#so i went back in again and half the congregation was gone. left did stuff came back and it was just a few people in pews

[so-very-small]

just had a dream and in it a distant cousin discovered the secret of shrinking but he had to do it isolated in the woods. i had to be far away from him but i saw it happen! he was tiny! but before i could go pick him up as planned, a bunch of other drama (nightmare goth church; exploding sheep; impromptu babysitting; centuries old dogs; etc) happened. like an hour later i was walking by the woods and saw a coyote fuckin bolting in the direction of my tiny cousin who was sprinting through the grass and screaming. i had entirely forgotten about him. i went “oh fuck” and the shame of being such an awful giant prompted me to keep walking like i didnt see shit. hope he escaped that coyote tho. sorry and godspeed soldier

[pseudofaux]

even an injured hand grasps at grace

A lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng time ago I did a follower celebration with short fictions and promised a longer story to the winner. That (incredibly patient) winner was @fieryanmitsu, who asked for a story set after Mitsuhide’s Act II. Holidays, family stuff, a global pandemic, more family stuff, a crisis of creative drive, MORE holidays and MORE time later... Here, at last, it is. Anmitsu, thank you so much for participating in that follower celebration, for being so kind about the mortifying amount of time this has taken, and for being a fellow Cat Daddy fangirl. I am very, very grateful for your grace! M, 6000 words, SLBP Mitsuhide. CWs: obvious but unnamed depression, brief discussion of death by weapons. (But mostly it is happy-thinky-poetic wife worship and baby fever.)

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

He will never hold a sword again. The discovery that there is still any strength in the arm once so mighty, enough that he can use it to work: a cause for gratitude and relief. A gift. He can attend to the responsibilities of his new life. He has a new life. Master Tenkai knows better than most men what death looks like when it bears down in a flash of metal. Sword death is the smooth silver of steel, spear death is the sluggish brown of mud that will cradle a dying man, and death by bullet is the black of blood that comes out so thick it is purple before it is red. Weapon deaths are cold, as though to compensate for the heat of their forging. There is a depth of balance in this that he cannot yet name, a mystery of the heavens like the others he spends so much time thinking about and helping the mountain villagers understand.

This new life is mostly keeping up their modest home (half residence, half tiny temple), and sharing knowledge with the villagers and their children. Of course he still thinks of Sakamoto when he sees the children growing... but his entire life he has been too much in his own head, and since they came to the mountain he has gotten better at leaving memories alone. He does not forget, and he hopes this makes him a decent man. Like any decent monk, he allows the thoughts of Sakamoto their due, which is to rest and flow over him as water flows over every side of a fish. It is right that it surrounds him. He could not and cannot do anything for Sakamoto, or address the irreparable harm he caused. He can consider it, meditate on it, and live with what he has done. And he will. Because he can live.

Swordwork’s precision and steadiness are forever gone from him, he believes. But he still has his arm and still has his life, even after he made peace with losing much more before Hideyoshi’s sword came down. He can pet the cats that congregate around the little temple, and he can twirl bits of string and stalks of grass for them. He can still write, his characters more calligraphic than they were before. He has to work hard to make clear strokes when he teaches the village children, and he feels that is a just requirement. When the house needs repairs, he can make them, and he can draw air into his lungs and live with his failures and successes both, or at least live with his failures and the grace he has been given. He has the brush, and he has the strong walking stick that his wife has helped him cut to the right height. The staff is smooth in his hand after only a few months’ use, a little extra oil applied when they have it. He wonders if he is allowed this easy comfort, but will not allow a walking stick to be a thing that trips his thoughts. His watchword now is moderation, not abnegation. If a fallen tree limb comes to him he will be grateful, and if the wood breaks he will let it go. He is willing, now, to let so much go.

There is only one exception, and she sleeps easy these days, when the cold of night on the mountain curls them together as though they are rabbits in a burrow. They wake slowly to this dream life. The part of him that is a decent monk cannot help but wonder how different their lives might be if it had been this for them all along. He did not want to rule; he had only ever wanted to spare others the hardships of ruling, and allow all good people the comfort of safety, from most divine ruler to most helpless child. These thoughts are in his head. Here in their tiny room in the building that is their home and the village’s temple, she is in his arms. In his heart and his bones, he knows that fact is grander than any man’s attempt at divinity.

He never has to force smiles at the children who come to the temple to learn. They are rowdy, eager, and completely charming. He is comfortably grinning at a group of them when he catches sight of her at the bend in the path that leads to their home. She is smiling, too, and there are tall leafy greens sticking out of the pack behind her shoulders that remind him of the folded wings of a fine hawk, the kind favored by samurai and nature alike. What would they do, if not for her hawklike competence and gentle ferocity?

Likely starve, he tells himself, on both melancholy days and happy ones. It is only the truth. He has learned a few things, but cannot match her, and while he is always available to the villagers, he stays near the temple unless he is asked for in the town. She does their shopping, she is their face. No one of quality can resist being won over by the warmth of her smile.

The children are thrilled to see her, and it reminds him of a dream he has had several times now, something he has kept to himself because it is so precious and he still does not want to ask anything of her. He is not sure if the slips of dream come from the peace of their life or the torment they left behind them, whether the dream is reward or recompense. But the cheers of the children take hold of his heart and make a tapestry of the scraps of his happiest dreams, weaving them tightly with what he is truly seeing. His thoughts nearly take him to his knees-- or perhaps that is an insistent little person, tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

“Master Tenkai!” chirps the village child. “Hana is home, so it is time for our lesson!”

They teach the children together in the afternoon’s warm, clean light, and only send them home when it is time for her to prepare their evening meal and him to complete the evening sweeping of the temple floor. Later that night, she seems relaxed and sleepy next to him, full of food, full of love. She asks, “Do you remember when I asked you to bring me a stone, so I could make you pickles?”

That is a pleasant memory from their life before, a luminescent pearl floating through silt that suffocated so much happiness. But the memory itself is light. So his smile is easy and does not feel like punishment, and he nods and strokes the space between her shoulders.

“On this mountain I have all the stones I need,” she declares, pressing her cheek to his chest. The smoothness of her face is finer to him than any pearl, a marvel of sensation that settles him, instantly and completely. “And I will make you pickles every week, if you want them,” she adds.

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

“Only whenever you are inclined,” he says, drumming his fingertips to tickle her.

Her giggle is sleepy. “There’s not time to make them every day,” she quips, snuggling closer and sliding an ankle between his calves. He has only the one dream that is sweeter than his actual life, and he is keeping it close to his chest for now. But he will not keep anything closer to his chest than she is. They squeeze one another, and he expects they do not fully relax their arms until they fall asleep.

A winter has passed, and a spring. This is their first summer on the mountain, so they are learning the cycle of invigorating mornings, sweltering afternoons, and unpredictable nights. They have already learned from kind villagers how to best coax food from the pebbly soil of their garden, and their efforts in the summer are devoted to this every day until the air grows too hot and they retreat to the shade of the temple to fan themselves with their hands and drink water that (they hope) has managed to hold some of the chill of the night before.  

Every morning he braids her hair, and in these summer days a few strands always escape and stick to the back of her neck, temptations that coax him to bare her shoulders and murmur along the skin he worships. She often swats him away, because even after tending the garden there is plenty of work to do. But sometimes she does not swat him away at all, and some days she draws closer with a magnificent, confident need. He cannot determine if it is need for him or need to show him something, but each time, their bodies become hotter still, sweat running like streams and stinging their eyes even as it makes moving together easier.

There is a day at midsummer when they cannot help themselves, resting on the step to their home. They are covered from the relentless sun by the good new roof of the temple. He is vulnerable to melancholy in the heavy air that precedes a storm. She knows this. By the time the thunder and rain seem to be on every side of them, heaven’s own veil around the little holy place where they live, their hands are in each other’s hair, she is straddling him, and he is kissing her so deeply he can taste their midmorning snack. The last time she went to town she came back with karashi seeds, and their food this week has been bright in their mouths, cleansing and flavorful. He is hungry for it.

“Mitsuhide,” she pants quietly. The rain around them is so dense no one would hear her, but that name is never spoken above the softest whisper. Her other sounds are louder, even louder than the roar of the rain, and he loosens his hold on himself to match her. He groans as he tilts his hips up toward hers, everything that he is straining for her. They are so warm that even though the air is cooling around them, the rain may as well be steam. One of her hands slides from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, between their bodies, until she palms his insistence and he gasps for her until she squeezes. They moan together, unbearably hot in the sweet agony before they join.

“Now? Here?” he asks. They’re alone, but he craves her comfort as much as her indulgence. There is always a point where he stops asking, but before that he needs permission. She gives it in a nod and shuffles off his lap onto the floor, still stroking him through his clothing. Her clothes are already loose from their embrace, and she puts her other hand inside her collar and tugs down until she is cupping her breast. His blood in his ears is louder than rain or crashing waves or the war chorus of a hundred desperate men. He lunges at her, one hand in her hair and another at the back of her neck to soften her landing. When he is over her, he snarls at her temple before kissing the space with the beastliness that is revealed by these stormy days. It is a wet kiss, and because his tongue cannot taste enough of her he ends up licking from her cheek to her hairline. He savors her, salt and spice and earth and somehow his, as he pushes into her hand. She does not let go of him. He never wants to let go of her.

His hand slips from her neck into the heaven of her opened collar, and his thumb finds her nipple between her fingers. She lets go, gives herself to him, and he pants adoration into her ear as he rolls the peak, beautifully strong, until she moans. He knows this is right, that nothing else in the world is anything next to the truth of how right it feels to cage her in, make her tremble, and soothe her, serve her.

So he doesn’t hold back. He tells her she is the most wonderful, beautiful, desirable, beloved. His mind makes poetry for her and he licks the words onto skin he pinches delicately between his teeth. You are rainfall to a dying man, you are here, you feel better than breezes, you are mine. After all he has done, he remains a man, and a man is an animal, as any man who has gone to war can say with certainty.

The thin clothes he wears for gardening are sticking to his body, and he swears he can feel the drag of each thread against his skin as he moves with her, friction enough to spark a fire through their sweat. Her hand on him is maddening kindling.

“You are flames,” he declares as he ruts down into her hand. “You are burning me.” A man is an animal, a gasping creature not sophisticated enough to express all she makes him feel.

She slows her hand and hums, pleased by they way he gives himself over. That is the way they play. “It is too wet for flames,” she murmurs, as though she is consoling him instead of throwing tinder on the fire she has made. “Drown in me instead of burning, my love.”

The affection in her words soothes his amorous madness and spreads the familiar, comfortable warmth to all the tips of his body as the power shifts between them again. He loves her so much. Could any man convey so much feeling? To be an animal is not bad, but it is base, and she is made of heaven and still chooses to be with him. He smiles at her in wonder of all her beauty and bravery. He will focus on giving her anything that he can.

“Gladly,” he whispers, smiling wider. He takes her wrist and pulls her away from her work. When she complies and settles her hand against the floor by her head, he unties the rope of faded jute braids that hold her kosode closed at her hips. She is worthy of finery but dressed in these threadbare rags with him instead, and still her eyes say she has what she desires. As he drops the thick cord beside their bodies, he thinks he will try to find her a pretty bead, or even a nice smooth stone from the stream, something to adorn her middle and give her pleasure when she sees it. She gives him so much pleasure.

Their clothes as temple keepers are very humble, but they are much easier to remove than their daily wear of only a year ago. Sacrilegious but sincere, he mutters his gratitude at the simplicity of baring her body to his eyes. Her slopes are gorgeous, winding like the gentlest river against the air. She reminds him of a war map he saw years ago, illustrated with hills and pools so lovely he mourned as war was planned against the unarmed ground.

He shakes away that memory to construct another of the way she looks right now, sensual and receptive, womanly in the way she came to be when they started their lives here. Back in control of herself, of both of them, she parts her lips and breathes his new name. He undoes the scrap of old kimono that serves for his sash, and peels away his own sweaty robe. When he comes back down to her, she has freed her arms from her sleeves and their hands find each other, fingers dancing warm and worn as they wrap together.

Now it is still raining, but the roar of it has quieted to a loving hiss. The light is gray and blue, so she looks like nighttime. She pulls him to her with the power of dusk closing flowers, and their kiss is moon-soft, full of promise instead of frenzy. Her lip is a marvel between his and he loves pressing it with his own lips and teeth and sucking gently to make it swell. He wants to touch it with his thumb while he’s inside her and then kiss her again, maybe kiss her while he touches her with his thumb.

The chill at his back cannot last when there is so much heat between them, no matter what she says of drowning instead of burning. A man can drown in the bubbles of a hot spring as well as he can in winter’s water. He sucks in a breath and breathes it out into her mouth, and when she does the same with more force he shudders. His hands slide to her hips, where her curves fit into his palms as though he were a farmer and she were a ripe stalk of rice. She is at least as crucial and nourishing.

He is so hard he doesn’t need to take himself in hand. The head of his cock slides (with a sureness he would never claim aloud) between her folds, against the spot that makes her thighs flex. The movement is easy, a slip if not for his control. They are always so eager for one another.

“How?” he asks, and kisses the chin she is offering as her head is thrown back. “Here? This? Just outside the reach of the rain?” A demon is in him, to tease her like this, but the demon wants her pleasure as surely as he does because this is what she wants, for everything to be drawn out until their tension snaps. “Do you want the air on all your skin?” he continues. “I will give you anything. Just tell me.”

She hums the thoughtful sound that means she’s thought of some way to drive him insane. Thunder cracks with an ominous sharpness in the distance, and when she tilts her head and looks at him there is lightning and mischief in her eyes. He squeezes her but still she wriggles out from beneath him... and she goes to one of the beams that holds up the roof, safe from the rain thanks to the overhang. She moves her feet back and bends at her waist and he can do nothing but feel blessed and aroused, so aroused he is stupid. The warmth she put in him turns to tingles, like she has displaced the lightning from her gaze and made his skin the sky and his bones the bare, vulnerable earth. Within himself he feels a frighteningly intense buzzing.

“This first,” she declares. “Just watch for now, darling. Stay where you are.” Her thighs and calves are so defined from the ways she has to toil in this new life that he feels a shadow of guilt for enjoying the sight of her so much. It vanishes when he sees her fingertips between her legs, right at his eye level. She is pulling his mind apart, but her method for that is giving him this gift, and in this life he takes what he is given.

“Yes,” he rasps, and swallows before the dryness in his though makes him cough. “Yes, of course.”

The movement of her arm slides her loosened braid along a shoulder like a brushstroke. Her touches are sure-- she told him months ago that she learned to do this when he made her sleep alone for nights on end. He curses his foolishness even as he is grateful for it. She is always turning the most miserable ingredients into feasts, his wife.

Her sure fingers make circles and dip into her folds to smear her arousal. She likes it a little messy sometimes, another thing she has revealed in the safety of their seclusion. He loves what she loves, and he wants to put his mouth on her, put his cock in her, so badly that he fears his voice will scar his throat in a mad escape if he has to stay apart from her much longer. But he will die of idiocy alone if he interrupts. So he watches, the cool air of isolation doing nothing to keep his belly from tightening when she coos. Her hips begin to drop forward to meet her hand and he bites the flesh of his palm to stave off insanity as long as he may. She is a cat, he realizes, playing with all his many frayed ends. When she glances back, whatever she sees on his face-- he must be flushed, he feels terribly hot-- makes her laugh, dark and sweet. She keeps going and keeps her eyes on him. There is that gentle command so uniquely her in the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like he is blooming frantically, too fast, a blossom pummeled by rain and completely out of control... and she keeps looking, keeps smiling, draws the moment into moments until he thinks he might sob.

And then she curls her fingers against herself to beckon him and says “Come here.” The way her voice puts the words somewhere between request and demand is flattering, but he has no time to be flattered. Rain-cooled air yields against his arms and legs as he rushes to her. Immediately, he is there behind her legs, positioning himself, and the heat of her backside would burn him were he not already so ruined. Against her at last, he can appreciate the way the weak light on her sweat-slicked back is more beautiful than the finest inkwash, the ways she smells competent and domestic and alluring, like the precious sweet scent of soil that hides between mountain pebbles. She is all these things, and she is so calm as his mind whirls in its delirium of adoration and arousal.

He doesn’t mean to tremble, but his hold on himself has been too tight, and the spaces where his teeth dug into his hand throb. Like the mongrel pet to a noble lady, he has little other purpose but to love her. He sees that she can sense it. There is a grace to her certainty when he grits his teeth, even though she is wound so tightly that when the head of his cock finally presses inside her, he must push. Slick, soft, smooth, she feels, somehow, despite the pressure. As he pushes fully inside, their groans are wanton to the point of inhumanity, more like the sound of creatures in the night than of a man and his wife. His wife, his wife. He pulls back and groans again at the way her body fights to keep him. He swipes the braid off her back and kisses her shoulder, pushing back in slowly as her soft, strong body welcomes him.

“More,” she cries, her first sound of vulnerability, and he is eager to take care of her. He knows to move steady and powerfully but keep it slow at first. She comes better around him, but needs to be allowed to focus, so he is quiet as he focuses on her and the way the muscles of his back stretch and roll to please her. He is still a fit man, and he hopes his body thrills her as hers thrills him.

She makes a needy noise between her teeth and moves faster, shaking just a little. She hisses “keep going,” and of course he does. The tension he felt a moment ago is so unimportant now he is not sure if it was real. In the time when things shift between them he no longer needs permission, and he feels the magic calm settling over him-- it is his turn. All he needs to do is what she needs from him, it’s so simple. And he would do anything she asked, for the chance to be so near her when she finds bliss. It is already rising up his legs, like a snake squeezing and sliding, like ripples... and her sighs are like waves. Maybe she is too wet to be flames because she is water itself. The way into her is blissful enough, a slick heavy pressure around him where she is swollen from all their kisses and touching. The challenge of it makes him grin with a ferality he usually keeps well out of sight, and he presses on, pulls back, kisses her shoulder again and calls her his beloved. His voice doesn’t shake.

Hers does. “Again,” she pleads, grasping back for his hand. “I want it again.” She guides his fingers in circles until he knows where she is and what she needs, and then she lets him give it to her. Trust is such a sacred thing.

When he touches her she laughs, and he laughs too, and fucks her with a great deal of joy. They find their pattern: her hips push back to meet his thrusts, so when he presses in, deeply, they fit as cleanly as a carpenter’s masterwork. The storm has truly cooled the air but all it does is chill the fresh sweat on their skin as they move. It invigorates him, makes his spirit shout with a freedom he cannot contemplate at the time. His wife is using the beam that holds up their roof to push back against him, allowing the tender space between her breasts to be abraded by the wood. There is room for nothing but happiness here, nothing to do but honor her sacrifice and make her feel more pleasure.

“Yes,” she rewards him with her voice for a particular thrust, dragging out the sound at a pitch that registers inside him while he is inside her. So he moves himself even faster to try and repeat it, then relishes the sweetness of her soft whine. It makes him feel like he is surprising her with his love for once, instead of the constant way she graces him with her own.

He leans over her a little more. “I want nothing as much as I want your happiness,” he tells her, the croon of his voice broken by the intense way their bodies are connecting. Her hand comes back over his, keeping him in place. Magnificent. “Go on,” he tells her. “Again, love. Just like you want. Just like I want. Again.”

She shudders and stops moving her hips (she clings adorably to the support beam, her arm as tense as her hand on his). He keeps going, because he knows that is what she expects. At the end, what she needs is to be filled, to be given something to clench around, and he needs to be that for her. He is so driven, from inside and out, to fuck her, that he cannot do anything else until he feels it, not think or breathe, only move into her as though he can shove bliss into her body. So he tries, until he feels the shaking of her legs as perfection alights, and then he takes one great breath before it hits them both as she squeezes tighter still. They gasp together again as her clenching and soft sounds pull his warmth to fill her. Abundantly. Deeply. The air comes out of his lungs onto her shoulders, then touches his cheeks with the softness of a cloud.

She is breathing heavily, and slowly she puts her weight against the wood and becomes still. There’s a gentle press against his hand before she drops her arm. He’s tempted to catch it and kiss her knuckles, but he does not want to move from being curled around her back. He does move his hand away and puts the arm around her belly instead, holding her that much closer. She feels exactly as warm and soft as a cat who has fallen asleep in the sun.

There is a slick, sticky feeling all around his cock, but there’s nothing unpleasant about it-- something in him actually relishes it, loves the thought of mixing, loves the thought of there being too much, it makes him want to take her to the floor and have her again-- and she does not ask him to move, so he stays until he softens. “Darling,” he whispers then. “I’m going to get us a cloth.” He has desires, but he has mastered himself.

But she mumbles “No. Hold me.”

So when he pulls out as not to slip from her, he simply sits down and pulls her with him, right down into his messy lap. There’s not a breath between the time they land and her turning so she can snuggle his chest. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks and nose and tells her what a marvel she is. She is all pliant affection, touching his arms, kissing his jaw, raising a love welt on his shoulder... reaching to stroke him gently, experimentally, just like she did when they were on the steps.

He has mastered himself, but not as well or fully as she has.

He pulls over their clothes and lays her out on top of them on the temple floor so he can join their bodies yet again, unhurried. They have the time for slow lovemaking in this life, and the grace. Her knees frame him as he moves and he cannot help but kiss one and then the other, reveling in her laughter (when he tickles her ribs, she tightens deliciously around him) as much as in her love. They lay together for a long time after that, cool and lazy in the quiet. When the rain is replaced by the first note of tentative birdsong, they know they should move in case someone comes to the temple. Despite the afternoon, they are a cautious couple by nature.

He attempts to clean her with their clothes, and carries her to their room to rest more comfortably. Her hair clings to the idea of a braid, but much of it is loose and floats about his arms in the sodden air. There is a satisfied tilt to her mouth when he helps her sit, and as he moves behind her the last he sees of her face is her smile curving deeper. He settles his robe over her shoulders and combs his fingers through her hair to ward off tangles. When he is finished, he replaits her hair and kisses the ribbon, then her mouth. She shakes her head, hiding her mouth and making him chase it. His rewards are sleepy giggles, enchantingly low, every time he catches her.

Several kisses later, he redresses and leaves for the kitchen to make them a simple meal. He delights in feeding her by hand as soon as he returns, because their closeness makes him feel whole and doting on her feels right. They stay near as they bathe, and then they go back to bed. It is early, but they will need to start early tomorrow to make up for the time they spent not working this afternoon. They have earned their sleep. He wonders if he will have the dream again.

Tucked into their bedding, she is in his arms, not yet dreaming herself. “Darling,” he says quietly into her hair, and murmurs love until she turns to kiss him sweetly and tells him to go to sleep.

He does have the dream. It is the most wonderful dream yet.

“Chichi-ue!” The voice is high and happy. It is coming from behind him, so he must turn away from the sight of his wife with a baby at her breast. Before he can see the little one who called him-- called him chichi-ue, his child-- the dream shifts and his wife is with an older child, tasting broth and listening patiently as the child recites ingredients. Then his wife is with two children, each holding one of her hands as they turn on the bend of the path to their home, and the smallest lets go of her to run to him. Their faces are all obscured by a sudden cloud of mountain dandelion seeds borne on the wind... all he can see are healthy little legs and feet in clean sandals, slapping against the ground as fast as they possibly can. The movement becomes a child’s hand with a brush, marvelously steady and precise. The same hand around a cluster of flower stems. Scraped knees and palms and little puffs of breath between shrieks and giggles as tears are soothed away. Two voices laughing over the plunking sound of skipped river stones ending their flights, and he recognizes the stream where they stand. The face and voice of the herbalist in the village, kindly telling them to be patient and then whispering something they might try. Four simple bowls, mismatched but meant to be together, set around a table. He can see this scene over his own shoulder, hears those same two voices dutifully expressing gratitude for their meal. The sounds change as his dream gives him the voices at different pitches through time, thankful for their rice, fish, vegetables; the bowls stay on the table, the food in them changing in dizzying whirls of color until he wakes.

“Good morning,” says his wife, in the voice she can only use for the first words of the day. Quiet and deep as a hidden pool. “I love you.”

He reaches to stroke her cheek, and tells her about the dream at last. She tells him her dreams, too.

Exhausted but awake, awed and unsure, he holds his son for the first time in the crook of his better arm. All of him shakes, because he is weeping at the perfect newness of this child. The baby, so unhappy with the village woman who came to help with the birth, settles into his father like poetry, and closes sweet dark eyes, and yawns flawlessly. They way the baby’s tongue trembles reminds him of a stretching cat. Master Tenkai of the mountain cannot look away. There is so much to see, and there is something about gazing at this tiny face, shifting magically from pinched to peaceful, that shows him the virtue of disregarding time completely. He should know it for what it is: another effort by man to control what he cannot. Everything that marks time in a human way can be broken. The sun rises no matter what people do in the night.

One of the temple cats senses a fellow creature and leans up to sniff at the baby. The baby’s father is happy to share the sight. The cat noses at the baby’s plumpness and then slinks off, but Tenkai stays where he sits, holding his son beside the bedding where the baby’s mother is gazing at them both with a tired, happy expression on her beautiful face. Her hair has all come loose from its ribbon. The woman from the village said it was an easy birth, but it certainly took its time. At the end, they have their perfect son, and she is alright. Everything is alright. The greatest challenge facing them at the moment is that he will have to learn to braid one-handed. He chuckles to himself and the baby blinks, then settles.

He will never hold a sword again. Whatever time may be, it feels like he made his peace with a more important truth a very long time ago, perhaps in another life entirely, and had only to relearn it. To hold his woman, and child, and the other he believes will join then... that is more than enough for the warrior who was once Mitsuhide, who became Master Tenkai of the mountain. All else may come and go. He will treat everything with respect, and allow all that is temporary to leave his hand like water. His family, permanent and indescribably precious, is the only thing that he will never, ever give up.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 7: more talking

But it’s important talking! Clues are not gotten! A proposition is proposed! And damn, does SpellCheck not like Sans’ dialogue. D:

Chapter link here, hi @lostmypotatoes

When they strolled up to the chapel entrance, the captain on duty was the very one who had been in charge of Sans' cell the day they met. He was discussing the fireworks with one of his subordinates, who looked over the captain's shoulder and got very, very quiet. The skeleton took a great deal of pleasure in waiting for him to turn around, then saying, "Well, hey there. Don't I know ya from somewhere?"

The captain was ready to have a conniption until he spotted Frisk: Sans was leaning far sideways, and she was standing almost on tiptoe, holding the crook of his elbow so that he was escorting her like a proper gentleman. "Your Eminence!" the captain gasped. He looked back and forth between them, hand on his sword hilt. "My lady, where have you been? Has this creature done something to you?"

"He saved me from being ill in front of half the kingdom," Frisk said coolly. "I am fine now, Captain, thanks to his timely intervention. Has the benediction been performed yet?"

"Uh...no, my lady, but—"

"Then I will do so." With her head held high, the High Priestess led the skeleton past the guards and straight into the chapel.

Unsurprisingly, their entrance caused quite a stir. The last verse of the last hymn was starting, and as the pair approached the altar, Frisk signaled for the choir to keep going. The congregation watched, stunned, as Frisk took Sans with her through the ring of guardsmen and stood to one side at the front of the chapel, waiting for the music to end.

She hadn't planned on this, but she wouldn't have done it any differently; it was impossible not to smirk a little. The boss monster must have felt the same way, because he bent down to say, under the cover of song, "Didn't think I'd get t'walk ya down the aisle today."

"You do know that a girl's father does that for her, not the groom?" she murmured back, and Sans looked so chagrined that she snrrked again.

The hymn came to a close, and Frisk moved up to read the benediction. She tried to put her facade back on, but she couldn't help smiling; when she formally ended the service, there was more applause than she'd ever heard.

Though the guards prevented anyone from coming up to the altar, she reclaimed Sans and, ignoring all attempts to stop her, went to stand in the back of the chapel to speak with people as they left. Sure enough, despite the presence of her massive escort, there was such a traffic jam around her that Frisk ended up having to move outside the entrance.

Of course, amidst the compliments and well-wishes came several questions about her absence from the middle of the ceremony; enough people knew about Sans' abilities to ask if they'd really seen a woman and/or men vanish from the congregation, and why the people sitting near them had been taken away quietly by armed guards.

Frisk made a quick guess as to what had happened, and that the woman and/or men's families were the ones talking loudly to the guards in the next room. She told the questioner that extraordinary measures had been necessary for everyone's safety, and certain persons had had to be taken into immediate custody—no one had been spirited away to never be seen again, and no one would be, which her listeners seemed willing to believe.

It was also a matter of great speculation why someone would trouble themselves to put on a fireworks display in full daylight, and a time when everyone was in church and wouldn't see them. Luckily, the consensus was that it had been a mistake, and Frisk could feign ignorance along with her parishioners.

More cute, but problematic, was the custom of children offering her little tokens like flowers and ribbons on their way out. There were no pockets in her wretched dress, so her hands filled up quickly, and she could only tuck so many golden flowers behind her ears. On impulse, Frisk started winding the ribbons around Sans' arms instead and tying the flowers on; seeing that Sans was not killing or eating her, the children soon began ignoring the priestess and going straight to the skeleton, decorating his legs and poking flower stems through his wristbones.

Throughout this ordeal, Sans had no idea what to do, so he opted to stand there, expressionless, and do nothing. This happened to be the least threatening and therefore correct option; Frisk checked frequently on the crowd's reactions, but after the first few minutes, no one was frightened at all. Parents were even bowing to Sans and mouthing "Thank you" up at him as they reclaimed their delighted offspring.

The priestess had been sure to speak loud enough for the nearby guardsmen and any curious bystanders to hear, and when it was time to step away from the crowd and confer with His Holiness privately, she didn't have to repeat herself much. That was when she learned that magically infused items had been brought into the chapel in lieu of daggers or crossbows, and how Sans – still bedecked in flowers as he gravely related these particulars – had used his teleportation to thwart their efforts; the three suspects' friends and families had already been escorted upstairs for further questioning.

This last fact turned out to be a slight problem. Frisk had thought the "fireworks" would be easy to trace to anyone who had left the chapel in a hurry a few minutes after her hymn, but it seemed several people had been escorted out for questioning at the same time. Many of them had been loud or troublesome enough for someone to have followed the group out and slipped away without notice.

"Pity. Overall, a job well done, sir," the Cardinal told Sans, and gave the guard captain a look that forced the poor man to say through gritted teeth, "Indeed, sir. Thank you for your service."

"Thank you, Your Holiness. We'll take our leave, then," Frisk said smoothly, giving Sans the slightest tap with her foot. "A Happy All Souls Day to each of you."

Sans mumbled something similar, and with a couple of bows, they were free to go. The priestess was starving, but the second they got back to the workroom, she shuffled at top speed to her dressing room, slammed the door, and peeled the gown off as fast as she could. Her sigh of freedom was so exaggerated and yet genuine that she heard Sans mutter, "Guess it was good fer you, too," which made her laugh till she had to sit down amidst her shoes and catch her breath.

It was strange; by unspoken agreement, neither mentioned their embrace in the hallway, but as she came out in her loosest, oldest dress and they sat down to breakfast, the silence was completely comfortable. They each ate a small pile of soul cakes, some eggs, and then more soul cakes, not stopping until they ran out of milk and Sans finally allowed her to take the basket away.

