#so i wrote a little angst

[stariiiize]

imagine, one day, just looking at yourself in the mirror and feeling so happy.

you’re not the prettiest, you know that, but you’re happy.

you don’t have the curves or the hourglass body, but you’re happy.

you don’t have a flat stomach, but you’re happy.

you don’t have a thigh gap, but you’re happy.

and you slowly start to realize,

you don’t have a lot of friends, but you’re happy.

not everyone likes you, but you’re happy.

you’re not the smartest, but you’re happy.

you don’t talk a lot, but you’re happy.

you’re not socially active, but you’re happy.

you’re not perfect, but you’re happy.

that day might not be today but you’ll get there, i know you will.

there will be a day in your life where you’ll be happy with yourself.

happy with the way you look, happy with the way you act, just happy with your life.

that day might not be today but it’ll come.

[sockatoothewafflebird]

over and over, i fuck myself over, and under and under, i do it again.

morning and evening, i felt i was grieving, until i said fuck you, and never again.

daytime or nighttime, i feel i'm on my time, but time is fickle, just like a friend.

and with my departure, from the pain i harbor, i feel i am sinking, and sailing to swim...

--

I'm worried about Ragatha.

She'd definitely be better off not looking at mirrors for a while. Even more so if she stopped reciting random depressing songs to her ceiling, for no other reason than to dig a deeper hole, to sink further down. I can hear her singing to herself every night, the same songs she plays on all her instruments. What a beautiful voice. How beautifully she plays. But, it's always so sad.

She keeps falling. Faster. Further. Her screams can't be heard anymore. And yet she never falters. How many miles - and what kind - of shit has she been through, to think this is okay? How long did it go on for, for her to think it's normal?

It's not healthy.

But she doesn't mind. Somehow. She'd break her own arms herself if it meant Zooble would stop losing their temper at her, if it meant Jax would stop terrorizing Gangle, if it meant Kinger could just remember the little things.

She's such a wonderful person. Amazing. An unstoppable ray of sunshine for anyone willing to look at her. She's the kindest person I've ever met. Even behind all that fog, she cares, maybe more than anyone. It's so sweet.

It's so easy to see she's hurting though. She hurts so much sometimes I can see her hide her tears, I can tell she deflects all the time.

If only she knew she didn't have to hide. If only she saw it. If only she knew she's more than a toy.

If only I could get through to her.

I guess I should've listened when Kaufmo said to never fall for a girl with baggage. Seeing her like this just hurts.

I hope she can figure it out. I try so hard to make sure she's doing alright, and she always insists I don't have to worry. And I can never hide how much it devastates me that she thinks I'd drop the subject so quickly, and just act like I don't care. I do care. I care so much I think i'll fucking die if she doesn't start seeing through my eyes once in a while.

God. This is the longest entry i've ever written. My hand hurts.

Goodnight, I guess. Here's to hoping.

---

my plan when i find a character i like (in no particular order):

this is how i feel about ragatha. in case you didn't notice. i love her as a character so much i just wanna put her under a damn microscope. the influence has influenced me and now i share the obsession with ragatha that mod bee from @ask-the-rag-dolly has been afflicted with.

pomni is such an observant character. and caring. and overall very smart. she can't pretend she doesn't notice all of ragatha's little lies and slip-ups.. and it eats away at her, knowing she can't do anything, knowing ragatha can't and won't accept help right now. ragatha needs to come to terms with it on her own. a therapist is what ragatha needs.

but in a video game? and in my au, in the middle of a broken world full of corporate greed and the cold, unforgiving whims of mother nature? if she found a therapist in either, it would be considered a once in a lifetime historical discovery. the school textbooks would have a chapter on it.

either way, something's up in the darkest depths of that cotton-filled brain of hers, and she's just built to think it doesn't matter. she's built to make sure everything stays nice and positive and okay. when we ALL see it's not. goddamnit ragatha i will make an oc that is a licensed therapist just so you can stop being such a sad wet dog and start practicing the art of self-partially-enjoy oh my god you sweet little door hinge

(song lyrics at the beginning are from over & over by rio romeo btw, theyre very cool pls check them out)

[edgeray]

Arlecchino is a cold person.

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

It's no suprise to anyone. It is simply an objective fact of the matter. She is aware of this. The House of the Hearth is aware of this. The Fatui are aware of this. It's ironic given the nature of her vision, but it nonetheless rings true despite the fire she possesses on her blackened fingertips. She is callous and curt, and underneath her skin there is nothing except frigid ice that envelopes her being like a fitted coat. She speaks with no warmth, acts with the absence of heat, exists in a constant state of cold emptiness--a state in which there is a void inside of her, as if sucking all that is human of her.

Years ago, when she was just a child of the same orphanage she headed, she had naive thoughts of finding companionship, someone who would provide the warmth she sought on lonesome nights. She was barely just an adolescent who dreamed of lying in someone's arms, feel the heartbeat of another so surely, it would remind her that she was indeed alive. For even the briefest of moments, she yearned for someone who would, if not shield, then distract her from the cruelties of this world. She had shed those foolish wishes aside. In the House of the Heart that she was raised in, such notions were admonished, in fact, the wishful thinking was one of the reasons she had nearly lost her life. Never again, she had promised to herself, when she mercilessly beat the backstabber. It was then that she believed when the time came, her tale would end the same way as it began for her: alone. As the years of being a Fatui, then becoming a Fatui Harbinger, hardened her, there was comfort in that view.

That is what she believed in. Until you came.

Iciness wraps her being. It is present in her expression, in her words, in her touch. But that is exactly why she finds solace in your being. Her vision could only grant her a synthetic flame, but, you, you're an everlasting hearth. She melts in your embrace every time she slots herself in your arms, as it feels like a kindling ignited in her heart. It is only with you, that she learns how warmth can be found in.

Arlecchino is a cold person.

It is why you, as a warm one, is perfect for her. You whisk away the most depraved thoughts, ease her of any emotional and mental turmoil, and you do not treat her with the same coldness as the world seems so fond of doing to her. You are her flame, the one that sparks her being and reminds her that she is alive because her heart beats with you, beats for you.

Except you are cold now. It is unfathomable to her how you can be this way when your entire being exists to warm her, but when she touches your skin, you are unbearably frozen. Your body does not tremble like it does when her clawed fingers ever so gently trace your skin. The corner of your lips doesn't quirk up into the usual small smile of yours when she appears in your sight, but they remain ever rigid like the rest of you. Uncharacteristically, your expression doesn't soften with her presence.

You are cold, just like her. And that makes her afraid. Her hand searches for it, prodding your skin for a familiar thumping that is nowhere to be found. You continue to stare at her, unblinking. Here would be the moment where you give her a beaming smirk and you'd cup her face tenderly as if she was glass. And she would let you, because you are her beloved, who has watched her shatter so many times before and wordlessly each shard back together, and it is for that reason that she would lean closer towards your touch.

Because you lie broken in her arms and her hands are stained again with the familiar color of red. Your eyes are glossy and gaze unblinkingly at her. Frozen. Even when you are covered in your blood, you are beautiful, she notes, but oh, so cold that it makes her doubt if you were warm to begin with.

She misses your warmth. Where has it gone? Or has it died along with you?

Her hearth is gone. And as she clings onto your form, her body wracking with a fear and desperation she's never known before, two revelations come to her: that there is no such thing as an everlasting fire, and even after so many years ago, she was right along.

