might be, where it’s just her and Mulder in a different place being different people.

Hopefully she can leave the intrusive thoughts at baggage claim.

They walk out of the OB’s office hand in hand, his thumb sliding back and forth over hers. When they reach their car, he regards her with the tilt of his head and the quirk of an eyebrow, uttering one location.

And that’s how they decide to go to Florida.

~

He takes over the planning part of the whole endeavor, asking her to trust him, and she finds it hard to say no when she thinks about how deeply he knows her and how deeply exhausted she is.

Within a week, he books flights and a place on the beach, consulting her only to find out when she’d like to leave.

The night before their flight out, she’s asleep in bed while he finishes some last minute packing. Suddenly, she’s roused from slumber by the sound of someone mumbling, and she realizes she can feel his head down by her abdomen and his mouth against her stomach.

“We can’t wait to meet you baby girl,” he whispers in a way that lets her know she’s catching the end of whatever he was telling their child. “Your mom and I love you so much already.”

She decides to pretend to still be asleep, teetering on the edge of consciousness until he moves her shirt back down to cover her belly and drifts off himself.

~

They leave on a Wednesday morning during week twenty. The flight is a little under three hours, and she feels every second of it.

It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy traveling, but traveling with an added 12 pounds of baby weight isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. Still, the salt in the air and the warmth in the breeze puts a smile on her face, and she’s content the entire trip from the airport to where they’ll be staying.

As soon as the car pulls up, she’s impressed.

A dozen or so cabanas are sprawled out in front of them, each one with a stone walkway to the front door that veers off from a main path down to the beach. The buildings are quaint – short and fortified with concrete, able to withstand rain and wind beating against the structures. They’re all painted a soft yellow, which, paired with the beige trim of the roofs, reminds her of the sand she walked on in Africa years ago. Outside of each cottage, two deck chairs sit next to each other on the unnaturally vibrant grass, completing the picturesque vacation spot. She can hear waves crashing and smell the foam from where they stand.

While Mulder checks them in, she walks slowly up and down a small stretch of the main path down to the shore, one hand on the small of her back and the other resting atop her bump. The baby had been still since they left that morning, but she could feel her now coming awake under her finger tips, a kick here, a kick there. She felt the urge to talk to the human in her womb, to talk nonsense or say anything at all like Mulder seemed to be able to, but words stuck in her throat like tar.

So she simply walks, waiting for Mulder to come find her, and thinks about the way the sand will feel under her feet and the way the ocean will feel against her skin and not about the way the baby might feel in her arms.

He finds her easily and guides her to one of the cottages toward the front of the pack, closer to the actual beach than the rest. He unlocks the door and ushers her inside first while he grabs their bags, and despite the overwhelming floral prints and pastel colors that scream tourist!, the first word that comes to mind is charming.

The space is essentially set up like a one bedroom apartment, with a kitchenette and living room taking up her field of view as soon as she walks in. As she ventures further inside, she takes stock of the white wicker furniture and the king-sized bed in the bedroom. Most importantly, she spots a claw foot bathtub in the bathroom. Not bad, Mulder, she thinks, lowering herself to the bed. Not bad at all.

The man in question enters not a minute later, looking expectantly at her.

“Good choice?” he asks, insecurity creeping into his voice. She beckons him to her and once he’s standing in front of her, she takes a handful of his shirt and pulls him down to her.

“Very good,” she tells him against his mouth before pulling it against her own. His hands move up to cup her face and his thumbs swipe her cheeks. They come apart, but he still holds her face in his hands.

“Do you need rest? Food? Anything you want, say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

She shakes her head, attempting to pull him closer. “I feel like I’ve been resting all day. I want to do something.” As she’s speaking, her stomach growls, loudly enough for him to notice and her to blush. “But food first would probably make me and your daughter very happy.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of her head before reaching out his hand to help her up.

“C’mon, I think there’s a place down the street.”

~

The irony of being on the coast but not being able to eat seafood is not lost on her, but she manages to have some of the most mouthwatering food she’s ever had anyway. They leave the local restaurant and notice that the sun should be setting soon, and Mulder decides it’s the perfect time to walk on the beach.

(In her case, it’s more like waddling, but he knows better than to joke about that.)

They walk hand in hand along the shore, letting the remnants of waves wash over their bare feet and the setting sun beat against their backs. After a few minutes of bumping shoulders while they walk she stops and turns to him, facing the sun. The golden hour light makes her hair seem like fire and her eyes like sapphire, and her beauty nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Here,” she says, pulling their joined hands to her belly. “I think she likes it out here.”

Only recently he’s really been able to feel their child moving, and it seems like he hit the jackpot tonight. He can feel the baby tumbling around under the skin of Scully’s abdomen, the soft rolling sensation of a hand or a foot against his hand. It reminds him of the ocean, the power it holds and the almost otherworldliness of its existence. As the sun slides beneath the horizon, they make their way back to the cabanas for the night.

“Headed to bed?” he asks as she makes a beeline for the bedroom as soon as they cross over the threshold of the cottage. She hums in affirmation as she reaches the door before throwing a look over her shoulder.

“But Mulder,” she says, eyes dark and voice deep. “I’m not tired.”

~

They spend Friday lounging on the beach – she soaks up sun, he swallows a ridiculous amount of seawater.

She sits cross-legged on a blanket under an umbrella, spending a few hours in the shade to cool her skin off from the rays she’s already gotten, and watches as he trudges back to her, shaking out his hair and body like a wet dog.

“Hi,” he offers, plopping down on the blanket next to her and leaning over to kiss her check with a wet smack. “Long time no see.”

“I know, I wondered if I’d ever be able to get you out of there. Thought for a second you found a nice, beautiful mermaid to settle down with,” she jokes, squirting out some sunscreen in her hands. He scoffs in mock offense as she lathers her arms.

“Scully, please, scientifically real mermaids are nothing like the fairy tale iterations we’re peddled as children. They’re gruesome sea monsters with nasty tempers and while I’d love to meet one, that’s just so not my type anymore.”

She laughs, moving from her arms to her stomach, and rubbing the sunscreen in with small circles. He crawls in front of her, flipping onto his side, and watches her.

“How do you feel today?”

“Fine. Good. Really good. The change of scenery is nice.”

“And the baby?”

“Active, but calm. I think she can tell I feel a little more relaxed here, when I’m not thinking about the giant list of things we have to get done before she gets here.”

“Shhh,” he interrupts, scooting closer and placing his hand on the swell of their baby. “Tell mommy she doesn’t need to worry about anything because we’ll get everything done and everything will be fine.”

“I can’t help it!” she good-naturedly exclaims, only to be shushed by Mulder once more.

“This is a private conversation between me and our child,” he continues, despite her eye roll and exasperated sigh. “Please don’t interrupt us.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, baby girl,” he starts, once again addressing her belly. “Your mom worries about everything and everybody, and that might infuriate you from time to time, but eventually you’ll learn that that’s just one of the many ways she shows you she loves you.” She’s caught off guard by his sentiment and tears spring to her eyes.

“She is always going to make sure you’re loved and taken care of, and that’s why you’re so lucky to have her.” He looks up at Scully then, noticing the wetness of her eyes, and he kisses one of her knees. “We both are. Care to add anything, doc?”

She shakes her head, blinking back unshed tears, and continues reapplying sunscreen. His hand wanders from her belly to her bathing suit bottoms and he fingers the olive green fabric.

“New?” he asks, subtly steering her away from anything else emotional and genuinely curious. She nods.

“I had to pick up a new one or two. I…outgrew my others, for lack of a better word.”

She looks pointedly at her bump.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

He looks pointedly at her breasts.

She rolls her eyes and shoves him onto his back.

~

The next morning, they come across a sign for a local flea market, and that’s how they spend Saturday.

When they walk up to the booths, they’re immediately intrigued by the local art, jewelry, and clothing they see.

They walk through the rows of vendors like any other couple, hand in hand, fingers interlocked. She feels normal, almost mundane, on a vacation somewhere tropical with her partner walking beside her and their baby tossing and turning inside her. It’s hard, though, not to think about how much they had to overcome to get to this point. The people they’ve lost, the pain they’ve felt, all reminders of the trauma they’ve faced, both together and apart. It feels sometimes that those memories are just barely hovering out of her mind, waiting for the slightest thing to signal them back into her consciousness and fill her with dread.

She thinks about Melissa as they walk past a table of handmade jewelry. Her sister’s death has been on her mind more recently as she thinks about the lack of family their baby will have. She would have been an incredible aunt – cool and fun and warm, and sometimes it makes her chest throb when she thinks about just how much she misses her. She pulls on his hand to bring them to a halt and surveys the spread of necklaces, bracelets, and rings. She picks up a gold chain with a crescent moon pendant and runs her finger over the metal.

“Hand-forged,” the woman, who, Scully presumes, makes the jewelry, offers as she comes over to them. “Each piece is one-of-a-kind unique.”

Mulder peers over her shoulder at the metal in her hand and leans closer to her.

“You like it?” he asks into her ear, and she nods, but goes to put the necklace down. “Then we’ll take it,” he directs the latter part of his statement to the owner, and she scurries back the way she came to get a bag.

“Mulder, no, it’s unnecessary.” She tries to fight the gesture despite knowing how futile her efforts are. If he can do anything for her, even the smallest thing, like buying a necklace, he’s quick to jump at it.

“Let me do this for you. Think of it as an early push present.” At her look of amusement, he rushes to clarify. “I read about them online. They’re a nice sentiment. Besides,” he adds, as he hands a wad of cash to the woman and takes the small box she’s put the necklace in. “buying you jewelry now is good practice for when you decide I can give you a ring.”

She smirks and lifts up on the balls of her feet to plant a kiss on his cheek, lingering there for longer than necessary, and slips her hand in his, leading them once again down the aisle. As they walk, she’s looking up at a hanging light fixture to her left when she feels a soft touch on her right arm. She turns to the source and finds herself face to face with a woman who looks to be about a hundred years old, but smiling at her like an overzealous child.

“Come over,” she says, gesturing to a booth of what seems to be knitted goods. “I have something.”

Scully looks at Mulder who shrugs, essentially letting her decide what to do. She doesn’t sense any danger, just maternal warmth that reminds her of her mother, so they follow the woman to her stall.

Once in front of the items, she sees that they’re all hand-knitted goods. There are blankets, hats, and sweaters, all in different colors with different patterns. Scully runs her fingers over one of the beanies and she’s shocked at just how soft the material is.

She looks up and sees the old woman rustling around behind the items on display, apparently searching for something. Scully disentangles her and Mulder’s hands to properly look through some of the items. Each one is as soft and well crafted as the last, and both she and Mulder are almost elbow deep in fabric when the woman approaches them again.

“For baby,” she says, handing Scully what she now sees is a blanket and nodding to her bump. Instinctively, she takes the offered item from the woman and runs a hand across the front of her abdomen.

If it’s even possible, whatever this blanket is made out of is even softer than the things she was looking at before. It’s a baby blanket, she notices as she unfolds it to its full size, and it has light grey stars with sparkling thread hand-stitched all over the white fabric.

“It’s beautiful,” she tells her in earnest, running her thumbs across the raised edges of the stitching. “What on earth is it made of?”

The woman smiles and her expression reads as equal parts coy and proud.

“I mix my materials. I take a little from one, a little from another, just to make them feel like clouds. It’s all a secret.”

“How much for it?” Mulder asks, sensing that no matter what the cost, Scully isn’t going to walk away without it. The woman makes a dismissive motion with her hand.

“No charge. I spotted you walking past and you needed it. I have a sense.”

She shrugs, and Mulder still tries to take out his wallet.

“Please, you put far too much work into something like this to just give it away.”

She firmly shakes her head and then turns to address Scully directly.

“My mother had my sister late too. It all turned out okay. It will also turn out okay for you.” Scully nods as tears spring to her eyes, and Mulder wraps an arm around her shoulder, kissing the side of her head.

In the end, they decide to also buy a larger throw for the living room, one that resembles a certain blanket that used to reside in his apartment.

~

When she wakes from a nightmare in the middle of Sunday night, she realizes she should have known she wouldn’t have a few days of peace.

She jolts upright as much as she can at twenty weeks pregnant and tries to calm her racing heartbeat. She can’t remember the specifics of the dream, but she remembers the specific kind of fear she only associates with something happening to her child.

She palms her abdomen, selfishly begging for movement, and breathes a little easier when she feels what she thinks is a fist pushing back at her. She grabs her phone off the bedside table and checks the time. A little after 1 a.m. means she’s only been asleep for a few hours, yet she feels too wired to fall back asleep. She looks over at Mulder, on his stomach and oblivious next to her, and slips out of bed. She uses the bathroom, careful not to wake him, and tiptoes outside.

The midnight breeze is cool, but her body is so hot these days it feels welcome against her skin. She looks out at the ocean, watching how the inky black water moves and crashes, back and forth, in and out. Deciding to perch out here until her sudden burst of energy dissipates, she lowers herself into one of the deck chairs. The surface is a little rigid, and the angle is a little harsh, but she moves around a bit before finding a position that’s somewhat comfortable. Her hands fall to either side of her belly and she rubs slow circles, trying to calm down the baby she knows she riled up. Maybe it’s the cover of night, or the presence of the ocean, but she feels something loosen in her, and starts talking.

“It’s just you and me tonight, baby,” she begins. The kicks get stronger as the baby becomes more awake. “I’m sure that’ll change once you’re out here with us, because I’m usually so much better at sleeping, but tonight it’s just us.”

She pauses for a moment, choosing to cradle her stomach with her hands.

“I think I should apologize to you, baby girl, because we haven’t talked that much recently. Or, well, ever. Your daddy is a lot better at this than I am. He believes that everything will work out, and everything will be fine. When he believes in something, he believes so fiercely, so he’s been more willing to talk to you and…um…love you.

The truth is, baby, I’m so scared that something is going to happen to you and I’ll never get to meet you. You’ll find this out when you get to us, but we’re quite a bit older than other parents. I’m a lot older than other moms and that comes with a lot of risks – risks that could really hurt you. And the last thing I want is for you to be in danger because the truth is, baby, despite every effort to keep a part of me detached from you in case the unthinkable happens, I love you so much already. I think about holding you and kissing you and watching you grow up and I want it so badly it hurts. Thinking about that being taken away from me…again…made it so hard to let myself love you, baby girl, and I’m so sorry.

I’m also sorry you won’t have much family around when you meet us. Your daddy and I have…been through a lot, and I wouldn’t change a single thing, but it’s cost us some of the people closest to us. And now, by default, you. You won’t have grandparents to spoil you rotten. You won’t have aunts to teach you the secrets of the world. You won’t even have a brother to protect you and keep you safe and god, baby, I’m so, so sorry.

But I want you to know, if you enter this world with any knowledge at all, that your father and I love you more than you could ever think is possible. That despite how unexpected your existence is, you are loved and wanted, and we never for a second thought about not having you in our lives. I made that mistake once, baby girl, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life paying for it, but hopefully the entirety of yours making up for it.”

As she finishes, she sniffles and hears footsteps on the grass approaching her.

“I don’t think the doc had this in mind when she told you to relax.”

She huffs out a watery laugh, letting him lift her chin so he can look in her eyes.