They sat around for a few minutes afterward, half asleep, with the boss monster lost in thought as he picked flowers off his arms; she knew it was serious when he began shifting around and tapping his heels on the floor. "Hey, Frisk?" He twisted a couple of flower stems together. "How do ya go about gettin' a list of what human's got what monster? It's a Church thing, right?"

Frisk had been sitting cross-legged on the floor to unwind the ribbons around his legs, and stood up slowly to place a handful on the table. She'd known this conversation would have to happen sooner or later, but why did it have to spoil such a nice, quiet moment? "Is there a specific reason you want to know?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah. One of the people after you was gonna use an ice spell she got from a monster named Snowdrake. The magic felt pretty fresh, not like they drained 'im already and jus' used it now. I figured he must still be alive."

The priestess sat down beside him and picked up another golden flower. "I'm going to be honest with you, Sans, and in return, I ask that you not get too angry with me." He nodded without looking at her, and she continued, "I already asked the Cardinal for those exact records, back when we met him and the King. I am deeply sorry for my phrasing, but I said 'a specific class of goods' because I wanted to be circumspect in front of you. I didn't know what you would say if I asked for a list of all the monsters registered as slaves. It is indeed 'a Church thing,' I am disgusted to say. Again, I apologize for—"

"Nah, you were right, I'd'a gone nuts. Ya don't hafta be so stiff about it. I know ya don't actually think of us as stuff ta buy and sell."

The words were mature enough, but Frisk didn't like the look on his face. "I suppose it's time we had a real talk about this," she said. "I've been thinking it over for years, and I have an idea of what we can do to put an end to the monsters' slavery. Will you hear me out?" He wouldn't answer, and Frisk tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Sans."

The giant skeleton flicked at the pile of flowers, sending them flying across the tabletop and onto the floor. "Fine," he growled. "Talk."

"All right. First, I don't know if you know the exact legalities, so: it is technically against the law to go to the border with the Underground, find a monster, and bring said monster back here to be sold, but it's rarely enforced, and it is legal to sell, buy, or own them. It's definitely a crime to buy or own a monster without registering him or her and paying the proper taxes, and the Church enforces it very strictly. ...Sans, I'm not saying any of this to upset you. I have to be sure you know exactly what we're fighting, and that if you charge out and start liberating monsters, you're going to make everything a thousand times worse. May I explain why?"

His teeth were gnashing so hard that it sounded like metal on metal, not bone. "I am tryin' very hard ta be good right now, kid. Ya better get to the friggin' point soon."

"Very well. The point is that if you decide to free any or all of the monsters and you kill a human in the process, not only will you go from an emissary to a wanted criminal, you'll reinforce everyone's fears about monsters being dangerous, even the people who left church today thinking that skeletons may not be evil after all. That much fear could very well push the King to declare war."

No reaction. Frisk stopped to pour herself some water, but she was thinking so hard that she just stared at it while she said, "I wouldn't be able to stop them from sealing the Underground and forcing every single monster in it to choose between slavery and starvation. And if you think you could use your magic to free monsters without killing anyone, don't. They'd figure out it was you, and you'd be banished at the very least. Meanwhile, I'd be stripped of my title, forced to pay double the full value of each monster, and imprisoned."

That made him sit back a little, but Frisk was not done by a long shot. "Now, if I thought that money would make the problem go away, I would've done it a long time ago—but no. If I were to buy every monster in the kingdom, it wouldn't stop anyone from going out to get new ones. In fact, it would drive prices so high that humans would be racing to set up camp in the no-man's-land and raid the Underground itself for more slaves. They wouldn't care what the law says. They'd be making more than enough to just pay the fines, or be so numerous that the King couldn't arrest them all. If you tried to fight them off, they'd kill any monsters who attacked them, claim self-defense, and get away with it. No one would stop them because we've gotten so dependent on magic, and right now, humans still think monsters are—"

"Shit on a brick! Fine! I get it. You're right. Yer totally goddamn right." Sans' head sank between his elbows, cheek grating on the table. "So, we play nice 'n let everyone see how cuddly I am, an' a few hundred years from now, humans might like monsters enough ta feed us every single day?"

"I'm getting to that, Sans. By law, monsters must be provided adequate food, water, and shelter, and any accommodations their unique biology may require. They're also not supposed to be used to commit crimes. If someone used Snowdrake's magic to fashion illegal weapons, I can have him confiscated and placed in my custody, and I'll register his new location as a house I own on the outskirts of the city. How long would it take you to make one round trip from here to the house and the Underground, and back? Could you do it, say, overnight?"

"Hmm. Yeah, it'd just take a lot outta me." Frisk couldn't help noting that he now considered it a given he'd be coming right back, and allowed herself to be very happy for a moment before he went on, "With Snowdrake, G—the doctor already told 'em to find whoever took his magic for that spell. So that's already happenin', which just leaves...how many monsters are there here?"

"I don't know the exact total offhand. I promise to show you the records as soon as the Cardinal gives them to me, if you promise you won't use them to do anything rash, which I define as 'anything you know Frisk does not want you to do.' For the immediate future, the best plan of action would be to check the conditions each one is being kept in and see if we can legally take any more of them. We'd need to do it before word gets out and everyone suddenly starts behaving perfectly—that's what usually happens when I try to order surprise inspections."

"Great, but when can we get started on makin' this shit illegal t'begin with?"

"When we have enough political support. We need people to feel that it's wrong to keep monsters like animals, even if they're well-treated, and we also have to be prepared when they ask, 'But where will we get our magic?' Part of the answer will be the natural power sources you and the doctor are working on now, which he should be able to formally present to the King before you leave. But also..." She trailed off, her throat closing up with sudden nervousness.

Sans lifted a hand. "What? Spit it out."

Frisk's heart was pounding. She knew Sans wouldn't like this part, but if she couldn't convince him, the entire plan was sunk. How to begin?

Something occurred to her, and without thinking hard enough, she said, "I'm sorry for the comparison, but it reminds me of Luke and his birds." He stiffened, and she hastened to add, "Don't get me wrong—monsters are not pets, and I'm not suggesting you stay confined in any way, but it's a valid example of working within the constraints of supply and demand. If we can't eliminate the demand for magic, we need to supply it without exploiting monsters, and we have to make it as painless a transition as we can. In this case, not only do we work on wind and solar generation, we..." A deep breath, almost a gulp. "...have monsters give magic voluntarily. You could sell it to us, or perhaps trade it as part of a peace agreement, or for food, until we learn to make enough for ourselves. Partners, not slaves."

Sans didn't move. "...Partners?"

One word, nothing more. Frisk's heart sped up until she felt sick. The boss monster was sitting stock-still, but the air around him started to turn faintly red, smelling like heat lightning. Frisk made herself say, "You hate humans. I know that. I won't claim to know exactly what you're feeling, but I—"

"Ya couldn'a picked a worse monster fer this. Ya know that?" The skeleton turned his head, and Frisk flinched: his right socket was blank, and the left was solid crimson, the same color as his blaster the day he'd been prepared to kill her and all the guards in his prison cell. "Lemme tell ya somethin', kid. I'll admit that you've been treatin' me right, and I don't mind bein' cutesy 'n nice once in a while if it'll make other monsters safer." His fist slammed into the solid oak tabletop, leaving a dent. "But I'll be fucked in the eye 'fore I go back ta Asgore and say, 'Hey, maybe they'll quit squeezin' us out like jelly rolls and leavin' us to scream ourselves inta dust, we just hafta promise we'll be good helpers!' Are ya kidding me, Frisk? This whole time, you've been plannin' to end slavery by gettin' us ta whore ourselves out instead?!"

The priestess' ears were ringing. She hadn't seen or felt him this angry since the day they met. Should she back off, try to placate him, and wait to bring it up again later—maybe shelve it entirely till she could talk with another monster?

No. She knew Sans. If she left things like this – especially if she apologized for proposing it – she'd be all but telling him that he was right to be angry with her, and he wouldn't have to face the possibility that he was unfairly pointing a lifetime of hatred in her direction. Not only would that gall her on a personal level, it'd unbalance him even further, maybe to the point where she couldn't reach him anymore. Nice, quiet moments were all well and good, but she had to be able to talk to him about difficult things, not just chess and stupid jokes!

Frisk pressed her lips together, burning with determination. She turned to face the boss monster, though they were so close that she had to tip her head back. "I don't know what else you expected, Sans," she said firmly. "As things are now, monsters have no future. Short of killing literally every human alive, the only way for you to live in peace is to live with us and make the best of it. You don't have to like it, but you do have to acknowledge reality. May I ask if you have any better ideas?"

His eye was starting to leak a fine red mist. "Mmm, I dunno about every human. We could start small, maybe a few hundred, work our way up."

That reminded her—partly out of curiosity and partly to distract him, she asked, "After you were imprisoned, did you stay put for all that time because you were waiting to kill whoever came to get you out?"

"Ding ding ding! Smart lady. Mostly." Sans suddenly reached down for her face. Frisk held steady as those huge, slightly pointed phalanges brushed her temple. "I did wanna get more information before I busted out, maybe identify who all had magic so I could kill 'em later." Something rustled her hair as Sans removed one of the golden flowers still tucked behind her ear, lifting it all the way back up to his eye level. "But I mostly wanted ta see exactly what kinda person thought they could box me up like yer little dumbshit boyfriend 'n his stupid-ass birds." A giant, horrible grin. The flower evaporated in a cloud of fine ash. "Then I was gonna snap their arms 'n legs an' wring their head off, nice 'n slow."

Frisk dug her nails into the ball of her thumb, controlling her own anger and, yes, fear. She had to stay calm and think very, very carefully about what she did next. She'd been trained in mediation—what was it Sister Maribelle had said? "Pay attention to little asides or silly demands that they refuse to concede. There you'll often find the real heart of the matter."

All right. She had anticipated some resistance to her proposition, but nothing this violent. Yes, he hated humans, and she hadn't touched that nerve so much as sucker-punched it. But why had he mentioned Luke like that, and why did he sound so bitter? Was he that offended at her comparing monsters to captive birds? Or...

...Good Lord. He couldn't be...jealous, could he? There was no way—but even if he was, why bring it up now? This argument had nothing to do with—

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to that moment in the hallway. She'd needed comfort so badly, and with someone she trusted right at hand, she'd been selfish enough to take it. Her body tingled at the memory of his hand resting on her back as she clung to him, and...

She still didn't understand what had happened to her heart. It didn't seem the kind of poetic, butterflies-in-the-stomach attraction she'd read about; this was literal attraction, keeping her against him for as long as possible. It'd felt absolutely wonderful, but a little frightening, like her – what did the monsters call it? – like her SOUL was literally stuck to him, and would tear loose from her chest if she tried to pull away. Was that normal? Maybe it was why so many romantic songs and poems mentioned a moment lasting forever...

Frisk shook herself. He'd been very patient with her hugging him, and pushed her away as lightly as usual, but she couldn't ask that of him again. There was no point speculating exactly how else he'd felt about it, or imagining anything more.

But there was a point in speculating about how Sans felt now. He'd had to get up early to sit around with someone who was clearly interested in her and who she hadn't done much to discourage—probably a bit annoying, but not problematic until she went and threw herself into his arms just a few hours later. It had probably come off as mixed signals at best, and leading him on or using him at worst. She could only suppose that it was still bothering him on some level, and then she'd brought it up amidst the stress of talking about monsters and slavery...

Well, Frisk wasn't going to give him a free pass to say or do whatever he wanted, but she wasn't nearly as angry anymore. "I won't apologize for having a workable plan towards peace, but I am sorry for likening you to birds," she said, keeping her voice quiet enough that he had to focus to hear it. "Lord Owen was a poor example, too. I don't even know if I'd like to see him again," she added.

Sans' aura receded ever so slightly, his brow creasing. "Why's that?" he rumbled, adding too late, "Not like I care. We're gettin' off topic."

Frisk was a little surprised herself. She let Sans see her hesitation as she thought out loud. "It's...tiny things. He's so perfect on paper, but..."

"But what?" snapped the skeleton.

"He didn't say 'Please' to the maid. No one in his family ever does," Frisk remarked. "They're not at all cruel to their servants, or even rude, necessarily. They just—and another thing. When he was moving my hand for Ruby to perch on, he was too rough. He scratched me a little when he took my bracelet off, which reminds me that I left it there. Wonderful." Despite herself, Frisk closed her eyes. Through the adrenaline of fighting with a volatile boss monster, she could feel exhaustion hovering on the periphery, clouding her judgment and keeping the words flowing: "You're almost twice his size, and you never manhandle me like that. He'd be more considerate if I asked him to, but I don't like his presumption. Did you notice how he smacks his lips when he eats? And unless he's changed completely in less than a year, his sense of humor is boring." She cracked one eye open, suppressing a yawn. "I know I'm being spoiled and ridiculous, but I can't help it. He's rich, he's very kind, and his whole family would welcome me with open arms. I've dreamed of having a family my whole life! But, still, he just seems...adequate. Am I wrong for wanting more than that?"

Sans tilted his head at her. His eye was still pulsing red, but he was clearly thinking something over; she didn't know whether to be hopeful or put up a preemptive barrier.

A long moment later, with an even more visible effort, he pulled the scarlet haze almost all the way back into his bones. "I got an idea, too," he said roughly. "You an' me ain't gonna talk about this 'partner' crap any more, 'cause there's no point. But you tell yer King what ya just told me, if ya haven't already. Get the plans squared away for convertin' all yer shit to run on good ol' Mother Nature, not from breakin' anyone's ribs an' tearin' their SOUL out." His eye dimmed. "I'll take ya back to the Underground with me an' get you in ta see Asgore. Then you can ask him what he thinks about it."

Frisk felt the blood drain from her face. "You...you want me to go to the Underground and speak with your King?"

He nodded shortly. "I won't lie t'ya, Frisk. I fuckin' hate yer plan. I'd never go along with it. But maybe he would, and he's the one in charge." The skeleton snorted. "And nah, I don't have any better ideas. Just...come back with me."

The thought of going to the Underground, and the way he said it—something in her chest unclenched, and just as swiftly squeezed itself back into a knot. Suddenly, all the exhaustion, tension, and frustration she'd been holding back threatened to boil over, and to her embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears.

The red vanished, all of it. "Frisk?" Sans leaned over her, orange pinpricks reappearing in his sockets. "C'mon, kid, don't do this again!"

"What if—" She had to stop and swallow a few times. "What if I'm tired, and you've just made my life a lot more complicated, and I need to 'do this again'?"

"Oh, I'm the complicated one?" Sans looked ready to launch into another tirade, but Frisk sniffled and rubbed her eyes, and the skeleton covered with his face with his hand instead. "O-kay. Ya know what I think? I think we both need a traditional All Souls nap. Sleepin's a good way ta honor dead people, right? It's all they do."

That startled a laugh out of her. "I'd argue if I could." She scrubbed her eyes again. "I need to think about this. It'd be quite an undertaking, but...who knows? I've already made you an emissary against your will. Maybe I can return the favor."

Sans perked up so much that she wondered if he was being sarcastic. But no, he just answered, "Sure, take all the time ya need. I'm still stayin' another, what, twenty days? That's forever." More somberly, he picked a golden flower from behind her other ear. "You'd be way better at it 'n me. King Asgore's not the same nice guy he used ta be, but I think he'd listen to ya. Either way, me 'n Tori would keep you safe," he said quietly.

Dirt. Frisk scratched her cheek where the petals had brushed it, wondering for the hundredth time how someone so big could move with that kind of gentle dexterity. She couldn't handle this right now. "I don't know," she tried to say, but her voice cracked.

The skeleton looked a little panicked. He glanced at the tabletop, guiltily moving a plate to cover the dent he'd made. "Nap time," he muttered.

Frisk nodded. Without another word, she rose and went into the office, and shut the door. She slid down against it to the floor, and tried not to burst into tears, or look at the couch, or think of the rosewood box hidden beneath the floorboards. But how could she not when he had flat-out asked her to go back with him?

That damned box. "For you to reclaim, or not," the Mother Superior had said the day Frisk left the convent.

Why had the old woman given it back to her? Why hadn't they thrown it away?

Why hadn't Frisk thrown it away?

What would happen if she just had Sans smash it? Would the orb evaporate, or would everything hit her at once? The thought was terrifying. She knew all too well that the women who ran the convent were neither sentimental nor faint-hearted; she couldn't imagine the state she must've been in for them to take that much. It had to have been literal life or death.

Frisk shook her head, giving one last sniff. Sans was right. She did need a nap. But when she thought of staying in here alone on the couch again, more tears started leaking out until she wanted to howl like a small child—again, the way she probably had when they first brought her to St. Brigid's.

This wouldn't do. The priestess wiped her eyes on her threadbare skirt and got to her feet. She didn't care if she woke Sans, he could always—

When she opened the door, she was met with a gigantic ribcage and a huge hand curled up in her face, ready to knock. Frisk leapt back with a little squeak. "Don't do that!" she cried.

Sans had also jumped back. "What the crap?! Ya scared me half t'death!"

They glared at each other for a moment. Then Frisk's mouth twitched, and Sans tried to scowl, but snickered, and soon they were both laughing helplessly, leaning against the doorframe and the worktable, respectively. "Okay, okay," the boss monster managed. "If ya really hafta have another slumber party, c'mon."

Frisk giggled again, wiping her now-raw eyes. "Is that what you were doing? Inviting me back over?"

"Well..." The skeleton headed towards the bedroom, scratching the back of his skull. "I can't do my job when yer in another room, am I?" He opened the door wider for her. "'Sides, Pap's not here, an' I can't fall asleep unless I've been buggin' someone."

The priestess gave him a watery smile. "I missed you, too."

Sans turned an interesting shade, and muttered a general denial of missing anybody, which she ignored. "Hey, hold on a sec," he said as Frisk retrieved a large quilt and climbed into bed. "Where's yer fort?"

She stole the single pillow and plunked it down on the far side of the mattress. "It's a pretend fort." The young woman lay down facing him and shook out the quilt, draping it over herself and scrunching the corners into a sort of burrow. "There. I can't see you, and you can't see me," she said through the top, and yawned. "Come on. Don't make me put you to sleep."

Sans' mouth opened and closed a few times. "What, ya mean—"

"I mean that I'm tired, and so are you, so get into bed and be quiet. That's how naps work."

"But—"

"Sans."

The skeleton didn't bother arguing further. He stood for a moment, and turned to leave. He stopped. He shook his head, and reached for the doorknob.

A movement from deep within the quilt was his only warning before the now-familiar vibrations swept through him and his hand drooped, hanging limp at his side. She was cheating: her humming was too muffled to hear if he went any further out of the room. Telling himself this was against his will, Sans shut and locked the bedroom door, went back to the bed, and stretched out in his usual spot, letting his eyes close and his SOUL soften as the sound lapped at him.

It was so nice to be safe with someone besides Papyrus, especially in a room big enough for him. He knew better than to be this happy with a human, and yet the thought of her really, actually coming home with him made him want to...he didn't know what, because he was out of practice at happiness. Smile, maybe? No, it was a deeper-down feeling than that. Grabbing her was out of the question. Sans tried to think of something else happy people were supposed to do, only to find that he couldn't move past the grabby option.

What did come to him was that quiet image of Kris holding his hand and beaming up at him. Yep, it still hurt. Hadn't he learned his lesson? He and Papyrus – all the monsters – had loved their little human buddy, and then he was gone, taking a tiny chunk of their SOULs with him.

It's not gonna happen this time, the boss monster argued with himself. We couldn't have stopped those assholes from taking Kris away 'cause he was a kid. She's the High damn Priestess, and if she wants to be Underground, we just have to tell the Kings to go to hell, and no one else can tell her what to do. She won't have to leave, and she doesn't have to marry that scratchy little prick!

The humming paused as Frisk pulled back the quilt to check if he was asleep. Sans grunted to let her know to keep going.

A patient sigh; the quilt came back up. "Sans?" she murmured.

"Hm?" The skeleton opened a citrine eye. "Wha?"

"Will you take me to the festival this evening? We can sleep until then, I promise."

"Hmm. D'I hafta put skin back on?"

"Yes, if you can. I don't want to make a scene. I just want to walk around, get some cider, and have my fortune told."

That made him open his other eye. "Fortune?"

"It's an All Souls tradition, a real one." Yawn. "There's a man, he charges too much, but everything he says..." Another yawn. "I have an important question. Don't want advice. Want to know what'll happen if I do or don't...something."

"Don't we all." Sans yawned, too. "Sure, we c'n go. Skin."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya want."

The humming resumed. As the world went fuzzy around the edges, Sans wondered idly what would happen if she did meet someone she liked. Couldn't he just kill the guy? If it happened a couple times in a row, word would get around, and she'd never have to marry anybody.

Yes. That was the perfect solution. Everything was perfect. Ignoring a little shiver of apprehension, Sans gave up thinking, and was asleep in moments.

[silver-lily-louise]

Souls are a Serious Business

She doesn’t have all of her memories back, not yet, but she’s still collecting little fragments every other day; the way light catches in a familiar stained glass window, or the thwack of a bō, or the burn of a particular rune triggering a sudden recollection. But she’s gained something different today, a security that slots into place as some fear inside her is soothed – because now, she’s tied to the Shadow World in a way she wasn’t before.

In which Clary and Izzy become parabatai. 

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

‘…If aught but death part thee and me,’ Izzy says, her voice strong and clear, her stance tall and proud. ‘If aught but death part thee and me,’ Clary repeats, a little breathless under the weight of commitment, because this is it.

With the final lines spoken, the bond shimmers fully into place, and Brother Zachariah smiles. ‘Isabelle Sophia Lightwood, and Clarissa Adele Fairchild. You are now parabatai. May the Angel watch over you and all those you protect.’

The room erupts into respectful applause (and one whooping cheer that Clary recognises as Simon), and Izzy’s professional composure breaks, her face splitting into a beaming smile as she squeezes the hand still linked with Clary’s own. ‘We did it,’ she says.

Clary laughs, pulling her new parabatai into a quick hug, a little giddy with the sudden doubling of her own happiness, her ribs feeling fuller for the second heartbeat she recognises beneath them now. ‘We did,’ she agrees. Not for the first time, her stomach twists in a strange sort of nostalgia and comfort – because she’s back. She doesn’t have all of her memories back, not yet, but she’s still collecting little fragments every other day; the way light catches in a familiar stained glass window, or the thwack of a bō, or the burn of a particular rune triggering a sudden recollection. But she’s gained something different today, a security that slots into place as some fear inside her is soothed – because now, she’s tied to the Shadow World in a way she wasn’t before. This bond is pretty much a magical guarantee of what Isabelle’s been telling her ever since her memories started to return, and brought with them the fear of losing all of this yet again: If the angels want to take you away from us a second time, they’ll have to get through me first.

With the ceremony over, the congregation start to advance, offering congratulations and well-wishes – and there’s a lot of them, both from within the New York Institute and from certain delegations of the Clave. Izzy’s Head of the Institute, after all – her parabatai ceremony was always going to be something of a political spectacle.

But eventually, the more politically-motivated guests politely take their leave, and their family are the only ones remaining in the ceremonial hall.

Simon is first – vampire speed and all that – and he darts from one side to the other for a moment, seemingly not knowing who to approach first, before apparently coming to a compromise and just pulling both of them in for a hug at the same time. ‘Congrats, you two,’ he says, flashing Clary a bright smile before turning to Izzy and giving her a gentle peck on the lips. ‘See?’ Izzy says, still grinning. ‘Not freaky at all.’ Simon looks back at Clary, his jaw dropped and his eyebrows knitted indignantly together. ‘You told her I said that?’ he asks accusingly. Clary shrugs, stifling a laugh at the look of utter betrayal on Simon’s face. ‘I mean, she’s my parabatai and my boss, Si. There’s not a lot of room for secrets.’

‘I don’t suppose you teach classes on that philosophy, do you?’ Alec asks, slinging an arm around Izzy’s shoulder as he gives a pointed look at the space behind Clary. ‘Hey!’ The offended voice comes from over her shoulder, and she smiles, leaning back as a circle of arms appear around her. ‘I tell you stuff. Eventually.’ She feels herself being turned around, and then she’s face to face with her boyfriend, automatically stretching up onto her tiptoes as she loops her arms around his neck. ‘Congratulations,’ Jace murmurs, his brashness fading as it always does when they’re like this, gazing at each other and letting the rest of the world fall away. Clary’s chest floods with a familiar warmth, and she pulls him down into a kiss.

Several minutes later, Clary and Izzy have almost made the complete rounds of congratulatory family members. Izzy is, apparently, determined to hug each and every one of them. In the spirit of family unity, Clary tries to follow suit, and almost makes it – even managing to secure a one-armed half-embrace from Alec – but then her and Robert’s eyes meet, and they freeze for a moment, before mutually extending their hands instead. There’s awkward, and then there’s awkward, after all. Maybe they’ll cross that particular bridge when she and Jace get married someday.

In any case, the last person Clary gets to – after extricating herself from Luke’s too-tight bear-hug, which possibly cracks one of her ribs but also makes her laugh because it’s so like old times – is Magnus, who was previously engaged catching up with Brother Zachariah when she glanced over. Now, however, his attention rests fully on her, and he gives her a warm smile as she steps into his arms briefly. ‘Well, Biscuit, how does it feel?’ ‘Good,’ she says honestly, returning his smile as she steps back, snaking her left arm around Jace’s waist again. ‘I’m glad we went through with it. Thanks for your advice.’ Magnus waves a hand dismissively. ‘It was nothing.’ He glances down at the spot just above her left hip, where the combo of low-rise pants and crop top leaves the new rune proudly exposed. ‘Left hip again,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘Is it always placed there, then?’ Clary frowns, unsure of the answer – but at that moment Alec appears again, looming out of the crowd on the right and coming to stand beside his husband. ‘Not always,’ he says, gesturing at the rune, ‘but it’s a pretty common placement. It’s fairly accessible, and easily displayed, which has some ceremonial importance because of the nature of the bond. But it’s not as high-priority to reach and reactivate as things like strength or iratze.’

‘…Okay, starting to feel like I should have done some research before today,’ Clary says sheepishly. ‘This could have gone pretty badly, apparently.’ Alec shrugs, but he smiles a little, too. ‘Izzy had you covered, she knows all this stuff. You wouldn’t have ended up with it somewhere ridiculous, like your shoulder blade.’ Despite his airy tone, the comment sounds pointed to Clary’s ears – and a second later, she’s proved right as Jace sighs. ‘More than a decade ago, Alec,’ he says wearily. ‘Let it go.’ Alec raises an eyebrow in a way that suggests he is very much not going to do that, and Clary grins.

‘Well, regardless,’ Magnus says, as Izzy and Simon appear from the left and join their little circle of conversation. ‘It’s… an apt placement.’ His eyes seem to spark a little, and Clary narrows her own in suspicion. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Oh, nothing,’ Magnus says nonchalantly, even having the gall to throw a wink in her direction. ‘You’ll have to forgive an old man his little jokes. It’s not important.’

Clary frowns – but she hums in a grudging semi-agreement, preparing to let it go and change the subject. She’s interrupted, however, by Simon’s sudden laughter. ‘Oh my god,’ he says, and he looks practically gleeful. ‘He means that you’re joined at the hip.’

It takes half a moment to sink in – and then all three siblings seem to react at once. Alec rolls his eyes (though it’s Magnus, so he smiles too, of course), Izzy honest-to-god giggles (apparently, dating Simon is increasing her tolerance for stupid jokes), and Jace groans loudly (‘Come on, seriously?’). Magnus, for his part, shrugs – and then subtly offers Simon a low-five, which is quickly and eagerly accepted.

Clary, meanwhile, just smiles, looking around at her re-found family. These are some of the biggest players in the Shadow World, unbelievably powerful in terms of both magic and politics.

They’re also a bunch of idiots, and she is so, so lucky to have them back.

~oOo~

[thecandywrites]

As Long As You Want To Be

Look, my grandfather (in law, he was my husband’s grandfather but might as well have been mine because that’s how close we were) passed away yesterday. He had dementia and alzheimers and we saw this coming (he has been on his deathbed for a week but the son of a gun was stubborn, god I adored him and am going to miss him) and this is how I have dealt with this on top of everything else hectically happening in my life and this is simply my outlet. But with modern orcs because no one can stop me at this point. Is there homework and big projects due that I should be working on instead? HELL YES. But am I avoiding them because they’re making me face reality? YOU BET. So let me have my emotional support fantasy, if you have happened to read part 1 and part 2 of this story then it’ll be nice to see these guys again and see how things have progressed. 

As Long As You Want To Be

You were in your room in front of your mirrored closet doors, getting ready for today, it was your birthday and it was the big 18- legally an adult and you couldn’t be more relieved it was finally here because you had big plans that the only thing that had been holding you back was your age and you felt a sense of renewal today, like today was a turning point and you had been trying to get your ducks in a row behind the scenes so that when the time came, you could hit the ground running. And today was also your graduation party, all rolled into one huge blow out of a party. 

You curled your long golden brown that ombre-ed into a warm golden blonde hair as you had gotten it colored yesterday, a gift from your aunt Sally at your favorite salon. You had just gotten back from spending an hour at Sephora getting your makeup done, a birthday gift from your sister Grace as she gave your littlest sisters just a light dusting of a shimmering nude eyeshadow so that they felt extra pretty for today too. 

Your mom and your “aunties” got things ready in the kitchen because while you came from a big family, your family “adopted” many others so that you had an even bigger extended family. And they all came out today to show their support and your gift tables were already showing signs of overflowing since half the party came early to help set up for the party and your one gift table soon had to be two and was threatening to turn into three because your parents invited everyone you knew and everyone they knew and everyone came and invited their friends. And while you lived in a sizable suburban house that your parents had had custom built several years ago, it felt overstuffed at the moment and there were still more coming. But with it being a potluck, there was an overabundance of food on the many tables in the huge tents in the backyard. 

You had three younger sisters and one younger brother, who was in the middle of all the girls. You were Brianna Richelle, then there was Blossom Grace who simply went by Grace who was turning 16 next month, then your brother Gavin George- who was 13, Adeline Olivia who was 11 and then the baby, Arianna Lillian who was 8 as Ady and Ari had a few of their friends over as did Grace while you had had all of yours come and spend the night with you the night before while Gavin also got to have some of his friends over, so it was already a very full house. 

And you had especially invited Kihro’s younger sister over to hang out too. Since Kihro’s younger sister Shesly who was only 15 and shy but she was a sweetheart and even if Kihro and you would break up tomorrow, you and Shesly would stay friends and to see her with your friends who were helping her put on makeup and curl her hair and dress up and be one of the girls warmed your heart and your other orc girl friends from the other school districts also were here among your halfling friends and elven friends too and it made you so happy that they weren’t all grouped off, instead everyone was peacefully chatty and mixed. 

Gavin was of course in his room playing video games with his friends, also brothers of your friends while your dad and your uncle were inside cutting up whole beef loins to make steaks and your mom was having your cake delivered as your friends hung out and gossiped in your room and you didn’t bother paying attention when you heard grunting outside your bedroom window as Kihro and his friends carried a big package around the house, under your window and you didn’t hear Kihro direct them and you definitely didn’t hear how he then came inside just as your dad left the house out the back door before Kihro asked where your dad was before he went through the house, said hi to your mom and gave her a quick hug before he went into the back yard where he found your dad firing up the grill and pulled your dad aside and talk with him privately away from everyone else as Kihro’s friends made themselves useful to help carry out the heavier dishes from the kitchen before they helped themselves to the snacks that were being set out before your cake arrived. 