Arlecchino is a cold person. And she will remain always cold.

[lees-chaotic-brain]

bakugou katsuki who isn't a stranger to death due to the nature of his job is at a loss when faced with the death of your father.

after all the deaths in the war you both were suffering, so he was able to share your pain as you comforted each other. after a civilian died on his watch for the first time he came home and allowed himself to fall into your arms as you comforted him. the first time a civilian died on your watch he cooked you a warm meal and told you that some things are out of your control, and it doesn't make you any less of a hero.

he'd like to think he knows death and grief well enough to do something. he'd like to think he knows you well enough to know what to do. but in the face of your insurmountable grief, one that shoves you to the ground and slowly chokes out your will to live, he's lost.

you don't speak for days, just isolating yourself in your room and refusing to eat. it scares him. he knows how to deal with your depressive episodes, but this goes far deeper than an episode.

so he tells you he's there for you, and worries from a distance. days pass, and finally you emerge. standing under the fluorescent lights of your kitchen you finally allow yourself to cry, the force of your tears knocking you to your knees.

he kneels before you and allows you to sob into his chest as you ask if it's always going to hurt this bad, if the grief is always going to be this overwhelming, how you're supposed to move on after losing the only person who supported you since the day you were born.

he doesn't have answers for the first two, but for the last one he tells you what he's heard others say. "for now, you cry. you let yourself grieve. then you take it one day at a time, and let me be there for you when it feels like too much."

they're simple words, but they seem to comfort you a bit. crying into the comfort of his strong embrace, you allow him to hold you up as he sheds a few tears of his own in the face of your pain. he swears, he'll be there for you through it all.

[guest-1-2-3]

Yk what blows my mind is when i’m reading something amazing right, i am so immersed in the story the writing is beautiful it’s making me feel more emotions than i’ve ever felt in all my years of living and then the end notes are just like. “uhhh hope u enjoyed ig? haha” or “idek what this is lol” like sir ma’am my guy your writing is the most gorgeous thing i have ever read. i cried and i laughed and i screamed and i did that thing where you roll around in bed and giggle like a child at 3am. if it was the zombie apocalypse and i could only take one story with me as i fought to survive it would be yours. “what even is this lmao” a masterpiece. a fucking masterpiece is what it is

[starbylers]

I think the reason I appreciate Mike and Will so much is because to me they exemplify what love is actually about in real life. That foundation of being best friends before anything else, of understanding each other so intuitively that a few simple words can contain eons of meaning. The beauty of being so comfortable opening up that all they have to do is sit quietly beside you and your most difficult feelings pour out unguarded, because it’s them: your person, your other half. That emotional bond that feels as easy and natural as breathing. I could care less about dramatic but ultimately empty words or big “romantic” gestures. To me it’s who’s gonna be there in the thick of life, to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on or a simple smile that simultaneously gives you butterflies and the strength to push through. But also someone who will challenge you and in doing so make you want to be better, and who inspires you to live as your authentic self. Like that’s the kind of dynamic that resonates with my concept of love, and I think it’s the ultimate destination for their relationship (they’re still learning and growing etc. but the building blocks are there, and this has always been their dynamic at it’s core which is why I love them so much).

[phantom-of-the-501st]

I'm Sorry

Echo has a lot of things he wants to tell his brother

Tags: @saturn-sends-hugs @inkstainedhandswithrings @the-bi-space-ace @floundrickthewayfarer

You broke your promise.

I trusted you and you broke it. But I guess I broke mine too. I said I'd never leave you. I'm sorry. I get angry at you sometimes, for leaving. I know it wasn't your fault. But you promised me that we'd be together 'til the end and yet you're not here.

I feel bad. I feel bad whenever I get mad at you. It wasn't your fault. And it's hypocritical of me. I left first. And I guess maybe you didn't break anything. You didn't leave me because there was no me left to leave. But I'm still angry. I came back and you weren't there. You left and you took a piece of me with you. I've never been whole since and I get so angry at you because of it. You vex me. You infuriate me. And I hate you for it. And I'm sorry. Because it was never your fault. I wish I could apologise to you but I can't. You're not here. But I'll keep saying I'm sorry. I'll store every apology until I can give them to you. Every single one. We'll make a trade. I give you every "I'm sorry" and you give me that piece of me back. Make me whole again.

I think about you. I think about you all the time. You're not here and yet I can never escape you. I see your sadness in the rain, your happiness in the sunlight between the trees, your anger in the lightning and your laughter in the wind. I see your frustration in the growing tide, your peace in the flowers in the meadows, and that twinkle in your eye reflected in the stars. I see you everywhere and yet I can't see you at all.

The others asked why I never grew my beard out. I said it was because it was too much of a bother to maintain. I lied. It's because I can't bear to see your face every time I look in the mirror, or at my own reflection in a pool of water. You haunt me. Every moment of every day, you haunt me. I hear one of our brothers laugh and I turn expecting to see you. Every time someone walks through the door I hope that I'll see that stupid tattoo of yours again, or that smug look on your face. But it's never you. It never will be.

Remember Rishi? I think about it often. Is it a bad thing that it doesn't hurt as much? We lost our whole squad but it doesn't feel the same. It hurt but we healed, we got better and it makes me sad but I'm okay. At least, just a little bit. But you? I don't know how I'll recover from that. You were my other half and now you're gone. The boys left a hole that could be fixed but you took a part of me with you and never came back.

I wasn't even there when it happened. He was. Sometimes I feel like I remind him of you and that hurts. Maybe I don't have the right to feel bad about this. It was a war. We made stupid promises and I broke mine first. I have no right to be mad at you for breaking yours when you couldn't control it. He was there. He held you as it happened. And he still doesn't get angry at you. He's a better man than me but he always was. He's a better man than all of us. Maybe he would have been happier with you here but there's not much we can do about that now is there?

People say that death is the worst thing in the world. Is it? Does it feel worse than this? I can't imagine it. I feel like my soul has been ripped from my body, like my lungs have been filled with lead. My heart burns with an immortal fire and yet I feel cold. I feel so cold.

You were my warmth. And you left.

She has the same laugh as you. I don't know how. I can't explain it but she does. And a twinkle in her eye. It's not yours but it reminds me of you. She would have loved you. And you her. I wish you could have met. Our younger sister. Our older younger sister. It's strange but when did life ever make sense? I ache knowing she'll never get to meet you. That you'll never know the joy that she brings. She glued a part of me together. Started picking up the shards and putting them back in place. I love her for that. I love all of them for that. For helping to hold me together, just a little bit.

But they'll never make me whole because you still have that piece of me with you.

We always joked about getting old, made bets on who would get grey hairs first, who would need a cane or glasses that hung on a chain around their neck. I always said it was you. You were the oldest. And yet I look in the mirror now and I'm the one who got there first. Not the cane, nor the glasses mind you, but the hair definitely changed. I watched each one. Each silver strand. Every one reminds me that I got here before you. And that you'll never get here. You broke your promise. And you won the bet. And I hate you for it.

I hate you so much for leaving and I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You never wanted to hurt me and yet you broke me. I'm in pieces because of you.

And I'm so sorry, Fives.

