#the house is clean enough (more by virtue of not being very well lived-in than by nature of jon's tidyness) but his office is a fucking mes

[sparky-is-spiders]

I've gotten to thinking about this and now I must know:

And I want details! Does he rent? Have roommates? Has he decorated his living space? What's the floor plan? Did he move after his promotion (and higher salary)? Does it feel like home to him?

Some of these are what I think would be realistic, some less so. Mostly based on what I've seen in fics or what I think the most likely options are (or likely adjacent). Maybe one day I'll do a post S3 version but we'll see.

(Elias version!)

[redundant2]

The hottest tea from Lady C in 2023

God knows why and I'm clearly a masochist, but I had a whim to watch all her 2023 videos and have transcribed the juiciest bits. (Watching them at 1.5 speed helps...a little.)

1/19/23:

“I am telling you everybody is sitting on a massive secret. . . Massive! They have been doing so for awhile. The family didn’t know about it! For quite awhile! They were actually enlightened by the public in dribs and drabs. More than that i do not wish to say at this juncture. There is nothing the RF have to apologize for.” 

"I know what each side has on the other and let me tell you something - Harry and Meghan have nothing compared to what is had against them."

1/10/2023

"Harry seems to have never understood in his 38 years on this Earth that there's a reason why the Buckingham Palace press office exists. He ought to know it only too well.

"They were busy putting out fires to preserve his reputation and presenting it from being scorched. Until he left the royal family and then started to attack them, at which point they've let him speak for himself.

"I'm telling you, I know as a fact of one huge (when I tell you 'huge', I mean HUGE! Bigger than his ego or Megan's ego) story that Buckingham Palace has been, behind the scenes desperately trying to douse.

"One. At least one."

1/7/2023

Diana had an affair with the Earl of Pembroke after William's birth but before Harry was born. "The 17th Earl of Pembroke was a tall, slim, dashingly handsome movie producer, with the ideal looks for a romantic hero. According to Barbara Cartland, his ancestral home Wilton House, in Wiltshire near Salisbury, was one of the most beautiful homes in Britain. Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, was top drawer.

"He and the rest of his family had always mixed in royal circles as I can personally attest, having met him in 1975 at a party given by Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia. He was also the producer of the movie that destroyed Koo Stark's chances of becoming the Duchess of York. He didn't flip my light switch, but he flipped Diana's."

1/5/2023

Viewer Question "I want to know whether you can assure us that Harry and Megs will get their comeuppance this year."

Lady C: "You don't have to wait that long. Sometime this year, on more than one location, Harry and Megan are going to discover that what goes around, comes around and if you prod the bear long and hard enough, he will not only get up and growl, but he will swipe at you and he might even tear your raiments and remove your masks, and you will be revealed in all of your ingloriousness for what you truly are.

"Take it from me, you don't have that long to wait. A few months - there's a lot in the pipeline. "

"Oh, people are going to get their just desserts. They're going to discover that attack was not the best form of defense. Sometimes coming clean is a far better policy.

"(The Royal Family) came to the conclusion, quite justified it has to be said, that Harry wanted them to breach the rules governing the press and the royal family for his and Megan's convenience. It wasn't only for their convenience, to the best of my information. It was more than for their convenience. More than that, I do not wish to say on that particular point." (Implying that Harry wanted them to cover something up?)

1/3/2023

"I'm choosing my words very carefully. There are persistent reports from extremely well-placed people, some of whom are long-standing friends of Harry's, that Harry and Megan lead entirely separate lives. They are de facto separated, although they are living supposedly and ostensibly and superficially and very occasionally under the same roof.

"Harry is trying to make tracks back with friends, many of whom have spurned his attempts but he's not trying to make tracks back with the family because he is insistent that he is in the right, he's always been in the right. incidentally Harry's always had a massive ego, and has always been pretty uncontrollable.Tthat was one of the virtues of Meghan: she was able to control him, as we've seen, but that allure seems to have become water to a large extent under the bridge. I think William has a far more realistic attitude of what the outcome of all of this is going to be: very sad."

"Remember, Meghan she told the queen, 'Use me as you will, as if the queen was a John. Very interesting, that comment that she made." 

Bonus: 12/31/2022 - New Year's Eve

"I don't think Harry's book is going to stay on the best sellers list for any length of time, unless of course Harry and Megan start to come clean." (raises her eyebrow.)

"Meghan's like an egg beater in one's brain, but I'm going to leave you with a sword. You're going to see Megan in all her shorn glory. That's right -depend on it. Megan is going to be revealed to the world as she truly is. That's gonna be something worth seeing."

12/20/2022 - (This is the one that intrigues me most.)

"Harry and Meghan were absolutely right to be terrified (in Liverpool), and I have no doubt she was playing every card in the book in case what had gone down, came out. Let me put it that way. But he didn’t, and they are really dumb to be belaboring the point. Because now, it’s only a matter of time before what went down, it does come out. Let’s see if she commits suicide then, because what went down is definitely not going to be something he or she wants to come out. I make that point for what it’s worth.

Netflix is laying the ground for assisting in what is the most flagrant sleight of hand and manipulation ever perpetrated upon the public."

What is Harry looking down at? This was their visit to the Wirral, near Liverpool. Is this what Lady C is referring to?

[freakyfabulcus]

𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞.

aesthetic : a matchstick heart just waiting to burn, the almost overwhelming feeling of not being enough, burying insecurities six feet under, gossip as a form of currency, staying up all night just to see the sunrise, denial doesn't suit you nearly as well as optimism did, being dramatic just for the sake of drama, will you ever find where you belong?

compare to : gabrielle solis ( desperate housewives ), serena van der woodsen ( gossip girl ), maddy perez ( euphoria ), holly golightly ( breakfast at tiffany's ), sharpay evans ( high school musical ), cordelia chase ( buffy the vampire slayer ), daisy buchanan ( the great gatsby ), penny ( the big bang theory ), margaery tyrell ( game of thrones ), hanna marin ( pretty little liars )

( RACHEL ZEGLER . TWENTY-THREE . CIS WOMAN . SHE/HER . ) we’ve got the spirits , how ‘about you ?! it looks like ( AURÉLIE LESTRANGE ) just got their acceptance letter to monster university . i hope the ( HUMAN ) has their bags packed so they can move into ( DREADFUL DORMS )  ! i’ve heard they can be ( - DRAMATIC ) and ( - LONELY ) but also  ( + CREATIVE ) and ( + DREAMY ) . monster university is the perfect time to explore who they want to be . did you hear they’ve got a job as a ( CLERK ) at ( SPOOKY SCOOPS ICE CREAM PARLOR ) . good luck and remember to be yourself , be unique , be monster !

✧ pinterest ✧

*:･ﾟ ⸻ 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

full name : aurélie delphine lestrange nicknames : aura, ari age : 23 birthday / zodiac : march 27th, aries gender / pronouns : cis woman, uses she/her pronouns sexual orientation : pansexual romantic orientation : panromantic occupation : university student, clerk @ spooky scoops ice cream parlor major : drama & theater major

*:･ﾟ ⸻ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

personality traits : dramatic, lonely, creative, dreamy, emotional, self-centered, ambitious likes : acting, pop culture, broadway, candles, warm sweaters, bright colors, gossip dislikes : heights, writing essays, hiking, being alone, jumpscares, cleaning secret talents : singing, while she wants to be an actress, she has a stellar voice nurtured by her father from the time she could speak; is also bilingual with english & french goals & ambitions : to become an actress & make her father proud memorable traits : talks with her hands, very dramatic & over the top character alignment : chaotic neutral label : the paracosmic, the primadonna vices : vainglorious, competitive, bitterness virtues : ambition, sensitive, friendliness

*:･ﾟ ⸻ 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

eye color : dark brown hair colour : dark brown hair type/style : long, typically worn down & straight height : 5'2 build : slender exercise habits : does yoga & pilates dominant hand : right glasses/contacts : n/a tattoos : n/a scars : n/a piercings : ears pierced a couple times distinguishing features : n/a faceclaim : rachel zegler

*:･ﾟ ⸻ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘.

parents : erik lestrange/the phantom of the opera ( father ), christine daaé ( mother. estranged ), raoul de chagny ( stepfather, estranged ) siblings : n/a children : n/a pets : n/a significant other : single

*:･ﾟ ⸻ 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒.

voice - has a better than average voice for a human, almost of a magical quality

did not inherit any other supernatural abilities from the phantom half for now

*:･ﾟ ⸻ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.

trigger warnings : parental abandonment

aurélie was the product of an illicit affair between the infamous phantom of the opera and the naive christine daaé whom he took advantage of. at least, that's what the world believes. in truth, aura was a child born of true love between the pair. she still remembers her time spent in the old opera house. her mother singing to her as she brushed her hair at night and her father showing her all the best hiding spots to play in. the three were truly happy for most of aurélie's childhood. of course, all good things must come to an end.

the arguments began when aura was around ten. her mother wanted more than just living in the paris opera house while her father was content with the life they'd made there. it came down to an ultimatum that her father refused to give into, and her mother left them, remarrying barely a year later to her childhood sweetheart. she then went on to become a near household name for her voice and serene presence.

aura remained in the opera house with her father for her teen years, visiting her mother only when forced to. instead she was content to take voice lessons from her father and learn from the various talents who would perform at the opera house.

she only left the opera house, and her father, to attend university so that she can achieve her dream of fame. she's mostly estranged from her mother, barely acknowledging her presence other than the fact that she's paying for everything for aura as a way to make up for leaving.

she's not always the best at reading people due to her lack of contact with others growing up. she tends to be dramatic and overly concerned with herself rather than other people's feelings, but it is something she's working on. but her main focus is, and always has been, attaining her own goals.

*:･ﾟ ⸻ 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

FIND THEM HERE!

[inside-the-tardis]

It is now the first day of the rest of my life, and this is where this book begins. It begins with me drinking magic mushroom tea, it is 3:30 pm and I have drunk all of my psilocybin.

I can now feel the pull of the mushroom,, though slight, it is never over bearing. A strong pondeence to thinking, naturally movnig over to the mind. I try to be calm, and document all things I can feel. I feel very awake, I burp and I can feel my heart beat, faster than normal, I see pink everywhere, or a hue of pinkness. I can hear my own breath. I feel weirdly anxious and paranoid. I don't believe in therapy, or art schools, or writing schools, or proof reading,

I needed to have aplan to settle down, buy a house.

I lit a candle, a Fresh Linen smelling candle, which now fills my room with the scent of freshly washed clothes. I feel weirdly thirsty. I'm aware that I probably smell, and my eyes are as huge as bowling balls right now. My trip seems to be limited to a single room, virtue of place and time that I've decided to ingest the substance. I wait with bated breath. Almost 5 pm

Pink shadows dance, I wonder if it of use for them to live in my eyes, maybe I should close my eyes for a bit, or try taking a shower? Maybe eat a few things? Maybe cook dinner and pack lunch tomorrow? That would be a good run of the mill productive day. Maybe even get a work out done before dinner, that would always help. A workout and a shower. I could really be good at this clean girl aesthetic. All these pink and purple lines everywhere made vision easy. Sweet and pleasing to my eyes. I liked the color and I enjoyed this state of being as well.

i de-tangle my hair, albeit grudingly. i listen as my neighbour pours into the sink, washing dishes and prepping for her dinner in a moment. She was quick like that and clean, I admired her for it and tried to emulate in so many different ways. This shall be my learning expereince as well as test. I hope I excel. Its about 5:20 now and I believe I have peaked in the experience. The colours still dance but I have retained my calm for now. I proceed to play sweet music on my speakers. 5.55 I have not yet successfully played music. My trip seems to be getting stronger and my grip on reality loosening. I think I hsould take my own advice and have a shower. I hate vile vile cigarettes and I vow then after this trip never shall I smoke no more. Let my life always be remembered in these passing hours, always having enough to smoke but choosing not to. But I'm not speaking just about smoking. My mind seems louder than everywhere else. I will emerge after a shower, which I still haven't taken. Motor and cognitive skills are rather time consuming and difficult to put together. My brain suffers becasue of this overload of auditory and visual stimulus. Still quite note worthy that I'm able to (Somewhat) coherently type and oeprate musci. My room probably smells like a dumpyard. 8pm . I have made dinner. A thousand thoughts stream in my head. I seem to have the endless night to work thorugh my fears. Life continues as is, the downfall of the day time, the endless night before dawn can break, almost always quite suddenly. I loved being inside the city however, and I was aware that many English people themselves were not privy to such a life. Indeed, many would be lucky to be where I am, which in itself is a thing to be grateful about.

I believe I have still much to assimilate. More on this later, however. I had to find a way to make my routine bearable.

[modernmagdalene]

Saint and Crystal Associations Part 2

Once again, I’m posting this as a potential resource for other Christian witches or Christian mystics (whatever you call yourself). These are my own personal associations, not official associations of any Christian denominations, so if they don’t feel right for you feel free to use different crystals with different saints. Thanks and enjoy.

Saint Francis of Assisi --> Amber

Francis is best associated with Amber. While not technically a crystal it still is used in a lot of crystal magic. Francis is a very complex saint who helps with a lot of different things: voluntary poverty, helping the poor, antiwar, and oneness with nature. Amber is very old and connected deeply to the earth. It helps with grounding, clarity, patience, wisdom, dissolves negativity, eliminates fear, and balances emotions. All things Francis needed to leave his life of privilege behind and follow God. I think it represents much of who Francis is and can help support the same virtues that Francis represents. 

Saint Brigid --> Opal

St. Brigid would be associated with Opal. Brigid is a saint that is very connected to the goddess Brigid. Their stories are extremely intertwined that you can’t really talk about without the other. Both are connected to fire, love, and hope and that’s all things Opal is connected with as well. I also personally tend to associate Opal with the divine feminine and Brigid connection to a goddess makes that work as well.

Saint Julian of Norwich --> Moonstone

Julian of Norwich I said in a comment that I associated with Lapis Lazuli but then relaized I was already using that crystal with St. Perpetua and Felicity. So I did some more research and decided that Moonstone would work really well for Saint Julian of Norwich. Moonstone is obviously associated with Lunar magick and the moon is also regularly associated with femimine energy. Which works wonders with St. Julian who often depicted God as femimine. One of the things that made her contraversal. St. Julian of Norwich had visions and was a prolific writer. Moonstone helps those seeking wisdom and strengthens psychic abilities. St. Julian of Norwich is also a known cat lover so have moonstone carved into the shape of a cat is even better. 

Saint Mary MacKillop --> Obsidian

(Trigger Warning Mentions of sexual abuse in this.)

Mary MacKillop is the first saint of Australia and one of my favorites! Mary MacKillop reported a priest who was abusing children and not longer after a friend of this priest used his connections to get her excommunicated. Her excommunication was eventually lifted. I have always admired her strength and resilience. That’s why I chose obsidian for her. Obsidian shines a light on the negativity and clears it away, helping us to choose the path leading towards light and love. It is also a protective stone as it used to be used for weapons. If you need to fight the devil obsidian is up there with tourmaline as an excellent crystal to clean house.     

Saint Raphael the Archangel --> Ametrine

St. Raphael the Archangel is another favorite of mine. If you use a Protestant Bible you might not have read about him. Raphael is featured in the Book of Tobit which is only in Catholic and Orthodox Bibles. The Book of Tobit is an epic love story between Tobias and Sarah that also features thievery, exile, and fights with demons. Where Michael and Gabriel tend to appear to humans briefly then leave. Raphael, disguised as a human, travels with Tobias throughout the whole book. Raphael is most associated with healing and I connect him to the crystal ametrine. Ametrine is associated with healing, harmony, strength, balancing physical and spiritual life, and aids in contacting spirit guides. This works with Raphael’s connections to healing. Furthermore, Raphael’s role guiding Tobit and being a spiritual being working on earth makes ametrine perfect in helping to connect with him. Use this stone and ask him to help find balance in your practice and assist you with finding spiritual guides.

Saint Rita --> Smoky Quartz

St. Rita is the patron saint of impossible tasks. She is someone I rely on when I really need to overcome an obstacle or problem in my life. She is also prayed to when someone has a deadly illness or serious problem helping with things that seem impossible to deal with is just her jam. Because of this I associate her most with smoky quartz. This crystal is super powerful and is a great grounding and balancing stone. It absorbs negative energy like a sponge (because of this it should be cleansed often-ish use your best judgement). It’s so useful and can even cleanse other crystals. It keeps all the negativity away from you which is something that one really needs when dealing with impossible situations.

Saint Mary Magdalene --> Celestite

Mary Magdalene is one of my favorite witchy women in the Bible. She wasn’t scared away like the other disciples when Christ was crucified, she was the first to preach about the resurrection, and was active in preaching and teaching others about Christ. One of my favorite stories about her comes from the Orthodox tradition where she was preaching to Emperor Tiberius Caesar about Christ and turned an egg red to prove to the emperor that Christ’s story and power was true. I associate Mary Magdalene most with Celestite. Celestite raises spiritual vibrations, promotes spiritual growth, and aides in communication with the spiritual realm. This crystal also boosts self-worth and self-expression, all things Mary Magdalene had in abundance. Mary Magdalene also seems to be the most connected to the spiritual world out of all the apostles (with the exception of maybe John) so this crystal is perfect for her.

Saint Joan of Arc --> Bloodstone 

St. Joan is a warrior and protector. I also consider her a trans and/or genderfluid saint who will naturally protect trans and genderfluid peoples. Because of this I associate her most with bloodstone. Bloodstone promotes justice and strength, it is also good for healing and renewal, but bloodstone is probably best known for boosting spells and banishing spirits. Or as I prefer to use it, boosting protection spells and banishing TERFs.

Saint Francis de Sales --> Kyanite

St. Francis de Sales is one of my favorite saints purely because he is the patron saint of writers and I am someone who greatly enjoys writing. Kyanite is the crystal I use with this saint. It promotes creativity and also dispels negativity aka those negative thoughts that tell you that you can’t write. It’s also supposed to sharpen your focus which can be especially helpful with writing or any creative work, especially if you are easily distracted like me.

Saint Anthony of Padua --> Amazonite

St. Anthony was one of my grandmother’s favorite saints and probably the saint I use the most in day to day life. He is the patron saint of lost items. He was a devout priest and taught students from a book of psalms. He once tried to preach to people who refused to listen to him. He instead decided to preach to the fish who all started to gather near the shore to listen to him. When people saw this they decided they should listen too. So you know when in doubt preach to fish I guess. Anyway, I associate St. Anthony with amazonite. Amazonite helps sharpen the mind, aids communication and promotes good luck all of which are great attributes for learning and teaching, finding lost items (that’s the good luck bit), and aiding communication could help you talk to people or fish, your call. 

Saint Valentine --> Rose Quartz 

St. Valentine did a lot but he is most associated today with marrying couples in the Christian church during the height of Roman persecution. So naturally I associate him with rose quartz, a crystal that promotes love and fertility, dispels loneliness, opens the heart to compassion, and even strengthens faith. The perfect stone for this romantic saint. 