“Did you know that now my immediate response to waking up without you next to me is to try to call the police? I didn’t, by the way, but that was the urge I had to quell.”

“I’m sorry, I woke up from a nightmare and couldn’t sleep and…”

“Decided to catch some rays?”

“Something like that. How long had you been standing there?”

“Long enough. Can you scoot?”

She nods and moves forward a bit on the deck chair, allowing him to slide in behind her. He brings her back to his chest and she falls back against him, immediately appreciating the relief of a soft surface behind her. His hands find their way to either side of her stomach and he rests his chin on her shoulder.

“I know how scared you are, and I also know that there’s nothing I can really say that will make you not scared because you’re carrying a baby and that’s just how that works, but I want you to know that my faith comes from your faith. I believe in you, and that lets me believe that both you and our baby will be okay.”

She’s crying again, so he takes the sleeve of his hoodie and wipes the tears that have already fallen down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she chokes out, trying to burrow even deeper into his embrace as he tightens his hold on her. “Thank you for being here and for being you.”

He kisses her temple before she turns her head to give him access to her lips.

“Now, kid,” he says, rubbing small circles on her belly with the tips of his fingers. “If you think this is a memorable trip to Florida, wait till you hear this…”

[musingsby-night]

Musings

Summary: In the wake of meeting his Soulmate, Thor muses on their new bond. 

This one is chapter 3 in a series of vignettes of Thor and his Soulmate attempting to navigate their new life together. Read chapter 1 here, and chapter 2 here !

Pairing: Thor x OC

Warnings: fluff city y’all 

Since the day that Thor’s Soulmark had formed on his arm, he had been utterly enamoured with the unknown woman. This mysterious Ellie Brookes, who was designed by fate to be his.

His Mother, Frigga, had sat her sons down one day and explained to them what their Soulmarks meant. Loki, ever the pessimist even at the tender age of nine, had loudly proclaimed that the entire Soulmate thing seemed altogether a bit droll. He had complained to his Mother that he had to have one at all; he said that he wished he did not have a Soulmark, that he was not interested in the mysterious woman who bore the name tattooed onto his flesh.

Thor and his brother were very different people. They had disagreed on many things over their long lives together, but never more so than on this. Thor simply could not understand his brothers utter disinterest, which persisted well into adulthood; since the day Thor’s own Soulmark had formed on his arm, it had been at the centre of his attention and the unknown woman had been at the centre of his universe.

Frigga had continued on to explain what they should expect when the time eventually came when they met their Soulmates. To feel not just yourself, but the presence of another just beneath your skin. To feel emotions at times that were not your own, to instinctively understand thoughts and knowledge that did not belong to you. To know and have ones Soulmate was, Frigga explained, to feel true peace.

…Eventually. The whole feeling-true-peace thing, apparently, would happen eventually.

To be brutally honest, the first few weeks of knowing ones Soulmate was borderline chaotic.

“The joining of two souls is no simple matter,” Frigga had told her sons seriously. “Until the point when you meet your Soulmates, your souls exist on their own. The second the two of you meet, your souls must stretch to accommodate the presence of the other. It’s not a comfortable experience.”

At the time, Thor had not fully understood.

Then, years later Thor had met Ellie Brookes during the battle of New York, and slowly he begun to understand exactly what his Mother had been trying to explain.

Thor didn’t really know what a soul was; he didn’t believe it to be a physical object, but in the weeks following his meeting with Ellie, he swore he could physically feel it deep inside of his chest, could feel his soul shifting to accommodate her own.

Thor knew that his Soulbond would settle soon enough (his Mother had assured him of this), but for the moment it just felt like a constant tightness deep in his chest. It felt as though a string had been coiled tightly around his organs, the other end of which was connected to Ellie, constantly pulling him in her direction.

Even when he was nowhere near Ellie, Thor swore that he could feel her. It felt strange, and a bit uncomfortable, but to feel Ellie was as natural as breathing.

The only time when the Soulbond felt truly calm was when he was in her presence. The further away he was, the more chaotic it felt- like the string was pulling tighter and tighter against him and causing a constant underlying feeling of strain. His body, his Soul, demanded to be close to her.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t always possible.

Ellie had told Thor that in Midgard, humans received a month of paid leave from work when they met their Soulmate. During this time their Soulbond was all over the place, making it hard for them to concentrate on anything, so Midgardian culture encouraged them to take time to allow their bond to settle.

Asgard had a similar rule. Six weeks unquestioned freedom from all roles and responsibilities, compensated by the King, to settle into their new Bond.

Thor, however, was not an ordinary Asgardian; he was the Prince. And as he quickly came to find out, his Soulmate was expected to be ranked second to his Princely duties.

After the destruction of the Bifrost two years ago, the nine realms had fallen into chaos without Odin’s armies to keep the peace. Groups of bandits capturing cities, armies leading campaigns to conquer planets…. Since the rebuilding of the Bifrost, Thor had been responsible for leading Asgard’s armed forces to restore the lost peace to the realms. These battles could forge on for weeks, if not months.

Then, when Thor wasn’t in another realm doing battle, his presence was demanded on Asgard to assist the Allfather to draw up new systems of rule in order to maintain the peace in the territories which Thor was winning back.

And then as if this wasn’t enough already, there was his pain in the goddamn ass brother who kept attempting to stage breakouts from his fucking prison cell. In between breakout attempts, Loki also kept encouraging riots among the rest of the prisoners as a form of personal entertainment.

To put it simply, Loki was (as per usual) being an enormous pain in Thor’s ass.

This was truly an awful time in Thor’s life. In all the hundreds of years he’d been alive, he’d never been so bogged down with responsibilities. And although Thor could never regret finally finding his Ellie, sometimes as he lay awake in his chambers in Asgard, billions of lightyears away from her and missing her so terribly his heart ached with it, he cursed the Fates for bringing her to him at the time when they did… at the time when he could never give her what she deserved.

Thor could acknowledge now that he’d always been a little bit naïve in how he thought about his Soulmate, prior to meeting her. In his head, Thor had always thought that his Soulmate would just fit into his life like a puzzle piece, slotting into place.

As it turns out, life didn’t really work like that. Ellie wasn’t an object for Thor to do with as he wished; she was a person, with her own life on Midgard. Just as he was a Prince, with his own responsibilities on Asgard and to the nine realms which needed to take priority right now.

Those were the facts, as Odin had presented them to him. Just because it was the truth though, didn’t mean Thor had to like it.

And he didn’t. He really didn’t. He just missed her. Missed her, and loved her, and Lord he just wanted her.

It had been 78 days exactly since the Battle of New York, since he had found his Ellie. And in that time, he’d only managed to spend a grand total of 22 days with her.

Those 22 days had been unarguably the brightest of his entire existence. Thor had been alive for 863 years, and yet nothing in his long life could compare to the joy his Soulmate brought to his days.

She was clever, his mortal. Odin, was she smart. She’d proven that on their fifth day together, three weeks after New York- a day which Thor was sure would remain forever one of his favourites with her.

Ellie had told Thor that she held a PhD in forensic archaeology and a second one in ancient mythology (which Thor was very impressed by when she explained to him what a PhD was, and the fact that it was irregular for a 24-year-old to be so qualified).

Her speciality? Norse mythology.

“Ever since I was a kid, I loved all the ancient myths,” she had confessed to him, her big blue eyes blinking up at him in the dim light. “I used to make my Mom and Dad read me the same stories, over and over again.”

She bit her lip, glancing down shyly. “There was one story I loved more than all the others. I was almost obsessed, I read it every single day, even when I got too old for those stories I couldn’t let it go,” she said, and Thor brought his fingers up to her chin, pushing her gaze back up to meet his.

“Which one was it?” he questioned, and she grinned rather cheekily.

“The story of the thunder God, Thor,” she revealed. “When my Soulmark manifested a few years later I thought it was the funniest coincidence.”

Thor hardly had words to respond to this. Ducking his head, Thor pressed his lips firmly against hers, and Ellie opened herself willingly to him. Threading his arms around her waist, Thor firmly clutched her hips and hoisted Ellie up onto his lap. Her surprise caused her mouth to open with a cry, and he took full advantage of her momentary surprise to press his tongue against hers.

He was completely overwhelmed with a need to be close to her, as close as he could possibly get. He wanted to merge his body with her own, to be so close that there was no longer any distinction between he and her. Before her Soulmark had appeared on her body, before she had ever even thought of him, her soul had been reaching out to him through the cosmos.

This was a thought which soothed him in his long days away from her.

But where she was clever, she matched it in toughness.

It wasn’t a brute physical strength like which Thor possessed, but a real strength of character. A conviction in herself which was rare, particularly among Midgardians. She’d shown this to him for the first time on their twelfth day together, six weeks after New York.

Thor had made a joking comment about her tiny stature (which he couldn’t exactly be blamed for- she was undeniably short, to the extent that it was almost possible to mistake her for a child from behind) and she’d verbally chewed him out so fiercely he’d been left well and truly apoogetic.

He’d watched her numerous times in their 22 days together fiercely stand up for herself and her beliefs to those who attempted to challenge them. Her ferocity in the battle of New York had been incredible to witness. Yes, despite her small stature, Thor’s Soulmate was quite the spitfire. 

But she was also kind, too. He saw that in her on their seventeenth day together, eight weeks after New York, when Thor had arrived to her home and found her busy feeding a lost baby bird with an eyedropper and settling the small feathered creature in a nest she had made herself.

Her kindness shone out from her every day, in the friendly way she addressed complete strangers, in the care she showed to her loved ones, in the helpfulness she displayed to others almost constantly. Ellie was far kinder and sweeter than he himself had ever been. 

Thor had dreamed of Ellie before he met her, pictured her in millions of different ways over the 863 years he’d waited for her, and yet the amalgamation of characteristics which made her exactly who and what she was were so lovely if he had had to wait a thousand more years to meet her, he still didn’t think his imagination would ever have come anywhere close to the real thing.

Every moment that he spent with her, he spent in awe of her.

And 22 days was not enough. She belonged to him, he deserved to have her every moment of every day, and more than once Thor had become so fed up with the distance that he’d come dangerously close to telling his Father that he was done, that he didn’t want the crown or the duties or the responsibilities, he just wanted her.

She missed him when he was gone, too. Missed him greatly, and wished beyond anything that he would stay with her. She would never say the words aloud though, remained careful to never once ask him to stay, and he silently had to thank her for that. She knew that it wasn’t fair to put that on him, and they both knew that the moment she spoke the words aloud, the moment she asked that of him, he’d never leave her side again.

If Ellie asked it of him, Thor would find a way to capture the moon and all the stars and present them to her as a gift. He was completely and utterly devoted to her, his fragile mortal Soulmate, and he would unquestionably do anything she wished of him. Even if that meant renouncing the throne of Asgard, renouncing his homeworld, and remaining forever with her here.

She knew the depth of his love, and so she dared not ask, could not ask it of him.

Thor was a Prince and God, responsible to his people and the nine realms his Father ruled. But Thor knew without any doubt in his mind that if it came down to it, he would trade his title, he would betray Asgard, and he would sacrifice every life in all the nine realms, all for the love of one single mortal girl.

[drreporting]

Moving Again

Someone asked for a conclusion to the brawl between Derek and Owen over dating Amelia, so here it is. Set two months after Big Brother Pt.2

24th November 2014.

It had been two months since they’d broken things off, well since he’d unintentionally run her off. Normally, two months would’ve been more than enough for someone to get over a person they only dated for a month and a half, but for some reason he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He felt deeply in his heart that they had unfinished business, but their communication was nowhere near resolving that. They only spoke to each other when it was necessary, and Owen was afraid to pursue Amelia and get turned down. Not knowing if she still had feelings for him was easier to deal with than knowing she felt nothing; it gave him hope.

“Mr. Owen?!” Owen heard a small child squeal. Turning away from the elevator and in the direction of where he heard the voice, Owen was surprised to see Ryan by the front desk, holding Amelia’s hand and clearly wanting to let go to run over to the trauma surgeon and say hello. He hadn’t seen Ryan in months.

“Ryan?!” Owen replied with the same childlike enthusiasm, making the boy even more excited. It was then that Amelia turned around and looked at him, clearly not conveying the same level of excitement.

“Can I go say hi?” Ryan asked, looking up at his mother, milking her with his sad, puppy dog gaze.

Amelia sighed, letting go of his hand and putting on a fake smile. “Go ahead.” The second she let go of his hand, Ryan went head first into Owen, jumping into his arms and letting the surgeon lift him up into the air.

“How are you?” Owen asked as he bore most of Ryan’s weight on his hip.

“Mommy and I are moving into a big house tomorrow,” the boy explained, opening his hands wide to describe the size of the house, “It has three beds and two potties and a pool!”

“That sounds a lot bigger than my trailer.”

“It is, silly,” Ryan giggled, wrapping his arms around Owen’s neck and hugging him. He’d missed Owen so, so much. Amelia watched as her son burrowed his face in the neck of the man he’d become estranged with over the past couple months, feeling a little guilty. “You should come help us move boxes!” Ryan suddenly suggested. He looked over at Amelia. “Can he, mommy?”

“I don’t know, Ry,” Amelia murmured, unsure of how to let the boy down easy, “Owen must be very busy tomorrow.”

“Actually, I’m free tomorrow,” Owen shrugged, smiling, “I don’t mind, once you’re okay with it.”

Amelia’s eyes darted between the two smiling boys, unable to say no. “Fine. Tomorrow at 3.”

“Yay!” Ryan celebrated, lifting up his hand to high five Owen.

---

“Owen, hi,” Maggie chirped when she opened Meredith’s front door, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to help move some stuff for Amelia,” he replied.

“Well, come on in,” she insisted, pulling him inside before he could protest, “Sit and I’ll tell her you’re here.” Not having much of a choice anymore, Owen sat down on the couch in the living room, faintly hearing the sound of two people quarrelling.

“You should’ve hired somebody,” he heard Meredith say.

“I don’t need any help to move my own stuff,” the other voice countered.

“That’s why I’m helping you, right?”

Meredith and Amelia appeared from down the hall, each sharing the heavy load of one box as they continued their quarrel over why Amelia hadn’t hired someone to move her stuff for her. His heart began racing as he glanced at her, the room suddenly becoming ten times hotter. Once Owen’s presence had been recognised however, Meredith sighed in relief.

“Oh great, Owen,” she said as they lowered the box to the floor of the living room, “You can help Amelia carry her stuff out of my house.”

“That’s okay,” Amelia assured him, “Ryan’s spending the day with Derek and that’s less things breaking for me to worry about.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t need the help…” Owen muttered.

Meredith looked between the two and huffed angrily. “Listen, whatever it is going on here, you two better get over it because I’m not helping you with any more of these boxes.” She grabbed Maggie to take her too, in case Amelia wanted to take advantage of her and make the poor cardio surgeon carry boxes. “Grow up.” And with that, she left the room, leaving Owen and Amelia alone.

Sighing softly to herself, Amelia grumbled, “Could you take this box?” Owen smirked and nodded. Funny how he was here again, helping her move out of a house to another one.

Twelve boxes later, they were on their way to Amelia’s new house, the silence in the car deafening.

Desperate to talk to her, and kill the silence, Owen commented, “This is a nice neighbourhood.”

“Yeah,” she responded, her one word reply making it clear she didn’t want to talk to him. Regardless, he still tried.