[43sol]

i can finally go back into the tiger and bunny tag ヽ(*。>Д<)o゜

[tojisun]

on losing dogs

: mamaguro’s named here again (it’s kaori - adopted from an old fic); just a small vent

you saw her before she saw you two and you knew right away that that’s toji’s ex-wife. she was truly beautiful like what everyone had said.

(“of course you’re beautiful too. it’s just, you know, in a different way,” toji’s friends would assure you but they’ve always shared pointed looks at each other after every confession. you chose to ignore it then, thinking that they’re just being asses like what toji said. but even sleazy jokes ring truths.)

toji marched on towards her without questions, his hand slipping from yours as you neared his ex-wife. still, he was walking along your stride and that had been a relief for you. he didn’t leave you to trudge along, at least, so you batted away the curling paranoia sitting in the pit of your stomach.

“kaori, hey,” toji greeted, his voice gentle and soft, before pulling her into an embrace.

“toji!” she cheered, her face crinkling in delight. she burrowed in his arms, rubbing her cheek on toji’s chest as toji’s body covered her petite figure.

they painted a picture of a perfect couple: sharp jaw mellowed by round cheeks, callused hands cradled in dewy palms. you felt like an intruder. an outsider.

the badge of being toji’s “new beau” that you were stamped with felt like a lie. you felt like nothing of toji’s as you stood there beside them.

when they parted, arms still linked, you watched as they gazed into each others eyes, and saw mirrors of longing looking at each other. but, still, you were in denial. because toji brought you with him, so that must mean something, didn’t it? you told yourself that you were just seeing things that weren’t there; that you were so used to being thrown away that you were projecting these onto toji.

you breathed in, trying to calm your panicked heart. it did so little.

“i’m so glad you’re here!” kaori said. “come, someone misses you- oh. who are you?”

the question startled you and your eyes flicked up, your throat going dry as they both turned to you. there was a flicker of emotion in toji’s eyes before he stepped out of his ex-wife’s arms and stood in the space between you and her.

not beside you, you noticed.

“i’m y/n,” you said, smiling as you offered your hand to kaori’s. “toji’s g-”

“friend,” toji interrupted. you blinked, your body freezing as the pit in your stomach exploded in ice, the paranoia now a screaming anguished cries of betrayal.

kaori’s eyes cleared, her smile getting its warmth back, before she reached out to shake your hand. “nice to meet you, y/n,” she said, voice kind and soft and polite. but your ears were still ringing of toji’s words.

you turned to toji, confused and hurt (there was so much hurt in you), but toji kept his eyes on her.

you cleared your throat. “nice to meet you too,” you said, feeling helpless.

kaori let go, her hands clasping behind her. “you wouldn’t mind me stealing toji, would you? we’re just going to meet family.”

family, she said like toji is still hers.

you shook your head, not trusting your words.

“great!” she cheered before turning to toji, her arm linking with his. toji still did not meet your eyes as they walked away, something that was so symbolic and yet so apparently truthful.

[s1mpactafterhours]

ok so i did a variation of this over on the sfw genshin main BUT i also wanted to make a filthy version too bc like my brain's been wandering- but anyway.. hear me out 🗣👏🏻

al-haitham coming home and barging into his housemate's room to tell him something or ask about something (etc etc) and accidentally walking in on kaveh absolutely plowing you, like you're both going at it hard until you suddenly hear the door open. (kaveh had assured you he wasn't supposed to be home until much, much later!) and so you're just desperately trying to cover up or hide or something, anything- but kaveh's noticed the way al-haitham looks at you, even if the man himself has no idea yet, so he just keeps going at it, witness be damned. al-haitham makes some offhand remark about how neither of you have any decency, but if he weren't wearing those damned headphone looking contraptions you'd be able to see just how red his ears were.

this is unfortunately how he begins to come to terms with his attraction to you, and unknowingly begins his learnings of the ways of heartache. kaveh pays this no mind, feeling that he's finally got the upper hand on his smart ass, seemingly unshakeable housemate. he's on a mission to make you scream his name, as many times as possible, as loud as possible. at some point, though neither of you hear it, al-haitham just ends up slamming the door on his way out, leaving to go to the library or literally anywhere else.... but not before guiltily rubbing one out. you two provided the perfect background noises he never knew he needed, but more importantly, it was your moans that were driving him insane. how would you sound screaming out his name all night long instead?

so off he goes to busy himself with work, so much work, so much that he ends up taking on extra work just to distract himself from the honeymoon phase you're both in, and the way kaveh just can't seem to stop showing you off in front of him. he can already tell the latter is doing so on purpose, but he refuses to let the blonde get the better of him. you're aware that something is going on, but attribute it to their weird relationship and how they're just always fighting.. though it has been awfully quiet lately, and you're starting to get suspicious. kaveh is quick to assure you that al-haitham is just very busy with work, and he's even quicker to get handsy with you. cuddles while he works on his projects, hands on across your shoulders or thighs at dinner, all the nights you two fuck your stress out before collapsing together in bed.. you're far too entranced by your seemingly sickly sweet lover to see through the haze, but it's always harder to think straight when you're getting your back blown out (or blowing him out-) ..and so, you don't.

and even as al-haitham has time to get himself back together, he can't help but wonder if maybe things would have turned out differently had he been more aware of his own feelings. if he had asked you out first, would that be how the both of you would be now? or had you always only had eyes for kaveh? the questions that used to keep him up at night become mindless chatter as he tries (and fails) to block you both out on the other side of unfortunately thin walls. but life goes on, and so does your relationship, and before you all know it, you're making plans to move in together, to share your lives together, and suddenly al-haitham finally knows what loneliness feels like.. all alone in a house that used to house shenanigans for three. he's not sure if he'll bother looking for a new roommate now that he's been promoted, but sometimes he can't help but wish he could share the news with you both, and how he misses your antics and smile and.... he belatedly begins to realize he misses kaveh too. in which a new set of questions unlocks thoughts he'd never even considered... had he harbored feelings for you all this time, or was he instead projecting because he was jealous... and falling in love with his own roommate all this time?

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Maybe instead of getting better after Starcourt, instead of healing and mending that which has been broken, Billy just gets worse.

There’s no more playful grins behind cigarettes or keg stands held in good fun. No more speeding down empty backroads or engines revving in parking lots. He gets quiet, and that’s the scary part.

Because as soon as someone presses him to talk, he gets mean.

He outright says no when he’s asked to keep an eye on Max, because there are no repercussions anymore — his wounds from the “fire” haven’t healed just yet, and if he shows up in the hospital with new bruises over freshly cracked ribs, the doctors will suspect something.

So the most he gets is a glare from Neil and a stern do it or else.

And Billy, a believer of malicious compliance, picks himself up a walkie-talkie. Does whatever the fuck he wants while the thing sits on his dresser.

If any voices come through, he shuts it off, or at the very least tunes it to a channel that only he and Max use.

She knows better than to use it.

Things between them aren’t any less tense than before, but it’s different now. Now he knows.

So the playing field is even.

He doesn’t meddle in Max’s business, who she hangs around, and Max doesn’t burden him with asking for rides and things alike. Not that he could really do much with his car sitting in the junkyard — Harrington has taken over the task of chauffeur anyway.

Harrington, who apparently also picked himself up a walkie-talkie.

And who somehow managed to learn about Billy and Max’s private channel.

“Hargrove? You there?”

The voice is staticky over the radio, but not out of range. After the brief moment of shock passes, Billy rolls his eyes at the thought of Harrington parked down the block, sitting behind the wheel of his Beamer listening intently for a response.