Saint Scholastica --> Citrine 

St. Scholastica was the twin sister of St. Benedict, and was the founder of the women’s benedictine order. As someone who went to a benedictine college I have a fondness for her. If you are a storm witch in particular I think this might be the saint for you. At one point Benedict and his monks visit Scholastica and her nuns. Scholastica didn’t think she would live long enough to see her brother again after this meeting so begged him to stay the night, but Benedict didn’t want to spend the night outside his monastery and told her he couldn’t. So Scholastica prayed and a massive thunderstorm suddenly came making it unsafe for Benedict and his monks to travel. And here is my favorite bit:

“Realizing what had happened, Benedict reproached her: "What have you done, my sister?” Scholastica answered simply, "I asked a favor of you, and you refused to listen to me. So I asked my God, and He, more generous than you, granted my request.” Once again Scholastica’s pleas won the favor she was seeking.” 

With Scholastica I associate the crystal citrine. Citrine is all about manifesting change, protection, creativity, and success all things she needed to live the life she did.

Saint Dymphna --> Blue Lace Agate

St. Dymphna is one of my favorite saints and she is one I utilize often. She is most associated with mental and emotional illnesses. If you are a spoonie witch this is the saint for you. Because of this I associate her most with Blue Lace Agate, which helps people express themselves (helpful when going to therapy or a doctor) and also helps with dealing with any sorts of fears or anxiety. (Reminder: That utilizing this saint and crystal is meant as a prayerful way to ask for help dealing with mental and emotional illness. It is not a replacement for therapy or meds.)

St. Sara-la-Kali --> Jasper

St. Sara-la-Kali is the patroness of the Romani people. She is said to have helped the Three Marys of the Bible arrive safely in Gaul after she had a vision of them arriving. She used her dress as a raft and helped the women get to shore despite the tumultuous waves. She was also extremely generous and often collected alms for the poor. I associate her most with jasper. A crystal native to Romania it aids in peace and wisdom and also is particularly helpful during times of transition by providing stability and protection. It also supports perseverance and acceptance, something we definitely need Sara's help with right now.

[infernalrevenge]

The Greatest Show

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Donna and Angie attempt to cheer Reader up after a bad day.

Notes: A little bit of domesticity and comfort from our resident dollmaker. Yes, Reader is still a servant in the house while also being her partner -- because why not HAHAHA. Just thought this would be a fun silly thing to write.

----------

This day was not going the way you thought it would. Well, that was putting it nicely -- this day was going to shit.

It was bad enough that you had a hard time falling asleep last night and woke up in a sour mood, but then you had an argument with a new vendor at the village who not only exclaimed that there was no new shipment of vegetables that morning, but also had the gall to try and throw you out of the store under virtue that they "didn't want the freak servants of one of the freak lords tainting their good establishment." The fucking nerve!

When you got back to the manor empty-handed, fuming but attempting to prepare lunch (sans vegetables), you accidentally burned your hand on the hot stove. As if that wasn't bad enough, when you jumped back in pain, you knocked over a few plates onto the floor and had to clean all that up too. You had to complete all your other chores with just one usable hand, the other one wrapped in a loose bandage. Fantastic.

You wanted to scream. Just let out a long scream to let the frustration out.

But you didn't. You couldn't. You still had other things to do, and you weren't going to let a few setbacks ruin it all. You went about your day as usual -- or at least you tried to, because you didn't quite notice how you would grip onto cups a little tighter, with your jaw set and locked as your grit your teeth, and had a perpetual furrow in your brow that worried Donna and Angie.

"What's up with them?" the doll muttered as she watched you slam a tray down in the kitchen when you thought no one else was around.

Donna didn't reply, only looking at the tension you held in your posture -- like you were set to burst with just one wrong move.

Your thoughts were consumed with tasks to perform for the rest of the day, chanting "Just get through it, you'll be fine" over and over in your head like a mantra. You didn't want to worry Donna over such trivial matters. This was just one bad day. You were better than this! You could do this. Just get through it. Just push! Just do it!

It was close to evening when you found your last task for the day before supper: Tidying up the library. Maybe you'll see Donna and Angie there and they could help lift your spirits. Finally, something to look forward to! Angie would probably make some quip about your bandaged hand, and Donna would be winding down on the couch and picking out a movie to watch after supper while you could talk about something to take your mind off the stress. But when you were greeted with a dark and empty space, neither of them in sight, you only sighed in disappointment.

Just get through it, you'll be fine.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked away the blurriness in your eyes, picking up the duster in the corner.

Just get through it, you'll be fine.

You looked up at the clock. Half an hour until supper. Right on time. You took a deep breath to calm yourself and headed for the kitchen.

You were already going through the menu in your head when you felt an insistent force collide onto your chest, nearly knocking you over.

"Angie?"

Donna wasn't with her, and didn't seem to be anywhere nearby either. She was merely floating on her own. "Y/N, just the person I'm lookin' for! Come on, I gotta show you something!" She seemed rather urgent and excited at the same time. What was she planning now?

She took your uninjured hand and started pulling.

"Wait, but I have to get ready for supper--”

"Supper schmupper, this is way more important!"

"But--”

Angie dragged you by the pant leg to the living room, leaving you no choice but to hop along and follow. There, you saw a table laying on its side covered in a shiny silky cloth, obscuring your view of what or who could be behind it. You could just barely see a familiar veil-clad head crouching underneath. Before you could ask, she yelled at you to sit down on the short stool in front of the set up.

"Angie, what's going on?"

"You'll see, I promise. Now be quiet, the show's about to start!"

With that, she waddled away behind the table, seemingly greeted by a chorus of soft giggles. You tucked your knees close to your chest and waited for the commotion to settle down... whatever this was. You were used to Angie's antics at this point, but what kind of show was she talking--

Suddenly, three puppets dressed like the lords popped up from behind the table, with another one looking like a smaller replica of Angie. They all had cutesy and somewhat exaggerated features, completely made out of felt, cloth, and stuffing. Like plushies.

What the...?

"Don't be sad, Y/N!" they said in unison, their voices remarkably similar to each respective lord, if not much higher in pitch.

"Welcome to the village, we're so glad you're here! Turn that frown upside down and give us a cheer!" they sang, each of the dolls moving along to the beat they made.

"Donna, Angie, w-what..." you started, but they kept singing. You weren't quite sure who exactly might be providing these voices -- the dolls themselves, maybe even Donna -- but you were getting more and more amused by the second.

After their short number, introducing each lord to you (Big Sister Dimi, Mr. Heisenberg, Moreau the Fish Man, and Angie, as you recall), they proceeded with the show proper. Apparently that song wasn't all the two of them had up their sleeves.

"Okay, everyone! We have something very important to do!" the doll that looked like Angie spoke up (probably played by Angie herself) "How do we cheer up a loved one?"

"A loved one?" Doll-Moreau repeated.

"Yes! When someone we care about is sad, we should help in any way we can to cheer them up, right?"

"Right!" Doll-Dimitrescu agreed.

You felt a small smile start to crack your facade. Was this all for you?

"But how do we do that?" Doll-Heisenberg chimed in.

"Well what are things that they like? What makes them happy?" Doll-Moreau asked, who turned to Doll-Angie.

"They like cookies! Chocolate chip are their favorite!"

As if on cue, you felt something tug on your leg, and you looked down to see a porcelain doll in a sailor suit lifting up a plate of cookies to you, littered with chunks of chocolate in the dough. "Thank you," you said softly, giving the little one a gentle pat on the head before they ran off back behind the table. You placed the plate on your lap and started to nibble on one as the show went on.

"What else can we do to make them happy?"

"They also like tea with their cookies!"

You could just barely hear someone whisper "Tea? Ew, why not milk?" before they were swiftly hushed. On cue again, another doll emerged with a cup of hot tea for you. You whispered another thanks before they went back, taking a sip of your drink.

"We can sing their favorite songs!" Doll-Heisenberg started trying to sing before Doll-Dimitrescu interfered with a swift knock to his head. "Not with your voice, you can't."

That was a little mean, but you couldn't help but laugh anyway. You would've choked on your tea if you had been drinking it still.

"Why don't we ask them?" Doll-Angie said, turning to face the audience -- you. "What would make you happy, Y/N?"

The smile on your face only widened, tapping a finger on your chin as you made a show of thinking deeply. Might as well play along if they put in so much effort. "Well, what would make me happy is to have my lovely girlfriend here to share these cookies with."

"You heard 'em, Donna, get over there!" The real Angie peeped from behind the table, with the puppet lords cheering on as well as she emerged from her hiding place. You didn't even need to see under her veil to know she was blushing madly at the attention, even though it was just you and the dolls in her company right now.

You moved the plate of cookies from your lap to make room for her. "Y/N..." she was about to protest, and you pouted in response, giving your best puppy dog impression and opening your arms. "I thought you wanted to cheer me up, love?"

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she settled herself on your lap, your arms wrapped around her waist to keep her steady. You looked up at her fondly and pulled her against you -- it suddenly felt like the day's worries had melted away, and all that mattered was having the woman you loved so close to you. That in itself was a great comfort.

Angie seemed to have taken the reins now, the show getting louder and more chaotic as it went on -- the dialogue was reminiscent of the banter you had with her, and some jokes were made at the expense of the other lords (and sometimes Donna), much to her embarrassment. You rested your chin on her shoulder and couldn't help but laugh along.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Donna whispered, tilting her head slightly to look at you.

"You... noticed then?" Your shoulders sagged, head weighing heavier onto hers, feeling like you wanted to hide.

"I did. It was a little hard not to." She gently took your bandaged hand in hers, pressing a tender kiss onto it. "But I didn't want to stand by and not do something about it, so... I hope this was okay."

You felt your heart swell with affection for her -- when did you get so lucky to have such a thoughtful woman by your side? "More than okay. This was very sweet of you and Angie."

A moment passed before Donna spoke again, "I just want you to know that... if there's anything you want to talk about, anything at all, know that I'm here for you, love. Always."

You could almost feel a tear come to your eye at that, "I'll keep that in mind."

You caught a glimpse of her smile at this angle, "You know I'd do anything to see you happy."

And she could see yours, "You already do."

.

.

.

(After learning of the existence of these "lord puppets", it became a game between you and Angie to hide them in plain sight whenever each lord would come visit the estate and bet on how long it took for them to notice it.

Lord Heisenberg almost never seemed to see his -- you weren't sure if he just didn't care to look around, or found it once and opted to ignore it, muttering something about it being "creepy".

Lord Moreau took a while to find his too, but when he did, you couldn't forget the look of joy and flattery on his face. It was quite adorable, and it turned to how quickly he could find the doll in a new room instead.

Lady Dimitrescu never visited, but when you and Donna went over to her castle, you always made sure to bring it with you. You would catch her daughters trying to hide their snickers when you would just stand around carrying the doll like Donna did with Angie, but whenever the lady tried to find out why, she never thought to look at you to see the commotion. Your girlfriend sometimes scolded you for it, but Angie always had a high five ready for you at the end of every visit.)

[justhaletwinsthings]

forever bitter that we never got to explore those sweet, sweet cullen family dynamics because smeyer was too busy contriving love triangle based relationship drama

like, consider:

silent civil wars between alice and edward over who has to tell carsilse that if they go into school today someone's probably gonna get fuckin eaten 

also that emmett is planning on bringing a pet bear home from their next hunt and neither of them wants to be the one to have to deal with that

emmett bringing esme flowers whenever he can because he knows she likes them and also the bright colours and soft scents really remind him of her (also of his human mother but he keeps that part to himself)

the kids visiting dr. cullen at work which is sweet in principle but also terrible bc it's usually less 'hi dad, how are you? lovely to see you :)' and more 'if you don't make jasper stop what he's doing right fucking now i'm going to bury him in the front yard'. the rest of the hospital staff take bets on who will show up next and pissed off about what. it honestly does more to humanise them than any weird ass overly perfect family appearances ever could.

rosalie looking edward dead in the eye and mentally insulting him for, like, three straight hours whenever they're out in public together just watching him get more and more pissed off bc he can't even SAY anything to her without looking like a goddamn lunatic so he just,, has to fuckin deal with it

also if he snaps and talks back emmett owes her like $500 and like HELL is he giving her the satisfaction of making money off him

esme showing up to pta meetings and community bake sales like the goddamn pillar of the community she is and being told how nice and well mannered her kids are and just like. flashing back to rose putting edward through a wall bc he made a snide comment about her sex life and staring off into the middle distance like some kind of ex-prisoner of war

also i'm sorry, but look me in the eyes and tell me that jasper and emmett don't bully the shit out of edward and i'll call you a goddman liar.

it isn't like. malicious or anything. he just,, makes it so easy. he's all broody and dramatic and honestly it would be a crime NOT to mock that. emmett follows him around quoting emo poetry and draping himself dramatically over furniture and edward is Not Having It. it usually ends in some kind of fist fight in the woods at the back of the house. edward is a vicious little bastard with absolutely no qualms about going for the throat. emmett picks him up and swings him around like a fuckin baseball bat.   somehow jasper still wins.

alice and emmett go on a lot of road trips together by virtue of being the Fun Ones(TM). they have a tendency of just up and leaving at random in the dead of night and then sending the fam a text a week later like 'wrestling gators down in florida. having fun. be back soon xoxox'.

sometimes they go to vegas just to see how much alice can make in a night before they get kicked out. a lot, as it turns out. the day they get blacklisted is a tragic one all around

jasper and rosalie, on the other hand, bond by going out into the middle of nowhere and letting out their repressed rage by beating the shit out of each other

it's two very different approaches

beating the shit out of each other is actually a tried and true cullen family tradition. brother won't stop sharing the private details of your personal life? find out who’s in the right by beating the shit out of each other. sister keeps telling everyone they should just fucking murder your girlfriend? prove that she’s wrong by beating the shit out of each other. it's a tried and true method of conflict resolution.

most of the fam will let an issue go for the most part after the Requisite Beating has been doled out. especially since most of their arguments are actually pretty petty edward and rosalie, on the other hand, hold grudges. it’s a long standing issue and also why the two of them and have the most antagonistic relationship in the family. pretty much everyone else but carlisle Stays The Fuck Out Of It.

alice steals edward’s room in literally every house they’ve lived in since the first. at first it was just a joke but then he started trying to throw her off by constantly changing his mind about which room he wanted and now it’s Personal. he fools her once. it never happens again.

there’s a bit of a weird hierarchy in the family, because like, jasper is the Oldest Child but edward is the First Son and it was kind of hard for them to figure out where they stood with each other at first. edward seems to get his way most of the time bc he’s definitely carlisle and esme’s favourite but that’s partly bc jasper usually doesn’t care enough to interfere. but when he does you can bet your ass things are gonna go his way bc he could snap edward like a fucking twig.

also what jasper wants is usually what alice wants and if there’s anyone capable of pulling a fast one over on edward it’s her. basically my point is that jasper is the Alpha Brother(TM)

meanwhile emmett’s just happy to be here

rosalie and esme actually have quite a good relationship, even if it’s a quiet sort of thing. the time they spend together is mostly marked by companionable silence while esme knits or cleans and rosalie reads but they both consider it time well spent. there’s a lot of unspoken affection there. like rosalie doesn’t need a second mother, especially not one barely any older than her, and she’s always been bad at connecting with other women... but if she has to have one she’s glad it’s esme

[spasmsofthought]

rough waters (zuko x water tribe! reader)

Inspiration hit at like 3 am early this morning, but I didn’t get around to writing most of this until this evening. Technically, this can be categorized as a Part II to rituals. If you want more context to this pairing, read it first! 

If there’s anything off about how I wrote this situation, please message me your feedback so I can fix it! I want to be sensitive. 

I don’t know what it’s like to be a minority, or be a part of a group of people that has suffered destructive and violent oppression, since I’m white and American and have only lived in the US. I don’t know what it’s like to be a victim of prejudice, racism, misrepresentation or hurtful stereotyping because of the color of my skin or my background, or race. I took what my friends of color have spoken to me about when they have decided to open up to me and tried to honor their experiences and emotions and spaces in these words. I’m committed to be a safe space for them as I continue to educate myself in order to support them and fight for justice for them. 

If in any way shape or form, you do not feel that my writing reflected that, please let me know! I want to write an accurate representation in the small writings I present here in this blog. 

With all that said, I hope you all enjoy this piece! 

Like, comment, reblog! xo 

Next: Raw

-

While the Fire Nation palace was beautiful and ornate and architecturally captivating, staying cooped up inside had never been a virtue of yours. Especially considering your home growing up had been among the raging ocean and freezing snow. 

So, when you found yourself with a break in-between hefty meetings with lecture after lecture on what your life was going to look like as the future Fire Lade, you figured going out to explore the market was a good idea. 

Despite traveling back and forth from the Water Tribe to the Fire Nation before your engagement to Zuko, there had been little opportunity to spend much of your time among the common Fire Nation people. Your scarce time with Zuko, what with his duties and responsibilities, was spent in the safety of the Fire Nation palace feeding ducks or taking walks or exploring the library. 

It was obvious that to gain his people’s respect and trust as their new leader, and a leader that had recently ended the very supported and celebrated war his grandfather had started a hundred years ago, Zuko actually had to do his job. He was left time for little else. 

With the position of being securely part of his future, and the future of the country, freedom was granted to you on more occasions. Advisors had also pointed that it would be better for you to be spotted out and about every once and a while in order for people to see you and get the chance to interact with you. How could the people ever honor and respect you as their Fire Lady, especially one from another nation, if you remained so aloof and distant that they had to guess at almost every aspect of who you were? 

Thus, an adventure to the market was in order. 

A stall of fresh-looking fruit was the first to catch you eye after about half an hour of walking through the different sections of the city. You were walking down a branched path away from a main road, further away from the Palace than you had ever been before, when you saw it. 

When officials had offered you to participate in tours of the country before, they tended to stick to the places of nobility and wealth. This area looked less cleaned up and more familiar to you, a bit more like your previous home in the Water Tribe. Gone were stoned walkways and polished-up homes; you know walked cobbled streets and homes that seemed to be built with less care towards aesthetics and with more mind placed on structure and space equity. 

It wasn’t quiet like the upper villages that housed nobles and high-ranking government officials; it was beautifully less sterile. You keep your pace even, but it falters a bit as you see people from their doorways and windows watch you as you pass by. There are no smiles or friendly greetings. You try not to take it personally. You had been told from the beginning that here people choose to be reserved and stoic. Ahead of you, parents usher their children through their doorways and into their homes. 

They’re just shy and wary, Your head whispers to you. You’ve never been in this part of town before. 

You hear a soft echo of children’s laughter as the breeze ruffles your face, and you smile a bit as you stop in front of the fruit stall you eyed a few moments ago. You turn your eyes to examine the fruit that is laid out in categorized groupings. Apples, oranges, a few tomatoes, and fruit only specific to Fire Nation agriculture. 

You pick up a red apple to get a better look at it and don’t even notice the old lady sweeping the ground, positioned more in the shadows, until she speaks to you. 

“Those are expensive. And we don’t barter with foreign money.” 