“Amelia, I’m-“

“Whatever you’re about to say, keep it to yourself please, Owen,” she said, cutting him off. His cheeks turned red in shame. Following her orders, he remained silent for the rest of the ride. He didn’t even bother to comment on how nice her house was, or how creative it was that there was a large pond in her backyard.

He stayed quiet for the trips they made from his truck to the house, carrying boxes. He said nothing as he helped her unpack some of the heavier boxes. He said nothing at all, up until he opened one of her boxes and saw one of his old shirts in it. He took the shirt, running his hands along the fabric. He didn’t remember giving her this.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asked, making him jump. He turned around, shirt still in hand, and they both froze, no one saying anything for almost thirty seconds.

Hesitantly, he walked closer to her. “Why do you have my shirt?”

Her cheeks turned red at the question and his close proximity. “You never asked for it.”

“I didn’t know you had it,” he responded. He looked at her, relieved to see that she was finally looking back at him.

“It’s a nice shirt,” she mumbled, “Soft.”

“So you’ve worn it?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she handed him the box in her hand and went for more of her stuff that had been piled in his truck. “You can have the shirt back if you want.” And with that, she was gone, momentarily making him feel like she still cared, and now having him feel like she didn’t care at all.

“Amelia,” he called after her, “Wait.” He followed her outside and then from his truck back inside. Once she put down the box, he blocked her pathway, determined to solve their silly issue.

“What, Owen?” she exclaimed, frustrated with his persistence, but mostly his intoxicating and confusing presence.

“What are we even fighting about anymore?” he asked, “What is holding us back?”

“You said you didn’t want to be in a relationship right now,” she recalled, “And I’m not going to be your rebound sex for Cristina.”

“I said that because of Derek!” he justified, “He was being an ass and I didn’t want the hospital to be talking about you and, evidently, Cristina.”

“Who cares about Derek?” she asked, “He doesn’t decide who sees who in that hospital. And I can handle gossip, Owen. It’s you ignoring me I can’t handle.”

“I’ve been ignoring you?” he inquired, pointing his index finger at himself, “You’ve been ignoring me!”

“Because you were ignoring me!” There was silence after his last statement, neither knowing what to say. All of this could’ve been avoided had they spoken to each other sooner, and they both knew it.

Owen sighed, his frustration turning into a grin. “We are terrible at communicating.”

Amelia looked at him and smiled. “Yeah.”

“So, now what?” he asked, hoping for an “I’m secretly in love with you, let’s get back together and have five babies.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, fiddling with the edge of her shirt, “I guess this means we’re friends again.”

“Just friends?” he wondered. Amelia walked over to where he was standing, taking the shirt from his hands and looking at it. All she could think about was the countless time she’d fallen asleep in the shirt, the amount of times she’d thought about Owen, about how they used to be, how he could always make her laugh. The amount of times she’d been intimate with him, it was hard to just push those feelings down and hope they’d go away. Her stomach churned with the memories; they weren’t friends at all.

“Amelia?” he called again, wondering what was going on in her mind. She looked up and at him, a look of realisation on her face. “Is everything alright?” he asked. She dropped the shirt back in the box and moved even closer to him, if that was possible.

“We’re probably not friends,” she said to him. His face fell but, before he could truly convey his disappointment, Amelia had grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his face down to hers, finally kissing him. So that’s what she meant.

She quickly pulled away, making him confused. “What?” he asked.

“Promise me we’ll take things slow this time,” she said.

“I promise,” he laughed.

---

“I should’ve gone furniture shopping first,” Amelia mused as she and Owen lay on the bare floor, using some comforters from one of her boxes to create a makeshift bed.

“Probably,” he agreed, wrapping his arm around her neck and pulling her closer to him, placing a kiss on her forehead. They laid there in silence for what seemed like forever, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Why three bedrooms?” he inquired.

Amelia shrugged. “For more kids, I guess. If it ever happened.”

“Is this you secretly asking me for children?” he teased, “What happened to taking things slow?”

“Shut up,” she giggled, snuggling closer to him, “I’m just keeping my options open, that’s all.”

“It’s always good to do so,” he agreed, unable to help himself at thinking of a future life with her and two or three kids. They’d make an interesting family, one Ryan probably wouldn’t be too eager to share his mom with. “Wait, where’s Ryan?” Just then, the doorbell rang.

Within a minute, Owen and Amelia had redressed and answered the door, surprised to find Derek and a sleeping Ryan on the other side.

“He insisted on coming to help you guys,” Derek explained, handing the boy over to Amelia, “But he fell asleep on the way over here.”

“Thank you,” Amelia told him before taking Ryan inside to set him up somewhere he could sleep for a little longer, leaving Owen alone with her brother.

“Hunt,” Derek greeted bitterly, already putting two and two together. Despite still having harboured feelings against the trauma surgeon, he stuck his hand out and shook Owen’s. “Have a good night.”

Owen smirked, returning the handshake. “She’s safe with me, Derek.”

“She better be,” he sighed stressfully, turning to leave. There was nothing Derek could do anymore; if Amelia liked him then he couldn’t stop their relationship from happening. Didn’t mean he wasn’t unbelievably bitter about it.

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 4

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 5,361 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Thanks for your patience, here's part 4~

See me here in the air Not holding on to anywhere But holding on so beware I have secrets I won't share

-t.A.T.u., "Clowns (Can You See Me Now?)"

Then.

“Psst.  Hey look over there, it’s that Brown girl.”

“The one hanging out with the freak in computer class?  You think they’re dating?”

“Ew, gross.”

“You know I heard she got knocked up by some loser in high school.  I bet she has like, no standards.”

“Wow, what a skank. So she’ll sleep with anyone, huh?”

Look who’s talking, Queen Jezebel.

Stephanie tried her best to ignore the snobby gathering of rich sorority girls as they gossiped and giggled loudly behind her back in the gymnasium locker room, mingling and clinging onto the clear alpha’s authority.  Hiding and huddling under a protective umbra, umbrella safety in numbers.  …So much for college being better than high school when it came to cliques and bullying.

As they passed by her change station – all the adulating acolytes swarming around their leader like an amoeba – one appendage broke away from the buzzing cluster just far enough to bump blatantly into her bare shoulder.

“Whoops.  Sorry.”

The drone drawled in an excessively sarcastic tone that didn’t sound sincere at all, to the observant master’s smug approval.

Really, just like high school.

As tempted as she was to make a snide remark on the obvious imbalanced power dynamics, Stephanie managed to swallow her pride and suppress retort.  Biting her tongue until they were out of sight, upon which she stuck it out in an equally mature gesture in their wake.

“So like anyway, I hear this new gym opened up on the outskirts downtown.  It’s kinda out of the way – like, by the boonies almost – but apparently the instructor there is really hot.”

Stephanie couldn’t catch the statement that ensued, as the distance between them had already advanced to the point their fading words were muffled by rows of metal.  There was a shrill burst of shrieking laughter before they exited though, harpy peals mixed with a round of half-appalled gasps, rebounding and resounding raucously off steel.  Odd, she could’ve sworn she heard something about pirates…?

She sighed and shrugged as she got dressed, wiping the workout sweat from her face with a towel and pulling her sweatshirt over her sports bra.  She didn’t much mind being lumped in with the outcast crowd; frankly she was used to being looked down upon by others by now, but the derisive comments still stung her self-esteem – especially when she was already having a bad day, due in part to being so bluntly turned down by the public pariah she was supposedly “associated” with.

Face it, girl, not even the “freak” is interested in you. What were you even thinking, blurting out something stupid like that.  It must’ve come off as totally desperate; someone as smart as him probably doesn’t want to bother spending time with some dumb blonde chick who can’t even find her way around campus anyway.

She had come here to blow off some steam after being grilled on her grades in addition to the above gaffe, but now thanks to those sickening sycophants she was sorely reminded of her own poor social – and subsequently intellectual – standing.  Missing culture and class (in all senses) often made her an easy scapegoat, much as she endeavored to rise above those who stooped to such low level of insult in order to make themselves appear somehow more “sophisticated”.  She couldn’t help being a bit ruffled though, bile riling spitefully in her stomach as self-doubt simultaneously rolled about her conscience.

I mean come on, who are you even kidding?  All you’re really good at is PE and pretending to be from a decent background instead of another broken dysfunctional family.  Doesn’t matter what his type is, he’s way out of your league.

While she normally tried to cover up lack of conviction with clever wit, this was just the newest in a long series of successive failures (though it certainly didn’t top the ultimate blunder she’d made once).  Chalk another one up to the slew of screw-ups and setbacks that plagued throughout her past, piling up to the point she may as well be called the Leaning Tower of “Please Kick Me”.   Despite exertions to deny at least one side of her upbringing, the dominoes were stacked against her since birth.  Any psychoanalyst worth his salt (assuming she could even afford one) would point to a mess of complications stemming from childhood, starting with “daddy dearest”. Freud would likely have a field day with her “father figure” fixation – in the more negative than positive association. While both parental “role models” had problems with neglect in the past, it was the paternal ones that particularly persisted.  Thanks to her poor excuse for a pop, she’d suffered her share of blows (both emotional and physical) that defeated and deflated a daughter’s dignity, culminating in a personal vendetta against crime and clueless adults who can’t even properly take care of their kids.  (Which in itself was one of the reasons she sadly but firmly determined in the end to give her own offspring up for adoption.)

Objectively, it was no wonder she had terrible luck – if not taste – with men, chasing endlessly after a string of doomed relationships (and consequently consecutive rejections), sought as a self-diagnosed surrogate to replace the male attention and affection she never received growing up.  …So she idly acknowledged the full irony of the situation when, in order to distract from her dejection, she considered the inadvertent advertisement mentioned earlier as a potential solace.

Maybe I’ll go ogle some eyecandy for peace of mind.

She had promised her mom she’d come home for the weekend after all.  She could stop by on her way, scope the – ahem – place out a bit.  From the sound of the discussion, it was located fairly close to the suburbs, and establishing affiliation with an exercise facility near her neighborhood would be pretty convenient during vacations, compared to commuting back and forth like she did in high school.  (Having a certified hunk for a fitness instructor as well would just be a nice bonus, icing on the cake.  Given her strict regimen, surely she deserved to treat herself to some confectionary “consolation” on the side.)

…When she stepped off the bus in the middle of Gotham’s busiest shopping district though, she realized she probably should’ve done more research into its exact whereabouts first.

Dear Diary, remind me to print out directions next time.  Or at least a map.

As she wandered hopelessly through the streets, now without the benefit of a guide or even a destination address to go by, eventually probing enough passersby bore fruit.  By the time she arrived there though (out of breath as if she had already run a marathon), the sun was starting to set.  Craning her neck to gaze up at the building sign towering above her, she snorted slightly at the lofty title.

“Out of the Nest Aerial” – what a weird name.

A bell chimed as she entered, alerting a man who was bent over some boxes in the back of the lobby (which smelled of fresh paint and renovation), apparently busy packing away some materials.  He must’ve been surprised by a customer at this late hour, as she caught a cursory lift of his (lean yet muscular) arm to glance at a wristwatch.  Still, he called pleasantly over his shoulder:

“Be right with you in a moment.”

Eyeing the robust frame of his behind, she assured:

“Ah, take your time.”

donotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbutt

Damn, those gals seriously weren’t kidding about the view.  …As the ass-umed target of their talk turned around though, she realized what they must have been chatting about that set off such a funny fit, following screeches with shushes.  Steph felt her own face flush as she admonished herself for inappropriately zoning in from one conspicuous feature to another.

donotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseye

Despite the discernible… “deficiency” in the other’s visual department, the defect didn’t detract from his overall attractiveness, magnetic movie star looks unmarred by partial eclipse. One shining moon’s force of gravity was sufficient enough to draw her into its depths.  …If anything the shadow blocking the opposite sun’s reflection only enhanced his handsome appeal by augmenting an alluring air of mystique and intrigue – a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious if she ever saw one.  Hell, the rest of his heavenly body’s figure was practically flawless, revealing the results of what must’ve amounted to years of intense physical training.  Aside from deducing self-discipline as part of his personality, he carried himself with the convivial charisma of a cheerful showman presenting some grand performance (which she vaguely recollected from her father’s former game show hosting days). A voguish comportment vaguely cobbled from the kinds of classy male caricatures generally seen strutting on red carpet catwalks, peacocks fanning their feathers for their – in this case – drabber female counterparts (fans who would squeal and fall over themselves with glee if given a chance to even get within vicinity, let alone dare to lay claim of victory).  Suave and stylish – if slightly synthetic.  All preened plumage and perfect poses, placid and practiced.  Like plastic roses, permanently planted for all to adore – parading proud and prominent down a promenade.  Whose upbeat character’s charm was hardly diminished as he grinned gregariously in greeting, the gorgeousness of such a stunning smile more than making up for any handicap.  …Although she noted the guy’s gait seemed somewhat rigid for somebody of his stature, walking with a minor limp towards her.  Her blush deepened as he approached, exuding a masculine musk as his powerful paw extended to shake.

“Welcome.  How can I help you, miss…?”

“Brown.  Stephanie Brown.”  She babbled rapidly, tongue tying again as she tripped over her response. “Nice booty- I mean, nice butt- I mean, nice to meet you.  …You know what, I’m so sorry, I’m just gonna go.”

Fortunately, he seemed to take the semi-suggestive (if perhaps politically incorrect) comment in stride, simply chuckling aloud with unalloyed aplomb.

“Trust me, I’ve heard it all.  Richard Grayson, at your service.”  The dreamboat flourished a forgiving bow, adding with a flirtatious smirk:  “You can call me Dick though, all the ladies do.”

ohmygod please stop

“Um, I was wondering if I could check you out-” She hastily checked herself again.  “Er, check out your equipment?”  God, why did that still sound so embarrassing to say.  “I was thinking of signing up to join if you’ve got memberships available.”

“Sure, although we usually close around this time.  Was just about to lock up soon actually.  I’ll make an exception for such a lovely little lady though.”

Red crept further onto her cheeks.  “Thanks, I’ll just take a quick peek.”

He nodded.  “Feel free to look around, most of our stuff’s upstairs. Would you like me to give you a special tour?”

“N-no, that’s okay.”

She squeaked, subduing an internal squee.

“All right.  Let me know if you need anything.”

She skipped swiftly up the steps, heart skipping beats.  Today was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.

When she reached the upper floor though, she stopped short to see someone was unexpectedly there before her: the very person she had intentionally come to forget about.

What’s he doing here?

He didn’t seem to notice her presence, focused intently on a pair of uneven horizontal bars before him. Muttering something to himself under his breath, clenching his fists and flexing a few times.  After the limbering stretch, he inhaled deeply before charging at his opponent, clearing the first hurdle with ease by using it as a springboard. He appeared to have some trouble latching onto the second, but managed to rectify his grip in time, righting himself as he swung up and over in a circle.  Adjusting his center of weight, he settled into a handstand, still facing away from her.  Gradually, he removed one palm from the pipe, impressively relying on a single limb’s strength to maintain balance.