Rather than reach over to his nightstand, Billy rolls over to face the wall.

His sheets have become more of a nest as of late. Gathered around him in piles because he prefers the chill on his skin to sweating beneath scratchy blankets.

He hasn’t changed the bedding in weeks. Hasn’t opened the blinds or really even left his room at all this summer — the pool has likely already filled his position. Not that he’d be going back any sooner than a year or two from now.

If he ever feels comfortable taking his shirt off again.

“Billy? Look, I know you’re there, man. Max said that this was the channel to reach you on, and—“

Billy snatches the walkie-talkie and holds the button down.

“Go fuck yourself. Over.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then static pours through. Likely the air conditioning in Harrington’s car.

“Touchy,” he tuts. Exhales a heavy sigh and blows a raspberry. “Don’t always have to be such a dick, y’know.”

“Being a dick isn’t something all of us have to try at, rich boy, so put your shit in gear and get off my block.”

There’s another brief pause.

“How’d you know I was in your neighborhood?”

“Walkies don’t work out-of-range, fuckhead.”

“Damn, okay,” Harrington huffs. “Sue me for wondering how you were doing.”

Wondering how I’m doing?

“Wondering how I’m doing?” Billy repeats.

He stares up at the ceiling, brows pinched together.

“Yeah? Y’know, like checking up on you?”

“Why?”

For months, Billy has done nothing but rot in his bed. Too sore to move, too short-fused to bother talking about it.

Too guilty to open any of the get-well-soon cards that he’s received.

Among the poorly-addressed ones with crayon scribbles from his former swimming students, he recalls one almost equally as poorly-addressed dawning the signature Steve Harrington at the bottom.

It was the only envelope he’d bothered to open. Practically had to rip it up with his teeth because of the lack of dexterity in his fingers, though, he never worked up the nerve to dial the number scrawled at the bottom.

Harrington scoffs over the channel.

“It’s like you’ve died or something, man. It’s worrying.”

Disregarding the flush spreading across his cheeks, Billy rolls his eyes and spreads out more atop his comforter.

“If you’re so worried, why didn’t you just ask Max?”

“If she answered my questions, do you think I’d be on this channel right now?”

Billy presses his lips into a line.

He knows he hasn’t been the best brother. Quite the opposite, actually.

But it still aches to learn that Max apparently refuses to so much as talk about him. Makes his limbs sink deeper into the mattress like gravity has doubled down on him.

Makes him want to shut his walkie off and never turn it back on.

“Well, you’re a few months too late on your check-up, Harrington,” Billy rasps. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head at the sound of his own voice coming out so wet and pathetic. “Walking corpse at this point.”

A beat of silence persists. Then the static comes through again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I have a therapist that already doesn’t help, thank you.”

“Well, if you change your mind…” Harrington trails off. He holds the talk button down for a long beat, absently tapping his fingers against the door panel in his car. Then, he sighs. “Is it okay if I use this channel again?”

Billy’s vision blurs and he sniffles. Thankful that it can’t be heard by anyone but himself.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice shakes with it.

And that’s how Billy’s radio goes from being dead silent to constantly filling his room with chatter.

It helps and it hinders all at once.

Billy smiles for what feels like the first time in over a year, and laughs, even. But each time Harrington tells a little joke or giggles over the channel, Billy’s heart starts to ache more deeply.

It opens up old wounds.

He feels like Neil knows, somehow, when they’re both in the kitchen together. Accompanied by nothing but silence.

Neil asks if he can babysit for the weekend, and Billy drops the mug that was in his hand with a shaky wrist, fearing an entirely different question that doesn’t even get asked.

When Neil would normally berate him, he simply watches the way that Billy flexes his fingers. The way that he makes a weak fist, unable to straighten his fingers completely once he relaxes them, and his brows pinch in mild worry.

“Still havin’ trouble?” Neil asks.

His voice is gentle enough that Billy’s eyes well with tears as he nods. Bites his lip to keep it from wobbling.

Neil pulls him into a hug and Billy sobs into his shoulder. Not because of the pain or disability, but because he thinks he’s let a hint of love creep back into his life after all this time.

Which should be a good thing.

For once, Billy agrees to watching Max, if only because he doesn’t have the energy to snark back right now. Neil pats his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Asks if he’s sure, like it’d be no issue at all for him and Susan to cancel their weekend plans.

Billy can’t help that he huffs a laugh. Can’t help that it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

Why be accommodating now, after a lifetime of neglect and maltreatment? He shakes his head to himself, and his expression must give his thoughts away.

Neil digs his thumb hard into his shoulder, earning a stifled whimper and another influx of tears.

Billy cleans up the broken mug and wipes the liquid away from the floor by himself, knelt on his achy knees while he’s watched like a hawk from the doorway. Like he might shove the glass under the counter if he’s left unsupervised for even a second.

Over the weekend while their folks are away, Billy takes Max out to pick up a couple of movies and get a few snacks with Susan’s car.

Since he so scarcely leaves the house, he turns a few heads when people recognize him.

None so much as Harrington, who gawks at him from behind the fucking desk at Family Video. Billy glares hard at Max when she smirks at him before disappearing to the horror section.

The brunet is a bit more rugged than Billy recalls. Has a stronger jawline and more hair. Lots more hair.

It makes Billy feel especially pathetic, draped in a t-shirt that used to fit his figure well, but now swallows him more than anything.

That heavy feeling droops his shoulders down. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away nonchalantly when Harrington abandons his station, leaving Buckley behind the counter floundering at the register.

“Look who’s out ‘n about,” Harrington chuckles. He has no issue reaching out and setting his hands on Billy’s biceps, moving close as if to inspect him. “Have I always been this much taller than you?”

Billy flushes red and straightens his posture. Brings himself back up to eye-level, which spurs a dull pain in his spine. He must not do well in terms of hiding it, because the brunet’s brows furrow.

“Do you wanna sit down?”

Rather than respond right away, Billy huffs and waves Harrington off of him. Shoots Max another glare when he spies her watching the exchange from behind a shelf.

“All I fuckin’ do is sit,” Billy grumbles. “If I knew I was gonna get a pity parade I would’a just sent the shitbird in.”

Harrington nods to himself. Takes half a step back and smiles.

“Alright with standing, then. Got it.” He tilts his head to the side. Eyes never leaving Billy for even a second. “Your hair’s grown out a lot.”

His gaze is a fond one. Like they aren’t in public right now. Like Billy is his damn girlfriend on prom night, and he’s seeing the gown for the first time.

Billy shrugs. Absently toys with one of the curls that dangles over his collar bone.

That weird pit is back in his stomach. The one that leaves him crying in the dark when Harrington signs off after hours of chatting about everything and nothing at once.

Billy wonders where he parks his car when they talk for that long. If he’s right outside or in the deep quiet of the woods, where the stars can really be seen and the train shakes the ground.

He’d rather Steve just climb through his window.

“I like it,” Steve adds. Nudges Billy’s elbow with his own. “It’s a soft look. Fits you really well.”

“Are you this nice to all the girls that come in here, or just the ones you wanna pork?” Billy teases.

Steve laughs, and it sounds so much better in person. Billy wants nothing more than to bottle it up and keep it forever.