Her voice sounds frail, but one look at her betrays what her voice implies. Her skin is weathered, and her eyes worn by time and emotions that aren’t able to be clearly deciphered. For a moment, you figure that the war had to have had an effect on everyone, even those who dwelt in the nation that benefited from it the most.  

“I’m sorry?” You ask, trying to get a sense of what she’s trying to get at. 

You’re wearing Fire Nation robes, rich in color but otherwise not gaudy, and to the latest style of what’s currently acceptable for ladies in the Capitol. There’s nothing off about how you’re dressed or presenting yourself. You even made sure to put your hair up properly, without your beads just this once. 

A show of solidarity, one Fire Sage said to you when they were leaving from the palace a few weeks ago and you had asked for some advice in how to move forward. 

“What’s there to not understand about what I said?” The old lady snaps at you, muscles recoiled with tension. “We don’t trade with foreign money.” 

The words are like acid to your stomach as the old lady looks directly in the eye. Her eyes drift down, and you inwardly curse; you forgot that you had on the betrothal necklace Zuko had given you just recently. Blue was not common in jewelry or as a color to wear in the Fire Nation, as you have come to know well.

The lady mumbles under her breath and begins sweeping the stall floor again, like she hasn’t even spoken, and you set the apple back down to its proper place among the others. She’s not even ashamed of her tone or at her lack of manners. It’s like she doesn’t even recognize who you are. 

It hits you: Maybe she doesn’t want to. 

There’s no point in explaining that you only carry Fire Nation money with you now; that all your Water Tribe coins are saved in a box that sits on your nightstand because you don’t know if you’ll ever use them again. You don’t know quite what to do with yourself. 

You’ve known that this country has suffered under at least a hundred years of nationalistic propaganda warding people away from associating with any other nation and promoting Fire Nation exceptionalism. You’d known there would be challenges to marrying the Fire Lord as someone from the Water Tribe, but maybe not that you’d have to struggle with changing an entire nation’s perception of your people and culture. That you’d have to prove to everyone here that you are just as equal as them. 

It’s obvious that the old lady is not going to speak to you again and wants nothing more to do with you. No one else is around for conversation or distraction either, so the choice to head back the way you came is an easy one. 

You’re turning away from the stand when you hear the old lady say something under her breath. At first, it doesn’t register as you walk away, but the further away you walk, the clearer the word becomes. 

“Savage.” 

It sends shivers up your spine and almost leaves you heaving in the middle of the street, but you refuse to cower to a word. Even if it is a word laced with a century, or more, of malice and hatred and prejudice. Your walk back to the Fire Nation palace is both long and short at the same time. 

- 

It is hours later when Zuko finds you at the edge of a pond, watching the turtle ducks swimming around in it and fishing for food. It is secluded and quiet, and he has a few spare minutes he can spend with you without worrying about his duties as Fire Lord. 

You don’t startle when he sits down next to you on the grass, but you are surprised he found a few minutes of escape from the constant responsibility and pressure that surrounds him. Usually it’s not until at least dinner time that he’s free.  

He moves one of his hands towards both of yours, signaling that he wants to split the loaf of bread you’re feeding to the turtle ducks with him. For a moment it feels almost satisfying to rip something in half. You hand him one chunk while you cradle the other. There are a few minutes of silence as it seems Zuko decompresses and you try to retrain your rage and hurt and sadness from your interaction with the old lady. 

Your mother always told you that keeping a calm face when everything is the opposite inside of you is like the ocean trying to be a wave when it’s actually a tsunami. You block the memory out and just try to enjoy the stillness and peace with Zuko. It’s not like he gets much time for either. 

“When I was younger, I threw a whole loaf of bread at a baby turtle duck and the mother bit me.” 

The thought feels a bit incomplete, like it’s bittersweet, but you don’t press him today. It’s better for him to talk halfway about memories than not talk about them at all with you. 

You chuff out a laugh but otherwise remain silent. You rip off a small piece of bread and softly throw it into the water. Soon the turtle ducks are swarming around each other for more, but you pace out the chunks enough for there to be some bread left a minute later. 

Zuko is tossing out a few chunks of his own as you begin to speak. 

“Some old lady called me a savage in the market today.” 

Again, silence greets you. But this time, it’s not about governmental officials rejecting your culture while designing the wedding ceremony. This time it’s about the fact that the person he is going to marry soon is being prejudiced against by the people he rules; the people you will also have a part in ruling in a small amount of time. 

“She didn’t exactly say it to my face,” You say angrily as you toss the big chunk into the pond, scattering the turtle ducks, and standing up. The fury can no longer be ignored. “But it wasn’t even what she said, Zuko.” 

Your growl at the same time as the tears well up and make their way down your cheeks. You’re tired of crying, but it’s one of the only ways your emotions are expressed. Zuko stays in his seated position as he watches you. Tenderness clouds his expression, but he’s also being observant.

As much as the Fire Nation teaches their people rigidity, your community, especially your parents, taught you that to deny yourself expression is to deny yourself freedom. Emotional expression is where your relationship struggles the most sometimes, due to the polar opposite cultural values and teachings. Silence in his, complete and full expression in yours. Sometimes it’s hard to find a balance. Moon and sun, right?

It’s in situations like these where Zuko really takes time to consider what he says. 

“It’s what everyone doesn’t say,” You say, swiping at your eyes, trying to make the cursed water on your face disappear. Anger feels better right now than grief. “It’s the looks and the silence about it all from those here who say they care. Like complicity is the same as advocating. Why should I suffer for the one-sided education people experienced at the hands of those who wished to destroy the world in the name of nationalism and supremacy? It’s not fair and it’s wrong and I shouldn’t have to be stereotyped because of the things other people said!” 

You huff as you throw your hands at the sky. There’s also a bit of a yell that comes out, and you’re thankful it’s only you and Zuko in this secluded part of the palace. You sigh as you make you way back down to sit next to Zuko. He glances at his hands before staring out at the water. 

“I wish I could say things will be different, but they probably won’t be for a long time,” His time as the Fire Lord has given him wisdom he wouldn’t have otherwise. Although discomfort stews in your stomach, you know he’s right. He’s suffered from this too, in different ways.

“I know,” You say back at him, laying a hand on his clothed forearm. A hundred years of war has left the Fire Nation’s own people divided and prejudiced, never mind the rest of the world. You had gone through your own journey of dismantling your own prejudice about the Fire Nation when Zuko joined you, Sokka, Katara, Toph, and Aang in order to defeat his father. 

“There is a long road of healing ahead of us, of me. I meant it when I said it the day of my coronation, and I still mean it now,” Your hand makes its way down to his, clasping it in a show of support. Zuko always means what he says. “There are changes I’m making, and while some of them are already being implemented, it’s going to take time for some of the others.” 

“I know,” You whisper again, leaning your head on Zuko’s shoulder as you both stare out at the water. It doesn’t feel like peace that settles in your stomach; it feels more temporary and elusive, perhaps because it’s a foreign feeling to you. 

It may not seem be solid, but you cling onto it for dear life. One of each of your hands is clasped together as you breath out slowly; the rage has settled now, but the pain seeps deep into your being. You know it’s going to be a while before it fades away into healing. 

“Someday things will be different.” Zuko’s tone is soft as he rests his head against your own. 

And you realize what is stirring in you: hope. Fragile and small, but still sitting there in your belly when all else seems bleak. It looks as if undoing it all will take more work than what it took to do all of it in the first place. 

But as you and Zuko sit together and stare out at the calm little pond, a little oasis of tranquility, you can’t help but think, hope, that maybe, someday, even if it’s far into the future, things will be different. 

[terubakudan]

My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness by Nagata Kabi - Book Review and Impressions

(light reflection) Perfect :D Hoping Tumblr doesn't flag me for this xD

Ok, I'm going to start this off with 'this is probably the first and only book review I'm going to do' xD Because I rarely do read books now, and just as rarely buy them. Also, I would have preferred to buy the English version but alas they only had the Chinese version in stock ^^"

Stumbling upon this on the Internet, I was immediately compelled to buy this, as if I knew I would love it and that Nagata's story would resonate with me.

【Short Version】 I can't recommend this book enough, it doesn't matter what sexuality you are or from what culture are you. Nagata makes sure to tell an honest and 'naked' (without embellishments) portrait of her own personal experiences. How she herself is a college drop-out (having only graduated from high school), pushed herself to live/work while struggling with depression and eating disorders, not being sure of what she wants and feeling that she doesn't 'deserve' things, realizing her own sexuality in that she likes girls, and just not feeling 'good enough'...all through her cutesy and unassuming art style.

I will say again though, cutesy art style aside, the book deals with some very heavy topics. Nagata is very honest and doesn't shy away from the gritty details, and I admire her all the more for doing so. Many yaoi and yuri comics often portray an unrealistic and fetishistic view of the LGBTQ+ community whereas Nagata's story is much more grounded and sincere. This is not an easy read, but it's not an overly depressive one either. Nagata literally struggled for years with her mental health, but ultimately found light on the other side. Not mainly through the help of others, but through her own choice to forgive and love herself.

5/5⭐ Definitely recommend and would read again. And if I could, I'd give Nagata a big hug and a heartfelt 'thank you' for sharing her story.

【Long Version】 While it's written primarily from an Asian (particularly Japanese) perspective, Nagata's experiences are ones that should resonate with anyone who has been through the same or similar things, regardless of one's personal background. And I myself, while being fortunate enough to not have gone through eating disorders or self harm, am no exception.

I grew up in an Asian (Taiwanese/Chinese Filipino) household, while my parents weren't Tiger Parents (no offense but fuck Amy Chua for thinking that's a proper way of raising your children), they still had certain expectations on their children: to find a good husband/wife, have a good education, have a 'stable' career, etc. And while I love my parents very much, I'd be lying if I said there weren't any times where I felt they were smothering me, there weren't any times where they kept on nagging and bugging me for very trivial details. My biggest pet peeve: guilt-tripping me just for wanting to spend time alone.

"For me, my parents' opinion of me is absolute." (NOTE: While I won't be providing exact translations of the excerpts I used here, I'll do my best to summarize the gist of them.)

At the same time, I cared very much about their opinion of me. I made it a point to do well in school, to do things according to their wishes, and just like Nagata, I didn't know what I wanted. This even extended to caring about others' opinion of me, more than my own. In my freshman year of college, I 'went along' with being friends with someone, who while was nice to me, turned out to be a manipulative bitch skilled in passive-aggressiveness xD Being half-Taiwanese/half-Filipino, it was hard to fit in since people always treated me differently, it didn't occur to me I could be choosy with friends, I thought as long as they were 'nice' to me, that would do.

Asian culture is largely a collective one, where we define ourselves by our relationships with others, compared with Western culture (primarily America, I'll be using America as a reference point) where individualism is absolute, where you define yourself as you like. In Asia, it's also normal for children to still live in the same house as their parents well into adulthood, compared with Americans who are expected to move out the house once they finish high school or start college, and they're quite literally 'on their own', having to pay their own tuition, rent, etc. Where I live (Taiwan), it's normal for adults to continue relying on their parents financially well until college. Nagata for instance, while saying her parents really make her feel so pressured, is grateful that she still had a home to stay in (and she's 28!).

If you ask me though, neither a collectivist culture or an individualist culture is absolutely good nor bad. Each have their own pros and cons, and both Asian culture and Western culture could learn a thing or two from each other.

After going through quite a few job applications, one of the interviewers tells her "Ganbatte!" (You can do it!) after Nagata tells her what she really wants is to be a manga artist.

And sometimes that's all we need really, a small gesture or kind remark can do wonders. Even if there's no base or reason for it, it's something worth believing in.

I often have doubts if I'm doing what I really want, if I chose the right major for college, if I'm doing the right thing, if I'm 'good enough'. I didn't grow up with much self-esteem as a kid, and often derived my value from others. But even at my lowest times, a 'you're doing ok' was very reassuring to me, be it from family, strangers, or people I care about. Sometimes that's exactly what we need, it may be small but it could be the difference between continuing to wallow in depression or re-evaluating and choosing to be better to oneself.

I find it's really important to know, that however alone you may feel sometimes, there are other people out there going through the exact same thing. It's something universal, and while a lot of things are really unfair in life, each person has their own lot or burden to deal with. I have a Taiwanese friend who, while being more financially well-off than me, has terrible parents. And I mean parents who are quite so literally toxic, unsupportive of her, and would outright say the worst things to their own daughter.

How depression and anxiety can feel sometimes, we can literally feel like it's impossible to breathe and be in a state of disconnection from the world.

"The sounds that invaded my ears occupied my empty brain, making me unable to think at all."

If you only did what your parents asked you to do, wouldn't days like those be very painful? In the end, only you can understand what you really want.

Nagata's art style is one I would describe as simple, cute, and effective. I personally think had her story been drawn in a more serious style, it would have been even harder to read, much less finish. It's also a choice that has artistic appeal to me, serious subject matter juxtaposed with a 'kawaii' art style.

Nagata also depicts very well her mental state and thoughts throughout her struggle and journey to self-actualization. Depression is a really tough thing to deal with, and sometimes we don't even realize that we have it or if we do, refuse to acknowledge it. In Asian cultures especially, mental health has always been something of a taboo subject and there is a very heavy social stigma associated with it. Nagata herself even said that her parents seemingly refused to acknowledge that their daughter's mental health was in a state of distress. In Japan, there is a concept called gaman (我慢), which is described as 'enduring the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity', and while it is portrayed as an ideal virtue that inspires perseverance, it can be a source of heavy pressure for others. Gaman also means that you are expected to suppress whatever emotion or negative feelings you have, often for the sake of others and no matter how tough the situation becomes for you. And while I agree that through gaman you can become more selfless for others, it shouldn't have to come at the expense of your own well-being.

I was quite fortunate to have grown up in a more liberal Asian household, but even when it came to mental health, our family also adopted the same kind of attitude towards it, by carrying on as if nothing was wrong, or just not talking about it. And to be honest, there were numerous times I wished we had been more open about what was bothering ourselves at that time. Talking and being open about your feelings is not a 'weakness' but something incredibly brave to do, and it's my wish for that to slowly become more acceptable in Asian cultures, which I know is kind of a stretch, but it doesn't hurt to hope.

Nagata makes the decision to clean herself up, by taking a bath everyday, habitually exercising, and no longer wearing worn-out clothes.

Depression especially can be a bitch. It deprives you even of your physiological needs, like your need for food. Nagata had to struggle with that on top of eating disorders for a long ten years. She ate so little and even felt that she didn't 'deserve' to eat, and at one point, anorexia became hyperphagia, and she would feel so guilty for eating almost expired/expired food. Things that would otherwise be simple to do also end up becoming difficult/impossible to do, like taking care of your personal hygiene, getting up from bed, doing simple tasks etc.

Thankfully, after Nagata realizes that she never truly 'valued herself', she starts to turn over a new leaf. Even just starting with cleaning herself up, she takes this as a form of 'valuing oneself' and her mood starts to improve, which her family also points out. In the end, taking care of yourself is not a selfish thing to do, it can even make you a better person who is there for others.

Nagata meets up with the female escort she hired, as a means to experience human sexuality, which she had always repressed her curiosity for and treated as a taboo subject. (NOTE: And I'm glad that she met a really nice girl for her first time too!)

Sex and sexuality is also a subject that I feel is hard to talk about sometimes, which I think also owes itself to most Asian cultures being relatively conservative about it. I myself have only recently identified as bisexual, which I attribute to internalized homophobia, not wanting to admit I was into girls too. And to be honest, 'coming out' is something I'm still uncomfortable about, because I don't want to risk my relationship with my family and it's still something I would choose to be selective about with colleagues and friends. I'm grateful though that as crazy the Internet can be sometimes, it can be quite accepting and tolerant towards things that we wouldn't otherwise discuss with even the closest people in our circle. Nagata's memoir ended up capturing the hearts of many readers ever since she first published it on Pixiv.

Exploring your sexuality doesn't have to be scary, it should be something exciting and liberating. Nagata decided to take matters into her own hands, and while the days leading up to the encounter made her really nervous and she even considered not going through with it at all, she willed herself to continue, because she wanted to do this for herself, it would be pointless if she gave up after coming so far in her decision to value herself.

And it's these series of actions that she decided to do that ultimately led to her life turning out for the better, it gave her the courage to do what she always wanted: to be a manga artist, which lead to the publishing of this autobiographical memoir, something she wanted to create that would 'make people want to buy this book' and from her own preference for reading stories that 'speak of secrets people wouldn't want to tell others'.

Nagata mentions what she calls 'honey': something that varies from person to person. It could be your reason for living, that thing that drives/pushes you, or even your sense of belonging. It may not be something permanent, but you can always find yourself a new one. (she mentions the last time she had her 'honey' was during her high school days, and while she has grown apart from the friends she made, she has found her new 'honey' in the form of being a full-time manga artist.)

Nagata stumbles and trips a lot on her way to being a better version of herself, but who doesn't? She admits to things not necessarily being smooth, but at least she's doing better than before. And it's that decision to at least try that counts. We don't have to be perfect, we're all human after all.

TL;DR My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness is a honest, down-to-earth, and ultimately hopeful memoir about the struggles of mental health and learning about one's sexuality. It's an amazing book, and very much worth the buy.

A big thank you if you read through all of this too. I know it's a mess and writing isn't exactly my strong point, but hopefully I've convinced some people out there to give this book a read! Please feel free to share your thoughts and I'd appreciate it very much too if you reblog/like this post.

[youngster-monster]

An act of love and mercy

In the wake of Sasha’s death, Sam finds himself at a loss for what to do. Grief, he finds, makes him restless. Or rather the avoidance of grief. For himself to be busy enough not to be sad, he needs something to be busy with. And there’s not much that a newly ghostless Guardian can do around here. He doesn’t have that many marketable skills, after all. Especially since he still hasn’t gotten used to his new lack of depth perception, which skews his aim something fierce.

He ends up calling in every favor owed to him by fellow Hunters until one of them can present him with a bounty fit for his new limited abilities. He has no qualms about leveraging the death of his ghost to get it for himself.

She meant for it to be a relaxing, low-stakes job in-between bigger expeditions. That means it’s a little too dangerous for a guy with only one working eye. Fortunately Sam is used to fighting without Light by virtue of spending most of his active duty career in the farthest, darkest corner of the system. He’s never run a mission with no light or backup before, but he makes up for the difference with a little bit of a death wish.

The mission is simple at least. A Fallen ketch crashed near the Cosmodrome for unknown reasons, and he’s supposed to go investigate and get rid of any hostiles.

Easy enough.

He must have jinxed it though, because the first thing he finds when he shimmies in through an exhaust vent and into the ship proper is a Fallen corpse, half-buried in the disgusting organic growth tell-tale of the Hive.

And where there’s Hive, there’s usually troubles.

You should call for back-up, the ghost (hah) of Sasha’s voice whispers in his mind.

He’s heard these exact words in her voice thousands of times before, and has never listened to them. Why would he start now?

-

The advantage of a bow is that it’s quiet enough that even when you’re trying to remain undetected you can afford to miss. Since his shots tend to only hit their mark one time out of five nowadays, Sam is thankful for that much.