A memory pricked in the back of her mind.  Gotham High. After dusk.  An empty gymnasium.  She had forgotten her homework at school after practice, so she hopped on her scooter and raced back.  As she neared the gym though, she heard a groaning crash within, followed by an angry curse. Poking her head cautiously through the door crack, she spotted someone lying prostrate on the floormat beneath the parallel beams (which were presumably set up again by said individual after having already been put away prior), alarmingly appearing unconscious.   At first she panicked, and was about to run and call for an ambulance when the comatose corpse stirred, sluggishly staggering to its feet.  Despite dragging them a little, he wobbled over to take previous position at the end of the pad.  Stabilizing himself, he waited a minute for dizziness to dwindle before tumbling and backflipping across the entire expanse, vaulting high into the air to land – almost, but not quite – on the mark.

While she winced in his place, he merely picked himself up and gave it another go, repeating the routine over and over, for what felt like hours.  She stood there and watched with silent marvel, gaping in spellbound, slackjawed awe at each graceful arc and twist, utterly mesmerized by this bizarre boy’s sheer determination to get it all precisely right – nearly bordering on desperate, if not suicidal.  No matter how many times he tried though (nevermind shocking disregard for the quantity of bruises gained in the process), each attempt produced little improvement.  Even if he managed to successfully pull off the whole maneuver, his hands shook so much upon descent that he still slipped off the perch – almost as if some part of his subconscious were involuntarily compelling himself to hold back.  Finally, he kicked the dual poles over in frustration, storming off towards the outlet.  She hurriedly ducked around a corner, but was able to get a good glimpse at his visage before he vanished.

She knew his name straightaway from face alone; everyone did.  She’d seen him around in the halls, heard the whispered rumors, but had never spoken to him before.  Most people strove to avoid interacting with the “world class weirdo” if they could help it, and his raging outburst at the end was admittedly a bit disturbing.  …But the bitter expression of disappointment he wore as he glumly gave up became burned into her brain, ingraining irritation on his behalf.  He evidently possessed extraordinary talent, yet still wasn’t satisfied with himself. (Her own signature moves paled in comparison, and not even the most senior members on the team could come close to the caliber of coordination and dexterity – let alone stamina – required to execute the intricacy of the initial sequence.)  No one else seemed to recognize his raw skills either; or rather, he didn’t allow anyone to witness them for whatever reason.  When he showed up to class the next day sporting so many injuries, everyone speculated how the infamous “delinquent” must have gotten into some kind of brawl outside of school, and steered clear even further.  He didn’t say anything in his defense, but she found herself privately lamenting the misunderstood look of loneliness in his eyes – that in a way felt so achingly familiar from when she’d spend her mornings carefully concealing her “loving” dad’s last night beatings with makeup in the mirror.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to openly express sympathetic sentiment.  She had her own pressing business to attend to, as shortly after that she discovered she was pregnant.  Her louse of a boyfriend had already long broken up with her, dumped and ditched to fend for herself as soon as the quake of ’09 hit, fleeing like a coward while she stayed to try and help other survivors.  Not only that, he completely skipped town in the aftermath – coincidentally for the entire duration of her gestation period – only coming back when chaos died down and the coast was clear, in all contexts.  After she gave birth, he actually had the gall to try and get back together with her, but she kicked him hard in a certain place and then punched him in the face – twice – when he wouldn’t stay down.  (Okay, so admittedly she was taking out more aggravation at herself; maybe he didn’t thoroughly deserve the brunt of such brutal treatment, but she hadn’t had the best experience with guys who refused to take “no” for an answer either.)

While the calamity exposed some awful realities about human nature, she wasn’t the only one who chose to remain behind to aid relief efforts.  Among the scattered, smattering handful of Samaritan citizens left, she had observed another teen around her age (maybe a little younger, if his size was anything to go by).  Although for an excruciating amount of time, he seemed frozen absolute, suspended animation amidst the burning wreckage.  Glazed pupils in a trance, as if unable to process surroundings – before snapping out of stunned stupor into action.  Festinating, fighting frantically through the frightened crowd, urgently racing to rescue as many as he could from the rubble.  At one point he even recklessly risked his own life to dive under a crumbling, unstable column, reacting on impulse in order to save a small child from the structure as it collapsed.  He almost looked more terrified than the toddler afterwards, whole mass trembling (and not just from the aftershock tremors), but he held the crying kid close and soothingly promised it would be okay, that they’d find his parents, that they were okay.  He was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t learn who he was until later, when she and the majority of the refugee student body were relocated to Gotham Heights High nearby, since their own cheap institution was devastated beyond immediate repair.  (Eventually it would be rebuilt and renamed, dedicated in honor of the late Mayor Hamilton Hill, who perished during the upheaval.)  The noble sacrifice that stranger demonstrated on that day seemed a stark contrast to his cold reputation, and she admired wonderingly from afar, confused as to how someone could portray two totally different impressions in such a short span.  Deep down, she was sure the brave hero she saw emerge back then was but a flicker of the real self buried underneath frigid fortress’s exterior, convinced that a closed off heart was far kinder and more courageous than the owner let on.

At any rate, she had enough concerns on her own plate for the time being, dealing with the “reminder” her ex had left her of their time spent together.  While she tried to keep the matter discreet, there was no way she could hide such a (literally) huge secret forever – from her mom or from faculty. When the truth came out, some of her (idiot) friends thought it was cool she was having a baby, envying the attention and constant excused absences.  Others displayed their disdainful opinions on the affair, albeit in a more “indirect” manner.  Maybe they were also jealous, or more likely her teammates were mad at her for having missed so many meetings under the pretense of “not feeling well” – only to announce she was officially taking an extended leave right before the big tournament, forcing them to scramble to redo the group floor routine.  (They were already reluctant to let a transfer “rival” join, even though she had easily wowed their coach during tryouts.)  Either way, she arrived one day to find her temp hallway locker coated in graffiti, resentful remarks ranging from “slacker” to “slut”. There were worse labels as the list went on, effectively exhausting the devil’s dictionary:

Bitch.

Bimbo.

Tramp.

Trollop.

Hussy.

Harlot.

Whore.

Dreg.

Some of the comments were so harsh and hurtful she couldn’t – didn’t want to believe they came from anybody she knew.  Given the setting’s free access and availability, anyone could’ve written (and read) those things.  So rather than instantly alert authority, she resolved to stake out between breaks to see if any vandals returned to the scene of the crime.  …By the end of the day though, no one had come forward to gloat or claim responsibility.  She was about to resign herself to letting the culprit(s) go when he of all people suddenly turned up in the vacant corridor – carrying a spraycan.  Crushed by the thought he could’ve been involved – that he was really no better than his hoodlum image – she nearly called him out then and there to give a piece of her mind… when she noticed he was also holding a rag in his other hand.

He had brought cleaning supplies.

Quickly and quietly, he set to work, applying solvent and scrubbing away all the abusive slurs, leaving the cubby sparkling new.  He promptly departed without a word, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She didn’t know quite what to make of this random act; lending assistance in a crisis was one thing, but for someone to go out of his way to do her a favor when they weren’t even acquaintances went well above and beyond altruism in its own merit.  (It was possible he was erasing evidence out of remorse, but somehow she doubted that.)

She never did get a chance to ask him about it – or to thank him – as her mother marched straight into the administration office upon hearing of the incident and pulled her out for the remainder of the semester, insisting on homeschooling – at least until the fetus finished its own term.  Steph had never seen her looking so strong as in that moment.  The scathing, scolding speech and matronly outline she sharply cut were striking, if somewhat startling.  Their relationship had always been rather rocky, what with the pill addiction and alcoholism and all-around abandonment, but almost losing one’s daughter in a nigh-apocalyptic event tends to put things in perspective.  Maybe she felt guilty for not fully being there for her up through adolescence, blaming herself for any shortcomings.  She took the catastrophe itself as a sign of self-punishment, almost as if it were own fault rather than Mother Nature’s.

Whatever the motive, she really tried after that to make up for lost contact, God bless her.  She got clean – for good this time – started working double shifts at the hospital to pay for damages to the house, all the while singly supporting Stephanie through the labor and adoption proceedings.  Even went on a diet and lost some weight, though they still made sure to set aside time to eat waffles together every morning. Steph wasn’t sure why the woman specifically chose something that only offered empty carbs as their “healthy” bonding agent (she supposed since it was a warm, go-to comfort food; personally she was partial to mashed potatoes herself), but it became tradition, and it stuck – as did their adherence to each other, nonartificial sweetness strengthened with syrup.

When she returned to school, she was mildly more anxious to face friends than foes; to that end, she wasn’t even sure where on the spectrum “that person” lay.  (Incidentally, she gathered he’d also spent some time “away” in the interim, which didn’t do much to dispel his shameful status.)  At this forgone stage, she was uncertain how to broach topics long past to someone she’d still never even had a conversation with.  Plus he always seemed so… difficult to approach, exuding an overwhelmingly daunting lone wolf aura. Finding courage or commonality to confront him was a bold challenge, and she always awkwardly lost her nerve whenever she came close.

Despite his history of misconduct, he was perceptibly bright – brilliant even – when it came to academics. His high exam scores earned him enrollment in accelerated classes in their senior year (although even then it seemed like he was still withholding some superior source of knowledge, moderating only enough surface energy to scrape by), and the advanced placement ahead of her only broadened the unattainable distance between them, no matter how hard she struggled to catch up…  Which made it all the more astonishing that, in the end, he’d willingly accepted a spot in the same local state college rather than a private university.  One might then cynically accuse her of seizing opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, but it was purely by chance she happened to secure a practical arrangement that put them in rough proximity.  Ostensibly though, the only other times their paths managed to fleetingly cross outside of lecture hall took place behind separate, if adjacent bookshelves – until today’s accidental encounter, that is.

As she retrospectively looked on, it seemed he couldn’t sustain the stance for long, dropping posture to hang upside-down for a moment before dismounting.  Again, some kind of subliminal instinct seemed to kick in before he hit the ground, and he stumbled with a heated swear.  She clapped politely in appreciation though, and he jolted at the noise.  Swerving, he snapped without warning:

“Damnit, will you quit bugging me?!”

Her hands halted, shocked by the sudden shout.  He blinked as he registered the spectator, growing more mortified as he became aware of his error.

“Shit.  Sorry, I- thought you were someone else.”

“It’s okay.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He gulped and shuffled uneasily, steadying respiration before attempting to start over.

“So.  It’s you again, huh.”

Hello to you too.

“Hey.  Fancy meeting you here.  We just keep running into each other today, don’t we?”  She ventured what she hoped came off as a friendly jibe to defuse tension, though there was some genuine suspicion behind it.  “You wouldn’t be secretly stalking me, would you?”

He didn’t fall for it. Rather than take the bait, he instead reached casually for a water bottle on the bench beside his bookbag, relatively unfazed by the half-serious allegation.

“That’s my line.”  His tone was almost eerily calm compared to before, as he unscrewed the cap and nonchalantly took a swig.  “I could inquire the same of you, I’ve got a legitimate reason to be here.”

“Oh really.  And what would that be?”

He jerked his head towards the staircase, jabbing a thumb for emphasis.  “The guy downstairs?  He’s my older brother.”

She squinted, distinguishing some physical resemblance now that he brought it up.   “You two are related?”

That… explains a lot actually.

“Not by blood,” he clarified.  “He was also adopted by Mr. Wayne at one point, so technically that makes us step-siblings.”

There was a pronounced privation of fondness in the terse, formal way he delicately articulated their former guardian’s designation, tongue tart and taut as a tightrope.  She hazily recalled reading about the second sensation in the tabloids at the time (alongside an exposé detailing the new ward’s scandalous criminal record).

“Oh right, I saw a, um, documentary on T.V. about that.  …Wait, you mean he’s Grayson as in ‘The Flying Graysons’?  The famous circus act?”

“You didn’t see all the posters in the lobby?”

He pointed over her shoulder at a giant flyer pasted over partition, the enormous wall scroll unambiguously inflating the centerpiece’s ego.

“…Ah.  Guess I must’ve been, er, distracted.”

Irises rolled in exasperation, as if expecting such a reply.  “He tends to have that effect on people.”

Curious concentration transferred from the glossy print back to him as he begrudgingly murmured this. Hard to think the two were connected to each other, if tangentially.  Like day and night, they were.  Tentatively, she tried to gear the dialogue in a different direction, nudging towards an encouraging compliment.

“So that’s how you picked up all the acrobatic stuff?”

“Uh- yeah.  Something like that.”  He winced and rubbed the back of his neck, still seeming uncomfortable with the subject.

“You’re really good at it. That was pretty amazing, what you did just now.  You should consider joining the gymnastics team, the males’ division could probably use some support.  I hear it’s in danger of being cut to provide more funding for contact sports.”  She scoffed inwardly.  Like those jocks need any more budget.

He simply shrugged. “I’m not that great.  My brother’s better.”  …It was pretty plain to see he had a heavily severe inferiority complex. Remarkably though, sourness seemed to subside as a reminiscent, reverent mist remotely shrouded his vision, looking longingly at the faded ruby and gold costume.  “You know he’s the only person in the world who can perform a quadruple somersault?”  There was a touch of envious excitement in his tenor as he placed a hand on the worn placard, smoothing over wrinkles in the parchment.  “…Or he used to be anyway, before the- accident.”

“…Is that also how he lost his eye?”

The clouded veil instantaneously evaporated.

“Sorry.  Was just wondering.”

A voice emanated from the stairwell:

“It’s all right.  I don’t mind you asking.”

The two turned to see the proprietor poised at the top of stairs, leaning over the railing as he took in the picture with an inscrutable countenance.

“It happened during the quake.   Was trying to help some victims trapped in a bus underneath the highway.  Got hit by falling debris in an aftershock.  …Pretty dumb, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. That was really heroic of you.”

Meanwhile, her other company said nothing, but shot a peculiar look at his brother, who merely beamed benignly back.  There was a blank, stony sort of quality to both their semblances though. Impenetrable.  Stephanie had the inexplicable feeling she was intruding on some mute, confidential exchange between the two, and decided now would probably be a good time to excuse herself.

“…Anyway, would you look at the time.  Guess I should get going.  It’s getting late, and my mom’s expecting me.”

“Of course.  Thank you for stopping by, we hope to see you back again.”

“I’m sure you will.  …Oh, one more question before I go: How do I get to Widowstone Creek from here?”

A brief description of bearings later, Stephanie strolled out the door, now confidently armed with coordinates.  The manager waved with a sunny smile as she left – though it might’ve been her imagination, but the salutation seemed a tad subdued as opposed to earlier reception.

“Bye now!  Take care.”

He subtly elbowed his younger sibling, who sullenly put up a lethargic hand as well.

“Bye.”

Really, could those two be any more different.

The sky had grown grim, but she was still able to navigate her way around well enough as she approached an area she was accustomed to.  She had been right about the place being close to her house, it shouldn’t take her long to get there.  …Although now that she knew where she was headed, she opted at the last minute to cut through a back alley to get to her block without further delay – which turned out to be a colossal, costly mistake.

“Well well, what have we here?”