Before the brunet can come back with a snide little joke of his own, Max meanders up to them. Holds up a few tapes for Billy to approve. Without really looking them over, he hands her the cash, and they all move back to the register together.

Steve rings them up. Max pays. Everything is so much slower than it should be going, like he’s trying to prolong the encounter as much as he can.

Billy understands the feeling.

When Steve slides Max the receipt, he’s less smiley. Billy turns to face the door, but doesn’t miss the way that Max nabs a pen and scrawls something on the slip of paper before sliding it back towards Steve.

Billy decides not to pry. Fears that if he asks, he’ll find that it’s some secret nerd shit that he can’t be privy to.

Fears that the heavy feeling will bear down on him again.

He doesn’t have to ask, turns out. The phone rings later that night, and Billy’s blood pressure spikes when Steve’s voice pours over the line.

“You should come out more often,” he says easily. “Really need some sun.”

Billy just tsks. They wind up sitting on the line for a little under half an hour. Billy wishes it lasted longer.

But he’d rather not explain the minutes away when his father shows him the phone bill.

Just before they hang up, after giggling at each other nearly the entire time, Billy barks out, “Don’t call here again.”

Then he hangs up.

Steve, naturally, gets on the radio not a few seconds later. Giggles and says, “Okay, dick. You can call me from now on.”

They stay up for practically the rest of the night talking.

Billy stares up at the ceiling and wonders how long this little thing between them will last.

He starts to question it more when Steve actually, by some miracle, convinces him to come out a handful of times.

The brunet is really touchy. Always has an arm around Billy’s shoulders or a hand on his back, and constantly bumps their knees together when they’re sitting down. Billy feels stupid for wanting more.

Why, he doesn’t know, because he’s fairly certain that he could ask for anything at this point.

Steve never calls again and that’s okay.

Billy prefers hearing whispers over the radio anyway.

It’s one evening in particular that Max is out of the house for the night, away at the Chief’s place for a sleepover, that the pit in Billy’s stomach turns into a black hole.

Steve has been ranting about his manager for the last half hour, only stopping to mention how a movie cover reminded him of Billy. How he couldn’t even wait to get home before he turned his radio on and pressed to talk to him.

The black hole consumes Billy before he can catch the words leaving his mouth.

“Do you like me?” he hears himself ask.

His voice gets choked up, and the second he lifts his finger off of the button, he rolls over and screams into his pillow. Quiet enough that Neil and Susan won’t hear, but hard enough to let a fraction of the tension out.

“Obviously,” Steve says. “Why else would I be friends with you?”

Billy presses his face harder into the pillow.

He can feel the pressure building behind his eyes. Feel the blistering heat of fresh tears and the throb in his temples as he huffs a strangled sigh into the pillow. Before he can even decide between turning the walkie off or fabricating a response, static pours through.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, he means do you have feelings for him,” Max groans.

There’s a beat of silence.

“What? Rea—“

“What the fuck are you doing on this channel?” Billy interrupts.

He can feel the veins in his neck straining from how hard he’s clenching his jaw. Can practically see red when giggles pour through the radio.

A red hot flush of shame paints Billy’s face when he realizes that Eleven is listening in too.

“What are you still doing on this channel? If you didn’t want us to eavesdrop, you should’ve switched forever ago.”

“How long have you been listening to us talk?” There’s a beat of silence. Billy huffs. “Max. How long?”

“How long have you and Steve been talking?” Max asks.

Her rhetorical question is accompanied by giggles that are cut off when she lifts her finger from the button.

There’s nothing but silence for a moment. Then two.

Billy’s vision blurs as he sets his walkie down on his nightstand. The cold fingers of embarrassment wrap around him and drag him down, lower than he’s ever been drug before.

He’s ruined everything.

His sister not only hates him, but she knows about him now, and the only guy he’s ever let himself truly like is going to want nothing more to do with him after this.

Not for the first time since Starcourt, he wishes that monster had killed him.

“Billy?” Steve asks gently. When there’s no response, he sighs. “Look, we can figure out the channel thing some other time, but… was she right? Is that what you were trying to ask me?”

Silence. Then, giggles.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m right,” Max teases.

“Radio silence,” Steve snaps. “Now.”

His tone is stern. Brotherly in a way that should be surprising, but isn’t, really.

“Signing off…” Max says dejectedly.

Astonishingly, the channel falls silent. Billy sniffles as he reaches over to paw at his nightstand, curling his fingers weakly around the radio.

He doesn’t press the button. Tries to swallow his silent sobs in a failed attempt to compose himself first.

“Billy?” Steve coos, voice much softer now. “If you don’t wanna talk over the radio, that’s fine, but—“

“Yes,” Billy rasps.

A beat of silence.

“Yes?”

“She was right.”

Billy winces at how broken his voice sounds. A whistle pours through the radio.

“Oh, man,” Steve chuckles, and Billy’s heart sinks. “The boy of my dreams wants to know if I have feelings for him? Are you dense?”

There’s a crisp millisecond of confusion before Billy presses the button.

“What?”

“Of course I like you, dude.”

Billy inhales like he just resurfaced for air for the first time in years.

“Why?” he breathes.

“You’re funny, smart, surprisingly sweet, and pretty easy on the eyes. Just for starters.”

If his heart was thumping fast before, it’s going light-speed now. All he can do for a few beats is focus on controlling his breathing.

“You don’t like me,” he murmurs. “Trust me, Steve, I’m fucked up.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s a little fucked up.” Steve hums a laugh to himself. “And I do like you. You’re not gonna be changing my mind about it anytime soon.”

“What if I told you to go fuck yourself?”

“I’d tell you that you don’t always have to be such a dick.”

A tiny hint of a smile creeps its way onto Billy’s face when he hears Steve chuckle.

His eyes are dry. The pool of dread in his belly has begun to drain, and he feels the slightest bit hopeful.

“If you’re so sure, then I guess picking me up for dinner and a movie sometime won’t be difficult for you, will it?”

Steve sighs fondly at the notion.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Are you accepting?”

There’s a brief pause. Billy’s unable to keep from smiling giddily to himself.

“Depends,” Steve lilts. “Gonna open your window?”

There’s a light tap on the glass. Billy pushes himself up and draws the blinds, revealing a grinning brunet standing about a foot below, holding his walkie-talkie.

Billy tosses his on the bed before he opens the window and leans his elbows against the ledge.

“Is this the part where you ask me to let down my hair?” he teases.

Steve chuckles, but furrows his brows as he steps closer to the house.

“Were you crying?”

Taken aback by the question, Billy wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. Shrugs nonchalantly, which doesn’t seem to be the answer that Steve was looking for.

“I was expecting things to go a bit differently,” Billy admits.

Steve frowns, and the expression doesn’t look right on him. He reaches up. Settles his hand on Billy’s forearm, smoothing his thumb back and forth against his skin until Billy shifts to dangle his arm out the window.

The pads of Steve’s fingers are soft where he holds Billy’s hand, clasped and suspended in the air together.

Billy really does feel like Rapunzel for a moment.

“I can be a little thick-skulled sometimes,” Steve says softly. “You’re always talking about yourself like you’re some unsalvageable disaster, so when you asked me if I liked you, my mind instantly went there. I wanted to make you sure you knew for certain that I do.”

He gives a little half smile. Billy squeezes his hand gently. Hopes that Steve doesn’t notice how weak his grip is.

“It’s not like I really gave you any context clues.”