In the close quarters of the ketch he ends up using his arrows as melee weapons more than projectiles anyway.

He’s only found a handful of thralls so far, which he dispatched quietly, although he can hear the distant roar of a more substantial force deeper in the bowels of the ship. They’re far outnumbered by the bodies. Everywhere he looks he finds the chitinous plates of Fallen, what little isn’t buried under Hive growth covered in their blood. Few of them wear armor, he notices.

He’s starting to get the disquieting feeling that this might have been a civilian ship.

But what would it do near Earth of all places? He has yet to find a House banner; impossible to tell if they were fleeing something or lost the trail of their fleet.

He checks every room, hoping to find an answer. Records of their last communications, perhaps, or of their trajectory. If Hive is infesting Fallen ships — if Fallen are bringing their civilians near the City — then surely the Vanguard needs to know.

What he finds instead is a nursery.

The place is… A nightmare. There was an attempt to retreat here, he assumes from the numerous bodies piled in the same place, some so small he feels bile rise to his throat. He has no love for the Fallen, certainly not now. But children are children no matter how many eyes they possess. Any man with a heart would be upset by such a sight.

His fingers twitch around his bow as a high-pitched chitter breaks the deathly hush of the room. Nothing moves. He’d think he has imagined it if his senses weren’t so well attuned to danger; he’d think it came from some distant threat, echoing through the walls, if it wasn’t followed by the slightest shift in the shadows as four small lights blink in unison.

Staying low to the ground, feet light against the metal flooring, Sam sneaks towards the source of the faint glow. Again that chattering noise. Like cicadas in the summer, only… diminutive, somehow. One single cicada.

Or, it turns out, one single Fallen, buried beneath its dead brethrens.

Sam freezes at the unexpected sight. It’s… Small. The size of a large cat, maybe, though it’s hard to tell when it’s curled on itself like a pillbug.

A hatchling. It stares up at him, then opens its mouth filled with rows of needle-sharp teeth, and lets out the same clicking sound. He gives the surroundings a brief once-over, expecting more to come crawling out, but nothing echoes its call. It’s all alone, saved from the slaughter of its kin by a miracle or the body of its caregiver collapsed over its small body. Easily overlooked if not for the sound it persists in making.

The first thought that comes to his head is, it must be hungry. It’s only logical. Children cry when they’re hungry; why wouldn’t a Fallen hatchling do the same. Quickly following in its steps comes the much more disquieting, it doesn’t know it’s going to die.

The idea chills him. He’s not sure why it bothers him so much — he’s certainly killed his fair share of Fallen — only that it does.

Probably because it’s so small. Vulnerable, with a soft, translucent shell that’s nothing like the hard exoskeleton of the older specimens and about as likely to protect it as a paper umbrella. It doesn’t look old enough to walk. Not that he knows at what age the Fallen learn to move about on their own. But it looks reasonably toddler-like that he’s willing to make a few assumptions.

(Not that he knows what age a toddler starts actually walking, either.)

He lifts a hand to his quiver and finds it shaking. It can’t leave the ship on its own; even if it managed that feat, how would it feed itself? What does a Fallen even eat, at that age? It would be merciful to put an end to its life before it can starve to death, or be found by the Hive. Really, he’s being pragmatic.

The shaking doesn’t abate.

(Sam Fletcher sneaks out of the ship with the hatchling bundled up in the torn fabric of one of its dead brethrens, held tightly against his chest with one hand even as it makes climbing out the way he came more bothersome. Let someone else clean the place; a true Guardian, maybe.

He’s always had too much of a soft heart.)

-

Sam hesitates on his way to the City, and ends up making a detour through the European Dead Zone. His jumpship needs fuel, is his excuse; but the truth is that he’s not sure he could enter the City with a Fallen hatchling and leave it with both of them alive.

He’s already gotten a little attached, although he’ll blame that on the sunk cost fallacy born from the effort it took to get the bug out of the ship undetected. He feeds it bits of jerky while he lands his ship near Devrim Kay’s church. He doesn’t know the man overseeing the region personally, but he has it on good authority that he’s… nice. Nice people don’t shoot babies on sight.

And indeed Devrim does not shoot either of them on sight, although he does stare for a very long time before politely asking, “And what… Do you have here?”

Sam shrugs. The hatchling, clinging to the fur ruff of his cloak, shifts with the movement. He summarizes in a few words the events that led to him finding a baby Fallen and keeping it; Devrim is nice enough to keep any comment he might have to himself. And when Sam says that he has no idea what to do with it, he says,

“The Awoken of the Reef have opened their ports to Guardians. Maybe you could find one willing to ferry the little one along to one of the… less hostile houses.”

It’s a decent idea. Perhaps even a good one. Sam considers it for a little while. Of course that would require finding a Guardian who can be trusted with the life of a newborn, but that can be arranged. He knows people. Mostly Hunters, so no one he would trust with the life of a human child, let alone an alien one, but he’ll manage.

“Why did they open their borders?” He asks, because it’s been a while since he’s been aware of any Guardian business.

Devrim scratches his beard. “There’s been talks of a Fallen uprising,” he says wryly.

Ah.

That does complicate things a bit.

-

While trying to find a way to get the hatchling back to its people, Sam tries to find it a nickname. It’s a little awkward calling it ‘the hatchling’ all the time, is all. He’s not getting attached.

(Devrim stares evenly at him and wisely doesn’t say anything to that.)

But getting rid of it seems less likely by the day as the Wolves rebel against their Awoken sovereign. What Fallen would agree to meet with a human peacefully, let alone take in a child that does not belong to them? Perhaps one of those living on the Shattered Coast, but the place is a den of smugglers and Sam knows what happens to small, vulnerable individuals there.

(He’s dealt with the Spider once. Never again.)

It chitters quietly in his ears from its perch in his fur collar.

“Sounds a bit like a cicada, doesn’t it?” He says idly. He’s perched next to Devrim, helping keep an eye on the surrounding area even though he’s mostly looking at the baby Fallen.

The other man offers no commentary beyond the slightly amused tone of his wordless hum. Sam reaches back and plucks the Fallen from his shoulder, holding it in front of his face and examining it closely.

“Yeah. Cicada,” he says resolutely. “That fits.”

-

By the time the situation in the Reef has calmed down somewhat, Cicada has gotten downright clingy, and the House of Wolves — the only House friendly enough to meet with — has all but disappeared.

Sam stares at his small charge and thinks that this might be a more long-term commitment than he previously assumed.

He’s been running around helping Devrim, but that’s becoming more difficult as Cicada grows and becomes impossible to hide in his cloak anymore. He’s alright with bringing his own mortal ass to a gunfight; a child, not so much.

“There’s a farm not far from here,” Devrim says, “They could probably find you something to do in exchange for room and board.”

“Oh, I’m sure. The Fallen stowaway might be a dealbreaker though.”

“I’ll send them a word. Suraya isn’t the biggest fan of Guardians, but for a kid I’m sure she can make an exception.”

Sam doesn’t ask how Devrim came to know someone who’d like a Fallen better than a Guardian. He’s just glad for the offer. He can live rough and risk his life all he wants, but the kid hasn’t asked to be brought along. He can’t do that to it.

-

Sometimes, kinderguardians will stumble to the Farm, lost and confused despite the guidance of their Ghost.

Against Hawthorne’s complaints — those are mostly for show anyway — Sam insists on feeding them before sending them on their way to the City. Most of them have never gotten a real meal in their life before ending up here, and he’s already cooking for two anyway. Why not more?

And if they don’t look too weirdly at the small Fallen clinging to his shoulders or trailing after him, running on all six limbs to keep up with his stride, he might even give them a few pointers. They’re hopeless, all of them, and he might no longer be the sharpshooter he used to be, but he’s still a veteran. If it keeps them from getting themselves killed stupidly, he’ll take it.

Sometimes they come back. For more help, or just to say thank you. He appreciates it, even if it’s weird as hell to have people thank him for so little.

One of them comes back with ether as a gift. He stares at the little canisters, dumbstruck. He figured Cicada would need some of the substance, since Fallen seem to depend on it, and getting his hands on it has been a hell and a half. They guard it ferociously and there’s only so much a single, mortal Guardian can do.

“I thought I would help,” the Guardian explains. “Like you helped me, even when I had nothing to offer in return. So when I found these on my last mission, I thought…”

“It’s appreciated.” Then, because it feels rude to only say thanks, “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

-

They keep coming after that — Sam has gotten pretty good at cooking, and he guesses most Guardians don’t learn to do it for themselves. He certainly didn’t.

And because they seem to think there’s an ether fee to pay for the privilege of homemade food, he ends up with quite the stock. He’s not sure how much a growing Fallen needs, so he just… gives Cicada as much as she demands. Which ends up to be a lot.

At least she’ll grow healthy. He hopes.

-

The first time Cicada speaks — the word food warbled through her many teeth and alien mouth — Sam nearly has a heart attack.

The second time, he grabs the nearest Guardian and asks if they could find him an Eliksni language dictionary.

It doesn’t seem right to keep her from her own language. And if he has to learn how to make the weird sound with his own very human mouth, well. He’ll try. Even if it’s really cute when she tries to beg scraps from him with her odd, scratchy voice approximating human syllables.

-

One day — years later, when Sam has gotten a little more grey in his hair and a lot steadier in his one-eyed aim — Cicada, now much bigger, will point at one of the picture hanging over his bed and ask,

“Who’s this?”

And he will look at the picture of him and his Ghost and feel only the soft, blunt ache of an old scarred wound. It’ll be a small surprise to find himself, if not healed, at least over the hurt. And he’ll pick up his kid, even though she’s much too big for him to do that easily nowadays, and say,

“That’s Sasha. She was my family, before I found you...”

[sulkybbarnes]

This is a birthday present for one of my most favorite people and a wonderful, beautiful person! @letitialewiss I love you tons and I hope that this little fic brings you a smile today. Happy birthday, Kim 💖💕

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

-Jane Austen, Emma

The problem with Eddie’s feelings is that they tend to get all encompassing, until they’re clinging to every inch of him, covering every piece of cloth he wears, trailing behind him on the floor. 

He always feels things deeply, be it grief or love or joy. Feelings tend to grip Eddie’s heart and make a home there until he is ready -or willing- to express them. And it’s that latter part, really, that gives him the most trouble. While Eddie feels every emotion and holds it close, he can seldom find a way to describe how he feels, the words sticking in his throat and refusing to budge. 

He’s become better with it over the years by virtue of becoming a father and an adult, he’s a far ways away from where he started years ago. No longer holding everything in until it tears him to shreds, but he needs practice still. Growing up the way he did, with expectations and responsibilities always looming over him, made it far easier to bottle things in or set them aside rather than voicing them.

Eddie taught himself to talk out his thoughts and emotions with Chris, making sure to set a good example for his son. He talks to Chris about grief and love and fear, in small portions and words carefully chosen to show his son that he is allowed to feel things and voice them too. He tells Chris that he loves him often, and he’s never had any trouble expressing that love and gratitude for his little boy, but that talent seems to extend only to Chris and things that have to do with his well being. Outside of matters connecting to his son’s happiness and safety, Eddie has a harder time voicing his feelings. Especially when they connected to Eddie’s happiness and well being.

Eddie struggles with waves of grief that crash over him without prior warning, and he still tells his abuela that he’s fine when she asks. He feels exhausted between work, house chores, and being a single parent, yet brushes off Hen’s concern with a smile. His heart is overtaken with longing when Buck does something endearing, but he shakes his head and laughs it off when Buck asks Something on my face? 

He acknowledges these feelings, he just doesn’t necessarily know how to voice them yet. Be it to ask for help or to tell a certain someone that their smile makes Eddie’s days more bearable. This isn’t a new problem, but it’s one he’s only been working through over the past two years or so. Eddie is getting better at it, he is, but some things can’t wait for him to work through every learned behavior and every wall he put up to protect himself. And so, Eddie decides to take action where words fail him.

It’s a simple enough solution, really. 

Eddie knows his heart and the way it beats differently whenever he’s around Buck, and if he can’t outright tell Buck how he feels then he can show him. He made the realization about his feelings quite some time ago and spent hours in his own head since; examining every moment from different angles and thinking through what it all means. He reaches a conclusion, after months of carefully not putting a name to what he feels, when it all comes crashing down around him soon after the train wreck and his run-in with Abby. 

The protectiveness Eddie felt that day towards Buck was a fierce thing that couldn’t be ignored. Eddie wanted to grab Buck and shield him from hurt. He wanted to hold his face and ask what Buck needed Eddie to do. He wanted to tell Buck that he loved him, and that Eddie and Chris would never walk away from him. Every thought and emotion that came after that day resonated throughout Eddie’s body and lived in every part of him. He couldn’t tame the feelings or leave them unnamed. 

Eddie loves Buck. He loves him fiercely and completely, the way you can only love someone you know like your own heart. 

Eddie knows this beyond a doubt. He names the feeling and sits with it for a while, then embraces it and makes his decision. He loves Buck, and he thinks -hopes, really- that Buck might feel the same way. And so, all Eddie has to do now is show Buck, if he can’t outright tell him. 

He has to put his heart out there to be weighed and measured, and to hopefully not be found wanting. So. Piece of cake.

-------

The problem with trying to woo Evan Buckley is that Evan Buckley seems to have absolutely no fucking clue when he’s being wooed. It isn’t because Buck is oblivious or unaware, but the fact that they’re as close as they are makes any attempt at typical romance futile. Eddie asks Buck out for dinner but it ends up being another Tuesday night with them having dinner and drinks like they do every other week. He allows himself to be tactile, brushing against Buck more as they walk, or putting a hand to his arm, but quickly realizes that these touches aren’t out of the ordinary. In fact, they’re so tactile that it’s habit now and Eddie only noticed just how tactile they are when he tried to up the ante. Next, Eddie tries to cook them dinner and it turns into a memorable night of him and Buck and Chris cooking together, and his son and best friend gently teasing Eddie about his cooking skills all evening. He even tries complimenting Buck’s shirt, an endeavor that earns him a knowing look from Hen and a smirk from Chim, only to have Buck smile bashfully and duck his head with mumbled thanks. 

Eddie’s most recent attempt was to bring Buck flowers when he and Chris visited him for game night a couple of weeks ago. However Buck took the flowers from Chris with a beaming smile and a comment on how the Diazes always knew how to brighten up a place. Chris went into an excited spiel about gardening and growing flowers at school with his teacher which Buck listened to with rapt attention and a wide smile, and that had been the end of that.

None of the little casual steps to dating someone would work on Buck, and Eddie quickly realizes that the reason behind it is that he and Buck have been doing almost everything a couple would do for a long time now. They’re too intertwined for a dinner invitation or casual touches to spell out romance. Every attempt he makes at a gesture ends with Buck giving Eddie grateful smiles and warm looks, but remaining completely unaware of Eddie’s intentions. Making Buck happy and spending time with him is always a triumph, but Eddie’s heart aches with the need for more. To hold Buck’s hand, and kiss him, and whisper to him all the things Eddie would never tell anyone else.

“You’re being very quiet tonight,” Buck says, nudging Eddie gently until Eddie looks at him. They are at Eddie’s apartment as is the habit these day when they’re both off from work. Chris is stretched out on the couch between them, watching a movie with his head resting on Eddie’s lap and his legs stretched out towards Buck.

“Just thinking,” Eddie shrugs with a half smile, willing his voice to remain steady and casual.

“Really, is Mulan giving you a lot to think about just now?” Buck asks in a teasing tone which draws a laugh out of Eddie. He has lost count of how many times he and Buck have sat through the same Disney movies with Chris. Eddie tends to use the time to tune out and occasionally rest his eyes for a bit, while Buck makes comments and exchanges looks with Eddie when Chris laughs at them.

“It’s a very serious movie,” Eddie answers gravely and relishes Buck’s amused grin. Buck focuses back on the movie -always far more invested than he’d like to let on- and Eddie takes the opportunity to look at him. The ease with which Buck inhabits this space, the gentle upturn of his lips, and the laughing looks he shoots Eddie when Chris giggles at something. 

The entire evening so far has been another domestic night that Eddie wouldn’t trade for the world.

Earlier, Eddie has watched with quiet amusement as Buck reacted dramatically to Chris’s comments about the movie before this one. Eddie had been so entertained by their combined theatrics that he had relented at the end of the first movie and allowed a second one for the night. Now Eddie looks between them and feels his heart bursting with warmth. His hand itches to reach for Buck’s hand and he fights the urge down for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. 

Buck shoots him a questioning look as if sensing Eddie’s eyes on him. Buck’s lips twitch again into another smile that Eddie isn’t sure what to make of, but it gets Eddie smiling too. They go on that way for a while, slowly exchanging longer looks until neither of them is looking at the screen anymore.

“TV is that way,” Buck remarks lightly after a little while, tone still teasing and a little playful. Eddie loves him like this, with mirth in his eyes and a boyish smile. “You should be watching the movie.”

“The boss is asleep, so I’ll get away with it,” Eddie says, gesturing at a now-sleeping Chris. 

Buck laughs softly and rests one hand on the headrest between them. He looks down and bites his lower lip -immediately drawing Eddie’s eyes there- then shoots another unreadable look at Eddie. 

“You gonna tell me what you’re actually thinking about now?”

Eddie mulls this over for a few seconds then figures -sure, why the hell not. 

“Let me take Chris inside and then we’ll see about that.” Eddie answers and appreciates that Buck accepts this with an easy hum. 

They work around each other in perfect harmony; Eddie scooping Chris up in his arms to take him to his bedroom, while Buck pauses the movie and starts cleaning up. By the time Eddie comes back outside, Buck has moved to the kitchen and is putting leftovers away in the fridge. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie says as he always does and gets rewarded with an eyeroll from Buck. Eddie falls into place next to Buck, silently doing the dishes and mulling over what to say. This too is a familiar dance for them; easily working together be it at a rescue mission or at home to make dinner or clean up. 

Eddie finishes up then turns around to watch Buck’s back as he puts things away. If usual dating steps won’t cut it for making his feelings known, then Eddie will have to voice how he feels. Outright tell Buck what he’s thinking. He could kiss Buck and that should say it all but a small barrier of doubt holds Eddie back. He needs to know that Buck wants this as much as Eddie does before taking that leap. 

“I’ve been trying to date someone,” Eddie blurts out before he can overthink it, then realizes that he said someone instead of you and closes his eyes in quiet despair. Old habits.

“Oh,” Buck frowns and puts down the two beers he had just retrieved. He looks away long enough to get the bottle opener, but when he turns back it’s with a smile. Eddie thinks it looks forced. “That’s great. Is that what got you all quiet? And what do you mean trying?”

“I mean I keep doing dating stuff but it won’t stick. All the dating things I’m doing are being read as friendship.” Eddie elaborates a bit, curious to see if Buck will catch on.

“What kinda stuff?” Buck hands over Eddie’s bottle but keeps some space between them. Eddie is now positive that the smile and cheer are forced. His stomach does a little sweep at the implication.