Your parents had gone all out for this party. Mostly because they almost lost you last year to your illness because you had spent your 17th birthday in the hospital barely hanging on by a thread and your parents felt they owed you a proper blow out this year and when you had mentioned a few things you had wanted- neither of them would tell you no. Your invitations for this party had been on par with many of the nicer wedding invitations and the DJ had set up in the garage and hung up a disco ball, laser lights and black lights and smoke machines and all kinds of stuff. 

Your parents even had ordered a tiered cake and hundreds of cupcakes from your favorite bakery- Boonzaaijer’s- in your favorite flavors that had been custom created for you in addition to a baker’s dozen cheesecakes from the Cheesecake Factory and a chocolate fountain with the works. The cake itself was gorgeous. The top tier was a lemon creme cake with limoncello and sugared lemon zest in the cake batter, with ripe strawberries soaked in super sweet pink moscato in the middle layer between the two cakes with a strawberry puree and the frosting was a twist on strawberry lemonade and the cupcakes in this flavor had the moscato soaked strawberries in the puree in the middle and chocolate dipped strawberries gracing the top of the frosting on top. The second tier was white chocolate cake with luscious whole raspberries in a raspberry puree in the middle layer made with raspberry peach Grand Marinier and the frosting was a ruby chocolate frosting and the cupcakes for this flavor had chocolate cups stuffed full and piled high with perfectly ripe raspberries drizzled in a glaze made out of simple syrup and that raspberry peach Grand Marinier. The third layer was a twist on pineapple upside down cake, it was still a pineapple upside down cake but with peaches and soaked in a trio of rums and peach schnapps and the cupcakes for these were little cupcake versions of a pineapple upside down cake with peaches cooked in the rums in the middle. The fourth tier was a “mudslide” chocolate cake that not only had Kahlua and Godiva and Baileys in the cake but also in the frosting. It was hands down the most decadent cake you had ever witnessed in your life and Kihro and yourself were pretty sure your wedding cake was going to be exactly like this. (If he ever proposed that is, but first he needed to get a damn place of his own because your father forbade any engagement if he didn’t have a home to bring you to that was not his parents house or your parents house, much like his rule that you couldn’t go out on any dates in a car that wasn’t mechanically sound and completely paid for which wasn’t a problem because Kihro’s truck had been bought used and he had paid cash for it so it was a “hoop” that Kihro easily jumped through and one that all your dad’s siblings and friends thought was genius to implement much to the chargrin of your cousins and friends.)

Your father had also had the same BBQ joint that he used to cater the employee picnics bring in a few roasted pigs and tons of ribs and brisket too while one of your uncles- Gary- fried up a ton of chicken wings while your other uncle- Larry- who was a butcher- had gotten several whole beef loins at his cost and “gifted” those to the party and your dad and your uncle were grilling those themselves as your uncle Larry manned the grill but kept an ear open to try to overhear what Kihro was talking to your dad about in the backyard away from everyone but judging from your dad’s posture and his beaming proud smile as he looked at things on Kihro’s phone and listened attentively as Kihro was talking and gesturing with his hands, it was obviously going well and when the two hugged each other, he knew something was going on but kept that to himself as your other uncles and aunts and cousins came over as the men started to congregate around the grill and BBQ pits before a few curious ones decided to see what your dad and Kihro were talking about but Kihro quickly put his phone away as the others came over as your dad simply dismissed it as it was a “work thing”. 

Just then the kegs got delivered. While you weren’t wild about beer, you asked for Kihro’s favorites so that he and the other adults would enjoy them as your father and all your uncles, both by blood and by “adoption” cracked into them, grunting growls- Home Improvement style echoing between all of them as they gleefully drank it down as the pit master let them have little bites of the roasting hogs and some ribs as they got the wings from the deep fryer as beers were drawn for everyone, even the DJ made an appearance to grab a beer and some wings and a few ribs as the Pit master and his crew gratefully took a few steins of beers themselves from the portable BBQ pits parked infront of the garage. 

“So how are things between you and Brie?” Your uncle Gary asked as Kihro took a wing from the pile. 

“Great.” Kihro answered as he slathered on Gary’s homemade hot sauce onto the wing as Gary looked from Kihro to your father as your father gave him a smile and a nod and that seemed to be enough for Gary. 

“Have you found a place of your own yet?” Your uncle Larry chimed in from his spot by the grill nearby as he gave Kihro a speculative glance before he gave your dad a curious look. 

“Possibly, just have to run the potential places by Brie to see what she thinks.” Kihro answered as he barely managed to keep the truth to himself by putting the wing in his mouth. 

“Great answer.” Your father praised as he pat Kihro on the back as the rest of your uncles looked at each other curiously knowing that you were one of his favorite daughters and your father was never more protective of any of his kids than he was of you so for your dad to be so pleasant, let alone approving of your boyfriend, was a good sign that Kihro was a good and trustworthy guy. 

“Well if you know of any good places, feel free to share with Max, I need to get him out of the damn house.” Your other uncle Robert instigated as Max just frowned at his dad as Kihro fought not to snort a laugh because the hot sauce up the nose was a bad idea. 

“Same could be said about you Casey.” Carl added as Casey rolled his eyes as he sucked down chicken wings himself. 

Truth be told, your father and all your uncles and your father’s friends were so proud to see Kihro try so hard and jump through so many hoops to court you properly and it gave them inspiration to push their own sons to match the same bar Kihro was making as well as urge their own daughter’s to expect more from their own significant others. 

Then Kidron and Rhiox showed up with the rest of their kids along with the rest of your father’s OG’s, having dropped off their own gifts on the tables as Kidron made a B-Line for your dad and the hot wings as Kihro’s friends finally rallied around Kihro and the wings in the backyard before your friend Tysh noticed her own crush among Kihro’s friends from her spot overseeing the backyard. 

“Oh, Kihro and his friends are here.” She announced before you nearly yanked your hair out trying to get the damn curling iron out of your hair before Melody made you sit back down so she could finish the back of your head. 

“Oh you can wait five more minutes, I have three curls left.” She reminded you. 

“What do you think Kihro got you?” Tysh asked. 

“An apartment for himself would be ideal. Because the only two things keeping me from actually being engaged to him were I was 1. Underage, which starting today- I no longer am and 2. Him having a home to bring me to if we did get engaged and then married.” You answered. 

“He’s had six months, why hasn’t he gotten one yet?” Sasha asked. 

“He can’t find a place he likes. He nitpicks every place. ‘Not a safe area’, ‘it’s too small’, ‘it’s too expensive’, ‘no garage to park the work truck’, ‘the apartment has issues’. You name it. There was even one apartment, it was a freaking duplex and it was perfect but no- he had a really bad feeling about the guy we would be renting from. Which actually worked out because two months later- the house itself sold and the current tenants were kicked out into the street without warning and their deposit was never returned to them. So there’s that.” You explained with a heavy sigh. 

“Borug just got a condo.” Korryn bragged from her spot on the other side of the room, taking snaps on her phone to send them to her current squeeze- Borug which you were sure once his money ran out, she’d be dropping him like a hot rock. Korryn was Grace’s friend and she was a year older than Grace but a year younger than you and Korryn wanted to be close to the center of attention wherever she went and for Grace’s sake, you put up with her at your party. Because honestly- you couldn’t stand her. But you supposed you could be gracious on your birthday. 

“I thought Borug didn’t have any money left after getting his car.” You questioned innocently, knowing Borug had to beg for a downpayment on his favorite car and a raise from his dad so he could afford the payments because he didn’t have the money saved because he had blown it in Vegas the month before clubbing with Korryn who had invited herself to some tech expo his dad’s company was attending and if you were a betting woman, Borug also got his parents to buy him a condo too because the shame of having a peer, that peer being Kihro, be farther in life than him- was too much for Borug to bear. 

Borug was very competitive and had a huge chip on his shoulder and was incredibly entitiled and an ego that you were positive your house was too small to contain it. But he hadn’t always been like that, as a kid he was awkward just like you. And in the classes that you didn’t share with Kihro, you had shared with Borug. He was also quite popular in school, part of the preppy jock group because he played sports too. But he was always nice and friendly to you at least. 

Borug was the eldest son of a man who owned one of the biggest tech companies in the Great Lakes and was always at the home shows for their tech and home security systems and his dad was part of the Business Owners Association, which your dad was also a part of and you had grown up seeing him a lot at the home shows and Association meetings that you had made snacks for that he helped you with when you were younger but once he was ‘old enough’ to be in the meetings himself with his dad, that stopped. 

Almost immediately after Kihro asked you out, Borug asked Korryn out, Korryn had a huge bosom, like each boob was the size of a basketball kind of big bosomed and she had a belly which for orcs, they usually loved fuller figured women so that wasn’t surprising but she had no ass and a richer yet smaller family who lived on Laken Lake which was a lake known for its lavish lake houses, speed boats and water sports while your family lived off of one of the Trinity Lakes that all connected together to form a three lobed lake, which were better for fishing and your family were avid fishers, a pastime you and Kihro enjoyed a lot together. Especially when he would help clean the catch and had a way of frying the fish that was amazing. 

However, something that you didn’t know was once Kihro had asked you out, he literally passed Borug who was also on his way to ask you out, he had even strutted accross the lunchroom but neither you or Kihro had noticed. When Borug had been passed by Kihro and saw Kihro sit at your table, he sat down at the next table over and eavesdropped and once Kihro asked you out to the dance and you accepted and especially once you kissed Kihro, he knew he didn’t stand a chance right then and so he had asked Korryn out to the dance after school since she had a different lunch time. 

It was only supposed to be until Kihro crashed and burned and Borug was supposed to come in and scoop you up and save the day and she was, according to a mutual friend, was just a right now girl. But Korryn hadn’t been happy with that and had insisted that they be an item since Borug’s plan was to treat Korryn the way he wanted to treat you, which ended up being an invitation to a super fancy restaurant that he was sure Kihro would have a hard time paying for and of course lavish Korryn with a gown and the “star treatment” which she had no problems taking absolute advantage of. But the problem was- was you had gotten another flair and hadn’t gone to the fall formal because you were in the hospital so you didn’t witness any of that except through Korryn’s social network feed on Grace’s phone because you weren’t friends with her on any social media which you could care less about. 

And of course by winter formal Korryn’s claws and hooks were fully embedded into Borug as she pushed them to be this picture perfect couple and Borug could only wait until Kihro would fail to jump through a hoop but every one Kihro jumped through with ease and to see you and Kihro be together so naturally and effortlessly and especially so happily, made his gut sour because while him and Korryn looked great on camera, the moments between the camera flashes were awful. Between her difficult and demanding personality, emotional immaturity, nonexistent life skills and zero work ethic coupled with piss poor money management along with her inability to compromise because she had been catered to by her parents and her other friends her whole life- the relationship was incredibly strained. He was stuck with a girl who pushed him to spend all his money on a “lifestyle” and expensive lavish gifts on her and it was something he couldn’t hope to support long term. And the barely mediocre sex he got from her wasn’t worth it but with her being the popular girl, no other girl would go near him for fear of Korryn’s retaliation socially. He literally got a big pair of tits. That was the only positive in that relationship for him. And Korryn was constantly spewing his personal business and every argument he ever got into with her, she told EVERYONE so that she could get “everyone” on her side. 

Meanwhile you had taken her behavior as notes about how not to act as Kihro was eternally grateful for it and every time Borug would complain to their mutual friends, Kihro would simply sit back and smirk that at least his girl didn’t do that shit and if anything, it gave Kihro the assurance that he had made the right decision by asking you out and doing everything in his power to keep you happy and content, if not sated the best ways he could, basically through his mouth and his hands because regular sex wasn’t allowed. Yet anyway. 

While you were open to a degree to your parents about the relationship because you had witnessed how your friends had kept some dangerous secrets from their parents and how that had not ended well at all, so much so that you kept your parents in the loop and were honest with them, so much so that they trusted you more and gave you freedoms that your friends couldn’t even dream of, freedoms that you wisely did not abuse. 

At the same time, you were also very discrete to everyone else- so that on the rare occasion where you two argued, he made sure to never escalate anything so that the two of you could talk it out and come to either an agreement or a compromise and no one ever heard anything about it, to the point that no one knew you had the disagreement in the first place except or your parents when you had simply mentioned it after the fact which impressed your parents and his. You urged him to stick to his budget and not splurge on anything but that if he needed to buy anything, to invest in quality and only buy something once and were just in general, a sweet, supportive girlfriend while he did his best to be as helpful, supportive, gentle and affectionate as he could be. You two got along like you had been together for years and asking you to a dance and dating you had been the best decision of Kihro’s life as well as yours. He had already spent his fair share of sleepless nights in the ER with you because it was important to him and to your parents to really see you at your worst physically and you wanted him to go into a relationship with you with his own eyes wide open.  

By now though, he had gotten you over a dozen beads that you were sure would pull your hair out if you tried wearing them all at the same time but instead you got them on a necklace that you never took off and that you guarded with your life, except for the gold promise ring/ engagement bead, that never left your hair. 

Once your hair was done you practically bolted out of your room to go downstairs to see Kihro, leaving your friends laughing as they followed you downstairs as they watched you having to hug your way through everyone who wanted to wish you a happy birthday and congratulations before you finally managed to get outside before you were swarmed by all your uncles and cousins before you finally got to your dad then Kihro before you glued yourself to his side. 

“So? How’s the beer?” You asked Kihro giddily. Hoping that he got to get his favorite at least. 

“Delicious.” Kihro praised as he offered you the cup to sip it, which you did, a tiny one. It was dark and intense but for the beer connoisseurs, very good because it was a Dragon’s Milk in a seasonal marshmallow and dark chocolate flavor. 

“It’s definitely beer.” You giggled as you handed it back and shuddered before you comically looked down your shirt. 

“Ok, so it isn’t replacing my boobs with chest hair immediately, that’s good.” You teased which got everyone to bust out laughing as Kihro nearly spit out his beer laughing himself. 

“Would you still love me with chest hair Babe?” You teased Kihro who comically grimaced. 

“Sure.” Kihro sarcastically agreed as he pretended to dodge the question and drink more beer which made you laugh as you noticed Tysh give her crush Akhi a beer and judging by the hopeful smile she gave him, she was trying to catch his eye, and judging by the way he bashfully took it from her, he liked her too but you knew Akhi was more shy than Kihro ever was and Tysh was one of your prettier friends before you noticed Korryn zero in on Borug and practically plastered herself on him and kissed him, which was a sloppy open mouthed kiss and you noticed how Borug actually sagged his shoulders in defeat and winced at being yanked down to her level as she pulled his hands to hold her before you looked back at Kihro and lowkey pretended to gag as Kihro watched Borug with amused pity before he turned to you and nearly spit out his beer again snickering a laugh at your reaction like it was the greatest inside joke as he rubbed soothing circles into your back and was grateful your arm was looped around his lower back before he sweetly kissed the crown of your head which made your dad grin at your discrete PDA as Borug’s dad gave Korryn the side eye because he didn’t approve of Korryn at all. He knew a gold digger when he saw one and felt his son could do so much better and was almost to the point of bribing his son to dump her for good because the two fought almost all the time. 

“So how’s massage school?” Borug’s dad Draig asked you. 

“Going great. Getting A’s.” You beamed. 

“Getting proposed to every time she’s in the clinic.” Your dad revealed. 

“Oh really?” Draig blinked but grinned. 

“They’re not serious proposals, they’re all joking.” You clarified.

“But you have to be pretty good if they’re offering, all joking aside.” Draig countered. 

 “Ok so I’m known as Big Touch. Because I have little hands but a big touch because I’m heavy handed and they expect the other orc girls who are strong enough to deliver that kind of touch but so far they’re softer handed than I am. So when the clients ask for deep tissue and firm pressure, they expect one of the other girls to come out to meet them and when they see me they always laugh, not believing I’m Big Touch. But about five minutes into the session they find out real quick I’m the real deal, and about 10 minutes in they drop the “tough guy act” and ask me to ease up and by the end of the session they’re believers and try to get rebooked with me. And as it stands I’m booked out until August and I should have all my clinic hours in by then.” You explained. 

“And he’s cool with you working on other guys?” Draig questioned you with a look at Kihro who simply grinned proudly. 

“Yeah, of course, because she’s a professional and if they can’t respect her and the profession they have no business being her clients and she doesn’t need their business if they step out of line and she has no qualms about dismissing anyone. She already has five job offers and her clientele list that is following her from the clinic to wherever she decides to go is already several pages long. She doesn’t need my ego or my possessive jealousy holding her back from making bank because she can stand to make just as much as I do if not more which I don’t have any problem with at all. It would be like her being so jealous she won’t let me do my job when there’s only a married housewife at home without her husband right?” Kirho defended as your love for him was oozing out of every pore on your body as you beamed a bright happy and appreciative smile at Kihro while your dad, all your ungles and Kidron beamed happily themselves while Draig couldn’t argue with that while Borug outright pouted. Because while he wasn’t wild about Korryn, he totally was jealous of every guy who commented on her instagram pictures complimenting her massive cleavage but wanted to get into fights with everyone who called her “butterface” which you thought was hilarious. 

“So Korryn told me that you got a new condo is that right Borug?” You asked Borug, shifting the attention over to him as you looked from him to Draig who’s shoulders dropped. 

“Yup, it’s at The Glen. Just signed the papers yesterday.” Borug boasted. The Glen was a brand new condo complex that was about 20 minutes away and many of the young people who’s parent’s lived on Laken Lake were snatching up condos there like crazy. 

“So that means we need to go furniture shopping Baby.” Korryn cooed excitedly and you had never seen Borug force a smile so hard before. You actually felt sorry for him. But it wasn’t your business or a problem you should ever try to fix. You could only stand back and watch to see what happened and hoped that they both wouldn’t fight during your party. 

“And how much did that cost you?” Your dad murmured to Draig. 

“Too much.” Draig muttered back. 

“What about you Kihro? Haven’t you been apartment shopping for like half a year?” Borug jabbed. 

“I have, haven’t found the right place yet.” Kihro just shook his head no with a smug smirk because he overheard your dad from his spot. 

“Cause you’re too picky?” Korryn snidely instigated with a smile that you wanted to slap off her face. 

“Well being “picky” can be a good thing. Brie needs special accommodations because with her business, some of her clients are going to be using walkers and wheelchairs and they can’t do stairs and even if she works for another outfit, I’m sure she’ll still do her own thing on the side and I have to be mindful of that. Plus I need a place close to the hospital because of her health and I need a place to accommodate her pets and mine.” Kihro just started to list off as your mom came out to let everyone know that things were ready for the party to go into full swing. 

“Aww, well that’s because you’re so sweet and thoughtful Kihro.” Your mother praised which got a grateful smile from Kihro and you. 

“Party’s ready when you are Brie.” Your mother informed you. 

“Sweet, how are the hogs Mr. Terry?” You asked the pit master from his spot in front of the portable pits. 

“Been ready Sweetie.” He called back. 

“Well then lets do this.” You instigated before the party got into full swing and you pigged out on all the food and got to dance, Kihro never leaving your side for a moment before you were urged to open your gifts and of course you not only had your little sisters to help while Grace was your recorder and even had Kihro’s little siblings help you which Kihro loved and adored that you made an effort to include them and were sweet and nice to them. 

You got all kinds of massage tools and your aunts Sally and Marry, (married to Larry and Gary respectively) hand made you flaxseed pillows to use in your practice and had gone to the fabric store to pick out all this pure cotton fabric in all these patterns they knew you would like and together they got their sewing machines out and had sewn you over a dozen of them in all these different sizes and a few different styles and you nearly cried because you knew this was a labor of love. 

Your parents of course had gotten you your ideal massage table and a new car, which meant your current one got to be a hand me down to Grace as an early sweet 16 which she was thrilled with while Draig and his family had gotten you the best massage table on the market along with a damn tool box with all kinds of massage tools, the table itself was fully electric and had all kinds of extra bells and whistles and it made your jaw drop, it had taken Borug, Draig, Kihro and all of Kihro’s friends to carry it since it was very heavy. You got all kinds of gifts from everyone while your sisters and Kihro’s younger siblings had all gotten orders from Kihro and your parents to make sure you opened Kihro’s gifts last and when it came to the last few gifts, the first gift from Kihro was a small box and in the box was a coconut half. 

“What is that? Half a coconut bra?” Korryn sneered. 

“You would need four of those.” Borug laughed as he made to grab her boob but she shifted away so he couldn’t. “Tease.” Borug teased with his nose in her ear, making her shudder and turn back to him. 

But instead you looked at it and immediately knew what it was. 

“Oh no way, you didn’t.” You started laughing at Kihro who was sitting down front and center as you looked it over. 

“What is it?” Your mom asked. 

“It’s a coconut hide for a reptile mom.” You informed her. 

“Ew!” Korryn complained before you handed a second box. And once you took the paper off, it was a reptile shipping box which made you squeal in excitement before you got your pocket knife out and opened it as your brother Gavin was instantly much more interested as he scooted his chair really close to you. 

“Oh you got Gavin’s attention really fast.” Your dad laughed as you had Gavin sit right next to you. 

“What do you think it is?” You asked Gavin.  

“It better be either a snake or a gecko.” Gavin insisted because he thought reptiles were awesome and already had a bearded dragon himself and it was something he and Kihro’s younger brother Mohre bonded over. 

“Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods.” You started to chatter excitedly as you opened the box and found a few bags before you opened up the first bag and peeked inside. 

“It’s a snake!” Gavin cheered before you let him peek into the bag too. 

“What kind is it?” Gavin wondered before you pulled it out before you looked in the box to see the different snake cards. 

“That, is an ivory leopard?” You guessed at Kihro who nodded to confirm. 

“Sweet.” Gavin beamed.

“Aren’t you just gorgeous!” You cooed to the snake. 

“What else did he get you?” He asked as he eagerly. “I’ll hold that, you need two hands to open the others.” He insisted as he held out his hands to take it from you before you handed it over before you looked in the other bags. 

“Oooh, this must be the pastel super coral glow, hello sweetie.” You cooed as you got the snake out of the bag before you passed it over to Gavin who held the other snake in his hand before you got to the last one. 

“And this is a crystal ball!” You cheered when you got them out. 

“Thank you Babe, I love them. Now I just gotta get some tubs or something.” You realized before looking back over at the giant box left by the gift table before you looked at the smug grin on Kihro’s face. 

“You got me a rack system didn’t you.” You playfully accused Kihro before you wrapped the crystal ball around your neck to hang out as you opened up the box and found it was indeed a rack system. 

“Thank you so much Baby.” You cooed to him as you came over and kissed him, the crystal ball sticking it’s head out to sniff Kihro. 

“You’re welcome.” Kihro cooed back. 

“What are you gonna name them?” Your sister Ari asked as she got the super coral glow from Gavin. 

“I don’t know, I’ll take suggestions.” You answered before your sisters went to the office and got a pad of paper and decided to take a poll to what to call the snakes into a basket. 

“How about we go set this up so these precious babies can rest.” You urged Kihro before he and his friends got up and picked up the box and the other gifts and carried them up the stairs while everyone went back to party and you simply sat on the bed with your brother and your little sister, each of you holding a snake as you watched proudly as Kihro and his friends got to work setting up the rack system and getting everything ready and to you in that moment, Kihro couldn’t get any sexier. 

You knew he wasn’t perfect but the gods be damned you couldn’t see any flaws at this moment. Here he was sitting down on the floor, reading the manual and putting it together accordingly and a screw driver in his hand and he might as well have been naked with a dozen roses posing on a bed because you could feel the wetness squish between your legs. You wanted to fuck his brains out is what you wanted to do. But you had to admit that what you wanted more than snakes for your birthday was his own independence but it had not been the time or the place earlier to ask him about it. You waited patiently as Kihro put it together and all his friends made sure each tub was ready to go before you put the snakes away in their new homes. 

“Guys, could you give us a moment please?” You requested to his friends once they were done before everyone else left as the snakes settled into their new homes.  

“What’s wrong?” Kihro asked as he read your face and body language. 

“I don’t want to be ungrateful or anything. But I would have been happier if you had used all the money that you spent on all this getting an apartment.” You answered before you peeked up at him and saw him beam another proud smile at you. 

“Brie, why do you think I got a rack system capable of housing 12 to 40 snakes when you only have three and I only have three?” He questioned. 

“Because ball pythons can become an addictive hobby?” You guessed. 

“That’s true but, because I knew that if I got you this, it would give me a moment to privately give you these.” He said as he reached into his pocket and gave you two business cards. 

One was a bank manager’s business card with an appointment time written on it for Monday and the second was a realtor’s business card. 

“What?” You breathed as you looked at the two as you realized what the implications of these were. “Wait, are you getting preapproved for a home loan?” You asked as your heart started to race. 

“We are.” Kihro corrected. 

“We?” You repeated as a bright smile soon bloomed on your face before you squealed and leaped into his arms and was happy when he caught you and held you up so you could kiss him. 

“Why didn’t you give me these as my present?!” You asked. 

“I didn’t want to embarrass you, just in case, I know we both like to keep our private affairs private.” Kihro answered. 

“Well with the present company, that would probably be wise.” You laughed with a pointed look at Korryn’s things she had left in your room. “That was very kind and thoughtful of you. Thank you.” You thanked him. 

“And I don’t think the bank will approve it if you don’t have this.” He said as he carried you over to your chair and sat down with you still in his arms before he dug into his pocket and pulled out an engagement ring, a mermaid sapphire one and you were instantly crying tears of happiness as he put it on before he produced another gold bead for your hair, a larger one but the same style as the first as you sat there and happily waited for him to add it to the other in your hair. 

“How do I look?” You asked when he was finished as wiped at the streaking mascara under your eyes but your smile shamed the sun. 

“Beautiful.” He whispered before he framed your face and kissed you earnestly and you melted in his lap and returned the impassioned kiss. 

“Pack a bag, I’m taking you on a trip this weekend, after the party.” He urged. 

“What?” You laughed in surprise. 

“Before we actually tie the knot and get married, I want to make sure I can fit in my bride.” Kihro explained as he palmed your belly but reached under you to sensually rub at your center. 

“Uh, I don’t know if..” You began to counter as your cheeks flushed even though in that moment you didn’t want anything more. 

“Your dad already gave me the go ahead, no more chaperones, no more hoops, we can just be together and the only clause was that I didn’t knock you up, so as long as we can be safe about it, we don’t have to hold back anymore.” Kihro explained as you were ready start immediately. But instead you kissed him before you practically leaped off of him to grab a bag and started stuffing enough clothes to get you through the weekend and an outfit for the appointment on Monday, you wanted to look as professional and mature as possible. 

“Ok, let’s send everyone home, I’m ready to go.” You insisted which made him laugh. 

“Easy horndog. The night is still young, we have plenty of time, we’re not going that far.” He assured you.

“But I am going to put this in the truck.” He explained as he took his bag and you left your room with your hand still intertwined with his before your mother was already at the base of the stairs which prompted Kihro to leave your bag at the top of the stairs because he could sense you were about to be swarmed. 

“And?” She asked excitedly since your dad had clued her in before Kihro brought your intertwined hands up to show off the engagement ring before she squealed and as soon as the people around saw the ring, word spread like wildfire though the party and Korryn turned a few shades greener as she looked at your engagement ring before she looked expectantly at Borug as if he had been secretly keeping one for her in his pocket and you were too happy to recieve congratulations from everyone else to notice how Draig gave Borug a warning glare with a pointed look in Korryn’s direction but Kihro caught it as did everyone else apparently as your dad nearly died laughing but happily hugged you tight. 

“You sure it’s ok?” You whispered in his ear.

“Yup, as long as this is what you want, I’ll support you no matter what.” Your dad reassured you before he kissed your cheek affectionately. 

“Thank you, I love you so much Dad.” You told him before you let go and received all the other congratulations from everyone else and if you had thought the party was in full swing before, now it really was. You danced until you felt your feet were going to fall off, you ate until you were stuffed and drank until you were just a little tipsy but so happy and at peace. 

And once most of the party guests finally left, you left too with Kihro. Granted his truck wasn’t nearly as nice as Borug’s sports car. It was still all Kihro’s and you didn’t worry about a thing as you sat next to him and held his hand when he wasn’t shifting gears. You didn’t care where you were going, he could drive on for forever. He drove until he came to a beach house in South Haven which was only half an hour away. 

“What is this place?” You asked curiously as you got out of the truck and looked up at it. 

“An airbnb.” He beamed as he got your bags and his and entered the code on the door to be let in. He had actually spent his morning getting this place ready because he was hopeful that your dad would say yes and he had packed the fridge with enough food to get you through the weekend and your parents had packed you enough leftovers to also get you through too. 

“Home away from home for the weekend.” He said as he managed to pick you up and carry you over the threshold which cracked you up. 

“How in the world were you able to afford all of this?” You wondered as he put you down and the bags down on the other side.  

“Well actually Borug and I had the same amount in savings when we both asked out our girls and so far in the six months he’s dated Korryn, she’s bled him dry while my savings has done nothing but go up even though I’ve been beading you well and the snake thing was something I was going to do either way and since you love it as much as I do- I might as well make it a couple thing, something we can do and enjoy together. Plus even when your health is bad and you can’t physically manage to give massages, this can be a backup for us.” He explained. 

“And even if we don’t make any money with the snakes. They’re still pets to add to our menagerie because honestly, finding an apartment that checks all the boxes we need it to is slim. But a house- we’ll get much farther with a house and the market is pretty big and open right now.” He explained. “Besides if I had gotten an apartment right when we got together, I would be six months of rent poorer and while the house we could get won’t be as nice as a condo…” Kihro began. 

“Oh my gods, I can not begin to tell you how much I don’t want a condo just on the off chance that Borug and Korryn would feel entitled to come over since they’re “neighbors”. No, hell no.” You interrupted him which got him to bust out laughing. 

“Ok, we’re in agreement on that.” He beamed. 

“Let’s get something we can both manage but we can make it our own. It doesn’t have to be brand new, we don’t even have to get something custom, not now, not ever because we had enough headaches with our current house as it is. It would be nice to get something just semi nice- functional, something that we don’t have to bulldoze and start from scratch, but not a money pit either. But something with space, obviously a garage for the work truck and a yard big enough for Kelly that is either fenced in or we can fence it in and we can make it ours over time, it doesn’t have to be picture perfect for me to move in, I can work with anything. And if we’re doing this together, let’s do this together all the way, I absolutely insist on adding my savings to yours for this and all the money I just got from graduation which I know you took all of yours and added it to your savings. I just had the birthday party to end all birthday parties and a graduation party to end all others and we don’t need a wedding to end all weddings ok? No need to go into unnecessary debt, let’s just get preapproved for a home loan and small equity loan for some modest home improvements that we can do ourselves over time so we can turn whatever house we choose into our home.” You urged him and noticed he nodded along with everything you said so you could tell you were both on the same page. 

“So suburbs.” Kihro gathered. 

“Yeah basically.” You nodded. 

“Awesome, I’m happy we’re in agreement about this because everything you just said is what I was thinking and planning anyway. So, want to get naked?” He asked which made you laugh. 

“Hell yeah! I’d thought you would never ask Baby.” You giggled before he picked you back up and put you over his shoulder and grabbed your bags and started going up the stairs as you cackled from your place over his shoulder. 

“Woo! Conquer me Baby!” You cheered which made him laugh before he playfully bit your ass with a flirtatious growl which made you squeal even more before he got to the bedroom and let you drop onto the bed before you bounced, laughing so hard your ribs hurt. 