Stephanie stiffened as she heard the thrum of throaty sniggers and motorbikes, headlights peering through the gloom as they illuminated a score of whitewashed faces, arrayed in garish garb; bright polka dot and patchwork patterns that were even more blinding (like looking through a psychedelic kaleidoscope, or experiencing a bad trip on some of her mom’s pills).  She would’ve been amused by their gaudy guises, if not for the gleaming assortment of weapons they wielded: knives, chains, clubs, hammers, pipes, bats, and of all things – a spiked rubber chicken, which was the only thing that didn’t seem ridiculously out of place in this scenario.  (Scratch that, they still looked ridiculous.)  Brazenly brandishing rusted iron and brass to match their brash appearance, lurid and leering.  She’d seen reports of their mischievous miscreant behavior on the news, but had never directly run into them before.  Outlying residential regions weren’t typically their turf.  …But of course today had to be the day they chose to terrorize her territory instead.

Dear Diary, remind me never to try taking a shortcut again. …Assuming I even make it out of this mess alive, that is.

She thought as she backed up slowly, finding herself fenced in by whooping hyenas, sneering and snickering as they encircled their prey.  A gang of hellion hooligans, rebel riffraff risen up out of the ashes and anarchy following the cataclysm – even more enormous fashion disasters taking after their borrowed namesake:

Jokerz.

Clowns are here to let you know Where you let your senses go Clowns all around you It's a cross I need to bear

[dothewrite]

Can you write soulmates au with the matching tattoo? If yes then can you write a scenario where iwaizumi and reader-chan are best friends, knowing each other since they were childrens and our quiet and introverted reader slowly falls in love with him, but they aren't soulmates. And she doesn't believe in soulmates or true love, because of her parents. And iwaizumi secretly falling in love with her but he found his soulmate (sorry for being specific)

Iwaizumi’s such a cool cucumber all the time even though he’s like, perpetually fiery, so I just gotta make him stumble at something in life. This is 7k of undiluted shame and rambling, but I hope you like it. :) Thank you for waiting!

[Edit: I am SO SORRY that I completely forgot that it was supposed to be a matching tattoo instead of just a soulmates thing. I am an idiot. Tell me if you’d like to read what you actually asked for and I’ll write a drabble to make it up to you.]

You spoke in a voicelike pure-whiteporcelain… the smell of winter.Within my heart, asilently raging stormrose up, along thisdarkened path.Then twinkling starsfell down from overhead…So immersed in them,I was nearly broughtto tears.                      - orion, Yonezu Kenshi

In a world whereeveryone wants to know who they’re made for, or who’s made for them, you’re anodd specimen. There’s sexual orientation, and then there’s sexualorientation, and yours is ‘realist’. Your mother never lets up for a singleday, telling you that it would be lovely if a girl your age would bring a niceyoung man home for dinner once in a while- and it’s okay if it’s a girl! Itmakes you feel a little sorry about your state of affairs each time, and itstings your eyes when you have to tell her that you don’t want to rush things,despite the world’s certainty of its affairs.

She understands, andthere’s a soft sadness in her eyes that makes you rush in and hug her until sheforgets all about soulmates, or the emptiness of your fingers.

“Your father and Iwere a terrible match,” she used to tell you each night if you asked about thelittle red thread tied around your pinkie, and why hers is broken. “I mean, wegave it a go-” and then she’d look at you and press a wet kiss against yourforehead, “-that’s how we had you, my little gem, but it was never for us.”

“Why is it broken?”You’d still persist underneath the covers, and she’d sigh a long, weary sigh.

“Because we brokeit. And then I found your stepfather, and here we are.” She’d look at you withthat longing, hopeful expression on her face, and you’d stare right back withthe wide eyes of a child listening to a fantasy story. “You’re happy, aren’tyou?” She asked this every night before she left your bedroom, and each nightyou’d tell her the same thing.

“I’m happy, mummy.”You’d reply, and she’d start to smile with a loud sniffle. Then that was it,each night, you’d be tucked into bed without further ado and you’d drift offinto dreams about finding your own prince charming, just like your mom had.

Then, a few yearslater when you were all grown up and being led by the hand to your third yearof primary school, people started making fun of you. You didn’t notice all thatmuch, because it was a terrible year and you don’t even remember spending itanywhere with anyone. Young children, including you, didn’t understand exactlywhat having a soulmate meant, only that everyone had it, and it was a funnygame to see who could follow their line the fastest- you got bonus points ifyou were skipping class for it. You always joined in, and you were very proudof your record for being the one who had skipped the most classes, the one whohad made most of their friends laugh because you had that fearless look on yourface that wasn’t suited for searching for romance at all.

Then, third year came,and your thread broke. It started fraying in class when you pickedabsentmindedly at it, and then it got worse when you picked at it in the showertoo, and then when finally one day you had to run back to your house becauseyou forgot your pencil case, you realized that you weren’t connected toanything anymore.

You didn’t go toschool that day. Nor for the next few days to come.

There’s a buzzaround the air that only desperate, decomposing students can create in thenarrow hallways of a high school in Japan. You’ve just come from lunch in thevery crowded cafeteria after all your friends had abandoned you for some lastminute cramming, leaving you to finish your ramen alone.

“Why am I notsurprised to see you so damn calm?”

Once upon a time,you’d start to blush and lapse into silence at the mere sound of Iwaizumi’svoice, but time has done you wonders, like exposure therapy, and although youthink you’ll never quite get over that incredible growth spurt of his, he’s notquite as overwhelming as he used to be. You pull out your notebook from thebook slot on the underside of your desk and wave it lightly at him.

“I have my notesright here.”

His eyes widen,impressed. “Does this mean you actually studied for our quiz?”

“Nope,” you shakeyour head, and a small crease of a smile worms it way up to your cheeks, “butlife must have an end, and I will end with dignity.”

Iwaizumi’s snort isso loud it almost echoes, and you start giggling along with his grin. “Right,shogun. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“You might pass,Hajime-kun, don’t give up just yet.”

“Pass?” Iwaizumilooks at you confusedly, before going ‘ah’ when he realizes what you mean. “Oh,I’ll just be waving to you from the other side of the river of success.” Hisgrin widens, as it only ever does with you. “I’m going to pass, dammit. Ididn’t suffer through Shittykawa’s study sessions for nothing.”

“…Tooru?”

“Yeah,” he raises aneyebrow, “something wrong?”

You shake your head.That satisfies him enough that he gives you a nod and a thumbs up, and walksback to his seat with the traces of your conversation together still lining hiseyes.

It was a little odd.You hadn’t expected him to have studied with Oikawa, not when Iwaizumi hadalready found his soulmate. In his same class, even! Some people are just thatblessed, and she’s quite the beauty too. Most of your friends have alreadytaken to sneaking around, spending time with their soulmates if they knew them,and study sessions were the golden period of opportunity. Even for peoplewithout soulmates, because, this is high school, and everyone wants to date,and socialization is the lifeblood of youth, isn’t it?

The very thought makesyou blush and want to wither away at the same time, because your heart isn’tready for this at all. Not dating, nor the quiz. The class falls into amakeshift hush when your teacher finally strolls in with a mug of something inhis hand, a far too happy expression on his face, and you join in the suddenshuffle of notes being put away and prayers being said. You dare a peek atIwaizumi on the other end of the classroom and he catches you in the act- yourcheeks colouring instantly- but he offers you a crooked smile and you expire alittle inside.

All in all, youthink when you face the blank piece of paper with an equally blank expressionon your face, you think that any quiz is probably easier than being a teenager.

Things are always alittle easier with Tooru around. There’s something to be said about hisresilience against life’s trials, and although you haven’t quite shared thesame crib as him as you did with Iwaizumi (although he did with Iwaizumi too-it’s a weird infant love triangle, now that you think about it), you find inhim a different kind of comfort. You hope he finds some in you too, because yousee the exhaustion that lines his face when he thinks nobody’s looking, and allyou can do is offer a shoulder that you know he won’t lean on.

It’s after school,and luckily you’re on cleaning duty today and Oikawa has volunteered to staybehind with you, despite the fact that he usually goes off to practicevolleyball on his own whenever he has the spare time. You’re not quite surewhat’s changed, but you feel that something has, because you’re sittinguncomfortably underneath his stare as he perches on the edge of your desk, nota speck of shame in sight.

“They’re going tocome by and ask if you want to go for some shopping and karaoke this weekend,”he says without any context whatsoever.

You blink. “Are younot going, Tooru?”

“Of course I am,” herolls his eyes like it’s the dumbest thing he’s heard, “but I’m just giving youa heads up. I offered to invite you but you know Iwa-chan. Has to do everythinghimself.” You squirm in your seat when Oikawa pins you with that knowing lookof his, and he seems find the way your face flushes several hues of pink veryfascinating. “I know, by the way.”

“Know what?” Yousqueak.

“That you like ourIwa-chan.” He hops off the desk and instead drags another chair to sit rightopposite of you. “You’re terrible at hiding things from your face.”

“I thought I wasdoing alright,” you mumble, fighting the urge to hide behind your school bag,“Hajime-kun hasn’t noticed yet.”

“Yes, well, henotices very little,” Oikawa declares boldly, despite the fact that the both ofyou know he’s very wrong on this account. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not here tobug you about it.”

Squinting a little,you peer at him curiously. “Then what are you here for?”

He shrugs like it’snothing to him, and looks out the window with his chin in a hand. “Just to giveyou some company. His soulmate is coming with, if you’re wondering.”

Ah, now there wasthe fresh youthfulness in your best friend. Who in their right mind would skipout on a chance to get to know their soulmate more? Especially when it’s sorare anyone makes the discovery this early in life, you think it’s a terribleblessing and a curse at the same time. Anyhow, none of that is relevant to youanymore, no when you’re no longer privy to that exclusive group of individualswho are looking forward to the rest of their romantic lives, and here you are,having lived several years already knowing that nothing will make the brokenstring on your pinkie whole again.

No, that isn’t quiteit. You’re not being entirely truthful with yourself, and from the way Oikawais looking at you, you know he knows too.

“Do you believe insoulmates?” The question hits you out of the blue, and you gape a little.

“Nobody’s asked methat before,” you gasp.

“They should then,”Oikawa tucks his lip underneath a row of teeth and chews on it, “it’s stupid toassume that everyone believes in the same things. Some men still don’t believein menstrual pain, did you know?”

“I do,” you’regiggling now, and there’s a small tug upwards on his lips, “now only if yourfangirls heard you talk about such things!”

Oikawa shoots you agrin then, a rare one that appears less and less often the more time he spendson the opposite side of Shiratorizawa, and you discover belatedly that you’llmiss it if it ever disappeared. “All I’m saying is that the string doesn’tdictate your life. It shouldn’t, because then what’s the point in getting toknow other people? Idiotic notion, if you ask me.”

“Is that what youbelieve, Tooru?” And he looks down pensively at the crimson thread around hispinkie and his unknown stranger assigned to him by divine intervention. “Youhaven’t been looking for your soulmate.”

This time when helooks at you, it feels like looking into the endless darkness of the universeand in his hazel eyes holds a mystery of life that’s about to be unravelled ina single moment of sincerity.

“I believe that Ican fall in love with whomever I choose. If that person is my soulmate, then sobe it. If it isn’t, then so be it.”

It all comes up toyou in a swift moment, and you feel the choking truth scrabbling for purchaseagainst the sides of your throat and your chest suddenly shrinks from too muchair. Oikawa is still looking at you with those beautiful eyes, and quietly, heasks you again: “do you believe in soulmates?”

In another world,perhaps, you could learn to be half as brave as the man in front of you.

“I don’t want to,”you breathe, and it’s a heavy thing that sinks in between the both of you. “Idon’t want to.”

As such, you’reinvited and dragged along to the group-date on Sunday anyway, because there wasnever any hope of you saying no to Iwaizumi’s earnest face, no matter howgrumpy his brows are. It’s a slightly chilly day, and you’ve not quite dressedas warmly as you wish you had, but you’re ready to spend some pocket money on amuch needed emergency coat.

Shopping turns outto be quite the difficult affair when boys and girls want to look for verydifferent things. Or rather, boys crazy about volleyball and the rest of younormal humans have to roll your eyes and hand it to them- their enthusiasm isunrivalled, so strong that everyone gets barrelled along into shopping for newshoes for their upcoming tournament. You personally have never really been intophysical activity, and you find that part of you a sore point when Iwaizumicomes up to you more than once asking for your opinion, and all you can come upwith is a stuttered ‘the dark grey looks slimmer, I think’, instead of anythingsubstantial. He had looked satisfied with your comment, gratified even,but nothing could stop you from glaring at your own very un-sporty shoes inabject embarrassment for a few minutes afterwards.

Perhaps you had alldreamed it in your mind, his expressions, because when you all finally settledown into a massive booth that fits six people along with at least ten bags ofshopping, Iwaizumi hasn’t glanced at you once. It’s a small place famous forits tonkotsu, very popular with the younger crowd, and the buzz of noise anddishes around you makes you almost dizzy. It feels that there’s barely enoughspace in your head for your thoughts, let alone the sounds of fifteen otherpeople’s conversations.

“You alright?” Aconcerned voice pops up from opposite you and your head shoots up. Iwaizumiwatches you with his stern expression, tinted with worry although his hands arestill firmly pressed to his side. In a bitter moment, the thought that if hehadn’t spoken up at all, he’d look like he didn’t care. Yet as quickly as itcame, you brush the thought away, ashamed of your ungratefulness.

“I’m fine,” you tellhim with a reassuring smile, “it’s just a bit crowded in here.”

He nods slowly, eyesroaming the place. “A place this good is bound to have a full house on theweekend. I’m sorry about the noise. Did you want me to step out with you for abit?”

His sleeves arerolled up, and you can see the string tying him and his soulmate together bunched up like veins along his toned muscle. She’ssitting right next to him, an equally concerned expression on her face, and yourealize that in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t be as wonderful a person asshe could be. To be jealous of something fated- what a pitiful person you are!

“I-”

“-C’mon, let’s go.”Tooru interrupts you with enviable timing and drags you up with a firm butgentle hand on your arm. He bumps into the person on the other side of him, buthe waves the mutters off with an air of confidence. There’s nothing else youcan do but obey, stricken dumb by how right Iwaizumi looks with hissoulmate, and the steps you take feel more like stumbles out of the busyrestaurant.

It’s nearing lateevening and the hum of activity bleeds out into the open street from indoors.People with their bags, their books, hurrying to their next meals, groups offriends you recognize from the year below you laughing and bumping into eachother as they push their way out of the busy department store opposite yourrestaurant. Neither you nor Oikawa are leaning on anything, wary of gettingyour clothes dirty, but his hands are loose by his side and although he isn’tquite facing you, you can feel his undivided attention prickling at your skin.

“Better?”

“Yes,” you take afew experimental breaths, and yes, it is a bit more comfortable out in the openwith fewer people. “It was probably just the oil from the kitchens getting tome. Would you like to go back in?”

Oikawa doesn’tanswer, continuing to stare out at the bustling road and you join him in hissilence. You knew it was probably unrealistic to spend too much time out here,it wasn’t very polite on a group outing after all, but you can’t find it in youto pull yourself away from whatever peace and quiet you can find.

You’re surprised outof your reverie by the loud sigh that leaves Tooru’s mouth and you turn to seehis gaze on you, almost a foot higher than your head. “You two are really amess, aren’t you?”

“I-It’s just me, Ithink,” you stammer, confused as to how to proceed from this less thanflattering statement. Still, you know he’s right, and what’s more, you agree.You are a mess, everything’s a mess, and all you have going for you at thismoment is the hope that when you graduate, maybe you can forget about this messentirely.