“Giving compliments, going out for dinner, cooking together, spending the day together, long phone calls -you name it,” Eddie keeps his voice steady, fully sure that Buck will catch on by the end and feeling his heartbeat double its speed. Buck blinks at Eddie then takes a long swig of beer.

“Cooking together sounds really serious,” Buck volunteers with a measured tone, “but I guess it can be read as friendship depending on the situation. Although if you have done all these other things and she still doesn’t get it, you should just say something. Or buy her flowers.”

Eddie almost starts laughing at the memory of Buck thanking Chris for the flowers Eddie bought Buck a couple of weeks ago. 

“Did the flowers thing too,” Eddie raises his eyebrows and can no longer bite down an amused smile.

“Damn, that didn’t work?” Buck sounds genuinely offended now on Eddie’s behalf which makes the whole thing funnier. “How could that not have worked?”

“Well, it apparently didn’t spill out what I wanted it to, but it brought on a smile so no loss there.” Eddie answers truthfully then feels his chest squeeze tight when Buck’s face falls. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about, huh?”

Buck gives a weak smile at that and shrugs. 

“Guess I wasn’t as caught up on your life as I thought I was, Eddie.”

Eddie knows every expression Buck wears and has cataloged every look and smile Buck has shared in his presence, so he knows that everything about Buck at the moment screams of insecurity and false cheer. Eddie can’t stand the thought of making Buck feel that way.

“How did you like the flowers I brought you two weeks ago?” Eddie says conversationally. 

“They were beautiful,” Buck’s eyebrows shoot up at the sudden change in conversation but his face breaks into a real smile. “lilies and roses. I tried to keep them alive as long as I could.”

“And the dinner I cooked for you a week before that, did you like that too?”

“Chris and I did most of the cooking,” Buck rolls his eyes but laughs; the conversation being one they’ve had several times already. “But if you want to call chopping stuff up cooking for someone, then be my-”

Buck trails off towards the end of his sentence. Realization finally -finally- dawning. 

“Oh.” Buck says, and then, “Eddie?”

“I’ve been trying to date you,” Eddie states, the words springing into the air between them and anxiously waiting for Buck’s response. “I think we skipped the usual dating stage but I had to try for it. To properly date you.”

“You had to try,” Buck repeats, tone disbelieving but with an undercurrent of laughter “To date me. Because..?”

“Because I like you, Buck,” Eddie breathes out, the words expanding through his chest and almost mocking him with how much of an understatement they are. “I like you a lot. Enough to buy flowers and attempt cooking and agonize over how to tell you that green makes you look great. Hell, if I liked you less I might have been able to say something sooner.”

Love. If I loved you less, Eddie thinks, but doesn’t say it yet.

Buck is almost gaping by the time Eddie is done talking. He blinks a few times in quick succession, and then finally ducks his head with the most beautiful smile Eddie has seen to date.

“I like you too,” Buck says quietly, then laughs at Eddie’s questioning look, “A stupid, embarrassing amount. Shit. If I had known that’s what the flowers and the compliments were for. Eddie, I’d have-” Buck lets out a slow breath, “I just couldn’t let myself hope. I wanted it too much.”

Eddie finally breeches the few steps between them and moves to plant himself in front of Buck. He reaches up a hand to cup Buck’s jaw and run his thump against the stubble on Buck’s cheek.

“Will you go out on a date with me, Buck?” Eddie asks warmly, his eyes not leaving Buck’s face and his smiling lips for a second.

“Yeah. Yes,” Buck grins, “And I think I owe you dinner for-” Buck shrugs, “Taking this long to get it.”

“Get it? I literally had to tell you,” Eddie points out laughingly, because he might be dying to kiss Buck but it’s his duty as Buck’s best friend to never let him live this down. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Buck groans and squeezes his eyes shut before giving an exasperated sigh. “I guess I owe you flowers too and-”

Eddie never gets to hear what else he’s owed because his self control finally snaps and he kisses Buck mid-sentence. It’s messy at first but so exhilarating that Eddie feels a rush through his body. He pulls back momentarily to look at Buck and finds him smiling blissfully with his eyes closed. 

Eddie swoops in for another kiss, this one slower and lasting longer. He runs a hand through Buck’s hair, grabs gently at his cheek with the other, while Buck’s own hands press against the small of Eddie’s back and occasionally roam to his waist.

When they break apart, they’re both panting for breath and smiling. Buck rests his forehead against Eddie’s for a few heartbeats, and one of his hands comes up to cup Eddie’s jaw. 

“I forgot what I was going to say,” Buck laughs.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie kisses the corner of Buck’s mouth and relishes the smile it draws. “We have plenty of time for you to remember. Maybe on our next date.” 

Eddie punctuates that statement with another kiss. 

Buck, seemingly no longer interested in words, hums his assent then kisses Eddie hungrily, effectively ensuring that Eddie forgets his words too for the moment. Eddie thinks that it isn’t such a loss because he now knows how to show Buck his feelings, and he knows that -when he needs them again- the words will be there for Eddie to tell Buck just how much he feels about him.

Eddie’s chest thrums with excitement at the prospect of a future spent telling Evan Buckley how much he loves him, but he elects to let their kisses do the talking for now. There will be plenty of time for words later.

AO3 link in reblogs!

[curls-cat]

Who we Grew to Be

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @vertdegrece!!!! You asked for grown up Daphne/Pinocchio, so you got a lot of vaguely purple prose leading up to adult Daphnocchio! I haven’t written for this ship in a while, I forgot that I like it!

also posted on AO3

--

Daphne and Pinocchio do not grow up together. That would be too easy. Daphne stalls out for a little bit at eleven, when she gets her first zit, but besides that, she grows like any human child: straight through. 

Pinocchio, on the other hand, grows in fits and starts. He’s been cursed that way, because the Blue Fairy, his absent mother, takes as much as she gives. All her blessings have a little bit of the monkey’s paw about them, so he only grows as old as he acts, forever cursed to act his own age.

The upshot of this is that they don’t spend much time together in childhood. Daphne is much closer to Red, who grows at the same pace she does. Pinocchio, too, is closer to Red. They live in the same house, after all. And Red may be aging at the same pace as her best friend, but she’s got a sort of ageless quality about her that makes it easy for Pinocchio to spend time with her no matter how different their ages are, physically.

Oh, they see each other nearly all of every summer, when Henry and Veronica pack up their rarely-used car to make the drive up from NYC to Ferryport Landing, towing their children with them. Summers are nice. Daphne likes summer, when she has her whole family together in Granny’s newly-renovated ramble of a house for two entire months. Even Puck and Uncle Jake are nearly always there.

But they don’t hang out. Daphne out-ages Pinocchio for the first two years, the growing difference between seven and nine not nearly as much of an impediment as Pinocchio’s snobby brattishness. Then he makes a leap forward, catching up and almost outstripping her to ten. They leapfrog their way through childhood, only matching up briefly every few years. Then he makes a final jump from sixteen and moody to somewhere much closer to twenty, and he’s off to university while Daphne is still sixteen herself, and he throws himself into the kind of universities that he now looks old enough to be a student at.

Sixteen is a weird time. They’re the same age, for once, and they’re together in Granny’s house, for the last time, it’ll later turn out. Pinocchio spends a lot more time with her than usual, but he’s grumpier than he’s been since he was ten, demanding her attention one minute and then scoffing at her the next. Sabrina rolls her eyes and tells him to get his act together, but she’s mostly too busy hate-flirting with Puck to explain what she means, even though she gives Daphne knowing looks whenever pressed.

Then Granny dies, and Daphne’s family shatters.

Puck and Uncle Jake disappear to opposite corners of the globe. Sabrina and Pinocchio go back to school and if Daphne didn’t drag her sister home over the weekends, she’d never see her. Her parents start fighting, both of them either at work or at home but not present. Mr. Canis is so heartbroken that Red is spending all her time, nearly, with him, trying to make him eat or sleep or smile. Basil is furious and heartbroken by turns, begging Daphne for hugs one moment and screaming at her the next. Daphne feels like she’s alone, pulling at a dozen different strings that are all tied to people running as hard as they can in opposite directions. Like she’s being drawn and quartered by her own grief, by her own desire to keep her family together.

It doesn’t come to a head at any one point. It’s several smaller heads, a million little breaks, separate scenes where Daphne begs each of her family members to come back to her one by one. Most of them do. Puck and Pinocchio don’t.

And she gets it. She knows, from the way Mr. Canis and her dad look at her sometimes, that she’s the most like Granny out of all of them. She’s got her grandmother’s righteous indignation and need to help everyone, her rigid moral compass that even she knows is a little shy of true north, her big, enormous heart. Of course it’ll hurt to come back to her. Of course it’ll be like looking at the little imperfect shadow of the woman they’ve lost, the woman who loved them when nobody else would.

It doesn’t make her any less furious at them. And, for a year or two, she’s almost glad they’ve stayed away, her hurt turning into anger.

Fast forward again, to Sabrina’s wedding. By this point, Pinocchio has sort of been back in her life, by virtue of being back in Red’s life. He’s halfway through a doctorate in history, and Daphne’s learned through Red that he wants to get more, in anthropology and archaeology, among other things. He wants to get all the doctorates, from the sound of it.

Sabrina’s wedding goes strangely. Daphne may have meddled a little bit. Just a tiny, tiny bit. But it’s not her fault Sabrina kept moping about Puck. It was super obvious. And Bradley’s a nice guy and all, and Daphne knows Sabrina loves him, but it’s not gonna be a happy marriage if they don’t at least get all the Puck baggage out in the open. So she meddles. Finds Puck, pulls him out of his five-year mope, and throws him at the wedding.

It’s a mess, obviously. There’s a huge scene at the wedding, it sort of falls apart, a lot of forgetful dust has to be spread around. At the end of it, Daphne’s left standing, exhausted, with an empty bag of forgetful dust, watching the last of the guests leave. Or, at least, she thought it was all the guests.

“Are you cleaning up as penance?” someone says behind her, in an absolutely gorgeous voice.

“Come again?” She turns, and there’s Pinocchio, in all his dark academia glory. He’s grown into his nose, though it’s still a striking centerpiece to his face.

“For turning your sister’s wedding into a fiasco,” he clarifies. “I assume that was you.”

“Maybe,” she says, trying for teasing. It comes out a little more flirtatious than she meant it. What? He’s cute, okay?

“How—how have you been?” Pinocchio asks.

He could’ve asked her that any time in the past five years. Any time. She’s honestly kind of surprised he came to the wedding. She will not give him the cold shoulder, though. She won’t. She’s better than that now.

“I’m all right,” she says. “In college. You?”

“Also in college,” Pinocchio says. He gives her a small smile.

She smiles back. It’s all very awkward. She starts gathering up wedding decorations.

“I, uh,” Pinocchio says after a minute. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Damn right he does. She doesn’t say that, though. She does look at him expectantly.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, not making eye contact. “After—Well. You know. I shouldn’t have run away like that. I was hurting, and spending time around anyone who knew your grandma just made me think about how much I hurt. So I ran away. And that wasn’t fair. Because you were all hurting, too, and I know you, especially, wanted everyone to stay close.”

“Very nicely said,” Daphne approves. “Did Red coach you on it?”

“Only a little,” Pinocchio admits. “But I mean it. All of it.”

“All right,” Daphne says. And she takes a deep breath, the way she’s been practicing with Cindy, and she lets the anger go. “I forgive you. But only if you’re done hiding.”

“I am,” he says, and he smiles at her.

They keep in contact after the wedding. Pinocchio still has a tendency to bury himself in books and forget about other humans, but if she texts him, he’ll text back the same day. Usually. She tells him about the weird things going on between Puck, Sabrina, and Bradley. Occasionally he’ll send her an unprompted message ranting about something she has only the vaguest understanding of. She’ll patch it together across the pages her phone’s divided it into and have wikipedia open for reference as she reads. They go out for coffee at least once a month, sometimes with Red, sometimes without her.

Daphne refuses to ask him for help with her homework. Getting a degree in social work requires a lot more of the hard sciences than she’d anticipated. It’s frustrating, but it’s worth it. She’s gonna be able to help people, when she’s done with this. Everafters and humans alike. Oh, Sabrina’s got her child advocacy law thing going on, and that’s great, but Daphne’s determined to help people before they get to the point where the courts have to get involved. And she’s not going to do it by depending on Pinocchio for help. She can do this on her own.

But as she moves from her bachelor’s to the postgrad degree it’s apparent she’s going to need if she wants to actually get a, y’know, job in her field, she does start complaining to Pinocchio more. They’re at the same university, Pinocchio now well into an anthropology degree, so they hang out at the library pretty often, their noses buried in separate books or laptops.

Pinocchio’s funny. She’d forgotten about that, or never really learned it. He’s got a dry sense of humor, and he’s sarcastic like you wouldn’t believe. He’s fun to be around.

“I had a crush on you, you know,” he tells her one day, apropos of nothing, as he stretches in his chair, taking a break from whatever he’s working on right now.

“What?” Daphne pauses, not sure she’s heard him right. She’s been pretty intent on putting together a case study review.

“When we were, oh, sixteen or so,” Pinocchio says. It’s too casual to be anything but feigned. He knows exactly how old they were. “G-d, you were so—friendly. Overwhelmingly so.”

“Am I not friendly anymore?” Daphne asks, but she’s teasing. Friendly. What a reason to get a crush on someone!

“Nope,” Pinocchio teases right back. “Downright unpersonable. I must be rubbing off on you.”

“If Sabrina couldn’t turn me into a grouch, you’re definitely not gonna manage it,” Daphne says with an easy grin. “This new ‘unpersonable’ thing is all me, baby.”

“The world has worn on you,” Pinocchio says with a melodramatic sigh. “You’ve finally lost your childlike joy.”

“Only took twenty-three years,” Daphne says with a grin. The conversation dies for a minute, then Daphne brings it back. “Why bring it up now?”

Pinocchio shrugs. “I was just thinking about it. Thinking about back then. It was nice. I miss it.”

“You barely talked to me!” Daphne says with a laugh.

Someone two tables over glares at her, and she gives them an apologetic wave and a smile.

“I was shy!” Pinocchio protests. “I didn’t know how to talk to someone I liked! Let alone someone who was in my house the whole summer!”

“Fair enough,” Daphne agrees. “I hope you know this is teasing fodder for forever, though.”

“Oh no,” Pinocchio says, deadpan again. “What will I ever do. You’ve never teased me before in my life. I don’t think I can handle it.” He pauses, then says, “You don’t seem surprised. That I liked you.”

“What can I say?” Daphne winks at him. “Nobody can resist my charms.”

“Fair enough,” Pinocchio says, giving her a shrug. Then he goes back to studying.

Time passes. Daphne graduates, can’t get a job through normal channels, but gets herself employed working for Faerie. Pinocchio teases her about nepotism, but listen. If there were anyone else qualified, she wouldn’t need to do this job. She and Pinocchio don’t spend all their time together in the library anymore, but they do meet up for lunch, and dinner, and sometimes breakfast. Someone has to make sure he remembers to eat, after all.

Several months into seeing each other nearly every day, by choice rather than by ease, something occurs to Daphne. 

“Are we dating?” she asks.

Pinocchio chokes a little. “What?”

“Are we dating?” she repeats, emphasizing each word a little more clearly.

“How would we be dating?”

“We see each other almost every day,” Daphne starts, ticking her points off on her fingers as she goes. “We go out to dinner together, just the two of us. We watch movies together. We hang out in each other’s apartments. I text you almost as much as I text my brother and sister, and more than I text Red. When I have news, you’re the first person I want to tell. You leave your little nerd fort to hang out with me.”

“I mean—” Pinocchio splutters. “You’re— Dating usually involves a certain amount of intent, doesn’t it?”

Well, yeah, okay, there’s that. But Daphne’s stumbled into relationships before, only realized what they were partway through. Love is messy like that. But, well. Pinocchio likes things to be clearly labeled. People don’t come naturally to him the way they do to her.

“Would you like this to be dating?” she asks.

“Would you?” he counters, still spluttering and blushing.

Would she?

She thinks about all the things she listed, about how she wants to spend time with him, about the way he’s comfortable. About his dry sense of humor, about his stupid handsome face, about the way, every time she sees him she’s struck, a little, by the sight. About how it makes her heart beat faster. She’d put it down to his being one of the hottest men she’s ever seen, but that should probably have worn off sometime in the past few years, right?

“Yes,” she decides. She would like to date him.

“Oh,” Pinocchio says. His blush deepens.

He says nothing else for a long minute, and Daphne starts blushing too. “If you don’t—I mean, I—listen. It doesn’t. I’ve gotten crushes on friends before. If you don’t want to date me, that’s fine. It doesn’t have to change anything. We can forget this whole conversation!” Because she’d rather keep his friendship than anything else.

“No!” Pinocchio rushes in. “No, that’s not—I just—I mean—” he’s stumbling over her words, now, the two of them talking over each other to explain themselves, when he says, “I like you too!”

“Oh,” Daphne says, stopping abruptly. “You do?” She smiles at him.

“Yeah,” Pinocchio says. “I think I never really stopped.”

“That,” Daphne says, reaching a hand forward to grab at Pinocchio’s, “was downright romantic, you handsome sweetie.”

Pinocchio gives her a dopey, lovestruck smile. Then, after a long moment, he says, “So are we dating then?”

Daphne laughs, twines their fingers together. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, we are.”

[amaya-chwan]

Takeaways from Therapy Game: Restart Chapter 09

HELLO FRIENDS! And we’re back at it again with chapter 9 featuring our favourite dorks, Shizuma and Minato! ❤️💛🎉

Sensei was kind enough to post the first page of this chapter on her Twitter!  🥰😍😘

“I thought you understood, but men who fail to keep their promises deserve punishment, okay?!”  --- The text next to Minato.

That’s just 🔥🔥🔥🥰😍🔥🔥🔥

Let’s get right into the takeaways, shall we? It’s a shorter chapter this month, but it is very focused on Shizuma’s residency journey while juggling his house hunting schedule with Minato, and with that, a lot of dialogue. There was also a lot of technical terminology I had to keep looking up ;A;

In this chapter:

Minato is an angry, scowly boy when Shizuma doesn’t keep his promises!😭

Poor Shizuma, he’s torn between keeping his promises and his work. 😭 😭 But I’m proud of you, Shizuma! 👏👏

Minato, my son, I am glad you are getting the simple happiness you deserve! Your patience really is a virtue! 🥰😍❤️

Onodera... really lacks person skills. Is she a recluse? Or someone with poor social skills? I hope we find out?? And she honestly... is so stoic. I cannot read her at all. 😅😅

SHIZUMA, I CAN FEEL YOUR DEDICATION TO AND LOVE FOR ANIMALS THROUGH THE PAGES! You are so very capable of being a vet and I’m glad you are getting the experience you wanted and needed to succeed! ❤️🐶🐱🐹❤️

Also, your k*nky thoughts during work really bit you in the butt, didn’t it, Shizuma? 🤣

Shizuma’s smile makes everyone weak. 🥰

And that’s it for this chapter’s takeaways! For a more detailed breakdown/summary of this chapter, please continue after the cut! As always, I promise there is a surprise (or two) at the end!  😉✨

Our chapter begins with a grumpy Minato sitting in a cafe. The shop attendants peg him as a celebrity of sorts because of his good looks, even though his face is hella scary to them.