But your laughing died down to giggles as you sat up and watched Kihro strip his shirt off before he stalked up the bed towards you, your legs were already splayed for him, your wetness soaking through your shorts so there was a wet spot over your core and when he got on all fours over you- you greedily pulled him to you to kiss your nerves away as his weight settled over you as you let that comfort you. The feel of his surprisingly soft but supremely warm skin over his hard, sculpted body was lighting you up just as much as his hands stroking your soft sides from lifting your shirt. His hands, although rougher from callouses from years of hard work, yet there was a supreme gentle reverence in his touch. Like you were a precious gem he was caressing. Like you were his greatest treasure. You couldn’t feel any safer or more comfortable than in his embrace. 

Yet you were so relieved when Kihro slowed down and just laid over you and kissed you until all the tension in your body melted away and when Kihro started kissing your neck and chest, you were itching to get out of your clothes and feel all of his skin against all of yours as you started tugging on your shorts to get them off and that seemed to be what Kihro was looking for before he lifted himself up on his elbows to give you room to remove them and your underwear as he took that cue to take his own pants off and you could only giggle like a loon to see his cock straining in his boxers as you palmed it and started stroking it as you started to lavish open mouthed kisses to his chest and neck as his touch got a little firmer and deliciously needy before he helped you out of your bra. 

“There’s my friends.” Kihro practically giggled once your boobs were free from their constraints before he grabbed them and started kneading them before he started sucking on them as you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him closer before he moved one hand to your center and delved in which made you moan and throw your head back. 

Before this was as far as you could go. But now, instead of only getting your feet wet as the waves caressed them and staring at the water, now you could jump right in. You eagerly pulled the covers down and moved the two of you to between the covers before you greedily got him over you and between your legs and it took a little bit of work getting the head in because it was softer and squishier than the rest of the shaft and once it was in you both blew out a shaky breath of relief which got you both to laugh a little breathlessly and with a good and gentle push, your maidenhood gave way but he was in, it was a tight fit, but he fit and you felt your prayers and his were answered and Kihro made sure you were as comfortable as possible for every bit of it and made sure you were ok and made sure that you wanted this and was ready to pull out, literally- at any moment. But you stuck your heels behind his legs and locked him in because you didn’t want him going anywhere but farther in. 

“We made it this far, come on Baby, take me all the way home.” You insisted before he looked at you so softly. 

“I’m already home with you.” He murmured as he pressed his forehead to yours. 

“Me too.” You whispered as you shared a breath with him as he started to ease in and out as the pain lessoned and morphed into pleasure and the more relaxed and turned on you got the more your canal opened up and the easier it was but at the same time you could tell Kihro was officially on a slippery slope because while you could tell he was bound and determined to get you to cum before he did but you could tell he was fighting his own release as if it was a mighty foe. 

“Baby, get a condom on before you lose your load.” You urged. 

“No, I can...I can last.” He tried to insist as he rested his head on the pillow next to your head as you kegalled and constricted around him as you grinded against him with a meaningful look that said ‘Are you sure about that?’

“Oh fuck, yeah, ok, ok, ok.” Kihro caved as he pulled out and rolled over so he could get into the drawer where he stashed a box of condoms and he had spent last night trying to find the ones that would fit him best and once he was protected you got on and started to ride him and he just stared up at you in awe wonder. 

“You are the greatest vision my eyes will ever see.” Kihro professed and your heart melted. 

“Aww, likewise, I can’t wait to live the rest of my life with you and I don’t care where we live or what we do as long as we’re together doing it.” You mirrored as a few happy tears came to your eyes. “I’m just so happy that you’re mine.” You confessed before he sat up and cradled you in his arms. 

“I’m always going to be yours.” Kihro vowed. “Just like you are always going to be mine as long as you want to be.” Kihro added. 

“I wouldn’t worry about me ever changing my mind if I were you.” You reassured him. “You’re stuck with me.” You giggled. “As long as you want to be.” You added as you bit your lip. 

“I’ll always want to Baby,” he purred before he kissed you and nibbled on your lip because seeing you bite it only made him want to nibble on it himself which made you giggle. 

“You and your lip fetish.” You teased. 

“Not just any lips, your lips, all your lips.” He practically growled which made you squeal in delight as he hiked his hips up with more power that nearly knocked the air out of your lungs but made a moan spill from your kiss swollen lips. 

You let your instincts take control and before you knew it you were so close you recognized the home stretch and by now Kihro had flipped you over and was pounding into you as your body was tensing from the extreme pleasure Kihro was giving you and then with one last push, you were falling into bliss just as Kihro was stuffing that condom full as he slammed into you so deep you felt the head run into the top of your cervix as his fingers dug into the softness of his hips as his growling roar of completion was the most amazing sound and helped amplify your own orgasm. 

“Wow,” you breathed as you basked in the afterglow as Kihro rested over you and caught his breath. 

“Uh huh, wow, well worth the wait, damn baby, that was the best...just...the best...most amazing, you’re so amazing, holy shit that was mind blowing.” Kihro gushed as he cuddled with you and kissed you all over. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for the best sex of my life.” He thanked you which made you crack up. 

“Best sex of our lives so far.” You giggled because truth was Kihro was every bit of a virgin that you were. 

“That’s true.” Kihro conceded before he kissed you before he pulled away and a huge load of semen was ballooning out at the head which made you both giggle. 

“Been saving that for me huh?” You gently teased as he pulled away and very carefully took it off before he tied it off and threw it away and got cleaned up and got you cleaned up. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you Babe,” he cooed as he helped clean you up. 

“That pleasure was definitely worth the little bit of pain and discomfort, it’s only going to get better from here.” You reassured him before you both got ready for bed and finally got a chance to sleep together in the purest sense. 

When you woke up, you had some amazing morning sex before you made breakfast together, being ever so grateful that Kihro could cook and not just cook but clean up after himself before you walked to the rest of the beach and just talked about everything under the sun and made all kinds of plans before you went back and decided to open all your cards that you had gotten that your parents had dumped into a bag for you as Kihro wrote down who gave what for the purpose of writing thank you cards as you counted up the money and gift cards and come Monday morning, you deposited all that you could and got a bank balance at your bank so that you could take that to Kihro’s bank and to your surprise, your parents and Kihro’s parents met you there for the purpose of co-signing, you knew that Kihro’s parents would co-sign but to have your parents also cosign meant a lot to you that they would give you this kind of support. 

Now the hard parts- finding a house and planning a wedding. 

[dearyams]

december 17, 1985

Last Christmas I gave you my heart and the very next day, you gave it away. This year to keep me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.

— Last Christmas, Wham!, 1984

[ day 2: last christmas i gave you my heart ]

The Party congregates in the Wheeler basement as if it’s any other day in their cumulative years of friendship. It’s not any other day though, so Mike sits on the couch with his head in his hands, elbows imprinting bruises on his knees as the other boys and Max and El crowd around Will. He’s excited, the faint brush of Will’s fingers sizzling warmth in him as if he’s upstairs sitting by the fireplace, but there’s a selfish part within him that wishes everyone would get out and leave him alone with Will.

They didn’t have much time to discuss whatever transpired between them in the market, and while Mike did learn that Joyce and his mom had indeed planned for them to be stuck in the store together to greet each other again, he was still a bit unnerved by the entire situation. Now that everyone else knew Will was here, the secret was no longer kept and he didn’t have the headspace to think about how to even ask Will about what happened. He always had too much on his mind when the Party gathers together—grouping together always means something entertaining would happen with them all—and now that he’s in the same room as El, he has to try his best to stem any awkwardness or tension that permeates between the two of them.

Mike’s never dealt with the aftermath of breakup like this—with confusion, distance, and inaction. He let their distance take over and bleed into his inaction, and he let confusion fester until it boiled over into awkward acceptance. El doesn’t treat him much differently, though every so often she’ll send him a wordless glance with a furrowed brow and the slightest frown anyone could muster on their thin, pressed lips. Mike has always been the most oblivious when it comes to social interactions, Dustin makes that clear almost every day, but he’s sure not even the master between them can decipher what El means with her looks.

A tiny sigh slips from his lips as he resettles himself in seat with a scowl. Lucas and Max are chatting between themselves as they walk upstairs, crankily wooden steps creaking with their subconsciously synchronized steps. Mike watches them lazily before realizing there are eyes on him, so he turns around and finds himself locking eyes with Dustin. Dustin, who wriggles his eyebrows before climbing to his feet with an over-exaggerated sigh.

“I’ll go help Lucas and Max, maybe say hi to Nancy if she’s hanging around,” he unnecessarily announces with a grin. “Yell if you need me!”

And he’s gone. Mike’s mouth twists in a grimace, his height-stressed back protesting when he slouches in his seat. Will pokes at his new D&D dice, black and speckled red yet matte and glossed like dragon scales. The numbers on each side are bright white, shiny with lack of use unlike the smudged and fading digits on the ones he had put in the donation box all those months ago. Mike traces the numeral 14 with his eyes. He follows the lines of Will’s fingers and feels his breath hitch when Will’s gentle tracing pauses just a moment as if he knows Mike is watching him. Maybe he does, but Mike isn’t going to interrupt the moment any further by glancing up. He’s also worried if he looks up, then he’ll know El knows he’s watching Will and the implications found there aren’t anything he wants to bother straining his brain over.

“Will, do you want to help the others, too?”

Mike pulls his gaze up at that. El is playing with Will’s decagonal d10, fat and slippery between her thin, calloused fingers. Will stiffens, eyes darting up to Mike on the couch before he shrugs. “I think the three of them can handle themselves, don’t you agree, Mike?”

“Sure,” he replies stiltedly, not quite sure why El wants Will out the room.

She raises her eyebrows, still staring at the die in her hands, and curls her hand in a fist. She shakes her fist to roll the die and then smiles with a shake of her head when it delivers her a patient 7, her shoulder length hair flopping across her face in a childish manner. Despite that, the action makes her look older and far more serious. “I’ll go then.” El looks up at Mike with a tight smile. “We can talk later, Mike.”

“Talk about?” he questions, deliberately obtuse and chilly. El frowns and it melts a bit of the fear taking store in his heart.

Will grabs the die and stuffs it into a velvet bag where he had stored the others. “It’s fine. I’ll go if you need to talk.” His voice thickens with unspoken emotion. “Yesterday, Mike said he wanted to catch up with you later and now is later.”

El laughs lightly. “Don’t worry, Will. I think you two have something you need to talk about.”

“We don’t have anything we need to talk about, El,” lies Mike as if he hadn’t been brooding on the couch thinking about exactly that.

“Then what you want to talk about.” She walks to the staircase, almost floating with each step, and Mike’s reminded of why he liked her so much when they first met. Strong, powerful, protective, caring, everything he could have wanted. And he didn’t want it anymore. Maybe never did but that’s a thought for another day.

Silence permeates the air until Will shuffles on the floor. He’s dressed in jeans that flare just a bit at the ankle and a brown and white sweater that brings out the lighter brown in his much shortened hair and the hazel in his typically bright eyes. The yellow collar of his undershirt is popped up, covering his neck in an unconscious habit. There’s no cold wind or winter breeze down here in the basement but the holiday season brings back torrid memories, let alone the events of the summer, that leave Will hyper aware of the shivers and stings running down the back of his neck. Mike wants to pull his collar down if only to help emit comfort. Will is always safe in the Wheeler basement—always safe if Mike’s here at his side.

He doesn’t touch Will’s collar, but he does climb off the couch and settle in next to the other boy. Mike faces the staircase as a lookout, his left shoulder brushing against Will’s own left shoulder as Will faces toward the game shelf. He notes that his mom put fake snow on the railing as fairy lights curl around the pillars of the stairs. Will’s shoulders tense for a moment before he calms and leans in toward Mike. Their hands situate themselves side by side, pinkies barely brushing as if a repeat of their meeting yesterday.

“Do you remember last year,” starts Will in a voice far too gentle for the upcoming conversation. Mike nods, knows Will can feel it even if he can’t see it. “Our moms stuffing us in suits and taking photos for the ball.”

“The pictures on the mantle won’t let me forget it.”

Will laughs, each second as unique as the snowflakes flittering into piles outside. He settles into a huff and his pinky lightly brushes Mike’s. “You looked good that night.”

Mike’s throat tightens. Is it appropriate to tell a friend he also looked good? Is he allowed to acknowledge how he felt that day, how his heart clenched when Will went off with that girl and Mike realized what he wanted isn’t something he could have? Isn’t something he can let himself want? “You too.” he replies hoarsely in hopes that he sounds neutral enough. “We all looked good that night.”

“Yeah. Minus Dustin’s hair.” Mike lets out a few chuckles at that and feels Will’s hand eventually fully overlap his own. “Mike, I...I don’t know how to say this.”

Mike turns his head to burrow his nose in Will’s soft hair. His lips barely move as he speaks. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I need to.” Will pulls away and turns to fully face Mike. His cheeks are flushed, a frown drapes over his lips, and the sudden desire to kiss off that frown guts Mike until the open wound in his stomach bubbles over into his hands in piles of pure affection. The brunette raises his right hand to brush Mike’s curling bangs from his forehead. “You’ve hurt me a lot, you know.”

Mike stiffens. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Will sighs and pulls away. “Last Christmas, after Snowball, even after I saw you and El kissing,” his voice cracks on that word, stalactite icicles shattering against the floor as they fall from the ceiling of a dark, damp cave, “I thought we were still, I don’t know...the friends that we became after all that mess.”

The friends that we became. As in, something different that before. Mike clenches his jaw. “You were dying and I couldn’t have that—I couldn’t lose you.”

“I know.”

“And I couldn’t lose El, either.”

“I know.”

“You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“I’m not.” Will sighs and leans his head back against Mike’s shoulder. “I was mad at myself for thinking and wishing and foolishly giving you more than I should.”

Mike’s eyes dart toward the decorated staircase. He can feel Will’s hot breath against his sensitive neck. “Like what?”

“You know what; don’t make me spit out such a cheesy line, Wheeler.”

A grin curls on Mike’s lips and he looks back a little to make eye contact. “You’ve gotten very introspective, Byers.”

“That kinda happens after your best friend spits certain words at you that make you reanalyze your entire life.” Will turns his head and breaks their locked gaze. “But back to Christmas last year. Insert the cheesy line; I gave you my heart, alright? Silly me thinking it would be fine if I did, thought you would care about something like that.”

“Will,”

“Don’t. I don’t wanna hear it.” His voice is winded but strong. “If we’re going to be the friends we became, then let me say my part. I’m tired of crying over this.”

“Will.” Mike says more firmly, twisting his hips to face Will head-on. This talk deserves more than Mike’s half-assed glances at the staircase as he tries to avoid full immersion in the conversation. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.” green hazel eyes looked down at the rug furnished floor. “We do stupid shit and say stupid things, but you and me...” He glances up. “We can’t be stupid about this. You haven’t...you don’t...”

“When we thought you died, Troy came for me. Told me you were better dead, probably killed by other people like...” Mike clears his throat. “His words weren’t about me but he still...he still targeted them toward me. Like everyone could see what was up between us before I could.”

“Well, you’re a bit on the slow side when it comes to things like this,” huffs Will with a sardonic smile. “But this year...this year I don’t wanna leave Hawkins being as miserable as I left the first time.”

“This year to keep you from tears, you’ll give your heart to someone special?”

Will pinches Mike’s side and he loudly yelps, scrambling from Will’s side even though he starts laughing at his own joke. “You’re so annoying, Mike, oh my god; I’m having a serious conversation here! You can’t just go around inserting sad Christmas song lyrics everywhere.”

Mike grins widely and flops onto his back with a happy sigh. “Am I someone special to you?”

“Always.” The unadulterated honesty in Will’s voice takes Mike aback. He turns his head to face Will, looking up at the boy whose cheeks are flushed with equal parts natural warmth and soft embarrassment. “So, how am I leaving Hawkins?”

Mike turns onto his stomach and rests his head in his hands, elbows pressed into the hardened floor beneath him. He thinks about his upcoming chat with El, thinks about how his heart dropped to his feet when he hugged his mom the day the Byers moved away and realized how much he missed Will already. A smile smoothly skates itself onto his lips, sharp-lined and eager as his heart jumps into an axel and lands perfectly.

“I think you already know the answer to that one.”

[ivy-stjames]

the winner takes it all ( ivy + rory + julien )

𝚆𝙷𝙾:  @julien-schuester && @roryslade​ && @ivystjamess​ 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽:  the evening of thursday, august the sixth 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴:  choir room, william mckinley high school for the performing arts 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃: ivy is uncharacteristically nervous for opening night, like always, julien is there for her, but this time rory’s just around the corner. 

POSSIBLE TWS: CHEATING

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍:   Opening Night snuck up on the cast and crew of McKinley High’s production of Mamma Mia faster than any of them could say “here we go again.” With a trip to New York and Los Angeles freshly under their belts, everyone arrived back to Lima feeling reinvigorated and inspired. The show was going to be great. As Julien sat in the make-up chair getting his face patted and his hair styled to transform fully into Sky, he glanced around at his cast mates through the mirror in front of him. He saw Rory, beaming, with LJ and Ruby. There was Joey. Baby. Even Leo and Finn were in his line of sight. It didn’t take him long to clock that Ivy was nowhere to be found. Hm. Weird. Ever since Julien had gone to Ivy’s place on Monday, the energy between them had been extra charged. It wasn’t lost on him that had Eli St. James not burst into Ivy’s room, they would’ve likely crossed another line that would’ve made this little thing they were doing unforgivable. Truth be told, it was already unforgivable, but Julien had found a way to justify in his head that as long as they’d only kissed and nothing more, it wasn’t as bad as what he did  to Emory…so maybe it wasn’t that bad at all. Julien still had yet to figure out what to do about Rory. He still hadn’t made up his mind. Whenever he was with Ivy, he felt like they made sense. But whenever he was with Rory…well, he felt like they made sense. He knew time was ticking and that he’d have to pick a lane at some point, but with opening night being under one hour away, his love triangle fiasco would simply have to wait. Julien smiled at the sophomore who had been fixing his hair when she finished, said thanks, and made his way over to Rory. Where the hell was Ivy? Almost on cue, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out just as he reached his girlfriend, giving her a quick kiss on the side of the head as he discreetly read the message from Ivy. can u come to the choir room asap? He had to think fast. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” he said to Rory, giving her a quick kiss as he tucked his phone into his pocket and exited the backstage area where the cast was congregating. Once Julien was in the hallway and out of everyone’s sight, he started sprinting past the lockers until he arrived at the room he was looking for. “Hey,” he said breathlessly, his chest moving up and down dramatically as his eyes landed on a Sophie-clad Ivy, “everything okay?” Julien’s demeanor changed from cheery to concerned in a matter of seconds once it registered that something was wrong. He gently shut the door behind him before he approached her with open arms, “what’s wrong?”

𝐈𝐕𝐘:  IVY ST.JAMES HAD NERVES OF STEEL. this was a fact the same as the earth revolving around the sun or a cheerios uniform instantly making someone more desirable, so why she was so nervous come opening night was lost on her. she was prepared and well practiced, so why did she feel like running into dan’s office and spilling her guts in the trash bin? being sophie sheridan meant more to her than probably anyone at mckinley would ever understand. sure, she got leads upon leads and solos upon solos, but this was a part ivy had cherished since childhood. despite all the drama in her personal life, her experience throughout this production of mamma mia sort of felt like her real coming of age and not her bat mitzvah four years prior. usually ivy kept a pretty tight lock on her headspace during show nights, no negative thoughts coming in, nothing got through that could potentially throw her off her game. unfortunately, never had she been involved in a show before where her ex-boyfriend, the girl her ex-boyfriend was seemingly moving on to, julien, and the girl julien was cheating on were all lingering backstage. every turn she feared running into something that would send her spiraling. more nervous about becoming nervous, she stowed away in the choir room where she remained pacing. why was she getting so nervous? how was she getting so nervous? eventually, she came to grips with the fact that there was no calming herself down from this one. pulling out her phone, she sent a text to julien and prayed he wasn’t occupied with anything else. lucky for ivy, julien made his appearance at just the right moment, which, seemed to be happening a lot lately. it was pathetic really, the moment julien opened up his arms ivy moved directly into them. she placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. the fact his embrace so quickly soothed her made her feel stupid for even summoning him in the first place, “hey. . .” she finally replied. eyes still closed, she began issuing the explanation julien was owed, “i just like. . . i don’t know, it’s so totally dumb. . .” she prefaced before opening her eyes, pressing flush against him, and looking upwards at him. again, her breath caught in her throat simply from the sight of him at this perspective. as much as she wanted to wrap her arms up around his neck, ivy instead pulled away and settled for smoothing out the part of shirt she had just crumpled with her head. “i’m just like. . . kind of nervous i guess. i don’t know if i can like be around leo and rory and your sister and like still be me and do good with sophie i guess.” she rambled, once again meeting julien’s gaze with a slight pout, “don’t make fun of me.”

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍:  Julien smiled to himself when Ivy clicked into his arms like the final piece of a puzzle. For two people who used to annoy the crap out of each other, they were surprisingly good at comforting each other in a crisis. It wasn’t even intentional half the time. Julien’s instincts were simply compatible with Ivy’s needs and vise versa. Who would’ve thought? Once his heavy breathing finally regulated after his brief sprint to the choir room, he tightened his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head. “I’m sure it’s not dumb,” he said earnestly, pulling back slightly when he felt her looking up at him. For a moment, as they stared at each other, there was no drama, no opening night, no obstacles—just them. The illusion of that fantasy land barely lasted because in no time, Ivy was pulling away and smoothing out his shirt. Julien’s hands settled loosely at her waist as he looked down at the spot on his chest that she was touching and then back up to her face. Once Ivy got to talking, he knew that she was valid. It was a really intense situation from all angles, but definitely the most intense for her. Of course she felt nervous. It made sense. The longer she spoke for though, the more his subtle smile grew. “Wow, Ivy. St. James is nervous?” he commented in feigned shock, chuckling softly as he found her eyes again, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous. Well, at least not because of a performance. It’s kinda cute.” Julien was being a little too bold for someone whose girlfriend was a couple of hallways away, but clearly that was the furthest thing from his mind. His sole focus was making Ivy feel better and confident that she could go out there and deliver. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he quickly cut in, smiling down at her dreamily as she pouted, “I’m not making fun.” He took a deep breath and moved his hands to her shoulders as he leveled with her and held her gaze. “Listen to me,” he started, giving her a squeeze, “I know things are complicated and messy right now. I know you’ve had a really hard few weeks. But for two hours tonight, you get to be someone else. You get to use everything you’re feeling and be the best Sophie Sheridan this town has ever seen. If anyone can do it, it’s you. So all that other stuff,” he used one hand to figuratively wave it away, “just leave it at the door. You can do this, Ivy. You’re the most talented person I know. And even if you went out there and messed up, you’d still be the star.”

𝐈𝐕𝐘:  IVY WASN’T SURE WHAT GOT HER HEART BEATING FASTER, JULIEN’S HANDS ON HER WAIST OR THE RAPIDLY ACCUMULATING BUNDLE OF NERVES SETTLING AT THE BOTTOM OF HER STOMACH. at his comments about her looking cute, ivy rolled her eyes, though there was an ever so faint smile gracing her lips, “okay, like, how is that not making fun of me? i know i’m cute, but being all like totally insecure is not cute.” she questioned, tilting her head slightly to the side, but never breaking her gaze from his own.  truth be told, his following words were hardly a necessity. his presence alone worked miracles to soothe her. while her bubbling anxiety lingered, it felt dulled, numb even. if julien was at her side, what did she have to fear? nothing?. . . exactly. it wasn’t often the two of them just got to be alone and while logically she knew ’bad’ things happened when they were left unsupervised, the invigoration it gave her was worth it. ivy couldn’t explain the seemingly magical way reality seemed to melt and leave her and julien clutching each other in it’s wake, but the comfort that came from each of their stolen moments was the best medicine to life’s problems. as his pep talk drew to a close, ivy found herself fully smiling. each of her worries had been fended off by her knight in. . . a button down and shorts, equipped with his toolbox of all the right things to say. she would’ve managed if he hadn’t taken that next step, gone above and beyond, but he had and it left both her heart and knees feeling weak. “thank you.” she whispered. though she didn’t say a lot, it could be seen very clearly that she was thinking about saying. . . or doing more. there was an odd moment of clarity where ivy felt more certain of her feelings towards julien than she had felt about anything as of late. it was certainty beyond a charged exchange in her bedroom monday night or needing companionship. at least she thought it was certainty, but just to be sure. . . “julien, i need to like check something.” ivy said quietly. before he had the chance to ask questions or to stop her, her hands were around his collar, tugging him down to bring their lips into each others. it was another kiss to add to their ever-growing pile of oopsies, but what other way to get confirmation that this. . . thing they had going did indeed mean something.in the world they had been living in moments at a time, the one away from reality and away from namely rory, it seemed like the perfectly logical thing to do. again, ivy found her thoughts fogging over with a desire to kiss julien, to be near him. would that urge be so strong if it meant nothing? her clouded mind couldn’t confirm or deny more than she had when she initiated the kiss, but ivy figured she wouldn’t want to kiss him so badly all the time if they really were just friends. julien was always there, picking her up, sharing laughs, stealing glances, putting all the pieces together, and causing her to come undone all at once. without considering julien had a girlfriend and without considering the fact ivy hadn’t fully processed what had gone down with leo and overcome it, it added up. ivy wanted it to add up, she needed it to be this simple. there was a seed planted in her heart and ivy was choosing now to command it to be full grown. pulling away, ivy remained near, scanning julien’s face for some kind of reaction, any indicator that he had a similar realization. “julien. . .” she said again, letting out a breath before finally replying to julien’s own comment from a week ago in a los angeles stairwell, “it means something.”

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍:  Julien came from a long line of pep-talkers, so whether it was right before a big show choir competition or in the final ten minutes of a state championship, he knew a thing or two about the right thing to say and how to say it. So when he came face to face with an uncharacteristically insecure Ivy, he knew what he needed to do. He  needed to remind her that no matter how crappy her circumstances were in the moment, she was talented and capable. No amount of drama or complicated entanglements would keep her from doing what she did best: shining. In the confines of the choir room, just the two of them, Julien never broke eye contact and kept his hands planted on her shoulders as he gave her an abridged version of all the ways she was incredible. When he was done gassing her up, he studied her face for any sign that he’d remedied her worries. The smile tugging at the corners of her lips indicated to him that he’d done a decent job. “No need to thanks me, Legs,” he said softly, mirroring her grin as he gave her shoulders a final squeeze before dropping his hands, “I’m just being honest.” As they stood there, shamelessly indulging in their very bad and unsubtle habit of staring at each other dreamily for way too many seconds at a time, Julien was at war with his own thoughts. What were they doing? Why was he here with her instead of with his girlfriend backstage? His overthinking was interrupted by the sound of Ivy’s voice. “Huh?” he asked quickly, snapping back to reality, “check what?” Before he could even finish his question, she was pulling him down by his shirt collar until his lips crashed into hers. Suddenly all of his thoughts quieted—all of them but one: Julien Schuester wanted Ivy St. James. Yes, in a primal physical way, but also in a fall asleep on the couch together way and a hold hands in the car way and a sing each other to sleep way. He was so screwed. Once she broke the kiss, his eyes fluttered open slowly and he looked down at her in complete awe. His breath hitched when she said his name and when she finally answered his drunken statement from nearly a week prior, he nodded. “I know.” Instinct took over as soon as their feelings were out in the open. Julien cupped the sides of Ivy’s face and brought his lips down to hers again, wanting desperately to be closer. The kiss was urgent and clumsy and before he knew it he was backing Ivy into the grand piano in the center of the room. The sound of her body hitting the keys sent a loud clash of cords through the room which shocked Julien right out of the moment. He pulled away from her breathlessly, his hands lingering on her face for a moment until he saw some movement at the door from the corner of his eye. The second he turned his head, his face got hot and his ears began to ring. “Rory,” he breathed out, dropping his hands and his heart as he laid his eyes on his beautiful, kind, talented, funny, deserving-of-only-good-things girlfriend. How long had she been there for? What had she seen? “Rory,” he said again, cautiously walking towards her as all thoughts about wanting Ivy were exiled from his brain, “it’s not what you think.”

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐘:  Nothing would have prepared Rory Slade for today. At the beginning of auditions, she only saw herself as Sophie and was convinced she would land the role, but she didn’t. Then she fully stepped into the role of Donna and felt confident in herself and that if someone was meant to play Donna at McKinley, it was Rory. She was nervous, sure, and she felt like she could hear her heart beating so loudly in her ears. Rory tried not to get herself too hyped up, she always thought it was bad luck to practice before going on. Weird logic, but she thought that if she performed now, she’d forget later or work herself so much up on stage that she’d freak out and dash off stage. After getting into costume which was just a white peasant blouse and overalls, she fixed her own hair and makeup, leaving her makeup natural but beat enough that the audience could see she had makeup on and a pinned look paired with some beach waves to give off an effortless beach look. After she was done, she spent her time with Julien until he abruptly excused himself to go to the bathroom. She didn’t think anything of it, he was just going to be gone for a minute, but then two minutes passed. Then five. Then ten. And as minute twelve was approaching, Rory knew she had to go on a man hunt for Julien. The show was about to start and neither him nor Ivy was anywhere to be found so she went to look for Julien and hoped to just find Ivy after. She looked in the girls restroom for Ivy and briefly popped her head in the boys to ask if Julien was in there. When neither were found, she started looking in other rooms, eventually landing in the ill fated choir room. They were kissing. Julien and Ivy were kissing. Julien, her boyfriend, was kissing Ivy, her rival. The blonde didn’t know how to react; should she scream? Cry? Even react at all? Or just leave the building altogether and tell Leo that she couldn’t perform? Lost in her thoughts, staring at the scene, Julien finally noticed her. She had only been standing there for thirty seconds, a minute tops, but she felt like she had spent her entire life watching the pair kiss. She heard Julien saying her name, but it was just echoing in her head and once he started making his way towards her, she bolted out of the room and out into the hallway, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’ll mess up your makeup. But then Julien began speaking. “Not what I think?” Her words weren’t angry, they were strangely calm for a girl who had just caught her boyfriend in the act with someone else, but with the freshly hot tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes piercing into Julien’s, she didn’t need to express emotion for him to know how hurt she felt. “People have been saying that you were cheating on me and now look! I’m the one who gets to look like a fool for trusting you,” now her emotions were building up. “God!” she expressed, her hands flailing up. “I trusted you!”