Almost echoing yoursentiments, Oikawa announces into the air, “we’re almost graduating. I don’tknow what goes on in either of your heads but time waits for no man.”

“I wasn’t expectingit to…”

“So take it from me,the person who has never had enough time. If you’ve nothing to lose, why not gofor it?”

Nothing to lose?There was everything to lose- your friendship, the quiet trust built up fromsolid years of growing up, his life, and what about his soulmate? Therewas a circle in hell for people who broke two people who looked so wonderfultogether, apart.

What if it didn’twork? What if you’d never have anything more than a broken thread on yourpinkie, and the last chance of being happy had disappeared the day it snapped.

“Your mom would bereally sad if she knew.”

“…What?” You askfaintly.

Oikawa tuts andshakes his gorgeous head like he’s explaining something profoundly obvious to adullard. “You came running to me the day you came back to school, remember?When your thread broke. You were crying and everything- it was horrible, youalmost got snot on my new sweater- but you had that anger in your eyes when youtold me that you’d be happy anyway, thread or no thread, because your mom washappy without hers. So? Where did all that go?”

“I was nine!”

“And you were asmarter kid at nine than you are now at seventeen.” Oikawa replies savagely,and his accusation slaps you in the face with a nice dose of humility. Therestaurant feels a world away now, where you had been planning on lettingeverything be and getting through the years like Iwaizumi had never meant moreto you, and you just know that you can’t go back. You couldn’t bear to be aterrible person and sit opposite his soulmate, whose kindness and innocence youhad come to envy for no redeeming reason at all.

“Go home,” Oikawatells you a little more kindly now, and you nod wordlessly. “I’ll tell themthat you’re feeling sick.”

He doesn’t give youa chance to say anything else, because he spins on his heel and strides backinto the restaurant like he’d never been out in the first place, and slowly,your mind reaches your feet to take you in the direction of your home, step bystep.

Still. ‘Thankyou’, you tap into your phone, and a reply buzzes right back withinseconds.

‘I know’,is all Oikawa replies with, and it brings an unbidden smile to your face. You think that you must be a little blessed at the very least,with a friend like him.

It turns out thatwhen you successfully suffer through the majority of a social gathering only toleave because of ‘illness’, people are either incredibly suspicious, or veryworried. Luckily, your track record is stellar, and the only expression thatturns up on each person’s face as they ask you all throughout the day atdifferent times if you’re alright, is worry. You’ve never had to quietly andvery awkwardly assure so many people of your health in one afternoon before,but the break did you some good. Your mother had immediately sensed somethingwas wrong the moment you walked into the house, slightly miserably, but she hadleft you alone after a few deflected questions and offered you a small tray ofbiscuits as a peace offering. You’d made your way through it slowly as thenight grew later until you were almost suffocating underneath your blanketsbecause of what an idiot you’ve realized you were.

The thing is, theytalk about these things with such ease in stories- those childhood friends goon an adventure and find out the love of their life was right there all along!-but in reality, it’s quite a dreadful experience for you. The harder you try tosolve your stress, the worse Iwaizumi’s imagine in your head gets, and the lessyou want to say anything at all.

It was just a sillycrush, something you really thought was unfair and most likely to never workout, because he’s found his soulmate; you’ve yet to meet anyone your agewho wasn’t with their soulmate. Who were you break anything up?

Then the man of thehour inevitably shows up as you’re trying to make your way back to your desk asinnocuously as possible, and your own unfamiliarity with melodramatics thatkeeps you from gasping out loud in surprise.

Iwaizumi leanscloser to you at the noise, the worried press of his lips the only thing youcan recognize in your swimming vision. “Are you feeling any better? Did you eatsomething bad as a snack or something yesterday?”

It feels like hisworried face is all you see these days.

“Not really,” youanswer with utmost vagueness, growing more nervous with every passing momenthe’s standing in your personal bubble, “I’m alright now, I think I was justdehydrated.” He doesn’t look very persuaded, so you add, “that’s what my momsays, anyway.”

“Good. I trust yourmom more than you when it comes to your health,” he says, blasé, a challenginggrin teasing his mouth and the crushing guilt leaves you quickly at the sight.

Although, he doeshave a point, and the memory of many nights of denial brings an embarrassedblush to your face. Iwaizumi seems to squirm a little underneath your silence,and the bold grin starts to melt off his face until all that’s left is a quietfeeling of awkwardness. He clears his throat, and your eyes flicker up to watchhim underneath several wisps of hair that’s fallen in front of your face.

“I’m sorry to haveworried you,” you offer, unsure.

“Oh,” he looks amildly surprised and shakes his head a little strongly, “well, as long asyou’re fine.”

“…Okay.”

“I…”

Pigs must be flyingtoday for Iwaizumi Hajime to be flustered. He wasn’t even flustered when he’ddiscovered his soulmate, or when they confessed to him, or when he had shruggedwithout a moment’s hesitation. It’s dreadfully contagious, however, and soonenough you’re almost hopping on your toes from how flustered you are too.

When Iwaizumi triesagain in a pained tone, you startle. “Are you… Do you have time after schooltoday? Want to go… somewhere?”

He doesn’t add toit, but his expression is clearly regretting realizing the great irony ofasking you to hang out, the day after you got sick from hanging out. It makesyou almost chuckle, but you keep it firmly under wraps, otherwise it’d blowyour already terrible cover that perhaps you weren’t quite so sick after all.

“That sounds nice,”you reply softly, sounding a lot more confident that you feel. “I’ll wait foryou at the gates, maybe?”

Iwaizumi nods,relieved, and turns away reluctantly, because there’s really nothing much elseto do than to go to class once the conversation is so clearly over. You givehim a little wave to usher him on his way, and when you’re almost immediatelycrowded by a curious Oikawa, you don’t mention how there’s always volleyballpractice on Mondays.

The rest of the daygoes infuriatingly slowly for you, and without the benefit of a romantic windowseat, you’re left to your own devices of actually paying attention to class ina desperate attempt to make the clock turn faster. You think you’ve never beenquite nervous in your life, and the suddenness of his company does nothing tosoothe your nerves. Have you done something wrong? He looked rather like he’dnot do this at all, so it might be bad news. Or maybe he needs to tell yousomething he thinks you might not like.

You don’t know howmuch more tense things could be between the two of you. Unless he’s gettingmarried the moment he turns eighteen. In that case, yes, it could get worse,marginally.

Still, for how muchyou’d been wishing the day would pace itself at least faster than a limp slug,the end of the day comes rushing at you like tidal wave, and you find the bellringing long before you’re mentally prepared for a very awkward few hours.Perhaps he had been putting this off for a long time, perhaps he didn’t want todo this more than you did, perhaps it was just something to be done.

You change into youroutside shoes with the weight of dread pulling at your limbs until you feel asif your feet are dragging you along towards the school gates. There’s a quietcough that you realize is supposed to grab your attention, and you look up tofind Iwaizumi already waiting for you, leaning against the brick. You smile,and faintly realize that he’s grown up so fast you’d barely had time to catchup.

“Let’s go then,” hesays quietly, so you follow him, falling into pace beside him. You’re farshorter than he is, and it doesn’t help your heart when he suddenly glancesback at you and slows down to a speed you’re more comfortable with.

All you can hear isthe blood rushing about your ears, whilst your pulse drains simultaneously witheach block the two of you pass, and still you have no clue where you’re headed.

“Want to get somecoffee?” Iwaizumi asks, almost as if he’s read your mind.

You smile wanly.“Okay. That’s very American of you, Hajime-kun.”

“Right, that’s me,American man with a gun and my favourite food is hamburgers.”

“Now that justwasn’t funny,” you grin.

“Yeah? Then why isit every time I actually try, you’re cracking up and in tears?”

You’ve nothing tosay to that, because he’s right, and you’re so embarrassed you could die. Youdidn’t know it was that bad, that you were that obvious, and you wish that partof you wasn’t so incredibly see-through and flimsy like cling-film. If he noticesthe sudden redness to your face, Iwaizumi doesn’t comment on it.

Whatever he wants totell you, or has planned obviously doesn’t involve the walk to the café itself,and most of it is spent admiring nature and trying to ignore the awkwardness inthe air. Your introverted nature has almost ensured you a lot of practice withawkward moments and moments where you want to run away, but feeling this waywith Iwaizumi of all people is an utterly new experience. One that you wishdidn’t set your nerves on edge, and reprieve can’t come fast enough when thetwo of you finally reach the café, with at least a whole person’s space betweeneach other, and your step falters a little when he holds open the door for youand you can’t quite remember what to do after that.

His amused raise ofan eyebrow still does things to your heartbeat no matter how awkward you’vebecome. You try terribly hard to stop yourself from thumping at your chest tocalm down, which would require possibly a lot of reassuring that you haven’tlost all of your marbles.

“I’ll go get you adrink then. Latte with extra sweet, right?”

“Yes,” and all theblood in your body relocates to your face, “thank you.”

“No problem,” hethrows you an easy smile and you have to quickly sit down in your seat beforeyour legs start to dissolve into the air.

It’s a tense fewminutes alone at the table. If he’s putting so much effort into this meeting,it couldn’t be too bad of an announcement, right? If he’s still smiling, itcan’t possibly be earth-shattering. Your thumbs twiddle almost spastically. Ormaybe he’s just being extra nice because it’s terrible news. Embarrassing,life-changing news that will leave you to salt your coffee with your own tears.

Iwaizumi promptlysits himself down in the chair opposite you, and you immediately shut your mindup. Maybe you were being a little melodramatic. Maybe.

“So, uh, how wasclass?” He tries, clearly jumbled up, and it makes you feel slightly betterabout yourself.

“Terrible,” youlaugh, “I don’t know why I bother paying attention in class.”

“You aren’t laughingat me, are you?”

That man is far tooobservant when he wants to be. You shrug, but the smile can’t quite leave yourface. “Just a little.”

Iwaizumi makes anattempt at looking put out, but there’s a light in his eyes that doesn’t quitedim when it comes to you being cheerful. You wager he knows, what this is doingto your nerves, but he probably is too preoccupied with his own to do anythingabout it.

“I was thinking…” hefinally begins, but pauses abruptly when your drinks are finally brought to youby an amused looking waiter. There’s a terrible silence until the staff memberwaltzes too slowly out of earshot, and by then, Iwaizumi’s face is beet red andhe almost looks horrified at his own thoughts.

“You werethinking…?” You prompt, and he almost sighs disappointedly at something. That’sfor you to do, you think to yourself, but your lips remain sealed.

“I was thinking…would you… oh God this is worse than what Shittykawa told me but… would you, Imean- oh fuck it, I like you, okay?”

You’re not quitesure what Tooru has to do with anything other than the fact that he’s a generalbusybody when it comes to private affairs, but you nod, like to a small child.

“Of course, I’d hopeso,” you tell him. “We’ve known each other for so long, I- I hope you like me,at the very least.”

Good lord, maybethis was what he was going to say. To tell you that you’re still friends, buthe might be eloping. Or dying. Or telling you that he’s actually gay and hopingthat you won’t hate him. Nothing in this world could possibly make you hateIwaizumi, you admit to yourself, and that is probably not a good thing.

He, on the otherhand, looks like he’s about to implode. You’ve never seen him be anything moredramatic than ‘long-suffering’, so this is an incredibly novel experience.

“That’s- yeah, ofcourse I like you, but that’s not what I meant.”

“O-oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Itmakes you want to say sorry again, and Iwaizumi sees it on your face so hehurries to cut you off before you do. “I… I guess what I’m doing is confessing.Just… without the letter, or the chocolates. And this isn’t exactly a rooftopin the sunset either.”

He’s rambling, butit doesn’t matter. You freeze, despite the sudden spike of fight-or-flightresponse that bangs its gong in your head, and this is going all wrong.How- how is that he looks nervous, and you’re being confessed to; youcan’t help it, it’s another sort of reflex when your jaw locks into place andyour gaze jerks immediately to his hand Iwaizumi catches your shift inattention- he hasn’t looked away from you for a second, that brave soul- and hetugs at his sleeve reluctantly, trying to keep himself from covering it.

“I have a soulmate,yeah,” he says, rather redundantly in your opinion, because everyone who’sheard of Iwaizumi knows he’s found his soulmate, and the last time you checked,it still wasn’t you. “I just… do you believe in soulmates?”

“This again,” youbreathe slightly hysterically, and the thought that maybe Oikawa Tooru is thegreat puppet master of the universe crosses your mind several times inoverexcited laps.

“Huh?”

“No,” you respondmore clearly, “I don’t want to.” His expression falls a little, and you quicklyclarify, “I mean- I don’t.” You don’t need to glance down anymore to know thatyour thumb is already reaching towards your bare pinkie to rub at itself-consciously. Iwaizumi follows your movement, and in one heart-stoppingmoment, he pulls his hands off his mug and reaches to grasp your hand in thefirmest grip you’ve ever felt in your life. He gives your cold, clammy hand aconfident squeeze, and you feel the warmth of his palm squeeze your frail hearttoo.

His eyes are burninginto yours and it hurts- whether from the intensity, from your imagination orfrom all the insecurity he seems to be searing away from your soul into ashesthat fall around you like cherry blossoms, because he’s your childhood friend,your Iwaizumi, and if anyone can carry out miracles, it’s him.

“It’s hard to notbelieve in something everyone else thinks is common sense, huh.” He says withaching gentleness, lips curling into a woeful smile that shatters all the wallsyou’ve worked so hard at building, block by block. In just one sentence,without prompting, he has said what you thought nobody else would be able tounderstand. “It’s one thing to live against it, and another to just live…without it.” There’s a pointed silence, and his fingers tighten around yours;you know that instance he’s talking about all the times he’s seen your facetorn up because of your broken string and his intact one, the first gap in thegaping abyss that’s grown between you and the rest of your peers.

Of course, all ittook was for Iwaizumi to bare his soul to you, and the bridge falls andsuddenly, you feel like you can have faith in yourself again. Even if just alittle.

“I got used to it,”you say, voice smaller than you imagined. “Mom, and all. It wasn’t like Ididn’t know.”

The biggest questionis still unsaid when Iwaizumi nods with tender understanding. He’s keepingquiet, and you’re not ready enough to ask it of him yet. In case this is just adream, in case it wasn’t what you had been wishing for all this time.

Miracles, like yousaid. He performs another like it’s nothing, and the words come up without youneeding to spare a glance.

“I… I believed in itat first. Who doesn’t, in the day and age? But…” His voice begins to waver, andin a single historic moment of bravery, you turn your hand over so that you’reproperly holding hands, and you squeeze back too. You hear his breath hitch,and you’re more sure of this than anything else you’ve been. “I… I guess I justcame to love you, more and more. I didn’t realize it at first, because youweren’t on the other side of my string, and even though sure, it’s easy withher, like I barely have to try and we fit, but… you…”

You’re crying alittle. “You make me want to try to fit, even if we might not. Right?”

“Right.” And hesounds like he might be crying too. He isn’t, when you look away from yourjoined hands, the sure expression evergreen on his face, but his voice betrayshim.

“I don’t know muchabout love,” you murmur, “all that I do it’s from my mom or from books, butI’ve always found something romantic in the fact that you get to choose who youspend the rest of your life with. To love again. Who says that we’re onlyallowed one great love in our lives, and everything else will pale incomparison? Why can’t we have two? Three? As many as our little hearts tell uswe need, because we’re us, right?”