“True. You didn’t.”

“I am a bit of a disaster, though. Feels like I’m only good at messing things up sometimes,” Billy sighs. “Max already hates me, and when I thought for a second that you might too, everything felt so lost.”

Steve makes a face.

“I would never, and I’d like to point out that Max doesn’t either.”

Billy blinks. Huffs amusedly, and as always, it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

“Pretty sure she does. You’ve said yourself that she wouldn’t even talk when you asked about me.”

After thinking on it for a brief moment, Steve laughs.

“Yeah, man, ‘cause she bites the head off of anyone who asks about you. Definitely told me to mind my fucking business more than once.”

Again, Billy just blinks.

He never considered that maybe it was a protective thing and not a shame thing. The revelation has a surprising amount of weight lifting off of his shoulders.

“Definitely sounds like her,” he says.

They share a chuckle. Billy flattens his other forearm against the windowsill and rests his chin against it.

“Thanks for trying to lift me up earlier?” he muses. “Didn’t really work in the moment, but still.”

Steve softly swings their hands from side to side and sighs.

“I can tell. Your eyes are all puffy.”

“Should’a seen me the other night.”

The brunet cocks his head to the side in mild confusion.

“What happened the other night?” he asks. “Didn’t mention anything while we were talking.”

“It was, ah… after we signed off for the night. It’s no big deal, really. I cry after most of our talks.”

Billy looks away. Steve squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Billy rasps.

His eyes prick with tears again and Steve steps closer. Drops his walkie-talkie in the grass and reaches up with his free hand to cup Billy’s cheek.

“Oh, you’re just a big crybaby, huh?” he coos. Billy chuckles sadly and leans into his touch. “If I’d known, I would’ve snuck over here sooner.”

“My old man checks in on me sometimes, so it’s probably better that you stay in your car.”

“Well, do you have a curfew? I’d love to steal you away every now and again and kiss your cute, stuffy nose.”

Billy sniffles, and chuckles again. Wipes his eyes with his free hand and shrugs.

“Haven’t really had anywhere to go ‘till now,” he says.

Steve nods.

“You eaten yet?”

A smile cracks across Billy’s face. Steve mirrors the expression.

“You buying?”

“I’ll spend my entire paycheck on burgers and fries if it gets you outta this fuckin’ room. I swear sometimes it’s like pulling teeth.”

They share a chuckle, and Billy sits up. Flushes red when Steve presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Gimme a sec.”

Again, Steve nods. He’s slow to release the blond when he pulls away, and Billy can’t help that he’s grinning like an idiot as he opens the door and pads out of his room.

He finds Neil and Susan in the living room watching tv. Makes up some lie about a few friends having a kickback. Even goes as far as to apologize for the short notice.

His folks share a look. Susan spreads a big smile and sets her hand on Billy’s bicep.

“No worries, sweetheart. Go ahead,” she says. “Have fun, alright?”

“Will you be coming back tonight?” Neil asks.

Billy stays quiet for a moment. Then two, just processing, and eventually shakes his head.

“It’ll probably be too late,” he says, and clears his throat. “I have somewhere else lined up, though.”

He winces at his own words, regret beading on his skin like a cold sheen of sweat.

Neil nods. Turns his attention back to the tv.

“Just stay outta trouble.”

And that’s it.

Nothing more is said, but Billy still stands there like he’s waiting for something else to happen.

When nothing does, he nods curtly and pads back down the hallway to his room, deciding not to press his luck by letting them think too hard on it. Once he has the door shut behind him, he’s immediately leaning out the window again.

Steve has his walkie back in his hands, rocking back and forth patiently on the balls of his feet while he waits. He smiles when he notices that the blond has reappeared.

“What’d they say?”

“Go get your car, I’ll be ready by the time you pull up.”

Billy leans back. Grabs the window and shuts it just as Steve nods enthusiastically. Turns on his heel and jogs off of the lawn and back towards the street.

Giddy, warm feelings pool and buzz in Billy’s stomach as he digs through his drawers for jeans that he hasn’t worn in forever. Already has a date-worthy outfit in mind as he unfolds a pair.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when static pours through the radio still sitting idly on his bed.

“Update?” Max asks.

Billy rolls his eyes. Moves to grab it when another voice comes through.

“We’re goin’ steady,” Steve informs, out of breath.

“Yes!” Max shouts.

Then, a third voice comes through.

“Finally! Jesus,” Dustin huffs.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by Steve panting when he presses the talk button.

“How many of you dickheads are on this channel?”

“Just two?” Mike says. “Technically, since we’re only using two walkie’s.”

There’s laughter over the radio, and Billy rolls his eyes. Can’t really find it in himself to be mad right now with all of the butterflies swirling in his tummy.

“You’re all banned from the front seat of my car,” Steve huffs. “And the wedding, when it happens.”

“No! I wanted to be the flower girl!” Eleven whines.

“I was gonna walk you down the aisle,” Dustin adds.

“Good luck finding another officiant, then, I guess,” Lucas says with a scoff.

More laughter is had. Max and Mike chime in with various jokes about ring-bearers and bridesmaids, but they’re cut off when Steve presses to talk again.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I highly recommend switching channels.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Max muses.

Billy can practically hear the smirk in Steve’s voice when he speaks next.

“‘Cause I’m gonna start using this one for sex stuff, and it’s gonna get real weird real fast, so be warned.”

Multiple groans and sounds of disgust pour through the radio.

“Yuck,” Max says. “Switching channels.”

“Ditto,” Dustin adds.

Then silence. True silence.

Billy grabs his walkie.

“We really gonna have phone sex over the radio?” he muses.

Steve laughs. The subtle rumble of the engine is audible from the street as his car pulls up to the curb.

“Not if you hurry up and get your ass out here already.”

The blond bites his lip. Can’t believe for the life of him how light he feels. How, for once, he feels better for having survived car wrecks and slimy monsters in the dark.

Feels like letting someone new into his life won’t cause him grief this time around.

“On my way, pretty boy.”

[lilliesinthevalley]

listen. stsg and watching their kids grow up and thinking about how each other would have loved them so much. satoru goes to megumi’s school, sweet-talks the parents of those bullies he beat up out of legal recourse, and thinks suguru would have known what to do with all that spiky hair, the righteous fire that burns so damn bright underneath. suguru lets nanako and mimiko drag him to candy shops. he can’t bring himself to order anything sweet, already sick on sugar at thoughts of satoru delighting at splitting stacks of crepes and cups of ice cream with them. idk just something something they match each other so perfectly and they would have been such good parents something something. idk

[thanks-obillma]

behold a comic

[imekitty]

Today I worked on:

Disillusioned: 303 words

Last sentence written:

Yes, that was right, down on the floor like a good—

[nejackdaw]

(reads my own fic) woah. I'm so good at my job

[purpleqilinwrites]

better than.

a/n: i fell in love with danmeshi over the weekend! i have so many thoughts and feelings about chilchuck and his wife and their daughters, so i wanted to write something about them. i wish we knew her name! since there's no canon name for her (yet??? please! i'm manifesting), i gave her one mostly for ease of fic writing but also because i think she should have one haha.

fandom: dungeon meshi

pairing: chilchuck tims / chilchuck's wife

genre: angst, general

info: told from the perspective of the wife; she is named (junnimay); takes place pre-canon

warnings: might not be canon-compliant

synopsis: for the better, she comes to learn that moving with the tides of life is a mercy in itself.

word count: 3.3k

Chilchuck Tims / Chilchuck's Wife

The apple trees were starting to clothe themselves in pale pink blossoms, releasing a sweet fragrance into the air. Kahka Brud took it as a sign of the winter's end, shedding off the furs and double-lined coats of the coldest months, and so did Junnimay. Reaching for one of the thinner woollen cloaks hanging by the front door, she whispered, "I'll be back soon, Fler," to her still-sleeping daughter before setting out for an early morning walk.