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍:  The wave of peace that Julien briefly experienced while kissing Ivy quickly turned into a storm when he saw Rory. Shit. Shit. Shit. “Rory, wait—“ he called out, quickly jogging after her but pausing at the door of the choir room. Julien was the rope in a twisted game of tug-of-war and the worst thing was? He put himself in that position. His face was hot with shame and embarrassment. How could he have been so stupid? He and Ivy were living in a fantasy land. And why had he even been doing it in the first place? Because he liked Rory, he really liked her. He turned his head to look back at Ivy, who was still standing flabbergasted at the piano. Even though there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to meet her back at the piano and kiss her again, there was a girl out in the hallway who he’d just hurt beyond belief. What kind of guy would he be if he just let her leave? “I’m—“ he wanted to say something, anything to make the situation okay, but he was at a loss, “fuck, sorry.” He barely looked at Ivy when he apologized but once the words fell from his lips, he left her standing there alone and zoomed into the hallway where he stopped Rory in her tracks. “It really isn’t what you think,” he lied, scrambling to come up with a valid excuse or reason for why he would be kissing Ivy in the choir room. He knew he was shit out of luck. There was nothing he could say. When Rory’s eyes filled with tears and she revealed that people had been warning her, Julien was riddled with guilt. Fuck. Why was he like this? It was all fun and games until someone got hurt. He needed to fix this. “You’re not a fool,” he told her as he approached her slowly, “okay? I am. I’m an idiot. I’m—I’m stupid. I don’t know what I’m doing.”As she started to wave her arms around and get angry, Julien tightened his lips into a line and felt all of his muscles tense. Her words echoed through the empty hallway and he knew there was nothing he could say in the moment that would make the situation better. “Rory, please,” he started, eyes pleading and tone strained. There had to be something he could say to make things better. The words spilled out of him before he could really process it, “I love you.” On cue, his phone alarm went off in his pocket and startled him. “Shit,” he muttered, pulling it out and seeing that they had five minutes until the show started, “we have to get back.” He looked at Rory, completely focused on her and entirely unaware of anything that might’ve been happening behind him. It dawned on him that he had just said he loved her. Did he love her? Had he just said that because it felt like the right thing to say? He was so confused. “I know you’re mad, but can we just do the show and then talk about it? Please?”

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐘:  Watching Julien and Ivy kiss in a romantic way instead of practicing for the musical way made Rory's heart sink and naturally so. No one wants to see their boyfriend kiss someone else like that especially when that boyfriend had a history and everyone had been warning her about the said history, but she thought things were different. Rory had been through this before. Not when it came to Julien and when that did happen, she was the "other girl". It's why she kept her relationships minimal and sexual encounters at a maximum. She couldn't get hurt if she didn't open up to guys, but it was also her weakness. A guy could just flash her a smile and tell her she was remotely attractive and she'd be weak in her knees. Maybe it was the daddy issues or the deep insecurity she held as the second-best at McKinley. And now she really was second best to Ivy St. James in every aspect. Julien was the one thing Rory had that Ivy didn't and now... even the Wicked Witch of Lima had that. She wrapped her arms around her body as if to calm herself down even just a bit but what she had seen in the choir room just kept replaying in her head every time she closed her eyes. She felt so stupid. So stupid for trusting Julien. So stupid for believing he changed. So stupid for falling in love with his stupid dorky smile. And that's when it dawned on her. She was so hurt not only because she believed in him but because she had fallen in love with Julien Schuester and in the same moment she recognized how much she loved him, he had simultaneously broken her heart at the same time. "Isn't what I think?" A scoff left her mouth. "That wasn't a practice kiss, okay? I know what you look like when you have one of those... charged choir room moments," because he had looked at her like that at one point. When Julien started to approach her slowly, she backed away a few steps. She didn't want his semi-comforting words or for him to step closer to her, she wanted to forget what she had seen. No wonder why Emory wanted to beat his car in and break Ivy's nose. This feeling sucked. The tightening in her throat, the tears, her heart beating out of her chest. She felt like someone had quite literally stomped on her heart, but when he uttered those three words Rory almost saw the light at the end of the tunnel which would have been comforting if Julien wasn't cheating on her. "Yeah... I love you too," she said barely above a whisper, using the back of her sleeve to wipe some tears off her face. There was a small foundation stain, but it wasn't a priority of Rory's at the moment. When she heard Julien's alarm ring, she knew it was almost time for the show to start so she quickly sucked up whatever she was feeling and dabbed away her tears. "Maybe," she shrugged. "I don't think there's much more to talk about," she said with a deep sigh. "Break a leg, I guess," she croaked out as she tried to hold in any emotion. Save it for the stage. Turning on her heel, she started walking back to the auditorium to get ready to go on.

𝐈𝐕𝐘:  THE FANTASY WORLD THAT RESIDED WITHIN JULIEN SCHUESTER’S LIPS CAME TUMBLING DOWN AT THE SOUND OF A FEW DISCORDANT PIANO KEYS, FOLLOWED BY A SOFT ‘RORY’ THEN A FRANTIC ‘IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK’. ivy’s ejection from that little piece of paradise was violent. other than having to make a quick acclimation to this new and tense situation, she had to shove all of eli’s, now proven to be correct, comments from her mind so she could focus on what to do. last time when emory had caught her and julien, ivy had peeled from the scene as quickly as she could, but that wasn’t really much of an option on opening night of a show in which all parties involved played principal roles. faster than they had been caught, rory was running out the door and julien was going after her while ivy remained stunned at the piano, painfully aware of how she had nowhere left to run. both herself and julien should have known better than to walk this fraying tight rope together at this point. they both knew it was a hazard, there was no safety net below them, and one misstep would send them plummeting to the hard surface that was the consequences of their actions. julien paused in the doorway, looking ivy up and down and filling her with the dangerous hope that he may stay with her. as soon as the apology slipped from julien, he was gone, and ivy found herself now knowing what to do. follow him. her feet carried her to the doorway where if she looked just to the left she could see rory and julien, even hear their voices echoing down the hallway to where she was. she was still functioning in a trance like stuporous state. she wanted to run down the hallway and after julien, but her feet told her the threshold of the choir room door was far enough. hearing rory choked up was enough to make anyone feel bad, ivy included. ashamed , she looked down upon her sandaled feet. as much as she tried to assure herself rory would come out of this fine and it was just a small incident that could be brushed off, the longer she eavesdropped the less confident in that she grew. though ivy’s largest emotional reaction came from hearing the words i and love and you leave julien’s mouth and into rory’s ears.it was like a large wound in her chest opened up and immediately caused her lip to quiver. it wasn’t a new gash though, it was about a year old at this point, and while it had been closed for some time, julien had just as easily reopened it as he had sliced it a little over a year ago. suddenly rory and julien’s conversation was muted in her ears and it felt like all she could hear was her own heart heaving in pain with each beat it thumped. what had happened to ten minutes ago when julien was in fact confirming that did mean something? was she just a toy for him to play with when he got lonely and bored? ivy couldn’t find it in herself to believe julien was capable of that malice, she didn’t want to. unable to wipe her tears fast enough, ivy bolted out of the choir room, to the right, and into the bathroom all while a faint jingle of someone’s alarm could be heard at the other end of the hallway. instantly, she locked herself in a stall and tried to rid herself of this used feeling. julien loved rory, and it seemed that ivy's own moments with him the past couple of weeks had meant nothing. julien had lied, and that only made her cry harder. the show was the last thing on her mind at the moment, just herself, the bathroom stall, trying to halt her tears and the dejected feeling that came with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and foolishness.

END

[buckyspetpsychopath]

Back to sleep

0David Dobrik x reader Vlog squad

I'm startled awake by the sound of my phone ringing. I panic slightly and sit up from my bed and reach over on my nightstand for my phone. I click the answer button after seeing Davids picture pop up.

"Hello?" I answer groggily. "Fuck, did I wake you?" he sighs. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm up now, what's wrong?" I ask wiping the sleep from my eyes. "nono go back to sleep," he says. "David seriously. Its like 3am, you called for a reason spit it out." I huff. "I mean, I just. Could I come over?" he asks and I go silent for a moment so he starts explaining. "I don't have to. but I'm trying to edit and I can't focus and I need something to take my mind off it, but I wouldn't be able to sleep and I need to post tomorrow," he explains. "You want to come over now?" I whisper, biting my lip. "Yeah" he mumbles. "Fine" I grin. "I'll be around by 3.30" he chirps and I laugh slightly. "I'll be waiting," I say and hang the phone up. 

I look at the time and its 3.04. I look down at my sweatpants and oversized shirt for bed and shake my head, heading to my dresser. I pick out a cute lingerie set and quickly change into it.

I spray some deodorant and perfume before going into my bathroom and brushing my teeth. I quickly curl the ends of my hair so its messy and then fluff my hair. Before I know it the front door of my apartment is opening. I hurry to throw on a pair of heels before strutting out of my bedroom. David looks up when he hears my heels clicking. I smirk as I see him gulp. He quickly sets his backpack down, taking his shoes and jacket off. I walk closer towards him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands fly to my waist.

"I'm sorry, I know its late and you have class in the morning but I'll do all the work, you can just lie there. I'll take real good care of you" He smiles. I bite my lip and unravel my hands from his neck and push his hands down off my waist onto my butt. He bites his lip and squeezes, pulling me closer to him. "What are you doing to me" He gulps backing me up against my kitchen counter. He lifts me up effortlessly and sets me on the edge leaning in to kiss me. His lips attack mine and I feel sparks flying. This happened all the time, David would call me up at random awkward times of the day, fuck me then leave. I understand that when we first met he was going through a break-up. But its been over a year since that, and he still hasn't asked me on a proper date. Nobody knows about our midnight get togethers.

He pulls away from my lips and moves down my jaw and down my neck to my collarbone. He leaves a couple marks and I roll my eyes. He's always been really territorial, but I don't mind- it wasn't like I was dating anyone else, or even trying to. I push his head away from me and his eyebrows furrow.

"Bedroom" I breathe out and his eyes light up. He picks me up again carrying me to my bedroom. He gently drops me on the bed and I pull his shirt off when he goes to stand up. He smirks and steps back, unbuckling his jeans slowly while he watches me panting on the bed, his eyes hooded from lust. And let me tell you, it was a sight to see. He pushes his jeans and underwear down. Then he reaches into my bedside table to retrieve a condom, I take it as a sign to unlatch my bra so I reach behind me and pull it off throwing it on the floor. He smiles at me and pulls my underwear down my legs before crashing down on top of me, his hands holding him up slightly so he's not completely crushing me. He seems to fit perfectly in between my legs.

"You're so beautiful" he whispers leaning in to kiss me as he nudges himself into my entrance. He keeps pushing until he's all the way in and we both let out a euphoric sigh. He starts moving making me instantly let out little gasps. He hooks one of my legs around his hip, holding it there. My other leg intertwining with his legs. He moves faster and faster, our moans getting louder as the feeling keeps getting better. He connects our lips and they move together feverishly. One of my hands connects to his cheek and the other tangles in his fluffy hair holding him close to me. He's holding onto my hip and keeping himself up as he rocks against me. "Fuck Dave, I'm so close" I whine and he shushes me. "Its ok baby, me too. You can cum" he mumbles putting his lips to mine once again. The hand holding his cheek falls back to grip the bedsheets and he speeds up his movements bringing a hand to hold mine. He's practically ramming into me when I starting gasping his name as I unravel beneath him. "Fuck David" I moan wrapping my leg tighter around him and squeezing his hand. He stills for a second while he cums then move slowly again trying to milk our orgasms. He pulls out of me slowly and leans up to discard the condom in the bin next to my bed before dropping beside me, his head in my neck. Our sweaty bodies suction together but neither of us mind. I stroke my hand through his sweaty hair. Somehow, eventually I fall asleep.

When I wake up in the morning I grin seeing a mop of dark fluffy, almost curls beside me. I snuggle closer to David, pushing some of the hair off his face. I admire his sleeping figure, still naked from the night before which excites me, but most of all he's calm. Which is a rare sight. "Stalker" he mumbles, his eyes fluttering open. I blush. "I was just admiring." I defend myself and he laughs. "Stalking" he argues jokingly wrapping an arm underneath my body and yanking me into his side. "Admiring" I giggle leaning down to press my lips to his. "You always look so pretty in the morning, especially after sex" he grins, his voice groggy from just waking up. "hmm, someones a sweet talker today" I joke to put off the fact that what he said gave me butterflies. "Just admiring" he smirks and i roll my eyes. I look at the time and gasp, shooting up out of his arms. "Whats wrong?" he asks. "I need to be in class in half an hour, i need to take a shower and its a twenty-minute drive from here" I yell behind me as I rush to the bathroom. I step in the shower, clipping my hair up so it doesn't get wet, not having enough time to wash it. I start rinsing my body when I feel hands at my waist. "Oh no, not today mister. I'm gonna be late" I say pushing his hands off me. "Baby please, just skip it. You've only got like one exam left then you're finished, you can afford to miss this lesson" he compromises. My eyes widen, he actually listens to me. I sigh and don't have time to respond before he steps forward, pushing me against the wall and kissing me passionately. I melt into his touch wrapping my arms around his neck hands falling into his now wet hair. We make out for a while until we need air. "Thought you were gonna be late" he breathes out. "Fuck it" I shrug. "Fuck me, dont you mean" he smirks picking me up and holding me against the wall as he pushes into me.

We spend the morning in the shower and when we're done we go out for breakfast. It's nice, we just sit and chat. Our hairs both wet and wearing comfy clothes, since that's all he had left in my house from previous times he'd been over. I'd started a little collection for him, cleaning out an entire drawer just for his clothes. I'd even gone as far as buying him some deodorant, a couple shirts and pairs of jeans and sweatpants. We'd never discussed it, it just happened. Before I knew it, David had done the same at his house. Nobody really questioned the woman's razor, deodorant, bits of makeup, clothes or womanly products in his room and bathroom.Everyone decided to congregate at Davids house so we drove in his Tesla back to his, seeing our friends cars on our arrival. As we walk in the living room it goes kind of quiet.

“Uh hey guys?” I laugh. “Hey, where have you two been huh?” Zane sassily crosses his arms. “We went out for breakfast” David shrugs sitting next to Jason on the couch. “That’s not what our sources say” Todd teases and we furrow our eyebrows looking at each other. “Ok guys what’s going on?” David asks. “We just think it’s funny how you say you went out for breakfast, but natalie over here woke up at 6am to come on a hike with us and when we came in to see you, you weren’t there. Bed wasn’t even slept in” Todd says. “And then all the women’s clothes and stuff in your room” zane nods. “And don’t forget them huge ass hickeys on her neck” Jeff cuts in pulling the hemline of my shirt down a little. I swat his hand away and roll my eyes. “Grow up you guys” I sigh going to get a bottle of water. I throw one to David and everyone seems to move on in the conversation. 

Later on in the day I’m really tired from our activities. David is finishing to edit some of his video he wasn’t able to last night. We’re laying on the love sac cuddling. My hood is pulled up and I’m snuggled into him whilst his laptop is between us so he can edit. Nobody seems to bat an eye at our position. I start drifting asleep when David whispers in my ear. “You asleep baby?” He asks and I don’t have the energy to respond so I stay silent. “Is she asleep?” I hear someone ask and my ears perk up. “Yeah, she’s napping” David chuckles. He moves his laptop off my back so I assume he’s finished, and his hand drops to my butt resting there. I internally roll my eyes. “So, what’s going on with you two?” Jeff asks. “Nothing” David laughs. “Oh yeah we’ll pretend like we’ll believe that” Jason snorts. “Seriously, you two are attached at the hip. Look how you are right now, friends don’t do that shit” zane says. “And friends don’t leave hickeys on other friends necks” Todd interjects. “Fine, we’ve been sleeping together for a couple months” David admits and they all let out cheers making David shush them. “And all this time we though you weren’t getting any” Todd chortles. “So are you dating?” Zane asks. “No” David says all quickly and I frown. “We could never be together” “What do you mean?” Jason asks. “She’s really good in bed, and I care for her. But I don’t have time or the energy for a girlfriend. I’ve been talking to Liza a lot more and I wanna see how that turns out” David explains and I feel a pit in my stomach. “Dude, you can’t string her along like that” Jeff tuts. “I’m not stringing her along” David sighs rubbing my back. “She’s great. I just can’t be with her, she has a lot of history with her ex and stuff. I just don’t wanna get into anything serious with her, I think I’d end up getting bored with her. She’s kind of a know it all, throws her intelligence in your face.” David shrugs. The guys continue to berate me for a moment before I feel david shaking me.“I gotta go the toilet baby, wake up” he whispers. I pretend to wake up and move off of him. I grab my phone and pretend to check the time.

“I should probably go home” I say stretching. “If you wait 5 minutes I’ll drive you home” David says and I shake my head. “I’ll get an Uber it’s ok” I shrug. David goes to disagree before Jason steps in. “Come on I’ll take you, I gotta go check in on my mum” Jason says. I smile at David and wave at the others. As soon as we’re out the door my smile drops. I sigh as I sit down into Jason’s car. “I thought your mum wasn’t coming until tomorrow morning?” I ask as he pulls out of Davids driveway. “She’s not. It was a lie” Jason says and I furrow my eyebrows. “I know you were awake. I know you heard all that, I’m sorry about them. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything” he apologises and I sigh. “It’s fine Jason it’s whatever. Crazy of me to even believe any of them liked me, or for even thinking I could be with David.” “You have feelings for him?” He asks. “I think I’m in love with him” I breathe out, my voice shaky from being about to cry. “Doesn’t matter though does it. I’m boring and a know it all, nothing compared to Liza right?” I chuckle.Jason sighs and pulls over, turning in his seat to look at me. “We both know you’re nothing like what they were describing you like. I don’t know what got into them, they always talk about how much they like you and want you to be with David” Jason reveals and the tears are falling rapidly now. “It doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks now. David doesn’t want me and I can’t keep putting myself through this emotional trauma, now I 100% know he doesn’t want me I can try and move on” I mutter. Jason starts driving again and soon we’re pulling into my apartment complex. 

I go to leave the car but Jason puts a hand on my knee. “Don’t do anything stupid. You have the same look in your eye the night my wife left me” He sighs. “I told you, I can’t do this anymore” I sob and he pulls me into him. Hugging me and stroking my hair. Throughout the time I’ve been around everyone, I always felt really close to Jason. He’s got that paternal outlook on things. “What are you gonna do?” He asks. “I think I might go stay at my grandparents house for a while, get away from here for a while.” “You want me to take you there?” He offers. I go to protest and he shakes his head. “I don’t mind. Come on I’ll help you pack a bag” He sighs and we walk up to my apartment. He just watches me as I pack a bag.

“Why are you doing this? You’re friends with David” “Because how he treated you back there was trash, and I can see when someone’s falling apart. At this current moment you need to be thinking about finishing your last exam and graduating college. I think some time away will do you and David some good.” He explains and I nod. “I don’t wanna drag you into this Jase, but could you take a bag back to Davids for me? Please don’t tell him where I am, as far as you’re aware you left after I gave you this bag.” I say picking up another random bag and filling it with Davids stuff he left here. Jason nods and I can see the empathy he’s holding for me. We get back into his car and he takes me to my grandparents house. He gives me a hug before driving off. I sigh and go into the house, straight up to the guest bedroom. I had called my grandma in the car and she had informed me they weren’t home currently, they had taken a spontaneous trip to Hawaii but I was welcome to stay there.I send out a tweet then turned my phone off.

Davids POV*

I had let all my worries and thoughts escape me as I was talking to the guys. Feeling guilty about even thinking that way about y/n. When she left, it was about an hour later that Jason returned. He comes in solemnly and hands me a bag. I furrow my eyebrows at the guys and heath, Mariah, Natalie, Kristen, Scott And Matt who had joined us.

“What’s this?” I ask confused, with a laugh. I stop laughing when I open the bag. My face drains of colour as I look up to Jason. He bites his lip and looks away from me. “What is it?” Todd asks quizzically thinking it’s a bit. “My stuff from y/n’s house” I mumble furrowing my eyebrows. I look to Jason for answers and he sighs. “She was awake, she heard every last bit of it” he admits and I jump up. “Where is she?” I panic. The others who weren’t here before are confused. “She doesn’t want me to tell you. She needs space David, she doesn’t wanna speak to you. She never wanted to see to you again before I convinced her to leave it a week” Jason seethes. “And I’m supposed to thank you? Tell me where she is right now, I have to go explain to her” i grit. “explain what? That you’re a dick? That you’ve been stringing her along just so you’ll get laid? That you made her fall in love with you and you had no intention of being with her” Jason spits. I step back slightly. “In love with me? Did she tell you that?” I ask, tears spilling out my eyes. “Yeah. How do you feel now? You’ve absolutely broken her heart. So no, I’m not telling you where she is” he huffs and I sigh wiping my eyes.

“What the fuck just happened?” Heath interrupts. I go to my bedroom and let Jason and the guys explain it to everyone. Tears spill over my eyes as I pick up the first thing I see in my room and throw it. It becomes a habit and soon enough natalie runs into my room holding me back. We collapse on the floor, with me sobbing in her arms. “I fucked up nat” I sob. “Yeah I know you did. You just gotta give her some space. Hurting yourself or your things won’t make you or her feel any better.” She soothes. We stand up and I go back out to the living room to apologise to Jason. He shakes his head and pulls me into a hug.

“The fact is though, I didn’t even mean it, any of it. I’m just scared. I think I might love her” I admit and everyone stays silent.

Normal POV* 6 days later and I had just finished my last exam. Without jinxing myself- it went pretty well. I mean, I had studied hard the past week to take my mind off of my crumbling relationship, or lack thereof. A couple of friends and some of the guys in college were going out drinking. Normally I decline and go chill with David and them, but tonight I think I deserve it. I had bought a new outfit, something usually out of my comfort zone. I had retreated back to my apartment to get ready with my best friends joining me. They help me look extra good and then take a cute picture on my small balcony.

I watch the likes and comments roll in, the vlog squad all immediately liking it. Whilst we’re waiting for the others to get her so we can uber to the bar I start answering a couple comments. I make a couple stories of the girls getting ready, dancing, pouring drinks and a couple boomerangs.When we finally make it to the bar we were going to start our night as we walk in and find a large table in the middle. One of the guys, Dylan, one of my close friends in college has me over his shoulder. I’m giggling but smacking his back to let me down and trying to make sure my skirt is not revealing anything. He lets me down when we reach the table. Stumbling a bit he catches me by my waist making us both laugh. I sit on his knee as we all talk about our futures.

“So. When are you going to man up and ask y/bf/n on a date?” I whisper into Dylan’s ear. He shrugs. “I don’t think she’d say yes” “Are you kidding? I’m going behind her back saying this but as both of your friend, I feel obligated to step in. She’s crazy about you.” I smile. He looks up at me with his eyes wide. “Really?” He asks and I nod. A song comes on and we both gasp. I pull him and y/bf/n up with me. We start dancing and laughing. They eventually gravitate towards each other so I go back to the table with a smile on my face.

My smile fades when I get back to the table and look up. David and mostly everyone from the vlog squad are at the table opposite ours. My eyes widen when Zane notices me staring. He hits David in his arm which everyone notices. They all look over to me but I’m solely focused on David. His face lights up and he goes to stand up. I panic and run to the bathroom. I try and calm my breathing and fix myself in the mirror slightly. I take a deep breath and walk out. I bump into someone as I walk out and immediately apologise. My eyes widen.

“Hey Ilya i didn’t know you were here?” I awkwardly say wrapping my arms around him. “Yeah. I’ve been here a couple days. Uhm, Todd called me. David’s been a mess so they brought out the big guns” he laughs but I stay silent looking down. “Look I know what got said and what happened. But he’s in absolute bits about it, I think you should let him explain. You might be surprised with his response” he says rubbing my arm before walking away. I furrow my eyebrow. “Ilya?” I call out and he turns around. “Were you waiting for me outside the bathroom?” I ask and he just laughs sending me a wink before continuing back into the club. I roll my eyes and make my way back in myself. I look between the dance floor where my friends are and to the table where David was sitting pretty much alone, most of them all on the dance floor themselves.I internally smack myself as my feet drag me in his direction. He looks up shocked as I stand in front of him. I cross my arms.

“You have 5 minutes” I state and he nods. “That’s all I need” He starts so I sit opposite him, having to lean a bit closer to hear him over the music. “Look, it’s gonna sound like a shitty excuse but I didn’t mean it, any of it. I’m just really scared of being in another serious relationship and that’s what I want with you. I don’t just want the sex, however amazing it is with you. I wanna know how your day is and I wanna meet your parents. I want to take you on dates and late night drives. I want to cuddle with you and kiss you whenever I want. I want everyone to know that I love you” he pauses taking my hands in his. “And that you love me. Hopefully still, despite me being an ass” He asks hopefully. I take a moment to think. “If you didn’t mean it then why did you say it? It really hurt my feelings dave” I whimper. “I was trying to pick out things, excuses not to be with you. I don’t believe any of it, I promise. I’m not just saying it, I really don’t” he says and I bite my lip. “Please. Say you’ll be my girlfriend and I cross my heart I’ll never hurt you again. Ever. Please.” He pleads. My heart hammers in my chest at our close proximity. I do the thing that feels most natural and lean forward connecting our lips. He desperately pulls me into his lap holding my cheek. “I love you” He whispers as we pull away. “I love you too David. I swear, if you pull any of that shit again I’m out of your life faster than you can blink” I frown. He nods and leans up to kiss me again. “That’s never gonna happen cause I’m gonna make you feel the most love you’ve ever felt. I’m gonna love you right” “As much as I hated you. I really missed you” I mumble running my hand through his hair. “I missed you too baby” he smiles nudging his nose against mine.

“Ooooh baby are we back on schedule?” Zane screams in front of us so we pull away from each other to see everyone standing there eagerly. I turn back to David with a smile and he beams up at me. “Yeah we’re dating” David announces and they all go crazy. I roll my eyes and snuggle myself into Davids neck. “Congratulations by the way” he comments in my ear and I smile pecking his throat.​

[glmfic]

GH Christmas 2019 | one-shot collection

~ pairing: Masako x John ~ word count: 2,150k ~ genre: holiday!fic

~ summary:  ❝ John & Masako hold a Christmas movie marathon at church and incidentally teach the children about mistletoe...of course they have to know if it works just like the movies <3 ❞

~ warnings: candy cane sweet fluff!...also, maybe some typos I didn’t catch ;) ~ note: the first in a series of 4 one-shots dedicated to my dear readers (happy holidays!)-- enjoy! <3 

Silver Screen

Something brushed up against Masako's side, startling her. Masako glanced to her left. There, kneading the carpet and bumping it's head against her again, was the church's resident cat.

“Mittens,” a small voice cooed to Masako's right. A young child leaned over her lap, reaching for the cat.

Masako picked up the cat held it out to the child, “Here Mittens, see Yuri a minute.”

The little girl gently accepted the cat, peppering it's head with kisses. A chorus of “aww” and “so cute” rang out. Mittens was very popular with the children of the Holy Trinity Church.

“She likes you,” John remarked, looking from the group of children clustered around the cat, to Masako, and then down at the projector he was working on.

Masako stood, picking at her kimono. The rich pine color marred by orange fuzz.

“I like her too. If only she didn't leave behind so much hair.”

John looked up, a bright smile pulling at his lips.

“I meant Yuri. She normally has difficulty adjusting to strangers.”

Masako clasped her hands together, with a small shrug.

“I can't really be considered a stranger now. She's seen me every Friday for the past four weeks.”

Movie night. It had started as a one time thing. John had found an old projector in the church attic and invited Masako to join himself and the children in their little screening of Miracle on 34th Street. But after such a successful evening, Miracle on 34th Street turned into The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas turned into It's A Wonderful Life, then finally-- just a few days before the holiday, they were to finish things off with A Christmas Carol.

John nodded,

“That's true.”

Masako wandered nearer to John, peering around him.

“Are you about done?”

John's blue eyes met Masako's dark one's with amusement,

“Almost. Why? Are you that excited for tonight's movie?”

“The kids are. Mittens will only be entertaining so long.”

“That's exactly what Sister Angela would say. You know them so well now. Ah, there--”

John powered on the projector and there was a collective squeal of excitement. The cat jumped free of Yuri's arms as half the children scrambled to their seats on a pile of pillows in front of the projector screen and a few ran for the light switches,

“I've got the lights, I got it--”

With a click the large playroom was suddenly awash in the warm glow of flickering candles and twinkling Christmas lights.

The hum of the projector and the tinny tone of the opening score filled the air and the children all settled down, eyes fixed on the screen. Except when someone was touching someone. Or the pillow was too lumpy. Or they wanted to hold Mittens. Sitting three kids apart at the back of the group, John and Masako worked in tandem. With practiced ease they separated bickering children, passed around snacks and then wet wipes for sticky hands and faces, quietly answered questions, held hands for comfort at any sad or scary parts. Yuri, who was particularly afraid of ghosts, sat herself on Masako's lap and refused to move through the entirety of A Christmas Carol.

Occasionally, Masako stole a glance over at John. One little girl had her head resting against his knee, and sleeping on his other-- Mittens. When John laughed the sound was bright, mixing with the giggles of the children around them. Masako smiled to herself, thinking how much she had enjoyed the last few weeks. As if he could feel her stare, John turned toward Masako. It was hard to tell her expression in the dim light and he gave her a slight questioning look, but she just shook her head and directed his attention back to the movie. But afterward, more than once, she caught him staring at her.

One hour and two bathroom breaks later, the credits rolled to a burst of applause. Little ones stood and stretched. Some, with antsy legs, began an impromptu game of chase. The ruckus in the room grew, until John spoke, asking his tiny audience what they thought of the movie. The children congregated around him again, eager to share their thoughts. It was more exciting than the other movies. Scrooge was a strange person. Yuri whispered to Masako that the ghost weren't that bad.

When someone started crying because they stubbed their toe, and another little boy nearly tripped on Mittens, Masako suggested the lights be turned on. The children raced to complete the task, nearly falling over their own feet. The switches were flipped and...pop! The twinkling Christmas lights went out.

In the dark of only candlelight someone shouted “ghosts!” and Masako felt her kimono clutched at by Yuri.

“Never mind, the ghosts were bad-- they were!”

Masako bent down to pat Yuri's head and reassure her as John ordered everyone to calm down and sit. After a head count, and a few repeated explanations that the lights going out were not ghosts, he excused himself to go see what the problem was, and get some flash lights if necessary. John paused at the door, glancing over at the medium, crouched down with Yuri clinging to her.

“Will you be alright with them?”

Masako summoned a confident look,

“Of course, go figure it out.”

John nodded, and stepped out the door. She couldn't tell because of the low light, but Masako swore he flashed her a smile as he went.

With John gone and the room so dark, the children huddled around the medium. Yuri made small whimpers. Masako pursed her lips, determined to live up to her confidence. Remembering hearing John do it once or twice, she softly began to hum. It wasn't any tune in particular, but Yuri's whimpers slowed as she listened.

“What's song is that?” a little boy at Masako's elbow asked.

“Yes, what is it? Can we hum it too?” a little girl begged, tugging on Masako's sleeve.

Yuri pulled her head away from Masako's shoulder and peered up at her, “Will it keep the ghosts away?”

“But didn't you hear Father John? There aren't any ghosts.”

“There are in that movie.”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Please, what is the song?”

Masako looked down at Yuri thoughtfully, “What is your favorite Christmas song? Let's hum that.”

Yuri's small voice answered, “Away in a Manger.”

“Oh, I don't know that one. Can you show me?”

There were murmurs of agreement, and then somehow altogether, the children began to hum.

The humming quickly became singing and Masako found herself surrounded by a dozen tiny voices, no longer thinking of ghosts. Even Yuri stood a step back from Masako, doing her best to sing her favorite song well. Masako smiled a true smile, touched by such a scene.

On the final verse there was movement across the room and John's figure filled the doorway. Perfectly quiet, as to blend with the children, he joined in their singing. Masako turned her smile toward him and she saw the smile in his eyes shining back.

When the last notes faded, Masako was quick to praise, “That's my favorite song now too.”

Then the children noticed John and there was an out cry for answers: why was he gone for so long? Was he fighting ghosts?