We find out that Minato is annoyed and upset because his and Shizuma’s house hunting date (set for Shizuma’s next day off) is cut short since Shizuma is observing an operation in the morning on that day. In a flashback, he tells Minato that he should be able to make it in time for their afternoon appointment.

In that same flashback, Minato recounts his plans to Shizuma of going to a hotel and having a quickie with Shizuma to alleviate his pent up frustrations before heading to their appointment. He then continues to vent his pent-up frustations on Shizuma, saying “Will you take responsibility if my desires reach their limit and explode during our private house tour?”

Shizuma is caught in a bind and really wants his surgery to finish sooner, to which Minato responds by saying Shizuma isn’t the only person who can do this surgery. Nevertheless, Shizuma knows this is an invaluable opportunity for him, and promises Minato that he will make it in time for their 2PM private tour. Minato, still looking a little annoyed, tells Shizuma that he’ll be waiting in the cafe in front of the real estate agency and to meet him there. He warns Shizuma that if he is even a minute late, he’s will go home and never house hunt with him again. Shizuma then promises that he’ll be there!

The flashback ends, and we realise that today is the day of their house tour. Minato is caught up in some “Super Narrow-Minded Time” and worries if he’s going to be all alone with a girl, only then to remember Shizuma openly confessing to his colleagues that he’s dating Minato and that there’s no need to worry.

Minato looks over at the real estate agency and, in deep thought, reflects on how he never thought he’d be living with someone and, despite it being a weird feeling to him, he didn’t think he’d be able to have such an ordinary, simple “happiness”. He smirks to himself and says that he should be nice to Shizuma when he gets to the cafe.*

The scene changes to Shizuma, who will be our main focus for the rest of the chapter. He is observing Onodera in surgery along with her brother. They go through what happened with their patient (i.e. the dog belongs to Onodera’s brother’s daughter. The doggo ingested skewers and it appears to have gotten stuck in the dog’s throat/stomach). While talking about the suggestions from the neighbouring clinics on how to treat the dog--trying to get the dog to vomit and if that doesn’t work, they’ll have to do invasive surgery--Shizuma, having encountered her brother before, didn’t know they were related at all since they have different surnames.

Her brother goes on and vouches for his sister’s amazing skills as a vet, cutely calling her by her name “Akira”, to which she clicks her tongue at him. They have some short sibling bickering afterwards, and Onodera then reveals to Shizuma that he’s mainly there to keep her brother in check (i.e. babysit) and not so much hands-on experience.

With Onodera’s brother being a chatterbox, Shizuma is unable to ask critical questions during the procedure and wonders why he is even there at all.

We then see Onodera extract all the contents stuck in the dog’s throat (?) without having to do invasive surgery. Her brother is overjoyed, but she is appalled that the dog ate so much trash and hair. She then tells her brother that she won’t be helping next time unless they take better care of their dog and their house (so the dog doesn’t eat so much dirt and trash). Onodera then tells Shizuma, who she again calls Iijima-sensei and not Ikushima-sensei, to clean up.

Fast forward a bit and Shizuma is happily looking after the dogs being treated at the hospital/staying overnight. There is a thunderous roar and two dogs approach Shizuma to be hugged, to which he obliges. Knowing he has a lot of time to spare and will make it to the appointment, he thinks back to Minato and wonders if he is afraid of lightning. He then thinks of some naughty NSFW thoughts, imagining an X-rated scene in which Minato is scared of thunder and lightning and that affects their love-making session (in a good way 😉).

Another thunderous roar is heard, much louder than the first, and the dogs are so scared, they wet themselves... and pee on Shizuma’s scrubs and pants. (Also, we find out Minato isn’t afraid of T&L).

Going to the locker room to change, Shizuma is being nuzzled by the dogs, who appear to be very apologetic to him. He awkwardly smiles while thinking that the dogs peeing on him was punishment for his NSFW thoughts at work. While changing into his pants (but not scrubs), Onodera walks in and sees him in his boxers. Very flustered, he tells Onodera she’s walked into the wrong room. She then takes Shizuma to get his clothes washed, all the while the awkwardness in the room continues.

Breaking the silence, Onodera applauds Shizuma for his work in the OR, thinking he’d be more annoyed by her. He then tells her that it’s all thanks to the teachings from Hayami-san and everyone else at the clinic and from Onodera during the operation earlier that day. Onodera comments that he’s getting along with everyone in the clinic, to which Shizuma responds with how things were off to a rocky start at first, the nurses were scary and hostile, but now they can talk and are even going out for flower viewing together.

Onodera reveals she wasn’t invited to that and hasn’t heard of it until now, and Shizuma just sits there feeling bad. He then invites her to join them next time for a drink together. But she just says all his efforts in befriending everyone at the clinic would go to waste if he does that.

Before Shizuma can react, an elderly-ish woman and her daughter hurrily enter the clinic with their sick dog. They are Nakajou-sensei’s patients, but it is her day off today, so Onodera asks what she can do for them while telling Shizuma he can go home. The dog has been in labour for a couple of hours and the last puppy hasn’t come out. Onodera berates them for not bringing their dog in sooner.

The women are taken aback, with the elderly one clapping back at Onodera, expressing her worries and inexperience in a situation like this. Onodera, with her lack of people skills, essentially tells her to be quiet, saying a C-section is the only option for them--a natural birth isn’t possible at this point anymore since the dog has been in prolonged labour and is exhausted.

The elderly woman, angered at Onodera’s stoicism and bluntness, says she will go to another hospital if Nakajou-sensei can’t come in. Before anything escalates any further, Shizuma comes into the room with the patient records and diffuses the situation. With his very personable approach to the women, he speaks to them calmly and introduces himself as he was with Nakajou-sensei during their last consult. He pets their dog, named Hana-chan and praises her efforts**, while also calming down the women, telling them he understands their worries while sharing his own dog’s birthing struggles, trying to build that rapport with them.

He explains that given their dog’s current state, it would be wise for them to reconsider taking her to another hospital and keeping Hana-chan here, vouching for Onodera’s skills and assessment as a well-experienced vet. He asks them to believe in Onodera. The elderly woman thinks about it, and then tells Shizuma she will leave her dog in their hands ONLY if Shizuma stays with Hana-chan the whole time.

Shizuma, knowing that he might miss his private house tour and anger Minato, is resolved to helping his patient and says he will definitely stay to help.

And that’s it for this chapter! It’s a bit of a long read again and we get a slightly suspenseful cliffhanger here... will Shizuma make it or not? Will Hand-chan safely deliver the last puppy in her litter? Will Minato see Shizuma soon? I guess we’ll find out in the next chapter! 🥰

Since Minato and Shizuma don’t really have a lot of panels together, please enjoy two little snippets from this chapter~ ❤️💛

(*) Minato, thinking in the cafe

(**) Shizuma with his patient, Hana-chan

THANK YOU AGAIN FOR READING! 💜 📢  As always, please support Hinohara-sensei by purchasing her books and CDs! 📢

The next chapter will appear in next month’s Dear+ (the December issue) out in November and the cover page will feature our adorakble pair! ❤️💛

🎉⚠️🎉 ALSO in next month’s issue, there will be a Therapy Game Mini Drama CD 🎉⚠️🎉 Sensei is treating us a lot this year!

If you wish to order the magazine, I’ll be more than happy to let you know where I purchase mine, so please feel free to message me/comment here and I’ll let you know! 😁

As always, stay safe during these turbulent times and look out for each other and for your loved ones! 💜

[skgway]

1823 Aug., Wed. 20

8

11 1/2

Soon began on the erotics last night. Her warm, then [e]ncouraging. I said this was not like keeping our promise. She answered, ‘no’ and reached a towel to put under us to keep the bed clean on account of her cousin. I had retired too early for her. ‘Am I too soon for you?’ ‘Yes, rather,’ said she, and I resumed, determined she should have a sufficiently good kiss before I had had one. She said she had and we fell asleep. 

Both awoke at five in the morning and talked till seven. Asked if this was not better than my sleeping in Micklegate. ‘Yes,’ but it was prudence # on her part. She had a feeling she could not describe. Would make any sacrifice rather than have our connection suspected. She seemed very affectionate and fond of me. Said I was her only comfort, she should be miserable without me. 

Lou has got rather out of ∂ [Charles]’s good books she – Lou never got up to breakfast living with her uncle has given her very independent notions – He waited for her – Consulted her in everything – She told C– [Charles] one morning, she got up at the hour that suited her convenience – ∂ [Charles Lawton] has therefore been sadly out of his best humour this summer and π [Mariana] sadly fidgetted –

Told M– [Mariana] that she did not understand one 1/2 my letters, and misunderstood the other – That my aunt said (speaking of the regard between us), it was “much more on one side than the other”, – On my side then hers – Miss Pattison had blushed up to the sears, and told her at Manchester that ∂ [Charles Lawton] complained of her being cold and she wished she would try to be warmer when she returned. π [Mariana] said she and ∂ [Charles Lawton] very well knew the reason of that that she could not seem warm if she did not feel so. 

π [Mariana] once sat next Miss Pattison’s uncle at dinner there and he said of her she looked like one who could love. I agreed, then reverting to ourselves, ‘this is adultery to all intents and purposes.’ ‘No, no,’ said she. ‘Oh yes, π [Mariana]. No casuistry can disguise it.’ ‘Not this then, but the other.’ ‘Well,’ said I, choosing to let the thing turn her own way. ‘I always considered your marriage legal prostitution. We were both wrong. You to do and I to consent to it. And when I think of blaming others, I always remember nothing can at all excuse us but our prior connection.’ 

I did not pursue the subject, nor did π [Mariana] seem to think much of it. The fear of discovery is strong. It rather increases I think. But her conscience seems seared, so long as concealment is secure. She said yesterday of Harriet, if she had never liked Milne I could have made more excuse for her. Thought I to myself, if none but those who were without sin threw the first stone.

Harriet, like the woman taken in adultery, might escape – Told her she needed not fear my conduct letting out our secret. I could deceive anyone. Then told her how completely I had duped Miss Pickford # and that the success of such deep deceit almost smote me, but I had done it all for her, π [Mariana]’s, sake. ‘Why should it smite you? ‘It is deceit that does no one any harm.’ 

I made no reply, but mused how sophistry might reign within the breast where none suspected it. How might not this argument best retched from one deceit to another. Mary, you have passion like the rest, but your caution cheats the world out of it. Scandal and your courage is weak, rather than your principal strong. Yet is it I who write this. 

She’s true to me, yes, but she has not that magnanimity of truth that satisfies a haughty spirit like mine. She is too tamely, worldly, and worldliness is her strength and weakness her foible and her virtue. She loves me, I do believe her, as well as she is capable of loving. Yet her marriage was worldly, her whole conduct is worldly to the farthest verge that craven love can bear. 

How often has it struck me that years ago when once talking to Lou about this marriage and the powerful circumstances that almost compelled it. ‘Well,’ said she, ‘you do not know π [Mariana]. She is worldly and the match was worldly altogether.’ This did indeed strike me at the time but it never struck me as it does at this moment – (Thursday 21 August 3 55/60 p.m. 1823) – 

It now opens upon me as the key of all that all I have never yet been able to comprehend in her character. I have doubted her love, I have doubted her sincerity. How often with an almost bursting heart have I laid aside my papers and my musings because I dared not pursue inconsistencies I could not unravel. I could not deem the dial true, I would not deem it false. The time the manner of her marriage to sink January 1815 in oblivion. Oh how it broke the magic of my faith forever. How, spite of love, it burst the spell that bound my very reason suppliant at her feet. I loathed consent but loathed the easing more. I would have given the yes she sought, tho it had rent my heart into a hundred thousand shivers. It was enough to ask –

It was a coward love that dared not brave the storm; and, in desperate despair, my proud, indignant spirit watched it sculk away – How few the higher feelings we then could have in common! The chivalry of heart was gone – Hope’s brightest hues were brushed away – Yet still one melancholy point of union remained – She was unhappy. So was I –

Love scorned to leave the ruin desolate; and time she has shaded it so sweetly, my heart still lingers in its old abiding place, thoughtless of its broken bowers, save when some sudden guest blows thro’, and scrunching memory is disturbed – But oh! no more “the heart knoweth its own bitterness,” and it is enough – “Je sens mon coeur, et je connais les hommes. Je ne suis fait comme aucun de ceux que j’ai vus; j’ose croire n'être fait comme aucun de ceux qui existent.” Rousseau's Confessions volume and page first.

She loves me. Tho it is neither exactly as I wished, nor as I too fondly persuaded myself. ‘Ere years had taught me to weigh human nature in the balance or unlock the loveliest of bosoms with the key of worldliness. Yes, she loves me. My own feelings shall descend to hers. They have done so in part. How I could have adored her had she been more of that angelic being my fancy formed her. No thought, no word, no look, had wandered then. Surely my every sentiment towards her had had less of earth in it than heaven –

How like “the visions of romantic youth”! I know she might have realized then – Je sens mon coeur – But no more – No more – I seem unable to return to the dry detail of a journal –

At seven an hour before getting up asked her to get out of bed and wash. We both did so. Then got into bed again and had a long quiet good kiss and then a comfortable nap. Got up at eight. I laughed and said we must really both of us get well as soon as we could. We owned she thought I was worse than she was, and said jokingly ‘do you forgive me for it?’ ‘Of course.’ I set her at ease on this point, but yet the characteristic difference between us always strikes me. I am sure I should even shew twice as much as she really feels –

Went downstairs at 8 1/2 – Breakfasted etc. etc. Sat next Mrs Milne. Had been very properly attentive to her. Asked π [Mariana] if she was satisfied etc. etc. Said I would act as she liked but I could not decidedly change my manners to Mrs. M[ilne] unless my real acquaintance with her conduct might be acknowledged. She has been foolish again in corresponding with her cousin, Mr. Dannett. This was the thing Eli [Eliza Belcombe] alluded to when I was last in York –

Took leave, and off from the B– [Belcombe]’s (Dr. B– [Belcombe] had had rather a restless night but was nevertheless no worse). As the minster clock struck 10 found the horses to the mail at the Tavern door, to start at 10 1/4 instead of 10 3/f as I supposed – Asked the coachman to wait a minute or 2, and hurried into Micklegate – Only just time to wish then good by, and say I should be passing thro’ again in a fortnight or 3 weeks to spend a fortnight with M– [Mariana] at Scarbro’ –

Did not see Mrs. Duffin this morning – Miss M– [Marsh] whispered last night, she had had a paralytic affectation about a fortnight ago, and had been almost gone – I perceived no difference in her as I saw her sitting round the table last night – She did not attempt to move, but this being unnecessary, did not strike me – 

Got into the new mail, and drove off from the D– [Duffin]’s door at 10 1/2 – Only 1 gentleman besides myself – Beyond Tadcaster took up a nice decent elderly woman – I never uttered all the way – Wrapt in musing – Thought of π [Mariana] and the three steps business, then about my manners and appearance. Building castles about their improvement, elegance, engagingness, etc. etc. The good society I hope to get into, etc., etc. 

Thought of consulting Mr. Simmons, the surgeon. George Streetman, Chester. π [Mariana] consulted him. He feared some uterary of or belonging to the womb. Determine yet might judge from the effect of Scarbro whether Steph was right in supposing it merely weakness. He had treated her judiciously. She ought to be examined, but would not submit –

At Leeds at 1 – Got out for 1/4 hour and off again (from the Rose & Crown) at 1 20/60 – Beautiful day till we got to the New Dolphin Clayton heights, and from there to the Pine-apple

H–x [Halifax], a smartish, sunshiny shower – Got out at the Pine apple at 3 40/60 – Fair and fine immediately –

Got home at 4 – Went into the stable for a moment – Caradoc had gone on well – Then went into the house, and sat talking to my uncle and aunt till 5 40/60 – Then dressed for dinner – My father and Marian called in the evening, and staid till after 8 – I was absolutely asleep almost all the time –

Came up to bed at 9, at which hour Barometer 1 1/2 degree below changeable Fahrenheit 60º – Put by my things – Read the 1st 13 pages volume 1 Rousseau Confessions –

A bowel complaint. Dawdling to stick the pot up the chimney to prevent smell. Could not manage it. All this hindered and kept me up. E [three dots, times treating venereal complaint] O [three dots, signifying much discharge] A great deal on my linen. Saw it when I washed thoroughly before dinner, first with water then alum lotion –

[in margin] 

#Tuesday morning 26 August 1823 This is very well in its way, but she has more of it than love –

# Did not give the slightest hint of P[ickford]’s real character, nor does π [Mariana] at all suspect the truth. I merely said she was the most learned woman I knew and had therefore more penetration than the world in general – π [Mariana] thought she should feel under restraint before her –

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 47: Jon Prime

Jon awoke abruptly from a sound sleep and sat up before he thought about it. Martin mumbled something and shifted against him, but didn’t otherwise stir. Jon bent over to kiss his temple in wordless apology, then carefully extricated himself from his fiancé’s arms, picked up the torch, and moved silently over to the door. Something had roused him, he didn’t know what, but he’d be damned if he let it get to Martin. Clicking the torch off so as not to alert whoever or whatever might be out there, he put a hand on the knob, counted silently to three, and yanked the door open.

The first thing he registered was the beam of light playing on the wall opposite. The second thing was the person holding it. “Melanie?”

Melanie swung around and accidentally—or at least Jon presumed it was an accident—shone the torch directly in Jon’s eyes. He yelped and tried to protect his eyes. “Oh, God, sorry, sorry!”

“Jon?” Martin’s voice from behind him was worried, even through the fuzzy half-awake

“It’s all right, Martin. It’s Melanie.” Jon barely managed to keep from saying it’s only Melanie, which would have been a sure way to infuriate her. “It’s safe. Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Melanie said. She actually sounded like she meant it. “I didn’t—know you were still out. It’s almost lunchtime.”

Jon stepped out of the little room and closed the door behind him, hoping Martin would be able to get back to sleep. They’d had a rough night, for reasons he really ought to tell Martin but hadn’t admitted yet, and he needed his rest. “We’re living underground, Melanie. And most of what we do aboveground we have to after hours, to keep hidden. We keep a bit of odd hours. It’s fine. Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. If I’d known you were still asleep, I’d probably have tried to wait.” Melanie waved what was in her off hand at him, and Jon’s eyes locked onto it. A statement, and from the sharp hunger that lanced through him, a real one. “It’s just—they’re all trying to restrict themselves to one statement a week, you know? Martin told me he and Tim talked to Jon last night, and he’s getting too dependent on the statements. Like, he went too long without one and got really sick.”

Jon sighed heavily. “I was afraid of that. I really thought they were monitoring things better…and I’m sure it wasn’t this bad this quickly for me.”

“Yeah, well, apparently Snoop God doesn’t think patience is a virtue. Anyway, he’s all right now, but nobody else wants to get that bad, so they’re trying to…”

“Restrict their caloric intake?”