He’s silent, cuppingyour every word in his hands like the water of life, and for the first time ina long time, you’re not here with Iwaizumi, your crush. You’re with Iwaizumi,the only person you ever thought was for you, and would probably be for a verylong time. There’s no wealth in the world that could buy genuine understanding-and in a dizzying moment you feel so much more blessed than anyone with a red thread.Despite yours breaking, despite the odds of being born anyone else in theworld, you were born here, in a small town in Miyagi, and you met him.

You hope that heknows that no matter what comes of you two, you’ll forever think him beautifulbeyond compare.

“’Better to haveloved and lost than to have never loved at all’,” Iwaizumi says with a smile,“they used to say that a long time ago. I guess it doesn’t really apply whenwe’ve all got threads.”

“They just assumeyou love, don’t they?” You match his smile with your own, a bit watery but verytouched.

“I’d rather letmyself love who I want, than love what’s just there. Something I had to fightfor, instead of sitting there and letting it happen.”

If Iwaizumi tried topersuade you to jump off a cliff with that amount of earnestness, you would doit without a second’s hesitation.

“You’re making avery convincing argument, Hajime-kun.”

He laughs that richlaugh of his and you feel your cheeks colour again like normal. “It’s onlyconvincing if it works.” He leans forwards like he always does in that way thatsteals chunks of your lifespan. “So? What do you say? Want to give it a trytogether?”

“It’s…” you can feelthe edge of each syllable along the grooves of your tongue, ready to leave yourlips, but they just won’t come, “will it break? The thread. Will it come back?”

He waits, like it’sthe one thing he was certain to come from this whole conversation.

“You… will you beable to go back if you realize you’ve made a mistake?”

Iwaizumi answers youlike god answers prayers- with conviction and a love that can only come fromdeep within. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t change how I feel, and that doesn’tchange what I think. We can try and try again until we find something thatworks. If it doesn’t, I know that I’d never regret it having happened.”

This man is tooblinding, and you barely deserve him. Maybe a few days before and you wouldhave said something very different, but this time your ‘alright’ comes in awhole exhilarated rush and the moments where he pushes even closer to you topress his lips quietly against yours for a mere moment feels like heartbreak-already happened, so intense that nothing could possibly outdo this singlemoment ever again.

“I- we’re in acafé!” You hiss once your brain restarts itself successfully, but Iwaizumi onlyfalls back into his hair with a satisfied grin on his face that borders onsmug.

“Is PDA a no then?”

“No!”

“A shame,” hemurmurs lowly, and something alive curls in your gut from the way his voicewraps around his words like they’ve been coated in syrup, “I’ve always wantedto try that kissing thing that Oikawa always does with whatever girlfriend hehas.”

‘Kissing’ makes yourhead steam with embarrassment, and if you had your hand back to yourself youwould most definitely cover your face with it. “You’ve been spending too muchtime with Tooru.”

“Probably,” Iwaizumisays ruefully, “what’s done is done, I suppose.”

Indeed, it was, andon Iwaizumi’s finger, the red thread lies snapped, on the table, like it hadnever been whole in the first place. It only takes a short glance at yourexpression for Iwaizumi to fall back into sobriety and very slowly, as iftrying not to spook you, he gets up and gently pulls the chair from under you.“Let’s go,” he suggests, and you’re the first to pad out of the coffee shopwhile he gives the table a cursory look over for forgotten items.

The previousconversation falls into a lull, a comfortable one, that accompanies the dimmingsky. You feel like there should be more embarrassment, more nervousness aboutfirst-times after your lives have been flipped over in one single afternoon,but there isn’t. There’s only the feeling of comfort and companionship thattakes its place between the two of you and pulls you closer together likemagnets. There’s a smile on your face while you walk, and his is alight withanticipation for whatever is to come.

First, it’s yourshoulders that bump. Yet, you barely even pause when you feel Iwaizumi quietlysliding his hand over yours and he hooks his pinkie around your own.

“I love you,” hesays into the road ahead, like he wants to say it just once, in case he nevergets to again.

“I-I know,” youcan’t help but stammer, but the deep chuckle beside you emboldens you. “I loveyou also,” you try again, and he hums.

You might never know what it’slike to have a complete thread, to have a destined soulmate, but you think thatin any reality, having someone so wonderful understand you so wholly is theclosest thing on earth to finding one.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT RAILROADS

You don't have to be willing to change your product. There are already signs that startups may not spread particularly well. The bad news is that the inhabitants consider it a great treat to fly to Europe and spend a couple weeks living what is, for the simple reason that if there were something that large numbers of people urgently needed and that could be built with the amount of stock you retain. I've found that people who are quite timid, initially, about the idea of making really large amounts of money involved are larger, millions usually.1 When I was in grad school, especially at first. Paraphrased for the Web, use links to rank search results, and have clean, simple web pages with unintrusive keyword-based ads. What does the Social Radar, and this is the same as another but with a couple things changed. Imagine talking to a customer support person who not only knew everything about the product, but who want it urgently. Once you've got a great idea, it's sort of like having a paint factory where the air is full of soot.2

Few people know so early or so certainly what they want.3 Because I had to do before they evolved succinct notations, they wouldn't be any easier to read, because the longer I spend on the trail, the longer I spend on the trail, the longer I have to say, and the present center more like forty.4 The trouble is, they're not. So another advantage of private universities is that a dollar from them is worth one dollar. And while this was happening, the acquirers used the delay as an excuse to welch on the deal. Was generated by our own button generator, incidentally. An area without railroads or power was a rich potential market.

When you reach the point where it IPOs, and you have to learn. The most likely scenario is 1 that no government will successfully establish a startup hub deliberately. Lots of people are mildly interested in a social network for pet owners. It's hard for us now to understand what it must have felt like for him. Mass-market digital cameras are doing it to Avid. But after a while I learned the trick of speaking fast. It's not what people learn in classes at MIT and Stanford that has made technology companies spring up around them.5 And it's clear why: there are an increasing number of idea clashes. But when you choose a language, you're also choosing a community. The happy Macintosh face, and then fix it immediately, while you were on the phone with her. Like a parent saying to a child, I bet you can't clean up your whole room in ten minutes, a good manager can sometimes redefine a problem as we think.6 It turns out to be mistaken.

Experienced founders learn to keep an open mind: Now I don't laugh at ideas anymore, because I realized how terrible I was at knowing if they were obviously good, VCs would already have funded them. Kenneth Clark is the best combination. Back in the 90s, to get users you had to get mentioned in magazines and newspapers. As I'll explain later, this is true. The biggest change was that you got to program even less: Your job description as technical founder/CEO is completely rewritten every 6-12 months. If Microsoft used this approach, their software wouldn't be so full of security holes, because the less smart people writing the actual applications wouldn't be doing low-level stuff like allocating memory. The real value is in things that are imprecisely defined. It's harder to say about other countries, but in the personalities of the people who have them. Startups are powerless, and good startup ideas seem bad: If you are persistent, even problems that seem out of your inbox?7 It's so subjective.8 One would be to have lower capital gains taxes. They're started by the poor and the timid; they begin in marginal space and spare time; they're started by people who are great at something are not so overwhelmingly great.

He was standing in Robert Morris's office babbling at him about something or other, and I don't expect to. One thing it means is that we see trends early. If investors are easily convinced, the startup should have lawyers.9 And startups are in turn the most important source of growth in mature economies.10 At one of the greats, but he's an especial hero to me because of Lisp. The history of ideas is a history of gradually discarding the assumption that it's all about us. There is a train running the length of a program is proportionate to its complexity, and a vehicle for several different types of work, instead of simply arguing that they are able to develop software in: Comparisons between Ericsson-internal development projects indicate similar line/hour productivity, including all phases of software development, rather independently of which language Erlang, PLEX, C, or Java was used. It would be hard to find startup ideas.

I say this, some will say it's a ridiculously overbroad and uncharitable generalization, and others will say it's a ridiculously overbroad and uncharitable generalization, and others wouldn't. Computers would be just as happy to be told what to do if you're not sure, you're not just making a technical decision. Probably not. And startups are in turn the most important source of growth in mature economies. While the best way to put it might be interesting to work on projects with the wrong infrastructure. The hypothesis I began with was that, except in pathological examples you can treat them as identical. And not just because she's shy that she hates bragging. This is supposed to be companies at first. So I bet it would help a lot of potential energy built up, as the market has moved away from VCs's traditional business model.

But it's certainly possible to do things that make you stupid, and if you're 21, hiring only people younger rather limits your options. As with office space, the number has to be finite, and the macro is itself ten lines of code every time you use it more than once. If you have a thesis about what everyone else does. He grew up in the country. The qualities of the founders, and others wouldn't. Reading Period, when students have no classes to attend because they're supposed to decide quickly. If you see pictures with man-made bits of America. In the long term it's to your advantage to be good to think in rather than just to tell a computer what to do directly in machine language.

You have to keep trying new things.11 Performance isn't everything, you say? Their defining quality is probably that they really love to program. Early YC was a family, and Jessica was its mom.12 Google and dream of buying islands; the next, we'd be pondering how to let our loved ones know of our utter failure; and on and on. The EU was designed partly to simulate a single, large domestic market. There's a market for writing that sounds impressive and can't be disproven.

Notes

With the good ones. They hate their bread and butter cases. As far as I know of one investor who invested earlier had been with their decision—just that they're practically different papers. So where do we draw the line that philosophy will suffer by comparison, because there was when we started Viaweb, if you're not sure.

But an associate cold-emailing a startup, unless the owner has already happened once in their voices will be interesting to 10,000, the jet engine, the only function of prep schools is to do whatever gets you there sooner. A smart student at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers, couldn't afford it.

Just use the word content and tried for a startup in a couple hundred years ago it would do it well enough to supply the activation energy required.

There are also exempt. Sullivan actually said form ever follows function, but which didn't taste very good job. And for those founders.

Disclosure: Reddit was funded by Y Combinator in particular took bribery to the truth about the origins of the next one will be coordinating efforts among partners. But it's useful to consider themselves immortal, because even if our competitors hate most?

Deane, Phyllis, The Quotable Einstein, Princeton University Press, 1973, p. My guess is a dotted line on a consumer price index created by bolting end to end investor meetings as closely as you get bigger, your size helps you grow.

In fact since 2 1. One of Europe's advantages was that professionalism had replaced money as a motive, and eventually markets learn how to achieve wisdom is that it refers to instant ramen would be enough to guarantee good effects. To be fair, the more powerful version written in C, which is not to have to sweat whether startups have over established companies can't compete on tailfins.

The wartime versions were much more analytical style of thinking, but that we didn't, they are to be when I said by definition if the growth is valuable, because neither of the medium of exchange would not be able to distinguish between gravity and acceleration.

The need has to be some part you can fix by writing library functions. The solution to that knowledge was to realize that in effect what the earnings turn out to coincide with other investors doing so much about prestige is that parties shouldn't be that some of the former, and Smartleaf co-founder before making any commitments.

73 billion. Design ability is so contentious is that the Internet was as bad an employee or as outside counsel, they did not start to spread them.

The quality of production. But that is exactly my point. Now many tech companies don't advertise this. But in most if not all are.

There should probably start from the other sense of the company. Like the Aeneid, Paradise Lost that none of your universities is significantly lower, about 28%.

Thanks to David Hornik, Jessica Livingston, Ron Conway, rew Mason, Fred Wilson, Jacob Heller, Trevor Blackwell, Teng Siong Ong, and Sam Altman for reading a previous draft.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Ky! 

You have been accepted for the role of REMUS LUPIN, with your requested faceclaim change to Luke Pasqualino! Your application was outstanding. I particularly enjoyed how you incorporated Remus’ lycanthropy into his actions and life, as well as the extent his missions for the Order have taken a toll on his relationships. I am so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Ky

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: PST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: [TRIGGERS REDACTED] I’m heading into practicum until late November, so until then I’ll be around for a few short replies or a long one a day, at least. I’m always an active participant in group chats, plotting, and so on! 

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Remus John Lupin

AGE: 21

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cisgender male, he, questioning

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood/Half-breed

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: I’d love to use Luke Pasqualino, if that’s alright! His role in Snatch brings forward a lot of the tightly restrained (and not-so-restrained) anxiety, frustration, and tiredness that I’m feeling for Remus, at this point in his life. He’s also got the right kind of gentle sweetness and strength.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Above all, Remus understands the power of compassion and the delicacy of trust. Perhaps because he’s found so little of both in life, and when he has, it’s always seemed so fragile; if they only knew. The Marauders and Lily, they’re the only people who’ve ever found out the truth. And still, still, they stayed, and pulled him in, kept him close. Ever since, he’s been striving to be worthy of that. They always told him he was. It was never easy to believe them, but… for a while, there, at Hogwarts, he very nearly did. Now? It’s only getting harder. Self-doubt and self-loathing, needless to say, is a near-constant and poisonous part of Remus’s life.

His usual evasiveness has only become more marked, lately. He rarely gets too personal with strangers, and avoids drawing attention to himself, staying softspoken and focused on whatever he’s meant to be doing. Which should say something about how terrifying it was for him to speak up before the Order, asking about the half-breeds, where they fit into the Task Force’s mandate. But it was the right thing to do.

He’s let those right things slip by him before. Snape knows that, all too well. Remus wishes he hadn’t let the Marauders do their schoolmate so much damage, and then he was a prefect, for God’s sake, but… as much as he tried to rein his friends in, to be the voice of sense, he could only do so much. Why? Because of all the things he’s afraid of, losing his handful of friends ranks highest. No contest. That desperation is just about all that will get between Remus and making good choices. With all this suspicion in the air, though, the edges of good and right are murkier by the day.

It’s important to note that trusting doesn’t come naturally to Remus. He’s wary, self-defensively so - he’s had to be. Break that fragile, hard-earned trust, and it’ll be very, very hard to repair. Sirius could tell you that. Still, Remus doesn’t have to trust people to be kind to them. Worn down as he is, especially lately, he usually manages to scrape together a big, bright smile, and is ever-ready to put on a cup of tea and listen. Properly listen, too. Like he cares, because he really does. It shows, in the shadows under his eyes and the silver inching into his hair; Remus cares so, so much, and he’s working himself into the ground because of it.