Masako couldn't help but lock eyes with John at this question, a significant look passing between them, before he assured them yet again that this was not the work of Christmas ghosts.

“Let there be light,” John declared, flipping the light switch nearest him. One of the main overhead lights blazed bright.

The children cheered and quickly they flipped the other switches.

“It was just a blown fuse,” he explained to Masako as she was finally released by Yuri. The little girl bounded off, all her energy returning.

Masako then turned her attention to cleaning (snacks and pillows scattered), her feet dancing around kids and the cat, as John packed up the projector.

“That was pretty amazing.”

Masako glanced up from sweeping popcorn off the floor, “Hm?”

“You. With the kids. You really did great calming them down. The singing was nice.”

Feeling strangely shy under John's warm approval, Masako waved the compliment right back,

“What about you? You got the lights on. Priest. Ghost Hunter, and Handy Man.”

John grinned,

“All in a days work.”

Once finished, John announced that there was a bedtime treat waiting for the children, courtesy of kind Hara-san, and then it was time for teeth brushing and bed.

There was more cheering at the mention of a treat and the children scrambled to follow John and Masako out to the kitchen, but then, as a group, stopped short suddenly.

Masako blinked and stared back at them, worry nagging at her, but someone giggled almost immediately.

“What is it?” John asked, giving the children a wondering look.

A dozen innocent fingers pointed up, above John and Masako's heads. Masako's eyes widened.

Mistletoe?

“You know we've been watching those movies,” a little girl spoke up, her hands holding her face prettily, “and they always have that stuff.”

“The girls wanted it,” a boy cut in, making a face, “that kissy stuff. They wanted to see if it worked.”

One of the girls elbowed the boy, protesting that it wasn't just their idea.

“It's called mistletoe,” John corrected patiently, his attention on the children, but Masako's stolen look showed her that John's cheeks were just as pink as hers were, “Where did you find it?”

“Sister Angela got it out of the attic for us after the last movie night,” Yuri answered with glee. Gone was the shy girl.

“Well it doesn't matter, does it? It's not working,” the boy from earlier spoke, jabbing his finger at John and Masako, “they didn't kiss.”

“That's not true,” Yuri protested, “this is the first time they're both under it. The Christmas Magic just hasn't kicked in yet.”

Christmas Magic...?

Several sets of eyes stared up at John and Masako-- some hopeful, some skeptical.

Why did the kids have to be so precious?

Why did they have to wish for something so impossible?

Realizing they had allowed the kids to runaway with such ideas too long, Masako opened her mouth, about to remind them all of the delicious treats just waiting in the next room...when John slowly turned and faced her.

Following his lead, Masako turned also-- searching for some sign of his master plan.

How were they going to get out of this and not ruin Christmas Magic for a dozen children?

If they weren't careful they were both about to become a couple of Scrooges.

But what Masako found as she studied John was only that his hair was more tousled than usual, still slightly wet from the snow that fallen on him on his trip to the fuse box, and that the blue Christmas sweater he was wearing (the one the kids had made him) really did match well with his eyes...

Those blue eyes bore straight into hers. Reading his expression, it seemed to say, if you can't beat them...

Masako's heart beat thickly.

So, there was the master plan. John had decided to humor the children.

Softie.

Anticipating a chaste kiss to the forehead or cheek, Masako played along, eyes fluttering shut, firmly ignoring the odd sensation of what felt like dancing butterflies in her stomach.

The floor board creaked and Masako was aware of John stepping into her space...bringing with him the scent of some holiday soap, and whatever that light cologne he always wore was.

Masako's did stomach did a flip.

Maybe it wasn't butterflies dancing...but sugar plum fairies?

Absently, Masako felt something brush by her legs, and then in the next instant-- something was pressed to her lips. It was soft and it...tickled?

Masako's eyes flew open.

Orange fur.

Masako blinked in surprise. She was staring at the resident church cat, held up by John, who's face hovered just inches away. John peered around the cat, catching her eye with his sparkling ones.

She hadn't kissed John, she had kissed Mittens. Genuine laughter escaped Masako's lips, her eyes sparkling back at John.

Uproarious noise burst out as the children joined in, hooting and hollering. She had kissed the cat! Was that how it was supposed to work?

Suddenly several hands were waving at John, simultaneously begging for Mittens and shooing he and Masako away from the doorway, “My turn, my turn! I want to try!”

Christmas Magic, ghosts, and bedtime treats were forgotten in the face of kitty kisses.

“I just love mistletoe, let's put it up every year!” Yuri declared as Mittens was dumped into her waiting arms.

No longer wanted, and with the children so happily preoccupied...John and Masako took this chance to quietly slip off to the kitchen, sharing in a Christmas cookie or two.

[midnight-circus]

another fucking meme bitch

literally nobody can stop me 

this is the 3rd one of these ive answered for logan i really should give someone else a look-in

w e l p

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

Morgan’s three years younger than him, so close enough to the same age group. They didn’t get on very well at all growing up – Logan was jealous and Morgan was spoilt, which resulted in friction a little beyond regular sibling rivalry – but their relationship has improved with age. They’re not close and there’s still some definite tension, but it’s generally healthy as long as they don’t start talking about their parents. Or anything too personal.

Morgan’s never done anything wrong, that’s the thing. That’s probably what irritates Logan the most. He has no genuine reason to resent his brother and he knows it’s unfair, but he struggles to find a way to redirect the feeling because he’s already embittered towards their parents so like … where the fuck else can it go? He still struggles with it, and tries extremely hard to temper his feelings towards his younger brother mainly out of guilt. It’s not Morgan’s fault. Nonetheless, it is undeniably disheartening to watch his parents dote upon someone who, at the end of the day, is really not all that different to him in the long run.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

Distant. Logan is an eternal disappointment to his mother, who had big dreams for her eldest son – indeed, he was meant to be her only son, before a little mistake came along three years later. From the beginning Morgan was an easier baby than Logan, and Madeleine subsequently funnelled her energy into the happy, bouncy infant rather than the rather aloof, introspective toddler. Logan was quiet, anxious and didn’t smile easily, and the more Madeleine withdrew the more he got the message – in childhood he would rather manage his independence and rely on himself than come to her for support, and as such her attentions on Morgan only intensified until it became uncomfortably clear to everyone that she had a very definite favourite.

In a nutshell, as far as Madeleine is concerned Logan can’t do anything right. There is criticism for everything, and if she can’t think of a snippy comment now then she’ll think of if later and ring him up to tell him. She is emotionally abusive, though she’ll never understand that – after all, she does love him (and in her mind, he hasn’t made that easy), but in all honesty she doesn’t like him very much, and he is more than aware of it.

It’s damaged him pretty badly, and as he grows older he distances himself more and more, reducing his contact with her to phonecalls and the occasional special occasion visit. Christmases are miserable. Madeleine, however, is a cakewalk compared to Edward.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

Non-existent. Edward is vile. A bitter, egotistical narcissist who is profoundly aware that his wife has more money than him and cannot let it go. Logan began butting heads with him at a young age and suffered for it (there is no contention over corporal punishment in the English aristocracy), and he honestly feels nothing but distaste and resentment for the man, verging into hatred. The feeling is mutual – Madeleine might be disappointed in her son’s life and sexuality, but Edward is actively disgusted in him, and he has no problem telling him that. Their relationship ultimately exploded in Logan’s late teens, on the night he was outed – after many years of belittlement and abuse, physical and otherwise, he lost his temper entirely and punched his father in the jaw. Edward put him through a glass coffee table for his pains, leaving him with his facial scars, and he left the house that night and never really went back. Probably should’ve gone to A&E, tbh.

Anyway, they don’t speak. Or rather, Logan doesn’t speak to him. On the few occasions they’re forced to be in the same room (Christmases are m i s e r a b l e ), Edward will attempt to goad his eldest into retaliation, but fortunately in those situations Elrick is generally there too and he is MORE than happy to engage on Logan’s behalf.

The very last time they interact is at Madeleine’s funeral, and it ends in an extremely public, extremely loud argument in front of the entire congregation that results in Logan storming out halfway through (‘causing a scene’, is how Edward later puts it to his fellows at the country club). They never speak again, and he does not attend his father’s funeral five years later.

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Not a great deal. His phone, his wallet, his keys – usual shit. He doesn’t cart stuff around for the sake of it and will remove anything superfluous before he goes out, so there’s nothing crazy in there.

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

I’m no dream-diviner, but whatever relates to feeling like a complete and total fuckup. That’s a recurring theme.

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

He’s very claustrophobic and that tends to be a feature of his nightmares. In a modern setting, though, he’s not plagued by the constant nightmares he experiences in his original incarnation – they’re much more sinister in that verse, and they’re brutal. It’s a major factor in why his insomnia is so intense.

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

Depends on the AU. In a modern setting, which I’m pretty much answering for here, nope – shooting is a popular hobby for his mother and father, but he never participated. In most fantasy AUs, he knows how to use one, but he’s a pretty abysmal shot – he’s really only good with a gun in a few very select circumstances when it’s absolutely necessary. Original Logan is the absolute worst with a gun, hence why he doesn’t fucking carry one because it would definitely make more sense than carting a sword around if people keep on trying to assassinate you all the time.

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

It’s fluctuated. He grew up rich. Like … aristocratically rich. His family are Old Money. He wasn’t spoilt as a kid (that little honour went to Morgan), but he went to an expensive private school and certainly didn’t know discomfort.

When he left the home, that all stopped. He had no access to funds and his parents certainly weren’t prepared to give him any, so he made his own way. Ultimately, through a great deal of hard grafting and years of work, he clawed his way into Oxford, manhandled himself through law school and now earns a very comfortable living. He rejected any and all of Morgan’s attempts to help him (Morgan, who was given a ~small loan~ by his mother to start a business and has been a millionaire for pretty much all his adult life) and subsequently it took a long-ass time, but he’s proud of it.

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

Generally more. He’s certainly not the type to fuckin chill around the house half-naked. Like what’s the point. Get your fuckin ass off that expensive sofa and go and put some trousers on for fucks sake.

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

In a modern situation, the night he was outed. That PALES in comparison to his original incarnation’s Most Terrifying Moments 3 Day Compilation Storytime W/ Hi-Res Visuals & Audio, but still.

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

Nope. He’s fine with blood – his, other people’s, whatever. It’s not an issue.

Does your character remember names or faces easier?

Definitely names. He tends to forget faces because he doesn’t really care much about them lmao but names stick in his mind as ‘data’, almost.

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Not preoccupied, but he does value money and possessions – he sees it as a status-marker. Old habits and all that.

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

Success for sure.

What was your character’s favourite toy as a child?

Honestly, he didn’t really play much. He tended to occupy himself with puzzles rather than toys, even when young – colours and shapes as an infant, then on to shit like jigsaws and building blocks as he got a little older, things he could occupy himself very independently with. He used to draw a lot as a young kid, but incidentally is absolutely shit at it as an adult so who knows what happened there. He did have a stuffed toy lion that he carted around as a toddler, but Edward put a stop to his kids having comfort items by the time they were 4 so he didn’t have it for very long.

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

Ambition. It’s the Slytherin in him.

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

He’s too independent, which translates to coming across as cold. He can’t bear relying on other people because he knows damn well he can manage on his own, and it takes him a very long time to delegate trust in a relationship. This has caused friction with people in the past, often alongside accusations of being too cold, too indifferent, too distant. In the three years that he and Elrick spent broken up, his self-reliance was pretty much the final straw for the rebound-relationship he was in for those years – in amongst a nest of other issues, the man in question (sorry Jaeger) simply got fed up of trying to break down a wall that clearly was never going to come down on its own.

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

Oh, only ever self-criticism. Everyone is doing better than he is in one way or another, and he will find that one way.

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

Externally he’ll assign blame to others, but he internalises every second of it as his own fault. It’s the inferiority complex. He knows he deserves it, but he doesn’t want everyone else to know that.

What does your character like in other people?

Integrity, which is pretty rich coming from him as he is no stranger to the odd lie here and there. He also appreciates a practical, realistic outlook on life – relentless optimism irritates him to no end. Sometimes things are really shitty, there’s no use painting it fuckin gold and calling it wonderful. He likes someone he can occasionally bitch and moan with (or more than occasionally), who will either contribute their own grievances or simply let him get on with it without trying to force him to feel better.

What does your character dislike in other people?

Literally we’ll be here forever. He has no patience for what he considers to be ‘stupidity’. A lack of punctuality. Bad spelling. Bad grammar. A lack of self-care. An obnoxious laugh. Anything that reminds him too much of his mother. More than two middle names. Weak handshakes. I could keep going. Best not to.

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

Months, if not years. Really only Elrick and Kat enjoy his full and total confidence. He wants to trust Morgan, but to be entirely honest he can’t shed the fear that Morgan’s going to go parroting it all back to Madeleine the first chance he gets, which is probably a very unfair assumption to make. He knows this. It doesn’t change it, though.

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

He’ll suspect anyone of anything, given the right motivation. He doesn’t trust easily at all. More than once in the early years of the relationship he suspected Elrick of sleeping with his ex, for no other reason than the fact that he had an ex – he kept that particular concern entirely to himself, but it took a long time to shed.

How does your character behave around children?

Responsible. By the time he knew of Bastian’s existence the boy was already about seven, but he’s been babysitting Rowan since birth so he’s pretty comfortable by now.

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

It’s an absolute last resort.

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

Externally defensive, but internally he absorbs it.

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

No point repeating something if it’s clearly not working. A second try might not be a bad idea, just in case a mistake was made in the first opportunity, but any more than two repeats is just setting yourself up for failure.

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Oh bitch if he doesn’t like you, you will Know About It. He really doesn’t see the point in pretending to like somebody he doesn’t – it’s a waste of time and energy, and why bother giving that person false hope? Better to nip it in the bud.

Is your character more concerned with defending their honour, or protecting their status?

His honour’s all shot to the four fuckin winds anyway, but he will protect his status fiercely.

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

His mother’s ancient African Grey parrot used to bite him on the regular, and as such he hates parrots.

How does your character treat people in service jobs?

It could be better. It could be worse, but it could be much better. He’s still kind of a classist snob at times.

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

Nope. He’s never really had a paternal figure at all. Or at least not a positive one.

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

Not really – his only two dependents would be Bastian and Rowan, both of whom are blood relations.

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

It’s easy to say it when he doesn’t mean it (which he has done, in the past). It’s much harder to say when he does.

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

He has no idea whatsoever. He was raised Catholic, but has considered himself an atheist since his mid-teens – however, it’s extremely hard to shed the guilt and fear of damnation when it’s all you’ve heard for a huge chunk of your childhood. He likes to think that life just stops and then that’s it, you’re done, but he can’t quite get rid of the little chirp of paranoia that says he’s going to Hell.

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Growing Dark

Case: 0151904

Name: Mark Bilham Subject: Events culminating in his visit to Hither Green Chapel Date: April 18th, 2015 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

Let's get one thing straight right now. I don't think I should be here. What happened was really weird and I'm pretty sure it was illegal, but it can't have been actually supernatural. Like ghosts and stuff. That's not real. No offence, I guess. I'm just here because I told Kathy what happened, and she insisted that I tell your Institute. She's more open to that kind of thing than me. Maybe that's why she chose to live with Natalie.

Sorry, I should start at the beginning. Kathy's my girlfriend. Katherine Harper. We've been dating about a year and a half now. She graduated last year but I'm doing a medical degree, so I'm not leaving London for another couple of years. She managed to get a job as a trainee teacher up in East Ham, so ended up staying as well. I've got to say I'm glad about it. I'm not sure how good I'd be at a long- distance relationship. Anyway, the original plan was to move in together sooner, but stuff didn't match up properly and this was before she got the job, so she had to move back with her parents for a while. Long story short, I had to get a houseshare with some other med students, and she came up later, moving in with Natalie Ennis.

I don't know where Kathy met her. They've always been friends, but I don't think she was at uni with us. She never talked about it if she was. Kathy grew up in London, so maybe they were friends from school or something. She seemed nice, when I met her. Quiet, but nice. She was very serious, though. I don't know if I ever actually heard her laugh. Maybe she just didn't find my jokes funny. Who knows? She was religious, too. I've never had much time for God, myself, and Kathy didn't either. That's why I was kind of surprised the first time I visited her new place and found a framed Bible quote on the wall. Can't remember what it was. Something about Jesus and faith, I don't really know Bible stuff. Kathy said it was Natalie's. She didn't mind her putting it up there in the living room. Kathy's nice like that, you know? Just letting people be themselves.

Me and Natalie... didn't get on. I don't know if you picked up on that. We didn't hate each other or anything like that, we just... didn't have anything in common. She didn't really watch TV or movies, and I didn't know anything about crochet, politics or God, which were pretty much her only interests. Kathy was always trying to get her to come out with us, and she'd just say no, which was fine by me. She always seemed happy enough, though, hooking yarn into whatever she was making at the time, reading some boring book on the political history of the bonnet or something.

That changed last October, when Natalie's mum died. I don't know how it happened, exactly. Heart failure, I think. It was sudden, I know that much, and it hit her hard. I mean, obviously it did, it was her mum, but I think... I think she lost her faith. The Bible quote wasn't on the wall the next time I went over, and when I asked Kathy about it she gave me a look like I shouldn't bring it up. I didn't see much of Natalie after that. She was still around, I'd sometimes see her heading into the kitchen to get some food or tea or something, but apart from that she just stayed in her room.

So far, so normal, right? You lose your mum and it messes you up. That month was sad, but it's not what Kathy wanted us to talk to you about. No, it was what happened afterwards. It was after Natalie found her new church. It was Kathy who told me about it. This must have been about two months after Natalie's mum died. I must have asked how she was doing, if she was feeling any better. Kathy said that, yeah she was. Apparently, she'd found a new congregation and seemed to be getting some comfort there. She hadn't been crying so much at night, Kathy said, and hadn't been quite as prickly when she tried to talk. I noticed that the Bible quote hadn't gone back up, though.

I thought if she was doing better I'd probably see Natalie around more when I stayed with Kathy, but if anything she seemed to almost completely disappear. She never seemed to be there when I went over. I'd see her leave in the evening and come home early in the morning, just as the sky was starting to get light. She'd go straight into her room, ignoring us completely. When I asked her where she'd been one time, she just told me “church”. I asked her a few more questions, but she stared at me in this weird way until I got freaked out and left the room. I joked with Kathy that her flatmate was turning into a vampire, but instead of laughing she just got defensive and said that Natalie couldn't be a vampire. Then she started listing times she'd seen her in the sunlight, before just kind of trailing off. I think we both realised how messed up it was if she could list the number of times she'd seen Natalie in daylight.

Other strange stuff began to happen around the flat as well. The light bulbs kept blowing, to begin with. Well, that's not entirely true. It always seemed to be that when we got in after dark, we'd try to turn on the lights and, well, nothing would happen. At first we just threw the old bulbs out and replaced them, but it kept happening. We checked the fuses, the sockets, Kathy even called the landlord to have someone check out the wiring, but it all seemed fine. The lights kept not working, though. Then I had a thought. The next time it happened, instead of changing the light bulb, I just tightened it. Just like that it turned back on. The first time this happened I was so surprised I nearly fell off the chair I was stood on. The bulbs hadn't been breaking, someone had been unscrewing them. Not much, not enough that we could spot it, just enough for them to not work. I say ‘someone’ had been doing this, but there was only one person it could have been. For some reason, Natalie had been unscrewing all the lightbulbs in the flat, every chance she got.

That was also when Kathy started to look so tired. She kept nodding off when we went out for dinner and would often zone out when we were watching TV. I asked her about it, but she just brushed it off and said she hadn't been sleeping well. It wasn't until she was so tired she almost walked out in front of a car while she was crossing the road that I finally got her to tell me what was going on. She said that Natalie had started staying home at nights, but she was so loud that it stopped her sleeping. Natalie would wander through the living room and sing, in a language Kathy didn't know, and the tune was so discordant that it set her teeth on edge. Natalie would stop singing if she came into the living room, but would then just move to her room and the song would start again.

Kathy even said that when Natalie did leave, always at night, there would still be the sound of movement from her room. Shuffling, thumping noises, and occasionally the sound of something being knocked onto the floor. She'd come close to opening the door so often, but could never bring herself to do so. It seemed to be louder when she was trying to sleep, and once she thought it had moved into the living room, but she didn't go out to check. So no, Kathy wasn't getting much sleep. She started staying over with me a lot, as she said she just couldn’t handle living alone with Natalie.

One night, she arrived at my house almost in tears. I took her up to my room, and sat her on the bed. She stared at me for a few seconds and I was about to ask what was wrong, when she started to speak. She said that Natalie had tried to ‘convert’ her. She had come to Kathy's room earlier that night, knocked on the door, very polite. She'd seemed cheerier than she had since her mum's death, and asked if Kathy wanted to have some dinner and talk. Now, obviously, Kathy had wanted to discuss moving out for months, but she'd never been in a fit state, so she jumped at the chance.

The dining room was dark. Natalie must have unscrewed the lightbulb again because the switch did nothing. Thin slivers of moonlight coming through the curtains gave just enough light to see the table, and two bowls at either end. Natalie sat at one end, and waved for Kathy to sit at the other. Kathy had wanted to run... but didn't know quite how to do so. She said it would have felt... rude. So she sat down, and tried to eat what Natalie had prepared. She thought it might have been spinach, but if so it must have been boiled for far too long and all that remained was a stringy, limp mush. It was stone cold, and she could barely get through two forkfuls before she started to retch; it was so slimy. She pushed it away as gently as she could. She said Natalie just watched, not even glancing at her own bowl.

Finally, Kathy managed to get the nerve to speak, and told her she wanted to move out. There was silence for a long second, and then Natalie had said she did as well. I'll admit I sighed with relief when Kathy said that, but she shook her head and continued. Natalie had begun to speak, longer and in more detail than she had for a long time. She had said that she need to move out, that the she had a new home to being going to, a new family. She said that they were all going, that 300 years was a long time to wait, but she was lucky to have found it so close to the end. She said that it wasn't long until they were collected by Mr. Pitch. She said that Kathy could come too, if she liked. She could be saved.

It was at this point Kathy realised Natalie was talking about her ‘church’. She became... very scared, and stood up, telling Natalie thanks, but she wasn't really one for Christian worship. And Natalie laughed at this. Laughed long and hard, never breaking eye contact. She had said, “No, but you're a natural for Them. You're worshipping as we speak.” It was at that point Kathy ran, and came over to my house. Natalie hadn't tried to stop her.

At this point I was angry as all hell. If Natalie wanted to join some weird cult, and by that point we were both sure that's what it was, then that was her business, but she was scaring Kathy. There was no way I was going to let that stand. I told her that I was going over to her flat and was going to have it out with Natalie. I don't know what I was going to do. I mean, I wasn't going to hit her or anything; I just needed to make it clear that you couldn't just screw with people's lives like this. Kathy told me not to go, but she wasn't in any fit state to stop me. I got in the car and started to drive.

It was an overcast night, and without the moon the streets were dark. The lamps on the road seemed... dull, and even my headlights didn't reach as far as I thought they should. It wasn't far to the small house. I didn't expect any lights to be on, but the silent darkness of the place still sent a shivers down my spine. I had a key to the door, and let myself in. I'd taken a torch from my car, and sure enough the lights weren't turning on. The hallway was silent, but my nerves were on edge and I started to look through each room in turn. Nothing. There was no sign of Natalie at all.

I stood there, in front of her room. It just had a normal, wooden fire door, but my hand still hesitated as I reached to open it. I knew it was empty, by now I was sure she wasn’t home. Still, I was starting to feel that fear that Kathy had described, and I saw that my hand was shaking. I tried to ignore it, grit my teeth, and I opened the door.

The room inside was empty, as I had thought. But it wasn’t just that Natalie was out; it was completely bare. No furniture, no possessions, nothing. The carpet had been torn up, leaving the bare floorboards exposed and the wallpaper had been stripped from the wall. All of it had been stuffed and nailed up against the room’s only window, leaving it completely covered. No light from outside got through, and the torch was the only reason I could see at all. I started to look around for any clue to what Natalie had been doing, or where she had been.

In the corner, half-slipped between the boards, I spotted a piece of paper. It was small and thick, and seemed to have something written on it. Picking it up, I saw it had three words on it: Hither Green Dissenters. The other side had a symbol of some kind, written in thick marker pen: a curved line, with four straight lines coming off one side of it. Like a closed eye. I kept the paper, and your Institute can have it if you want. It’s not like the police were interested in it.

I called Kathy to tell her what I’d found. She was worried about me, but also about Natalie. Whatever this weird church was that she’d joined, I think we both reckoned it might be bad for her. Really bad. Kathy wanted to phone the police, but I told her there just wasn’t enough for it to be a crime. Not yet. I told her I’d keep looking. I might have lied, to be honest, and said I was just going to look around the house more, but... well, I did a search for Hither Green Dissenters and it looked like there was an old abandoned chapel, the Hither Green Dissenters Chapel, in a graveyard near Lewisham. I had decided that I needed to check it out. No idea what I was hoping to find. Enough to call the police in, I guess.

By now it was just past midnight; the drive down wasn’t too difficult. There was still that thickness to the night, a heavy gloom that deadened all light. Like someone had turned the brightness down on London. I found a parking spot not too far away from Hither Green Cemetery, and started to walk towards it. The iron gates stood wide open, so I went in.

The graveyard itself wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. If anything it felt quite peaceful. The darkness seemed right for it, and the stones stood silent and firm. I walked along the path, until my light fell across a small building. The chapel. It was tiny, surrounded by temporary fencing that looked like it had been there long enough to become permanent. It had a single, pointed bell tower, and the windows were covered with old boards that looked like they’d seen the worst of the rain. There was only a single entrance, a pair of double doors set at the front. To my surprise, they stood open. I called out Natalie’s name, shouted and asked if anyone was in there, but there was only silence.

I shouldn’t have gone in. Of course I shouldn’t have gone in. I’m not that stupid. I’ve never been that stupid. But for some reason, standing there in that dark, empty cemetery, I made the decision to look inside.

It was easy to squeeze past the barriers. I still had my torch with me, but it didn’t shine very far in. I entered slowly, casting my light over everything, just in case there were some hooded cultist freaks waiting to jump me, but there were only old, broken pews, discarded bottles and cigarette ends. The normal detritus any abandoned building collects. I was just about to turn around and leave... when my torch died.

Immediately I was plunged into complete darkness. No light was coming in through the door. I couldn’t even see where the door was, everything around me was pitch black. I tried to get the torch to turn back on, turning the bulb and hitting it in a near panic. I tried to take the batteries out and put them back in, but I couldn’t see anything and I ended up fumbling and dropping them. I knelt down and tried to feel where they were, but the ground felt... odd. I hadn’t paid much attention to it when I first came in, but the floor had been chipped, dusty and covered with a layer of junk. But... when I started to feel around for the batteries, it felt smooth and clean and very cold, like marble or something.

I called out for help, but my voice just echoed in the silence. Then the singing started. It seemed like there were dozens of voices, but they didn’t match together right. Some were singing really high and others so low it made my teeth hurt. The words were in some other language, but I remember they kept coming together for the words “Nee-allisand” or “allisunt”, I think. I was freaking out, so I got to my feet and started to walk forward as fast as I was able, my hands stretched out in front of me in case I hit anything. The chapel couldn’t have been more than thirty feet long, and maybe twenty wide, but I walked for well over a minute without hitting anything. I just staggered through the complete darkness, with that awful singing everywhere. At one point I honestly thought I might have died and gone to hell.

Finally, my fingers brushed against something. It was cold, like the floor, but rough. It felt like rusted metal. Thin strips of rusted metal in a criss-cross pattern, with small gaps between them. At least, that’s what it felt like. I didn’t hold on to them for very long, because as my hands rested there, I felt... fingers reach through the holes and try to grab me. I couldn’t see them, but they felt leathery as they brushed against my skin.

I screamed and leapt back, falling to the floor, and as I did so I felt something hard jab me in the hip. My phone. In all that had happened I had forgotten I had it. I reached in and pressed the button and the screen lit up, faint and barely visible, but I started crying like it was the first light I had seen in months. It didn’t light up anything else, but as the singing began to crescendo I desperately went to the torch function and turned it on. And it did turn on in a sudden flash of brilliance and the singing stopped.

In the silence I shone the makeshift torch in front of me and saw a broken pew. The floor was once again covered in junk and I could see the doorway behind me, leading out into the night. I ran, calling Kathy first, and then the police.

They didn’t find anything, of course. They gave me a telling off about trespassing and took down a missing person report about Natalie. Nothing was found, and as far as I know she’s still gone. I didn’t tell Kathy exactly what happened for a few weeks, but when I finally did, she made me come here and talk to you I think that’s everything. Can I go now?

Archivist Notes:

The last section, naturally, is the one that invites my scepticism, but let us disregard that for now and discuss the other aspects. Sasha has confirmed that Natalie Ennis was reported missing by Mr. Bilham on March the 11th 2015. There were no leads regarding her location beyond the piece of paper mentioned in the statement, and no traces of any church or cult was found within the Hither Green Dissenters Chapel or the graveyard surrounding it. When we contacted Mr. Bilham and Ms. Harper to follow up, neither of them had heard from her in the intervening year, nor did they have anything to add to the statement.

The symbol upon the piece of paper does indeed resemble a stylised, closed eye, and there are enough other parallels to Statement 0020312 to make me suspect – and a suspicion is all that it is at present – that the People’s Church of the Divine Host may still be in existence. Also of note, the words “Ny Alesund”. I don’t know for sure if Mr. Bilham remembered them correctly, but Tim pointed out that Ny-Ålesund is actually a small town in Norway. In fact, except for research installations, it is the most northerly human settlement on Earth, located at a latitude of North 78°55′30′′. It is a company town, owned and operated by Outer Bay, but what it has to do with Mr. Bilham’s account is anyone’s guess. Assuming it isn’t all... coincidence. That far north... during the winter... nights can last for a very long time.

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel. Neighbours had apparently heard screams from inside, just after 11pm, but when officers arrived they found nothing to indicate any sort of incident or foul play. I’d be content enough to ignore this... if it wasn’t for the fact that, according to the official file, May 15th 2015 was day Gertrude Robinson, my predecessor, passed away.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 25 Growing Dark)

[skamelias]

THANKFUL

10.4 Fredag 8.12.17   20.46

(((Dør For Deg-Ezzari)))

The night sky overhead contained a vivid mix of golden starlight and swirls of deep blue, awakening Elias’ senses as he fell in step next to Laila, walking up the stairs leading to her friend Anja’s apartment. She was wearing a crimson v-neck sweater and simple black skirt. Elias was speechless when he first saw her an hour ago, his mouth had literally fallen open in awe.

In an effort to be completely present in this moment, he closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh air around him, cataloguing each and every detail.

Even dreams didn’t feel this good.

Elias had been here once before, as he recalled that day four months ago when he’d walked into a strange and unfamiliar apartment to pick up his sister’s jacket, unaware his life was about to change. Once again face to face with the white door, Elias rang the bell. An amusingly odd feeling came over him, as if he was reliving that moment. He almost expected to hear classical music drifting in from a far off room.

The door swung open in front of him and a flash of blond hair peeked through. Anja squealed in delight as she took in Laila standing there carrying bags of food in one hand and her musical equipment in the other.