A contrary breeze made it difficult for her to shut the door quietly, a rather unceremonious slam of wood against wood following a series of laboured grunts from her lips. Fler had always been able to sleep through even the most turbulent of autumn storms; a little noise a ways from her bed surely wouldn't stir her from her needed rest.

Junnimay wiped her palms down on her cloak even if they weren't sweaty, and she started on the unpaved path that led to one of the larger streets of Kahka Brud.

At the place where the narrow local paths merged into the cobblestone main street, she greeted the elderly gnome couple having breakfast in their front yard. The younger of the two women stopped her with a shout in Gnomish and then waved for her to come closer. She approached the line of potted miniature trees that formed a makeshift fence between the public walkway and the gnome couple's property, and the elderly gnome pressed a still-warm bun into her cupped hands.

With a smile, she thanked the women in Gnomish, biting into the bread and telling them how delicious it was before she continued down the main street. As she chewed on a particularly large cluster of candied orange peel bits in her next bite, she pondered visiting the farmer's market on the way home so that Fler could have some candied orange buns to share at the tailor shop where she worked. It would be good to make a larger batch to share with the neighbours, too.

A splash of deep reddish brown dragged her attention to the present, the burst of colour out of place among the blush-pink apple blossoms and the grey-brown tree barks and the yellow-streaked blue sky. Junnimay almost dropped the last bit of the bun gifted to her, eyes wide as she took in the sight before her.

There were two half-foots under the large apple tree at the end of the street that opened to the southern market district. One of them shook out a grey bedroll that was much too large to have been designed for half-foot use, and the two of them took turns scooching into it and then reclining to watch the clouds.

The taller of the half-foot pair sported an uncannily familiar head of auburn hair, poking out of their shared bedroll that was made for one tall-man but could apparently fit two half-foots comfortably. She chucked what was left of the bun into her mouth before she took slow steps towards the mouth of the market district, keeping her eyes on the half-foot couple the whole time.

They paid her no mind, even if her gaze never left them minutes and minutes after coming from behind them to appear in front of them. They were too in love to notice her.

Chilchuck was lying in bed next to her, but his back had never felt so far.

Even when Junnimay was a child relentlessly chasing after him and his older siblings in a game of tag melded with hide and go seek, the distance of rows upon rows of tomato plants between her parents' house and his was tiny in comparison to the hand's breadth that separated Chilchuck's sleeping form from her. The entirety of the vast tomato field was easily crossed under her quick and stubborn feet, possible to traverse. She didn't feel the same way about stretching her hand out to touch her husband.

When she had yelled something or the other about getting caught in the tomato vines, Chilchuck would've instantly turned around and run to her. He always did, even if it meant that he would lose to his older brother, the person he hated losing to the most. She remembered that being the reason why she liked him; when she called for him, he made haste to come to her.

If she woke him up at this point in their lives, years and years after playing games with ever-changing rules in the tomato field that belonged to everyone in the village, would he be quick to awaken and ask her if there was anything troubling her? If there was anything he could do to help?

Chilchuck shifted as if her thoughts were so loud that they woke him. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut, pretending to sleep the way their daughters did when they were still red-faced in the way half-foot children usually were in their most tender years. His blanket swished when Chilchuck pulled it tighter around himself, curling in on himself and inching all the more away from her. All was still on his side of the bed after.

She fell into a true sleep as she pretended. While pretending, she was trying to remember the last time her husband broke out into a run coming to her simply because she had called his name.

The neatly placed line of dark bottles filled with various alcohols that Chilchuck accumulated over the years never looked so inviting to Junnimay.

Between her and her husband, he was consistently the more avid drinker. Since she first discovered she was pregnant with Mei and Fler, she found that she hadn't had the same taste for alcohol that she once had as an adolescent. She used to sneak sips from her father's hidden stash of ales from time to time, careful never to take more than a single large mouthful off the top of the bottles that were full.

With Chilchuck out accompanying yet another party of adventurers to one of the dungeons scattered around Kahka Brud and her three daughters asleep, Junnimay thought it was a better opportunity than ever to indulge in a little alcohol. It has been years since the last time she partook, after all.

She tiptoed to grab hold of the bottle she felt was most appealing, the scarlet label on the front boasting that the mead within contained floral honey from a well-known apiary on the Southern Continent. Pouring herself an economical portion into a dark glass cup, she settled into the alcove overlooking the sea and cracked the window open to feel the salty night-time winds on her face.

"Mama," came a sleep-addled voice from past the kitchen and down the hallway. Junnimay made it to the dining table when she found her firstborn daughter rubbing her eyes at the threshold that separated the kitchen from the rooms.

"Mama," Mei said again, sounding a little more awake than she did the first time. "I think Dad's not coming back yet."

The staunchness in her daughter's statement made her inwardly flinch, and she tried her best not to show it on her face. Mei had always been an unusually perceptive child, and it worried her that her daughter might be picking up on the growing unhappiness between her and Chilchuck. She wouldn't be able to bury it from her girls forever, but she wanted to keep any marital issues hidden from their young and still innocent eyes. The world should be sunny and kind when they gazed upon it, more beautiful and right than when she was the one looking.

Junnimay put on a smile, approaching her daughter and putting her arms around her, stroking at her head of wild ginger hair. It soothed her somewhat when Mei immediately buried her face in her chest, her comparably smaller fingers clutching at the cotton of her sleeping tunic.

"Not for a while, little heart," she said, vacantly running the fingers of her right hand through Mei's hair to untangle the knots. "But he'll be back."

It had only been two days since Chilchuck left for his most recent dungeon expedition. He had never been one to complete a job sooner than he said he would, diligently seeing to it that the task he agreed upon beforehand was carried out as promised. It made him an excellent addition to any adventurer's party, but she realised it also made him an absent father and an unavailable husband.

"He'll miss my birthday again," were the condemning words Mei chose for Chilchuck, muffled from the way she was pressing into her mother and clinging. Junnimay's heart twisted at the disappointment in her daughter's voice, as if her father had let her down for the final time.

Mei suppressed a sniffle and tried to mask it with a sound of exasperation, little fingers starting to pinch at her flesh beneath the fistfuls of fabric already within her hold.

It reminded her that Mei, while able to pick up on subtle things that most children weren't, was still a child. It reminded her that Mei still needed her protection.

It reminded her that she was failing quite miserably.

Chilchuck was at the door for the first time in almost three years, and it was akin to seeing a ghost when she swung the door open, not quite knowing if it was definitely him after hearing his voice on the other side. Junnimay blinked twice, squeezing her eyes shut as she quickly completed a simple incantation of protection taught to her by one of the gnome neighbours, and then opened them once again. He was still there, so she moved aside so he could come in.

"The girls are all out today," she said, leaning against the closed front door to resume lacing up her work boots. "Puck's staying with a work friend in the meantime, so you won't be seeing her until she comes back at the end of winter."