“Basically, yeah.” Melanie smirked at him, but the smile faded almost instantly. “Sasha took a statement live last week before she went home for the week. Tim took one on Thursday. Martin took Georgie’s last week and recorded another real one yesterday. Then we found this one today.” She hesitated. “I was going to read it, but everyone’s…pretty unanimous that I shouldn’t.”

“They’re right. As soon as you start reading them aloud—I mean, just reading them to yourself, just working on them, is going to be bad enough, but reading them aloud will just tie you more and more to the Eye.” Jon cocked his head at Melanie. “So what are you doing down here? Trying to sneak past and read it with no one knowing?”

“No,” Melanie said indignantly. “I was bringing it to you. I mean, if Jon gets sick going too long without reading one, you must need them, too. And if we leave it lying around loose up there, someone who shouldn’t is going to not be able to resist temptation. So, two birds, one stone, all that. I just figured it would help.”

“Oh,” Jon said, a bit surprised. “Thank you. I—I have been a bit…I do need one. Thank you.”

“Do you need a recorder or anything?” Melanie asked, handing over the statement. “Or do you just…speak into the void?”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes, yes, I do. I’ll be fine. If whatever is behind the recorders feels it’s important, one will…appear. Otherwise I’ll consume the statement and hand it back, and from what I understand, the next person to actually try and make a recording of it will be able to record it without issue.”

Melanie eyeballed him. “How many times has it happened that you got one and the recorder didn’t appear?”

“Hasn’t yet,” Jon admitted. “Thank you, Melanie.”

“Sure. See you next time you pop out. Tell your Martin I’m sorry I woke him.” Melanie gave him a sardonic salute and made her way back to the steps.

Jon watched her go, then turned to go back into the room he and Martin had claimed as their own and hesitated. Martin had always hated listening to him do the statements, and Jon frankly had always hated doing them in front of other people. Now that he knew that the presence of another person—especially someone Eye-aligned—meant the energy was shared out, it explained a lot more. Normally he waited until after hours, went up into the Archives, and did whatever statements they left for him in the Archivist’s office, but something under his skin itched and he didn’t want to wait.

He told himself he was just being courteous, that he was just letting Martin get his rest by going to another room to read this one out. He knew himself well enough, though, to know he was lying.

He slipped further down the tunnels, looking for another of the rooms his counterpart had marked as being an actual room. There were plenty, but he ignored most of them. The one he eventually chose was   outwardly no different from any of the others, but it was closer to one of the other exits from the tunnels.

That, Jon had no idea why it was so important.

He slipped into the room, settled down on the floor, and set the torch next to him. With practice, he’d learned to balance it so that it formed a sort of lantern effect; it wasn’t optimal, but it was enough to let him read if he needed to. In its light, he set the folder down and began to open it.

The whirring caught his attention, and Jon looked around. A tape recorder sat just outside the circle of torchlight. Sighing, he grabbed it, checked that it was recording and not playing, and brought it to the familiar position.

“Statement of Anya Villette,” he began, “regarding a cleaning job on Hill Top Road.”

Jon had said once that, as a child, he had hated to read anything he felt he had read before. The first time the team had given him a statement to record—or more accurately to re-record—he had worried that he would feel similarly about the statements, that they wouldn’t satisfy him because he knew them already. He’d quickly learned that he needn’t have worried; while he remembered them, they were relatively new to the Eye, and he usually didn’t realize he remembered them until he was done recording. This time was no different. The name ticked at his mind when he first read it, but once he uttered those words—statement begins—he was lost to the real world. All that existed was him, the statement, and the Eye peering over his shoulder and drinking the fear through him like the lid of a toddler’s spillproof cup. The only difference was that, maybe because he was in the tunnels and the Eye had to strain, he was aware of something else paying attention to him. Likely whatever was behind the recorders.

“Statement ends,” he said finally, lowering the last page to his lap. For a moment, he stared blankly ahead of him at the wall opposite, the statement settling into the nooks and crannies of his mind.

Hill Top Road. He remembered this statement now, of course he did. Martin had been the one to find it for him prior to the Unknowing. He still remembered the apologetic look on his face as he told him I couldn’t find anything new on circuses, but I know the Hill Top Road stuff interests you too and I thought, well, it might be something. Jon had wanted to hug him for that something awful, but he’d restricted himself to a warm smile and a thank you, Martin that had made Martin’s ears go pink.

“Supplemental,” he said at last. “I…I still have no idea what to make of this one, to be honest. I know that if we do additional research, we will come up with nothing, even more than usual. Anya Villette does not exist. The cleaning agency she purports to work for does exist, but does not employ her and has not been contracted to clean the house at Hill Top Road. That house is certainly not student housing; it’s been abandoned for God knows how long. And”—he sighed heavily—“if I go there, I will only find a tape playing a statement recorded long ago and a new one on official Institute forms.”

Or would he?

Jon froze and turned the question over in his mind. He’d never been clear how the Web even knew he was going to go to Hill Top Road when he went. The sly wording of her statement indicated that it had likely been written while he was on his way there, so it wasn’t as though it had been sitting around for years waiting for him, and the point the tape had been at likely meant she’d set her trap just prior to their entrance. He had no idea how the Web had monitored him, if the Web had monitored him, but if it had been, it was probably monitoring Past Jon now. It likely didn’t know about him. Whatever was at Hill Top Road, whatever Annabelle Cane had warned him away from in his own time, she might not know to warn him now.

“Regardless,” he said slowly, “for the good of…everyone I care about, I think it is important that I do go to Hill Top Road. The sooner, the better.” He swallowed. “End recording.”

He turned off the tape recorder and got to his feet, recorder in one hand and statement in the other.  The correct thing to do would be to take this back to his and Martin’s room, curl up with Martin for a bit longer, and then put the statement and tape on the Archivist’s desk. And God, he wanted to. If he was really going to Hill Top Road, going alone would probably be the stupidest thing he could do.

At the same time…

He’d felt very strongly at the time that he recorded this statement the first time that he ought to stay away from the house at Hill Top Road. He felt that way now. The only other time he’d felt this strongly that he needed to stay away from something, that there was something the Eye didn’t want him to know, it had been when he’d first listened to the tape of Gertrude Robinson’s talk with Eric Delano.

And if the Eye didn’t want him to know something, it was probably something that would be to its detriment. Which could only help their plan to stop Jonah Magnus and his damned…ritual.

He stared down at the objects in his hands, then set them neatly on the floor next to the door, picked up the torch, and headed for the exit from the tunnels.

Fortunately, there was no one about to see him emerge from the service entrance in the South Kensington station. Nor did anyone look twice at him as he paid his fare and got on the train. It was almost a two-hour journey from there to the house at Hill Top Road—two hours to worry about what he would find, two hours to fret about doing this alone, two hours to reproach himself for not waking Martin to tell him where he was going. Two hours to decide to turn back.

He didn’t.

Two hours later, he stood in front of the house at Hill Top Road and stared up at it. It was exactly as he remembered it: brand new, relatively modest, well-appointed, and totally abandoned. Nobody had lived in this house for years. Nobody would live in this house, ever, if Jon had to make a guess. It wasn’t even owned by anyone.

Breaking into it was a lot easier than it had been the first time. In the first place, he knew the house now, knew its weak points and easy access spots. In the second place, he was alone rather than being burdened with an angry ex-cop who thought every problem could be solved with a combination of obstinate logic and a certain amount of pressure, an even angrier ex-Internet celebrity who thought that both he and the entire idea of trying to hunt down Annabelle Cane was stupid, and a Hunter who knew that every step she took into the building, no matter how good her intentions, made it that much harder for her to stop listening to the blood. (He also didn’t have to contend with the other three all assuming he was too staid and weedy to know how to gain access to someplace he wasn’t wanted, like he’d never done a spot of breaking and entering in his life. Georgie had once accused him of being a cat with opposable thumbs and social anxiety.) In a way, he wished he had Daisy with him—she’d been something of a comfort at the time, which was a bit of a surprise—but at the same time, he had to acknowledge that the Daisy he missed was the one he’d rescued from the Buried, not the one who’d threatened his and Martin’s life seven months ago.

Jesus, had it only been seven months?

Shaking his head, Jon slid the bobby pin he’d found on the Tube out of his pocket, picked the lock on the back door in a matter of seconds (not his best time, but he was out of practice), and slipped inside. He took another deep breath, then coughed as that drew dust and…other things he’d prefer not to think about into his lungs. Once he had himself under control, he turned and swept the beam of his torchlight around the place.

The interior, like the exterior, was exactly like he remembered it. Cobwebs covered virtually every surface, far more than should have built up even in nine years of disuse, clinging to curtain rods and disused furniture and empty cabinets. Jon swallowed against the sudden rise of nausea at the reminder of the Web’s presence. He tried to remind himself of what Martin had told him once, when they’d first been at the safe house and he’d seen the cobwebs in the corner and almost gone feral—that cobwebs were old and abandoned webs full of dust, that the presence of them meant that the spiders themselves were long gone.

Somehow, though, he didn’t think they were. Not completely.

Careful not to breathe too deeply, Jon moved cautiously into the house. Obviously it wasn’t the same house Agnes Montague had grown up in, but he had a fairly good idea of the place from the statements. Anya Villette had described a cupboard under the stairs that led to an unmarked basement. Daisy had claimed not to have noticed one, but…

Something creaked overhead. Jon froze, hand on a door that seemed likely to lead downward. The house was empty, he was sure of that, there shouldn’t be—

The creak came again, like someone was moving around. There was definitely someone upstairs. Jon’s curiosity overcame his caution, what little of it he had left. It wasn’t compulsion from the Eye. The Eye very much wanted him to leave. Any desire to see what was upstairs was one hundred percent Jon, and it was that that drove him to investigate. It was nice to want to know something without needing to Know it. Gripping the torch like a weapon, he started up the stairs.

It was a spiral staircase, something he hadn’t noticed the first time he was there. Something ticked at the back of his brain, something about a parlor up a spiral stair, but he couldn’t quite remember. As he hit the top step, though, the knowledge slammed into his brain.

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly, “’Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things to shew when you are there.”

“The Spider and the Fly,” by Mary Howitt. First published in 1829. Meant to be a moral lesson about the dangers of flattery and falling for seductive words and a silver tongue. It had been the second poem Martin ever memorized, after his Year Two teacher reduced him to tears by lecturing him in front of the entire class for “showing off” by learning—

Jon quickly shut the mental door against the flood of knowledge. Martin and Past Martin might be different people now, but they’d had the same experiences—up to a point—and he owed them both the courtesy of staying out of their heads. He had enough knowledge to be getting on with. He was about to walk into the Web’s cunningly-laid trap.

For just a second, he hesitated. There was still time to turn back…but he’d come this far. He couldn’t very well take a four-hour journey, undoubtedly worry Martin, and then go back and say it was pointless. He might as well learn something.

There was a door opposite him, slightly ajar. He took a slow, steadying breath, resolutely shored up his mind to keep out the Beholder, and opened it.

It was a bedroom, simply furnished, as if for a little girl. There was a four-poster bed with carved columns, a low dresser, and a vanity and mirror, all painted white. The seat of the chair in front of the vanity, the comforter and bedskirt, and the ruffled canopy on the bed were all a delicate shade of pink, or had been before the dust settled on them. And sitting on the top of the bed, leaning back against the headboard and playing with something in her hands, was a woman Jon knew far better than he wanted to.

“Hello, Jon,” she said pleasantly. “Do you mind if I call you Jon?”

Jon exhaled heavily. “Annabelle Cane. Why am I surprised?”

Annabelle sat up, cross-legged on the bed, a sly smile on her lips. “You’re looking well. I’m so glad you came to visit.”

“Really,” Jon said flatly. He almost called her out for not having wanted to see him before, but he held his tongue. She couldn’t know he was from the future. He still wasn’t sure what the Web wanted, or what Annabelle herself had wanted, but he wouldn’t risk the world by tipping his hand.

“But of course! The Mother of Puppets has watched you very closely.” Annabelle tugged her hands apart, and Jon realized what it was—a length of some kind of string, looped around her fingers and forming a sort of open shape reminiscent of a teacup. It didn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to guess it was made of spiderweb.

“So what does the Web want with me?” Jon crossed his arms over his chest, which would have been a lot more effective if he hadn’t almost clobbered himself in the jaw with the torch.

“Oh, I can’t tell you that.” Annabelle passed a few loops from finger to finger, pinched in a couple of places, twisted, and spread her hands again; now instead of a cup and saucer, it looked a bit like a witch’s broom. “That’s not why you’re here, anyway.”

Jon stubbornly remained in the doorway. As long as he didn’t cross the threshold, he’d be fine. Probably. Maybe. “And why am I here?”

Seemingly uninterested, Annabelle brought her hands back together and began shifting the loops again. “Have you ever played this game before?”

“What game? The Web’s game?”

“No, silly.” Annabelle held up her hands, revealing a latticework like a suspension bridge. “It’s called Cat’s Cradle. More often played with two, of course, but you can play by yourself if you want. Did you never play it?”

“No,” Jon said, and it was only partially a lie. He’d never known there was a name for it, or a formal method of playing, but he’d once done something similar with a bit of yarn he’d found in his desk. It had distracted him enough that he’d failed to pay proper attention in class, and his teacher had first yelled at him for not answering her question and then for playing with the string, scolding him that he would cut his fingers off if he wasn’t careful. He hadn’t exactly believed her, but he’d also never tried again.

“Shame. It’s a pleasant way to pass the time.” Annabelle began working the loops again. “Why are you here? Because you’re curious. Because you want—no, because you need to know.” She looked up at him. “Because you need my help.”

“Your help?” Jon said incredulously. “Your help with what?”

“Your plan. Gertrude had one, too, you know. So many people have plans. And those plans depend on so many things, so many little strands woven together. It’s almost like—” Annabelle spread her hands apart again, fingers splayed wide. In the center of the span was a perfect eight-pointed shape. “—a spider’s web.”

Jon stood his ground, with difficulty. “So you know what my plan is.”

Annabelle’s eyes glittered. “I know what your goal is. Not how you plan to do it. Not necessarily. The Web isn’t like the Eye. It doesn’t Know. It just sees…patterns.” Another twist of her hands, another slip of a loop, and suddenly she was seeming to transform her hand into a marionette, or else creating the framework of a hut. “And I see the pattern of a goal, and the threads that could lead to it. Do you think you have the power to succeed?”

“Yes,” Jon replied immediately. “We do?”

“We?” Annabelle looked up at him with a smile.

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Not you.”

“Oh, no, of course not me. No, you’re talking about Martin, aren’t you?” Annabelle’s smile broadened. “Of course. You can’t hope to succeed without him.”

Jon froze. Fear lanced through him. She couldn’t know, she couldn’t possibly know…he’d been watching, he knew his counterpart and Martin’s weren’t together yet. Patterns or no patterns, she couldn’t know what he meant to him.

In a low, dangerous voice, he said, “Don’t you touch him. Don’t you dare touch him.”

“Perish the thought! I want you to succeed, Jon. I want to help you. I can help you.” Annabelle held out the string towards him. It just looked like a mess. “Take this.”

“So you can bind me in the Web? Not a chance.” Jon reached for the door handle. “I never should have come here.”

“It’s not a trap. Martin can’t give you help as it is.” Annabelle’s voice stopped Jon in his tracks. “Not if you can’t find him.”

Slowly, Jon drew himself up to his full height. “What. Do. You. Mean.”

Annabelle was still holding out the strings in his direction. “It’s not a threat, either. Patterns, Jon.” She drew her hands back, slipped one of the loops quickly off a finger, and stretched them wide, producing a tangled mess. “One slipped thread can throw them all off. And if it breaks…well.” Dropping all the loops from her fingers, she began quickly and deftly unpicking the knots, talking all the while. “You have a bond. It needs to be…stronger. Otherwise there’s a risk of neither of you surviving what you intend to do. It will protect you as well as him.”

Jon watched as she began looping the strings over her fingers again. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you refuse. You walk out of this house, we go our separate ways, and you hope your plan succeeds without that bond.” Annabelle shrugged. “It won’t hurt you. It won’t hurt Martin.”

“It hurt Gertrude.”

“Gertrude did it herself. And she also was bonding with the Desolation. How could that be anything but painful?” Annabelle pointed out. “But I know how to weave the threads. It’s a perfectly harmless bond. It will just give you both the strength and power you need to survive what’s coming.” She spread her hands again. Somehow, she managed to pinch and twist the strings just right so that there was a clear and obvious M in the middle of it. M for Martin. A few more flicks of the fingers, and then she was stretching her hands out to Jon again. “Do you trust me? Then take the strings.”

Jon hesitated. Did he trust Annabelle Cane? The simple answer was no; she was of the Web, the entity he’d feared the longest. He knew now that none of the entities had humanity’s best interests at heart, but some were worse than others. Was the Web better or worse than the Eye? Than the Hunt? Than the End? And for that matter…was this Annabelle acting on behalf of the Web, or acting on her own?

The other issue was this bond. Could Jon really make this decision for Martin, bind them together, without asking? Martin may have liked spiders once, but he trusted Annabelle Cane and the Web even less than Jon did. He genuinely worried about its manipulations, about the possibility of it controlling either of them. And Jon had no right to make decisions for him. They were a team, they had to decide together…

The problem was that, like attacking Jonah, this was a now or never situation. Jon had to make a decision, and he had to make it immediately. If he walked away, he would never get this offer again. He had to choose between accepting the bond and hoping Martin would forgive him for it, or rejecting it and hoping he survived for Martin to scold him. He had to decide whether he believed he was strong enough on his own to protect the ones he loved, or whether he would need Martin’s strength. He had to decide whether or not this would bind him to his Martin or to Past Martin, or if it would bind Past Jon and Past Martin together, or if he even believed Annabelle would actually do it.

But if it would protect the man he loved…

Jon came to a decision. He stepped all the way into the room, stretched his hands out, and let Annabelle transfer the strings onto his fingers.

“Good,” Annabelle said, sounding satisfied. “Quickly, there’s not much time.” Her hands were a blur as she moved loops and threads from finger to finger. The string bit into the scar on his hand, but Jon gritted his teeth and bore it up. Finally, she clapped her hands. “Now then…pull.”

Jon separated his hands to the furthest extent the string would let him, and the world seemed to explode in a swirl of static.

[myaekingheart]

134. Sweetness and Decency

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

TW for some brief talk about death in childbirth 

               The dango shop was a welcome comfort in chaotic times such as these—as was Sekkachi, miraculously enough. Sitting across from her now made things feel almost even normal. Almost. Rei watched as she sipped her water, poked at her little bowl of rice, grimaced at the cheery passerby.

               “So is there a reason you decided to drag me out here, or no?” Sekkachi asked boredly. “Didn’t expect a lunch date on a Monday afternoon. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

               Rei chewed her lower lip, circled her index finger along the lip of her glass. “Well, I haven’t really been feeling well so I took a few days off…” she replied slowly, cautiously. It wasn’t like she had been hiding the fact that she was sick, and yet she still felt guilty about it. She still felt like in some capacity, she was lying. She didn’t particularly want to take off work but she needed time to process. If she had not called out sick, she knew she would have put the lives of herself and everyone under her supervision in danger by virtue of her own preoccupation. Her concentration was practically nonexistent, not to mention the everpresent nausea that still loomed heavy over her head.