“LAILA!! You’re here!! I’m so glad you made it. I have some of the equipment you dropped off earlier sort of set up in the back corner of the living room, so you can just drop the rest of the stuff near that area. I’m so excited that you’re DJ-ing the party tonight.” Anja was practically bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

Laila grinned up at her friend lovingly. “I’m so excited, I haven’t spun tables in a while so it’ll be interesting to see how it goes.”

Elias was surprised once again to find yet another hobby Laila had picked up, as he learned earlier, on her travels visiting her dad overseas. She continued to surprise him everyday.

“Oh hey, Elias right?” Anja said, glancing back at Elias who walked up the stairs behind Laila.

He nodded, smiling at her. The initial embarrassment from his awkward pick up attempt a few months ago, all but gone.

“Come on in.” Anja opened the front door wider, allowing them to step through. “Oh also watch out for my cat, he’s a real asshole and he likes to walk right in front of people’s feet, trying to trip them.”

“Oh I don't think I saw a cat last time I was here, what’s his name?” Elias asked.

“Karl.”

Elias frowned slightly at the strange name before he strolled through the entryway, the cozy atmosphere of the small space immediately wrapping around him like a warm blanket. He glanced at Laila to his left who was rearranging the music supplies in her hands, eyes scanning the room for the corner Anja had set up for her.

As she spotted it, she beamed and nudged Elias before saying, “I’m going to go set up.”

He nodded and gave her his best look of encouragement.

She wandered off into the crowd and Elias fell back, searching for the guys and Sana. Surprisingly his gaze fell on a friendly face in the crowd; it was Isabel.

Elias hadn’t seen or heard from her since they had hooked up. He recoiled internally as he thought about that regretful night. Elias had made so many mistakes the past few weeks, but he heavily regretted hurting Isabel.

His old self would have considered turning around and avoiding her, but he didn't want to be that person anymore. Elias hunched his shoulders up resolute in his intentions and strode over to her standing with a red cup in her hands.

Isabel’s face brightened instantly when she saw Elias, giving him a warm, amiable smile.

“Hey Isabel, how have you been?” he asked in genuine interest.

“You’re so sweet, I’m great. Never been better,” she replied and he believed her words. Her bright eyes were full of joy.

“I wanted to apologize again for being such a dick the last time I saw you,” Elias looked down nervously at his feet before meeting her eyes again.

“Elias you don’t have to keep apologizing. In fact I’m glad that we didn't work out. Because if it weren’t for that, I never would have met Trine. She’s amazing, we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now.”

She?

Elias did not see that coming.

But good for Isabel. He was happy that she had clearly moved on, it had been weighing on his conscience for a while now.

“That’s awesome. So is she here tonight?” Elias asked, looking around even though he had no idea what Trine looked like.

Isabel nodded, she turned to her right and pointed out a tall girl, close to Sana’s age with long brunette hair. Isabel waved to her across the room, and Trine smiled back at her, affectionately.

Elias turned back to Isabel and said, “Seriously I’m really happy for you Isabel.”

“Thank you! And what about you? Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.

He blushed as he unconsciously searched for Laila in the throng of people. Finally, he spotted her loose flyaway curls a few feet away, moving around frantically as she tested out her equipment. “I am. Her name’s Laila.”

“Oh, I think I know her, she used to be friends with those Pepsi Max girls? Trine used to hang out with them too, but she left because she said they were terrible friends. Trine always spoke fondly of Laila though,” Isabel mentioned.

He grinned hearing that. “Yeah she’s one of a kind.” Elias looked up and spotted Sana in the crowd, mingling with Adam and Mutta. “It was great talking with you, I’ll see you later. I definitely want to meet Trine, she sounds cool,” he said.

“You too, for sure I’ll introduce you guys, talk to you later.” Isabel waved bye to him and made her way over to where Trine was standing, placing a kiss on her cheek softly.

(((The Next Episode-Dr. Dre)))

At the start of the new song, the bass shook the walls as everyone got on their feet, bodies pressed close to each other, letting loose.

It seemed like Laila had gotten her tables set up. As he glanced at where she was standing behind the turntables, he couldn't help but notice the intense look of concentration written on her face.

Elias made his way over to where Sana was standing, nodding to Mutta and Adam.

“Congrats bro on your editing internship!! I’m so proud of you,” Sana added, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

“Thanks Sana.”

“You got it?!!” Mutta exclaimed.

Elias nodded, unable to contain the grin that spread across his lips. “Bro, that’s amazing,” Adam said.

“Thanks Adam!” Elias gazed around the room. “Where’s Yousef and Mikael?” he asked suddenly.

Sana rolled her eyes and said, “Where do you think?”

When he didn't answer she continued. “They’ve only been here five minutes and they already challenged each other to a dance off,” Sana said half exasperated, half amused.

He turned to look over at the crowd in the middle of the dance floor and sure enough he could see them already in full swing. Yousef was doing a passionate variation of hip-hop street dancing while Mikael was breakdancing furiously. All the while, the group of people around them were hyping them up.

At that moment, Chris came up to them, grabbing Mutta’s hand as she said, “Come on, let’s dance!” she said shaking her hips, dragging him into the congregation in the center of the room.

Adam went and joined Yousef and Mikael on the dancefloor, jumping up and down, pumping his head.

“I’m dating a literal five year old,” she half shouted over the music as it got louder.

“You knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to date him,” Elias countered.

“True.”

(((Wild Thoughts-DJ Khaled)))

Elias glanced up at Laila who smiled back at him. She slid the mega headphones wrapped around her ears off her head, and stepped down from behind the tables, making her way over to him.

“Aren’t you in charge of the music for the whole night?” Elias teased as she stood in front of him, sliding her hand in his.

“I’m allowed to slip away for one song,” she replied. “Besides, don’t you want to dance with me?” She put on an endearing look that he couldn’t resist. His heart beat wildly in his chest as his eyes met hers.

All at once, they both fell into the rhythm of the song, hips swaying in time with the beat. They moved together as one, falling into step with each other.

As he spun Laila around in his arms, he couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky for everything and everyone in his life.

Looking around at his sister, at his friends, at this amazing group of people around him, Elias knew he had so much to be thankful for.

ENDING CREDITS

(((Lions-Skip Marley)))

Writer (Ep 1-4) & Producer

Anna (smoothyousef)

Writer (Ep 5-10), Beta (Ep 1-4), & Co-Producer

Anisha (savedbythespell)

Co-Producer & Editor

Cristina (sanabakkousk)

Illustrator

Rida (ree-duh)

Promoter

Simone (ur-nitemare)

TAKK FOR ALT

Thank you to our beautiful readers who love Elias as much as we do and who’ve kept us going through this project. We can’t thank you enough for your lovely comments and investment in this fic. We love you all!!

[dcnativegal]

It is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability -- and that it may take a very long time. (de Chardin)

My mind, my heart, is awake and brave.

I do not know my mind and heart as separated. I know myself, through a glass, darkly.  Physician, heal thyself, applies to me, although I’m a mere social worker.

Today I am all about metaphors and clichés.

I have been about healing myself since I sought out psychotherapy in the 10th grade: I was the first self-referred adolescent anyone could remember at that public clinic in DC. I have been healing the betrayal of a limited and dangerous faith, Christian Science, since that morning I discovered that my grandmother was cold and stiff in her bed at the age of 65, dead from preventable causes. I went on to school that day, after telling my little sister to go tell Mom that Nana had died. I was 15. It was that year, 1975, that I called Bullshit on how I’d been raised. I started in earnest to separate the wheat of the many gifts and legacies I was given, from the chaff of illness, limitation, cruelty, which grew up right alongside.

Apparently, it’s a lifetime pursuit.

One thing about moving to so radically different a physical location (DC to Paisley) is that the usual thoughts and routines were stripped from my consciousness and I was plopped down as if by helicopter into a new world. I’m still learning where I am, physically. I’m still discerning the subtleties of Eastern Oregon etiquette. I am not known, yet, not very deeply, so I have settled into a now familiar loneliness. Nevermind “Question Authority”. I question everything. What I knew Before, without thinking a whole lot about it, floods in and fills up the spaces that had been stripped by the new environment, flooding in like the water does after an underwater earthquake. Past memories pull away, so strangely. And then flood back in a tsunami.

Which is why what I’ve been writing since I got to the Oregon Outback feels like memoir. My awareness is filled with the Before, alternating with The Brand New. It makes my brain full to overflowing. Some evenings, I go to bed at 7pm. I dream of cities.

**

For the past month or more, I have felt tears very close to the surface, multiple times a day, and they spill over if I let them.

Because…

·       I have been living in this skin for almost six decades

·       I am well trained and broadly experienced as a clinical social worker for three decades

·       And I am ­­familiar enough with my own experience as a client in psychotherapy…

I know that something is up. I am living in the midst of not knowing what it is. Which I can actually tolerate, although I do so hate crying at the beginning of a work day because part of my brain is just mush after that.

I had a big cry at the beginning of a work day recently. I noticed later in the day, that I was looser and more open with my clients, a bit braver with my questions of them, a bit more tuned in. I also had to monitor myself in a different way that the usual self-monitoring. I had to see if my inner turmoil was skewing the session, more than usual. A big part of being a psychotherapist is working to keep my shit from contaminating their shit. Or maybe I could pick a nicer metaphor. How about I keep my water colors inside myself, and let them paint their own picture with their water colors.

A recent Sunday morning’s tears came from the embarrassment and frustration of psyching myself up to go to the Catholic Church up the hill from my house for the first time here in Paisley, dressing up just a bit for the occasion, only to find that once again I have miscounted which Sunday it is. This parish meets 1st and 3rd Sundays. And it was Fourth Sunday. Dammit.

I deeply hunger for church. I feel guilty for feeling so needy about the comfort of church. The Episcopal Book of Common Prayer puts it this way: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”

I hunger for all of it: solace, strength, pardon, AND renewal.

Valerie and I are beginning to be recognized at the Episcopal Church in Bend because we’ve been there more than once, and we are greeted with smiles of recognition. I’ve enjoyed the Episcopal flavor of Eucharist in Coos Bay, Reno, Nevada, Eugene, Salem, and Lakeview, who’s parishioners you can count on two hands. I’ve hung with the Lutherans, Quakers and the UUs in Klamath Falls and the Methodists in Fort Klamath.

I went to Paisley Community Church the weekend before my attempted Catholic crashing, for the first time in 4 months. It is such a lovely building, with the big bell that gets rung by a child at 9:30am every Sunday. I see familiar faces and they smile back at me. By now, I know half the congregation by name. I hear prayers and concerns, announcements. We sing songs with the words projected stage left from the altar, and some of them I recognize. How Great Thou Art made an appearance. Not a favorite, but I knew it.

What killed me was the sermon. It was preached in what Valerie explained to me is a typical evangelical style, not planned out, but extemporaneous, so the “Holy Spirit” can edge in there. How I received it was, well, negatively. I was not tuned into his channel. Especially when I hear the name Jezebel, and talk of watching out for the Devil, after weeks of #Metoo, as millions of women reveal they, too, have been sexually harassed or assaulted. I was not having it.

I’d much rather watch out for God than the Devil. I do not go to church to find God but to share God, as Alice Walker points out In the Color Purple. I couldn’t share. The sermon was a sincerely delivered, garbled mess, as far as I could discern. It left me bereft.

What I hunger for is a story. Tell me a story.

I also hunger for familiarity, because familiarity triggers the epic mystery of ritual. After 40 years of the Collect for Purity, I weep from the missing of it:

Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I feel better just reading this aloud.

I am trying to remain as open as I can to the spiritual gift of new challenges, including evangelical preaching. Among my questions: how to remain open without pulling a muscle?  I seek spiritual nourishment and I am starving. I’m going to seek out the Catholics. At least the liturgy is familiar.

**

I’m met with a brand spanking new psychotherapist for the first time in October, in Bend. I’ve decided that a monthly, rigorous archeological expedition of my psyche would be good. I miss my former therapist, The Wizard, who never failed to leave me feeling better and more functional after 50 minutes with her. But the three phone calls we’ve had since my move west are just not enough.  I need the in-person three-dimensional interaction.

It always feels a little scary to see a new therapist. I can relate even better to my clients’ experience when they first see me: they must wonder who the hell this woman is who wants to know such personal stuff.  I was going to be picky in selecting a new therapist, and I asked for recommendations. Then I checked what’s covered by my insurance, and looked to see if LGBT is on their list of interests. Not that being queer is an issue for me now, but I so don’t want it to be an issue for my therapist because if it is, her water colors will most definitely smear into mine. I don’t have time for that. Seriously. You don’t have to know much about what it is like to be gay, but I do not want to sense on any level that you think it is a bad thing, some sort of disability, something freakish. I mean, I’ve gone through a spell of crying daily, for god/ess’ sake. Your homophobia will not help me.

Turns out there is such demand and so few therapists that I had to get on several waiting lists. Finally, this one gal called me back. I saw her for 80 minutes on a Wednesday on the way to a training in Portland. I like her. She seems smart, kind, experienced. I impressed her; I was trying to. I want her to like me, so that when she hears the stories of my ruined parts, she will hold them in context. I will see her once a month.

I am reminded of Anne Lamott:

I asked a friend of mine who practices a spiritual path called Diamond Heart to explain the name recently, because I instinctively know that Sam and I both have, or are, diamond hearts. My friend said our hearts are like diamonds because they have the capacity to express divine light, which is love; we are not only portals for this love, but are actually made of it. She says we are made of light, our hearts faceted and shining, and I absolutely believe this, to a point: Where I disagree is when she says we are beings of light wrapped in bodies that only seem dense and ponderous, but are actually made of atoms and molecules, with infinite space and light in between them. It must be easy for her to believe this, as she is thin, and does not have children. But I can meet her halfway: I think we are diamond hearts, wrapped in meatballs.

Anne Lamott, Plan B

 ­­**

There are lots of metaphors and explanations for psychological distress, and for the prospect of trying to grow and change out of patterns of behavior or thought that do not serve me or help me serve others. I spent much of social work school trying to diagnose my mother. It was the side gig of my Master’s Degree.

Apparently, sometimes, the brain inherits traits and characteristics in the DNA, and genes get flipped on or off depending on environment. Sometimes the in-utero environment makes an impact. Did you know that when a family has a series of boys, one of the younger ones might be gay? I know of three families in which this is true, including my own.

I read somewhere that when a mother is anxious, the fetus will be bathed in cortisol, the stress hormone, and then once born, they are more likely to be anxious as a child. It certainly seems intuitive that an anxious child picks up anxiety when the mama is anxious.  In childhood, the child does everything within its power to capture the attention and love of the mother.

“The key role of the 'good enough' mother [is] adaptation to the baby, thus giving it a sense of control, 'omnipotence' and the comfort of being connected with the mother. This 'holding environment' allows the infant to transition at its own rate to a more autonomous position.  The good-enough mother...starts off with an almost complete adaptation to her infant's needs, and as time proceeds she adapts less and less completely, gradually, according to the infant's growing ability to deal with her failure." (Winnicott, 1953)

“Failure” sounds harsh, but it is inevitable that a mother fails her child because it is impossible to meet every need, in fact it is not a good thing to have every need met. However, there is a basic minimum, the Good Enough, and my mother could not meet it. Although she did the best she could.

My sister and I both survived our mother, and when we look back to our ancestors, we’ve concluded that we are pretty darn high functioning, given the heritage.

I do wonder at the trauma my clients have survived, and how lucky I was. Of the highest possible score of ten in the test, “Adverse Childhood Experiences,” most of my clients score a 5 or more. I do realize that having a troubled childhood is not a competitive sport: I must deal with what I was dealt and take responsibility from there. (I scored a 3: https://www.ncjfcj.org/sites/default/files/Finding%20Your%20ACE%20Score.pdf)  As my first therapist once told me, it is okay to acknowledge our own deprivation. Perhaps an early step of self-care is this acknowledgement, and the beginning of healthy self-soothing.

Unhealthy self-soothing is rampant: for me it’s over eating and over spending. I don’t feel that there is ENOUGH for me. I need MORE. And yet I have plenty.

There is

Always

Enough

And

Enough

Is

Plenty

Guillermo in Simply Living: The Spirit of Indigenous People by Shirley Jones

 Although I KNOW I have enough, somehow, I don’t feel it. I don’t act like I have enough.

All kinds of behaviors and ideas about myself came from being an anxious child in an anxious, chaotic household. Without psychotherapy, I slowly return to my default position: anxiety and self-doubt. Psychotherapy is like physical therapy, for me. Without it, I tend to deteriorate. Ongoing therapy taps into my strengths and I get stronger, again, over and over. Depression and anxiety are the default positions, but not my fate. It’s like diabetes: it cannot be cured, but it can be managed.

I do realize how much I use the word HUNGER as a metaphor. Or maybe it is reality. We can hunger for love.

***

The triumvirate of healing for me is, talk therapy, psychotropics, and self-awareness. Oh and church.

After finding a therapist, I also saw my family nurse practitioner. I did not intend to go in there looking for a new antidepressant, but as we discussed my chronic illnesses, and my discouragement, I cried pretty much the entire time. Tears have a way of sending up an emergency flare, don’t they? Within the hour, I had a new antidepressant. It is my third one. Prior to starting each of the three, I had daily crying jags that I could not stop.

The very next day: no tears. Either I’d cried myself out, or the subtle shift of chemicals stopped up the leaky tearducts. Either way, I’m grateful. New psychotropics?  Check.

***

Self-awareness is risky because it can fall so easily into self-absorption or self-pity. The worst is self-delusion. Tell the truth to yourself, if to nobody else.  Self-awareness means I notice my thoughts, moods, what comes out of my mouth, to make adjustments, to query myself, what’s going on? Why such caustic cynicism? Why so many f-bombs?  

Depression can express itself in irritability, in the lack of pleasure in usual things, in the over estimation of some things and under estimation of others. My former fiancé once said, life is a shit sandwich, and every day a bigger bite. Depression is the glass half empty. And it lies.

Sometimes, when I am in a darker place, it has meant that too much is going on at one time and I am simply overwhelmed because of stressors that are not my fault. What got me into therapy with The Wizard back in 1999 was what we both eventually referred to as an emotional multi-car pile-up. Many external stressors were wearing me down and my internal leaning is to anxiety and self-doubt. I leaned so far, I fell over.

Is that’s what’s going on now?

Some very old emotional stuff got stirred up in September. My ongoing and mostly unsuccessful struggle with pancreatitis makes me feel bad and is wearing. My work is challenging and it’s not just the pain of the clients I see. I am deeply disappointed in my failure to get my shit together in one important area (that would be my finances) and the self-beration is corrosive, not to mention the stressor of the consequences (poverty). Wouldn’t it just be easier to change my behavior instead of berating myself for behaving in the old, familiar ways?

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Behavior change is not easy. Insight helps but it is not enough.

Like many people, part of my sadness comes from the dying of the light, as fall turns to winter in the northern hemisphere. I share this with millions. (It’s called Seasonal Affective Disorder.)

I listened recently to a podcast on managing money called Bad With Money. The host is a ‘creative’ who happens to have bipolar disorder. Her guest on that episode also had bipolar, and she spoke about spending money wildly when she’s manic.  She’s built in some safeguards in her life to prevent her from doing this. She also has friends give her feedback if she’s getting too ‘weird.’ How wonderful is that. People who gently say, hon, I think you’re getting a little wound up here…And this creative woman can say, oh shit, thanks for pointing this out! And she goes into radical self-care mode, and maybe adjusts her medications.

Yeah, it would be helpful to have friends like that. My gentle, totally unneurotic partner picks up a number of my craziness clues. Mostly, I observe myself. I am the turd around which the world revolves, after all. (Once again, Anne Lamott.)

Ever heard of Maria Bamford? She has struggled with OCD, bipolar disorder and a bunch of other things, and she is on top of all of that, mostly through ‘better living through chemistry’, which is to say she finally found the right drug for her. Depakote, as it turns out. She is an actress and comedian and quite wonderful. She has had to spend her entire adult life figuring out how to survive (literally, to not kill herself) and then, finally, thrive. It is hard work! She is well worth watching to see how she does the thriving thing: her art is standup comedy. An inspiration for wee neurotic me.

So.

I am aware that something is a bit more stirred up, a bit looser, a bit more aware of the echo of old pain, than usual. I am not sure what to do with this awareness beyond what I am doing, which is, a bit of bibliotherapy (writing about it), seeking out a new therapist on this side of the continental divide (done), switching antidepressants (done), and looking for church (ongoing.)  I am also lucky to be going on a weeklong retreat that my incredibly loving and generous only sibling is paying for, in mid-November. I will have the luxury to concentrate on me and only me for a bit. (Warning: the following is metaphor frappe.) I go in the hope the part of me that is the observing ego can revisit some old tender places, cast an eye, and an ear, to listen to the echo of the old pain, and practice self-healing, self-forgiveness, to be whole for a minute, to allow the pain to wash over me. I would like to orchestrate the old pain, the long ago deprivation, into a cleansing bath, like the conductor does in the video I’m of late obsessed with: a concert in Verona Italy, with Peter Gabriel singing a haunting version of David Bowie’s Heroes. Watch the YouTube video and see this lithe man swing his arms ­­­­so that all the violins will conjure up the sweet agony of the music. (Google

Peter Gabriel - Heroes (Live in Verona 2010) - YouTube

and watch him yourself.)

Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightment: chop wood, carry water.

Before mental health is re-established: show up for work, show up for the people who love me, practice self-care, and crochet. After mental health is re-established: show up for work, show up for the people who love me, practice self-care, and crochet.

Here is one of the most comforting bits of writing I’ve ever found, for times like these. The thing is, the unformed unknowing never ends. But that’s okay. It has to be okay. I am trying, always to “accept… the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense, and incomplete.”

 Trust in the slow work of God.

We are, quite naturally, impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new,

and yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability -- and that it may take a very long time.

 Your ideas mature gradually --

let them grow, let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don't try to force them on, as though you could be today what time

(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)

will make them tomorrow.

 Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you,

and accepting the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense, and incomplete.

                                                          Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

 depression anxiety de Chardin therapy

[oldfashionedswiftcurse]

Alwyn vs. Swift Pt. 8

After collecting her belongings, Taylor stopped by the Alwyn residence, finding only Rebecca there eating cereal. She was silent and watchful and nearly giggled when she saw how disheveled Taylor’s hair was.

           “Please tell me last night was a figment of my imagination,” she joked, but Rebecca shook her head.

           “Sadly, this is not the case,” she teased. “You were rocking and rolling with some heavy stuff.”

           “Another night when I’m not at home. You know, one of these days, my dad is definitely going to kill me.”

           “If Joe doesn’t beat him to it,” Rebecca stammered, giving Taylor a look of concern.

           “Oh, no,” Taylor replied, grabbing her cell phone, “what did I say to him? It’s all just a blur.”

           “I’m not sure it’s going to be on there. You and Joe…he brought you to his tree house because you were too drunk to go home.”

           Taylor remained silent, listening to Rebecca’s account of last night.

           “You basically told him you wish you’d never met him, that he made your life too complicated.”

           “I didn’t…”

           “It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it, sweetie,” Rebecca said, offering her a cup of coffee. “You said it. It really messed him up too. He left early this morning, for a run I think. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

           “And by a while, do you mean by the time I leave?”

           “He told me to text him when you were gone,” Rebecca said, her allegiance to her brother very clear.

           “I messed up, Becks. I really need to know where he is. It’s just to apologize, I promise.”

           “I’m sorry, Taylor. He’s my brother, and you weren’t here to see the whole Teresa debacle, but I’ll be damned if I let that happen to him again.”

           Taylor nodded, accepting defeat. When she returned home, as expected, her father was dressed and waiting for her.

           “What does it take, kid?” He asked, frustrated. “What does it take for you to just follow the rules?”

           “I’m sorry, Dad,” she stammered, trying to hold back tears. “I’m sorry for everything.”

           At that, she collapsed in her dad’s arms. Surprised at first, he hugged her back tightly and wiped her tears away.

           “Taylor, sweetheart, what happened?”

           “I just broke someone’s heart…maybe, I think I did. And I don’t know how to make it right.”

           Her dad leaned over, resting his hands on her shoulder.

           “This wouldn’t be the same guy who took you on that trip to Munich to see your mom, would it? Because if so,” her dad said, leaning back, “I’d say that some people are worth fighting for, Taylor. In fact, the best ones are.”

           She paused, thinking of a million different ways to fight for Joe back. He was worth it, and she would do whatever it took to win him back. When she returned to campus on Monday for her Lit class, she looked for Joe. He was nowhere to be seen, and she was certain he was avoiding her. During their Music Theory class, he moved his seat to the corner of the room and refused to make eye contact with her. Finally, as he was walking out, she raced up to him.

           “Joe, please,” she said breathily, reaching for his arm.

           He shoved it aside, refusing to allow Taylor to touch him.

           “Leave me alone, Taylor.”

           As he began walking away, she walked alongside him.

           “I screwed up, okay? I should never have said what I did that night. I was drunk and angry and extremely jealous,” she began, but he turned a corner.

           She couldn’t walk side-by-side with him anymore, so she settled for walking behind him.

           “I’m sorry, Joe. I’m really sorry. I’ll do anything just to get our friendship back.”

           “Taylor,” he began, stopping in a less crowded hallway. “I don’t want to do this, alright? I can’t do this again.”

           “I’m not Teresa, Joe. I won’t hurt you like she did,” she murmured, but he froze. “I will never hurt you.”

           He shook his head, walking away.

           “Too late for that kind of proclamation, isn’t it love?”

           As he walked away, Taylor knew that he was being sarcastic to hurt her. It made sense; she had hurt him, so naturally she deserved some kind of payback. However, this would not suffice. That Friday night, she attended his show in hopes of some kind of conversation, but once again, he blatantly ignored her. Finally, Taylor asked Rebecca where she could find Joe on the weekends, and Rebecca gave her an address.

           “He gives a couple of the neighborhood kids music lessons after their music school went bankrupt,” she stated, handing Taylor a piece of paper. “Don’t tell him I gave you this or he’ll never let me forget it. Also Tay…don’t break his heart.”

           Taylor nodded, smiling at her friend.

           “You know I didn’t mean it, right? Having Joe in my life was difficult to adjust to, but I can’t imagine anything else. Every day with him is an adventure, and I’m willing to fight as long as it takes.”

           Rebecca’s smile was all Taylor needed to prove to herself how important this fight was. She showed up at the address immediately, waiting outside of a crowded classroom. She peered in through the door and found Joe with a group of kids congregated around him. They all held different instruments, and he was moving through different, smaller groups. His smile was visible, and Taylor felt a little ripple in her stomach. She took a seat on the chair outside in the hallway for nearly fifteen minutes until she saw the same crowd of children exiting the room. Parents filed into the hallway as well, and when Joe came out, it was nearly half an hour later. He was less than thrilled to see Taylor.

           “Hi.”

           He remained silent, carrying his guitar in a large case.

           “Joe, I understand why you’re upset, and you have every right to be. I made a mistake, a really big one, but you can’t stay mad at me forever,” she said, speeding up to match his pace.

           He still remained silent, entering the elevator. She followed closely behind him.

           “Please say something,” she muttered desperately.

           This time, his silence was deafening. Taylor stopped the elevator, pressing the emergency button. She stood by it, and eventually, a voice came over the intercom. The alarm beeped about five times with a red light flashing in the corner of the elevator.

           “Are you all safe in there? We’ll send someone over immediately. It should be about half an hour. Is anyone sick in there?”

           “No, we’re fine. Thank you so much, and please take your time,” she said, and Joe looked at her with a deadly stare.

           “Joe, please.”

           “Why the hell did you do that?” He asked, and she was thrilled that he was responding to her at least.

           “Because my best friend has been ignoring me for the past week, and I was desperate.”

           “You made your feelings very clear that night. You wish I had never come into your life, so I followed your wishes. I left your life nice and easy.”

           “Joe, I was stupid and drunk. I didn’t want to face my feelings for you. I was confused…”

           “You lied. You lied straight to my face, Taylor.”

           She was quiet, listening to him now. She was grateful that he was finally opening up to her.

           “You said I was the one playing games with you, but that’s a blatant lie. I have been open and honest about my feelings for you from the start. I told you I was in love with you! You,” he mumbled, pointing at her, “were the one playing games with me.”

           “I never meant to…”

           “I opened up to you about my family, my fears, and what did you do? You threw it right back in my face.”

           “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, but he continued.

           “And the sad part is I still can’t stop thinking about you. I’m still so in love with you, despite everything,” he uttered, and she felt the tears stinging her eyes.

           “Joe, I love you too.”

           He paused for a minute, frozen in place. However, he continued with his rampage.

           “How can I even trust that? This is probably just another game. And I know I started this whole bet thing, but I’m done. I’ve been done, and…”

           Taylor reached over, bringing her lips to his. She inhaled his scent as she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. Joe paused at first, then gave into the kiss. Clutching her waist, Joe pushed her back against the elevator wall, and Taylor moaned in excitement. He moved his tongue against hers, desperate to reach every part of her. She clutched his t-shirt tightly, and he moaned in pleasure as she moved against him. His hardness was evident, and all she wanted to do was give into her deepest desire.

           Joe ran his hand along her waist and slipped it under her t-shirt. His bare hand traced across her stomach and around her lower back, and she arced at his touch. His lips now moved to her neck, tasting and sucking every part of her. They broke away slightly, just enough for Taylor to mumble one sentence.

           “I love you, Joe.”

           “I love you too, Taylor.”

           At that moment, they heard a “ding” sound, and the elevator started moving once more. Once they were lowered to the lobby, a man wearing suspenders and holding a toolbox awaited them.

           “So sorry about that. We’ll have it fixed immediately,” he said, and they smiled at him.

           Walking out hand in hand, Taylor followed Joe’s lead as they went to his house.

[pixiealtaira]

My Biggest Cheerleaders…

Kurt-centric fix it

Kurt smiled as he looked around the loft and considered how wrong his life could be and how right it felt at the moment.

He could have given into Rachel and stayed to help her reestablish the Glee club at McKinley, but after seeing Blaine and Dave he decided to not stay in Lima.  He almost did.  The deal at the retirement home had fallen through, and Rachel had begged him to help her. He had bombed his first attempts at dating in NYC after Blaine and his break-up and his therapist had convinced him it was entirely his fault anyway and no one showed at their planned meet-up. Running home sounded promising…at least his dad loved him, right? Rachel’s offer and getting Blaine back had sounded good (it probably hadn’t helped that he also hadn’t really slept in a month…Blaine had made him get rid of Bruce the moment he found him.) However, the call to the Dean at NYADA to set up helping Rachel as his work-study option wasn’t nearly as promising as he’d hoped.  (He’d been not so gently reminded he was in the musical theater program, so unless they were doing a musical he should probably reconsider…or focus on setting up a good drama department instead.)  The call the next day with four work-study options in New York at theaters producing musicals, two of which also had small salaries attached and then the reality of living at home made him reconsider his options and he decided to go back to New York.  (Carole telling him his therapist was full of crap helped as well.)

He moved back into the loft, thankful he hadn’t given it up completely.  He and the friend of Dani’s who was going to sublet it for half a year realized in the month he’d given her to find a new place that they got on fabulously and life was much better with a roommate.  Nora stopped looking for someplace else and Kurt started making friends not linked to anyone in his past…and letting himself do so.  Nora also found him a new therapist.