He seemed rather displeased at her lukewarm reaction to his return home, but he didn't mention it. Mirroring the burgeoning pile of her grievances about their marriage, she kept silent when he pretended there wasn't anything to complain about. It was a complicated dance that the two of them had perfected over the years, intimately familiar with each step.

"Where you are headed?" Chilchuck asked, sweeping his eyes over her attire as if he were scanning his lock-picking toolkit for signs of wear and tear. She hated it, and it was bitter when she swallowed the feeling with an increasing level of ease, automatic.

"To the bakery," she said, needlessly undoing the fastening tie of her cloak and doing it up again, tighter the second time around. "My shift ends late, so don't wait up for me. There's leftover cured meat and cheese from Mei and Fler's birthday dinner last week in the pantry, if you want to eat."

Chilchuck crossed his arms rather aggressively as she spoke, and she felt validated at his show of displeasure. She was starting to become suspicious that he believed their marriage to be as intact as it was when they were walking away from the ceremony, but it gave her a twisted sense of unity that they were both looking at the same cracks and being afflicted with the same unpleasant feelings.

"The one along Third Street, right?" he asked.

It sounded to her like he was running out of things to say, and it made her all the more eager to get out of the house and fall back into the safety of her daily routine in which he was entirely absent. She had become comfortable as a mother of three daughters whose father's only contribution was a pouch of gold coins every full moon, delivered to the door by an administrative employee of the local Adventurer's Guild.

The money he provided for her and for the girls has been slowly and steadily increasing over the years, and she was glad that he appeared to be making a name for himself as a skilled locksmith. There was a sudden jump in the weight of the pouch put in her hands a few months ago. She wanted to ask about it since Chilchuck was here, but ultimately decided not to, keeping her questions about his work and his time in the dungeons of Kahka Brud close to her heart instead.

There was once that he had snapped at her for being too curious about his work, and that one time was enough for her to become unnecessarily cautious when speaking to her husband about the jobs he undertook.

She nodded, putting a hand on the doorknob and finding solace in the coolness of the metal against her skin. The silence between her and Chilchuck felt awkward with how large it was, taking more space in the house than even the house itself. When it became apparent that he had indeed run out of things to say, she pushed the front door open and stepped out.

"I'm off," she said, expecting him to regroup with a new adventurer's party on yet another dungeon expedition by the time she returned from her own work at the bakery.

In the early hours of the morning when she found herself home again, Mei and Fler were asleep in their beds. They left a note for her on the dinner table, saying that they ate at the tavern close to the main street and that they brought back a portion of wild boar stew for her in case she was hungry.

For once meeting her expectations at the exact line where she drew them, Chilchuck was nowhere to be found.

Mei was taller than her now.

It was obvious that her daughter was bending at the waist to give her a greeting hug, the height difference between them further exaggerated by the thick soles of Mei's work boots. A bittersweet sense of awe nipped at Junnimay as she was reminded once again how much Mei resembled her father.

"Mama," Mei said, linking her arm with her mother's as the two of them wandered the Central Market on an impromptu stop on the way to Fler's home. Junnimay thought it would be nice to take a long walk with her firstborn, since Mei had taken the opportunity to surprise her by picking her up from the bakery on one of her rare free days. "You deserve to be happy, you know?"

Junnimay froze mid-appraisal of the many kinds of honey on display at the store on her left, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as she turned her head to face her daughter. Where was this coming from? Briefly, her thoughts led her to the husband she recently left, and it brought to the forefront of her mind once again her every reason for finally acting upon what was in her heart.

Mei seemed to be taken aback by her mother's inarticulate but apparently tumultuous contemplation, so she cleared her throat, eyes darting to the side as she visibly mulled over her next words. "I saw you talking with a gnome uncle at the bakery. Your smile was so bright," she said, beginning to pick at the unoccupied holes in her belt with her free hand. "And I can't remember the old man ever looking at you the way the gnome does. I think you can be happy with him, now that the old man's out of the picture."

Bodies were skimming the pair of them in the passing as they stood in one of the many footpaths in the Kahka Brud's largest market. There were many sights to behold and smells to contemplate, and there were even more wares on sale. She had to be mindful of pickpockets in a crowd as thick as the one that eternally thronged this market, but she could only focus on the determined jut of her daughter's chin.

"I'm just saying," Mei said, making eye contact with her after allowing her a moment to ponder. "I want you to be happy. Fler and Puck, too. You deserve it more than most people."

Junnimay moved her arm from its curled position around Mei's and used it to pull Mei into a one-armed hug, squeezing. The wet warmth of tears pricked at her eyes, and she gave her daughter the widest smile she could muster in an attempt to keep her face from crumpling the way it did when she cried.

"I am happy, little heart," she said. "But I think I'm not made for a second marriage."

She watched the gears turn in Mei's head from behind the screen of tears in her eyes. Wiping at her face with the back of her other hand, she apologised instinctively to a male voice that yelled a phrase in Elvish for her to move from somewhere in the mass of people behind her.

Mei sported a scowl as she scanned the crowd over her mother's head to see who was intruding on their conversation. Junnimay laughed, making sure to steer herself and her daughter closer to the wall between the honey store and the one beside it.

"Did the old man ruin it for you? Marriage, I mean," Mei said, after her sweep of the crowd proved unsuccessful. The majority of the market-goers were tall-men who unintentionally blocked her view of the offending elf, lost in the commotion.

Junnimay felt the need to put on a smile, but remembered that Mei was too old to fall for it. Mei had been too old to believe her fanfare of a reassuring smile since she was just a child.

"His father told us that since we liked each other, we should marry. So we did," she said. The memories trickled into her mind's eye slowly, obstructed by years and years of trying to fill the space of both mother and father for her girls. Looking back on her childhood in a small village where everyone was a half-foot was akin to looking into an old spyglass, trying with much difficulty to spot something on the far horizon.

Chilchuck's father was far more authoritarian than hers ever was; if he said something was to happen, everyone around him made sure it happened. Her father, while affronted by the other half-foot's demand, was agreeable to the match and gave her his blessing since she had insisted that she liked Chilchuck enough to marry him.

"I wanted my parents to be happy, and I liked the idea of marriage at that time. I didn't stop to think about if marriage was the right thing for me," she said.

Noting Mei's silence and hoping to assuage any anxieties her daughter might have, Junnimay gave her another squeeze, smiling without the express intention of consoling. "But I don't regret marrying your father. Because of him, I have you and Fler and Puck. I gained the world's best daughters."

Mei chuckled at her bold proclamation, sighing affectionately when she leaned up to press kisses to her daughter's cheek. "Mama, you say embarrassing things sometimes," were the words that Mei spoke, but Junnimay knew her well enough to hear the words she actually wanted to say. She smiled into Mei's jaw.

"Are three daughters better than a husband?" Mei asked, a cheeky glint lighting up her eyes.

Junnimay squeezed her yet again, a tense fist of unease inside her chest loosening with the surrender of a long-kept confession that bared her heart. Even the golden afternoon rays of sun became brighter and more beautiful, her secret feelings being received most graciously by her firstborn. She was sure they would be received similarly by Fler and Puck too; the three of them were all warm-hearted women whom she was proud to have birthed and raised.

"By a thousand tall-men leaps and bounds, three daughters are infinitely better than a husband."