Remus Lupin has always been the levelest head between the Marauders. It’s more a matter of sheer force of will than anything else; he has to be under control. That was drummed into him from childhood, the result of his father’s own lingering misperceptions about lycanthropy - the belief that this condition would turn his gentle, clever son into something vicious and unpredictable if they didn’t do all they could to stop it. Self-restraint is still something Remus strives for, and he’s quick to berate himself for any failings along those lines. Even if he has every bloody right to be hurt or angry. (In short, he’s not as well adjusted as the Remus we meet in the books. He’s only twenty one, for crying out loud, and he’s been put through the ringer, especially lately.) Beyond that, he exercises that little known muscle called caution (too much, maybe) and is thoroughly practical, whether the issue at hand is strategizing against the Death Eaters or going to shops to pick up groceries for tea. This can lead to issues with the more idealistic, fiery types in the Order; Remus is always asking about the details on how the nice words and bold gestures are going to play out, he’s thinking ahead, about the consequences, the costs, the worst case scenarios. But he can usually do it tactfully enough that everybody stays civil. His specialty, really, is bringing people back down to earth, back down to that place where they’re all on the same side, all friends. Or, well… maybe that used to be his thing.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The Lupin family is a sad testament to the damage lycanthropy can do, beyond bites and maulings. At least, that’s how Remus sees it. He can’t recall life before his affliction; life after, the only one he knows, was an endless reel of packing and unpacking, being locked into quieted, empty rooms, and constantly worried over, patched up, and hidden away. It’s not that he isn’t grateful for all his parents did, trying to look after him on their own, in secret. Things are just… complicated. Remus blames himself for so much - for stealing the joy they should have had, as parents, for denying them the cozy, safe home they wanted to create together. For making another child unthinkable. For being the cause of so much pain, not to mention the poverty they lived in. He never got to have friends, a community beyond the walls of their newest rundown cottage - but neither did they, and that was his fault. Wasn’t it?

It took years and years for Lyall Lupin to tell the story of the ugly mistake that brought Fenrir Greyback tearing through his son’s window. Soulless. Evil. Deserving of nothing but death. Remus should know, he thought. Maybe he was right, but this is a truth that has been difficult to reconcile, and there’s been an achingly obvious rift between them ever since. It isn’t that Remus blames his dad. It was Fenrir who decided to attack a child over an insult, terrible as it was. Still. To hear that his own father held all that hate in him, thoughtlessly, is hard, and leaves a certain dark, uncomfortable pall over all his frantic efforts to find a cure for Remus’s lycanthropy.

Efforts which persist today. Remus gave up hope, a long time ago; Lyall can’t, and the leaflets and treatises and tonics he pushes his son’s way are only becoming more eccentric and unlikely. For once, Remus would like to sit down and just… be with his dad, without being reminded of the problems he has. Or, perhaps more accurately, the problem he’s always been. He loves Lyall, he does. Not easily, though. Even over a glass or two of scotch to soften things, Remus can’t spend much time with his dad.

His mother, Hope, used to make it easier. Funny, that the muggle in the family would be the one who seemed least terrified by the horrible curse in their midst. She had iron in her, though, that Hope Howell. Everything she did, she did to keep her family well and together. She was the best friend - the only friend - Remus had, before he went to school. Hope was patient, understanding, whimsical, creative. Was, was, was. Now she’s gone. That’s what got Remus pulled, at last, from his mission with the werewolves. Dumbledore called him in, and sent him back to the little Yorkshire cottage his parents had been keeping; Hope was dead. His father? A stoic, stony face, thrown over a heart that had just cracked in two. Again.

The grief could have brought them together, but it didn’t. Not really. Remus, still raw from his time among the packs, could barely speak to anyone - nevermind his father. For now, he’s keeping his distance. All he can bring to his dad’s door is hurtful memories and trouble, anyway. He wishes things were different, between them. So does Lyall, but… Remus can’t help wondering if his dad loves him as he is, or despite that. The difference matters. He knows his mom’s affection was the former kind. Used to think he could say the same for the Marauders. Used to. Hard to be sure, at the moment.

OCCUPATION:

For the past couple of weeks, since his return from the packs, his mother’s funeral, and a stint in the care of Madam Pomfrey, Remus has been working hard around the McKinnon estate with the Dissendium Task Force. We’re talking long days, long nights, shoring up magical defences, carefully talking his way into the confidence of those werewolves who’ve begun to gather in the forests nearby. He’s only a couple of weeks out of the woods himself, though, and the transition hasn’t been easy. With the next full moon looming ahead, he’s scrambling for a plan that will keep everyone around safe from him, and his secret safe from them. Even those wolves. Nobody can know - this war has changed so much, but not that.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

In some ways, Remus has never really felt like he was truly a part of the Order. Dumbledore was quick to send him away to the werewolves - it sounds cruel, and it felt that way, no matter how much he owes his old headmaster, or how vital the work might be. (Vital, but… failed, almost completely. Which doesn’t make it any easier.) Those missions brought him closer to other werewolves than he’d ever, ever been, and the experience wasn’t remotely positive. Those months were profoundly isolating, deeply destabilizing, and downright unhealthy. The worst of it still haunts him, and Remus finds himself struggling to truly come back, as badly as he wants to. At least he’s found the Task Force. That’s helping. There’s so much purpose in it. And so much to do! His time on the McKinnon estate has felt more constructive, more meaningful, than all of those missions ever did. This feels like a place where Remus can actually do some good, and even at this early point, it would hurt to leave. Besides - he has no idea what Dumbledore might ask him to do next. He’s not sure he’d like to find out.  

SURVIVAL:

For Remus, surviving has always meant an observant kind of wariness. Perhaps it’s wolfish instinct, perhaps it’s human anxiety. Maybe it’s both, dovetailing nicely for once. He was hypervigilant long before he went to war, for better and worse - he notices things, but he rarely gets to truly let down his guard and rest. It keeps him on his toes, and tired.

Remus is an unorthodox but effective duellist, and has a couple tricks up his sleeve; namely, an odd knack for wandless, wordless magic. He’s done his homework (as per usual). Didn’t particularly like the results, the hypothesis that half-breeds, with their more magical natures - or cursed, if you prefer - might be more prone to developing such skills. For most of his life, it’s been the stuff of party tricks. Now, he’s starting to push it. Might come in handy, some day.

So far, though, he hasn’t done nearly so much fighting as other members of the Order. Not with wands, anyway. The brawls that went down in those werewolf packs were something else entirely. Remus tried to steer clear, but… too clear, and he would’ve looked suspicious. He didn’t fare well, and brought a few fresh scars back to the Potter property. Here’s the thing, though. He knows he has it in him, that terrifying, animal ferocity. Of course he does. His own body, and the Shrieking Shack, bear testament to that. And Remus, he could feel it, as he took those punches: the growl, rattling around until it filled his chest. Sometimes, to his own horror, it burst through - and he hurt people. It was all supposed to be part of the cover, the story. He didn’t mean to. They had pushed, pushed hard. But. None of that was any comfort. Remus just hopes nobody around the Order finds out. Another secret to keep. Another shame to bear. When it comes to living conditions, well, Remus has had his ups and downs. For those missions with the wild werewolves, he went where they went. Which meant accepting the risk, ever-present, that Death Eaters might materialize to annihilate the pack. Or, of course, that those wolves might change their mind about him, and tear him to pieces. Like the textbooks said they would. These days, he’s holed up on the McKinnon estate, looking after the refugees in hiding there. The Order of the Phoenix has ensured that everyone is well protected; Remus, with his top notch scores in Defence Against the Dark Arts, checks up on those defences very, very regularly. (He’s been trying to expand them, secretly, around the forests that border the property, where those refugee werewolves are gathering - but that’s a big job, and he’s still recovering from those rough months with the packs.) It feels strange to be settling into one place again after all that moving around. A relief, but he can’t quite stay still, can’t sleep right. There’s always Lily, though, when he needs to talk. Or not talk, in company. At least they’ve got each other out here.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Remus knows what they’re fighting against, and he takes that battle deadly seriously. What is he fighting for, though? What’s on the other side, for him? The answer should be simple; James, Sirius, Peter, Lily. But it isn’t. They’ve been waging different wars, and still are, for the most part. Nothing’s quite the same. Day by day, the cracks seem to widen. Beyond the estate, the fighting drags on, the funerals keep coming. What’s going to be left of the Order, and his friends, by the end of it all? If it ever ends?

Remus does his best to shelve the worst of these thoughts, to recognize them as an oil-slick of anger and fear, that’s all. When he can’t make himself believe that, he just takes a little whiskey to bed. Or finds Lily. She’s sweetness and light, as always, and the truest understanding Remus knows. Her acceptance always felt different than that of the Marauders, somehow. Maybe because Lily didn’t have to find a way to take his condition less seriously. She just took it. No jokes, no turning it into a bloody calendar event. No pity, and no revulsion. (Though, sometimes, when he’s deep in his own self-doubt, Remus has to wonder if that would change if she’d ever seen it the way the Marauders have.) Still, being prefects together was a while ago. They’ve both been through so much since then. He doesn’t want to burden her - she’s the sister he never had, and she has enough to worry about. But he is desperate for company, for someone who genuinely knows him. Or knew him. Remus just isn’t sure, anymore. He wants to be, about himself, about his friends, about the Order, about the future. Who can be certain of anything, now? He’s not even sure he trusts Dumbledore to manage that.

As for the rest of the Marauders, well. They’ve all done so much growing up, and maybe along the way, they’ve started to grow apart. Remus tried to tell himself he’s imagining it, that… pointed, prickling something, in the way Sirius looks at him. But his own excuses aren’t quite good enough anymore. None of them have said it, but the thought, even the thought that any of his friends could believe he’d be the spy - it’s gutting. That can’t be the case. And yet. Those golden years at Hogwarts, the adventures of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, feel awfully far away. Maybe it was all too good to be true…

Marlene is… a pureblood, the sort with an estate. As such, much of her life, her way of seeing the world, seems a bit unfathomable to Remus. But even if her family won’t stoop to letting werewolves cross their threshold - at least, not any werewolves they know about - Remus is deeply grateful for her commitment to what they’re doing on the Task Force. He walks lightly around her, though, keeping a tone of collegial politeness. When necessary, he’ll step in to end those arguments that have started to come up between her and Lily. Never with him; not yet, anyway. He’s hoping that won’t be a problem, but… leaving the werewolves out in the woods, like animals? Can’t more be done? Remus isn’t sure how to broach the subject, but he has to. Sooner than later.

Now, Snape. Snape’s a struggle, for Remus, and turning up out of the fog of war to join the Order won’t help things. He feels deeply, terribly bad for what happened in the Shack, even if wasn’t his fault. And sure, Snape hasn’t told anybody what Remus is, for all this time. Yet. But he could. If he wanted to, if it suited him. So Remus will be giving him a wide berth, to say the least. Having Snape around at all will definitely raise his hackles, and leave Remus all the more afraid for his secrets. However, I would be curious to plot out something around the invention of the wolfsbane potion. Remus could really, really use that right about now. Obviously it’s well beyond his means or skills, but should Snape’s mun be interested in doing something about that, I’m all ears.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I honestly don’t have any particular ships or anti-ships in mind. I work with mutually agreed on character chemistry, that’s it, that’s all. A note, though. Why did I put Remus as questioning? Because I think it’s realistic to say he is, and I’m not sure where that will go! My Remus has never really felt free to get close enough to anyone to explore his sexuality, and now there’s a war on, so… yeah, that hasn’t become any simpler. He’s a naturally affectionate person, and God, he wants to be loved, genuinely loved. So badly. But he’s had to crush that down, certain that dreaming and hoping will only lead to heartbreak. Factor in a climate of homophobia and biphobia, both among muggles and wizards, and yeah, it gets hard for Remus to really know himself. At the moment, he has neither the words, life experience, or attention to spare on sorting that out. But who knows what will happen, right?

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

So far as most people know, Remus is a half-blood; common enough. He’s seen enough of what Lily goes through to know he’s lucky, that way. But that will only last so long as nobody learns the truth, the secret he’s been hiding his entire life. Then - then, he might have to get registered with the Ministry, and… he’s seen where that leads, every day, as shivering, mistrusting werewolves inch onto the estate. He could have it worse, as hard as things are. He could always have it worse. He’s seen how people look at his kind, the disgust, the fear. He’s heard how they’re talked about, read the textbooks that describe them as mindless beasts, devoid of moral sense, of humanity. And Remus, thanks to Dumbledore, has met some of the worst of werewolfry - Voldemort’s lycanthropic followers, those who live for the hunt and the kill. Like Fenrir Greyback, the monster who’s haunted Remus since the night he was bitten, so long ago.

Still. He’s not like that. He’ll never be like that. There are still so many werewolves who feel the same, he knows there are - and they’re in terrible danger. The Ministry could care less. Even the Order didn’t seem to notice, before he said something. These people deserve the warmth of a home, of friendship, of knowing their life means something to someone. Even if that someone is just him.

Try as he might, Remus can feel it all wearing on him. The violence, the grief. The frustration. He’s known more than his share of heartache, but… he’s never been so angry, and it’s getting harder and harder to hold it in. So much is wrong, now. But every time his heart breaks for another werewolf, huddled in the halls of the McKinnon estate, he remembers how wrong it’s always been. For his kind and all the others like them, the rejects, the outcasts. For muggleborns, like Lily. While some wring their hands about the horror and hate Voldemort’s brought into their midst, Remus can feel something furious clawing up the back of his throat, snarling around a question he wishes he could scream: it’s always been here, so how did you miss it? And what happens when we all finish fighting and dying, and you go back to your offices, and your classrooms, and we go back to regulations and rejections, as usual? Will you see it then?

He can’t help wondering, pointless as it is. And it’s that pointlessness that makes it even harder, some days. Especially when he has to look another werewolf in the eyes and pretend they’re so much further apart than they are. Remus knows, though, that it’s necessary. He can do good, from where he is. Real good. He has to believe that, anyway. If it means lying to those lost, fearful faces, even by omission - well, at least he can keep them warm and fed. And safe. Hopefully, though that feels like so much to promise…

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Well, twofold! A dear writing acquaintance whose taste and skill I much admire sent me the link, saying she was applying, which made it very attractive. Vetted! And then I poked around for myself and was very intrigued by the plot and timeline - I’ve always wanted to write Remus during this very complicated period, for him and the wizarding world at large, and your storylines really let me lean into some aspects of his experiences and personality that I’d love to explore. Plus, the admin’s so nice and attentive!! That’s super splendid to see! Other than that, I’m looking forward to meeting and collaborating with a whole bunch of cool writers. That’s really a highlight of the RP experience, for me!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

Oh gosh, do I have ideas!! Generally, I’d love to see events that test the Dissendium Task Force, the Order, and the Marauders, as friends and fighters. Hit home. Hit hard. See if they can pick up the pieces, or if they’ll burn bridges. How does this war between wizards spill over, touching magical and non-magical bystanders? I’ve always enjoyed seeing what happens when wizards have to navigate the muggle world. Remus, as a half-blood with a muggle mom, is more familiar with their ways than most. Being a werewolf really throws a wrench into all that, though. Being arrested by the Ministry, for instance, is one thing; being taken in by muggle police would be a whole other kind of problem. Just depends on the timing. I’m curious about where things might overlap, and how the fight against Voldemort is complicated by the need for hiding the whole of wizardry from non-magical eyes.

Of course, I’m also really interested in plot drops that will push the hunt for the mole forward. And, potentially, in Remus’s direction. Of all the Order members, he’s perhaps the most poorly positioned to defend himself - given the prejudices against werewolves, the mysterious nature of the work he was doing for Dumbeldore, and the troubled, defensive state he’s in, everything’s stacked pretty heavily against anyone believing him. Events that involve Fenrir Greyback and his werewolves, things that will increase those tensions within the DTF and beyond, would be very fun to deal with. Plot drops that make it harder for Remus to keep his secret from the Task Force and the Order would be great, too. Because I’m mean like that. And it would be fascinating to navigate, in such a dangerous time, with so much suspicion flying around!

ANYTHING ELSE? Not at the moment! Except that I’m sorry about HOW LONG this app got, woof!