Through Nora, Dani came back into his life…and Elliot.  They restarted the band, they had to replace several band members, but it was good in the long run.   Tori, who tried out as a back-up singer (don’t you ever leave me singing alone…just don’t) and as their bass player (who also played the upright bass and cello) worked at Vogue.com and through her Isabelle came waltzing back into his life as well…waving her wand with a part time writing job and her personal assistant for evenings when needed and he was free. Jolene, her current assistant was a young mom whose husband had taken a job in France for a year and therefore had no babysitter past school hours.

Kurt interviewed for all four options he was told about for his work-study period.  He chose working as the paid everything boy for a musical that was just being put together in an off Broadway venue. It held the option of him continuing on past the semester.   Sure, he was a basic errand boy, but the company was very serious in furthering the education of those who were doing work study with them.  Kurt sat in on meetings where the writers and producers tightened the script and music and meetings about arranging workshops for the actors and meetings for set designing workshops and costume designing workshops.  He watched the casting process.  The producer and writer and songwriter all asked why he thought they worked things the way they did and made sure he understood the hows and whys and ways things worked.  They had him write up papers about what he learned, which the producer, who’d once taught for a while, graded.  They allowed him to sit in on the different workshops.

Kurt loved it.

After the third week, they brought in the costume designer and her crew.  One of the girls from Adam’s Apples worked with her. Cat wasn’t one of the ones Adam had been really close with, but still.  It was awkward for the day…and driving Kurt batty.  He pulled her aside and took her to dinner to try to fix it.

“He pretty much loved you, you know.” She told him. “And none of us could understand what happened.”

Kurt sighed.  “All I heard from pretty much a week after Blaine and I broke up was how much Blaine was hurting and how crushed he was and how I could fix it if I would just behave.  Even when I started to hang with Adam, my roommates, although they would be for it one moment it seemed, would both constantly tell me how much Blaine and I should be together and how much Blaine and I were perfect together and how much Blaine loved me and how much better Blaine was …for me, then me, all together. I went home and all I heard was what Blaine had done for my family while dad was having his treatments.  From everyone…my step-mom, old friends, the kid who lived at the house while finishing school there, my dad even.  They made it all seem like such a big help and big deal.  I later learned it wasn’t much.  He drove my dad to chemo two times when Carole had to work and Finn couldn’t.  He did grocery shopping with Sam a few times, using the money from the grocery jar at the house, not his own.  He would stop and bring Carole coffee when picking up Sam from school.  But they all made it seem so much more at the time.”

“And I was a wreck at that time.” Kurt explained.  “It was near spring break for us, so I went home half a week early.  I had worked until the wee hours of the mornings for a week and half to get everything done so I could leave early…so I was pretty sleep deprived. I was stressed…very badly stressed.  We were going to see if my dad’s cancer was gone…that was what I was home for.  I was going to spend time with my dad and my step-brother and a few old friends who also had break and were in town.  Blaine was everywhere. My step-brother was busy and I spent less than a day with him, my step-mother was singing Blaine’s praises but didn’t even notice I was such a nervous wreck that I counted out sugar packs, blinks in the mirror, and pretty much ever thing else.  My dad was certain I’d regressed back to the OCD levels I experienced after my mom died and figured Blaine would help…because Blaine told my dad we were getting back together and my dad listened to him more than me.”

Kurt waved the waitress over and got a refill on his coffee before he continued. “I was supposed to go the day after their glee club regionals.  I let myself be talked into staying a few more days. Finn would be home more, Dad wanted more time with me, and surely I wanted to see more friends while down there.  Sunday, I saw my step-brother again and listened to him for hours bemoan his estrangement from Miss Berry. I listened to Puck wax on about Quinn.  I heard all about how they should have seized the day and how high school romances were the true loves if one was brave enough to hold onto them. I had watched Mr. Shue, our glee teacher, finally get married to his OCD wife and heard all about how someone like that had to grasp onto whoever could handle that type of behavior.  I heard my dad go on and on about how well Blaine handled my OCD behavior ...even though he’d never seen Blaine do so. Monday, I called Adam and he had just found out he hadn’t made it into the master’s program he wanted and would be leaving, at least for the summer.  We weren’t exclusive yet and the last I heard before we got cut off was him saying he though we should probably…and I didn’t know what else was supposed to go there.  I couldn’t get back in touch with him and since I know it was my end that was cut off…because I was cut off by Blaine and Sam goofing off and knocking my phone out of my hand and onto the floor…I thought he was avoiding talking to me.”

“He dropped his phone in a sink full of dishes.” Cat said.

“I know…but I didn’t know then and I couldn’t get hold of any off the other Apples I had numbers for. I only had two other numbers.  If I’d only bothered to get more than that before I had left, or just stuck to my guns or something….”

“Why didn’t you?”            

“Tuesday, Rachel called and started in on how much Santana, our other roommate, missed Brittany…her ex. And how much Rachel missed Finn and how much Blaine and I were perfect and should be together. How even Adam knew that. I thought he’d come over and got all his stuff or something.  Of course at the time Rachel and Santana were drunk, but they weren’t to the slurred speech state and I didn’t realize it. She and Santana emailed and messaged me every single photo if Blaine and I together they had…all day long, one or two at a time. She also emailed me the anti-cheating contract.   I gave up.  Wednesday, I asked Blaine to date again, like everyone wanted.  He talked me into staying out the rest of the week. Friday my dad drove me to a ‘surprise proposal’, dressed in an outfit Blaine had picked out and told me all about how he regretted time he could have spent with my dead mother if they’d just gotten together earlier.  Blaine had four show choirs, a marching band, and all my old friends there…except for my step-brother and Puck. There were rose petals falling from the ceiling. He asked with everyone congregated together to watch. There was no option to say no without probably being lynched.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.  I said something affirmative, I can’t remember what. I only remember buzzing in my head and shortness of breath.  Blaine kissed me, I remember that, but then he went off to accept congratulations from everyone around and I sat on a stair trying not to pass out.  No one told me congratulations, the few who talked to me only spoke about how lucky I was and how wonderful Blaine was.  I shrugged it off because I was only there another half hour anyways. I didn’t see Blaine again the whole time. My dad drove me from there to the airport, with a ring on my finger.  Rachel had told everyone here before I even landed in New York.  She made a special effort to text Adam personally over Facebook. According to a few who saw the text; she seemed to be gloating to them.  Apparently not only those on the Lima side thought so. I met Adam for lunch very publically at a restaurant we’d never eaten at so no memories would be tarnished and apologized. I was seen by Rachel and one of her NYADA ducklings.  I was shamed for daring to speak to him…by Rachel and her toadies, by Santana, by Blaine and every single person in Lima Blaine knew.   All before lunch was even done.  It was actually the first I’d heard from Blaine since I’d headed back to New York. We decided it was better for us to not see each other at all. All I heard about for the next week was prom and who my new fiancé was going with and how he was going to be Prom King and how wonderful it was to be able to go and have fun and not worry about me trying to make him dance with me the whole time.  I took off my ring and was going to call and break it off Monday.  And instead got a call Finn had died. Yeah, I was not going to rock any boats after that. Why bother?  I’d messed up everything with Adam, it wasn’t hurting me.   I figured Blaine would remember we were an us again, he’d just been distracted.  I kept waiting.”

“Did he?”  Cat asked.

“Not really. I honestly am not sure he knows how to think about someone other than himself. He was at NYADA last year, he flunked out…got too distracted with June and when that didn’t immediately pan out he decided to plan our wedding and got mad when I wasn’t on board with it.  We had been unable to live together when he first got to NYC, we were just starting to attempt it again, and I was not ready for wedding planning. We were arguing all the time and after a huge row we broke up.  I was almost stupid and tried to chase after him again, but I came back here instead. It had been about four months, I thought to try dating again and it bombed so I immediately thought, as per my therapist insisted at the time, that I must still be in love with Blaine. However, my new roommate and the therapist she found me laughed when I said that and advised I take some time off from dating for a while longer.  Learn to be Kurt.”

“Sounds like sound advice to me.  I’m sorry I was cold earlier.  I didn’t realize anything else that was going on in your life was happening.”  Cat said.

“I didn’t talk about it…any of it.  Adam knew I wasn’t over the teenage fantasy of first love…I’m not sure though he even knew why we’d been broken up in the first place.  We were building a relationship and talking and communicating more than I ever had with Blaine…ever…but I ruined it before we had a chance to be a solid relationship yet.”

“You haven’t forgiven yourself have you?”  Cat asked.

“I don’t think I ever will.” Kurt replied.

Kurt hadn’t thought much about the conversation with Cat other than they were fine working together after that dinner.  Then a few weeks later Joey called and invited Kurt to sing with the Apples, a mash-up Kurt had spoken of wanting to do when he was an Apple.  Kurt accepted so long as Joey made sure before he even showed up that there would be no hard feelings.  

He was greeted much the same as when he first showed up.  Welcomed.  

It was a blast.  Kurt had forgotten how fun singing with a big group could be.  By the end of the second week, Kurt was back in the Apples and the Apples had met Kurt’s band.   Everyone meshed.  Kurt made friends among the Apples in a way he hadn’t before.

At Christmas, Kurt invited Carole and Burt to NYC, and they came.  His dad dragged his heels at first, insisting Kurt wasn’t nearly as happy in NYC as he’d have been in Lima helping Rachel resurrect the glee club. Kurt laughed and told his dad he was happier where he was at.  He knew everyone there was sore that he hadn’t gone to the Brittana wedding, but the play had been doing the first attempts at staging and Kurt decided he wasn’t missing learning about how to do that….besides his invitation was a demand he be there and that he show up ready to grovel.  It hadn’t set well with Kurt.  Kurt threw a huge party and invited Isabelle and told her he would love if it ended up like their first Thanksgiving.  Kurt watched his dad and Carole as people came in and out of the loft…people from Vogue, friends of Isabelle’s, Apples and others from NYADA, Nora’s friends, Elliot and Dani and other band members and their friends, people from work…even the producer and writer showed up for a few.  There was singing and dancing and fabulous clothing and laughter and Kurt was happy.

His dad didn’t try to convince him he’d be happier in Lima after that.          

Rachel was back at NYADA when the new semester started.  Kurt saw her two or three times.  He was ahead of her in the courses now and she was a bit irate that no one would allow her to waive those courses she quit and missed.  She was furious she had to redo dance courses and take courses she’d talked her way out of the first time around.  She was being a brat about him to anyone who would listen, but it wasn’t getting her far.  She would not speak to him though.

It was good.

It was now Valentine’s Day and he’d once again opened his loft for a huge party.  He was still working with the company he’d done his work study with, still Mr. Errand Boy.  His NYADA classes were going well and he loved them and he worked for Isabelle on weekends and evenings when she needed him.  He’d had two pieces published in the print version of Vogue in January.  Neither were over a paragraph, but still.  His loft was again full of Apples and band members and friends and whoever wanted to stop by…

And Adam.  

Adam was at NYU getting a Master’s Degree. He and Elliot had hit it off the moment they met.  Kurt worried they’d start dating for a few days, but both just laughed at him when Dani caught onto his trepidation about it. Dani and Adam became best of friends within a week.  Nora adored him.  

It was awkward for about an hour, the first time Kurt ran into Adam…at work of all places.  Then it wasn’t.  They weren’t dating.  Kurt still wasn’t going to even try for a little while longer.  Adam was actually dating a friend of the head costume designer for the play…not very seriously, but not entirely casually.  Patrick was every bit as hot as Adam.  Kurt once teased him that he ought to have been a model. Instead he wrote jingles and designed ads…and made a good deal of money doing so.

Kurt had thought it would be bad and weird and…it wasn’t.  They talked it out.  They were friends.

Laughter rang through the loft as Adam, his boyfriend and Elliot started singing “Cowgirl Shake it for Me” and some other country song Kurt did not recognize mashed together. Dani and Nora and Dani’s current girl were whopping off to the side.  Tori was yelling that they didn’t have the right twang.

Adam caught Kurt’s eye and waved him over to join them.  Isabelle and one of her drag queen friends were walking over as well.  Kurt laughed and ran over to join them in their second round of the song, dragging Tori and Cat with him, everyone cheering as he joined.

“Shake it, Kurt!” Elliot yelled.

“I’ve seen you do it before…in fact Santana once showed me some very entertaining videos online.” Adam added.

“Did she show you the Cheerleading Nationals of 2010?”  Dani asked.

“Wait? What?” Tori replied.

“Someone find a laptop when we’re done with this,” Isabelle said.  “I once went looking and everyone is in for a treat.  He’s adorable.”

Kurt laughed.  The thought didn’t even embarrass him like it would have just a year before…and he was sure it would still if these weren’t his friends.  Because he knew none of those in the loft would hold anything they saw over him or torment him with it or use it against him.

“Fine…however, if you want me to sing this mash-up we’d better start now.”  Kurt said.   “And someone video tape this…It will be the only time you ever hear me say bedonkadonk.”

It could have been so wrong.

[audreycritter]

overshadowed

Hullo! This is a fic exchange with @fuyunoakegata . It’s rated T for language. It’s Gen in content.  overshadowed (AO3 Link) The apartment was full of blasting 1990s pop music and five minutes before, Dick Grayson had been cheerfully singing along. Or, he had been trying to with an intentionally forced cheerfulness. But now he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror just staring at himself.

For a moment, it felt like he was making sure he was still there, but that was a little ridiculous. Of course he was there. No, he was making sure he was still...himself.

It should have been an easy thing to answer.

It wasn't.

He shook it off and left the bathroom, his toothbrush still unused on the vanity counter with a glob of toothpaste that would dry and turn gummy as the day wore on. He turned off the music and left the apartment.

Hour after hour seeped by and he ran through errands on autopilot, always half distracted with the mess inside his own head. He was running on three hours of sleep but that didn't really explain why he flinched at the bang of a cash register or why the crackle of electrical work on a street corner made him break out in a cold sweat.

By afternoon, he was exhausted in a way sleep wouldn't fix. He turned the corner from numbing fear to anger around dinner at the Manor, right before encoded strategy messages started filling the secure group channel.

He edged out of conversations, made flimsy excuses, left half a plate of food unfinished when he left for his apartment. He claimed he would catch up on sleep.

He did not sleep.

When night fell and he shuttered the windows and pulled black and blue over his chest, onto his arms, flexed his fingers in the gloves and pressed the mask into place, Dick Grayson was furious and absent.

His mind was years and miles away, strapped down and full of the tang of incense and blood, while his body leaned over the edge of a roof and he tapped his comm only to say,

“The cult guys are mine. I won't need backup.”

“O on monitor. Red on standby if you change your mind.”

“I won't change my mind,” Nightwing said firmly.

“If you need backup,” Batman amended Oracle’s statement. “Robin and I are also available after Tennyson Street bust.”

“I won't need backup,” Nightwing repeated, a little irritably. He tried to lighten his voice, to not sound so much like how he felt. “It’s not that complicated. What am I, a rookie?”

He muted his comm.

He didn't need the distraction.

He was already too far away. ***

The stupid thing about city cults, from a vigilantism standpoint, was that they were full of desperate and weirdly skilled people. People with a lot of nothing to lose and fractured lifetimes behind them. Men like ex-cons and trigger-happy soldiers with PTSD, looking for a shot at redemption or silence in their battered souls.

Nightwing knew what it was like to want something like that.

Their ranks, even small, were usually full of women both timid and fierce, made hesitant by trauma or loneliness and made forceful by the instinct to protect the one thing they believed in: their leader.

Not every cult was worth systematically taking down. But other cults, even the ones not set on world domination, sometimes ended up involved in dangerous and shady stuff-- experimental drugs, suicide pacts, ritual sacrifice. And Gotham was a breeding ground for the weird.

Illegal activities mixed with fervent acolytes made for a deadly cocktail. The most recent manifestation was a congregation of forty or so people, an adherence to five hundred year old missiles of an excommunicated Irish monk that might have been forgeries, and a manic depressed fourteen year old girl offering herself for spirit-summoning bloodletting that would probably kill her.

Nightwing had been tracking their activities, including the hallucinogenic drugs they were smuggling, for a few days and tonight was his last chance to act.

The Gaelic was unfamiliar but the robes they wore heightened his sense of unease, disrupting what focus he had. And when he leapt, the monotone chanting swelled in volume and the involuntary shudder that wracked him threw off his balance midflip and he staggered through his landing, skidding onto his knees.

He heard the shots before he saw the guns and it just figured that it would be the sort of cult to have semiautomatics. It was such a Gotham thing to have.

Nightwing was already on his feet again and he disarmed three of them, fighting toward the leader who was rushing his lines and standing near the teenager with a ceremonial dagger that looked so gaudy Nightwing was pretty certain it had been picked up from a Chinese bulk manufacturer.

The next man fell under his sidekick and then Red Robin was right next to him, scowling as he relieved two more congregants of their weapons.

“Turn. On. Your. Comm,” Red hissed while spinning to take someone down with his staff.

“I’ve got this,” Nightwing answered sharply, as a woman with a heavy candlestick managed to land a blow across his back.

“The gunshots were called into GCPD,” Red shouted back, while using a shoulder of a falling man as leverage for leaping into a double kick. “We had no idea if you were okay.”

“I'm good!” Nightwing yelled over the frenzied Gaelic chanting of the leader and one disciple who held the girl’s wrists down while she was clearly having second thoughts. Nightwing saw her face, that moment where she shifted from aligned to fractured in intention and understanding.

“Nightwing!” Red yelled and the man slipped right by Nightwing’s punch and lunged forward. All Nightwing was aware of was that the man missed him, he had moved quickly enough and he could get to the girl in time.

The disciple went down hard and the girl was already scrambling away from the crude altar. The dagger sliced through the sleeve of his suit and the leader’s face took a blow and another and another and--

It might have been more, it might have been too much, but in the mere seconds it had all taken, the man Nightwing thought he had evaded made it to Red Robin instead.

Red shrieked and Nightwing threw the leader behind the altar, where he lay writhing and moaning.

He took the last guy out from behind, a stunning blow that wouldn't leave him unconscious but dazed and immobile for at least a few minutes.

“I thought you had him,” Red gasped at him, a hand to his side. He was standing, leaning on his bostaff. “Sorry. I'm good. I just thought…”

He swayed and Nightwing reached out, put a hand on his shoulder.

He turned his comm back on and swallowed hard.

“We need GCPD and some Bat clean-up here,” Nightwing said. “I'm taking Red to the Cave.”

“What happened?” Batman demanded.

“They fought back,” Nightwing said sourly, torn between defensiveness and guilt. He could have asked for help, he could have gone in prepared, he could have been better.

“It's not that bad,” Red said when Nightwing didn't clarify. “Just give the Doctor a heads up.”

“Done,” Oracle said. “He’ll be down there by the time you guys arrive. Now’s the time to be honest, boys.”

“Just a level two,” Red said. “Really.”

“Robin and I will handle cleanup,” Batman added.

Nightwing reached out once more to steady Red, but the younger man jerked away from him and began picking his way through the groaning bodies.

This was his fault. He could have prevented this: Red getting hurt, his own cut on the arm, the girl fleeing to the streets and not getting help, breaking the leader’s jaw. He was so weary, so shaken, so bitter, so lost, all at once. All things Nightwing-- Dick Grayson-- was not supposed to be.

He didn't feel like himself.

And he hated that feeling.

***

Kiran Devabhaktuni was sipping a morning cuppa that felt a rather lot like an afternoon cup of tea after an overnight shift at the hospital. Alfie was reading a newspaper and Damian Wayne was sitting between them at the small, round table.

Dev had taken advantage of both Damian’s proximity to Alfie and his own penchant for stealing and munching on straight brown sugar cubes. A simple nod while Alfie was buried in the paper had bought Damian’s complicity and lured the boy out of a sulk.

With a casual motion, Dev would snatch a sugar cube and then slip it under the table to Damian’s waiting hand. The boy was silent and had perfected sneaking as an art form and he was quietly adding each cube to Alfie’s untouched tea.

Damian sipped his own tea while this was going on and shoved back his bed-mussed hair more than once when Alfie glanced over the paper at them. Dev neglected his tea through most of this.

Finally, Alfie set the paper down, folded neatly.

They were up to fourteen cubes.

“How long did you sleep?” Alfie asked Damian, squeezing lemon into his teacup.

“Long enough,” Damian said sourly, his bitter mood returning a bit.

“I'll talk to Dick,” Dev said, guessing at the mood. Damian met his gaze with a startled lift of his brow and then nodded and looked down at the table.

“You were out much later than usual,” Alfie said calmly. “Shall I keep you home from school to sleep?”

At that offer, Damian yawned and stretched.

“I ought to go,” he said, “but if you insist on my truancy…”

“Stay home,” Alfie said with a fond smile. “The year’s almost out and I think you deserve a day off.”

Damian picked up a spoon and fumbled it out of his fingers; it fell beside Dev’s chair and Dev bent over to snatch it up.

“I'll use another,” Damian said, his hand already over another spoon when Dev sat up with the utensil. Dev shrugged and set it aside. He'd thought Alfie was just being kind but perhaps, if the boy was randomly dropping things, it was an attempt to get him to actually sleep.

With role models like Bruce and the other Waynes, it wasn't surprising he had a hard time setting aside appropriate time for rest during busy weeks. As the weather picked up, so did the criminal underbelly of Gotham.

Dev lifted his tea and sipped it and immediately recoiled. The brew was so sweet his teeth stung and he winced in reaction.

“Everything alright, Kiran?” Alfie asked in a mild tone.

Dev set the teacup down and nodded, but gave Damian an affronted look. The boy gave him a crooked grin in response. Alfie sipped his own tea, finally, and then sipped again as if nothing was the matter with it.

“I put too much sugar in this,” Dev said, standing with the tea cup.

Alfie looked up at that.

“I didn’t think you took sugar in your tea,” he said.

“I thought I’d give it a--” Dev stopped mid-excuse because Alfie was none-too-subtly exchanging an amused smirk with Damian. “Bloody hell,” Dev muttered as he took the tea to the kitchen. He dumped it out in the sink and wondered about the problem of how precisely to talk to Dick Grayson.

Ever since he’d come to the Cave with a wounded Timothy two nights before, and frankly even before that, he’d been acting oddly. Dev hadn’t seen much of him, exactly, but what little he had seen, the younger man had been brooding and reclusive in conversation and quick-tempered. It had worsened since Dev had sutured Timothy’s side and Dick’s arm in the Cave that night.

Dev knew from both Timothy and snippets of overheard conversations in the Cave that Dick had been dealing with a violent cult. When it became clear that breaking up their gathering and imprisoning some of the key members had not solved the problem but rather exacerbated Dick’s foul mood, and that it was radiating outward through Tim and Damian now, Dev spent the night before his shift at the hospital sorting through older case and medical files.

He’d found...not much. Plenty of information, to be certain, but very little about cults and several concerning gaps of long stretches of time-- most of them right before and after the date Jason Wayne’s own files had details redacted in thick, black markings that Dev now knew were about his first death.

For all his frequent failings contradicting this, Dev wasn’t exactly a stupid man.

The Waynes were not precisely the sort of family where one could wander around demanding explanations from just anyone-- after months of feeling out of the loop, he’d realized they kept their secrets from each other just as much as from him. Some of those things were none of his business and others sometimes fell in that hazy approximation of doctor-patient confidentiality they maintained. Going to the wrong person and asking for information might result in answers and might just as likely result in, “He did what?” and hours or days of upheaval.

And Alfred, who seemed to know everything and maintain a constant calm, actually hid his own sour reactions and grieving aches behind that demeanor and Dev knew after fumbling through that a few times that even if the older man had information, it wasn’t always worth the emotional cost just to avoid asking someone more directly involved.

So, if there were gaps relevant to his current state, Dick Grayson would need to answer for them himself. Dev ran the risk of Dick refusing and shutting him out for weeks or months, but at least it minimized the damage and isolated it a bit.

“We’re having a family lunch,” Alfie announced, coming into the kitchen with a tray of tea things. “Would you care for another cup of tea before I clean up?”

And Dev knew, as he accepted the offer and poured another cup of tea and drank it standing at the counter, that Alfie was arranging things on purpose. The older man had a way of putting people in the right places that sometimes made Dev feel a bit like a piece on a chessboard, but with gratitude instead of a lingering sense of manipulation.

“I’m going to go sleep,” he said, yawning and setting the cup down. “The hospital was busy last night. If there’s lunch, I’m not going to bother going to my flat and coming back.”

“Cassandra is using the ballroom,” Alfie said as he left the room. “I’ll leave you to decide on earplugs or interrupting dance.”

Dev opted for earplugs.

And seven hours later, after lunch where everyone who happened to be in town was present, Dick Grayson had been pressured by Damian and Cass into staying to swim in the just-reopened pool. And Dev, still trying to decide exactly when and how to approach him, went to at least sit outside (he didn’t care much for freezing his bollocks off in the still-frigid water) and found Dick by chance, standing in the hallway to the back door.

Dev stopped and took a step back. Dick Grayson in best form would have noticed him immediately, but Dick right now was distracted and self-absorbed in some inner turmoil. He left the hall, but once outside, took a sharp right away from the pool. Dev followed, quietly, as Dick loped around the house and then from the patio off the ballroom doors, swung himself up the face of the house and onto the flat section of roof.

“Mate,” Dev called after him, and Dick’s face reappeared at the edge, stony and dark. “I’m not nearly as skilled. I’ll be up when I find a ladder.”

He expected Dick to protest this or swing down and storm off, but Dick leaned out of view and then a moment later called, “There’s one behind the hedge in the landscaping.”

Dev found it and clambered up without looking down, glad that the flat roof was walled in by steeper sections and more like a deck without railing than a proper roof. If Dick had gone any further up, he wasn’t sure how useful he’d be in conversation.

“You’ve been out of sorts,” Dev said bluntly, sitting down next to the younger man.

Dick shrugged.

“I’m sorry about Tim,” Dick said after a moment.

Dev blinked and leaned forward to look at Dick’s face.

“What?”

“Tim,” Dick said again. He swallowed. “I know...I mean, I know you guys are close. And I sort of figured you’d come chew me out if I stuck around long enough.”

“Mate, Timothy’s plenty good at getting himself injured without help,” Dev said. “It’s not your bloody fault just because you happened to be in the same building. Nah, I’m not miffed about that. He’ll be fine. I’m worried about you.”

Dick glanced up at that and frowned.

“And Dames rather is, too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

At that, Dick sighed and put his head in his hands.

“It’s been a bad week,” he admitted. “Just...a lot of stuff I’d rather not think about.”

“But you’re thinking about it anyway,” Dev said, leaning back and resting his palms on the gritty roof. In answer, Dick just nodded, his head still in his hands. “Flashbacks are bloody awful,” Dev said gently. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it. It doesn’t always help. But the option’s there.”

“Thanks,” Dick said, lifting his head and wrapping his arms around his knees.

“There are some...gaps,” Dev said slowly. “In your medical files.”

Dick looked at him sharply.

“Research,” Dev said, not feeling guilty in the least. “The files that are there are there for a reason.”

Dick sprang to his feet and flipped up into a handstand. He stayed upside down for a bit and then bent backward and came up on his feet. He brushed his hands off and sat back down heavily.

“There was a cult, a while ago. A guy named Brother Blood. It got some media attention.”

“I very vaguely remember that,” Dev acknowledged.

“Bruce knows that we, I mean, that the Titans and I were involved. But we weren't exactly on the best of terms, Bruce and I, I mean. He didn't ask for updates and I didn't offer them.”

“I can't imagine how you ever got to that point,” Dev said, prodding at Dick with his shoe.

Dick chuckled, a little low, and then sighed again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me either.”

“So, massive dangerous cult and smaller dangerous cult,” Dev said. Dick shuddered in response and Dev’s brow creased in concern.

“I was captured and tortured-- you probably know the usual story by now,” Dick said with a wry frown. “It was awful, but honestly that wasn't the worst part.”

Dev is quiet, waiting him out, and cursing inwardly at the fact that capture and torture are in fact too common elements of stories that get brushed under the rug.

“The worst part was the mind control,” Dick said quietly. “And it went on for months without me knowing. I…” he paused and put a hand to his forehead. “I almost, no, I sold out everyone I cared about. I mean, obviously things didn't stay that way, but I didn't know about the mind control until after.”

“Well, bloody fuck,” Dev exhaled. “Months, you said?”

Dick nodded again.

“And the horrible thing is that I remember what it felt like, to want to trust people and defend them and being completely convinced they were awful at the same time. Just how divided I felt at the end, knowing and believing two totally different things at once and not being sure which was right.”

They’re quiet in the afternoon sun, the irritated shouts of Damian and high, pealing laughter of Cass drifting across the rooftops. Dev thought of his own internal dichotomy, that he fought against even now, of you’ll never be good enough and you’re probably fine.

“That's sodding terrible,” he said. “That's a lot of time to lose.”

“It ruined a lot for me,” Dick said in a small voice. “I recovered but it didn't fix everything, you know? Some stuff was just too far gone. And chasing this cult the past week, it wasn't like I really thought I was vulnerable, but it just dragged up a lot of stuff I hadn't let myself think about for a while.” Dick rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Thanks for talking. It does help.”

Dev shrugged and didn't mention how little talking he'd actually done.

“Anytime,” he said.

Dick stood and stretched. “You're swimming, right?”

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Dev exclaimed, standing.

“It's not that bad,” Dick argued. “Al turned the heater on last night. Anyway, I'll meet you down there.”

Without another word, Dick sprinted across the roof and sprang up to the overhang of the sloped section.

“Those bloody slates are loose!” Dev yelled after him.

“Ain't nobody got time for that!” Dick yelled back without slowing down.

Dev took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and went down the ladder and replaced it behind the hedges. He strode over to the pool just in time to see Dick take a running leap off the roof and curl into a flip on his descent toward the deep end of the pool.

His heart skipped about five beats and he swore, but the water’s surface burst into a high splash and when Dick resurfaced, laughing, Damian raised an eyebrow and said, “Six out of ten.”

“Six!” Dick exclaimed in mock outrage, tugging the younger boy into the pool with him. He shoved Damian’s head under. When the younger boy came up sputtering, he shoved himself away and treaded water.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, while Dick floated on his back.

Dev sat in one of the lounge chairs and reclined until he was almost horizontal.

“Getting better,” Dick answered. “Wanna race?”

“Slowpokes,” Cass muttered from her perch on the diving board.

“You get down here and race with us,” Dick ordered. “C’mon. Dev! Sit up! We need you as a judge.”

Dev hauled himself off the chair and went to one end of the pool and put his feet in. It wasn't as cold as he was expecting but it was still pretty icy.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Best out of three. If any of you try to drag me in, I reserve the right to exclusively use Hello Kitty plasters for a month.”

“I fail to see how that is a suitable deterrent for either of them,” Damian called from the other side of the pool.

Dev studied the matching grins on Cass and Dick’s faces and he reconsidered. There was still a faintly haunted look in Dick’s eyes but it was faded far from what it had been earlier.

“All medicines will be dispensed in liquid form with strawberry flavoring,” he amended.

“Gross,” Cass said, wrinkling her nose. “Changed my mind, Dickface.”

“You've been spending too much time with Jason,” Dick told her seriously while Damian snorted into the water. “But yeah, that's pretty convincing leverage.”

“Are we racing or are we not?” Damian demanded impatiently.

“We’re racing!” Dick said, “Places!”

Dev ended up in the water anyway.

Dick took two separate medicines that month, both with artificial strawberry flavoring.

And Dev was relieved to see that while it took a few weeks and a few long nights just hanging out at the manor, the man’s mood improved and evened out and things went back to as normal as the Wayne household usually managed.