               Sekkachi smirked and chuckled under her breath. “The ANBU captain neglecting her duties? That doesn’t sound very responsible of you” she joked.

               Rei sank down in her seat, crossing her arms about her chest. “Oh, shut up” she muttered. There was an added malice to her tone, a scathing jab that Sekkachi had not quite expected.

               Amused with Rei’s sudden angst, Sekkachi raised her hands in surrender and stifled her laughter. “I’m just saying” she replied. She took another swig of her water then and proceeded to ask, “So are you going to answer the question or not?”

               Narrowing her eyes, Rei shot Sekkachi a sharp glare. This was not going well. “Is it so wrong to just want to spend time with a friend?” she snapped. “Do I always have to have an ulterior motive?”

               “No” Sekkachi replied, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her back pouch, “but you do anyways, don’t you?”

               “You’re unbelievable” Rei muttered through gritted teeth.

               “So, what is it?” Sekakchi asked. She fixed the cigarette between her teeth, snapped the switch on her finicky lighter. Rei’s heart leapt into her throat. “Make it quick so I can go back home.”

               Just as Sekkachi finally got her lighter to ignite, Rei grimaced and leaned across the table, ripping the cigarette from her mouth. “Well first off, no more smoking. Got it?” she insisted.

               Sekkachi whined, clearly insulted. “What the fuck, Rei?!” she asked, pulling another cigarette from the pack. “You’ve never had an issue with this shit before. Besides, you know how I need my smokes.”

               “Not anymore” Rei snapped. She stole the second cigarette from Sekkachi’s mouth and swatted her hand away from the package before she could reach for a third. “It may not have mattered back then, but things are different now. You can’t smoke around me anymore.”

               “Oh yeah? And why is that?” Sekkachi asked incredulously. She tossed the package of cigarettes across the table, swirled her water around in her glass casually before taking a long sip.

               Rei clenched her fists at her sides, prepared herself for the ultimate admission. She wondered if it would be acceptable to just vanish into thin air, or to slink under the table and crawl home. Just avoid the subject completely. Her growing rage, however, said otherwise. It encouraged her to snap and scream and make a spectacle of herself as if to seek revenge against Sekkachi’s carelessness. But no, she would compose herself. Sucking in a sharp breath, Rei narrowed her eyes and finally confessed.

               “Because…I’m pregnant.”

               Sekkachi immediately choked on her drink, spewing water across the table and spluttering into the crook of her elbow. “Rei, what the fuck?! That’s not funny!” she shouted, slapping Rei on the forearm. “Just for that, I’m smoking twice as much today.”

               “I’m not joking, you dick!” Rei fired back. She reached across the table to slap Sekkachi on the arm in retaliation. Huffing, she then angrily fished around in her back pouch before pulling out the pregnancy test and slapping it on the table. “See for yourself. I’m telling the truth.”

               “Ew, get that shit away from me” Sekkachi cringed, flicking the test back towards Rei. “You should know better than to get your piss stick near my food.”

               “Oh, as if you’re even eating it to begin with” Rei rolled her eyes. She snatched the pregnancy test off the table, stalled before putting it back in her pouch. Her eyes idled on that little pink line. She still had trouble processing it herself. “You know, something along the lines of ‘congratulations’ would have sufficed” she muttered.

               “Why?” Sekkachi asked. “This is more of a curse than anything else.”

               “Oh yeah?” Rei glared at her. “And how do you figure that?”

               “Isn’t it obvious?” Sekkachi replied. “Your body is going to get ripped to shreds, you’re going to shove a giant kid out of your vag, and then spend the next eighteen years cleaning up after it and going broke paying for everything it whines for. If you even live that long. Listen, I thought we already had this conversation back when you first came up with this psycho scheme. I thought you had given up on this shit. What the hell happened?”

               Rei narrowed her eyes. “Your birthday is what fucking happened” she snapped.

               Groaning, Sekkachi fell back against the booth and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “Fuck, this just keeps getting worse and worse!” she complained. The aftereffects of Mikazuki’s voice mail still weighed heavy on her mind.

               “God, you’re such a child” Rei spat, rolling her eyes. “What the fuck is your deal, anyway? What is with you and this…this thing that you’ve got against having kids? Are other people’s life choices really that much of an inconvenience to you, Sekkachi? God fucking forbid.”

               “Rei, children are an inconvenience to everyone” Sekkachi insisted. She dropped her eyes to the ground, pouted. She really didn’t want to talk about this. Her stomach creaked in response to her mounting stress and she considered the pills in her back pouch. “I just don’t think you’re taking this seriously” she muttered sourly.

               “I’m not taking this seriously?” Rei asked, borderline offended. “Alright, listen, I could understand when I told you that Kakashi and I were trying to conceive. That was one thing. But now to sit here and say this shit after I’ve already told you that I’m pregnant? God, can you be any more insensitive?”

               “That’s all the more reason to tell you the harsh truth!” Sekkachi fired back. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen to you, Rei? What could happen to you?”

               “Sekkachi, what the fuck are you talking about?” Rei asked. She could feel her face growing hot, her hands growing numb. Her stomach began to churn. The emotional toll that this conversation was taking on her would not bode well for her morning sickness.  

               Sekkachi tensed and Rei could tell she had finally lost it. For the first time in a long time, her dark eyes had grown glossy with tears. She gripped the package of cigarettes on the table and her voice cracked. “I’m just not ready to fucking lose you, Rei” she plead.

               Rei sighed. “Sekkachi, you’re not going to lose me” she assured.

               “No, Rei, you don’t fucking get it” Sekkachi growled. The package of cigarettes began to crumple in her fist. “I don’t care about how your life is going to change after you have a kid. I know you won’t have much time for me anymore. I accept that. It’s the danger of being pregnant that I cannot accept.”

               “Danger?” Rei asked. She knew that pregnancy always came with the possibility of complications, but perhaps Rei was naïve in her ignorance of them. In the hollow, hopeful belief that she was immune to them. She did not expect anything bad to happen to her, nor did she see any reason. Sekkachi was just overreacting. Her personal beliefs were clouding her judgment.

                Gritting her teeth, Sekakchi repeated, “Yes, Rei. Danger.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to remain calm, but she was not doing a very good job at it. “Rei…my mother died bringing me into this world. And then I watched the same fucking thing happen to my aunt when she had Roru. I…I can’t even begin to describe the horror of seeing someone you love go through that kind of pain, to put in all of that physical labor, and then just…fucking lose it. Rei, you don’t understand. I am not going to let the same thing happen to you.”

               Rei sucked in a sharp breath. Sekkachi’s fears were certainly valid but… “Sekkachi, I am not your mother. And I’m not your aunt, either” she started. “What do you even expect me to do? Get an abortion? Just to please you?” The mere mention of such drastic measures made Rei’s throat tighten. She couldn’t even imagine. Clenching her jaw, she dropped her gaze to the table and shoved the thoughts out of her mind. “You know” she snapped, “if you’re so fucking preoccupied with losing me, then it might do you well to be a little more supportive.” Perhaps it was just the hormones, but Rei’s emotions had become far too overwhelming. She felt chaotic and unhinged, her hands shaking and her heart beating out of her chest.

               She should’ve known this was a mistake. She should’ve known Sekkachi would never be supportive. That she would never accept Rei’s yearning for domesticity and motherhood. Whatever pain Rei was feeling now was her own fault for ever thinking otherwise. And now that she had unraveled, a manic urgency took root in the pit of her stomach. She needed to leave. Now.

               Rei locked eyes with Sekkachi for only a moment as she gathered her things and slapped a few dollars on the table. Her voice cracked as she bid Sekkachi a parting thought: “I can leave your life in more ways than one.”

               When Kakashi returned home that night, the house was dark and silent. He flicked on the kitchen light to find Rei curled up on the couch, snuggled up in his shuriken blanket. A trash can sat by her side and Toshio slept dutifully by her feet. Kakashi kicked his shoes off and set his vest down before approaching, kneeling beside her and brushing the hair out of her face. Her cheeks were stained with dried tears and her eyes looked puffy and tired. She furrowed her brows and slowly blinked awake at his touch before quickly pulling him into a tight hug.

               “R-Rei…what’s going on? Did something happen?” he asked as she buried her face in his neck. Her forehead was damp with sweat. He knew she had plans to meet with Sekkachi, and he knew that it likely did not go well. He felt obligated to ask anyway.

               “K-Kakashi…I don’t think I have a best friend anymore” Rei sobbed.

               “Oh?” Kakashi asked. He stroked her hair and kissed her exposed, freckled shoulder. “Why? What happened?”

               Rei leaned back then, sniffled, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I told Sekkachi a-about the pregnancy and…she didn’t take it very well. And then I got angry and stormed out of the dango shop, b-but now I just…I feel like I can’t do anything right and like all I ever do i-is push her further and further away a-and I just—!” Rei explained, frantic and unhinged. She tightened her grip on his sleeves, gasped through her monstrous tears. “I-I don’t want to lose my best friend, Kakashi—!”

               “Shh, it’s okay, I know” Kakashi whispered, pulling her close. His chest tightened, a desperation taking root. He hated seeing her so distraught but even more, he hated that he wasn’t even entirely surprised. He appreciated Sekkachi’s companionship, of course. He liked knowing that Rei had such a steadfast friend. He only wished that Sekkachi had been softer, kinder—especially now. But Sekkachi was nothing more than hard edges and blunt force trauma. She was unfiltered to a dangerous degree, bitter and harsh and honest. And, much like a parasite, she was also incredibly hard to get rid of—for better or for worse. “I’m sure things will calm down and she’ll come back around” Kakashi assured his fiancée. “You know Sekkachi, she’s always been like this.”

               Rei sniffled. “A-are you sure?” she asked. “What if she decides that this is the last straw, though? What if she decides th-that she’s sick and tired of my bullshit?”

               Kakashi shook his head. “I don’t think she will” he replied. He thought of Naru, of the fragile series of loss and grief upon which Rei and Sekkachi’s relationship had been built. They needed each other. “If she didn’t have you” Kakashi continued, “then who would she have?”

               “Guy” Rei quipped. Kakashi considered this for a moment before deciding that ultimately, Might Guy did not count. After all, everyone had Might Guy. He belonged to all of them, like some sort of communal cheerleader. Yes, he and Sekkachi had a special bond but still. After a few more moments, Rei spoke again, voice choked and hoarse. “S-Sekkachi said she doesn’t want to lose me, she said th-that she’s scared I’m making a mistake. Th-that childbirth is dangerous, a-and I could…could die. But how can she say that when she keeps treating me like this, Kakashi? How can she say she doesn’t want to lose me when i-it’s like she’s doing this shit to herself?!”

               Kakashi pursed his lips, sucked in a sharp breath. He hated to admit that the dangers of childbirth had weighed heavy on his mind amid all of this, too. He refused to let anything happen to Rei or their unborn child. But he also knew Rei’s capacity for panic, and he knew better than to make his own fears known. He needed to be strong and unaffected for the sake of her own sanity. She was already unhinged enough. With a gentle hand, Kakashi tilted Rei’s chin up to face him. He met her gaze with affectionate purpose. “Rei, look at me: you are not going to die. Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. Sekkachi is just scared, and I’m sure she has every right to be. But if she really cared about you, if she was really your friend, she’ll come around. Just…give her some time.”

               Rei wasn’t sure she believed Kakashi’s words. After all, he always knew what to say to make her feel better, whether it was true or not. She wanted him to be honest with her, and she wanted to believe that he would understand that. Kakashi was not going to do her any favors by lying.

               But deep down, Kakashi truly was genuine in his words. He may not have known Sekkachi as intimately or for as long as Rei or even Guy had, but he knew well enough that she would not abandon her comrades. She would whine and complain and feign apathy but she would never abandon them. Not really. Not after Naru.

               Kakashi pulled his fiancée close and rubbed the small of her back as she continued to sob, releasing all of her pent-up, emphasized emotions. Once she had cried herself to sleep, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, resting her gently upon the mattress and tucking her in much like a child. He dragged the trash can to her bedside just in case, kissed her sweaty temple, and turned out the light.

               Come Wednesday morning, Kakashi stood in the doorway as Rei struggled through her morning routine, a white-knuckle grip on the counter and her face pale and dewy with sweat. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked softly.

               Gritting her teeth, Rei gave a minute shake of her head. “K-Kakashi, I don’t think I can do this” she whispered. Their doctor’s appointment was in thirty minutes. They were already cutting things close.

               The altercation with Sekkachi had only further emphasized Rei’s inner panic over the past few days. Between that and her fear of confronting Lady Tsunade, she thought of little else. Kakashi could clearly see the toll that this was taking on her. He saw it in the dark circles beneath her eyes, her sunken cheeks and the pallor of her skin. In the way she poked at her food, disinterested, and how her temper so easily flared.

               Inching nearer, Kakashi rested a gentle hand on the small of Rei’s back. “What do you need me to do?” he then asked. If there was any way he could lessen her burden, he was ready and willing.

               “Take my place and face all of this for me?” she asked, smiling weakly at him. She knew the answer was an obvious no. He was not a seahorse, and she was not that lucky. Kakashi chuckled under his breath, pressed his forehead to her temple to kiss her cheek.

               “Go sit down and take a minute” he suggested. “I’ll get our stuff together in the meantime.” Neither of them were sure what, exactly, was necessary to bring to their first prenatal appointment but they assumed the pregnancy test itself, a list of questions and concerns (of which they had many), and of course the usual identification and insurance cards.

               While Rei did not feel entirely at ease with just sitting, she knew that if she forced herself to stand over the bathroom sink any longer, she was going to pass out. Her head was already spinning and her stomach was in knots. She willed herself to remain steady as she made her way to the couch, her vision blurring with splotches of indescribable color. She wondered if she ought to eat something, but then decided against it. She would only throw it back up anyway, and the last thing she needed was to vomit all over the doctor. Toshio followed close behind, hopping up on the couch beside her and swiping his tongue across her cheek. A laugh broke past her lips as she wiped the slobber off her face with the cuff of her sleeve and scratched him affectionately behind the ear. If only he could come with them, but hospitals did not seem to take very kindly to dogs.

               As she quieted down, Rei suddenly swore she could hear the echo of footsteps in the hallway. “Kakashi…?” she called into the bedroom. “Do you hear that, or am I just losing it?” And then there was a knock at the door and Rei’s back went ramrod straight. She clutched at the thick fur at Toshio’s neck and forced her breathing to steady. They were not expecting company. This was the last thing she needed on a morning like this.

               Kakashi poked his head out of the bedroom, arching a brow. “Is someone at the door?” he asked. He knew it was a dumb question—he had heard the knock, too—but he wanted to make sure that he, too, was not hallucinating amid his own anxiety.

               Rei met his gaze with wide, panicked eyes, nodding slowly. She glanced to the door, swallowed hard, then replied weakly, “I-I’ll get it.”

               “Are you sure?” Kakashi asked. He didn’t want her to overexert herself. Before he could rush to her side, she was already on her feet and approaching.

               “I’m sure it’s nothing” she replied. “Probably just the mailman or something, right?” Kakashi gave a slow nod, idling in the doorway. Rei’s hand hovered over the doorknob, shaky and unsure. She gripped it slowly, sucked in a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut tight. She didn’t even want to bother with the peephole. If there was someone on the other side, she didn’t want to know. She feared she already knew the answer anyway. Then finally, with a soft grunt, she shoved the door open. There was no one.

               Once Kakashi saw that the hallway was empty, he felt safer letting Rei handle this on her own. Surely she was right, and it was just the mail. He swore he caught sight of a package on the doorstep anyway. With a sigh of relief, he turned back to the bedroom and finished gathering their things.

               Rei’s breath hitched in her throat as she knelt down to retrieve the package. Tied with a neat little bow was a pair of vintage baby booties and a matching blanket. Rei ran her hand across the blanket’s soft fabric—pale blue fleece—and something in her clicked. Embroidered in the corner was a happy little teddy bear holding three primary-colored balloons. Her hands shook. She recognized this blanket. It was the same one she had seen in the antiques shop a month ago. And there was only one person who would have known about it: Sekkachi.

               Tucked underneath the ribbon was a little note, wrinkled and tinged with the faintest scent of cigarette smoke. Rei hugged the blanket to her chest as she unfolded it, skimmed that all-too-familiar scribbled penmanship.

               Rei,                Sorry we got off on a bad foot the other day. Hope this makes up for it.                -Sekkachi

               Rei clapped a hand over her mouth as she tried to restrain her tears but failed miserably. She had to admit, this was the perfect gift. Sekkachi must have recognized the longing in her eyes when Rei first found it, and it was just like her to gift something so cozy and warm. Sekkachi refused to admit it out loud, but she had a secret penchant for the soft and snuggly. She always knew the perfect fabric for blankets, the perfect firmness for a pillow. This was truly the perfect gift.

               The moment Kakashi heard Rei’s sobs, he raced out of the bedroom and to her side at, quite frankly, a ridiculous speed. “What’s wrong? What is it?” he asked, resting a hand on her back and searching the hallway for a hidden perpetrator. Rei sniffled and tightened her grip on the blanket. “Oh? What’s this?” Kakashi asked, calming once he realized there was no present danger. He reached out to carefully caress the corner of the blanket between his thumb and forefinger.

               A teary smile touched Rei’s lips as she handed Kakashi the note. “It’s from Sekkachi” she croaked. Kakashi took the slip of paper cautiously, skimming the brief message, and relief washed over him. Finally, a weight had been lifted off of Rei’s mind—or at least one of many. He knew Sekkachi was bound to come around sooner or later. It warmed his heart to see her go to such great lengths for an apology. A true acceptance of the hand fate had dealt them, a promise of companionship and support.

               “Can I see what she got us?” Kakashi asked softly. Rei nodded and handed over the blanket and booties, and an incredulous little laugh broke past Kakashi’s lips. Somehow holding them now, the first little gifts for their child, made the situation feel so much more real. He turned the booties over in his hands, swinging the little pompoms dangling from the cuff. They were so tiny. How could anyone ever be so tiny? And yet in just under a year, he would have his answer in the form of their own little baby. Kakashi sucked in a deep breath, tried to maintain his composure. He could not, however, fight the smile spreading wide across his lips.

               Rei’s heart soared to see him so moved. Kakashi truly was going to be an incredible father, she just knew it. She brushed the bangs back out of her face, sniffled, glanced to the clock. “Hey, we better get going” she then said. “We’re running late.”

               “Right” Kakashi nodded and set the gift down on the kitchen table. He could return to revel in it later. Right now, they had more pressing matters at hand. He took Rei’s hand in his, kissed her forehead sweetly, and together they went off with equal parts hope and anxiety for the future. For the first notes of the steady thump of their child’s heartbeat. For the beginning of the rest of their lives.